12/1

no one else seems to notice the knocking,
the drilling sounds like jazz,
I don't think I can finish these porous carton eggs,
and it's myself I feel like socking.

11/28

My edges are getting melty,
The rounded drips hit the floor gently as the mirror nods most agreeably at the transformation.
I start to spin,
Faster and faster,
My arms stretched out wide,
Spraying my surroundings until they start to drip too.

Stir Crazy

My fingertips are chronically cold,
and the fake fireplace makes a negligible difference.
Everything is turning red and green,
Except the black, grey sky that never seems to recede.

Blink, blink!

Red light,
Green light,
One, two, three..
I swear that guy's sneakers just grew eyes and started staring at me.

Maybe I'm going a bit stir crazy.

11/10

I can't seem to motivate myself somehow,
and genuinely, I feel pretty weak right now,
but C's get degrees,
so surely I will graduate eventually,
and the creases will continue to deepen at the sides of my eyes,
but no longer from the deadlines imposed by those that do not see me for me.

10/20

needly spires,

goons, bogs, and bleak mires,

tall grasses swallow the tall tale telling liars.

monochrome skys,

one miscreant walks with a star in his eyes,

his back turned to the cries,

of his past laments. 

10/15

I'm sitting on the concrete,
Dressed a cat,
Contemplating which drugs to take.
I don't know where I want to be,
But I know I don't want to be here.

Mi siedo sul calcestruzzo,
Sono vestito come un gatto,
Sto pensando quelli medicini a prendere.
Non so dove voglio stare,
Ma so, non voglio stare ecco.

10/6

I've been carved out, little by little, with a spoon once so shiny,
My guts put onto a wax paper covered baking sheet like pumpkin seeds for the roasting,
You can see right through the holes they cut for eyes,
A tiny lit red tea light candle is all that was replaced inside,
And now the wick is getting nearer it's grand finale,


Scoop out what's left behind and keep it as an essential oil,
Bottle me up and save me 'til the end of time.

10/5

Fledgling factorial interactions begin to feel compounded like interested financials,
Flippancy fired, to my chagrin,
Is it all that flagrant or am I just too dialed in?

10/4

Is it a nice day out?
I can't tell, but the cardinal beckons so.
There is a 3800 V6 intuition vector in an unknown space.
The mardi gras beads hanging on the rearview mirror oscillate without direct stimulation,
Not unlike the threads of my memory.

incongruent

running parallel universes rarely intersect
barely bridging gaps between desire and depression

i'd be dragging my feet if i wasn't floating
i'd be sinking into the deep if i wasn't so good at skating on thin ice

9/13

bloodshot eyes,
putting on deodorant in the basement of the physics building,
drinking a lukewarm coffee,
while neglecting my dying electronics.

chipped red nail polish,
dancing to Beck across the hall from powerful lasers,
thinking in too many languages,
while taking Mumbai-made anti-narcoleptic magic.

shivering fingers,
laying on couches caked with chalk,
smelling plants to see if they're real,
while wondering if I might just be dreaming,

or if that matters at all?

9/8

Maybe next year I'll be running a marathon to sweat it out instead of swallowing it,
Maybe next year I can say I've started to pay my loans back beyond the interest accrued,
Maybe next year I'll find comfort in others as opposed to fear of pain's reprisal,
Maybe next year I'll be studying theoretical photochromic energetics,
Or,
Maybe next year I'll be working at the DMV wanting to die for different reasons.

8/16

There are so many other people and all their faces
Hungry eyes and hungry mouths chattering with gaping toothed spaces
Nod, nodding,
bbahhhhhhh
Stop stop just for a second I want to hide
I want to hide
Tic tic tic
Override
you'll never stop
and i'll continue to feel nervous in all of these places

8/13

Cheers to stale bagels and brains that tell you you want to die.
I know I'm just tired and want to sleep for three days without incurring the consequences,
But,
Can't I just get a mute button for the irrational and the insane?

I need more time.
I need more rhyme.
I need more reason.

8/11

My encounters with the void are frequent and brief.
Each time, it microwaves my ice cream brain for a few seconds, takes a spoonful, and places me back in the freezer to resolidify.

I feel better after I get sick as if my body reminds my brain that it is small, dumb, and insignificant while paradoxically trusting it as a navigation system.

I should get wasted and quit my jobs and do anything that is actually anything and maybe I won't be a shell and maybe I'll move along or maybe that'll be enough to die right there and maybe that's okay.

