It was more than a reminder, a reminder is still an acknowledgement of the present state, and comparing that to a previous condition. This was a dream, a living dream, where everything felt back to normal, as if nothing had changed. And now the distance is ripping me apart even more. Less than two hours away and it feels like planets, warp speeds, and black holes lie on front of us, why? I wonder seriously if it's my mind, did this five second removal come because my mind wasn't processing its normal defenses? I wish I knew, but all I know is that tomorrow will not come sooner, as hard as I try it is unchanged. I will still have to say goodnight over the phone, and wake for work, shaking out the dust from my eyes, alone.
Thoughts
A disorienting feeling came over me today at 5:51, I felt for a second as if someone was a lot closer than they are. It's a feeling that completely uproots you, and for a moment suspends you, just before placing you back on the shaky ground you've learned to sleep on. I was occupying myself with daily closing routines at work, after a long dreadfully boring day of sales, my mind was weaker than it probably normally is. A co-workers girlfriend pulled past the window, to wait outside for him, and they together would leave, and spend the rest of the day with each other. And as I looked out on the class that was running late, I could see a picture of myself and my girlfriend on the screen, no doubt demonstrating some technique. This is where I felt for a second that we were so close, a 5 minute drive home, facing fist clenching traffic, to walk through a door into her arms. The tight knot felt loose, I felt I could breathe, relax, forget about how hard it has been, because it hasn't even been happening.
Bands I've seen Live
A.C. Newman
Altspeak *
Animal Collective *
Angels and Airwaves
Arcade Fire (2) *
Band of Horses
Beirut *
Billy Corgan
Bjork *
Bloc Party
Boston
The Breakers *
The Breeders *
Built to Spill (2) *
The Caesars
Camper Van Beethoven *
Cave Singers
Coldplay
Cold War Kids *
The Crimea
The Cure *
David Bazan *
The Dead Science
The Dears
Dear John Letters
Destroyer *
Death Cab For Cutie *
The Decemberists
The Divorce *
Doris Henson
Down Pilot
Earlimart
Eric Copeland *
Evangelicals
Fleet Foxes *
Frank Black
Franz Ferdinand *
Foo Fighters
The Frames
Ghostland Observatory *
Gnarls Barkley
Grizzly Bear (2) *
Guster
Hail Social
Harvey Danger
Hot Hot heat
Interpol
Iggy Pop
Jason Lytle
Jet
Jon Auer *
Kaiser Chiefs
Kanye West
Keane *
The Killers *
Kinski
The Like
The Little Ones
Lonely Forrest
Loney Dear
Magnet
Manu Chao *
Mates of State
Model Photographer
Modest Mouse (3) *
Ms. Led
Mudhoney
Muse *
My Chemical Romance
Nada Surf (2) *
Natalie Portman's Shaved Head *
The National (2) *
Neko Case
The New Pornographers *
Ozomatli (2) *
Pedro the Lion (2)
Pete Yorn
Pixies (2)
The Posies (2) *
Presidents (4) *
Rob Dickinson
Rocky Votalato *
Rogue Wave *
Say Hi To Your Mom
The Secret Machines
Serah Cahoone
The Shaky Hands
The Shins (2)
Shotty (2)
Sisters of Mercy
The Slip *
Smashing Pumpkins *
Snow Patrol (2) *
St Vincent
Taking Back Sunday
The Turn-Ons (2) *
Throw Me The Statue *
The Walkmen
Weezer
Whalebones
Wilco (2)
Wizard Prison *
[* = with emma's company)
"I'll be right down"
I hate my mom, and I hate my father, and I'd probably hate God if he screamed my name whenever he wanted my attention, even though sometimes I find myself wishing he would.
They're done packing, done eating, done doing whatever you do before you leave your daughter home all alone for a week. I'm just happy that they won't be around to see the pouring, then the bitter gulp, the plea for acceptance of one hundred nowhere boys and girls. They will probably find out, and I will not have any shame when I point them to the scene, because it always begins where it ends when you trust. In a few moments, the parents will leave ignored, and I will let the memory of them dissolve like white sugar in a black heart.
It's always this empty, always this cold, always depleting life, a cyclone down into the open hole. But even now this coldness is bone reaching, its numbness presses tacks into the outer parts of the fingers. Perhaps some open window for the earlier, but now deserting sun. No, there's a sound now, very clear, very close, a man.
