a ________-like percept

Dear _______ ,

I so often feel like I am a ________ trapped in a cage; pacing the walls ready to break free.

What is outside this cage that I have to get to so badly?

Sincerely,
_______

french press

it could be simpler
we the filters spreading lies
serving needs our needs the thirst
the thirst for more more more in-for-more-mation
but not with me not with you u you not with anyone
there isn't a mess in this hall
there is a dirty procession of information information
is this not the bitchiest bitch the slut always coming
on too too to strong too much not enough
there is it? is that it? no no no no there it's not
but wait i see it then i lose it and we wonder
we see it we loosen up and the slut wants more
this information age shit is a bitch
i'm tired of looking at it
i'm tired of thinking about it
and when i don't think about it
i still think about it more more more moires
moires wrinkling the brain the filter the noise
slandering my perception perspectives lost
because there is always more i don't want more
want less less is more more is less then the conundrum
pontificating percolating electrifying the grid is fired up
there is no room there is more there is no room
there is always much more there is not enough
the filter is dirty the grime must mean nothing
nothing is everything nothing is something worth doing

Life of a Vacuum

A balanced concept in a contained universe,
that would be the only way we can see eternity.

Equilibrium held in constant stasis,
this might stop erosion, decay;

this road leads to pure logic.

No hindrances of a soul smitten
or love of anything.

No more emotions, simply ants
without a human percept,
parts of a machine untouched
by any forces, running till
infinity.

what is the spark, the trickling, the instigator,
that takes away the genuinely fluid, unknowing,
robotic, automatic machine, a whole,
from its mundane but perfect existence?

What is it that introduces change, chaos, sympathy,
ethics, the qualities of decisions?

A contained universe can not be contained,
it can not be traced back in history due to
our existence on the edge of the prehistorical
renaissance.

There are leaks in the container,
the sieve of reality lets us
breath through this earth.

intangible assets

waiting for contact
contact there isnt enough of it
and im still waiting for lusting it no
no contact no to waiting for it
still waiting for it
in the eyes of another
touching staringly stretched
fiberous tentacles gleam not physical
and ask physics professors about it
they wont explain it but may defer to their wives
about how one can touch without fingers
fingers cant be this kind of contact
for they cant reach that deep into my skull
where the nourons play fingers interfere
such is the contact im waiting
...well a massage WOULD be nice...

somemidpointofdreamsreality
therethT' look am iimagining that
is she looking this way or just dancing
its just dancing in between the real and dream

The Lament of Man and Woman (Venus)

Right now I feel at odds with myself. What does that mean, you ask?

Well, I am told that I was too inebriated to understand my own banter, my own argument. Fact is, I don't believe that for a second. I know what I was feeling as I spoke. There was a huge feeling of disappointment, but thats only something that arose at the end.

It started with a simple slip up. I simply couldn't make the right decision about where to go and that decision, I agree, was related to the amount I drank. Shortly after I had made a bad decision, I decided to ask Venus, "where are we, where should we be going?" Somehow my translation of that simple message turned into a blowout where I had blamed Venus for going the wrong way. I probably did make a statement to this affect, but I had no idea how volatile/explosively it would be taken. Even though I can't categorically say that this was the basic conclusion, I am willing to accept that as the conclusion. While that was the main point being made, I was generalized about, I was told that I was horrible, that this situation was somehow related to a bigger issue with our relationship. That she was tired of our relationship due to this reason. I must admit, I feel that this is a huge stretch, to be even more honest, stretch doesn't do justice to what it really was, just a strand of nothing prodded real.

I tried my best in my state of mind to quell this idea, to move forward or on or something of the sort. I agreed to some basic terms which stated that the whole argument had been blown out of proportion and that we would start fresh. A few minutes later Venus passed out. I knew the next toll was coming but it was at least 10 minutes away. While I had the option to wake Venus up earlier, I decided to wait till we got close before waking her up (especially since she had change from our last toll ballgame). I got close and then tried to wake her up, once she was up, she gave the money and immediately proceeded to berate me (in the exact same fashion as was done before)and before anything could be said, we sat in yet another argument. This time, she had decided that I must have really meant something negative (to be honest, I am not sure). I sat in my seat, without a word to her, dejected, I didn't know how to feel and the first thing that became apparent to me was a feeling of rejection. The feeling was crying, I let that feeling go (without a word) and within a few seconds, I had Venus judging my tears, the basis for them, to her, must be bullshit, or pity or something selfish.

