some half-finished poems

shit people say to mixed people

2012-02-05T18:22:00.000-08:00

dear white people:
i don't understand how you can think
asking me "what are you" isn't fucking insulting!
especially when it's the second thing you've ever
said to me after finding out my name

what are you.
and when i say
"excuse me"
please understand
that i heard you and
am giving you a chance
to give it up
know this. i
don't mean follow up with
"no, i mean, like
where are you from?"
because i'm going
to answer california
and when you follow up
with "no like, what
nationality are you"
and I say American
I would think that after
three strikes
you would get the point
but for some reason.

for some reason,
you keep going.
"where are your parents from?"
"no, like, what is your race?"
"ethnicity."
"cultural background."
"like, where are your ancestors from?"

presumably the same place as yours, motherfucker!
really tho.

and i can't get too mad because if I honestly asked you
what you were really asking
you wouldn't know and
it's just curiosity
why the animosity

"oh, i don't mean to be, like, offensive."
you know what? most people don't.
most people don't try to be racist either
but you fuckers
keep on
asking me
these questions

what gave you the idea that
you have the right to know this about me?

i'm sorry, white people but
i don't have the desire
nor the obligation
to divulge that personal information
so please go away
and label and categorize
some other ambiguously ethnic
person of color

because i've had enough for
right now
and it might not feel like that's what
you're doing
but that's exactly what you're doing?

you have been trained since birth to know who is
and who is not a white person
and of course the rules have changed
over the years but you get me.
and then here i come.
blowin up your binary.
that's what you're doing.
getting to the core of the issue:
are you white or not?
and guess what.
that feels exactly as you might expect it to
had you come out and said
"excuse me, are you white?
because I want to know whether
I should feel in-group solidarity with you
or tap into my irrational fear of difference."

and that's not all y'all say.

which one of your parents is black?
your dad? yeah i thought so.

how did you do that to your hair?
it's natural? come on.
no i mean, like, did you perm it?
do you curl your hair every morning?
can i touch it?
oh my god it's so springy.

if you're half and half
then why did you say "half-black"
instead of "half-white?"
do you like your black side
better?

your dad's black? is he like, a gangsta?
does he wear like, ice?

do you ever wish you were full white?
do you ever wish you were full black?

so - is the bottom half
the black half?

you look middle eastern.
you look mexican.
you look colombian.

you know what. i don't think blacks and whites
should ever have had kids.
it's too confusing for 'em.

that last one stung.
motherfucker told me to my face
that i'd be better off having
not been born.

you know what's crazy though?
That conversation happened once
and motherfucker was kind of an
extremist.
The worst thing about
being mixed is that
i deal with this every fucking day.

and it makes me feel like motherfucker was right.

i don't wanna fall in love again

2011-11-15T21:25:00.001-08:00

something like

am dm em em

c f g f

i don't wanna fall in love again
cuz i don't wanna die
gotta feeling like another round of this heartbreak will
squeeze the little life left in me dry

and i know that i have done you wrong
confess my bitter failure to the sky
if anyone is listening, though i doubt it, well, one still can hope
that someone, anyone will reply

you are worthy of the promise you've been given
the past is nothing take all your regrets
bundle them with defeat and intransigence
strive forward until you have nothing left

but what's a silly hope in something greater
all around me is just frailty and defect
poverty, war and politics remind me that i don't mean shit
what more of myself could i expect

that i am worthy of the promise i've been given
the past is nothing take all my regrets
bundle them with defeat and intransigence
strive forward until i have nothing left

i want to believe that i can love again
free from the burden of my mistakes
i want to know i'm not my inadequacy
to hear trusted lover softly say

you are worthy of the promise you've been given
the past is nothing take all your regrets
bundle them with defeat and intransigence
strive forward until you have nothing left

hurt people

2011-10-27T17:39:00.000-07:00

we all know that
hurt people
hurt people and a
hurt person's worth is
perverted from
serving people
to bringing em down

i've never been
so in love
with a place or a name that
an affront to that space has
justified causing pain
never had to save face
never had so much to gain

but then again
i've never been required by law
to live
in the colored district

if my father
had grown up in seattle
he would've

if he and his first wife had
getting a place together would have
been illegal
as recent as fucking 1968 -
the year they got married.

and so
because domination is paternalistic
so is internalized
racist
territorialism.

location, location, location.

gentrification doesn't work both ways though
white people in the colored district
don't hang your heads
this is a free country
free market
better prices, better neighborhoods
the last few generations of white families want
neighborhoods with diversity
with culture

but 23rd and union is not
lower capitol hill!
but as we motherfuckers with
our vegan queer co-op houses
open up shop all up and down 23rd
going further and further south
guess where the black people are going?

i guess i can't understand roots
because i've never had chains
when you're attached to your
forty acres

you get attached to them

i can't understand violence as an answer
because i haven't been asking the right questions

what does home
mean to me
and how much
is it worth?

and when it
hurts
so deep
you can't see your feet and
your fear is a foil to your
humanists' streak -
what makes the difference
between the fierce and the meek?
between those who would soothe
their hurt by loving
and those who amplify the impact
of their suffering
by spreading it to others?

someone once told me
namaste - your hurt is my hurt
aloha - your hurt is my hurt
ubuntu - your hurt is my hurt

you don't have to hurt me
because i felt it when you did.

so what's up with you kid?

two kids.
it's stupid;
enter the central district
one kid leaves,
bruised, battered and bleeding
asphalt and leaves
in his hair
to complement the cracked ribs

and this is what hurt kids do
and i ain't felt it
but let me tell you, kid
i hurt too

liberation

2011-08-06T01:09:00.000-07:00

i think about all of the things that we will never do
and know that it won't be the same without you
hot air balloons and travels east
a five-year plan reduced to three
i still love you but that ain't enough is it?
sometimes the right decision feels like shit

and now we sleep alone again, crying two rooms apart
my friends tell me that fucking heals a broken heart
i haven't been rejected, though
freedom won't seem to let me go
i still love you but that ain't enough is it?
sometimes the right decision feels like shit

i have no illusions of
finding someone better for me
if this is liberation
give me back my lock and key

you were perfect for me

elijah

2011-04-05T10:29:00.000-07:00

daddy daddy tell me tell me what's that in your arm
why you why you actin' crazy
why you yellin' at my mom
why you leavin don't you go
why you throwin' up your hands
don't you leave me don't you leave
you gotta teach me how to be a man
and i know you had it rough
or at least
i know you think you did
but i always thought you said
you'd never do that to your own kids
OK
gramma didn't do right
OK
she made her own mistakes
but was remorseful was resourceful
at least she put food on your plate
at least she tried
and yeah she lied
but never resigned herself to her fate so
so daddy daddy while you're out there gettin' crazy
and rebelling at the world
please don't forget don't forget
back at home
your baby boy and little girl?

lost cause

2011-04-02T16:53:00.000-07:00

a new song i'm working on.

f c g am
i'm not trying
to get outta this life alive
when death taps me on the shoulder
to let me know that we've arrived

f c g am
yeah when that welcome passenger
forever on my tail
is the face of my maker
will he tell me that i've failed

f g
cause it's a lost cause
trying to stay on top
and in between the lines

f g
if all i can do
is just to hold you
we'll be all right

f c g am
i know
what i' been put here to do
that conviction took me by the wrist
and led me to you

f c g am
i see an old soul
behind those bright eyes
~~well if a love this true ain't enough~~
i'll never get it right

f g
cause it's a lost cause
trying to stay on top
and in between the lines

f g
if all i can do
is just to hold you
we'll be all right

2011-03-07T20:08:00.000-08:00

i am a man.
i think
i mean
i used to know

i used to know
before i encountered all these little letters.
lgbtq - and if you're really feeling generous?
you can append a qiappa to the acronym but
sometimes i forget what
some of those letters mean
and it's easier to stick to q.

maybe because it's tough to define.

i used to be

something definable
something clear
something normal.

not something queer;
not different
not strange
never estranged from
those comfortable
conservative
estimates about human nature.

but estimates they were
just guesses
who wears dresses
and who pants

who kills the spider
inching closer
who comforts who
when

these things were natural
we were told

which of us
cooks dinner
three nights out of five
which of us
six nights out of seven
is the big spoon

who initiates

who's masculine
who's got strength
and who power
who took a minute
and who an hour

who's cute and
who's not
who gets your
stomach, heart, dick
tied up in knots

who features in flights of fancy, and
who you wanna go home with
who you want to marry
who completes that myth

we were taught when we were young
about right and wrong
about love and hate
in all those silly love songs,
those fables, those films

that were never about
a bad-ass,
masculine-ass,
hard-ass dude
and another dude

that were never about
mutual understanding
respect
consent
caring
the long term

and i wonder becuase

cuz i loved a girl.
i did,
but i also think
this dude i know's cute

so how can one be a man
when one's integrity is -
if not lost but
in doubt

because how can one be whole
when one doesn't even know
half of the multitudes one contains

we are boundless creatures
says this poster above a past mentor's desk
but all i've ever known
are boundaries

all i've ever known is
pre-defined
outlined
prolly blind
identities
intertwined
with religion
and circumstance
and what's right
and wrong

if there's a letter for me
it's q
and
while it's comforting that
there's a letter for me
it doesn't provide security

and so i'm
lost in the ether
maybe forever
wondering what or who
i am
i loved a girl
but i'm not,
according to what i've been taught
a man

2011-02-25T14:47:00.000-08:00

when the light places become dark again
and you're left no face to save
when you're honest with yourself
when you smile quietly

then the dark places become light again
and the fears melt - like pounds could
if they would -
if you would -
be better -
and then
it's dark again

love yourself

2010-11-30T12:54:00.000-08:00

you're pretty good at lovin' me
i got some excess on the shelf
the essential question, though, it seems
have you learned to love yourself?

-----------

make sure the make-up's right
'cuz your jeans are getting tight
whatever the reason,
whatever the season,
they'll never let you survive

taking stock of my blackness

2010-11-15T12:40:00.000-08:00

taking stock of my blackness

my father taught me to put 'african american'
on my college applications
i'd have a better chance of getting in, he said
with a knowing glance and a grin, he said this thing
my upper-middle class white suburban upbringing
didn't say a word
it didn't need to

and i'm pretty sure that's all he ever taught me
about being black
maybe it's the only thing it's ever got me,
being black
a chance to notch my class a bit higher
to call myself a writer
to get a bit whiter

i didn't self-identify as a person of color
until a couple years ago

and it's not his fault;
we had books and he
he tried sometimes but
the other shit on his mind
like being a doctor,
running a business,
dealing with quite a few
quite dysfunctional
progeny
and ex-wives
runs lives

and anyway
racism was over
he made it
why keep harping on something
that wasn't really relevant anymore
don't want to get a victim complex
and i was light skinned enough
i was never gonna be oppressed
unless i let that shit get to me

right?

when i look at my students now i wonder
what being black really means

and it wasn't until college that i decided
to take stock of my blackness

and i think it comes down to my hair

i learned late that hair was big
in the black community
the weaves, the perms, the fades, the fros
the constant struggle - and i had to struggle too

these days old black women with kind eyes tell me
they love my curls
old white women too, their roots grey and the rest
a faded orange, a woeful attempt to bring back
the youthfulness they've lost

the girls always wanted to run their
hands through it

but it wasn't until the colombian lady
that cut my hair for twelve dollars when
i was away the first year of college, away from
the free trims my dad would give me
told me to leave the conditioner in
that the struggle
against the fuzzy nappy mess on top of my head
was over that that hair
could be tamed
and the struggle ended

it wasn't until i lost that struggle against my hair
i mean won
that i took stock of my blackness

because what is to be black if not
to struggle

that struggle
that keeps my students down
keeps them from wanting to be scholars
because you don't see black scholars on the tv
you don't see them in hip-hop

the struggle against the SAT
against the teachers that tell them to be quiet
that tell them to speak the right way
the white way
to sit down
to settle down
to stay down,
hands behind your back
you shut the fuck up when i'm talking to you
boy
to recognize that what's on top is a white man
that to be on top is to become a white man

a struggle i never had

and i didn't any longer have struggle over hair
or really over anything
didn't have anything black left

no hip-hop, no drugs no violence
no yelling at movie screens
no jordans
no basketball, no community with
rigorously controlled social norms as far as i could see
no one telling me i can't or i won't
be
no slang - filthy vs. greasy, been had,

even when the president
is black
he's not really - he's like me

but i could never pass like barack
honestly i'm not sure i ever wanted to

draft

2010-06-09T15:08:00.000-07:00

d g d

don't you understand that the ink from your pen
a g d
will never unravel the yarns they will spin

and while you exhaust yourself playing the game
a million, more gallons will flow just the same

d g d
so it's time to admit that complicity lies
a g d
in the hearts of the activists taking (their) strides
d g d
toward a commonly held but impossible future
a g d
those wounds, they will itch, but don't pull out the suture

cause a gash makes a scar and we must wear them with pride
if we're ever to begin to recognize
the blood and the oil, from enemies, friends
all looks the same on the shore, in our lungs, in our hands

so it's time to admit that complicity lies
with those who do nothing to stem the tide
of demand for the poison inherent in comfort

this isn't like

2010-04-04T22:11:00.000-07:00

i like the way you say my name
whether a sultry nighttime coo or "little bear"
both incite in me a lil' flame
it's the mouth that's talkin', not the moniker

i like the way you call me out
on my shit when i'm a dick
and i admire without a doubt
the strength with which you put up with it

i will take all your self-consciousness
and scatter it like ashes because
this isn't like, this isn't like

then all the fear and lack of trust
oh, it crashes into like
and this is love, this is love

i like the way you hold a spoon
washin' dishes rinse it end to end
and how you have to know that soon
i'll sidle up behind you, bury my head

i like the way that you're so small
a hug from me envelops your whole being
and that tiny frame, that hinted drawl
hides a heart so big it engulfs me

i will take all your self-consciousness
and scatter it like ashes because
this isn't like, this isn't like

then all the fear and lack of trust
oh, it crashes into like
and this is love, this is love

contradictions

2009-12-20T18:53:00.001-08:00

ok so here it is now.

you're sort of a beacon of marvelous light
that invariably weakens as you wind through the night
across town, through the streets and into my room
where i lie awake and think about you.

where i wonder what happens when everything ends
whether you will be there, and will my friends
and i toss and turn, try to squint through the fog
and attempt to quench my enmity with god

because he's the same god that loves the ones that i do
and he's the same god that hardened pharoah's heart
and he's the same god that brought me to you
and he's the same god that tears me apart.

it's the same sort of useless, trying to understand you
as trying to figure out what big man is up to
because you're the embodiment of all i ever wanted
all mysterious, all beautiful, understated, unflaunted

and so is that just the fault of the human condition?
a war hawk's nobel prize, justified by his admission?
the best loved, most generous in the ground are laid
the most beautiful woman can't love the way she's made

yeah he's the same god that loves the ones that i do
and he's the same god that hardened pharoah's heart
and he's the same god that brought me to you
and he's the same god that tears me apart.

some more recent drafts

2009-12-17T10:01:00.000-08:00

"beacon"

you're sort of a beacon of marvelous light
that invariably weakens as it winds through the night
across town, through the streets and into my room
where i lie awake and think about you.

