| Can't hardly wait |
[Nov. 1st, 2007|12:38 am] |
Gather round mason jar
mountain tales
My brother thats
not my brother sat on the deck
of a house that aint built
of ma baby that aint met
and we cut young ones hair
he sat on recycling bin, she swept upt
the 7 year hairs and smiled
brother and I drank where you can still
see the stars
through night sky thats pure
oh aint that irony
or something like that
no need for dem words where were going
Some things, you gotta ern
Some things, they aint gone come so easy
Brother and I tip mason jar and talk
mountains, times Mr. Ripp sank slippin teath
on our pale palms
Mason smiles, babe smiles
young ones got a new cut
school starts next wednesday
wind aint gone carry us there
brother bleeds while I yell
Hallelujah
shout
the weight |
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| Three clicks |
[Oct. 27th, 2007|02:09 am] |
Desperado never checked stains
for ketchup
squibs
corn syrup
Home I'll never be played
and we drank by the mental asylum
and it would be cliche baby
but it aint
and aint no one laughing
So goodbye, so long
got me an origamy airplane
a ticket I cant spell
on a bad check we dropped
on dreamweavers
skeletons danced on the patio
thats what hank said
Tom called up a drink
in a v shaped ceiling where beki stared down the jesus van
but I'm just dropping names that Im
to old for
Sometimes love just aint enough and
sometimes we can't stroll far enough
and sometimes
it just don't cut it
Hallelujah shout the weight
Got a job at the vaccum factory but they aint got no heat
and ma parents are saying come home
and the girls that black out the windows say
come home
home I'll never be
rattle snake sleepwalk
picket fence blackout
kiss whats left
catch you on the
way back |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 23rd, 2007|11:51 pm] |
Hank Said
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
never wrote a poem worth
sacrificing kindling for
merrit,pleasure
I'll leave that to Frank and John
So call this a maple napkin.
I read cowboys are dead
sailors drop anchor
Illusions are dying
and were all witty
And thats fine,
I'll leave it with John
let frank sift through the ghosts
Fate for the mystics and
fortune for the X
What Do I know?
I'll see a February with rain,
Downpours that change the same floresence
Before I see ol frank and John
I'll get that soaking
wet like birth |
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| "a shallow lake, with many waterbirds" |
[Jun. 19th, 2006|12:46 am] |
A dream of sorts
that caught,
marble toned fouls in descent as
the other half kissed a wayning intimation
of weeks past.
Mother would sweep up the prints
from the rivers bank,
where the whispers of heros and dreamers
escaped from our enkindled butts,
inhaled by that waxing mocker.
"This city, This cities killing us" played
on her radio,
she held her hand out the
window, mimicking a pale airplane overlooking
moonless ruins,
we laughed.
Took brother to the banks of erie last wednesday
to set a paper boat out
past the breakers.
Told him about the ones that made it out and
the ones left behind and how
no one ever escapes or wins
like its some god-damned game
but theres no fun in how they wither.
He watched the vessel break into current,
I just smoked on the broken concrete.
dragged my dirty feets to
the attic,
singing "vertigo....
Hello Buffalo. |
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| Trouble oh trouble set me free, fond of that way |
[Mar. 26th, 2006|03:29 am] |
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I'm in the most peculiar and wondefully odd state of my life in memory. Lifes good, very daunting and the nuances/small graces of occurances that seem terrifying are coming off as cute. The way a child can hit you in the face, flash a smile, and somehow its just charming and cyclonic. Who is this fresh faced young man I see every morning? Theres something brewing in those eyes that've been grey for so long. Enticed is an understatement. I think I'll call it charming. My old shirts fit again, take that any way you please but the literal only makes 1/4 of my smile. Interesting times. |
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| Theres no mercy in your eyes |
[Mar. 15th, 2006|02:54 am] |
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I'm heading to california to cut open my chest and stretch the vessels till I croon off my feet, swept up in a black cloud. I don't think I'm making it through this year, I'm hoping for a fire cracker finish line. The sun hangs longer, remebering cheap wine and the women who sees the future, shes going to show me the fireworks. Hanging in the sky, you never see the bursts when they're overhead. You'll see me in dreams holding a small rod, crying at the fish. I'm fond of that way, mouths wont need a stitch. We will meet in the reflection of passenger glass just when the sunset fucks the cold in the southern bleed. Call me dynamite, I'll throw roses on your grave. I'm fond of that way. |
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| I got a feelin in my boots |
[Feb. 13th, 2006|02:20 am] |