If so, I hope the microwave breaks and it drinks me in like soup.

8/4

I'm hole-y like swiss cheese, just sliced a little thicker,
though I'm getting thinner.
Cut a piece off and you'll see the blood drips a little quicker, just a little quicker,
as I get thinner, just a little thinner.

My gills are doing all the heavy lifting they can take,
But throw a little water on me from time to time and I'll flip here and there,
Here and there,
To remind you that I'm still alive, just a little sicker.

8/3

My days are numbered and maybe I can be privy to that universal secret sooner than later;
I'll take it as an honor,
For when the grim reaper comes for me I don't plan to run,
I'll await his embrace,
Peacefully smiling.

Stick a Fork in Me

Dead skin slivers are mingling with eraser shavings,
Dinner is caffeine,
The dull pain that lingers in my upper neck isn't quite so dull anymore,
and all this tension in my head could be released as steam if only I was a well-oiled machine.

If only I was a well-oiled machine...

8/1

I'm the phantom limb society can't seem to shake off,
the dog that ate a fat kid's birthday cake and got kicked, but will never see it as a loss,
I'm the persistent zit on a nose that's impossible to conceal,
the scab that gets picked at over and over, but never seems to heal,
I'm the mosquitos that bite you the one summer night you go outside,
and the horse that bucks the little kids off, every time they ride.

I'm doomed.

You're doomed.

We're all doomed.

Conjugation

Let us hover in a space where verbs have yet to be conjugated:
to watch,
to listen,
to fear,
to imagine,
to desire.

How elegant!
How freakish!
How concerning!

Indulge!
Indulge!
Indulge!

I'm sorry I must get back to work...

7/19

Compliments to the chef!

I am god.

You are god.

Together, we are nothing.

 More crazy than dumb,

Sometimes I think that’s harder to fix. 

7/18

Two red bulls and an adderall later,
I imagine this is what normal is for everyone else.
Dreaming of burritos and a good f***,
While I practice the Arabic alphabet in my head.

Hangover

Someone is lighting matches in my skull,

I let the coffee get luke-warm again,

How did I end up in Bluepoint or Bellport?

Those rich white people thought I was dead,

Try not to stumble to the door in front of the new neighbors.

Vices, Vexes, Vindication

I live life looking to the hourglass,

It shows that life has passed, whether heat death or a cold bodily existence, inherently paradoxically spent all the same...

Time is the greatest equalizer and the ultimate god,

Recognizing a lack thereof is the greatest solvent of guilt and the ultimate vindicator.

Tomorrow comes today until tomorrow doesn’t.

Soon there will be no more mistakes or recesses of desire,

Soon there will be no more treats or trips or trials,

Soon there will be time no more. 

A Letter to Julie

Oh my love, you are my oldest friend.

I know your legs have weakened and your nose so dry;

I must admit you near the end of days, soon to join Daffodil by way of pushing daisies.

For I still inhabit spring, I will always feel you in every cherry blossom bloom.

The ticking of my many wall clocks reminds me that I’m never too far behind.

For you, I hope there really is a heaven…

Please wait for me.

fuck the system

I have six months to make up my mind on what to make of my life.

I’d rather watch makeup videos online than lineup for the professional pecking order-- setting individualism aside where ironically, I’m supposed to stand out and simultaneously abide,

I’ve never been good at following the rules and it’s not that I don’t understand,

I’m just bad at going along with the authoritative posturing bullshit and lies…

I’ve been told I’m insensitive and perhaps a bit sociopathic,

But if I don’t find it funny I probably won’t think to laugh at it.

I won’t remember to shave because I don’t think hair is offensive,

And if I hear a baby whine I’ll probably scowl at it,

But whip your tit our to feed it and I won’t bat an eye,

Because feeding your child is totally fine.

I’ll pick up your books if you drop them,

And lend a hand if I have half the time,

I’ll always obey the right of way,

But in the end your path I cannot follow if yours is the only say.

Fuck the system.

Human/Nature

Will you sit with me and watch the sunflowers grow?

Fuel them as they fuel us in a symbiotic respiratory volley,

We aren’t autotrophs, but we can appreciate their way of life while we bask in our Vitamin D giving tree rays just the same;

Let us auto-regulate each other’s body temperature with only the mediation of the cool, damp soil below…

The insects buzz, as they should,

The crows land one by one and occasionally take a seed, but only as many as they need,

And the dead leaves fall when their time has come.

