lullaby
i've got my blacktop feet
and my long fingernails
my american gut
and an imaginary tail.
you've got your waverly bridge
and your kings cross
and your London eye
and an answer lost
a british song with an american beat
a vinegar sauce with an apple pie sweet
sing it loud, and don't mind the sheet
music's sound to tap your feet
the cheese sauce
the cheese sauce oozing
the cheeeese saaaauuuccee oooozing
on
my
toes
will drip and trip out freeeeesh
from
your
nose.
skip ship stip the flip about the rose
the metric hectic gamma rays ebbs and fucking flows
style like this is like Pinocchio's nose
my thought and fear rise and make it grows
verse and meter are peter piper's prose
put them down and bury them in rows
wait death what death... bring ravens and crows
raining and wailing a ship with woes
rows to a Quick-stop hip hop drop
like a pig I clean up the slop
but wait isn't a pig a cop?
when or where will this motherfucker stop?
he slips back into rhyme and climbs to the top
wait I might spit some more, you better get a mop
like a jockey on a horse with his riding crop
he beat and races
beats and races
beats and
races
races
Monday, April 30, 2007
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Wings and Mountains
I wrote this on September 23rd 2005. I was really excited about it then.... this is all I got.
In a little village, on the edge of the Andes, where the mountains met the sea, lived a young Shepard named Vessan, who tended to his flock on every new day. Vessan lived alone, but was never lonely, for he always called to his flock; and at night he had his friends in the heavens. When night would fall, Vessan would lay with his mountain sheep out on the grass hills close to the sea, where he could still breath in the water, and had a clear view of the stars.
“When you look up at the stars, know that we are connected to every person who has lived and those while will live forever. All the answers you will ever need are in the heavens at night. My father told me this, and his father told him and, when you are a father, you will tell your son. Know that all your problems can be solved with the tales of the sky.”
Vessan’s father would sit awake with him for most of the night narrating stories of battles and tragedy; of love and friendship. As a child, Vessan would beg him to tell them over and over, and show him how the stars told the story, so that he could always see them. After time, Vessan knew all the tales better than his father and he would speak them to himself while his father would say them, with the same voice in his head and the same jokes, even the same endings. Now that he’d grown up and started a flock of his own, he could look at the stars after the sunset and hear his fathers voice and see his tales of victory and misfortune.
The tale that he loved the most, and would beg his father to tell was of the four stars in the south, the tale of the “Wings and Mountains.” Vessan loved this tale because it gave him a feeling of goodness about how everything worked the way it did, why dreams seem so much like life and why life seems so much like a dream. When he closed his eyes and saw the four stars in the sky, it gave him comfort. He knew that one day, the four points would come back down to us, just like the end of a dream, where life begins and imagination ends.
One morning, Vessan took his flock of mountain sheep up into the higher hills to find fresh water. He loved to walk with his sheep, as a leader and guide. As the morning turned to strong sun, Vessan remembered they would near, but today, no sun was in the sky, and the clouds were turning blacker with every step. Without the sun, Vessan knew no reference for the distance he had walked, but he could fell that he had walked much too long. With a crack came rain, and with this loud sound, all his sheep dispersed; for they too could sense the fear in the air. Looking around, he watched his livelihood run away, running for their lives. Frantically, he leapt after one of his flock, but their white coat became slick with the rain, giving Vessan nothing to hang onto. Sitting on a rock, trying to understand, Vessan began to cry, rain covering his back, and tears on his face.
Lighting and thunder met in front of his eyes in one motion, striking a tree and igniting it. Instantly, a figure flew from the tree onto the ground, toppling end over end and thumping severely against the ground. Vessan had no idea that anyone was watching, or had been in the tree. No matter, curiosity over took his sadness as to how a man could be struck by lightning. Ask Vessan examined, the unconscious creature, he noticed that he wasn’t a man at all, but the body of a man with limbs extending from back that were scorched black and smelt of burning. The creature was unconscious; it was easy for Vessan to see that the he was badly injured for the fall, and from the burns of the lightning. Vessan slung the creature over his shoulder and took the first step on the half-day journey home.