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Sitting in a lonely bar in manhatten, the 40 yr. old woman is shooting you looks while the irish band matches songs with drinks. You start to wonder, must we all be so lonely. Marching towards some abyss of unhappiness and temporal pleasure, children at a carnival and were old enough to understand what happens when it ends. Full moons light secret trails towards indecission and sorrow, maybe happiness in the dawns light through venear blinds. Men have said we search for a love we cannot possibly attain, much less hold in our tangible hands. Yet we duck in and out of shadows cast by our insecurity and desire, trying to fit an architects mold, a missing piece. The ones alone at the end of mahogony slaughter lines will tell you it was gone before you ever saw it, a phantom rolling off the dew at dusk. Meant to brush your lips in a moment before they crack and harden red. They will say many things, they will catch the eyes of woman shooting looks with accuracy sharpened through years of a dull blade wet on false hope, hardened. Best we nod, a smile might only mock the plight their deformed noses display. The snow falls in February, slipping on the sidewalks as we try and reach safety and maybe it never was. Tommorow you will phone your father and ask if it was always this hard, he will smile in a town you couldn't begin to grasp. Some ghosts are born for late night calls and pleads towards affirmation, some chill us to a terror unknown to white banks we collapse in at midnight hours. We keep moving, some of us in a cyclone, dancing upon the neon lit hollow horse, and some slip by. Years from now we will sit and drink, talk of those that never made it and those that never will. The terror will brush our lips on the rims of another empty glass as the lights become more delicate and ambitious. I'v heard young men speak of an impending sense of doom, a daunting realization of ones own mortallity in a dirty rest room mirror. We laugh, we kiss a rim and catch the next flight towards babylon. No baggage wider than 3 feet, in flight movie at dawn. 21. |
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| Fuck You Chuck |
[Feb. 1st, 2006|10:31 pm] |
Saw you Wednesday afternoon
skipping on the storage panels
Old men in bowler caps trudging
through charcoal snow
of my long months
Holding your mothers hand
quick smile at a dress
in shop window
I caught it in her eye
shuffled, past
She skipped side mama while u lay
nestled in new eyes
Waved goodbye with spent cigarrette
tossed up like a flare
the bowler caps tilted up
as a tear hit the panel.
The white coats said
"kid it don't look good"
What kid
I'm leaving broken
some sort of man-
I strolled down the boulevard,
found a warm place to bleed black,
ink a scar to match my casted bruise
Fortune cookie never said it would
hurt this hard
shoulda left the other half
for thursday
I am gonna make it through this year, if it kills me. play on repeat, I go to the gym to run away while staying stationary. |
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| Hooray! |
[Jan. 27th, 2006|11:15 pm] |
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hush |
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| That aint the hardest part |
[Jan. 19th, 2006|10:04 pm] |
Globe magazine just informed me that Katie and Tom are splitting up and my horoscope is bleek at best. Sounds like I'm straight fucked.
I'm not sure what to do with my life, all I know is it feels like I'm in for a brutal year. fuck it, that much further west |
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| keep on keepin on fucker |
[Jan. 9th, 2006|04:37 pm] |
Travel travel travel,
Buffalo long gone, adventures a plenty.
Life is good, sleepin on couches is even better.
Stumbling through unfamiliar streets is refreshing. |
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| time wont save our souls |
[Dec. 21st, 2005|03:48 am] |
So I showed her my photographs yesterday and I watched her holding back tears
then pops and I sat together drinking talking about how we both always drank alone
and fuck anyone who sais otherwise
and shitkickers
and women
and we smiled at our reflection
I wish it was seemless, |
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| Ghosts of cars |
[Dec. 19th, 2005|01:55 am] |
strange times,
this town has such a weight to it
almost smothering.
we crowd magenta lit bars
smoke cigarettes in the kitchen
whos keeping you warm this winter
which job funding that tab.
on the ice outside
slip, shuffle your boots
somewhere between a gasp and
raspy exhale
studying landscapes
In time, the words will come, they say, with faith,
But everything you see just turns you grey. |
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| sweet illusion |
[Dec. 1st, 2005|02:33 pm] |
Last night at 12 I decided it has been far too long since I saw the atlantic up close and hopped in the car with Jose. 4 hours, an indian casino and lots of beef jerky later we found rhode island and this deserted little beach. December, no snow, I can't remember the last time I fealt so content as when I dipped my hand in that water.
