National Ave - A Start

When I began what would become the opening of a thousand eyes I was already on the run. I was running from my parents mostly as they had seen fit to put me to the stone. I was running from my brothers in arms but they wanted me to be safe. Most of all I was running from the crazy danger disease I had contracted from the man in the moon. He would call out to me in a fury of controlled substances and mind bending animal dances. And yet I could say that as long as I can be sure of my memory all I wanted was the purity of chaos and numbed sleep. So why would I run from my demon that would seem to be my familiar? Well sometimes when you run from the sun you are falling right into a star. I fell into a pattern of running while under a red
dextromethorphan
hydro
bromide
planet
no, an orbit
pulled with
The Gravity is what Dr. Light would refer to it as. He would say we were all pulled by the great magnet into our little waltzes. So as I was crashing into my future not expecting to survive the fury I came upon Super D. It was he who came to me, to be more accurate, if one dares care for that sort of thing. My start can be traced farther back into infamy, but for the purpose of nothing I will start at the area of greatest possibility and most fantastic confusion. Super D showed up at my house without knowing full well who I was and how we had previously met. I had sold him LSD that he had said was the clowns make up even as I was flying my spaceship with this very fuel. In fact many had ridden that roller coaster but Super was always riding at least six to ten dragons so how he could tell there was no proof in the punch was beyond me. I will return to this later, as the most important, or should I say damning, thing to point out is that Super D came bearing gifts
                                                                                                                                 of syrup and
                                                                                                                    chaser, you see the
                                                                                                      tuss tastes like anger
                                                                                          and reason has a cost
                                                                           you slam then you chase
                                                                  with chocolate milk, and wait
                                                    hoping you avoid
                                       the violent vomit, which
would often improve the overall experience of mental cliff diving. Super D said he had never seen anyone chug a whole 8 oz of max strength without stopping. I ended up with a nice pink stain on the collar of the tuxedo shirt I loved to wear minus the tux. It was just my style to be right out there in the open sun for observation. Would it be wrong to say I felt pride? I have often said that Super D was one of several fathers I have known. He was my addiction professor. So he stood in awe of my need for the adventure and chugged his disease just like his son. we had done this right in the kitchen of the home of my parents. In a ceremony of goodbye I knew time would have it's way with me, and I would lose more than hours and days. We thus began
       our desert tusscapade
             the city, no the mind is
                   filled with strange creatures
                           when you get crooked, the eyes
                                    give you away, but not
                           as much as the slurred
                   pretentiousness dream
             sequences, one would
        foolishly believe
Bring one closer to the magnet. Super D offered me a place to not work and eat his food while he worked. This would never last more that 87 days. I had become a fly in everyone's ointment right around this clock. Mr S Bean was also living, well making a mess of things as it were anyway, in the same group of college party domes. Mr S Bean was providing many of the recreational journeys. He was a supply master who had been schooled by Super D, of course he would never concede that, but we all knew he was number two in the cut. Well I had been spending my hours skulking around his dungeon, but was fake home at the time, when Super D fathered me. He too had a father who was not
                                           made for the game of emotion lending
                                           you have got to be the best at
                                           every thing or you will die
                                           to me, words are bells ringing
in the rain. My skulking was becoming unwelcome. You see I had been banned from Turned Stone's house by his aging father master. I had been the source of Turned Stone's emanate downfall into corruption. Being outcast, exiled into the far away. Super D was always the man for sensing those cast aside like he. I was very near the the brink when he found me home alone. He ensured that I had found this cliff and set myself upon the wind. What I did not comprehend until now, is that I was ready for a fall
                                                                                          ready for my base
                                                                                     to be cut down, you
                                                                              see it must wreck itself
                                                                       to make it new
                                                               here in the quagmire
                                                        I found you, found
                                               you singing, no, writing
                                     painting too, and
                          as young as the milky
                way, born of star dust
           always turning
 Back to the 8 oz victory. From then on, for an entire sun season we found out about time. It was not long until Super D came to resent me with my procrastinators creed. After I moved into his home with Evil J, I was meant to Cinderella it up, or so I claimed. Super D and Evil J would supply the living space, and I would supply the stolen Tuss and the absolute need for substance. They would work and wake me in the middle of darkness to find some kind of danger. They would teach and I would leech. I did do some of the most interesting brush strokes I will never again see. That is something. I even found a new kind of mind for writing. One time while deep within the fields of a maddening bender shift I found out that I was in love with a word. Could I just let my hand loose? I
                                                     began with random
                                                              reason building lead-
                                                                        -ing to more than I
                                                                              could have ever known
                                                                                      how deep this would bore
                                                                                             into my skin, my eyes, my all
                                                                                                   encompassing rage, my sun, my
                                                                                                                       search found me forward along a path to now. There were those who came into Super D's room and they would ask. What is he doing? They would speak words at me, which are lost to one who rides the red sea snake anyway, but this time I was a sheet of paper. I swear to you I was a pen and a dagger. This was so different to me as I was so very involved with the Trifecta of collaboration in acrylic. But they knew then that I was not to be trusted, I was ready to slip. I passed out for several hours, or days. When I woke or was woken up there was such sadness and fear of the possibility that none of this happened. The pages were gone for nearly 5 years. You                      
                                                                                                                                        stole more than my words                                                                                                                         you made me
your own you
                     for this I can only love
                                           you as a son hates his father