Helga

I like to look at your photo on my phone as if I was Helga gazing at Arnold in her locket.

I too clutch it to my chest in an act of desperate, overwhelming desire, only to be felt in safe isolation.

I too acknowledge such power tainted with lament.

I too have a goofy haircut that never seems to bother you in the slightest.

Driftwood

I shall ebb so you can flow aside,

Wash it away like footprints with the tide,

Make this the twig that is never fetched by the dog from the sea,                                                    
Put him back on the leash and go home without me.

We Shall Rise From the Ashes If We're Not Afraid To Let It Burn Down

It’s like shooting fireworks into the rain,

Useless sparks that quickly fade,

Water casting out the already limited potential for oxygen to carry out a flame,

Borne from humanity’s pollution colored lungs,

Coughing up more than disappointment immersed in climates changing for the worse.

Are you yet feeling the Bern?

Let us suffocate on the smoking gun’s flag for change, for a change,

Admit there’s choke-hold cloud over a reality where false promises were made,

Let them die and again regain an origin dignified even if you’ll never get to see that sky.

Dreams that were cryogenically frozen will slowly surface to the land even if with greater uncertainty.

But self-control and commitment to the present is a higher order masochism when you start to feel a heart felt resistance.

This House of Cards is Made of Jokers

Wings across halls of tall buildings,

Wings across long tables the same,

Put your place setting next to those you seek to set precedents,

Whether it’s the president or interns you’ll roast into shame.

Learn which piece you are on the chessboard and which players are playing the game,

Don't be afraid to turn the table,

Use every card in your hand as your own claim to fame,

And don’t forget to shout the loudest,

The one that consumes the most oxygen is least wavering flame!

Brave face to handshake fake sincerity,

Ignorance feigns plurality’s smoking gun reigns,

Held by horses’ asses on high horses…there are no classes!

Marry right and have a kid’s face to parade around, or two,

As a god-loyal family man, what on Earth would they do without you?

You’re finally a spectacle in the big show,

The game show lame show reality show spectacular!

Jeopardy?

What is...the current state of the union?

Should there not be sacred ground for the conquered?

Should there not be solace for those we’ve struck down?

If your enemy’s enemy is your friend on that stand-alone, who’s to say when they’ll turn it around?

Disbarred

Get out of my dreams you temptress,
But please linger some more,
You are my muse.

I'll never learn and I don't want to.

I could be a meteorologist, but I'm too distracted.
You are a cyclone I almost don't see coming as I walk the plank across this still marshland muck, cloaked by grey shaded skies at what appears to be dusk.
It's then dark and I feel as if I'm expected to catch a fish in the lake across the way,
But I'm compelled to seek shelter in a stilted wood-cabin-like bar while I sort my foresight sore head.

God I want you.
I wish you'd walk in, but I see that you've blocked me on social media instead.

As the sun comes up, I lean on a smooth, but splintered wooden ledge and look through the wide glass bay windows.
Below, a few small boats with sails blow by and I'm still lost.

Drive

There's popcorn strewn all about the car.
That rotting banana peel bears an imprint from the upholstery.
I should hide those mini-bottles in the center console.
My cheeks sting from all the self-inflicted slapping to stay awake.

Shh

Salacious slandering slithering stupidity?
Sanction-less sundry sandstorm,
Shivering sullenly, suddenly,
Shirking synthesis solemnly,
Simplicity shuttered,
Shuddering sorrow's sickliness,
Seeking sublime sinfulness,

Starstruck sumptuousness scathes,
Shivering skins seismically shift, slide,
Sheet slice scars,
Seared sights,
Slim sounds slip,
Shy stuttering speeches,
Sigh...

Soothing sing-song static,
Surreptitious sleeplessness.

