checking in

nothing special
just a note
I still have love
for this place
where I come and write a note
or two, a poem, a set of paragraphs
to say I’m still alive
if you care
and in certain ways happy, glad,
even ecstatic
I’ve got good people in my life
at least some of them
and good things to read
and writing . . .
that’s another story

step aside, let me DJ

another one of these Sunday nights. I dread Monday mornings. it’s more of the same bullshit you have to put up with. my spell checker is questioning my usage of the word bullshit now. I have to assure it it has its place. this isn’t some business template. wrists are sore as I write this. Elliot Smith playing.

drove down the rode to Waldorf
Soulside is playing
drove down and now
I’m looking out the window
I will pick up and
I’ll pick up again
because it’s a struggle
and if you can’t be steady
you do what you can
the body wants to fade out
the body wants to be built up
the soil is pulling it
back into the earth
some age well
childhood memories are
haunting these days
disturbing real life horror

DJ Shadow is playing
hung out with some friends
a birthday party
some quit smoking and were
experiencing withdrawal
just concentrate on the Kung Fu
I advised
Lord of the Wu-Tang was on
the carrots and raw fruits
brought life back
the headache was gone

Bodega Bay
this is where The Birds
smashed into telephone booths
from the sky saw the gas station
on fire and attacked the diner
pecking everyone bloody
cover your eyes
they go for those first thing
Bodega Bay
this place I wanna visit someday
for some sort of morbid vacation spot
quiet with caution and on Halloween
or something

now for Adam and his Package
my MP3 walkman is acting strange
and I relied on it too
Into Another, that Ignaurus album
was no damn joke
I got on that bus
-while I DJ, this is important to note
I am not in the club full circle, I’m
remembering that road-
angry on the bus in extreme heat
under a furious air conditioner on my
neck in 94′ giving me
bronchitis brutal July
the music carried me through
Into Another, Sense Field . . .
my precious crappy walkman
this woman cussed me out for
some reason out of the blue
for no reason once while it was playing
she was insane, dude I’m just telling you
plenty of Bradshaw memories that
never made it to Journal of Thought
big emotional messes.
Iceburn playing, yeah I listened to them
around the same time too

King Street, Golden Triangle, this is all
a new era that I will think back too later down the road
just this weekend I was remembering fond memories
of this past Halloween and summer
I end out with Doug E. Fresh
Six Minutes, Six Minutes Doug E. Fresh
you’re on
uh uh on, uh uh on . . .

mirrors thrown at your goddamn face

learning sign language is like learning keyboard shortcuts. I just realized that. it was a strange 8 hours. people live in such fear because of money. sure, if you have it, you pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, or say that this is an over-reaction, but lose yours too and it becomes painfully clear. we depend on a few assholes in the world and it makes life hard. so life is hard. this morning turning around the corner I was thinking that, “so life is hard. so what. not everything can be easy.”

it would be great though if just my sleep could be as peaceful as little grey bear’s. bibby. you love someone and you come up with all different types of names for them. that’s how I know my cat is actually my son. don’t laugh. do what you want. I know I can’t trust everyone that reads this. I have no idea how many people read this. kind of scary when you think about it.

no privacy
they can spy in
from space
if they want
so I say
do what you want
wanna spy
wanna war
let me know
I’ll keep throwing
mirrors at you

don’t expect much. hope much. >>

defective mechanisms. this is the first part to write. from the factory came a package, and inside a disappointment. some are born defective children, can’t hear or see, can’t walk, can’t look normal, can’t fit in. defective parts, somehow, someway. good parts go bad. from bad decisions good times turn sour. a rose received lasts a short life, and you know this. but with all the affection, the intention, it is worth the world. and what little I know of the world. if you travel it probably helps. my perspective is narrowed because my problems are encased. make attempts to vacation out, even if for just a block, a block into the unknown day. pierce the monotony. like I was saying, I walked north up 16th into my old neighborhood, watched ducks, watched a game of soccer. it was worth the world.

I know my heart and lungs and back and knees better than other parts because they all hurt. if green tea will help, then I say order me a case, ’cause that stuff rocks. neighborhoods in the summer have a special feel. when you go out and bring a green tea back, when the air conditioner is running . . . that is summer. a movie playing. yes, the sound of the air conditioner, these comforts, attachments, etc. how can any one person not have attachments? it is just that you can’t be a kid any more, to a degree, at a certain point. don’t be destroyed like a brat when it’s time to let go. that’s what I’m saying. don’t expect things. don’t expect good things to happen to you. don’t think you deserve a lot. the world is too big and overpopulated to be treated like royalty. hope to love people, to find something you love doing, something that will have you lost in time up until the very moment of death practically.