Descendant

Here I come to sleep

This stone, this elegy of the son

And weeping, did sleep as the mountain

Can a page have dreams?

This stone of son and man, weary

Here I came to sleep

Can a word have a child?

The discontent of winter nears

And I weep and dream in the machine

I see steel in your bones, your future

Your hand becomes my alchemy

Here you come to sleep

Carbon will bear witness

Is mankind worth the word of metal?

So weeping, I sleep as the seed

A man is born of a son

And made stone in time

Here we came and slept

And wept in an endless sea

The Right Name for Confusion

a  big aficionado

the blue screen of possible

failure is not

an option

the screen door

no

the white screen

an endless body

no, isn’t that blue

aficionado

big

a bigger name?

you see, the she, the he

is we

eight billion years v3

eight billion years is a difficult

measure of time to wrap ones thoughts 

around. it has been pointed out in the science

and astronomy community that this is how long

it will take for the sun to burn itself out. In a grand

blaze of galactic fury indescribable in intensity and

magnitude, all that is our corner or infinity will be at

once dust which will become other dust and other stars

will be born. in the final hours this god of our past will

decimate all that was once holy. growing to one hundred

times its original size it will eat we who knew for certain

what time meant. and yet will man be long since burned out? 

will we beat the sun to its final destruction? 

will we beat the sun with nuclear fury? the number of nu-

clear weapons on the earth is immeasurable. there are enough 

to explode any earth in a cartoonish manner, several times

over. is this born out of a sense of necessity that no matter

how much people rebel against the onslaught, we can purge

them. we can remove the need for life to exist in any manner in 

many new and interesting ways. this many times over. many times

over. should we watch them all burn? these men who just simply

refuse to respect how the rules go. is this the security tax that must 

be paid with blood and confusion? there is a purpose to the machine

we are told. the complex is multifaceted and military in drive. we are

the economy that poisoned reason with a need to be normal and connected.

what is the nature of a god’s inner turmoil, is god still the sun?

 what is the nature of god’s need for placement in the light?

does god make us or did we make him? what is positive reinforce-

ment? we need to die in order for our real lives to start. we are

not whole until we meet what made us. if god made us

does he want us to die? are we our own best excuse to do wrong?

if to die is to be one with eternity then we kill to be in the light.

we are made by a being that wants us to die to be close to him.

 does my god have a thousand arms, a million I’s or the atom as heart?

cliché to even ask. the sun is very much still the god that we

worship. he will, in an impressive gesture bring us all within his bossom

and birth new star stuff. in the heavenly flames of hellish fire new life is

made of our emotions. our minerals reduced to a state of chaos by the

sun god - gods son. eight billion years will suffice for at least one

of the answers. in the final flash all thought will be made stone.

the equation is in the final flash, the stone, the elegy of permanence.