Buffalo was par for the course, school is it's usual strange self. I just do alot of work, sleep less, workout and mostly keep to myself. I feel like I'm getting back to my comfortable self, |
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| Good Things and D Minors |
[Nov. 17th, 2005|12:17 am] |
One summer I met an alaskan fisherman. Not shocked by such a character, I had become used to such fortuities and chance meetings on my treks across the land. He told me he'd rather get drunk than fuck, listen to mariah instead of metal and most shockingly displayed an unconditional commitment and caring for all in his life. For the first time in my life I had met someone so extreme, so beyond all logic and reason that it challenged the notions of my own eccentricities. Theres a comfort in a man like him, an inexplicable sense of relaxation from the fact that this person does exist and in the strange times in our lives we have our memories of them and the advice they gave. I wouldn't expect anyone to really understand what it means to have spent a year of your life traveling, the pain and confusion when someone who runs so well has nowhere new to go. Not one major city or bumfuck town I havn't passed by or stayed days in. It's a scary realization to wake up and look out your window and say, well this is it, I'd still be upset on rodeo drive.
I'm at a strange fork in my life, I'm not sure where it's going to take me. I know theres something important looming, not sure what. According to the dead I'v got a few more years of solitude and searching before fame and life in Paris. Haha, god I wish that sounded crazy to me. I'm yearning for winter, my time away from Purchase, I'v had about all I can take of the hoops the system here puts you through. I'm regaining a little bit more of my voice each day, I'm still bewildered at where I'm at and how I'm 21, it's a strange thing. But after all this time I'm finally writing it, I'm pushing through these blank days towards something looming. I'm looking forward to being happy, to being content. I don't know when, kindof in my nature to constantly be restless and searching. I don't know, some things you lose, some things you give away, |
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| Fresh Leather |
[Nov. 9th, 2005|08:20 pm] |
Fortuities of the cog
smother our ears
stripping the taste
from freshly licked lips.
Dusk quickens its pace
vision begins to fade
to grasp sheets
and hold on to nothing more
so close to fading
into black,white
The gears will move with the leaves
until I catch fire
to burn, to bloom
technicolor |
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| Baby Bitch |
[Nov. 1st, 2005|11:52 am] |
"youth is not a Brett easton ellis novel and there are reprocussions for the damaging actions taken in the interest of achieving a selfish anti kitch."
For someone, who throughout his past has on many seperate incidences, declared a newfound perspective and fresh start
I have
decided
if you can call it that.
Talk is cheaper than the bodys we throw around
My mother looked at me this weekend and despite much sorrow on her sons face declared "I love you, you are a good man."
I will not waste time with someone so loving and dear showing nothing but my sadness and strife
"you are a good man"
Just words,
just words.
so why do I wake up early, eat right, watch the sun set.
Just words huh
The one person whos heard all my silly problems, once again giving me the only thing I need.
Long talks
self analysis
and her only words, "I love you, you are a good man"
and like some sort of grinch a shriveled boy grew five times taller
The idea of dependance and pain,
what do we strive to put in our lives, what do we sacrifice for
At 21 years, 21 is just a number, trite like so many words I'v slang in this equation of 3
I still spell bad, I still find myself in bad habbitts
But I am here, for once in my life I'm in a place where I don't know where I'm going
theres no escape plan I will humour
frightening indeed
I'v come home, and yes this is home
this is where I sleep, where I cause pain where I experience joy
where I must wake everyday and learn how to embrace it as a new experience in that same
comfortable
bed
I'v realized how much I let myself change on tour, for all intensive purposes the different person I sunk into
based so much on immediacy and anger and pain, so much pain.
As if the nature of the lifestyle I lived in was not enough I had to create a nomadic personallity to compliment the cavier with cracker.
fell apart, only a matter of time
Left a wake of discomfort and damage
And now I'm back, in many ways
the notion of no eternal return
the boys we once were
the people we will be
The things we lose
the things we give away
And here, a man of sorts, a boy of sorts
but just here, running and watching the sun set, calming the storm he left
constructing that man his mother loves
some things are so blinding but so simple
No eternal return
no cyclonic conscience
Just simple words
"Turn it around"
just words,
dead leaves
drowning suns
broken cups
I became a person I hated so much that I could not stand the thought of bearing such a weight for another day. An embodiement of eveything I worked so hard for broken. Amidst the "wake" of hurt caused I wish I could express how it fealt to collapse in the old house, to tell his mother her son had become a failure, drive through his old streets paved with the sweat and aspirations of his youth. And to look into the mirror, really look, and see the sadness of a broken resolve staring back. It hurt so damn much. I had to let it go, let myself start to heal. It still hurts, I still see the effects, I still look in the mirror and see someone not yet the person desired. But I looked in that same mirror the other day and, for the first time in so long, saw someone familiar childishly smiling back. Just to be amaized at really seing his own reflection, not just the write off of an undesired shell. I smiled very wide, I walked so smug.