where i wonder what happens when everything ends
whether you'll be there, and will be my friends
and i toss and turn, try to squint through the fog
and attempt to quench my enmity with god

because he's the same god that loves the ones that i do
and he's the same god that hardened pharoah's heart
and he's the same god that brought me to you
and he's the same god that tears me apart.

it's the same sort of useless, trying to understand you
as trying to figure out what that crazy dude's up to
because you're an amalgam of everything i've ever wanted
all mysterious, all beautiful, all bjhfvhgc unflaunted

which is very obviously connected to this one: "following him"

are you the same god that
bets with the evil you created
tortures a good man, the best man
to show his loyalty to you

because i'm a big fan of you
and i really want to follow
but i'm afraid that somehow if i do
i might end up following him

are you the same god that
hardened pharoah's heart
to prove a point, perhaps or
to create some great mythology for us
to celebrate 2000 years later

because i'm a big fan of you
and i really want to follow
but i'm afraid that somehow if i do
i might end up following him

are you the same god that
condemns 2/3 of your creation
to torture, that created us evil
then blames us for the fact

because i'm a big fan of you, jesus
and i really want to follow
but i'm afraid that somehow if i do
i might end up following him

i thought about scrapping the second one and taking the good parts and turning it into the first one. we'll see. i like the verses of the first one but i like the chorus of the second one. and the first one is about two completely different things at the same time and i don't think it works.

either way, i've been writing and it's nice. my writer's block has lately been a frustration with not knowing more chords. :(

don't hang up your harp

2009-02-15T13:55:00.000-08:00

D Bm
don't hang up your harp
G
when you're down by the river
Bm A
with a broken heart

don't hang up your guitar
when there's songs to be singin'
when love seems so far away

G Bm
we can still wake up refreshed
A D
be content with all we've got
we can still cuddle all morning
together lament for what we've lost

if there's anything i can tell ya
it's just, try for peace right where you are
and don't hang up your harp

don't give up just yet
it's on the horizon
we'll meet the threat

with dreams of a new day
some strategic idealism
to counter society's sway

economics won't get us there
nor will a new president
it'll be a song that we're livin'
that'll set the precedent

if there's anything i can tell ya
it's just, try for peace right where you are
and don't hang up your harp

2008-09-07T20:35:00.000-07:00

we could smell the faeries' footprints
throughout the dew-drenched twilight air
though balance was difficult, if you stood still
bold ones would alight on your hair

and i haven't been so lucky
they don't seem to come around here
cuz imagination's long-lost creation
isn't compatible with fear

lovers who burn and
lovers who dream
are lovers who share
...

though my heart breaks
for the same things as yours
will the ember be still burning
if i can't see what it burns for

if dreams are the language of the soul
and it's my heart that translates
if i come to, and just be, on the mountain,
it may be that which decides my fate

rough drafts

2008-03-23T15:03:00.000-07:00

change your name

yeah, we get along.
but what was that other thing
that plato said?
the greater good?
is there a greater good
is there
something more that
one could hope for another
than
what i hope for you?
and i'm pretty sure
your mom approves
but i wonder,
still i wonder
would you
change your name
for me?

i feel safer when i'm
with you like
all my fears or
inconsistencies or
insecurities or
inane
unfounded
rants of
self-important
idealism
are
somehow
OK
and for you i hope
i do the same
but i wonder,
still i wonder
would you
change your name
for me?

would you sacrifice that
bubbling, timid,
robin's egg,
or is it navy, or
sky, since,
i've heard that's
from where it gets
that brilliant aspect-
blue,
would you sacrifice
the slow-moving beauty,
the gurgling,
forest-dwelling,
that same-syllablled, but
infinitely more principled,
meaning-filled,
altogether you-defining,
surname, bestowed with
infinite love
from those who begat you?
would you
change your name
for me?

and i'm not really asking,
i'm much more romantic than that.
i'm solely musing,
confident that
i could do much,
much, much
worse;
that if there were anyone
less deserving,
i wouldn't know where or how to find them,
that i've no
trepidation about one day
deigning to ask the question.
just musing,
contemplating,
wondering not
whether you'd like to
hang out
again,
or forever, but simply
whether you'd ever
find me worthy,
whether you'd be willing
to lose the self that
you'd been for
twenty-odd-years,
whether you'd
be willing to
quite literally
change
as a result of knowing me?
would you,
i wonder,
yet, i wonder
would you change
your name
for me?

an autumn walk in boston

i've never been, but
i dream; i insist:
"heart, take heart.
only sit tight two,
or twelve years' time."
i lay silent, sedate, snug-
asleep-
and walk.
along a woody,
leaf-strewn footpath,
fireworks above-
mother's, mind you-
and gently
hold
your
hand
ambling slowly,
always,
so slowly,
with
limitless leisure,
because with
her cheerfully alacritous,
annual,
not aural-
and yet musical-
accompaniment-
and yours-
i'm
just
happy.

and happiness
like gold, is fleeting-
and its warmth
is
golden,
delicious,
a sour, succulent orange,
a bright candy red,
or a brilliant green
but whichever way, won't stay for long
especially in boston.

or at least
that's what i dream-
i've never been.

2007-12-16T13:38:00.001-08:00

there's something that's inside us
and it's killed my sense of wonder
made me feel as though i've failed tonight
even when i thought i'd found the light

i see the full force of my hypocrisy
and yet i've still no remorse
forgivess flows as from a fount
from the depths of the well i'll haunt

audrey II

2007-12-16T13:22:00.000-08:00

there is so much more to life
than who is sleepin' by your side
there is so much more to know
than those tears you shed at night

why can't you see
can't you see
how beautiful you are
to Him and to me

and i know you know just how
poor those boys, they're treatin' you
from a fit of rage, then it comes late
you sink down to the deepest blue

why can't you see
can't you see
how beautiful you are
to Him and to me

and i know that your fighting with your past
and i know that you think that love can't last
but i also know there's one thing
that's never let me down
and it's the man wearing your thorns as His crown

so why can't you see
can't you see
how beautiful you are
to Him and to me

because if you could see
the way we see
you'd know how beautiful you are
and you'd be free
©

2007-11-22T23:17:00.001-08:00

i stood up to write a poem about
this shit i heard the other day
but my heart became so heavy
i fell back, i couldn't find the words to say

bin laden had nothing to do with 9/11
or so says the CIA

so go ahead and look it up and tell me
just what we're supposed to do when
we can't trust the people we give power
the people we didn't really even choose

and if we can't trust them about that
can we trust them about this
when they tell us we need a new
flatscreen or fake tits
when they tell you that you ugly
inadequate or gay shit.

tell me why it's unamerican to want to
stop bein' a whore
cuz when you buy into this shit it looks
like you're selling something more

but wait-i love this country, i do. at least
i keep being told that.

i just wonder what's the price of freedom
that makes 'em hate us if that makes sense
how much do we really need 'em?

this shit we ingest daily
while we feed into the machine
that villainizes everyone that don't believe them
when they tell us what we need

yeah i'd like a new fucking ipod and i'd like
to eat some fucking meat
but compassion takes some sacrifice or
it ain't compassion. can't you see
that it takes nothing of yourself
to give what you just fuckin' got for free

freely you received, and freely give
what do you have that you've really earned?
work twelve hours, six, or none
doesn't change what you deserve
maybe if you were born down the fucking street
then you wouldn't have the nerve

to tell jesus that you're poor
that you can't spare a dollar today
that you have to buy it cheap because
ethics sure as hell don't pay
can i really say i'm poor when
my silver spoon it gets a chip?
and i'm not sayin give away your shit
oh wait that is what i'm tryin to say
jesus told you to fuckin' do it.
what's the delay?

do you think jesus would own an ipod
or go to war or vote for bush
would he wear clothes that're made by slaves
and i wonder would he push

a man he knows and loves and died for
into a lake of smoldering fire
i don't know or i wouldn't ask but
that's not the god for whom i perspire cuz

i'm workin out here trying to live this life
and it's work to not believe what you've been told
i don't believe that it takes money or status
or a woman or religion or hatred or judgement
to reach the fuckin' goal

cuz i'm content now with just
the beauty of the trees
and in our heartbeats and our souls
and sharing something real something
that you can't see on TV

it's love man. and that's the price
it's what it takes to do what's right
and you'll never find it on sale at kmart
sittin under the blue light

because there's nothing else so sacred
over which more righteous battles have been fought
so if you want to do anything that you think that jesus did
it's going to take some time, some money, some sacrifice,
if you want to do what's right it ain't gonna be easy
or convenient. it's gonna take all that you got.

don't stop walking

2007-11-22T22:03:00.001-08:00

don't stop walking, and please start talking,
though we're in this together we can still be alone

if our voices aren't lifting
and just through sand we're sifting;
searching, seeking, uncover, and then you'll grow.

when they said what they did
and we tried not to listen,
when they wrote what they
wrote with a bone for a pen,
in a tomb, on a trail
and they knew what would glisten,
and it wasn't gold,
my friends,
it wasn't gold at all.

because he came and he served,
and he lived and he died,
and we didn't get it.
and we don't get it.
and we'll never get it
if we stop walking
if we stop talking.

if we're not lifting
our voices,
if we're not making
the choices

that we,
our generation,
has been called to make,

then we're raping our wives,
and car-bombing our hives,
and this bloodless
confrontation
will erupt with rage.

because we have the choice
and finally, we have the voice.
because for hundreds of years
it's been denied us,

and we have the teacher,
and when we become the preacher,
we can see for ourselves
that it's ok to trust.

and when they said what they did
and we tried not to listen,
and when they wrote what they wrote
with a bone for a pen,
in a tomb, on a trail,
fellas,
they knew what would glisten.
and my brothers,
it wasn't gold at all.

so now they're talking, and so are we.
and now we're listening intently.
and now we're walking alongside
those prophets of old.

so now their writings come alive
and we skip, and we turn, and we jive
and now we're walking alongside
those prophets of old.

and when we write magic words
that spill from our hearts,
who will need a bone or a pen?

in the halls, in a classroom,
people will start to listen
when jesus starts speaking from
the mouth of a man.

and i'm that man.
and you're that man.

because we haven't stopped walking,
and we haven't stopped talking,
and we'll never stop walking,
and we'll never stop talking.

free

2007-11-22T22:03:00.000-08:00

90% of things on here are rough drafts that i never finished

2007-10-13T17:12:00.000-07:00

there is so much more to life
than who is sleepin' by your side
there is so much more to know
than those tears you shed at night

why can't you see
can't you see
how beautiful you are
to me

and i know you know just how
poor those boys, they're treatin' you
from a fit of rage, then it comes late
and you sink down to the deepest blue

why can't you see
can't you see
how beautiful you are
to Him and me

and i know that your fighting with your past
and i know that you think that love can't last
but i also know there's one thing
that's never let me down
and it's the man wearing your thorns as a crown

so why can't you see
can't you see
how beautiful you are
to Him and me

because if you could see
the way we see
you'd know how beautiful you are
and you'd be free

I blended the last two together into this

2007-10-13T17:10:00.000-07:00

a stark and telling moon is rising slowly over us
i tremble slightly with the pressure, lacking the necessary trust
what was created to be beautiful has now a sick, perverted grin
while our bodies work their magic i am drowning in the din

and you said, "oh oh oh
but i think it might be true"
and i said, "even so i can't do this to you"
then i said, "oh oh oh
but i think that she's the one"
even more
even more how will i feel
when this is done

the startling dysfunction then, of reason, of my brain
had trickled down a silent, agonizing, piercing pain
it found its way directly to the center of my chest
the point of this selfishness was pleasure, but all i felt was regret

and you said, "oh oh oh
but i think it might be true"
and i said, "even so i can't do this to you"
but i said, "oh oh oh
i think that she's the one"
even more
even more how will i feel
when this is done

two months later we pretend that we've got it all together
and i'm so sorry ______, but there are storms we cannot weather
i miss you now and i'll miss you then and this decision is so hard to make
but when time has passed, and our friendship lasts, we'll know it was not a mistake

and you said, "oh oh oh
but i think it might be true"
and i said, "even so i can't do this to you"
but i said, "oh oh oh
i think that she's the one"
even more
even more how will i feel
when this is done

2007-08-04T20:07:00.000-07:00

and i think i'm scared of forgiveness
i don't think i deserve it
if i make myself out the villain
then you can push on through it

because it doesn't make sense
to give up when the getting's good
we can't see the consequences
like lovers ever could

and you said, oh oh oh
i think it might be true
and i said
even so i can't do this to you
but then i said, oh oh oh
i think she's the one
even more how will i feel
when this is done

and it wasn't the first time,
but it would be the last
i trembled with the pressure
i felt it deep within my chest

we shared what was reserved
for lovers closer intertwined
instead of pleasure at this selfishness
regret was the first thing on my mind

and you said, oh oh oh
i think it might be true
and i said
even so i can't do this to you

but then i said, oh oh oh
i think she's the one
even more how will i feel
when this is done

i woke up in a cold sweat
your beauty still nearby
never knew it would be this hard
to simply say goodbye

rough

2007-07-26T14:35:00.000-07:00

a stark and telling moon is rising slowly over us
i tremble slightly with the pressure, lacking the necessary trust
what was created to be beautiful has now a sick, perverted grin
while our bodies work their magic i am drowning in the din

it was not the only time that i had sheepishly proposed
that you would smiling stand before me, naked and disrobed
a that moment, an all-consuming torrent had prepared to begin
to crushingly remind me the severity of our sin

and you said
oh oh oh
but i think it might be true
and i said
even so i can't do this to you
but i said
oh oh oh
i think she is the one
even more
even more how will i feel
when this is done

the startling dysfunction then, of reason, of my brain
had trickled down a silent, agonizing, piercing pain
it found its way directly to the center of my chest
the point of this selfishness was pleasure, but all i felt was regret

i woke up in a dark, cold sweat, with beauty still nearby
i cuddled closer still and then began to shake and cry
because i knew that had at this point, now, my caring truly for you begun
i would never again do to you what i had eagerly just done

thou mayest

2007-05-18T23:17:00.000-07:00

thou mayest, thou must
make the choice.
but be more that certain it's
the right one-
if you're like my aunt, you'll
have realized that life is
quite a bit shorter than is
capable of really ever being
imagined,
so make the choice.
thou mayest.
it's, yeah, what makes us
what we are, that ability
so make the choice
and choose well
and don't factor in your emotions
they flee
faster than is
capable of really ever being
imagined
so make the choice
thou mayest
and whether or not you've been
inside her, whatever that
means to you or whether
it means anything to her
or whether you have the chance
to get there again
shouldn't, can't possibly
interfere because with matters
of the heart
it's better to use
your head
instead.
thou mayest.
thou must.