Withdrawal

I’m dizzy with psychotropic truancy

Truth be told, these eyes can hardly focus on this screen

Jittery, jitterbugging

But calmer than usual for walking on wavy grounds aside

CLickkkk

IRRITABILITY INVASION

That clerk did nothing wrong

Not everyone moves at the speed of light

 I’m trying to listen, but I’m planning the next five years in five different ways in my head

Plans plan planning plans

CliCkkkkkk

Shiny white nail polish

Twenty-five cents or a dollar only in the circles at the top

I shouldn’t ask to fix your messy braid

ClickkKk

Now I want the eggplant with cheese and those giant sunglasses

Now I want to string dangling rubber ducks from the ceiling and throw multicolored glitter everywhere

Now I want to paste eyeballs cut from magazines all over the walls and dip my feet into Fanta

Let’s listen to the same song seven times in a row

Let’s try and sing along with a mouth full of pop rocks

Let’s draw watches on our wrists and pretend time works for us

3/25

I'll make it rain on your Macy's greed parade,
Label-made label hungry crowds fade when confronted with under-regulated trade,
So perpetuate the hungry child slave,
That...
Can't bite the hand of those that don't feed,
But that new logo tee isn't worth the fee,
Of your "freedom isn't free" bullshit decrees,
Requiring a moral competency,
Greater than your GED equivalency of a college degree,
Indoctrinated teachings,
Reactionary,
Void of compassion,
But not filigree,
Monopoly diamond,
Sky-high dreams,
Never enough reluctancy,
To shed light on shallow priority,
To pass the buck and protect the wealthy...
"Eventually it'll trickle to me?"
Well,
You've been tricked.

3/24

My thought tree behaves like a migratory fresh water salmon.
My memories are the stream,
And you are the still winter sea to which I perpetually arrive.
I await the day a hungry black bear rips it all away before I can complete the journey.

Like Dissolves Like

Lost and found in the translation of your body language,

Within you is eternal sunshine and darkness alike, on both of which I thrive,

And coming together truly defines the way two substances inter-chemically combine,

Like dissolves like.

3/21

Cramp in my foot and the combination headlock code is lost and turned over to foothold thorns in my heel side,
Where stints in my arteries become a preventative measure against heart rate, heart-race homicide homework-memorized into lipid bi-layer membranes,
Where memories have been lost to the eye-on the clock time consuming,
Consumption of channels, limiting passage and potentiation of transmission realized,
A realization of an impracticality's impractical design,
Lacking the capacity to be practical or stable and limiting capacitance causes levels to fluctuate,
Fluctuation focusing from light to dark sides of sculptures mimicking different Dionysian mimes,
A compulsive creativity driven by Lamborghini horsepower dreams,
Compelling an inconsistent dramatization and creation,
Scattered prism waves of concentration and long overnight drives with impala impulses to leave dirty tracks behind,
Rubber residues on roads more or less traveled aside,
Blowing by the temporary tunnel vision winds whipping back the mustang's mane of the mind, that's always down for a reverberating ride,
Bearing too much pride to care for the hell-fire heat exhaled from the grim reaper's last cigarette in a dead world's death valley,
Full of fear's cremation of progression's ashes.

But a true progressive is not afraid to trod along and beat it,
Because they know even if you have to eat it, you can always brush your teeth.

Huh

I’ve been gone for a few days,

Or maybe the past nine years;

Maybe I’ve never been anything concrete at all.

How do we define ourselves?

By what we love?

By who we love?

By what we do?

What papers say about us?

Who we are and are not related to?

How do you define love?

I think love at its essence is a strong positive force that draws you towards continued interaction.

How do you define happiness?

I think I know what happiness is like…

When I think I’m making the right choices to further my goals,

Or when I feel like I’m exactly where I should be,

Or around people that I feel most or even more like myself with,

Or moments of pure ecstasy.

How do we become how we are?

I know it starts with a lot of outside influence as a kid, but at what point (if ever) does it become my responsibility at my own volition?

How would I know what changes to make for the better when I’m not sure what better would be?

Maybe the only thing that’s concrete is the abysmal cinder block of questions tied to my feet.

Interconnected

Interconnected like axon-on-dendrite,

Neural network webs interweaved,

With chemical messenger bees of the hive mind field of electrical impulses.

Interactions impermanent,

Permanently selective pre-programmed permeability,

Or,

Long or short-term plasticity,

Conditionally activated receiving can even repress other signals in entirety,

Entirely altering a sense’s sensibility.

Did you know that every receptor for smell is unique?

And that there’s also one for everyone you meet?

So everyone holds the potential to hijack that sensual plane of your existence hormonally

And hormones are actually the most powerful molecules, a physiological skeleton key,

Opening the floodgate doors to a Pandora’s Box,

Causing a largely unmediated emotional response.

We can hardly fathom the degree to which together we are ensconced.

