beebop

- it's a little late for that kind of thinking.
- it's never too late.
- it's always too late.
- how about a clean slate?
- bee bop budum. are you rhyming with me?
- why don't you just wait and see?
- because i'm really tired right now.
- i think you're a wuss.
- oh?
- i think you're a puss.
- alright.
- sour puss...
- mmm.
- it is never too late to change yourself.
- i don't want to change.
- well, that's kind of strange.
- how so?
- you're always feeling low.
- i know.
- you know.
- but that's me. i will always be wrong. my song will always be a sad song.
- see, i thought you were strong.

1.

i was young when my mother spoke to me about love. she used words i didn't know, phrases and equations that scurried away into the atmosphere far above. her voice had a determined sincerity that was beyond me as she attempted to explain why she would never leave my father. it was a soft and cutting afternoon on the river, and i felt as if a volley of arrows had descended upon me, so many missing the mark, but at least one piercing my little body. one sharp arrow that made me understand that love was something important, something i needed to find. a mysterious goal. i knew it was something good. but now i know that i was wrong.

---------------

sleep much?
wake up. munch munch.
snowy crunch.
everyone of us is a natural disaster. fuck.
too much?
close your mouth let's go for a ride.
out of town.
for a slide down the street,
find hills of good,
and pretend that we always meant well.
we mean well.
punch punch.
gentle touch.
everyone of us is a liar.
i could spend an eternity hiding from myself.
i will die tomorrow.
everyone of us will be in a corner soon.
run much?
hide and seek? guts.
we have no guts.
drive drunk much?
such such a waste of potential.
everyone of us is blind.
nothing is fine. fuck.

i think i could write nice poems

oh hello sun, you look lovely today

the clouds
parting in weary desperation
reveal their better halves
and reveal sky
blue as pride
the atmosphere calling down
to us mere mortals
it's okay now
clear and bright and blue
little marbles bouncing
down the streets
dancing to sweet songs
that we had forgotten
dancing for tomorrows
and yesterdays and right now
this moment of crisp forgiveness
that is brief
short of breath
and over
as soon as i bring my eyes back down
from the sunshine
that is pre-maturely
hinting at spring

ndng

This flow of memories unnerves me. Marking things that I have done, things I should have done, but nothing of the things I will do. Nostalgia is calling me out on the time I’ve wasted. And now my bedroom door swings open on its own, unlocked. It is morning. I stumble into the kitchen to find an oak tree growing through the tiles. It consumes the entire room, its branches sweeping over the walls, the low ceiling no longer present above me. Happy birthday, it says. How did you get here? There isn’t any soil, I say. And the tree says, I keep growing until I die. My eyes are sore and my legs are stiff. I feel as though I haven’t moved in ages. I grab a box of cereal from the counter and sit down under the tree to eat breakfast.

a view

I CANNOT I WILL NOT FALL FROM HERE

bushes brush the knees
and check for pureness of heart
rushing blood to various encampments
through various messaging systems
tunnels of love and communication
as the eyes rise up from the dirt ahead
and glimpse tomorrow, a view
water lies below
all lies below
this mountain lookout

FUCKKK all that you have DONNNE
fuck ALL that you haven't done

AN ANGEL IRONS MY FAVOURITE SHIRT AND TELLS ME TO SIT NEARBY AND KEEP HER COMPANY AND SO I DO BECAUSE I HAVE NOT BEEN GIVEN A CHOICE IN THE MATTER

a common view of the valley
reveals that really there is nothing to see
that could not have been seen
with eyes closed
but still it is high up
it is the air that lives and not us
it is the path that remains when we depart
it is not about us at all
it is not about the view
but what is viewing us
and suddenly everything smells like onions
everything tastes salty

RUMBLE RUMBLE ROLL / stumble stumble soul

remove your shoes and wade in
you're not a change
so wash your face boy
splash some of this hope on yourself
and crawl back to your city where you can do some damage
where your shoes are necessary
and your voice is small
unheard
unvoiced
remove yourself from here at once

griever.

umm the inner universal,
collecting all that we are.
boom boom it aint much, boom boom you can't touch me
if i'm a star, and i am free,
collecting pieces of the sea.
umm umm you're just a chapter now
of something i could write.
but i won't, you could ask but don't.
some day you just might.
we're unpredictable.
some day you might call me up and scream,
and i will understand.
umm yes i think i will understand
that moments are collecting.