Goodbye, my lover

2007-04-10T23:51:00.000-07:00

I used to treasure you as a diamond
I used to cradle you in my arms
I used to love you unconditionally
I used to protect you from harm.
I've not spoken to you in weeks
I've not seen your face in months
I've not kept up with your happenings
I've not conversed with you even once
I thought that you were truthful
I thought you wanted to be friends
I thought we had no hope together
I thought this wasn't how it'd end.

i'm sorry stephanni

2007-04-10T18:04:00.000-07:00

g d em d
a stark and telling moon is rising slowly over us
i tremble slightly with the pressure, lacking the necessary trust
what was created to be beautiful has now a sick, perverted grin
while our bodies work their magic i am drowning in the din

and you said
oh oh oh
but i think it might be true
and i said
even so i can't do this to you

the startling dysfunction then, of reason, of my brain
had trickled down a silent, agonizing, piercing pain
it found its way directly to the center of my chest
the point of this selfishness was pleasure, but all i felt was regret

and you said
oh oh oh
but i think it might be true
and i said
even so i can't do this to you
but i said
oh oh oh
i think she is the one
even more
even more how will i feel
when this is done

two months later we pretend that we've got it all together
soon you'll see, darling, there are storms we cannot weather
i miss you now and i'll miss you then and this decision is so hard to make
but when time has passed, and our friendship lasts, we'll know it was not a mistake

and you said
oh oh oh
but i think it might be true
and i said
even so i can't do this to you
but i said
oh oh oh
i think she is the one
even more
even more how will i feel
when this is done

Disenchanted rough draft

2007-03-10T17:46:00.000-08:00

When I disappoint you
(because, surely, I will),
how will you respond?

I know that;
I'm pretty sure that (I mean,
I think I know myself
relatively well,
and I mean,
I have past experience
to look on, and like
your professor told you,
past behaviour
dictates
future behaviour),
at some point,
I won't stick up for you
and
I'll know immediately afterward
that I should have,
but
salvage-able
the situation will not be;

I know
that at some point
I'll say the completely
wrong
thing
and
you'll grimace: that brief--
fleeting because
you won't want to let me see
your disappointment
but I'll have seen it for sure
because it's never
that I'm not, at least
surreptitiously,
watching
creeping
admiring you
but that
heartbreaking
facial expression
that just says
so much more than any of your
disappointed yet
face-saving words
could ever;

and
at some point it's going
to become apparent
to you
that I
am not all that I'm
cracked up to be
and how,
and how will you respond?
And how will we get on?

Road to Recovery

2007-01-17T11:00:00.000-08:00

He never thought someone would come along
and show him the feelings he's always dreamed of.
She didn't plan on falling in love;
upset the balance she's wanted so long.

This road to recovery has taken all I have.
It seems hard; as I try,
I succumb once again.

Well, he lost control, and gave up his heart.
To follow the girl that he's always dreamed of.
She pulled away, so scared of a love
that might have been more than she had planned on.

This road to recovery has taken all I have.
It seems hard; as I try,
I succumb once again.

Well love is a bitch, all relationships end.
What happens now, when that person's gone?
The one who you thought you could always count on?
You fall in love, and they fall out.
Love is a bitch. All relationships end.

How do I let go of a love that meant so much to me?
How do I go on when you're part of me?
I'm dying inside each time I see you.
Don't lose sight of me, 'cause you're all I see.
You're still all I see.
This road to recovery has taken all I have.

©Rufio "Road to Recovery"

Road to Recovery by Elliott Jones

Natalie hesitated, shoebox in hand. Slowly, a reticent half-smile formed from her lips as she held up the shoebox and let it dangle precariously over the tacky Target© trash bin that sat in the corner of her bedroom. She felt as though she were Scar, claws extended, gazing down at Mufasa during arguably the most intense scene from her favourite Disney film, The Lion King—offering the shoebox a few seconds of agonizing self-contemplation before it was to be released to that plastic purple abyss. After a slight pause, though, she decided better of the betrayal—at least tentatively—and using her free hand rolled her also tacky, also purple computer chair over to where she had up until that point been standing. She rescued the shoebox from its demise by sitting down and placing it on her lap. She then traced over the white letters that decorated the top of the shoebox with her index finger, while simultaneously crunching her eyebrows together and tugging at her bottom lip with her teeth, as she thought about opening it.

It wasn't big, the shoebox, and she had been genuinely surprised (when she had begun to fill it) by how much it could actually hold. Its original occupants had been a pair of black ballet flats, purchased at Payless Shoes on sale for $8.50. The thing about flats, she had thought upon making the purchase, is that nobody can tell where you bought them, since there is no room on them really for a logo, and they are all cheap anyway, and they all look the same, and really she wanted to thank whatever person made shoes that were so cheap become the new trend, and even though everyone has them, it’s OK, and basically—it's the perfect deal. She smiled inwardly as she remembered her best friend’s immediate comment the first day she wore them: "Those are from Payless, aren't they?" They quickly lost their luster.

After emptying the shoes, and the little tissue paper that went along with them (whose purpose, rather inconsequently, she had never fully understood but had contemplated heavily), from their cardboard home eight or so weeks ago, she had tried to determine what to do with the shoebox. It was interesting to her how she had come full circle. Then she had stood, much like she had just now been standing, above her trash can—only that time contemplating what kinds of uses such a small shoebox might have, not struggling over whether to trash it. At that point she had not sat down in her chair, thought long and hard, and reflected on her summer, and her life—instead she, without any legitimate reason, put the shoebox on top of her bookshelf, telling herself "just in case”. How happy had she been, later that week, when she found it a fitting use.

And how surreal it was now: the realization that whether she had done it then or waited, the shoebox was still going to find the same destination—the bottom of her trash can—and that it didn’t matter if Mufasa died at the beginning or the end of the movie, or in the middle, that he was still dead. She felt regret pulse at her temples, and she wished, for some unknowable reason, that she had thrown it away then—maybe that way the memories contained within wouldn't haunt her so. But she knew that another shoebox would have taken its place, and she also knew that not only was regret meaningless, it was useless, self-destructive, painful, weak…

She opened the box slowly, and once again quietly noticed first how much could fit in it. His mix CD, of course, was the piece that so amazed her—when placed at a certain angle it fit as though it was born to reside there. She looked over the little bits and pieces that grinned up at her beguilingly upon her opening of the box. A couple movie ticket stubs, an extremely well made friendship bracelet, a ticket stub from the musical Les Misérables, the aforementioned mix CD, and a page ripped out of a book. “There isn't much here,” she thought to herself. “There isn't much to have to forget.”

Natalie took out the CD and looked at it yet again. "Come Sit On My Wall" was the title, and she remembered how proud of herself she had been when she had finally figured out where the title came from—the lyrics to a Damien Rice song, “Amie,” track number 4. It didn’t matter that that wasn’t her name. How many indie love songs were written about girls named Natalie? She had wanted to tell him that she had figured it out, but it had been at least a couple of weeks since he had given the CD to her that she made the connection—she had felt sort of embarrassed at how long it took. Maybe he thought she should have gotten it right away? At first, she had imagined it had something to do with one of the times they had gone to the beach, or sitting on the wall at the elementary school playground, or that it just sounded somewhat cute, or that it just sounded like something that you might title a mix CD (she had to admit that this was her first inclination). She extracted the booklet he had made along with the CD from the jewel case, and took a millionth look inside it. She turned the pages, slowly, and took in each one singularly. "Make me a mix tape that makes me yours," ended the quote on the third page, before the pages began that contained the lyrics to each song. She had never heard the song that this quote was from, as it wasn't on the CD, but she had wanted to listen to it after reading it there—she felt a little unfulfilled now as she realized she probably wouldn't ever get around to downloading it.

She realized something new about the booklet each time she perused it, and she noticed something now—his name was nowhere to be found. Even on the final page, where he wrote a little "enjoy it" type note, he didn’t sign it or write his name. Up until this point she hadn’t given it a second thought. A realization struck her now, however, and she couldn’t figure out whether it was her pessimistic imagination, or his genuine intention—she proposed, to herself, that he had kept his name off on purpose, just in case something like this ever happened—for her sake, so that she could listen to it and enjoy it still, even if he wasn't any longer in the picture. She closed her eyes and silently argued with him in her mind. “Why do you always have to assume that things aren’t going to work out? Do you have to prepare yourself for the end before anything—” She stopped, sighed, put the booklet back in the jewel case, and moved on.

There were two ticket stubs in the box, but they had seen more movies than that together—and she felt bad for not remembering exactly how many. She didn't even still have the stub from the first time they had gone, sans mutual friends—and she remembered how she kicked herself later for not saving it after she realized that that was their first… and she couldn’t think of the word. Not “Date”. The first time they had ever really done anything, "together," this summer. Once again, the realization of what she was now doing helped push her back into reality. “Who cares if you don't have that one ticket stub?” She asked herself. “It’s about to go into the trash now, anyways.” She looked closely at one of the stubs, and remembered vividly the night they had seen that movie.

They had gotten a little bit lost, and there had been traffic, and they had arrived late, and she had to run, in heels, through the theatre to their screen. And she had wanted popcorn, but there was no time, and she didn't get a beverage either, and he said he was sorry, and next time for sure. And they missed the beginning of the movie, and had no idea what was going on—and there were violent parts, and he apologized again, and he hadn't known. And blood splattered all over the screen, and she turned her head toward his, and curled into a ball, and she covered her eyes, and then—he gently grabbed her hand. And the movie screen, and the entire last hour, disappeared. Her mouth hung open for a split second as electricity flowed throughout her entire being. She silently looked over at him, as he watched. He looked back at her, with a quiet smile, to tell her that the scary part was over. She shook her head, closed her mouth, snapped out of it, and looked back at the screen... and in the present day, back at the ticket stub.

How meaningful had that night been. It was that moment... do you know that moment? When two people, suddenly, cease to be two people. When something, just, something happens—be it an event, a passing glance, a conversation, a kiss—and you stop journeying alone through your life, and suddenly you're on the same path as another human being, ambling awkwardly down that crooked, sidelong dirt road—the journey during which two truly become one. The hand grab was his step, his leap of faith—and she returned it then, in kind, and finally, finally they both knew that they 'liked' each other. And that wasn't supposed to be such a big deal anymore for 19 year-olds, but the few weeks prior to that had been spent in an excruciatingly difficult form of limbo—flirting, hanging out in groups, talking on AIM and occasionally the phone—and finally, finally it had officially become something she could put hope in, that she could rely on, that she could dream about, and that she could be afraid of. And as all of her past and present hopes and dreams blossomed again into her consciousness, regret mercilessly beleaguered her and every emotion possible enveloped and suffocated her at once, and Natalie began to cry.

She cried because as much of something as it had seemed to be, it wasn't something—or if it had been, it wasn't any longer, and it was entirely her fault. And she cried because it didn't matter how meaningful that day had been or what memories were evoked by the ticket stub or the rest of the contents of the box, or how well the CD fit in it, or really anything at all. Because once again it was going into the trash can and she had ruined it and she might have broken his heart and her own and she might never get a chance like this again and she knew that it had been a mistake to look into the box and she knew that she was pitiful for crying over a summer fling that lasted seven weeks, and she steeled herself and she ground her teeth together and she wiped away her tears and she shut the box.

Natalie stared down at the shoebox, now closed. She traced her index finger over the white lettering that decorated the top of it, and taking the box in her hands she stood up. She wiped away the traces of salt on her cheeks and walked over to the trashcan, and there, again, Lion King references aside, she hesitated. She, instead of executing that bitter murder, made her way to her bookshelf—and she set the box on top, where she couldn't help but say to herself it "belonged". At that point emotion once again overpowered her better judgment, her legs gave way under her and she fell to the carpet in a heap. Bitter tears stained her beautiful face as she lay, quietly, sobbing.

because that's from where legitimate direction comes

2007-01-04T23:18:00.000-08:00

the fibers tear into your skin
and it’s never been so taut
and when your life depends on this
everything you’ve worked for
you’ve earned
and when it breaks
well, darling,
you fall
i guess that was how it was designed

and you tumbled
you
you fell
you tumbled down
we see a smile
you wipe a tear
how did you get here?
didn’t you make all the right moves?
maybe your ego’s met its equal
in the moldly bricks
that now entrap you

but there isn't water rising
there isn't water rising but
something is
and
you're drowning
you're drowning still
in arrogance
in comfort
in anxiety
in certainty
in self-sacrifice
in religion.

at least from here
you can only
look in one direction
up.

The Painter's Tragedy

2006-11-28T16:35:00.000-08:00

I was a poor and horrid wretch
Before a family took me in
Found a propensity for sketch
And as I grew
So did my popularity

A well-known artist I bothered
At his recent exhibition
Sold a drawing to your father
A stunning one
Of a dream girl I’d yet to meet

But wouldn’t you know it
I met you sitting there
A ribbon interweaved
Into your long, brown hair
Those eyes did me appall
And then, once and for all
Oh, the tragedy

He informed me of my talent
That the future I’d surely read
Purchased for me a fitting palette
And commissioned
A portrait of his newfound bride

With that next work my fame was spread
And a friend of his I became
A surrogate father, he led
Me in the ways
Of a solid and gentle man

And I lost the image
Of that female phantom
That woman I’d painted
And let go on ransom
But ten years later I
Saw again the startling eyes
Oh, the glory

For the child with whom I’d grown
In the home of that benefactor
Had surely come into her own
And in my sight
Was now the beauty of my dreams

Separated by seven years
The affection of your father
And an ever-increasing fear
That my background
Would hinder my attempts to woo

We fell in love a day
In the windswept summer
Your deepest, secret depths
I longed to search and plunder
The course of our shared fate
Prohibited to date
Oh, the tragedy

We crept to our ravine
To escape this wicked life
And we each promised then
To never say goodbye
And with a shared, weeping cry
I felt a part of me die
Oh, the tragedy

Audrey (rough)

2006-10-29T15:40:00.000-08:00

How we started out,
Is I thought we’d date -
Thought that I would use you
On that fateful day,
To witness something
I'd never seen before.

I found out soon
You were already off.
But I went for the tape -
That wasn’t enough
To deter me from the course
That we'd soon follow.

When you'd said nothing
To me in four months,
I figured out myself
That we were done.
And I still think that I
Haven’t quite recovered.

"A travel buddy,"
And more, you said.
More memories
Than I’d ever had;
As you and I
Explored the sprawling city.

Going metro to
The heart of it all.
Mexican Catholics,
Virgin Mary walls,
The candles and the
Quick drive down to San Mon.

And you were my best friend.
I guess that don’t mean much.
With priority,
And our lives as such,
It’s all become
A fading memory.

When you ended it,
And when you had that scare,
I gave you a hug -
You know that I was there.
And you know
I always will be.

And you tear my heart
Into halves today.
But that’s inadequate
To describe the pain -
Through all the fights, I
Never saw it coming.

Oh [Audrey]
When I see you now,
It’s like I never did.
And I am not allowed
To retain any
Affection for my best friend.

And [Audrey],
If you would talk to me,
I would tell you that
I am so sorry.
And whatever it was,
I hope you can
Forgive me.