we see the god filled with turmoil, the innermost nature of which is

flame. stars, always the patient ones, will beat the sun to its final gesture.

what is the nature of god’s need for placement in the light?

will we beat the sun with nuclear fury?

eight billion years is a difficult measure of time, the sun

growing to one hundred times its original size it will eat we who knew for certain

what time meant. we can remove the need for life to exist in any manner in 

many new and interesting ways. if to die is to be one with eternity then we kill to be in the light. we are made by a being that wants us to die to be close to him.

what is the nature of a god’s inner turmoil, is god still the sun?

will we beat the sun to its final destruction? 

eight billion years will suffice for at least one

of the answers. in the final flash all thought will be made stone.

eight billion years v2

eight billion years is a difficult

measure of time to wrap ones thoughts 

around. it has been pointed out in the science

and astronomy community that this is how long

it will take for the sun to burn itself out. In a grand

blaze of galactic fury indescribable in intensity and

magnitude, all that is our corner or infinity will be at

once dust which will become other dust and other stars

will be born. in the final hours this god of our past will

decimate all that was once holy. growing to one hundred

times its original size it will eat we who knew for certain

what time meant. and yet will man be long since burned out? 

will we beat the sun to its final destruction? 

will we beat the sun with nuclear fury? the number of nu-

clear weapons on the earth is immeasurable. there are enough 

to explode any earth in a cartoonish manner, several times

over. is this born out of a sense of necessity that no matter

how much people rebel against the onslaught, we can purge

them. we can remove the need for life to exist in any manner in 

many new and interesting ways. this many times over. many times

over. should we watch them all burn? these men who just simply

refuse to respect how the rules go. is this the security tax that must 

be paid with blood and confusion? there is a purpose to the machine

we are told. the complex is multifaceted and military in drive. we are

the economy that poisoned reason with a need to be normal and connected.

what is the nature of a god’s inner turmoil, is god still the sun?

 what is the nature of god’s need for placement in the light?

does god make us or did we make him? what is positive reinforce-

ment? we need to die in order for our real lives to start. we are

not whole until we meet what made us. if god made us

does he want us to die? are we our own best excuse to do wrong?

if to die is to be one with eternity then we kill to be in the light.

we are made by a being that wants us to die to be close to him.

 does my god have a thousand arms, a million I’s or the atom as heart?

cliché to even ask. the sun is very much still the god that we

worship. he will, in an impressive gesture bring us all within his bossom

and birth new star stuff. in the heavenly flames of hellish fire new life is

made of our emotions. our minerals reduced to a state of chaos by the

sun god - gods son. eight billion years will suffice for at least one

of the answers. in the final flash all thought will be made stone.

the equation is in the final flash, the stone, the elegy of permanence.

we see the god filled with turmoil, the innermost nature of which is

flame. stars, always the patient ones, will beat the sun to its final gesture.

what is the nature of god’s need for placement in the light?

will we beat the sun with nuclear fury?

eight billion years is difficult

eight billion years v1

eight billion years is a difficult
measure of time to wrap ones thoughts
around. it has been pointed out in the science
and astronomy community that this is how long
it will take for the sun to burn itself out. In a grand
blaze of galactic fury indescribable in intensity and
magnitude, all that is our corner or infinity will be at
once dust which will become other dust and other stars
will be born. in the final hours this god of our past will
decimate all that was once holy. growing to one hundred
times its original size it will eat we who knew for certain
what time meant. and yet will man be long since burned out?
will we beat the sun to its final destruction?

will we beat the sun with nuclear fury? the numbers of nu-
clear weapons on the earth is immeasurable. there are enough
to explode any earth in a cartoonish manner, several times
over. is this a born out of a sense of necessity that no matter
how much people rebel against the great people, we can nuke
them. we can remove the need for life to exist in any manner in
many new and interesting ways. this many times over. many times
over. should we watch them all burn? these men who just simply
refuse to respect how the rules go. is this the security tax that must
be paid with blood and confusion? there is a purpose to the machine
we are told. the complex is complex and military in drive.

Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner

Can I eat some more Diabetes?
 Figure 1. The Animal is delicious when invisible

Nutrition is a fact

check it

EAT YOUR MEAT

or 

sleep it off

Coffee Slam

BAM
1 thousand milli-
grams of caffeine
SURPRISE
now you can wake
up up UP UP
lets just burn
this two ended, too
short candle

Dear caffeine
you and coffee make
such a great team
I trade the wake now
for years on the back end
of life
What a glorious
exploded heart you
have, yes?

Brain Scan

Every single
night
I find the wandering
mind the
gap
between the re-
grets and what is here
is what is left
feel stretched quite
T  H  I  N

I want for
the numb-
ness
that I felt when
I was free to be selfish

Am I such a child
that I wish not
to be a man?

A Conscious Man

No more leaves
you leave
every day a car accident
a heartless man takes
or maybe
some kind of meteor
deal is broken
rake the body
of your lover
leaving
gone
gone
gone
Gone is the way in which one lives to be be when hope is at stake. This is how I came to know the age of getting wise. First I needed mind expansion which requires the Tuss. Often I would take myself to a dark savage happiness in which my mistakes became oranges. It was during these days I began to see that I was perfectly selfish and conversely magical. This however only applied to my tone of voice or possibly my hair. Those who knew me, Little C, Super D and Dr Light mostly, well, they were swimming in red pools just as much as I. All of us on National Ave looking, well actually searching with eagle ears and bat eyes. The FANTASTIC SONIC TONE
ravaged us to the core duo
Dr Light slapped
my face
"Your creeping us all out"
asleep like the dead
eyes open
eyes open
I opened up to the possibility of reason without logic as Little C and I became Super D and Super D became  Evil J. Evil J made us all cry battery acid and swallow. Not this time though, no. During the Nation days well he was some kind of super hero accident. We stole his driving car and spaced all the way to the Appleton. Oh how the normals watched in horror as we made crooked all through the buying center.
                                                                               see this trinket?
                                                                               it is made of atoms and reason
                                                                               but neither are witnessed
                                                                                     held for life purpose
                                                                               we too were dogs of the bone
                                                                               savage we scavenge for I's and We's
Instead we found a way home. The drive closed my eyes but not my mind. It was certain I would need a reboot after being half of Super D. I ate the backseat and gave birth to a shirt. How glorious that a man could be impregnated with reason: Dostoevsky knew.

More is More is More is Enough is Not

Alliteration of the Kook

 anxious anxiety enacts nervous decisions

sifting slowly finding my favorite faults

proves purposeful and yet imprecise

conclusions collide and logic leaves looming

the macabre of madness mends

and chaos carries peace persistent with pantomime

in this aesthetic asylum the crazies consolidate

consideration of ideology

the broken do the fixing in this mind

Sunday Evening

they paw and caw at me
daddy, daddy
crying clashing they run
one wins, one loses
Epic, Tragic
Ronin is scolded
but olive jumps, jumps
such terrible beasts or
continents smashing into one
another, time eaten
slowly, growing
father see? it pleases
us, me, you we are
yours, genes and all

the mad sea of the future
so unwilling to give the information
the concealed weapon of chance
each of
you
clueless
playing at perfection

People Math

hero                 Nero   

none                done

too                   tool

tree                  feel

whore              sore

knife                hive

sticks               kicks

heaven             seven 7

gate                 irate

mine                time

friend              mend

zero                 tarot

mine - time = zero

knife + sticks = heaven + whore

whore - feel = done

too + tool = sore

mine - irate = hero + none

knive + hive = friend

              +           =

              -            =  

Maybe

nononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononyesononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononon

Untitled

This person
hood
wearing is tire-
-ing
my wiring
needs re-
tiring
I cru-
-cify
myself to re-
-vive myself
let           go
lets go

Revolving

The goal is to end where you start

the point of contention
yes
indeed, an age
in which dogs
are people
leads
one
to
dig holes
instead we find
rats, yes rats bathing
shall we instead
be birds?
whole
for
one
is lead
two people
in which days dogged
an ageless one
yes, two
the point is contented

Dr Light (more)

Dr Light had an epic beard. It was the kind of beard that would be worn like a champion. It was bushy, burly made for a lumberjack. It was the kind of beard that would be a children's story. It was uneven like some kind of hair mountain. His face the Andes, or the Himalayan. No it was a Rocky Mountain man beard. 