The funny thing is, the basis for them was real. I had really tried to just be nice for a second, having felt bad about whatever had occurred just previously. Somehow it backfired. In any case, the argument went back to where it was previously and even until we slept, there was no deviation from what had happened before.

I tried to go to the bathroom once in my apartment but all I felt were the same tears. I tried to cry them away but that failed and I realized I just needed to keep moving, pushing the hour of sleep, hoping to be left alone, analytical of my undetermined shortcomings.

I now sit here, having finished these thoughts, I feel a little bit better having got them out. At the same time, a certain amount of doom has crept into me, but I guess thats what keeps us human.

HEADLINE: The Space Monkeys Have Landed

you are not a suit
you are not the symbol on your t-shirt
you are not the clown
you are not here to make yourself laugh
you are not the occupation
you are not the car
you are not the tax refund
you are not the number on the forms
you are not the star role
you are not the favorite
you are not the dream
you are not the source
you are not the list
you are not the expert
you are not the teller
you are not the phony
you are just...

the bowler

sliding down into the wedge
conversations seize up
and grind gears without oil

back and forth
the wrecking ball and the chisel
Goliath, take two

cold sinks in
and molecules slow

etch this one
and remember tactics
with next week's scorecard

coal chugs, soot fumes
clanging metal lubes
the abuse resumes

iron, heat, pound, grind
underground elemental battle

splash
sssssssssss.....
crank, the twisting revolt

marred and deformed
the solid conflict against solid will
clink
thunk
clink
thunk
clink
thunk

stuck..how (you must ask)?

after a slow, ravenous stomp through the jungle,
who knows what wonder awaits!
rotating upon a hoop, just fall in!
stop being such a tease!

cut in the lane,



force a move, and high above,




alley oop!

the apple pie tastes of sand

so much glitz and glam
along the strip the parties fume
the tickets sell
and the owners plan

scraping the bottom
scrounging the residual waste
a hungry hippo
grabs what he can

mark this moment at the bottom
find verbs that will actualize the unplanned plan

gorgeous weeds engulf the fence










hungry right now for calories that nourish thoughts
and hope
looking away from the interpretation and trying to step out of this rhythm

raking screams

tonight I tend to the screams
that fill the air:

sirens whirring in the distance
a shrill voice waning
sinister shrieks
unsettling, ancient thoughts.

spy slow guitar chords
and pressurized threads;

we're always so unsure
if the dark hides evil
as we creep through it,
fear, fear, fear..

the only truth is in the dark,
universal, tainted, twisted.

one and the same for all.

Stone Cold Android

naked as a moonbeam
standing below sunlight and above a smokey cloud
her heart consists of pebbles and wax
and when given warmth, they wither
melting into a sticky puddle of soupy stones
as round blackened marshmallows in pouring Popsicle juice
though rancid to smell and bitter to taste
though are different sides of the same naked act of reflection

stimuli course their way through the nebulous brain stem
to find their rejection in the particular mind

the frigid ice queen has dejected
the moonbeam splintered in the water crystal

communication flashflood

Key indicators on the rush of crime,
tales of international stature, sprawling,

blips, stocks, weather,
mystery, politics, religion,
war, deception, consumption..

streams of community
washed through the rocks, sedimentary,
eroding choice, thought, and
setting fate on course.


a generation in paralysis;
a horizon sets in.

drop the point, shift focus,
landslide.

A picture of a day in high society or famous newspaper images.

Pictures stick and journeys
follow.

Images hold in them a truth which
truth itself is far too ashamed to
relay.

What images? Cultural ones,
social ones, "what is it your friends
REALLY think?"