Just before nightfall, he could see the hills that sweep to the edge of the sea, and he knew that he was almost home. Around this time, the creature began to babble unconsciously; in tongues that Vessan had never heard. He kept repeating “Adcerveho Ehgoh Seedis Kwartis.” By the time they arrived at Vessan’s home, the stars had been up for some time. Vessan lay the creature down in the fenced in area of the hut, where he kept ill sheep from escaping. Sleep swept over them quickly.
In a little village, on the edge of the Andes, where the mountains met the sea, lived a young Shepard named Vessan, who tended to his flock on every new day. Vessan lived alone, but was never lonely, for he always called to his flock; and at night he had his friends in the heavens. When night would fall, Vessan would lay with his mountain sheep out on the grass hills close to the sea, where he could still breath in the water, and had a clear view of the stars.
“When you look up at the stars, know that we are connected to every person who has lived and those while will live forever. All the answers you will ever need are in the heavens at night. My father told me this, and his father told him and, when you are a father, you will tell your son. Know that all your problems can be solved with the tales of the sky.”
Vessan’s father would sit awake with him for most of the night narrating stories of battles and tragedy; of love and friendship. As a child, Vessan would beg him to tell them over and over, and show him how the stars told the story, so that he could always see them. After time, Vessan knew all the tales better than his father and he would speak them to himself while his father would say them, with the same voice in his head and the same jokes, even the same endings. Now that he’d grown up and started a flock of his own, he could look at the stars after the sunset and hear his fathers voice and see his tales of victory and misfortune.
The tale that he loved the most, and would beg his father to tell was of the four stars in the south, the tale of the “Wings and Mountains.” Vessan loved this tale because it gave him a feeling of goodness about how everything worked the way it did, why dreams seem so much like life and why life seems so much like a dream. When he closed his eyes and saw the four stars in the sky, it gave him comfort. He knew that one day, the four points would come back down to us, just like the end of a dream, where life begins and imagination ends.
One morning, Vessan took his flock of mountain sheep up into the higher hills to find fresh water. He loved to walk with his sheep, as a leader and guide. As the morning turned to strong sun, Vessan remembered they would near, but today, no sun was in the sky, and the clouds were turning blacker with every step. Without the sun, Vessan knew no reference for the distance he had walked, but he could fell that he had walked much too long. With a crack came rain, and with this loud sound, all his sheep dispersed; for they too could sense the fear in the air. Looking around, he watched his livelihood run away, running for their lives. Frantically, he leapt after one of his flock, but their white coat became slick with the rain, giving Vessan nothing to hang onto. Sitting on a rock, trying to understand, Vessan began to cry, rain covering his back, and tears on his face.
Lighting and thunder met in front of his eyes in one motion, striking a tree and igniting it. Instantly, a figure flew from the tree onto the ground, toppling end over end and thumping severely against the ground. Vessan had no idea that anyone was watching, or had been in the tree. No matter, curiosity over took his sadness as to how a man could be struck by lightning. Ask Vessan examined, the unconscious creature, he noticed that he wasn’t a man at all, but the body of a man with limbs extending from back that were scorched black and smelt of burning. The creature was unconscious; it was easy for Vessan to see that the he was badly injured for the fall, and from the burns of the lightning. Vessan slung the creature over his shoulder and took the first step on the half-day journey home.
Just before nightfall, he could see the hills that sweep to the edge of the sea, and he knew that he was almost home. Around this time, the creature began to babble unconsciously; in tongues that Vessan had never heard. He kept repeating “Adcerveho Ehgoh Seedis Kwartis.” By the time they arrived at Vessan’s home, the stars had been up for some time. Vessan lay the creature down in the fenced in area of the hut, where he kept ill sheep from escaping. Sleep swept over them quickly.
Baby-Steps will find the floor
Volcano and the Oak
faced with what consumes
leaves caught carefully on magma
destroyed and rebuilt
Fingernails and Neurosis
humans can't fling shit
(winds of time will not permit)
toward clocks hands and feet
Black Ash and Pearl Dust
Honey and Milk suckle
fondling tit with big teeth
rubber banjo plays
faced with what consumes
leaves caught carefully on magma
destroyed and rebuilt
Fingernails and Neurosis
humans can't fling shit
(winds of time will not permit)
toward clocks hands and feet
Black Ash and Pearl Dust
Honey and Milk suckle
fondling tit with big teeth
rubber banjo plays
Friday, April 27, 2007
Sleepathon
Jason: Dude, what are you doing online?