A close second to his beardly pride was his man-stache. It was a saucy handle bar. He would with great care wax each side into a perfectly round curly. Each side would be left pointing right back at his man face. Neither side too short or long and always waxed.  The Dr was proud of his facial fur. It was the only area I knew him to take care as far as hygiene was concerned.

Dr Light had certain issues when it came to cleanliness. He was a bachelor through and through thus he could not be bothered with doing dishes or cleaning anything ever at all. In certain respects I share this character flaw. I too have been known to be “dirty”. I was encouraged to alter this aspect of myself and felt compelled to do so. The Doctor on the other hand could not be bothered with such nonsense. There is a part of me that will always envy his unwillingness to be molded.

This strong willed nature of the Doctor made him a genius and a foolish hero.

When I first met the Doctor he was living with Beastron aka Chainsaw. Maybe that is right, but it is likely I am wrong. Memory gets the best of me at times and I must keep on track or I will stay lost. The sly path of memory is full of wanted lies and half truths. We mix thing and with more time it becomes difficult, then impossible to un-mix.

The Doctor was known to pound his fist in drunken fury against Beastron’s flimsy rooming house wall. He would scream “Why do I love?” often over and again throughout the night. He did this much to the great dislike of Beastron. He and Dr Light had known each other before I came into this hole. They lived with Super D in what was dubbed the Hotel D and B. Super had sold acid and this is how I first encountered Super D. More on that later.

When I first spoke with Dr Light I was struck by how much we had the same humor and demeanor. He like me was limited in his capacity to understand emotion and to be more direct feminine emotion. I opened up to the notion of science and music. We spoke in a Tuss filled jumble. Tuss destroys boundaries and ages you back to childhood. I had taken in 8oz.

The rooming house the Doctor and the Beast stayed in was a particularly fantastic shithole. There were parties in and out and up and down and on the porch and on the balcony and across the street and back and into the future and back in time and always with partners in crime.

So we spoke about things I knew I knew, or I just wished someone had proved to me that I wanted to know. He had given life to the idea of intelligence more than any school I had attended. We spoke for several hours that night. Our conversation, and nearly every single one to follow for ten years, always came back to the subject of truth and context. The Doctor would always say: There is your truth, my truth and THE truth. So it is here I must begin to tell you how it all came to unravel for a time. 

Off again

Strawberries

UnrequitedRequitedUnrequitedRequitedUnrequited

RequitedUnrequitedRequitedUnrequitedRequitedUn…

Requited

Ammonia 

Permanent snow

 there in the midst of shiver

enjoying the creeping deadened

blue molecules decay

 white calm purifies

piercing but smiling

I should have said sorry

iced with frustration

what is

is what is possible but not probable

if maybe

instead of frost eating my skin

instead I just ride my mind

instead of

instead of

ride my mind

I should have said sorry

Women and the Doctor

A Beginning...

Dr. Light always had difficulty with women. This is of course a massive understatement. Women were essentially lost to him. They were a grand mystery or rather an equation. The word equation implies a solution and this is how Dr. Light would look at such a problem. When you have an equation, you look at the numbers and with analytic reasoning and process you break things down and eventually all you have is the answer or the solution as it were, but people are not numbers and they love to disobey process. This is how women remained outside of the good doctors reach.

This is not to say that women are an open book for myself or for you the reader, even if you are a woman. It would be cliche to mention Freud here...so I will. He died not knowing, so there you have it. Dr. Light wanted to believe that if he showed affection and did the right thing, this meant treating women with respect and being a gentlemen, then he would have his affection returned. You can see the mathematical way in which this would have played out in his mind. It would have been possible to achieve this lofty goal if he did not , somehow intentionally, choose women who were utterly damaged.