HALF WAY

2006-08-23T19:53:00.000-07:00

i walked into the room and you were there
i was blinded by your eyes, oh that subtle piercing stare

over the next few weeks
i wouldn't look at you but she
yet still i found us growing closer and closer

there was a glorious night and we both run
to behold the lover's painted lines provided by the sun

coincidences here and there
coincidence well i don't care
and now I think about the month of september

we were both drunk
when you met me
and i didn't see it going
any further than it did
and yeah we shared the sin
with the man who's promised his wife and his kids

there is no real future around the bend
though i've gained lots of friends, since what we had met its end

i don't know if it's truly truly true
that you never knew just how much i like you
it won't change your decision but at least, now, you know.

so here's your chance
come and take my hand
time is not a friend
to opportunity

and when it knocks
you'd better answer
look out on the doorstep
and you'll find me.

http://www.myspace.com/prostatusmusic

2006-08-23T19:52:00.000-07:00

this first verse is just going to be an introduction
alright, i'm gonna introduce my man right here
albert kim - pro status - let's do this

no he don't wear stunnas shades, and he ain't trying to impress
you'd think he was an azn scenester from the way that he dress
he'll rep the classy penguin shirt and got some vans on his feet
and if you want street cred AKIM he can't be beat
but you know it aint the clothes, no, ain't what makes him fresh
this kid be MV pro status, read grendel to gilgamesh
who else but me and my man woulda thought to sample RENT?
we're feeling digable planets here, but on the jazz we relent.
and yes we represent the bay, but that hyphy ain't our stuff
we're just chillin' out max, to us bel air can be rough
when you compare what we do, but what do we do?
how can rhymes so fly come from a mouth fed with a silver spoon?
we like to keep it chill, though, support the ladies too
ain't gonna hear nothing outta us jesus wouldnt a said to you
check this secret easy to spot as a pigeon from a dove
if something's missing from your life all you gotta ask is how about love

what are you afraid of rough draft

2006-08-10T12:41:00.000-07:00

is it in the tired way your eyes meet mine
like they've done a hundred times
the rationale i've never seen
the comfort was a sign
was it that glorious night beneath the stars
or our sunswept summer days
that have created in me the impetus
to begin feeling this way

and you don't know
what we will be come september
and you don't know
if you even want to remember
love, what are you afraid of?
what, are you afraid of love?

since we met i've been running
circles around my house
trying to figure out just what
you've done to me
the butterfly swarm around my eyes
make it difficult to see
anything other than your beauty

F
so here's your chance,
E
come and take my hand
Am
time is not a friend
C
to opportunity
F
and when it knocks, you'd better answer
E
look out on your doorstep
Am
the man there waving
C
is me.

and you don't know
what we will be come september
and you don't know
if you even want to remember
love, what are you afraid of?
what, are you afraid of love?

Originally Posted Monday, November 14, 2005

2006-07-20T23:42:00.000-07:00

Sadness

is

loving someone
yet having nothing
of worth
to offer them.

All I have is myself.
My body
my soul
my thoughts
my gifts
my words
my ears
my heart.
Are those worth anything?

No?

Then I am worthless.

also...
I am conceited.
I am selfish.
I am misguided.
I am self-absorbed.
I am scared.
I am hopeless.
I am useless.
I can't win.
I can't learn.
I am the same as always.
I am the same as I was high school.
I can't trust.
I need to grow.
I need to learn.
I need to appreciate myself.
I need to appreciate others.
I think I need less expectations.
I know I need God.

I need to be single. I need to learn to rely on myself before anyone else can ever rely on me. I need to learn how to give up control to God. I need to learn how to see what is best for someone else before thinking what is best for me. I need to stop worrying about my life and let God's perfect timing happen. I need to realize that everything is for the best. I need to learn what love is.

I seem to remember that one time at Albertson's...
you grabbed my arm, and we up and danced!
That music- so poor. But we were perfect;
alone in a crowd, alone in a world of our own.

And the first time we met for our very first date?
You were tired- jet lagged for sure, and red were your eyes.
But you came out to see me, so excited, and up we went.
You told me you were cold, but I left on my jacket!

We've moved pretty far from there, haven't we?
I'm here for you now, if you ever do need me.
But... I'm reasonably certain you don't anymore.
I think- you're just a bit too busy out finding yourself.

Remember when we laid, blanketed, and stared up at the stars?
How bright. Then the rain came, and tumbled upon us.
A frigid night, and I could feel you shaking- but I was warm,
because you were enveloped in me, and I in you.

I've held you in my arms, and whispered a scene-
said, "Everything I have ever wanted in this world is laying
right by my side"- and I knew it right then, and I just
want you to know now, that I meant sincerely every word.

Together we really seemed perfect, no brakes, no ceiling.
We said we could take on the world, and I stood at attention.
Into battle, together, we would go, we would conquer.
So why aren't we?

I've had this song in my head since early this morning
or was it late last night? I can't seem to recall.
I just know that it has been pressing hard on my heart
to say not what's just on my mind, but to say it all.

I always thought that I knew you ever so well
and that I could make my decisions with you in mind.
I never really knew what your love could mean until
I saw that it was given, until what you gave was mine.

So know this, my dear, I'll never stray from your side.
If you need someone to hold, I'll be there tonight.
Just listen to my voice and block out the rest
and I swear that we'll end up alright.

You have had your troubles, and you are not perfect.
And we have upset each other, oh, quite a bit.
There are times when I think you have lied to me,
when we could both have been called a 'hypocrite'.

I've made my mistakes, actually more than my share.
And I have hurt you so much that I can't understand
why you come back and give to me that disguised gift
when I know that I am surely not yet your man.

But know this, my dear, as long as I live and I breathe
if you need someone to hold I'll be at your side.
Just give me a call and I'll be there to tell you
that I swear that we'll end up alright.

We laid together on the bed
and tears spilled out of my eyes.
You didn't understand...
but neither did I.

two constance rough draft

2006-07-18T11:16:00.000-07:00

it's disconcerting
how quickly a life can change
peer into yourself now
you're past that unalterable pain

it only took a moment
for opportunity to spring forth
as you dragged your tired limbs
sopping wet across the hearth

and into my vision
must've been a sign
you traversed a distance
as lengthy as the county line
i thought, "i'll make her mine"

you weren't for sale
that dreary new years eve
an ill-fitting purchase
for share your time with me

a lifetime later
as we shared the noontime summer sun
simply beautiful mathematics
when two can become one

and i see you in the evening light
but you startle me blind
something i've never seen
but i don't mind
you thought "ill make him mine"

now you sail across the ocean
now you drive along the coast
now you were bewildered once
but now you know who cares the most

it was disconcerting
how quickly "us" was spoken of
there are two constants in my life
my dear and one of them is love

Untitled as of yet

2006-07-17T11:12:00.000-07:00

it's disconcerting 5
how quickly one's life can change 7
peer into yourself now 6
and try to call yourself sane 7

it only takes a moment 7
for opportunity to spring forth 9
it came for you a dreary night 8
she stumbled, sopping across the hearth 9

and into your paradigm 7
a distance traveled as lengthy as 9
the county line 4
you said, "I'll
make
her
mine".

7/8/06 forever

2006-07-10T16:51:00.000-07:00

It was confirmed:
that the most stellar view
can be seen when I am
half a foot in front of you;

when our garish moon
found 'twas time to touch on
that cheek, in its splendor,
I did nary but as much.

A simple rest,
a plain and blissful treat;
was that enjoyable
and rather prolong'ed sleep;

our hearts sang what
our lungs could not express,
but surely they were heard--
your ear flush against my chest

delivered waves
worth every perfect storm;
that seem to only come
when through a dream I am torn.

7/2/06 for now

2006-07-03T09:17:00.000-07:00

it isn't in the way that you seem to read my mind
and it's not how you tell me all your wildest dreams
it can't be the brightness of your illuminating stare
no, i can't figure out just how you got to me

but you got here, it's true, like no other has before
and i'm scared, excited, anxious, trembling just to see
what we make of this, where our dreams will lead our feeble hearts
and all that we allow ourselves to be.

2006-06-29T22:39:00.000-07:00

When life overwhelms you -
truly, exhaustingly,
overwhelms your mind, body,
maybe even your heart -
there is only one thing you can do.
And the tears may be streaming,
and the blood could be bleeding,
and your body is aching,
and your heart might be pounding,
and you can't seem to see more than six
or seven inches in front of your face,
but as long as one foot
is in front of the other
and you chance
to take that fledgling step,
everything should end up alright.

And, more often than not,
if you hold on to the faith,
and leave your eyes up,
and remain hopeful,
and stay the course,
and frown at discouragement,
and keep your wits about you,
and focus on the ultimate goal,
it will.

When Life Overwhelms

2006-06-28T08:21:00.000-07:00

When life overwhelms you -
truly, exhaustingly,
overwhelms your mind
and maybe even your heart -
there is only one thing you can do:
and the tears may be streaming,
and the blood could be bleeding,
and your body is aching,
and your heart may be pounding,
and you can't seem to see more than six
or seven inches in front of your face,
but as long as one foot
is in front of the other
and you take that fledgling step
everything should end up alright.
Shouldn't it?

bad grammar is sexy (unfortunately)

2006-06-27T00:00:00.000-07:00

so if it isn't
little miss
fuck me & leave
and when it's convenient
ask me for grammatical help
as though
the seventeen years you've spent
in this country haven't been enough.

oh, and i despise your little troubles,
i'm aghast at your
glaring syntax issues
and i would rather
die then inherit the control
you wield over our
common language,
but it isn't that you
disgust, me, no;
i die silently because i find
every single error, from
the insignificant
to the absolutely inexcusable
terribly
and inexhaustibly
endearing.

you're the reason i drink

2006-06-14T12:03:00.000-07:00

verse
G 355433
Bm 224432
B 244322
C 032010
Dm 000231
Am 002210

Oh, this is the last poem that I will ever write to blame you for something.
If it hurts me just to think your name, it'll kill me if I sing.
So, if everything is mental, then it's my brain that's got to learn
how to shut off, commiserate no more, cease to feel, and cease to yearn.

I pour another glass, from a stranger's flask.
And culpable for it, I try to be -
but every time I see you,
your radiance still shines through,
and I know for a fact you're ruining me.

There comes a point in every life, when a decision must be made;
whether to go, whether to stay, whether to continue the charade.
For some, their hope of future love will keep them stumbling forth.
But if you've already found and lost it, what can life really be worth?

Your tights, they look so dreadful,
my opinion of your hair I'll never say.
But I swear I would remind you
of your beauty every day;
If you were mine,
if you were mine,
if you were mine,
if you were mine -
oh, this substance will remind me of that time.

Some people never realize what they have until it's gone.
I knew just what I had, my dear, and treasured you all along.
I think I'd like to forget you, forget your name, your weight on me -
which means I'll simply lie here frigid, comatose, yet lacking sleep.

I pour another glass from a stranger's flask,
as culpable for it as I can be.
But every time I see you,
your radiance still shines through,
and I know for a fact you're ruining me.
And every time I see you,
your beauty stuns me, yes it's true,
and I know for a fact you've ruined me.

not all right

2006-05-29T10:10:00.000-07:00

My brother and I used to be the best of friends. We'd run, and we'd play, and we'd talk until the day's end. That all started to change when our parents took their sides. He was far too young to be able to decide.

He said to me, "It will be all right".
He lied.

Then seven long years passed, and he lived in another town. A vagrant was he, with a self-indulgent and inscribed frown. I had no idea what happened, but he blamed her for all of it. The drugs, and the lies, and the women, and his conscience.

He said to me, "It will be all right".
He lied.

It got better, and it got worse. He never lost that unshakeable charm. But divorce shook him harder than the filth going into his arms. I look to God and wonder how he's made true all of my dreams, but his love and his family are thrown away under his feet.

He said to me, "It will be all right,
it will be all right".
He lied, it's not all right even though I've tried.

sappy dappy

2006-05-26T19:48:00.000-07:00

sometimes i'll read
a sappy sparks novel
to find out how the
world should be

but it will never
turn out the right way
if she's not here
with me

new orleans, louisiana

2006-05-26T19:46:00.000-07:00

as we walked we saw thousands
of charred black faces
none of them would ever
find a home
they say that you can tell
a civilization
by where the corpses lie when
their souls are gone

two accused hang
by their necks
a crime that
only they know for sure
charged for what it was
they were carryin'
we know they were carryin' more
than they were before

can we offer some kind of relief
to the battered and broken city
of new orleans
x2

it washed away a lifetime
of memory
a son, a daughter
no more
we scrape, and we clean
and we hurry
but when time's your last friend
you don't know what you're hurrying toward

we hope and we pray and it makes us
feel significant
like a thoughtful word can
create legitimate change
but if you aren't out there
fighting on the front lines
you'll never meet the enemy face to face

2006-04-25T21:31:00.000-07:00

i wanted to write a new song
but didn't know just what to say
thought that if i start typing
it would come out anyway

i've never written anything
that wasn't about a pretty girl
but this song just ain't about you
though you're the prettiest in the world

no, this songs about a band i know
i met them actually tonight
they're called OZMA and they rock!
and they roll! they roll all night!

OZMA
the greatest band in the world
OZMA
maybe we'll open for you some day
OZMA
your keyboard player's hot
even though she didn't give me
any play

Coffee (Kyna's Song)

2006-04-09T13:26:00.000-07:00

the light has not taken its place
the will remain ours
a single raindrop falls in place
we would wish if we could only see the stars

i stand and bask in teh Son
your beauty an effervescent glow
a fleeting encapsulation
if only i could never let go

what do we do
what do we do
when i'm not sleeping
and your work is through
if i can see
you here with me
then we'll drive until
we can get some decent coffee

i pray that it will not have been in vain
on my knees, God take my hand
this demon on my back be slain
as long as it coincides with your plan

the april rain will carve in me a hole
to watch it fall and your eyes shine is all i need
this weight took its toll
my eyes ungilded and bright, i can see

what do we do
what do we do
when i'm not sleeping
and your work is through
if i can see
you here with me
then we'll drive until
we can get some decent coffee

what do we do
what do we do
when i'm not sleeping
and your work is through
we'll stay right here
and i'll hold you dear
have i told you you
intoxicate me

i don't need to stinkin' coffee

http://www.myspace.com/loveeric

2006-04-03T20:09:00.000-07:00

Been sitting silent in the basement
for more than two hundred days
Counting and marking
increments with a pen

Upon his wrist the ink will seep
deep down into his skin
for simple lack of something
more permanent

I've tried to make an influence
to break the trance, to give him hope
i tried to tell him that
there is something greater

That some purpose lies unseen,
something bigger than ourselves.
His memory too weak
to resuscitate her.

His lips are cracked, face is gaunt
Symptoms of death to which he'll succumb
he's listening for a message that cannot come
that will not come
she will not come.

2006-03-13T21:40:00.000-08:00

a full moon's out tonight
and she will stare in admiration
at the cauterizing light
it speaks, no hint of hesitation
take it slow

you felt a tug at a heartstring
but couldn't find the fucking source
a mar, and your terminal ping
a request considered, yet never forced
take it slow

flowers eat away the soil
springtime shows its horrid face
and when a song prohibits a toil
a heart will never be replaced.
take it slow

For the next thirty two minutes

2006-02-14T10:45:00.000-08:00

So it's down and across town
when the light ceases to shine.
And we're driving, ever striving
for reason or maybe rhyme.
We pull up to this foreign complex,
preemptively, I unlock your door
but for the next thirty-two minutes
you forget what you're fighting for.
We amble through the alleys
my hand, it loosely cradles yours.
But it's limp, I tend to skimp
with that affection.
Before long we are eating,
I got the crispy chicken, too.
We sit and park, here in the dark,
I share my pearl tea with you.