With an instinct I turn, and in an Instant I wish I hadn't, because he's right there. There is a field of blackness sprawling across his face, and mountains ascending into the cool dark clouds of his broken eyes. The wave grey shadows of the exposed dagger flow over the carpet in a deep waltz, twirling, rising, falling. A silenced step casts more new light into the dance, my metronome heart clicking faster on every sway. Arm no longer at his side it reaches out in a frantic burst, as it gains altitude the muscles tighten, closing firmly around a glistening handle. PUSH. A gasp, a tickle, and a trickle of youth escapes through the fresh crack in the facade, all attempts to hide the sweltering inside collapsing. The pendulum on its receding swing, another step is made forward. The tacks pressing further than fingers, and into every vein, and then the tacks become teeth, clasping, biting harder with every breath. PUSH. The pointed pendulum returns turning the teeth into claws, ripping through loosely sewn threads. First a fall onto my knees, then a crumpling dive to a youth stained sea of carpet. Left for dead.
I hate my mom, and I hate my father, and I'd probably hate God if he screamed my name whenever he wanted my attention, even though sometimes I find myself wishing he would.
They're done packing, done eating, done doing whatever you do before you leave your daughter home all alone for a week. I'm just happy that they won't be around to see the pouring, then the bitter gulp, the plea for acceptance of one hundred nowhere boys and girls. They will probably find out, and I will not have any shame when I point them to the scene, because it always begins where it ends when you trust. In a few moments, the parents will leave ignored, and I will let the memory of them dissolve like white sugar in a black heart.
It's always this empty, always this cold, always depleting life, a cyclone down into the open hole. But even now this coldness is bone reaching, its numbness presses tacks into the outer parts of the fingers. Perhaps some open window for the earlier, but now deserting sun. No, there's a sound now, very clear, very close, a man.
With an instinct I turn, and in an Instant I wish I hadn't, because he's right there. There is a field of blackness sprawling across his face, and mountains ascending into the cool dark clouds of his broken eyes. The wave grey shadows of the exposed dagger flow over the carpet in a deep waltz, twirling, rising, falling. A silenced step casts more new light into the dance, my metronome heart clicking faster on every sway. Arm no longer at his side it reaches out in a frantic burst, as it gains altitude the muscles tighten, closing firmly around a glistening handle. PUSH. A gasp, a tickle, and a trickle of youth escapes through the fresh crack in the facade, all attempts to hide the sweltering inside collapsing. The pendulum on its receding swing, another step is made forward. The tacks pressing further than fingers, and into every vein, and then the tacks become teeth, clasping, biting harder with every breath. PUSH. The pointed pendulum returns turning the teeth into claws, ripping through loosely sewn threads. First a fall onto my knees, then a crumpling dive to a youth stained sea of carpet. Left for dead.
The numbness has just begun to win its battle, and the man has left with an assortment of new toys, soon to question their worth. As for me, the questions have already begun, and regret is replacing the heavy pounding of my heart. A blur of life's greatest moments reeling its way across the wet film in front of my eyes. I was a child once, with cuts and scratches from playing too far from home, out of sight, a frenzied scramble to be free. And mother was always there, she had one band aid for each wound, and a kiss for each tear. And in time the knees would bare scabs, and they might stay on long enough to heal, but she was always offering care. Will I ever get to feel those sweet butterflies as the pain subsides, or the brush of her lashes to renew the skins power to heal. Will I die here on the carpet, broken, as empty of life as when they left? It's not the slipping temperature that drove me to the warmth of my bed, but it might be a nice ending. So both hands grip around a clump of threads, tighten and PULL. The dragging takes me only inches closer to the stairs, which lead eternally skyward, into a glaze of white clouds, and a warm embracing sun.
PULL. Trying to use my trembling knees required far too much energy, and so instead hand over hand, a slow march towards the mountainous steps continued. The hands begin to need more and more power to make them close, to hold on. And even though my memory has become faded, the body still remembers playing out this same scene seventeen years ago, dragging its brand new limbs from place to place. And I wish that like then, this time could be towards my mother, even my father, but now all I hear as I drag myself upwards, is God calling out my name.
