morning notes

I want too many things
to get to everything
I’ve ever wanted

early morning incoherence
I hate it when I dream
about work
I’m there enough
you win some
and lose some
they say
it’s the truth

reading about Radiohead, writing
stomach empty a lot
dreamt I was being spied on
by helicopters outside my window
from high up
that I got an iMac and
didn’t know what to do
with myself
had it sitting at a table with me
at a mall eatery
someone send me some
of course awake I’d
know what to do

now that I have DSL
I can use the phone again
talked with George last night

too much work these days
and without lunches
thank you joshua for all
your notes to me

the additional network card
was a success
talk to me about these things now
and I’ll be able to help

the hand of experience
what to look for in old age
don’t forget everything



why try so hard
my eyes are sore and
I’m going to tell the truth
it seems so plain
she’ll say
you look like
a damn skeleton
what’s happening to you
blah blah
incoming proud e-mail address
I don’t want to bore myself
truth be told
yes tell truth, be bold

this is within range
conjure up
fan spinning
trying to be unconscious
free as I split atoms with words

rub eye into an irritated sopping mess
the bread napkin for
rice and dal
my staple

I miss the hell out of you
I think I disappoint you
it’s only time tricking you
I’m still the same soul

open the window

if you dream you’re sitting at a desk facing the screen and a long lost friend enters to sit down to face another screen, make repairs, and ignores your greetings, is that so bad?
the dark is falling over us. sound of crickets, the cooler air, all components of my favorite time of year. don’t waste money, but invest money. what’s going to help? I think I need a car. that, and I obsess over getting a Mac soon, that is if I can sell my laptop. it’s a good little unit, but I want a Mac. well, who the hell cares.


will you have lunch with me?
this place is just
a block of ruin
I had naive preconceptions
stolen away from me
because of
your shitty personality
it makes my goal
very difficult
very real
and very rewarding

the window is open
and it feels nice
buy me things

do I have a nice voice?
that shirt looks good on you
you look good in that color

did all the lightning bugs
die already?

escapist muses

“I’m an escapist.” as in, yeah, I wanna escape this. you’re lost either here or there, and I know what here is. you have the sidewalk, and stores, coffee shops, footsteps, soon a cold wind, and rain. this place desolate on a Saturday, and “mindless dance music.” this guy resigned, moving up and out. secure that money and retire out of this horrible game. “I’m an escapist.” company logo on the mug for my water. I’m doing the closest thing to resting: relaxing.

I’m hanging on somehow. some things are too personal to mention. poetry is good for this. it encrypts the exact details but gives you the main idea.

I’m not a big fan of R&B, but I would choose it over Country in a heartbeat. I can’t relate to a whole lot of things out there. mostly I’m a morbid character out of a Dostoevsky novel. my heart is heavy and light all at once. I will probably die when someone is playing a song like this. just my luck.

you are ruthless
the way gears are ruthless
I stick in my hand
and get it chopped off

just wait

saturday work schedule. finished everything. sitting here just waiting to see if something else is coming in. otherwise, I’m free to go. we spend much of our time waiting. waiting on people, waiting on the processor, waiting on the printer, the plotter, the scanner, the oven. waiting for fingers to type and get it right. I went to the poetry reading and sat and waited but no one showed up so I got up and left, got on the train and did some more waiting. and with the waiting we’re also in pain. headaches shoulderaches backaches included. junkfood down here, nothing else. miserable junkfood and dead animals for breakfast and lunch. put them on bread and eat. disregard for life.

isn’t there anything decent to write about? decent or not, I guess I’m going to write anyway. intake. fuel. anti-freeze has a sweet taste that animals like. they drink it and die. it shuts down their insides.

don’t want to cause any nightmares. don’t want to feel like hell in the morning. don’t want to have a heart attack and fall on the ground unconscious. the pain is so great, an amber. mailbox is empty. notes. you get all sorts of ideas into your head, things you need vs. things you want. you stand in the fitting room mirror asking yourself if you’re good enough, if this is what it’s gonna take to knock people over onto their sides. too much television. did you know you could turn it off and still hear voices? this is what I hear before going to sleep, a mother screaming at her daughter, something petty. they’re going to have to break down and wash their kids mouths out with soap. they’re all in hell. I remember my session. my mother pried my fingers from the door frame and forced that shit into my mouth. I didn’t learn anything, even to this day, because I don’t think there’s anything wrong with cussing. only there’s something wrong with a person who has no tact, and they can say whatever they want and it’s always going to be offensive. I try not to have a filthy mindless mouth even if I feel that way, degraded, hurt, heartbroken sometimes. dreams are so interesting to me because you’re entering this other realm, it’s not ordinary. and I could go on with these notes, but I shouldn’t. time for bed or I won’t want to get up in the morning.