Autumn nights they bring a promise
of beauty or maybe love.
They create in me a wholeness
and I want to sing.
Singin'
La la la la la la
la la la la la la la.
La la la la la la la la
la la la la la.

You wrap your arms around my shoulders,
I gaze at you, I face your face.
A frigid tear slides down and dies
and I feel the cold embrace.
You decide to ask the question
whether I love you, "is it true?"
Or is the thing that I honestly want
companionship from you?
I look deep into those brown eyes,
and I falter just a bit.
I don't want to have hurt you love,
I think, as I bite my upper lip.
I have never been more truthful
than that cold day in September.
You could infer, I wasn't sure
if I had ever truly cared
or ever remembered.

Autumn nights they bring a promise
of beauty or maybe love.
They create in me a wholeness
and I want to sing.
Singin'
La la la la la la
la la la la la la la.
La la la la la la la la
la la la la la.

On that autumn night
I realized what you mean to me.
And I knew from that day forward
That I was going to sing.
singin'
La la la la la la
la la la la la la la.
La la la la la la la la
la la la la la.

Feb. 14th

2006-02-12T15:18:00.000-08:00

Can we walk a little bit slower?
I have so much to say,
but we're here at the start
yet again.

Put up your Dukes.
Let's see what your daddy gave you.
Can you handle me here?
Will this be goodbye?
Let's see you protect yourself
this time.

Can I show someone else that I love her?
It's Valentine's day.
So dear to my heart,
this holiday.

So put up those Dukes.
Has your past taught you nothing?
Can you handle me there?
A resounding "goodbye."
What can reason do for you
this time?

e.e. cummings-inspired

2006-01-24T00:37:00.000-08:00

I meant everything.
(But not;
I mean,
those parts in which I said
that I would always care or
that I could
never leave your side.)
Well, I did say those things
and I believed them
and meant them
when say them
I did.
Times are different,
now,
and I don't know if those
old, fragile promises can still hold
when you sleep in beds
that don't belong to you or I,
and you peer subconciously
for a mirror from the corner
(Or a camera lens.)
That means you care
for me
so I can't blame you
or feel pain;
I'm no longer allowed
to do that.
Right?
I might, in fact,
have changed my entire demeanor
since you left;
It's different, for sure-
I mean, were it not for
video,
photograph,
knick-knack,
conversations kept,
and this inexhaustible memory
I clearly
would have
forgotten
you
by now.

love actually

2006-01-24T00:31:00.000-08:00

My heart pumps; my feet tap the floor.
Carry-on luggage is weightless in my arms as I run.
I can see you before I see you;
I can feel your embrace,
yet you are still far off.
When, finally, we reunite...
you aren't the same person
that flew away five months prior to today.
And when we meet again, some day soon,
I truly, and with all hope focused on the opposite,
doubt I'll likely be able to recognize you.
The airport-- love is actually all around us.
Surrounding-- suffocated. By everything
that we cannot seem to grasp.

A short screenplay part III

2006-01-02T21:02:00.000-08:00

John: I just remember when I met her. It’s like, have you seen Say Anything?

Seth: [Nods]

John: It’s like, after she breaks up with him, and he’s driving around? You know, the part, and then he’s like, “Here is the site of our controversial first date. We met in a mall. I should have known it was doomed”. I mean, I met Natalie in an American Eagle store. I should have known that we were doomed.

Seth: [laughs]

John: Yeah, yeah. But it was so cute, the way we first met. It completely reminds me of a Richard Linklater movie. I think my entire life could be a movie, directed by Richard Linklater. Or John Hughes. But it couldn’t be by Hughes unless she and I get back together in a bunch of years or something. Or maybe, I meet her in Korea in 8 years and then you’re not even sure if we get back together. Then it would be by Linklater. Personally, I hope that it’s by Hughes. And then John Cusak could play me, only like, an Asian version of John Cusak. That would be ideal.

Derek: What the hell are you talking about, man?

John: When I met Natalie. I met her in American Eagle. [continues talking, indistinct]

Derek [to Jones]: Why is he telling us about when we met her?

Jones [to Derek]: Just let him talk, man. He’s gotta work through this shit. When Kelly breaks up with you, you’re going to want to talk about it.

Derek [to Jones]: We’re going to get fucking married, and then you’ll see.

Jones [to Derek]: Whatever, shut up.

John [still talking]: I stood there for a while, by like, the little station where you can customize your clothes? And I remember looking outside, because I thought it might snow. And it wasn’t snowing, but I was hoping it would, because I always want snow when it’s Christmas, you know? Everyone does. That fucking song, that whole “White Christmas” mentality took us all by storm and ingrained into our heads that snow plus Christmas equals happiness or something. I don’t even know the words to that song, but I know that I wanted it to snow.

SCENE CHANGE- AMERICAN EAGLE STORE

John [voice over]: So I stood there, and I could sort of see her. I don’t know if any of you have seen this movie, My Sassy Girl? But in the movie the guy is like, “She’s definitely my type” right when he first sees her. And I don’t really have a type, but she was definitely my type, that’s all I could really tell. And you know how shy I am, I have never been able to approach a girl outright. And this was like, over a year ago too, you know? So I was even way shyer. But for some strange, cosmic reason, I decided to go over there. I wasn’t shopping anyways, you know? I never shop; I just walk around looking at stuff. Anyway, so I just went over there, it was the craziest thing. And I sat down.

John [sitting down]: Hi.

Natalie: Hi there. [Awkward silence]

John: You know, I … [awkward] um, OK, I have a confession to make.

Natalie: If you must.

John: I’m going to be entirely honest—I worked up all of my courage to come over here and talk with you, but I really didn’t think about what to say after “Hi”.

Derek [voice over, BACK TO DORM SCENE]: That fucking shit worked? That’s either the worst pick up line I’ve ever heard, or the best.

Jones: Shut the fuck up, Derek. But John, seriously, how can that have worked?

John: Seriously. I have no idea! She must have been really emotionally desperate or something. I don’t know. Maybe she was bored.

Derek: Lucky bastard.

John: Anyways… [SCENE GOES BACK]

John [VO]: She was like, “You could talk about the weather, or something equally mundane. That’s how these things usually work. Or you could surprise me.” So I thought about it.

John: Are you Christmas shopping?

Natalie: Is that all you have?

John: I’ll get there, believe me. Are you, though?

Natalie: No, I’ve pretty much spent all of my money thus far. It’s only a few days until Christmas, too, you know. Shopping now is a little bit lame

John: I agree, I agree. OK, so get this: I’m a gambling man by nature, and well, if I was to bet, I would say that… you’re the type of person has no money to spend on Christmas shopping… because you’ve already spent all of it on your friends?

Natalie: That’s quite astute of you. Go on.

Derek [VO]: Did they really talk like that?

Jones [VO]: Who cares. Shut the fuck up.

John: Well, I also speculated that you’re the type of person that has an opinion on things.

Natalie: I tend to, on occasion.

John: OK, so I was just thinking about Christmas, and presents. Like, I’m in the same boat as you; I think I have about $2.00 in my checking account right now, because I’ve spent so much money on other people this year. I have spent more money on my friends this year than I ever have in the past. It’s just weird because I don’t even know why. I mean, I don’t like my friends any more this year than in the past, and I don’t have more money or anything this year. I’m left wondering whether it has something to do with the passage of time, you know? Like, I’m 18 now. Is it because of adulthood, you know? I actually don’t know how old you are…

Natalie: 18.

John: OK, so I mean, now that we’re adults, does that mean we have to make good on that old idiom, you know? Like, when we’re kids, it’s OK that we favor receiving over giving, that’s just, normally accepted in society or something. When we’re kids, the more presents under the tree equals the more happiness. But why the sudden shift? Is it something to do with me biologically or something? That what gives me pleasure, suddenly, is purchasing items for other people where I used to only get pleasure from receiving things from them? I don’t really get it. When, and more importantly why, does it become better to give than receive?

Natalie: I think it does have to do with that, the fact that we’re adults now. It’s like, when you turn 18 you don’t feel any different, you know? Like, every birthday when you are little you expect to wake up completely different. You remember that? We all had this idea, like you are the exact same age for 364 days and then on the 365th day you age an entire year overnight and you should look and feel radically different the next morning? It’s the same, when you turn 18, you’re just one day older. But you actually do change a lot overnight whether you like it or not. It’s like, the knowledge that you are now considered an adult—the knowledge that you can now vote, you can now, buy cigarettes, or porn, or go to jail, or be sued for rape, I mean, just the general knowledge that you are now an adult creates in everyone this new sense of responsibility. And we don’t feel it physically or anything, it’s not tangible, we don’t even notice it, but it affects our behaviour, it makes it OK for our brain to rationalize making purchases for other people where it would think that was strange before. I don’t know, it’s not easy to explain or anything.

John: No, I get what you’re saying completely.

Natalie: It’s just like… shoot, I can’t even think of a good analogy. I’m usually so good at those.

John: Don’t worry about it. You know what’s funny?

Natalie: What?

John: My friends are all as old as I am or older, but… I know that I’m not going to get anything back from them. It kind of ruins the whole spirit of giving eh? Knowing that you won’t be receiving?

Natalie: [laughs] Maybe everyone else just isn’t really ready to grow up, no matter how old they get.

John: Sometimes I guess I envy that freedom they still have.

Natalie: What do you mean?

John: Well,… [looks over] Hello.

Friend: Hi. Natalie, ready to go?

Natalie: Oh, yeah, sure. [stands] Diane, this is…

John: John. Nice to meet you Diane. [shakes her hand]. Nice to meet you, Natalie. It was a pleasure talking with you.

Natalie: Me too… See you later, I guess?

John: I hope so. [watches her walk away, waves as she exits the door] [sits back down] [Natalie runs in]

Natalie: Hey.

John: Hey! I thought you were leaving…?

Natalie: I told her I forgot my cell phone in here. Here. [hands a note with her phone number] Let’s do this again?

John: I would love to, Natalie.

Natalie: See you soon, John. Bye.

John: Bye.

SCENE CHANGES

John: I called her that night and we talked for like 2 hours. She was busy the next day, but after that we basically hung out every day for an entire year, and it was pretty much bliss, man.

Seth: That sounds like some kind of storybook or something.

John: Yeah, that’s what I thought. Every day. That’s what I was saying; it was like some Linklater movie.

Derek: How long did it take for you guys to have sex?

Jones: How many times to I need to tell you to shut the fuck up?

John: Derek, I find it fascinating that you’re so obsessed with my sex life. It’s as though you didn’t have one of your own. [covers mouth] oops!

[everyone laughs]

Derek: Ah, shut up.