Interconnected like axon-on-dendrite,

Each of us a thread in humanity’s cloth interwoven,

With no way of knowing how we are folded or when we will fray. 

3/12

Watching the sunset,

Reminds my heart that it’s real.

Every beat,

Is one less repeat,

That I’ll get to live.

Each point in time,

Is as here as here gets. 

Stop waiting to really exist;

Here is now and now is all that is left.

3/11:Edited an older one

You carved out a sphere of influence right at my central belief in nothing.

The visceral nervous nerve strings left behind are knotted rubber bands and thinking about you causes them to stretch and snap me back to a reality that you no longer inhabit, even peripherally.

I’ve never been so conflicted and confounded, so close to abandoning the lone lighthouse post I never thought I could yearn to leave;

You are the Hulk Hogan to a cotton veil of will power that I pretend hides my intentions.

I think that if I douse them in alcohol the smell might scathe the directing scent the hound of my intuition follows.

Though the rocking ship rum burns in my empty stomach, it can hardly overshadow the hunger pain with your name on it.

Withdrawal is worse than the bender and you are no exception.

3/9

1) I wrote my name at the top,                                    2) I wrote my name at the top,
    Left the rest blank,                                                       Bullshitted every question,
    Waited ninety minutes,                                                Unrelenting for ninety minutes,
    Handed it in.                                                                 Handed it in.
    I'll take the zero,                                                           I'll take what I can get, though,
    I deserve the zero,                                                        I deserve nothing,
    I am a zero.                                                                   I am nothing.

3/8

My guardian angel was eating a breakfast sandwich in the beach parking lot.
He wore dark sunglasses.
I sat on the hood of my car with my knees to my chest and stuck my tongue out at him.
After staring into the bright sunrise light for sometime, I pulled away and his red jeep only followed me to the next intersection.

I ended up home.
Shared a cold shower with a half-dead spider cricket that crawled out of the drain,
Listening to Radiohead,
Making audible gasps of shivering discomfort.
I had to use a flannel shirt as a towel because I forgot to reset the drier yesterday.

I was still tipsy, topsy, turvy.
Spread the flannel out on the floor and laid down, spread eagle,
Stared at the ceiling titty's unprecedented halo glow.
My naked ass was perturbed by the tile temperature so I jolted my knees to my chest and kicked my legs in the air to imitate the spider cricket.
More violently thrashed,
Got on my knees.
Shoved my face into my hands and dragged the skin down around my eyes, bugged out eyes,
Groan.
Lonely Boy upbeat dance party while I brushed my teeth and swayed.

Burping hurt,
I thought I gave myself an ulcer.
I ate twenty antacids and salted white rice out of cardboard and Polish black tea.
Told my boss I was coming in late,
I got there and he told me to go home.

Jameson

Reach for your cold beach glass green translucency,
To see through calmer eyes, ride smoother tides,
That don't bother waiting for moon landing lies...

Don't you know every hour can be a happy hour;
When your watch conveniently dies and you're always set at a quarter to five,
It's easy to turn that dour frown upside down,
To a cosine smile when you flip the sign around,
From anonymous to at least,
I'm honest-with-myself-autonomous,
On the contrary to your desert drought ideology,
My psychology has always led me to get more than my feet wet,
So go ahead and place that bet to set me up against your better judgement.
Coming from a house of worship built of cards and on coins,
Preaching your path is the only end of a lonely road,
But no road is one way at its essence.
And even though I look both ways before I take a swig,
I know it is I who judges myself primarily.

Weed it Out

The seeds of doubt were planted with fertilizer.

Little green yellow-bellied leaves sprout dendritic branches with connections overgrown,

Roots so deep concrete can’t  hold its own,

If only I could reject what is sown, reject what is sown.

Clasped hands over obsessive compulsive ritual lands,

Circle dance circuits wound up,

Like a perpetual motion music box only needs one trigger to go ballistic.

Pesticides can’t place this pestilence aside,

Resistance to sense and sensibility genetically modified,

Subsidized by past seasons gone awry,

Evolving to better withstand sanity’s drought.

Mother

I'm willing to hope for the best, but accept the worst,
Though I won't let you look in either direction.
I'll cook you dinner, make your bed, and offer any affection,
Just stay in the present.

I remember the kids in the halls being wary of where the tiles met;
If you stepped on a crack you'd break your mother's back they said,
But now, if filling all the cracks would put you back together,
I'd pave the roads day in and day out.