tales from the crypt

backache from hell
feeling ignored

the usual
is so terribly painful
because it knows it
and doesn’t care
it’s that solid opposite
of everything you want
everything to make your
life easier

domestic decay

I’ll be okay

it’s about to rain
teeth remain in mouth
don’t fall out like in dreams
when blood is in the sink
and urination red stream
like summation of your yuppie coma
birds now
spazing out they
know the
storm is coming

I’m almost hit by a car
I fall asleep on the sidewalk
the sky is spinning
toothpaste falls out of my mouth
cars shinning like mirrors shinning like stars.
she pours out her diet dr. pepper into the flower beds
staring into the sun where your house will be
makes you go crazy

don’t worry about me
I’ll be okay
thanks for not asking

nightmare around 4 in the morning

a woman called, asked me questions to verify my identity, and proceeded to tell me, “I’m sorry but you’re not going to have a very good day. you’re mother passed away…after which she murdered a man…” devastated. but found out this wasn’t so, that she was very much alive. when I got to her, however, she had been driven completely insane, terrified, like I had come to kill her or drag her across the floor out of the safe closet. holding her hand, attempting to calm her, I dialed 911.

these events played over and over in my head. I was in a horrible mood by the time I woke up. that was this morning. I made it through my day all right though. did a lot of reading, this new Radiohead book I got in the mail. I love to read, to learn, to feel on top of things. this is probably why I like working on computers so much, because the field is so broad.

I don’t feel like… an educated person. I feel like I could be. I hardly feel like a writer. all I have is desire for all of these things. and many times I know I fall short, just fall asleep. become uninspired, sullen. my lows are down low. quiet. don’t have much to say for myself. what will become of me like this? my writing? poetry readings? web page?

I wonder if I will survive the chaos inside and outside of me. I wonder if there is a God and if I could or should be close to Him. so much fear scattered about us.

current temperature 64 degrees. warmer than a dead bird. sometimes I don’t know what to make of my time. friends would tell me to pray my damn head off, take advantage of human intelligence, don’t be swept up in the lower material modes of being, you’ve got such potential, don’t waste it, your ego gets tired and disappointed because it never gets what it wants and the rest of you rots away. still, I hardly know anyone anymore. banished. disconnected.


wanting to write in my notebook but not.
and bed soon.
rest, replenish.

the goal is to
get rid of this headache
to write and read
and figure out
a few things.

spend the good time
away from everyone
that time I need with
that sparse, valuable time.

eyes so incredibly sore.
all these things I need to
take care of . . .

from the center of the storm

I get in what I can
little pieces
they don’t tolerate
anything personal
an environment
of pure stress
I could feel the pains
shoot through my
back this morning
and I want to somehow
comfort the others
but don’t know . . .
all I have is words
hang in there
we’ll be brothers alright?
I try my best to love
all these people
I’m forced to be around.
my stress is all right
I just stress over
their stress
electrical surges through
the body
it ain’t fair
it’s a test
it’s something
not a physical illusion
but very cancerous.
and so on.

cut and paste this

I’ll be moving the site over to pretty soon. you can go through the reroute (, but in case that doesn’t work, you’re gonna want to go through redrival. canada keepin it real!!!!!!!!!!!!

fade to [rant?]

good time writing on the train today. really all I can do is write a whole hell of a lot, to keep myself out of trouble, not for anything else, acclaim, all that. the only way I’m going to get better is write a whole hell of a lot, period. when all is blank I decide just to write words, observation words, the first thing off the top of my head, something someone says, words on a sign, and then my own thing comes back to me and I write out a whole sentence. rereading all of it, you see the bigger picture. when things slow down, I really want to push on with this. read some more books on it, I don’t know. perhaps spend more time with it over the weekend. write down dreams as well if I can remember them. conversations. electric chairs. robin hoods. misjudged people due to unfavorable circumstances beyond their control. sitcom family shows because the family situation is in such jeopardy, they’ll try anything. the xian structure, the white norm, the show about God but too weak to mention Jesus. ratings. in competition with prime time game shows. humans in competition with each other in reality based stuff followed around by cameras, putting a face on, spliced in interviews with beats in the background making you wish you were there. needles in your skin, alcohol venom similar you know it.

15 second hail storm

I’m drinking water
what more do they
want from me?
listening to Bad Brains
not Soul Brains
my eyes drop
and open
thinking of the train
years spent on the
impersonal train
who in their right mind
would want to live here?