Dr. Light loved women who had been treated poorly in life. It was his goal to fix them. People do not usually like to be fixed and not person wants to accept that they need fixing. This made things very difficult for the doctor. You see he himself was very much a victim of life's true nature, that of stone and iron. So a damaged man was going through life trying to fix damaged women. One can see how this will lead only to angry tears.

Have I mentioned that the doctor is not, in fact, a doctor. Well he is in his own mind. Dr. Light was the smartest man I had ever met. His was filled with a great love of physics and quantum mechanics. The fact that from the most massive heavenly bodies all the way down to the tiniest particle there was order appealed greatly to the doctor. It was proof that things were meant to work as they do and he could win the day if he could just get his process to work.

In the past I had tried without success to get him go to school. He said he was a student of the internet. This may sound foolish until you consider the massive amount of free knowledge just waiting to be had. So he would spend his days, he was perceptually unemployed, watching physics lectures. I would often come over after work and he would be attached to his computer finishing one of his video lecture just waiting to expound on the glories of the universe. It was as though he believed he could find the answer to every day life, and women, if he just looked hard enough.

discombobulated

write a poem about a specific
subject you research
write a specific subject
about a poem you research
write a subject poem
about a research you specific
write a research specific about
a poem you subject
write a specific
poem about a research you subject
write a poem you
about a research specific
write a you subject
about a research poem
write a you
research about a subject
you poem
write a write research
you poem subject

plastic animals
action figures
superhero dreams
drawing table
air typing

the detail dog is roaming

Mapmaker

I dog ear every poetry

book I own, these pages

I like to distort

poetry not mine

permanently branding

these books

damaging

them, that I may

get drunk in the

crooked corners

sorted by subjectivity

now they are maps

now I

may be read along

with

the

verse

now I may be read along with

the verse

Basement - Oz Cup

      When you work on a call center for a cable company you are often inundated with useless crap. Shiny bobbles and posters and little puzzles with famous people on them. All of it essentially garbage. I have however kept a few memento's. One of them is a tin cup with a logo for the former HBO show Oz. It is approximately four inches tall and has a diameter of about three inches. I use it to store all of my useless pens and highlighters, as well as my charcoal and regular pencils.
       I separated from Serena and later on met Erin while working in this call center. It is interesting how much change can be linked to one location. My life changed for the better in getting the job, for the worse when Serena left me and then when I met Erin, well what can I say. We are still married. This was all over the course of three years. Which feels like both a short and long time.
      When I first met Erin she was outside smoking as I walked into the call center. She was chatting it up with one of my local female ambivalent aquintances. As I came upon them I mentioned that I liked her scarf, Erin that is, and she thanked me as I beeped myself into the security door. Later on after we had started seeing each other Erin told me her friend had told her not to talk to me. Had she known Erin at all she would have known this would have the opposite effect.
      Now looking at this simple tin cup I am flooded with so much memory about Erin and my courtship. Now it is a bit dusty but still very functional. I wipe off the dust and it looks new. It should be brought upstairs and used it again.

Basement - Drivers License

     On my basement shelf as I am rummaging through my art supplies I come across an old id and two drivers licenses. At first I am not sure why I have these. Then I am reminded that at one point I had the intention to catalog my aging. What an odd thing to do.
     The most striking of the three is the first drivers license. This is not due to the image of a clearly handsome man but do to the date of issue. I did not get my drivers license until I was twenty two. While in high school I liked to drink, a lot. This was among several of my other extra curricular activities. Being young and enjoying the drink often leads to law telling you that you are not allowed to enjoy the drink. I got several under age drinking fines. The total was somewhere around $1200.
      It interesting how you cannot truly notice the passage of time until after it has passed. Had I understood how much these fines would affect my later life I might have been more cautious in my drinking. And yet I can also be quite certain I would still have not given a shit. It was hard for me to care about anything but my own immediate gratification then.
     When Serena first had Ronin we moved into a nice duplex and tried the whole family thing. It was such a nice place. Shortly after I got a knew job and things began to look up as they often do. Soon after the calls began. Money was owed fro my transgressions. Willfully I had chosen to ignore these calls from collectors, so they did what they do. My wages were garnished. Things became very hard for us for a long time. Eventually we were broken just before the debt was paid. I can now say that this was when I knew I had a divorce in my future. Hindsight is a cruel thing. Money is worse.