-------------

- what's your name?
- Griever.
- you're a lion?
- what's a lion?
- ... it's what you are. at least it's what you look like.
- i don't know what a lion looks like.
- okay, then what are you?
- not sure what you'd call me...
- why are you here?
- i'm here for you.
- what? like a guardian angel or something?
- i don't know what that is.
- well, what DO you know?
- i know you. i know everything about you.
- cool.
- no. not so cool, actually.
- why are you so serious?
- because someone, something... is coming to get you.
- what?
- not sure what you'd call them.
- why do they want me?
- i don't know.
- okay... but you're going to protect me?
- i'm going to try. but the odds aren't with us.
- when are they ever?
- right.

------------

the fine art of falling apart

a time of darkness,
you will look absurd and you will feel inert.
and you'll go looking to blame somebody.
you see, i used to think i'd get over everything,
but everything just got over me.

matthew good

xcrpt

Thoughts overwhelm me, presented with things I am unsure of. Blurry faces that I may have known at some point. And now I am seven years old with grass-stained knees. This is a memory. This is something familiar. I’m steaming mad because I buried an acorn in the front yard, thinking that an oak tree would spring from the ground, and my mom told me that it wouldn’t. She said that you can’t just stick something in dirt and expect it to grow. Trees are delicate. I give up and forget about my oak tree. Reality wakens me again. There is a photo on the wall of a beautiful girl. She wears an expression of pride, but with eyes that reveal her uncertainty. Only it can’t be a photograph because she’s moving. She turns her head and her hair drapes her eyes… and then she tilts her head back and smiles a shy smile. And I am no longer sure whether I am awake or asleep…

0

I have something to say.
nah, fuck it. It's nothing.

the great escape, there isn't.

unwarranted beliefs
+
unwelcome passions
+
an eagle that speaks
+
yesterday's fashions
+
unreachable peaks
+
uninhabitable mansions
=
i dunno

...................

- i don't want you to worry about me.
- i know. but sometimes i do.
- you really don't have to.
- you don't talk anymore.
- yes i do.
- no, you've gone quiet.
- i just don't have that much to say.
- you know your uncle took his own life, right? dad's brother, one of your namesakes. he was young and dad doesn't talk about it very much.
- he never talks about it. but i know.
- okay.
- mom, really? you should know me better than that.
- doesn't matter how well i know you. the you i know is just a little guy, banging on empty coffee tins, pretending they are drums, refusing to quiet down. and now you're all grown up and distant and don't live close by anymore. so if i think that you're sad, i get sad... and i worry.
- i love you, mom.

...................

- just call me Beats.
- Beats for what?
- Beats for the soul, the future, the goal. unwinding, untrying, still grinding that coal, revitalize, re-emphasize, re-strategize...
- re-strategize for what?
- fow these new plains, new days, scattered brains in a modern maze of our making. pre-dating, semi-creating, debating...
- debating what?
- debating everything. the songs we sing, the love we bring, or don't, to our world, for young boys and girls who don't have a chance. we've destroyed chance. all that's left is to dance...
- what dance?
- the dance of blame. no, it wasn't us, not me. nothing we could have done, just wanted to be free. all throughout history, acting silly, and our present will seem funny, in the future to those who survive this...
- survive what?
- this.

...........

- don't talk to me about positive.
- what do you mean?
- positive thinking. this and that. positive attitude.
- yeah? what about it?
- just shut up about your positive. your optimistic. your proactive behaviour. i'm so sick of hearing about it.
- you're going to eat yourself, you're always so negative.
- it's not me that's negative. it's everything around me. this world and this day in day out. this passing of time is negative. always reducing, subtracting. never adding up to anything.
- you need to get away.
- how do you get away from yourself?
- a cruise or something.
- don't you fucking see? there is no getting away anymore.