Some Weak
You were defeated crossing names from some book
A simple task to perform but ill regret
You were beaten down by higher men and bigger hands
Those silky limbs with thorns stuck in
I'd carry cuts and scratches deep
If arms bore I not that shook so weak
If brows wore I not that sweat so oft
Hedges to trim from previous occupants child
Fences to paint white over stains living wild
I'd labor day night and eve for thee
If legs had I not that carry so slow
If hands owned I not that grip so loose
And let slip all away
To higher men and bigger hands
*original creation date: 9/12/2007
A simple task to perform but ill regret
You were beaten down by higher men and bigger hands
Those silky limbs with thorns stuck in
I'd carry cuts and scratches deep
If arms bore I not that shook so weak
If brows wore I not that sweat so oft
Hedges to trim from previous occupants child
Fences to paint white over stains living wild
I'd labor day night and eve for thee
If legs had I not that carry so slow
If hands owned I not that grip so loose
And let slip all away
To higher men and bigger hands
*original creation date: 9/12/2007
This Statement
This statement forged by hand,
writ in fear, paid with skin, spent in time,
will journey far, will battle hard, be tossed away,
spell danger to the boys and girls,
cause change across some untold realm,
survive the decades, sung by minstrels,
played by bands, performed by clowns,
be it quiet, be it shouted,
be it accompanied by harps,
may fester, may linger, may torture, may loose,
often misquoted, often rehearsed,
often said softly, or under mute breath,
dictated by angels, conversed among scholars,
complex be it sounding, it's a simple I love you,
and it's never been more true,
since it came from me to you.
*original creation date: 8/28/2007
writ in fear, paid with skin, spent in time,
will journey far, will battle hard, be tossed away,
spell danger to the boys and girls,
cause change across some untold realm,
survive the decades, sung by minstrels,
played by bands, performed by clowns,
be it quiet, be it shouted,
be it accompanied by harps,
may fester, may linger, may torture, may loose,
often misquoted, often rehearsed,
often said softly, or under mute breath,
dictated by angels, conversed among scholars,
complex be it sounding, it's a simple I love you,
and it's never been more true,
since it came from me to you.
*original creation date: 8/28/2007
Distant Future
A trumpet blares tonally inside my ear, if it's a reckoning I hear it seems I'm aware, I haven't found means yet to care.
But rather for speed on a wool carpet fly, to far distant shores devoid of long silky tides.
Along a plume of dream dark descent, it rips and tears, and finally it bares.
All regret here is fallen, it cannot stand up, its legs are bent over a patch of healed flesh.
This oven is heat, it cooks us whole wheat, when the lights are so dim to read some more time.
Time spent smothered in scent and in vines, from magical vineyards of this lady fair.
All wine to the mistress, all praise to the captain who steers lofty craft.
'Cross land and 'cross country formed brazen bold beauty, with guns at her anklets and knives at the crossing.
Spend lo your assertions be made on the laughing, so all happy times little rhymes be saved for the morning.
Where dawn is the demon deterring your smile.
Where daybreak defeats our red cheeks, our dark shelter.
Collapsing our clutches, deflating our dreams.
Till we smile again, on the coast of tomorrow.
*original creation date: 4/9/2007
But rather for speed on a wool carpet fly, to far distant shores devoid of long silky tides.
Along a plume of dream dark descent, it rips and tears, and finally it bares.
All regret here is fallen, it cannot stand up, its legs are bent over a patch of healed flesh.
This oven is heat, it cooks us whole wheat, when the lights are so dim to read some more time.
Time spent smothered in scent and in vines, from magical vineyards of this lady fair.
All wine to the mistress, all praise to the captain who steers lofty craft.
'Cross land and 'cross country formed brazen bold beauty, with guns at her anklets and knives at the crossing.
Spend lo your assertions be made on the laughing, so all happy times little rhymes be saved for the morning.
Where dawn is the demon deterring your smile.
Where daybreak defeats our red cheeks, our dark shelter.
Collapsing our clutches, deflating our dreams.
Till we smile again, on the coast of tomorrow.
*original creation date: 4/9/2007
Last Call
2:00am, there’s a warmth against my ear,
and the voice makes everything clear.
Hand loosing feeling but I’ll never let go,
a squeeze to bring close the joy I now know.
Time slows not its push to mornings new,
as the words ring out so soft and so true.
Last breaths leaking out on both sides,
an ache within as the light subsides.
2:00am, finger hovers over red glow,
bottled up to rest, now sleeps under the pillow.
*original creation date: 4/1/2007
and the voice makes everything clear.
Hand loosing feeling but I’ll never let go,
a squeeze to bring close the joy I now know.
Time slows not its push to mornings new,
as the words ring out so soft and so true.
Last breaths leaking out on both sides,
an ache within as the light subsides.
2:00am, finger hovers over red glow,
bottled up to rest, now sleeps under the pillow.
*original creation date: 4/1/2007
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