Basement - Brick Shelf

      In my basement there is a shelf against the north wall. It is constructed of cinder blocks and wood planks. This shelf been in my last four residences. It has moved with me every time I have moved and was at one point much larger. I store my art supplies on this shelf and even a good amount of books before it was paired down. There are various paints, usually primary colors, charcoal pencils, paint brushes, pastels both oil and chalk, paper, pens, pencils and one unintentional artist book. (I will get to that later) Lately when I go down to the basement I don't even think about this shelf. I should.
      This shelf is filled with reminders, and almost all of them lead back to my divorce with painting. Maybe it's just a trial separation but we have not been talking lately. So I have been avoiding this shelf for some time. It's as though we are awkward friends who have had a falling out, but we still run into each other every once in a while. You have to try and think of something to say but it never feels right so you find yourself avoiding that place. Then you feel guilty about avoiding. Today I am not.
     Basements love covering your memories with dust and dirt. The wood of my favorite brushes is warm when I hold them, even though it is always cold down here. When I finger the charcoal pencils I am reminded of my favorite medium. Black, white and all the wonderful shades of grey. Always so beautiful to me. I am struck by the number of highlighters I have. I laugh at the fact the most do not even work due to use and I have not thrown them away. It must be because I once turned a college notebook into an artist book with the highlighter as my main tool and several blue/black office pens as my secondary tools. Working in a call center in my mid twenties lead to more than one of these little books. I only kept one. Sometimes I will flip through it but it usually makes me feel old.
      The last time I paid any real attention to my art supplies was almost a year ago. I was commissioned by a friend to paint a picture for auction at the opening of a play at The Alchemist Theater. It got one bid that turned out to be fake. It was apparently submitted by a man who later had a nervous breakdown and was removed from the theater. I never picked up the painting from the theater and they actually have several of my pieces. One hangs in the main lobby/bar. It is of my ex. It used to hang in my apartment until I realized how much I love Erin and it needed to go. It has been some time since I have been to the Alchemist so it may not be displayed anymore. If you see it you will know it by the woman floating out to sea on a red couch. Just like my ex she is always out of reach. I knew then when I painted it.
   

Owned Pt 1

When I first bought my house it was a strange feeling. Up until that point I had not owned anything of truly significant monetary value. I can only describe the feeling as one of density. My whole world became filled with a whole other level of responsiblity. At the same time there is also a feeling of great pride in owning a home.
I wanted to do so much to improve the house. In my mind I had already built a whole new addition, a second bathroom, a studio and an office to work on my great American novel. This was my great adventure. My journey to the new world. I was a colonist. This my property. My land and I was going to build my castle.
So I started planning. I began my DIY lessons. Needless to say, they were short lessons, and I failed them all. The first lesson you learn about home ownership is about money. What I mean by this is that when you rent a house you are not responsible for ancilary costs. These are costs like fixing a drain or getting some crazy rabid squirrels who set up shop inside your roof to leave. These are the type of costs a landlord would normally cover. This is the first and often the last lesson.

Captain Suitcoat

Woody Allen-esque, you would be
I would describe you as much as you
could be described
gangly, tip tap tappy
scribbling notes, jarring me, us
my type of crazy
ready for a joke
darker the better, bomb ass
humor waiting in the trenches
and just full of wit, too much, maybe
interesting
I know you hate trees and rain
in poems, makes you want to punch your own
card
I could laugh at you
instead
I will laugh with you
Have I met you?
I am you

Facial

The razor itself is approximately 3 inches long. The handle is surrounded by a sort of approachable green plastic, semi transparent gel. Running up the middle of the razor is a white center piece with 6 different sized/shaped holes inter spliced up the middle. The head is white as well with three thin blades and a moister strip. The moisture strip is designed to keep your skin from drying out. This is clearly a woman's razor.