And so here I am, just watching the sun set in late fall
Amidst so much comes the theme of dependance
And finally I am dependant on the leaves that fall
in all their smiling mirror joy
and One lined justifications of existance
that they will change color
they will fall
Our legs not dragging but breazing through
their piles
The futility of all it's unstopable nature
Our colors change, some years we drag
To embrace the beauty in the nature of change
Man inherently experiences the nature of vertigo when he is confronted with the spacial asthetic of height and lowered distance. To experience vertigo on a level of psyche and emmotion can only be more terrifyng than staring down the greatest falls of the amazon, the highest buildings in metropolis. Our desire to kiss the ground and the fear and pain it may cause, the ways in which we fall to this point. Whether we crumble under this umbearable weight of falling, the strife of watching oneself slip. What makes a man we might ask; in the face of vertigo that is. Perhaps the ability to remove the temptress of distance, the ideal of steady footing. Furthermore our ability to pick up, and carry on. maybe.
Do the leaves feal vertigo
do they scream as they fall from branch
Is concrete a color of fall we are so blind to
Do they rejoice in the flight,
"what fools they yell"
we do not fall,
run to grass, to winter
to spring and stretch
out our arms like the greatest oak
we will
The leaves feel no Vertigo
I'm drunk, this is all most likely worth ignoring, of course thats probably me being overly self conscience. Cheers the sunset for me and skip with the leaves, not over with weight. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 23rd, 2005|08:06 pm] |
Some times you find something so wondefully funny you feel the need to share it. This is one of those times. This made me realize I need to stop taking some things about school for granted
The Psycho Mafia: where were you yesterday
The Psycho Mafia: me josh and a group of people went to your apartment and watched robocop
The Psycho Mafia: and you weren't there
agoldenexitxoxo: I'm in buffalo till tommorow
agoldenexitxoxo: hahahaha
The Psycho Mafia: what the hell
The Psycho Mafia: buffalo
The Psycho Mafia: that's not how you spell purchase
agoldenexitxoxo: hahahaha
The Psycho Mafia: what possessed you to go there
The Psycho Mafia: the money
The Psycho Mafia: the drugs
The Psycho Mafia: dancing
The Psycho Mafia: i could give you all that shit
The Psycho Mafia: yesterday i was kissing dudes
The Psycho Mafia: i was kickin mad game to my friend laura
The Psycho Mafia: i saw a girl climb up a tree
agoldenexitxoxo: haahahahahaha
agoldenexitxoxo: your narrative is incredible
The Psycho Mafia: i think it might be the xanax
The Psycho Mafia: i've been in high spirits all day
agoldenexitxoxo: jose I love you
The Psycho Mafia: thanks i love you too
and finally words of wisdom on an ex girlfriend
The Psycho Mafia: one day she made a passing statement about it after she realized that her plans to run off to new orleans with some random guy was, while not conducive to her writing, also bad for her whole "dating" thing she had with me
The Psycho Mafia: i felt bad for about a week
The Psycho Mafia: and then remembered i shouldn't be an idiot |
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| why do go things never want to stay |
[Aug. 27th, 2005|01:32 pm] |
"On the pirate ride when there is one pirate all drunk and alone and then John says "hey Chowdah there is the future you". This is stupid because during the entire ride there are like pirates wasted and chasing chicks and bro-ing down but I'm the fucking pirate who is all alone drinking because he is old and ugly or something. There was even like a pirate with a dog and I didn't even get to be that guy I had to be the guy who is 100%alone. Fuck you BDM" -Chowdah
goddamn I miss my friends |
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| Some Things you lose, some things you give away |
[Aug. 25th, 2005|04:58 pm] |
So I'm at my parents
In Buffalo for a fortnight.
The most grueling trip back, sitting in airports being harrassed by southern security guards, I came real close to spitting on one.
But none the less, home, alive and accordingly no reason to complain
I didn't necessarilly want to leave,
It's hard to look a grown man in the eye, who didn't know you till you both got on a bus and watch him ask you to stay. Repeat, repeat. Of course my idt boys are like brothers, but I became much closer with the black dahlia breathren than I ever thought.
This is me being long winded for saying I'm gonna miss the shit out of those boys,
I'm truly sad to have left them
yet happy to be going to school
What a fucking summer, I don't even know where to start
I'm taking off 1 week from feeling emmotions and thinking about anything but school
kthnxbye |
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