Images are embodied by a local
and national truth. The national message:
what we are sold, the point of view in plain view,
general public. The local observation: like
the first breath of a student hitting the cold atmosphere
on a winter day (a dispersion follows, the bitterness
of the cold is felt, tactile).

Pictures stick at a mile a minute and journeys
follow.

How far will we take this void?
What darkness shelters our pictures?
Who owns the flashlight?

Where will this journey take us?

squinting

looking into the dark void
trying to find an answer
looking into the dark void
the dark void is the answer

to my audience
the conceptual body of critics
i conjure up imagery
to suggest understanding through analogy

to do this
and
to do that

these tenses imply hope

presently belly down, sucking the dank air
idealizing the days of the erect
i won't find hope
it must be created

to my audience
observe as my posture evolves

~~aves and Oircles

if you find me lost
point me to the nearest coast
no matter what the cost
or how cold the frost
i will find my way across
and swim out again until i'm lost

Who Am I?

Slight transformations,
Round the bend, discrete
but alert, paying attention to what
lays ahead, allowing pedestrians
to pass me by, goal in sight,
physical and mental chase afoot,
target has turned the bend,
acceleration in brute force,
target is aware, on the go, running,
rushing, flying by trashcans and
debris.

No sense in keeping quiet now,
wrapping staircase, smashing through glass window,
chasing a phantom through dark hallways,
alarms flashing, screeching, warning,
and up the staircase, through the 20th floor entrance,
head thrown into light, smashing the light,
blood gushing from the hit,

the target snickers,
the self shudders
and

blackout.

exercises in futility

existence framed by context of life
life, like a word, is a timeless creature
erratic flow
constant transformation
passing through peoples' principles
a moment of madness, then shrill silence
castles made of kitty litter

(r)evolution

the sun is beat
i am thirsty as a rock
less aroused to pursue
out but nowhere
darkest secrets foggy, unread
leering eyes stare into me
minds scatter hydraulically
infinitely optimistic

intangible

Unfurl, drop.
Sensation to the fingertips,
wiggle them, shake off the
feeling from your head,
shoulders roll,
mind, all clear.

Step past the object,
light to start, now
the wind slowly picks up,
float forward, all that
muck starts its buzzing about
and slowly the pace quickens
to a trot, head shaking
away the wasps of muck,
biting at skin.

hone in, quicken the pace,
leaving that point behind,
for miles of moments,
disappear, the desert ahead,
lightning sloth,
cowboy free.

and..

the weight resurrects and
the trot slows, stop,
catch a breath.

Now, unfurl, drop.

bodies close and minds farther away

...and the time arises desires
indescribable, felt only in heartily explosions
earthly entities entirely transient
trying to fill watery words into a fiery cauldron

hear their voices in stereo and lose
every part of their dynamic deity
dissolved by moments unconquered, too much space
between us and the wild cages - our lives

prowl precious perimeters in the grid
with walls higher and higher, windows too small
i can still hear the voices in stereo
and laugh at the joking anecdotes

Zip

(The sound your conscience)
Tip, tumble
Brrm
Crisp night ventures.

Dried up like

Dried up like
a river mouth,
cotton-balled,
dirt and sand,
wavy lines,
the past deserted.

A transactional snicker

Ahh, the three egos,
fighting for attention,
seeking the mysterious
title of navigator,
like a schizophrenic computer
program.

Ahh, every transaction that we make
takes shape, angular!
And yet the angles do not gleam
that complexity, instead a leaner
version of the three takes hold,
we are all reduced to these three
(we're told).

Ahh, and the games we play,
so rich with patterns of
happenstance;

hold a mirror to a mirror
and all you see is all you'll get.

youth..

im going to jump the wall of fire..



look!


pointless fourteen...
hangout,



bullies.

Yarblockos

When the rarest bird hath flown the coup, I found myself in the graveyard, 2 blocks east of Sixth Street. It had happened before and I had a thought. Had the bird not flown, he would be imprisoned.

A courageous flight, straight arrow to Albuquerque, no exits on this flight, no stopovers. There will be no in-flight movie this evening, a voice announced, and we won't be offering you any refreshments on this flight. So a straight and narrow path.