I mention that it is a woman's razor because I cannot grow facial hair. To explain, I can grow what might be interpreted as hair on my chin and upper lip. These spindly almost plastic like follicle growths dot my face only when I forget to shave. It looks just awful. It is patchy and can best be described as a sad prepubescent mess.

It would be fine if the hair did not grow at all. That would be OK. Instead I still have to shave like every other man. I cannot escape my strange facial fur. If I go any length of time without a shave I will not grow a beard, but instead a grimy mess of fury falseness. This leads people to give me odd concerned looks, and to ask questions about whether or not I am alright. No sir, I am not alright, look at my face.

I do not purchase razors as my only protest. Yes that is right, I protest my lack of facial manliness with my refusal of currency. This, I have come to realize, has exasperated my lack of man-li-tude. Now I must shave my very feminine face with this very feminine razor.

I hate how democratic the green and white colors are. They seem to say "hey we can work this out buddy" or "should we talk about our feelings?". A man razor would tell this razor where it can go with it's friendly approachable color. It can go right to hell!

Give me a chain saw blade to shave my face, and then we can separate the men from the ones with tiny alien facial tentacles.

Ekphrasis

to complicate with great
virtue in attempt
to look without
yet within us
the painting sees
a deeper more
more, more
but ultimately less
need for closure

Most Prized

Olive loves her new shoes.
Loves.
I cannot get her
to take them off
when she must go
 to sleep she will fight
with all the vigor of
a gladiator
she will hate us
in our parental tyranny
when she wakes her
first word
 "shoes?"

Color Blind

50% of men they say
Genes always ready to screw you over
So I wear primary colors
instead of plaid pants and orange
barrel t-shirts with purple
socks
I love your silver car
it's green
Why the red shirt?
it's purple

work

grind......................................................................................
.............................................................................................
.........................................blink.............................................
.............................................................................................
.....................................................................................slump

Callous

eyes do not water it
all down
a lion does not apologize for killing
a gazelle
she must keep the heart
closed I tell her I
clarify and
still she looks at me
banging my pretentious
soup box
fist
In vain I
search the kitchen for an
answer to why I
am so callous
I back down
I lie which
is the only

good thing

I have ever done

for her

(From) Reflect

"How can you be so callous?"

Don had to think about this for longer than he probably should have. Sarah just stared at him waiting for the answer she wanted. He was suppose to say he wasn't, or didn't mean to be. Don had always been a rough sort of person. Some would say he was "gruff" or a "strait shooter", but Don knew he was just mean. His father was mean and he was mean.

"I'm sorry, I really am"

If you would have asked Don why he had lied he would not be able to answer. This was not his way. He was mean. To lie like this was the kind of nice he never was or could recall being. No, Don would have said he was callous because Sarah was foolish. Sarah was too ready to love. Don knew love, or to be more specific the ntion of love, was just unattainable. So Don had watched a succession of assholes break her heart. Now he had to tell her that she was a fool, and he said he was sorry for it.

Sarah had never been the sister he wanted. The sister he wanted was no sister at all. But Don could not be himself with those peircing tragic eyes forcing the loving lie. So Don lied to his sister and it was the kindest thing he had ever done for her.

Garage Light

I slump up the back  stairs

This Tuesday cannot end soon enough
I am a kicking bag, I am an paraplegic sparring partner
the kitchen lights, always fluorescent
Erin hates them
little mercury curly fries,
shed ambiance on the yard

She always forgets to turn on the garage light
Some nightly thief stole her new bike
still she forgets every   single    ......oh who cares
so I slump

through the back door window
I stop and watch as Erin washes the dishes
I do this until she notices
she smiles when she catches me
in awe of her
and lets me into our 120 year old home

"Hey"
"Hi"
"Long day?"

I just kiss her

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday...Sunday
These are the iron days
I look in the fridge, shuffle about, go into the living room
let the TV watch me

Dinner is ready, Olive is in bed
It's late, It's always late on these days

"Can you do me a favor?"
"I would do anything you ask."
"I know..."

New Days

son is far
son is close
new to me
new to him
father and son
have just met
or will be meeting
after 10 years
sun is close
Solar Flair!