END

A Short Story Part II

2005-12-29T01:13:00.000-08:00

“Have you ever seen that movie, Before Sunset?” Asked John. Seth turned his head from where it had been placed against the glass, facing out the window at the passing highway and coast. He looked over to where John sat in the driver’s seat. It had been a remarkably quiet drive for one that included someone who was normally as talkative as John, and Seth was somewhat worried at how serious and seemingly “deep-in-thought” John had been for the past few hours. John did, actually, act this way often, but he usually balanced his contemplative demeanor with some kind of intellectual or philosophical discussion promptly. Sporadic small talk had peppered the drive, but Seth, being as introverted as he was, hadn’t managed to coax John out of his momentary shell. He was relieved that John’s pent-up well of conversation had finally sprung.
“Um…” He pondered for a moment. “Does it have…? No. Who’s in it?”
They were driving South. To where, they weren’t sure, but weeks of boredom prompted the four friends—John, Seth, Derek, and Derek (a.k.a. Jones)—to make a road trip from Seattle to Los Angeles—or wherever they could find along the way. It was something like an 18 hour drive, and they were on their second day of the journey. They had insofar traveled a few hundred miles, and spent the night at a dilapidated hotel somewhere either at the bottom of Colorado or the top of California, they couldn’t exactly remember. Now, the two Dereks slept in the back seat of Seth’s SUV while John drove.
“It has Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy.” John responded. “It was directed by Richard Linklater? Came out in 2004… Actually, it’s a sequel to the movie Before Sunrise, which was made like, eight or nine years earlier I think, but has the same actors and characters and everything. It’s like the same movie actually just, like, nine years later.” He changed lanes and let a faster driver pass him on the left side. “I’ll never get used to California traffic.” Seth nodded.
“I think I might have seen that one. Well, I think I saw one of them. Was he the same guy that did Waking Life?”
“Yeah, definitely!” John responded enthusiastically. “Yeah, yeah, it’s like a very similar type of movie, I really love his stuff. Like in Waking Life, how the main dude just like, goes around and talks to people for like two hours, and that’s the whole movie? But they have like the most amazing conversations, right? That’s what Before Sunrise and Before Sunset are like also.”
“Yeah, I might have seen one of them…” pondered Seth. “Or maybe some of it. Wasn’t Ethan Hawke in Waking Life too? I remember reading this thing on some IMDB message board or something about those movies, like, Waking Life took parts of one of those movies, or made a new scene or something strange. I don’t remember what they were saying about it.”
“Yes, I know what you’re talking about. Yeah, in Waking Life, there is a scene that would have taken place between Before Sunrise and Before Sunset, but it never really happened—like, in the context of those two movies, the scene couldn’t have happened because they never met up. I mean, like, it has the same characters as in those movies, but it’s like, a fictitious situation. Oh, well, you wouldn’t get it yet, I would have to explain the whole premise of the two movies, it would take forever.”
“We have something like eight or nine more hours until we get to LA, man.” Seth sighed and attempted to stretch his feet as he spoke. “I have plenty of time to talk about decent films and Richard Licklater and stuff.”
“Linklater. And yeah, we have time, so I’ll get into it later, anyways, I was just saying that he’s a great director. So anyways, the movie, Before Sunset. Well, what I was going to say is from before that. Well. Anyway, let me start at the beginning.”
“The beginning of what?” Interrupted Seth.
“Of, like, what happened to me the other day, this like, realization I made or something? Or like, I don’t know, I like wanted to—well, I wanted to talk about something, and there is this whole like, story attached to it. I’m sorry; it’s totally rude, right? I mean, well, like, I’ve been thinking a lot recently.”
“You always think a lot. You think too much.” And in response to the look that subsequently formed on John’s face, he added: “But not in a bad way. Like, in a cool way, like contemplative, mature way. You’re like the most fun person I know to talk to, because you don’t just talk a lot, you actually say things. You know?”
“Thanks, man.” John couldn’t help but beam at the gracious compliment.
“Well, I mean it. So,” and Seth switched into a God-like, expansive, overdramatic voice.
”‘In the beginning… Jonathan Lee was born.’”
“Ah, shut up. So anyways. Man, I’m so bad at making a like, segue from and to different points in my head. It’s like all of my thoughts are interconnected, like this huge matrix like on that—you know that car insurance commercial, with ‘the matrix’? “ Seth nodded, in acknowledgement—‘I know the one’, he seemed to be saying. “But like, when they come out of my mouth, all the little, strands of yarn connecting them are lost and so I’m stuck trying to put the pieces together again. So, anyway, I’ll try my best to make it intelligible.”
“You always seem to”.
“Thanks. Anyway—“
“No, I mean,” Seth interrupted again, “you always seem to try to, but rarely do you ever succeed in making any sense.”
“Ha. Ha. You’re hilarious. So the other night I was driving, like down A street or something, I don’t know where or when. It was nighttime though, not too many cars out, I know that. It must have been late. So I’m driving, and it’s raining a little bit. And this song comes on the radio. And I don’t know what station I was listening to, but it was like, one of the University stations around here. Like U Dub or Puget Sound or U Seattle, I have no idea, because I can’t remember where I was driving.”
“How’d you get home then?” interjected Seth under his breath, half-teasing.
“Shut up. I don’t know. I wasn’t lost, I just don’t remember where I was at the moment, and anyway that’s not important. Anyway. So, I’m listening, and you know how every station is playing Christmas carols right now, and that’s all you hear on any mainstream station, but I was expecting the indie station, the college station, to perhaps play something different, but lo and behold, it’s Christmas carols—except, it was different. They were playing these amazing, slow, melodic, instrumental versions of Christmas carols. It almost seemed like some kind of like, Bright Eyes interpretation of each Carol, only without the words.”
“Nice Bright Eyes reference, you dork. Are you trying to upstage me or something?”
“Anyways,” continued John, clearly pretending to ignore Seth’s comment, “it was just really, really great music. And then, and here’s the poignant part, I looked around, and I had taken off my slippers because they were soaked—“ And in response to the peculiar half-grin on Seth’s face, he added, “and I don’t know why I was wearing my slippers, I just was, for some reason, and they were soaking wet.” Seth gave him a quizzical look. John attempted, once again, to continue as if nothing had happened. “And so I remember that I had turned on the heater in the car to low, and just on to feet and defrost mode, you know, and so it was blowing warm air at my feet, but really softly. And the rain was like this perfect rain, like, not too arduous, you know? Like the windshield wipers were probably only set to like, the third level, and there are like eight levels or something, you know? So it was like the perfect rain, like only 3/8 of rainstorm level, like, that’s a good, comfortable level. And I had warm air on my feet and soothing music in my ears and the view of the rain and the night and everything, and I was like, wow.”
“It seems as though you spent a very special evening with yourself, there, John”.
“That’s not it, hold on.” And upon realizing that he was being teased, he added: “And shut up. So I was just chillin’, like, enjoying it, when on to the radio comes the song ‘The First Noel’. And I don’t know any of the words to the song, it’s just like,” and he began to imitate the tune of the song. “Duh-duh duh, duh-da-duh duh, doo-dee-dah duh duh-duh… here is the ki-ing of Is-ra-el, blah blah, but there are no words, just like, the music part. But it got me thinking, about like, what Pastor Mike talked about in church last week.” Seth gave him a frown instead of a smile this time, as though to say, ‘don’t even start’. “Don’t tell me not to start. Just hear me out. So in church Pastor Mike was talking about the different names for God. Like, Abba, and King of Kings, and Savior, Messiah, Christ, El Shaddah, or something, etc. Anyway, so we learned that the ‘el’ part of Noel means God. And Like, I was thinking of that when I heard the song, like, ‘I wonder what the ‘No’ part means’, you know? And then afterward came on some other really, expansive, glorious song, that song that just like, melts into your entire body through your ears? It was just so beautiful, and I was thinking about all of the things that I love in the world. I love rain, and I love warmth on my feet, and I love music, and I love God, and it was like all my passions and hope and joy in the world were there in that car with me at the same time, and I was just, for the briefest of moments, entirely content. I read this book, called The Perks of Being a Wallflower, and the main character describes a similar experience, except different, but anyway, he describes it as feeling ‘infinite’. And I swear, at that moment in that car with the heat and rain and God and music, I swear I felt infinite.” Seth simply smiled, and they sat for a moment and contemplated that.
“We get that so rarely, don’t we?” Responded Seth after a while. “Like, a moment to just sit back and feel content. I always expect that I’ll feel that way at Christmas or Thanksgiving or something, you know? Like when you’re in a situation with family and friends, and gifts and food and all the things in the world that you have to feel happy about. But for some reason you don’t, you just don’t feel happy, or content or whatever. And it takes a late-night car ride and a perfect song to feel that way.” John nodded. “You know what’s weird? I can’t even remember the last time I felt that way? Like, I feel happy pretty often, you know, when good stuff happens, but contentedness is so, so hard to come by.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I want to like, write it down or something so that I’ll remember. Like, that’s part of the reason that I’m telling you about it, because you know, if I just have it happen, and then the feeling goes away, and I forget and nobody else ever knows, then it’s like it never happened.” He sighed and looked out his window for just a moment. “I hate that about the past, about memories, about experiences that you have alone. I can’t trust my brain to recall all the amazing memories I’ve experienced, or beauty or anything. It’s like, full of all the horrible times, the bad memories. My brain is so predisposed to focus on that stuff instead of the good stuff that it should be focusing on.”
“Yeah really.” Agreed Seth. “Like, ‘it’s not my fault I’m depressed’! I just can’t remember any of the good times. I only remember the bad times. Maybe that’s why we take pictures, you know? Have photo albums, yearbooks, like, if you think about it, those are the fakest things in this world, and yet we rely on them. Because nobody takes pictures of bad times, nobody writes down about their pain so they can remember it later. So we throw a bunch of photos of smiling people in a book to help jog our memories because all our brains seem to remember are the bad times. We need the photos to remind us that, yes, we were at one time happy. We did do fun things once. It wasn’t always this way.”
“Right. So that’s what I started thinking, sort of. Well, I mean, the other day, when I was in the car. You know what? I actually started thinking of Natalie.”
“John—“ began Seth.
“No, no, no, don’t start that with me. I know how unhealthy everything is, I know that her name, to you, is associated with all that causes me pain and suffering in this world, I know all that so shut up. I didn’t control it. I just thought of her. Listen to this, you’ll like this. So I thought of my contentedness, and having the things I loved in the car. Well, I didn’t really think of my family, and I love them, but I think that’s because they are more of a given.” He crinkled his eyebrows together and thought about that for a short moment. “I mean, they weren’t in the car because they are a given love, of course I love them.” He paused again. “Anyway, so I thought of Natalie, Natalie Choi like,” and he made a sweeping hand motion toward his face that took his hands off of the wheel for just a moment, which caused Seth to gasp. This time, however, John didn’t notice. “Entered my brain. She just entered, and I realized, at that moment, that I was OK before she came.”
“I’m so proud of you! Finally…” congratulated Seth.
“No, listen. So I was like, I’m OK before she is there. And I realized that I didn’t need her there, to be content. To be happy. And I realized that if she was there, if she added like, a fifth point to those four points of joy, that that would be OK too—she would be like an added bonus, an extra credit. That I didn’t need her to ace the class, but having her sure helps and stuff. That’s a bad analogy.”
“Yes, it is.” Agreed Seth. “It’s especially bad because you compared Natalie Choi to some school assignment when she is more like a Garbage Duty that we used to get in junior high.”
“You know that I don’t like it when you put her down.”
“I don’t care whatsoever. She tore you apart. She completely owned you, there is no way I am going to treat her with respect, ever. I don’t have to, just because you dated her for so long and whatever. There is no obligation.”
“OK, whatever.”
“But I’m still proud that you realized you don’t need her. It took you a while. We had been telling you that forever.”
“You won’t be proud of me for too long. So that feeling, that contentedness, it lasted like five minutes, you know? Long enough for me to pray, and then it was gone basically. So then I started thinking about that movie, Before Sunset.”
“Ah, here’s the segue. You didn’t do half bad.”
“Thanks, scullion.”
“I still don’t know what that means,” responded Seth with a skeptical countenance.
“Good. So in Before Sunset, it’s these two people and they are meeting for the second time every in nine years, like this chance occurrence. They had fallen in love in one night nine years ago and never saw each other again and nine years later, here they are in Paris. And this movie is like not a good example of this at all, but they have all these intelligent, amazing conversations, like Linklater likes do you, you know?”
“Then why isn’t it a good example?” Seth asked.
“Just hold on.” John responded. “That’s not what I meant. So, there’s a scene where they are sitting in her flat in Paris, and she plays him a waltz on her guitar. And he is sitting there and she makes tea and he puts on a Nina Simone record, and she is talking about what Nina Simone is like in concert, and she like imitates her and kind of dances around the living room or whatever, and he is sitting on the couch watching her, and I realized something. I realized just how comfortable those two people are with each other. That she can dance around in front of him without trepidation. And it made me think about comfort, and how related to contentedness that is. You know? And I thought about how much I missed having that level of comfort with one other person, you know? And Seth, you’re basically my best friend, but I even have reservations with you, when I talk, or do things, or whatever.” Seth closed his eyes halfway and studied John earnestly. It was easy because John had to keep his eyes on the road, and Seth could study him without him noticing. John continued talking. “But when I was with Natalie, there was nothing. And I never realized when we were together that this feeling wasn’t reciprocated, but there was no fear in me when I was with her. I had no fear of offending her, I had no fear of embarrassment, and I had no fear, I mean. I mean; I would do an impersonation of Nina Simone in front of her, you know? I mean, we had sex, I mean, how can you be embarrassed about anything when you have stood entirely bare in front of that person, you know? And to give her credit, she also bared her entire body to me, but I felt like I gave her my entire soul with it as well. Like for me, sex wasn’t sex, it was making love, you know? Like, with that act, not just that part of my body went inside her, it was like my entire body, my entire being went into her. I gave her like, my entire heart, everything about me.” He paused as another, related, thought came into his head. “This guy came to Leadership class one time and talked about how we are like these big circles, and inside, in the center is a smaller circle: our most private, perfect selves, and when we find our soul mate it’s when our big outer circle just barely gets inside of someone else’s inner circle, and their outer circle just barely reaches inside of your inner circle. And I know for a fact that she had complete, unfettered access to my inner circle, but I never once even got to peer over the wall into hers, no matter how often I knocked or tried to batter down that freaking wall.” Seth just listened. He was silent, he knew that saying anything would hinder, rather than help. “And I was watching this movie and I see couples and I see my parents and they are just utterly, completely comfortable with each other. In the movie Julie Delpy’s character talks about how some couples get bored of each other because they already know each other’s mannerisms or something, like they know exactly how the other person will react in any given situation. But she says that at that moment that she knew her lover’s exact reaction to any given situation, she wouldn’t be bored, it would be when she knew that she was truly in love. And I couldn’t predict Natalie’s behaviour, but I’m entirely sure she could have predicted mine, I mean, I told her my entire life, my fears, my soul. I showed so much to her, it doesn’t even make sense. And we were just so comfortable, and the last time I remember feeling content like I felt in the car the other night, was like, the last time that I slept with her. Not had sex, because, whatever, but I mean, when I slept with her. She was just barely falling asleep, and she had the perfect look on her face…” Seth could look over and see a slight grin, and then a full on smile, forming on John’s face as he remembered, for once, a good memory. “That look that you can only really appreciate from two inches away. It looked like she was content as well, just relaxed, whatever, just tired, and she looked like a perfect example of beauty. You know? I mean, she has some acne, and she has a scar on her forehead, and I mean, whatever, wispy hair, dry lips, whatever you want to say about her but when I looked at her from that close up she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my lifetime. And I was just staring at her and smiling at the realization that I was the luckiest person in the entire world because I had fallen in love with the most beautiful person on this planet, and she asked me what I was thinking about. You know, that typical pillow-talk question, you know? When the silence just gets a little bit too awkward. So she asked me, and I swear, I remember exactly what I answered, and it sounds like a line from a movie, but it wasn’t and I didn’t think of it before to say it, and I meant every word, and it came out like a quote, but I really just said exactly what was on my heart, you know?”
“What did you say?” asked Seth.
“I told her, ‘Everything I have ever needed in life is laying right here in my arms’. And she did one of those happy sighs, but she looked somewhat sad. I think it was because she would never be able to sincerely tell me the same thing. And she responded, and it means so much now when you think about it, but she told me ‘One day, I’ll be able to see your love.’ And I knew exactly what that meant, and I knew that we were going to be broken up soon after, and we were, soon after. And it isn’t sad because of that, those are just facts, you can’t be sad about facts—you can just accept them or be wrecked by them.
“That’s why I’m not mad at her, she followed her heart and did what she felt, but eventually she realized that she couldn’t any longer feel it. She wasn’t comfortable like I was. She couldn’t feel my love like I could feel it. That’s all it comes down to, you know? So how can I be angry? She did give it her all, it just didn’t work out. I can’t blame her one iota. Some times things just don’t work out?
“That’s kind of, like, mature thinking, my friend.” Seth commented. “I don’t think I could ever say something like that about someone that broke my heart.”
“Well, I learned from it. You know, in some ways I’m pretty happy that she never gave me her heart,that she never really fell in love with me. Because then, I mean, now, she doesn’t have a broken heart, you know? Like she’ll never have to feel, at least because of me, how I feel right now. I don’t want her to ever feel like this. I don’t want anyone to, you know? I can be content with that, at least, knowing that she isn’t heartbroken.” Seth looked at him.
“You’re a rare breed, you know that? Life is going to be hard for you, I know it. But when you find the right girl, you are going to treat her so well, and she is going to be so perfect for you, that it’s going to put everyone else to shame. You know that, right?
“I think in some ways, I know that, but it still sucks waiting, right?” He laughed.
“Yeah. So anyway, tell me about Before Sunrise, why should I see this movie? And will I even need to after you tell me the entire plot?” Asked Seth.
“Don’t worry about it, there isn’t really even a plot. Hey, can we wake up Jones and Derek or something? I’m getting tired of driving. Aren’t we even in San Francisco yet?” John started complaining.
“Just tell me, does the movie let you know the secret of what happens in the meadow at dusk? Is that how good it is?” Seth joked.
“Shut up, you scullion! OK, So it’s a really long story, but it isn’t really. It’s all about one night. OK, so I’ll start at the beginning, there is this American guy, and he’s on the Eurorail going to Vienna…”