is it a story, a joke, reality, what? do you laugh, or do you cry. I swear, I’m exhausted, exasperated. I can’t believe how thoughtless some people can be. when they’re thoughtless, they’re rude. maybe they need a good slap. I’m waiting for someone to do it. that’s what I’m impatient about, because I’m a take charge kind of guy. if you want to do it right, you gotta do it yourself. red hand prints on face. I say I am not the one for that. but I’m not timid either. I’ve got my theories for the most practical things. it’s all beyond high school shyness. I challenge myself more. I’m not worried if I come off rude pushing my way through on the subway. I’ve got my own theory on it. the place is a real madhouse. it’s not like a goddamn tea party or something. just get out of people’s way and get going. if you bump around a little, don’t get all upset about it. don’t let them get upset. yes, cut through the crowds and get there.

my cat is a lion right now. my wife is annoyed with Windows 98. who could blame her? soon to be a 24 year old, she declares the whole month her birthday like a princess. we joke a lot. it is spite for the work world and the old generation of people like our parents and those who take PTA meetings seriously.

video. audio. what I see and feel and hear and imagine, I have to attempt to express this through the tech world with the risk of becoming a tech head myself… as if it’s a swap. or can I hold all of it and not be a robot? I tend to think I can hold all of it, be human as well as retain skills to operate generators and sequencers and processors and whatever else. today I insisted on learning the rest of the process to create 35mm slides in the lab, and I got somewhere. who else will make the effort? for a moment I was proud of myself, for a long while I was. then it was time to leave and I couldn’t be giddy and talkative any more, and I knew it. I knew perhaps I was becoming overconfident and making a fool of myself, or at least on the verge of it. I carefully stared down to the sidewalk and crossed streets home thinking this, I’m alone now, I’m all alone now. I have to completely impress myself now.

you should hang out with me

reading about Chuck Palahniuk, a profile of him in Poets&Writers. he was the one that wrote Fight Club, Survivor, and Invisible Monsters. it’s always inspiring to read about another writer rising up out of troubles and getting clearer through writing. it is not about publishing a damn thing, but the act of writing in the immediate moment, with no expectations. he says with more success, the harder it is to keep this vision. he now has to pretend he’s all alone, no one’s reading…

“we really have to make a conscious effort to step out of the culture in order to write anything new that reflects the culture.”

but I watch tv
segment of comfort
it is the after-work idea
this time I
took a walk
Matthew says to me
“it’s essential”
not “good idea” or…
it’s essential and
I took it to heart
a walk helps
clear a head of
problems you hold onto
making more of
what is there
disproportionate obstacles

many people showed up
at the party
the house offered plenty . . .
drive out and go
or stay in and
I say your life can
be pure
if you appreciate it
savor it
understand the small things
without a need for
absolute drunkenness

I know I babble on
but don’t care
I wish I could make some sense
but stop wishing
after a while
I accept multiple train wrecks
for who I am split up to be
bad news for your family to
sit down to.

“sometimes I shudder. I think, ‘oh my God, I let my mother read this.’ where, if I’d thought about that when I was writing, I never would have written it. I have to get to that place where I can’t be thinking about the people reading it.”

work ethic work

it is my fault
not enough
it is my damn fault
I know
sacrifice the
time like this
book shelf in the sway
correct me and
you’re wrong
I will tell you why
I’m from
another realm of
something
whatever it is
it’s just something else
besides your blueprint
here is where we can
eat our toast
a compound

get up early and
ride the train with
all the hordes
don’t remind me
of that
books are written
and read just
to put one’s head
somewhere else
besides up the ass

work is not everything
work is not anything
work is not my ethic
I get promoted to
anarchy
congratulations on that
new promotion to
self-actualization
you know the guy is
camping out in
the great outdoors
with his wife
sleeping in the back
of a station wagon
it is a cold morning
but there is much
to be loved

real work is
getting something done
for yourself
or for a real cause
what they look for
in you is a team leader
to benefit THEIR cause
and so on
polish that counter top
ring the register
hit the windows with
soap and water demeaned
we’re all last class citizens
that way
stamping papers
I worked this job in Arlington
writing on sheet after sheet
after a while for each one that would
be trashed I’d write
burn this
strangle this
throw out window
kidnap this
take this one shopping
hide under pillow
paint this black
distribute this to a stranger
beam this up
etc.
the boss raised his eyebrow
and I didn’t
give a fuck

morning

it is saturday but asthma hits and forces me up for raspberry tea. looking at this picture of Radhakunda. the sun is up now and everything is beautiful. day is started; if I go back to bed, it’s only for an hour or so. nothing much to write because I am feeling small minded. but I will put down more later when I’m more awake.