I know one day your time will come like any other.
You gave me life and for that I am forever grateful,
I only wish that I could return the favor.
May the light at the end of the tunnel,
Be the first light you see through new eyes.
I love you, my mother.

Insomnia

Tossing and turning,
The sandman lost my address,
Please use GPS,

One Man's Urinal is Another Man's Altar

FADE IN:

INT. BAR RESTROOM- 1 A.M.

Two men enter the unforgiving, harshly fluorescent lit restroom shortly after one another through chestnut-wood saloon-style doors. One of the bulbs is slightly flickering. The porcelain wall tiles are dingy white and those closer to the ground have gathered calcium sediment. There are only three urinals and the toilet is occupied. It is close quarters. 

NOT-SO-BRO, early-30s, clean-cut, short, slicked back, black hair, wearing black Docker's slacks and an almost-black-blue button up shirt. He has pale skin and a naturally lean build with a slowly growing paunch. Left the office late, lives nearby.

PREACHR-BRO, late-20s, donning a medium-brown man bun, a red tank top, and ripped jeans. He has a mandala tattoo on one shoulder and some tribal work from his back peeking out onto the other. His skin is lightly bronzed and his muscles are huge. Has been partying with a cluster of bros for a few hours.

NOT-SO-BRO'S POV

He hears the other man unzip next to him and is tensely trying to avoid eye contact.
Peripherally, he can see the man's unorthodox scanning:

                                                                PREACHR-BRO

                                                    Have you felt the Zen, bro?

                                                                NOT-SO-BRO

                                                                (clears throat) 
                                                     No...uh...I'm not really into that sort of thing.
                                                      

                                                              

                                                               PREACHR-BRO

                                                    No?
                                                    Lighten up and let the light in,
                                                    You're way too stiff, it's just not right, bro
                                                    I used to be troubled just like you bro; here's the secret:

                                                    Well ya gotta lift from like nine to ten, bro,

                                                    Drink lots of beer with lots of men, bro,

                                                    Lay the cock with many a hen, bro,

                                                    Yeah… uh… just repeat steps one through three forever 
                                                    and again, bro.

                                                               NOT-SO-BRO

                                                   

                                                            (His eyes shift awkward and confusedly)
                                                    Uh...okay...thanks... 

                                                    
PREACHR-BRO zips up and as he heads towards the doors he looks back at NOT-SO-BRO:

                                                               PREACHR-BRO
                                                     
                                                     Yo, have a beer on us and I'll show you the way,
                                                     Catch ya on the flip side bro!
                                                     (eyes wide, he playfully sticks his tongue out and quickly                                                                     flicks his hand in the "hang-loose"sign)

                                                               NOT-SO-BRO

                                                               (sheepishly off-put)
                                                      Aren’t you...uh...going to wash your hands, BRO?

                                                               PREACHR-BRO

                                                             (smiling nonchalantly)

                                                     Oh…yeah…amen to that bro! 

NOT-SO-BRO finishes as PREACHR-BRO washes his hands. He lingers, waiting for         PREACHR-BRO to leave:

PREACHR-BRO exits.

NOT-SO-BRO walks up to the sink, also white porcelain and stained with rust near the drain. He places both hands upon it and leans forward to the point at which there is only a few inches between his face and the mirror. He sees his green eyes, the same ones that his mother always said were his best feature, but now had rings left behind where the planet sized stressful days had continuously orbited. He sees that his bushy eye brows (once joked about being more of a forest than a bush given all of the stragglers) are becoming littered with silver, overgrown like the ones he remembered touching on his grandfather's face when he sat on his lap. He sees the light creases in his slightly rounder cheeks from times he used to smile more or maybe had more to smile about. Overcome by this sudden vulnerability, he blinks a few times and shakes his head to shake out the realization that maybe he could benefit from a few changes. But the feeling lingers. He washes his hands even more thoroughly than usual and splashes water on his face. For the brief moment he is drying off, he considers that maybe letting the light in lightens the load without lightening the load: maybe he could make more time for the gym and get some chicks and even maybe work less and live more.

NOT-SO-BRO exits.

FADE OUT.

FADE IN:

INT. BAR-MAIN ROOM- 1:10 A.M.


The bar is dim, but not dark; the old ceiling fixtures lend an orange haze to the intoxicated shifting shapes. It's comfortably populated, leaving enough space to get a drink at the bar without grazing a shoulder, but dense enough to fill the gaps between those experiencing a solitude that would otherwise be solitary.