A Short Story About

2005-12-20T22:22:00.000-08:00

by Elliott Jones

It was smoky, because they had been smoking—and dim, because they had dimmed the lights. The unpleasant atmosphere in Derek’s basement was, according to him, “grown-up”—the second-rate card table with its legs duct-taped to keep them together; an old TV that couldn’t get cable and as a result solely played old-school Nintendo games; a record player that had been bought dirt-cheap at a garage sale and sat on the floor for lack of a more suitable space; Derek’s tattered, years-old couch over to one side of the room across from the television, and especially the bottles of Jack Daniels and Coca-Cola that were hidden strategically underneath it. Derek’s mother had been planning to throw the couch out, but he had salvaged it by throwing an equally threadbare, green and orange, equally trash-worthy quilt over its back and forcing her to relinquish it into his care and subsequently into his ‘chill spot,’ which is what seventeen-year-old creativity comes up with as a nickname for the basement space where Derek, and three of his best friends, now frequented during boring summer nights.
Derek McAllister, John Lee, Seth McLaughlin, and Derek Jones were seated on two sides of the room—Derek and John were playing Texas Hold ‘Em at the card table, Seth was seated on the couch playing Mario Bros. on the Nintendo and the other Derek was next to him, watching.
The room was a stereotypical Seattle basement—concrete walls surrounded them on four sides, and there was a large water heater in one corner underneath the wobbly, banister-less wooden stairs that lead up into the kitchen of Derek’s home. The boys had done what they could to turn the room into a ‘bachelor pad’ of sorts—posters adorned all of the walls, and everyone had put a little bit of themselves into the decorations.
From Derek came images of Terrell Owens or Michael Jordan. John put up one of their favourite posters—an at least three foot tall shot of Hyo Ri Lee. In it, she looked provocatively over her shoulder, clad entirely in white spandex, with an innocent, mocking smile that none of the guys could get over—and when they drank, it was a pose which none of them could resist imitating. John had actually convinced the rest of the guys (for a few weeks, anyway) that Hyo Ri was in fact his cousin—they were both Korean, similar aged, and shared the same surname—and that was enough for almost any American to believe that they were related. He also had decided to attach to the walls posters of Tila Tequila, Lucy Liu, and various other token Asian sex symbols.
Seth, who considered himself a music “guru” (it was his idea to buy the turntable—even though none of them owned records) had brought in a bunch of posters from decidedly indie pop and rock bands—Rogue Wave, Death Cab for Cutie (though he took that one down with a feigned tear as they signed to Atlantic Records, a major label, in 2005), The Faint, Broken Social Scene, Beam, and Sunny Day Real Estate. Derek Jones, or just Jones, as they called him, to prevent confusion, hadn’t put anything on the walls. He had, however, brought the alcohol (and he always did), so he added to the atmosphere in his own way, and the rest of the group didn’t have any complaints.
They had also, maybe at the same garage sale, found a cheap beanbag chair, and positioned it in another corner. Its red exterior, extremely soft with over-use and covered sporadically with silver bits of the duct tape that kept it together, had a reputation. It is debatable how many members of the female sex had actually ever sat, or done anything else, in that bean bag chair, but the number of times one of boys had claimed to have “hooked up” with someone from their school, in that chair, was enormous—and grossly exaggerated. The rest of the room was pretty much empty—there wasn’t sufficient space for much else save a rug on the ground to soften the concrete floor, and they might have put up a dart board had they been interested, as there was another blank space on the wall where it might have fit.
So, as they were spending their summer in preparation for being high school seniors, being “grown-up” was on all of their minds. College acceptances and rejections floated around in all of their minds despite their best efforts. Most of them were going to spend the next four years nearby, in Washington, but the lure of California, Oregon, and even farther whet their appetites as well. Jones and John, who were a few steps above the others in terms of SAT scores and the like, also had their eyes and hearts set on schools on the east coast, or even abroad. For now, however, all of the guys pushed thoughts of the future from their minds and consoled themselves with underground poker games, Jack and Coke’s, and old-school Nintendo games.
“Have you ever had an out-of-body experience?” John asked Derek, as he dealt the cards for their second game of the night. Derek glanced at him, somewhat aloof, before looking again at his cards.
“What?” He asked. He focused, pleased, on the two Kings that smiled warmly up at him, having had lost three dollars from John in the previous game, and sipped at his drink.
“You heard me. An out-of-body experience.” John responded. He stared at Derek’s face intently, in his own unnerving, condescending way. Maybe it was because they were playing poker, but he looked disarmingly serious. Derek actually looked up at him this time, focused on his earnest expression, and considered the question.
“I have no idea what that is.” He responded as he made his first bets. “Out-of-body? What is that supposed to mean?”
“You seriously don’t know what that is? I hope that by the time you finally have sex, the government has instituted mandatory contraception to prevent idiots like yourself from polluting the world with offspring.”
“Well you’re fucking gay, how about that? What’s your bet?” He retorted. John stared at him with a look that screamed ‘pity’, but Derek was too intent on his pocket kings and winning the hand that he didn’t notice. Jones and Seth looked over from their game upon hearing the outburst, but as John didn’t seem too upset, and no fight was deemed impending, they both turned back to stare like robots at the pixels flashing over their screen.
“That doesn’t even follow the rules. You’re not only idiotic, you’re horrible at insults. I feel sorry for you”. He finally responded. Derek looked up, this time a confused frown on his face.
“Can you deal the cards?” He asked impatiently, and then he thought for moment. “Rules? There are no rules to insulting people. What are you talking about? I can say whatever the fuck I want, you faggot. Is there a rule against me telling Jonesy and Seth that you’re out of the closet now? Is there a rule against dealing the cards so slow that it’s an insult to me? How about that?” The two other guys looked back again towards the table upon hearing their names.
“First of all, I’m not gay.” He shot a glance at the others, and upon receiving his gaze; they again looked back at the television screen. “Secondly, of course there are rules to insults. To intelligent insults, at least, I mean, if you want to get the full effect out of them. An intelligent insult tells the person that you really thought hard enough to say something that would seriously offend them. It tells them that you really, really do feel strongly about the fact that they aren’t that great of a person. If performed correctly, an insult can be beautiful.” John stared at him and slowly, and the little smiling faces in his hand seemed less important than the startling topic matter at hand.
“How can an insult be beautiful? I thought—“ and John interrupted.
“You weren’t doing much thinking, obviously, if you gave me that excuse for an insult earlier.” He looked at him warmly. “There are two types of insults—pragmatic and cathartic.” He put up one finger after another to illustrate. ”Pragmatic insults are well thought-out, they are deliberate, and they pay close attention to the victim. Cathartic insults, on the other hand, stem from emotion, and usually, lack of creativity. Yours, of course, was cathartic. Are you going to call or bet?” He motioned down at the table at the three, seven, and king lying on the table. Derek motioned to call without looking, and John continued to deal. “You see, a pragmatic insult can do many things to harm its victim—it can humiliate, it can provoke, it can dominate, it can offend—your insult actually did none of those things. If you had thrown it at someone with a lesser grip on their sexuality, like maybe Seth over there, then it might have had some kind of effect.” Derek stared at his hand and at the ‘river’, which now showed two threes, a king, and two other face cards.
“Hold on, you’re confusing me. Did we bet yet?” He asked.
“We’re on the final bet. I’m checking, how about you?”
“Shit. I totally lost track with your stupid rant.” He peered down at the table and thought for a moment, realizing, finally, that he had a very good hand. “Ten dollars.” He pushed almost all of his chips out toward the center and looked over at John’s face, where a smirk had formed.
“I fold then”.
“Fuck you!” He exploded, realizing that he had been hoodwinked. “You knew that your fucking ‘rules of insults’ shit was going to confuse me. I had a fucking full house!”
“All’s fair in love and poker, my friend. You allowed yourself to be played.” He chuckled. “Next hand?
“Fuck you, you fucking, Korean motherfucker. I quit this game, you Asian, fucking, cheater! How’s that for an insult? If I knew more about Asians I would insult you better. Is that prag-fucking, whatever? Matic? You small-dick, rice rocket bastard?” John noticed that Derek’s drink was empty, and grinned, and Jones and Seth laughed from the couch.
“That was pretty good actually, I’m impressed.” He responded evenly. Derek cooled down as he got up from the card table, knocking over his chair, and plopped down on the couch just in time to watch Seth lose his last life in the video game. John eased over to the beanbag and slowly finished his drink.
“Watch out, man, Seth splooged on that bag last night.” Warned Jones. John feigned concern and felt around on the bag with an exaggerated grimace on his face. Jones and Derek laughed. “Who was it with this time, Seth? Was it Kelly Templeton?” Continued Jones. “Or Hyori and your right hand, like last time? Fap, fap, fap!” He imitated Seth’s bedroom behaviour extravagantly; sound effects and all, until he reached a deafening, cartoonish climax and slumped again on the couch, breathing heavily. Seth tried to look disinterested.
“Shut up, fuckers. I don’t kiss and tell.”
“You mean the yoga worked? You got flexible enough to kiss it yourself?” Joked Jones. The other boys erupted in laughter.
“Fuck you.” Seth murmured.
“See, Derek, that was a pretty good insult.” Remarked John.
“What were you talking about with that whole rules stuff?” Seth changed the subject. “I didn’t really listen; I was trying to save myself a princess from a giant turtle. What did you say?”
“Yeah, that shit was actually kind of interesting.” Said Jones.
“Wait—have you ever thought about that?” Interjected Derek. “Like, how hot must Princess Peach be for Mario to keep rescuing her? I mean; she’s obviously a fucking dimwit bimbo if she keeps getting captured all the time. How many Mario games have been made? She’s been kidnapped like fifty times. And it’s not like Bowser is smart or anything, he’s a fatass turtle. …She is blonde, so I understand, and I mean,” he motioned to Seth, “I hate to speak badly about your people, Seth, but I mean, they aren’t usually so developed in the brain, if you know what I mean…”
“Shut up. You’re right, she must be hot though. They must fuck like nobody’s business. Seriously, why would any guy go through freaking fireballs and lava pits and freaking, goombas and stuff just to save a chick?” said Seth.
“I don’t know, love maybe?” offered John. Everyone stared at him, and silently agreed that, other than sex, love would be the best reason. A semi-awkward silence enveloped them for a few moments until Derek, slightly inebriated and unaware of the moment he was ruining, spoke up.
“I think that that’s bull.” He offered, and nobody really listened, but it broke them of their trance. John sat forward in the beanbag chair.
“So, about the insult thing. It’s this movement I decided I’m going to start that promotes the use of intelligent put-downs. If you didn’t know, they used really good insults back in the day. People like Shakespeare were excellent at creating really harsh, smart insults, I mean, he even used iambic pentameter while he was insulting someone! They had such a sophisticated vocabulary back then. Like, if I called you a freaking, um, like, scullion, it wouldn’t mean anything to you, right?” They all nodded in concurrence. John sighed and looked to the ceiling, seemingly at the patient loss of an art. “Nobody uses cool words like scullion or miscreant. Now all anyone can say is ‘faggot’ or ‘bitch’ or something unintelligent like that. Anyway, I would like, make a club at school about it or something. I can’t think of a name for it though.”
“The fucking, elitist, um, insulters that think they are smarter than everyone!” Shouted Derek from where he had laid, up until that moment seemingly comatose, on the couch. He was promptly ignored.
“What would you guys even do?” Asked Seth. “I would kinda want to be a part of that, I think.”
“Yeah, me too.” Said Jones. “I bet the school would pass it. It’s somewhat academic, I mean, it advocates reading and vocabulary building and stuff like that, right?”
“There still isn’t really a purpose, though.” Seth commented. “What really would you guys do?”
“That’s the thing, I don’t know! But so, here’s the like, premise. It’s basically just that we’re dissatisfied with all of the stupid insults going around. Like I said, people don’t even have any vocabulary anymore, they just say “fuck you” and think that’s enough. If I could come up with something personal, if I could comment on something you’re wearing, something you believe in, something that you stand for or something like that; whatever as long as it is really important to you—if I could say some extremely unfavorable thing about that particular something, that’s so much more effective. And the more personal that something is, the more that something means to you, the more effective the insult is too. I mean, if I insult your hat, whatever, you know, like, you didn’t make the hat, it’s not important to you really unless you paid some exorbitant amount of money for it or something. But if I say something about your mom, or your girlfriend, like, “Kelly Templeton is a whore”, then it hurts a lot more, because that person is close to you.” Derek looked up groggily from the couch.
“What did you say about Kelly?”
“She’s not even your girlfriend, bro, calm down”. Jones offered.
“She’s not—she’s not a whore, man. She’s a virgin. We talked about it.” Derek stammered. He had obviously had more alcohol than the rest of them, which wasn’t saying much—sixteen year-olds don’t typically have high tolerances. “We—we had a major heart-to-heart.” He was visibly upset again.
“Anyway, see how upset it made him? He even felt the need to defend her. Imagine if she was his girlfriend, he might be seething.” A faint knock was heard on the door. Instantly, the boys covered the beverages and hid them under a fold in the couch as Derek’s mother slowly waddled in.
John, your mother called, she’s wondering when you’ll be home or if you’re spending the night. That goes for all of you boys, I’m sure your parents are worried.” Without saying anything to the effect, her tone and the look on her face as she used it told them all that spending the night wasn’t an option this night.
“I’ll call her soon, Mrs. McAllister. Thank you very much!” Jones responded politely, and the boys got up and prepared to leave.
“We’ve seriously got to get this going.” Seth commented to John as they walked up the stairs, Jones following slowly behind. “Derek, are you fucking drunk, or what? Are you even awake?” Derek murmured a response, his face buried in the folds of the tattered quilt that covered the couch. “Suit yourself, buddy. We’ll call you tomorrow. You should drink some water.” He rolled over, but didn’t make any noise.
The boys all exited and walked to their respective homes, dreams about insults, Shakespeare, Princess Peach, and Poker dancing through their heads. The realization of John’s proposition would have to wait for another night, but the seed had been planted—and the water was soon to come. John, however, wasn’t thinking about any of those things—he was thinking about what he had said about Mario and Princess Peach. Was that for real? “Love”, he thought. He pondered it all the way home.

Army (Cuz it's inspired by Ben Folds anyway)

2005-12-20T11:36:00.000-08:00

It's hard for me to accept
that she is movin' on.
It's hard for me to know
that soon she'll be gone.

She's got her plans all ahead of her,
and I'm staying behind.
She'll be Lieutenant soon;
I'm struggling to try.
She's got on her new coat and boots
and away she will fly.

she can't stop even to think
how much it hurts just to miss,
But she knows her priorities,
and I'm not at the top of the list.

so she joined the army
for the Red, White and Blue.
She's stomping and marching,
like she always wanted to
ain't got time for a boy
so into the future she will move.

I miss her so, every day.
I can't get over it.
Sometimes I hope those ROTC guys
will treat her like shit.

Yeah she really joined the army,
had nothing to do with me.
So I'll transfer far away,
see what God's got for me to see.
And maybe someday,
in our respective futures,
again we will meet.
Please.

I console myself with poetry

2005-12-19T16:07:00.000-08:00

So I console myself with poetry.
Not rum, or another meal.
Or Ketel one, which taunts me
with its conveniently unbroken seal.

I console myself with poetry
and art on the side, with a heavy beat
some elitist pride will surely heal me,
some elitist stomping of the feet.

I console myself with poetry
but words only seem to disguise the pain.
And cause me to feel quite dull inside
when I'm this emotionally drained.

I console myself with poetry.
Inebriated naps just can't cut it.
A cut does, however, seem a must; I'll
add to the scars there on my wrist.

I console myself with poetry,
with my veins, to write my heart-
because to see a friend, a lover lost;
witness a finish without a start...

I tried to console myself with poetry
but it just plain didn't work.
These words now scrawled have been my last...
my vision's begun to blur.

i miss.

2005-12-13T00:46:00.000-08:00

i miss you.
i miss us.
i miss long nights
and good dreams;
car rides
and your head on my shoulder.
i miss the fights
and the pain
and the love
and the hate
and the fear and the loneliness cured.
i miss your eyes
and your bangs
that i couldn't stop touching
and those hands on those hips
and those cherry blossom lips.
i miss your taste
in my mouth
and your pressure
and your smile
and those times when we wouldn't
say anything at all.
remember those times? how few
and far between, but
how comfortable.
i miss being comfortable.
i miss us.
i miss you.

