Running For Something

I just realized I have 1,200+ entries on here, here on LiveJournal!

and don’t
call me
trendy, okay?

just don’t

you know, ‘cuz
I’m on a "service"
Internet service…

what do you
WANT me to be on, a horse?

the connection is Not as Good
this is
what you get…

and well, I do
have my forums
kinda in the same way
my mom goes…
I gotta watch my shows
I can’t miss my shows

and I’m typing this out
I can’t believe I’m typing all this out right now
when I could be outside
enjoying the weather
the last two hours of daylight
this says
something about me

everything I do
if you’re paying attention
Says something about me

same goes with You
everything you do…
you get the picture…

so that is my
deep shit for the day, italicized
italics turned on
italics there to help you

I know it does not come without impact,
you know, like today’s other news items aren’t enough, right?

well, lemme go kiss the babies
because I guess I’m running for something in 2012
I’ll be older then
oh ho hum…



to be quite
I’ve been diagnosed with

Laundry Procrastination

which is not the same as
Vagina Dentata
Dick Lord-tata

but I promise
the heat is
back up in a day
or so…

I’ll be down
at the

carrying out
my civic duty…

I do not
owe too much else
to the world
other than to…

no answer

I admit I am more
fed up with people
than I’ve
ever been
more disappointed
and let down
and saddened
… to have been sold out…

there are better
realities out there…
perhaps all
outside of Houston for me

I admit more and more…
I should say I realize more and more
as I go along
I don’t want to burden you either
which is why I can
get quiet

it is a cold Saturday

The Design Is A Raw Deal

the processor infuriates
frustrating work in the programs and
watching the eternal spinning beachball of death
make your next move
wait some more
hope the thing won’t crash
save save along the way to make Sure
a designer’s first world problems
similar to “what should I say to her?”
how to make that next move?
wait, wait some more
ugh, the yellow brick road
paived with god’s intentions
a flaw another flaw in design
1,800 students flew to the
Capitol for nothing but to look
and go Look at that!
and at home he died for
our sins
which we will
go on committing anyway

Teaism, Coloring ABCs

Samantha buys me tea from a shop in Portland that will help me breathe better at night, only what will it matter(?) if by morning our flight is for a return to India, dusty, where I also take my parents for the first time. We land and on that very day comes news of a death in the family, so mom disappears frantic to tend the details, I am left scurrying for a place, preferably free, though I’ve found handfuls of cash that mix me with a guilt and a relief. The tea is good enough for the whistle in my chest that keeps singing a sly lie so maybe it’ll stop. Most of us are running. I’m thinking next we should hit up Russia, or maybe a return to the States and struggle more.

“Is it helping, the tea? Costaprettypenny…”
“I’m sorry, I dinnit mean for ya to go spendin all that much monies…”
“It’s okay. Would ya like me to put on these fishnets?”
“You know I would be fine with that option.”
“I like being around you, ya know. Some say our love is just spring cleaning. They say it’s deluded, delusional…”
“That’s cool.”
“What, you don’t think…”
“So the tea…?”

The tea, I think, is not the solution. And traveling is only a temporary fix. Any settling is setting back down into the same problems that weren’t faced back There. Give it a year or more to see, to see that I’m right about this. The weight presses harder as it matures on us. Never just me. Never just you and me or anyone. Both at the same time, forever.


fashion show at the super market
the landlord wants into
our apartments all the time
people are trying really hard
it is a day of green beverage
some bow out
this is the Southern Tea Society’s way
of showing they care
she is fairly disorganized
certainly a little crazed, high strung
tears flow like
a more intense river
car door ajar
salt granule genuine
the fruit ripens
the poem makes the poet
or everyone nauseated
or is that just the poet?

Sitting In The Window

see, there’s a breeze
it doesn’t do any good
coughing into a wall
lungs constrict
day-long shoes glow
around feet Kicked up
in the chair
narrow passage way
more strange conversations
with self
Rudra one-two paws the door
sleep comes at the oddest hours
so much time wasted
and you can hear the
neighbor cough too
chill dealt to back of neck
ear rest
old paintings

phantasm on the run


“We create paradise or hell in our own minds. What conditions do you need to be truly happy? If those conditions are never realized, will you suffer the rest of your life? Or could you manage to be happy even without them? We have many conditions for happiness, but we rarely benefit from them. Please write down some conditions or happiness that are available to you right now. Could you organize your life so that you are able to recognize them when they are present? Try to arrange your life to make these conditions for happiness available. Don’t ignore or destroy them. When there is something you don’t like, how can you make it more acceptable? Please reflect on these questions.”
—from Thich Nhat Hanh’s UNDERSTANDING OUR MIND

New new new… new!

sitting out in
shade by a patch
of new sun
hey everybody,
this my new poem
it’s really short
really poetic
and it rhymes in places
you’re probably
comfortable with
a good fighting poem
ends up here
at the end


the ultimate swindlers are here near two AM pawning away asking for favors and rides home because it’s rain out horror the same ones every night every other but you can spot them on a prayer any second.

needy energy suckers downtown not always the place to be is it?

come on and move outta your
parents’ house already.

Talking Points

she says
“you journal too much
& don’t write very
many poems”

and I
think she
is right

she says
“you hardly work
any more, you sleep in
really late…”

I think there is a quiet
truth to this

and it burns how it
has to burn

I tell her “you should
get up early with me then
we can see
the sunrise a buncha times
before we all die”

she agrees

but it’s one thing
saying it
another thing doing it

she tells me that I am lovable

I think I’m starting
to feel deserving again
of someone’s
steady love

good feelings go around
we are afraid
of our own feelings
and some of us
are okay with
going mad

I am resigned to the idea
each book

may be
half alive


you’d think accumulating dust
is a sign of death…
but the shelf
bursts with joy
each time
we’re not looking

“call toll free…” says the catalogue
anytime you damn well please, ya got my number now…
use it!”

which is kinda desperate
you’re just a catalogue

“no no
you got me wrong”

“do I?”

I am told not to
waste my breath

with a catalogue
(for chrissakes…)

most likely
not a living organism

don’t waste your human tears
on junk mail

on mail
that is Junk

he said

I said
“how ’bout it?”

he said he was about
to throw some
friends of mine

on the grill

I said
“no no no no”

“some you may remember
shot down out of the sky
some who are on a list—
but they don’t have feelings anyway”

“I have enough
to go around for every body…
for those who don’t”

“doesn’t matter”

“I know
that’s what you say
I just don’t believe it”

got back to
thinking about
writing more poems, anyway


the words come out hard
the sentences take their time
paragraphs creep out
all unsteady

I know it is working

re: the beast of putting it down


no Sunday church
no fumbling and flaw
self on self love
god or no god indifference
some of us
look ready to break

One Sentence

thinking over the story how it’s told what I had as a seventeen to an eighteen the coast I went up broke to Philadelphia and rose early four am danced around flew planes switchoffs till India then back to gravel parking lot in Potomac no alcohol no astrology one cobra two trips then a third and fourth with acid twice cocaine stars fill the skies with alcohol initiation in fresh thirties then the dirty south comes along with plenty of hurt feelings what are thought to be abnormal and voices raised walls hole punched like three ring binders a reunion with the same old routine you’ve been denying all along while others manipulate poorly or with expertise when the eyes open they really open a third eye opens