PREACHR-BRO is having a vivacious conversation with the other bros at a table just off of the bar counter; his hands and half smile are gesturing something vaguely sexual and the companions are laughing along in affirmation.


NOT-SO-BRO enters.

NOT-SO-BRO leans on the wall adjacent to the restroom. It gives him a fair vantage point of the crowd. He scans the crowd for PREACHR-BRO and begins to approach the group. At the instance he hears the muffled amalgamation of their laughter, his eyes point down once again, making every effort to avoid eye contact. As he shuffles past their table, he shoves his hands in his pants pockets. His left hand searches for a five dollar bill while the right clasps all of the loose fabric it can gather. Head down, he leaves the five on the counter.

NOT-SO-BRO exits.

FADE OUT.

End scene.

2/29

I didn’t go off the deep end, I chose to dive.

My spirit animal is a dead dog trying to play alive,

Chasing the tail side of a trick coin with three heads,

A spinning cerebral Cerberus barking up the wrong tree,

With brittle branches thinning as it climbs out on a limb,

Splintering claws carving macabre tallies of no apple prize,

Warning leaves show contorted faces crying out,

 As wise winds vie to blow off a withering genealogy.

The good book has been glued shut with the sap of God’s miracle elixir imbibed.

Genesis generated power zapped, lapped up by snake-long tongues,

From a hole at the bottom of the cup that no longer runneth over-

Drawn blood bank drops below threshold under pressure-

Of arrow-sticks in the mud muck made by stem cells,

Apoptotically shed,

From Saint Sebastian’s ironically smiling head;

“Smite me O’Mighty Smiter!” he said,

Lamenting the souls lost in transition,

Those of us perpetually too far from the river bed.

But don’t cry for me;

 I didn’t go off the deep end, I chose to dive. 

Fuckboy, I Don't Blame You

Fuckboy, I don’t blame you;

Everywhere I click someone is calling you out,

naming, or shaming you,

Saying you want to claim them without letting them claim you,

And when you’re caught fucking around you say some bitch

trying to frame you instead of owning up to it,

But really it’s more subtle than that,

Symptoms of a social degenerative disease that feeds on hurting one and other.

The follicles of your stubbly approach are deeply rooted in fear,

Lightly abrasive as each hair trembles when you start to feel,

Reminding you to indulge in that itch to shave off, sabotage growth, save the only face you can’t really show off.

After a moment of truly being bare, you become barely there, unable to bear the weight of your own emotional strands,

You’re so scared!

Fuckboy, I don’t blame you,

But

Everyone you dick around isn’t trying to drain you, lease out your brain or train you,

To lead a blind eye to their leeching lies like the one that hurt you,

The one you couldn’t shake off, but had to burn off,

With a stick that you now carry as a torch of your own,

Ready to sear, steer away any pulse that threatens to sync with yours again,

But reckon not to use that light and look at your own reflection,

Fangs you’ve grown still crave love to feed a warped bloodlust for all that is

A fulfilled life we all deserve, but now you too are causing hurt,

Latching onto the epidermis, but whispering to the epicenter of my soul

And you know you’ve got me.

Though your inconsistencies shatter the image of a past self you mirror,

Revealing no more than a mirage in a dry spell,

Little white hourglass sand lies of omission that

Don’t uphold,

But all of the good times still make me feel otherwise.

And fuckboy, I still don’t blame you;

Every game you play I play just to entertain you,

I make the choice to refrain and sustain you,

The fly I place on the wall of our lives has too many eyes for you to possibly blind,

And smells that my blood is never enough for the blood money you bet on this blood sport mentality,

That you’ve got to play to keep your heart beating.

But I do not fear looking into my own mind’s eye;

I see my own insecurity uncharacteristically rooted in this present state of ambiguity,

And I try to accept you as you are,

Not as you were,

Not as I’d like you to be.

I Haven't Drawn in a While

If you were a caricature of you and I of mine,

Maybe it made sense that we found ourselves uncharacteristically drawn together.

And finally on the same page, fumbling articulation with some rough edged animation,

We became the stippled, unedited angles that I can’t erase.

Kiss the Cook?

If you stuck a toothpick into my intentions, it wouldn’t come out clean;

A half-baked mosaic layered cake of indecision with intersections of decadence is only fit for another hedonist with a strong stomach for uncertainty and debatable principles.