2005-12-09T20:31:00.000-08:00

i know i don't love her
because i want her for myself.
i should be happy.
that she's found what makes her happy,
i just wish that it was me.
then, we would both be happy.
sleep.

With Purpose

2005-12-09T03:35:00.000-08:00

I've spent the last few weeks attempting to do
what it is I had, according to history,
done best: forgetting.
In fact, it wasn't something
that needed much effort-
Nature won out over nurture this time.
To forget comes naturally to a mess like me.
It isn't even what I had intended;
for utter absence of that memory isn't something
I'll ever fully be able to accomplish anyway.
Rather, to separate emotion from experience-
that is my aim.
And every aim has a purpose, and mine is
both simple and solitary,
as any should be:
I just don't want to feel for you
what I felt for you then-
because it isn't acceptable any more.
This way will no doubt be better for both of us.
Above all else, my goal is to allow you happiness-
and this may be my only chance
to make that up to you.
He's waiting for you, and your heart is as well-
waiting for you to move on.
I'm also attempting to...
but I can't do it alone.
Friends? It seems absurd.
But from this point,
absurd is something I can deal with.
And something I can be happy with,
if you can be.
I'll keep my heart and eyes attuned
to you, like always
but I'll watch from the sidelines this time.
I'm pretty comfortable here anyways.

my stomach hurts.

2005-12-09T03:24:00.000-08:00

my stomach hurts.
isn't this the worst?

be still, my heart

2005-12-06T00:15:00.000-08:00

Be still, my heart.
You're beating far too loud.
That tactless sound
may escape from my mouth.

Be still, my mind.
You're sprinting far too fast.
One vain, unhealthy,
love that didn't last.

Be still, my eyes.
Ah, spending time alone...
The lights entice,
and the fragile, falling snow.

And the brightest little firefly
escapes its jar on Christmas day.
And the brightest wish on Santa's list
will never see the light of day.

Be still, my heart.
Please, please calm down.
We can't have that strong an emotion
in this quiet little town.

Be still, my mind.
She's yours no longer, son.
Console yourself--
Shut down, refuel, you're done.

Be still, my eyes.
The one with the linked arm,
the newly chosen one--
He isn't causing any harm.

And the brightest little firefly
escapes its jar on Christmas day.
And the brightest wish on Santa's list
will never see the light of day.

how do i say sorry

2005-11-26T10:39:00.005-08:00

so it's one of those times again
where i can't see where i'm going
i can look into your eyes
or through your heart
but i can't feel your hand in mine

i'm lost, i know i am
i just don't know how to turn around
this path is faded now
how do i begin again?
how do i say 'sorry' for this?

i want so much to be
where i once was before
i want so much to feel the way i did
i want so much to be useful
as a servant, like i should
i feel useless now.

where are you?
where am i?
i want to be home again.hoz

missing out on life

2005-11-26T10:37:00.000-08:00

oh, my God, this hurts like hell
is this the hunger or that
pervading loneliness,
is that what i feel
i lie in bed
i hug the image of you
close to my chest
i try to keep
the tears from falling down
but its no use because
it's not you that i feel

i'm missing out on life
because i'm living
when you're beside me
and i'll miss out on death
if you're not in my arms
when you take that final breath

i promised you that i would never
never ever leave your side
but did that mean that we
could never be apart?
i promised you that i would
not give up on what we have
how many times have i told you that
but where are you now?

i'm missing out on life
because i'm living
when you're beside me
and i'll miss out on death
if you're not in my arms
when you take that final breath

i'm missing out on life
because i'm living
when you're beside me
and i'll miss out on death
if you're not in my arms
when you take that final breath

i need you home and you do too
i need you here with me
but isn't there a solution
where the both of us end up happy?

i'm missing out on life
because i'm living
when you're beside me
and i'll miss out on death
if you're not in my arms
when you take that final breath

victory bells

2005-11-16T16:17:00.000-08:00

i know a girl and when she smiles
i can hear music playing
a heartfelt little
melody of joy

the last thing that i said to her
was would she please come back
to this kind, yet
brokenhearted boy.

so come back, come back
i'm right here waiting for you
come back, come back
i'm right here dying for you
to come back, come back to me.

now i smile when i see her
in the hopes that i can hear it
whenever she just might
return my gaze

but everybody knows that
once something beautiful has died
never again will it see
the light of day.

victory bells will be ringing when
i hear that song again.
wedding bells will be singing when
beside you i will stand.

so come back, come back
i'm right here waiting for you
come back, come back
i'm right here dying for you
to come back, come back to me.

2005-11-14T23:18:00.000-08:00

he must become greater
i must become less
he must become greater
i must become less

really bad

2005-11-14T23:17:00.000-08:00

christmas is coming up soon
your birthday is coming too.
before they both arrive, however
thanksgiving will have to do.

i plan to see you next monday
but know that i guess you don't.
this poem sucks so i will stop
and start again with another poem that doesn't suck.

alright

2005-11-13T15:18:00.000-08:00

i've had this song in my head since early this morning
or was it late last night? i can't recall.
i just know that it's been pressing my heart
to say not what's on my mind, but to say it all.

i always thought i knew you so ever so well
and i could make my decisions with you in mind.
i never really knew what love meant until
i saw it exhibited, until what you gave was mine.

but know this, nina, i'll never stray from your side.
you need someone to hold, i'll be there tonight
just listen to my voice and block out the rest
and i swear we'll end up alright.

you've had troubles, and you're not perfect
and we've upset each other quite a bit
there's times when I think you lie to me,
when we could both be called 'hypocrite'.

i've made my mistakes, actually more than my share.
and i've hurt you so much i can't understand
why you come back and give me that disguised gift
when i know i'm not yet your man.

so know this, nina, as long as i live and i breathe
if you need someone to hold i'll be at your side.
just give me a call and i'll be there to tell you
that i swear we'll end up alright.

stolen

2005-11-10T00:27:00.000-08:00

ohmygodthishurtslikehell
aheartsobigitateitself

college life

2005-11-01T13:29:00.000-08:00

i was surfing the web with aplomb
but it didn't shelter me from
things i hadn't
necessarily wanted to see.

pictures and letters and worse
show your recovery period was terse
and single now it seems
you're ready to be.

alcohol and asian glow
are well documented, you know
when there's an amateur photographer
at every f--king party.

admonishment straight from the gun
although it seemed i was the only one
that had recieved from you
that luxurious privy.

i don't know what happened to you
i just know that it's not what i'd do
if i had the choice, the
decision of what you would see.

things you don't want me to know
are well documented, you know
when there's someone absorbing secrets
at every fucking party.

2005-10-28T19:12:00.000-07:00

we laid together on the bed
and tears welled up in my eyes.
you didn't understand
but neither did i.

remember

2005-10-27T02:06:00.000-07:00

I seem to remember that one time at Albertson's...
you grabbed my arm, and we up and danced!
That music- so poor. But we were perfect;
alone in a crowd, alone in a world of our own.

The first time we ever met- for our very first date...
you were tired, jet lagged for sure, and red were your eyes.
But you came out to see me, so excited, and up we went.
You told me you were cold, but I left on my jacket!

We've moved pretty far from there, haven't we?
I'm here for you now, if you ever do need me.
But... I don't think you do anymore.
I think- you're just a bit too busy out finding yourself.

Together, it felt like we were perfect.
I was sure we could've taken on the world...
Together, we would do it.
So... why aren't we?

Do you remember when we laid, and stared up at the stars?
How bright. Then the rain came, and tumbled down upon us.
A frigid night, and I could feel you shaking- but I was warm
because you were there with me.

I've held you in my arms and whispered, that
"Everything I had ever wanted in this world is laying
right by my side"- and I guess I just
want you to know that I meant every word.

Together we really seemed perfect.
We said we could take on the world.
Together, we would.
So why aren't we?

September 2005

2005-10-23T14:34:00.000-07:00

I sit here, in my shell,
and I can't seem to feel anything at all.
Because when that cloud
of loneliness
wraps itself around you,
it suffocates any opportunity
for feeling.
Have you ever felt this way?
I doubt it,
because I have never left you alone.
Not once.
Not even
when you ran from me,
harboring fear of our future.
Not even
when you moved out of the state.
I was there at the drop of a hat
and at the turn of a whim,
I was there.
And I have been here,
thinking about you, still.
Both without motion and
throughout the passing of time.
Thinking, about how I might strangle you,
thinking about how hard you've made it.
Thinking about the numerous ways
I might
let myself die
without it being suicide
because I know that if I killed myself
you would most definitely
and inconsolably
be upset.
But that's my goal, isn't it?
To make sure that you do not, ever,
get upset.
So I smile
and I walk
and I live,
and pretend
to have fun,
but never have I had fun
when you weren't there to allow it.
So now
I listen to music that you'll never hear,
A mixtape or two of my heart,
a playlist deleted,
the fascinating lyrical sketch
of pain.
Can't you see?
Aren't you an artist?
I can't encapsulate that in words.
I truly do not think it possible,
but here I am trying.
Remind you of anything?
Useless, isn't it? Dreaming, I mean.
Thinking that I might someday "get you back."
Revenge or rehabilitation. Either works.
Thinking, that someday I might again be happy.
Thinking, just thinking.
You know as well as I do
that it is all I do these days.
But really, I should hate you.
But, I shouldn't.
It is not your fault that you didn't know
that you weren't really in love.
You had all the symptoms.
Or at least,
you thought you did.
I thought you did.
Maybe you did.
You were,
at least,
in what your heart determined
your version of love.
But your version has been tainted.
By smarmy, backstabbing bastards
and abusers
and sex,
and television
and alcohol
and your new life.
Your new friends.
Your new location and
your new music and
your new personality.
Your new attitude.
Toward me, toward everyone.
You don't care anymore, It seems, about me
or what we had.
Really, it shouldn't be important.
I'm getting over it.
I have this new girl in mind.
She is cute, she is boring.
She's average.
She doesn't like me, either.
But I can always hope
that someday
if I do ever fall for her,
it will at least help me to
erase the memory that I have
of you.

Untitled

2005-10-19T00:58:00.000-07:00

For a moment there I thought I had a real friend.
One that really cared.
Once again, a fair weather friend.
I can't blame you, can I?
Someone that I don't know?
I miss having someone that really knows.
I miss you.

Your Daughter (Abridged)

2005-10-18T09:59:00.000-07:00

Thank you, sir for putting something
so beautiful into the world.
I imagine you've raised her well.
And she’s done good, as she was told.
She adores you, however hard
that is to believe, she really does.
I know the caring you’ve put into her
Has made her someone that I now love.

I don’t know how to say this, I’m
Really just an amateur, you know.
I’ve never been in love before;
Words like these I’ve never spoke.
But believe me, sir; young as I may be,
I know the meaning of forever
And forever, I promise we will be,
If you let me marry your daughter.

I can understand that you’re surprised,
I mean, I know I would be too.
I know it’s hard to believe that she's
with someone doesn’t look like you.
But I want to assure you, sir,
It’ll happen- law school’s on the way
And ask her, sir, you’ll see-
Happy is something we are every day.

I know how hard it will be
For someone like her and someone like I.
We don’t look quite right, I know,
And we’ve witnessed some harsh and hateful eyes.
I know that if there was one person
That we would really need on our side
I know that’s you sir, and I need
Your blessing: your daughter as my bride.

So I'm asking you, my confidant,
For the largest favor a man can ask.
I'm asking you to give up
Your daughter up to another man.
If there's anything that matters,
In this world, sir, it's love
Not appearance, not connections
Nor any of the above.

I know it will be difficult sir;
We've already gone over that.
I know that we will fight every day
To keep ourselves from falling flat.
But I have faith and I have trust,
And I have God, and we'll get through it.
As long as we're together
Nothing that can tear us. We'll prove it.

We'll prove that love can conquer all.
We'll prove that there's nothing more.
Well then, we'll marry without your blessing,
I regret that you say that, sir.
I don't appreciate that language,
I came here in respect, you know that now.
And I'll leave here in respect,
And I'll take that solemn, sacred vow.

I'm leaving now, please know I'll always
Take care of your precious daughter.
I promise that aside from marry her,
I'll do nothing else to harm her.
I'll be happy, and I know you'll be
Because your daughter will be too.
I love her, sir, she loves me,
And as you know, we love you too.

Sonnet

2005-10-17T22:24:00.000-07:00

a You see her face when times of sleep draw near,
b the view imprinted into your heart’s eyes;
b though easily destroyed with well-placed lies,
a her affection. It soon gives way to fear.
a Is there a way to see, even through seers,
b how long a relationship will comprise?
b Is there ever a way to break those ties?
a Is love forever, through the dark and clear?
c Some still have hope, that love will never die;
d just stay current between woman and man.
c One of these believers in love am I.
d But in one’s heart, be diminished, love can.
c No more is there reason for me to lie…
d yet still, I love her more than any man.

A Boy Painted a Picture

2005-10-17T22:23:00.000-07:00

A boy painted a picture
And he entitled it ‘love’
It was saturated with red and hearts
And what his dreams had been made of
Red and white and autumn sunsets,
And places to where your heart gives you a shove.
His mother taped it on the refrigerator,
Without looking, told him ‘good job’
And gave him a pat on the head
From above.

A boy drew a picture
And he christened it ‘death’
He penciled in skulls and crossbones
And countenances with no eyes left
Charcoal black and grey and disheartening things
He had not learned the names of yet.
His father brought it to work
To display it to his colleagues
And delivered ‘good job’ with booze
On his breath.

A boy made a collage
And he titled it ‘life’
He cut out pictures of money and a mansion
Didn't forget the beautiful wife.
And green and blue and a big label
And a fancy new convertible to drive.
His best friend said it was good
But he should put down the scissors
And realize just how tough it is
To survive.

A boy painted a picture
Said it was to be called 'to be’
Outlined a cigarette-burned face
Next to a forgotten summer’s skinned knee.
Maroon for agony and ruptured hearts
Dark blue his dysfunctional family
He peered more deeply into the world
And saw that up until then
Most of his artistry
Contained no reality.

Hope is a Hoax

2005-10-17T22:22:00.000-07:00

Maybe not.
Maybe the dream can't come to life.
Maybe hope is a hoax.
Did you ever hear the wolf cry
to the blue corn moon? I haven't.
But I dreamt I did, and it was beautiful.
Maybe it was, it was only a dream.
That never came
to life, to fruition. Never came true.
Maybe it is not real. Is it?
Have you ever been in love?
Or was it just a dream?
Were there tears in that dream
or just happiness?
Was there pain in that dream
or only joy?
Was there a longing;
did you yearn for something that wasn't,
and would never be,
really there?
Did you live in that dream forever
or did it end, like everything does, in death?

Untitled

2005-10-17T22:21:00.000-07:00

I can't accept that it's over.
Really, it isn't but
like the smell in the air,
you can tell when the tempest
is near.

I can't believe how you're different.
Just a few short weeks there
and your new friends have shown
a side of you I did
not know.

I'll still hold onto the dream;
imagining that we're
together forever,
but that sliding scale now points
to 'never'.

It isn't supposed
to be this hard to let go.

The times that we cherished...
Memories, photographs.
Three words that had meant
two lives that were
together spent.