I peddled insanity in those days. A youthful notion of truth and reality, bubble gum and masking tape holding the fort. I scratched my foot into the dirt before a stone that read "Here lies our beloved.." I spat my gum into the little hole I had dug and quickly kicked up the brown morsels and rocks over it. I could see a couple in the nearby distance holding a cold gaze in my direction. I had desecrated this site with my lack of respect. The birds were vultures now and I the moving carcass.

If the bird had not flown, he would be imprisoned. I tried to tell the couple, but they ran, terrified, repenting, tightly cutting the corner and clamoring away from Sixth Street. I held off on the couple and headed back to the stone. It's a straight shot to Albuquerque I said to myself, a straight and narrow path. Had the bird choice, would he have flown the coup? Freedom or sleep? I laid down in front of the stone and closed my eyes.

Its a long road to Albuquerque.

brick, mortar, mortality

the fortresses people build in their hearts
will be humble coffins when the soul departs

Atop an Underwood Atop an Underwood

click image to zoom in

Miss Alex

Ahhh...

I guess on occasion, you are let in and in the next,
you are kicked out.

Why, one asks.
Maybe because taking away something
will make one want it?

Or maybe taking away something
is a way that one person
can convince them-self
that those who can not have it..
..want it.

But..

It has been said, if a man can not choose,
he ceases to be a man. What good is good
without the element of choice?

Yes or no?

Highlights

Unprecedented unknown,
Colored inside the lines
like a stoic Kindergartner.

Flap, I swing and miss,
my untamed hand slamming
into the unseen world.

Taps on keys, bleary decision making,
Real reoccurence, real failure.

splash!

Smudged slum of night, and results..
so infinite.

snap, the breaking of bone,
crackling enamel,
clean the scum of the city,
wipe the scum of the city,
push the dust to the corner
and gentrify, plunder the walls,
scrub them down and sell them
back to "the" outsiders.

(we) Left the sheep (us) to graze (sleep) in warehouses and
hard drives (where are you)...

glutonous lions

those which bare their teeth lust to rip each thing
limb to limb.

whored one partner to another?
or are the seasons as much a myth
as the words you have written.

at star light

at times, dark, ripples,
a mad ringing drawing a line
in the empty atmosphere,
sheer difference, it is, between
silence and a traffic jam.

odd and indifferent are these sounds
which break a perfect thought amongst many,
the peripheral becomes so much so that
all that remains is perpetual.

things that were slow become a blur,
so much alike are all the senses in the dark,
a ringing is as deafening as the light at the
end of the tunnel.

untitled K and d

feeling the hate from the guy
sitting in the car next to mine
just listening to some music
nevermind him i'm killing time
who cares if he's wearing the badge of authority
it's criminal

and I say..what?

maybe I toast to him as he spins
the next track out the back, another
light-spinning blue-red blue-red.

spin your head.

trampled fields ageless rhetoric restored seasonally

pinching in the dark for black apparitions

Bang bang

Thatched felt roofs of clay sent astray.

Tip the Glass

I tip the glass, this time of year,
no harm, no fear.

Welcome, unexpected metaphors,
intrinsic truths, buddies of the past!

It is time (at last) to revisit
those old pieces and then pivot,
provide myself leeway for what is to come
(and new friends may pay a visit).

Whilst it lasts I plan
to have more than one repast
and see what it is sliding, hiding
in the bottom of this empty glass.

1 year away (2010)
and we cut half the last 2 numerals
to make the first full a-gain.

I'll take what I can of this mind game
and in 2011
see 2 numerals to make the front full
a-gain.

D.A.R.E. to be free

sobriety like life like experience
roars spitefully like dullness

...and it's amazing how pleasant thoughts flourish
the more drinking I encourage

fire and ice clamor through my veins
dulling reasons while spiking my brain

what use is rationality and game theory
if the world is no longer lonely or dreary

a fairy tale told at dusk
an inspiration to dreamers drunk on lust

and the glowing sparkle of these surroundings
fades in the soberness of mornings