It’s not long until the treat would come out complete, but yet I don’t heed the warning on the box and lick the spoon anyway.

I guess I’ve been willing to accept the risk of sickness for the reward of batter raw.

2/25

They say to face your demons, but I am one.

Never been no godly son,

No path to light,

Only clouded paths to false enlightenment,

Over blackened seas of bad blood deep,

Bad blood transfusion seeps from fallen goddesses,

Into my mouth as my bad blood to keep.

Born evil,

Evil borne,

A stained glass mirror is no transition lens.

Iris red,

Pupils dilate,

A pupil to the anti-saint;

I’m offering to die sooner than late.

He lets me peer into hell’s oculus rift,

Sifting through the future’s past exploitation of inaction potential,

Electric misfiring bringing fires of chaos to my dispense.

My head is a sanctimonious sanctuary,

Ashes of cremated past selves,

I’s occupy a pedestal of death,

I sacrifice all that I have left.

The Tale of the Ship's Wheel

There once was a ship's wheel that grew legs and nonchalantly hopped overboard.

Question marks, exclamation points, and other punctuation appeared above the frantic, flabbergasted captain’s head.

His bloated aging-man belly undulated amidst the frenzy;

He almost loses his hat as he scurries to peer over the edge.

And then the ship's wheel grew arms, crossed them behind and mockingly reclined.

Now this almost sent Sir Cap-i-tan over the edge, literally,

But he remembers that he is a soggy rum sponge and that the sea might suck him up just the same.

The brown-nosed lap dog of a first mate made certain to validate his highness’ frustration as his wiry, underqualified body swayed with the sea.

Little-boy-dandy wasn’t entirely useless for he could swim, but never had he fathomed he’d be walking the plank (it’s hard to walk when you’re on your knees licking the bossman’s boots clean).

The rest of the crew sneers, leers, and cheers while they meticulously adjust the trembling sails,

Even as the wind picks up they swing and cling to the ropes like little circus monkeys, seemingly unaware that a storm is on the horizon.

These sailors-for-hire were well tempered for their kind; rarely rowdy or rabble rouse-y,

But Monsieur Captain had a penchant for disciplinary gestures to be carried out by his mood-swing muscle-man beef cake.

They were always keen to muster an excuse to lock someone up and take their already dinky dinner and  rum rations (I must admit they did run a tight ship as a result).

The wheel held no grudge for its handling and knew the crew would be more amused than troubled even with the tempest approaching.

Bulging-bicep Betty is commanded to motivate the transformation of whimpering willy; golden boy to golden retriever,

But this little doggie didn’t want to play fetch anymore, not when fetching isn’t a bone to pick with the others to bring to daddy.

Guilt washes over him as he watches the waves below and the winking good-bye waves of the men 

he had slandered.

The wheel continues to taunt; twirling, swirling, and whirling about!

As expletives are thrown, the jib sheet grows a face that can’t help laughing at the red tomato-headed tantrum-having Mister.

Our cannon-calved-crony shows his necessary scorn as he lifts that shameful shuddering-Sally to meet the depths of potential demise.

The wind whips warnings and rain drops drip in the place of absentee tears for fear of drowning, threatening a lesson in more than course divergence.

Captain courageous and his muscle suddenly realize they are running out of time and hastily give the first mate encouragement previously denied.

The main boom is wise and tired of everyone’s antics so it grows a hand that pushes all three over the side and scoops up the wheel, knowing they all need it to survive.

It high fives the crew, the wheel does a jig, and the jib exclaims, “Let’s get on with our lives!”

The end.

Pyromaniac

A hothead that refuses to spit fire chooses to burn from the inside out

Hiding devil’s hands in clenched idolatry

But all work and no play makes Jack a ticking time bomb

Flames will erupt from thick skin cracking, crackling

The whispering elemental reminding him of his nature

Each thermally abrasive lick tells a tale of pain that is pleasure

A cackling expression revealing that to succumb is self-actualization

The most intuitive and pure gratification removes his fear of destructive implications

Trading apprehension for a gas can and a smile

The truth is,

Some of us just want to watch the world burn for

Hell is a pyromaniac’s heaven. 

2/23

I'm a lot more functional as an alcoholic
Just like my fathers before me
Because everyone rather a stoic
Than someone that can't keep their shit together