Jason in ten years: Why aren't you sleeping?
Jason: Why aren't you?
Jason in ten years: Isn't it too early in this conversation for a pause with question?
Jason: What?
Jason in ten years: Don't you think you are writing this poorly, adding questions so early?
Jason: What the hell are you talking about?
Jason in ten years: I mean, you are asking too many questions up front. You need to start by showing how excited you are to actually get to talk to me, because you want to know what you will be like in ten years.
Jason: Why should I write it that way?
Jason in ten years: Because that is what the readers are expecting.
Jason: Dude, you have no fucking clue what you are talking about.
Jason in ten years: Yes, I do. I write, man. I'm a writer. You are just a snot-nosed college kid, who can't fall asleep at 5 am.
Jason: What? Fuck you, at least I'm young. I mean younger than you at least.
Jason in ten years: God, you are so typical. Just grow up. Who do you think you are writing this shit anyway?
Jason: What kind of question is that? You aren't supposed to ask me that. You are supposed to tell me about the future and give me insights or something. Isn't how this goes?
Jason in ten years: No way. I wrote this crap so long ago.... what did I say.... mmmm. If I remember correctly, I got really sick of talking to me now and getting told how to write by my current self, that I got bored and went to sleep. God, my A.D.D. was so fucken bad back then. How did I ever sleep?
Jason: I don't even know why we are talking. I'm pretty over this. I mean. you haven't told me shit about anything.
Jason in ten years: Well what do you want to know about the future?
Jason: How to end this crappy thing.
Jason in ten years: Just end it. say bye. I mean you don't even have to.
Jason: I don't even have to.
Jason in ten years: Why aren't you sleeping?
Jason: Why aren't you?
Jason in ten years: Isn't it too early in this conversation for a pause with question?
Jason: What?
Jason in ten years: Don't you think you are writing this poorly, adding questions so early?
Jason: What the hell are you talking about?
Jason in ten years: I mean, you are asking too many questions up front. You need to start by showing how excited you are to actually get to talk to me, because you want to know what you will be like in ten years.
Jason: Why should I write it that way?
Jason in ten years: Because that is what the readers are expecting.
Jason: Dude, you have no fucking clue what you are talking about.
Jason in ten years: Yes, I do. I write, man. I'm a writer. You are just a snot-nosed college kid, who can't fall asleep at 5 am.
Jason: What? Fuck you, at least I'm young. I mean younger than you at least.
Jason in ten years: God, you are so typical. Just grow up. Who do you think you are writing this shit anyway?
Jason: What kind of question is that? You aren't supposed to ask me that. You are supposed to tell me about the future and give me insights or something. Isn't how this goes?
Jason in ten years: No way. I wrote this crap so long ago.... what did I say.... mmmm. If I remember correctly, I got really sick of talking to me now and getting told how to write by my current self, that I got bored and went to sleep. God, my A.D.D. was so fucken bad back then. How did I ever sleep?
Jason: I don't even know why we are talking. I'm pretty over this. I mean. you haven't told me shit about anything.
Jason in ten years: Well what do you want to know about the future?
Jason: How to end this crappy thing.
Jason in ten years: Just end it. say bye. I mean you don't even have to.
Jason: I don't even have to.
Departure into the Sea of the Present
Diabetes
The corridor of conscience
crumbles in platelets
and pallets the needle
with thread.
The fickle findings
of frigid fingers
fuck the fat cells
dead
and I will eat
my donut, glazed
ripping and shredding
the head
of disease and self-
loathing, too tight in my
clothing, sweating out
sheets in bed.
The corridor of conscience
crumbles in platelets
and pallets the needle
with thread.
The fickle findings
of frigid fingers
fuck the fat cells
dead
and I will eat
my donut, glazed
ripping and shredding
the head
of disease and self-
loathing, too tight in my
clothing, sweating out
sheets in bed.
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