Atoms vs. Adams

Fire engulfed the idea, shooting atoms into the space between the decision and the action. A slow spread of motion contemplating the percussion between sunrises and sunsets. The bubbling feeling of what ifs and could haves are resetting a blaze to any notions that might've been danced upon. But all this fire is making a lot of smoke and casting a haze on our dancing shoes. And there is a different spin on atoms and Adams in this sphere that I'm trying to collect slumber in. 

Hatred in the Glow of Your Computer Screen

These morbid cyber relationships where everyone comes to flaunt their plastic affection is bound to melt by all of your over heated technologies. For there is a breech in privacy when you experience things organically. The words are less computed and more muted but the feeling is stronger than your Internet connection. The birds use to tweet but now the people are fleeting to make birds out of themselves. I could find your face in the Book and scroll through all the empty compliments warped in the glow of your computer screen. Please look closely at all the animated knives you do not see because out in the real world without wifi or dial up without hour glasses loading, there is a sky and clouds floating and everyone is surely talking shit about everyone. Don't be fooled by the sense of validation your web browser gives you. You're off to a site with people that hate you and you've equally spread your own share of precious viruses on this loopy trip we call the net. We're all in it, the net, this trap, begging for us to document everything. Encode your life before it goes viral. We're all just marketing a different brand of hatred. We're just a bunch of Internet monsters disguised as friends, fans.. 

Questions Lips Dodge

A smudge appears on the transcript of our history and in the now you seem to avoid the void from where we disconnected to our greetings today. A strange feeling creeps along the dashboard as we roll toward a nostalgic broom closet and allow low lighting to incubate what once was, what might be, and truly what was meddled with in the beginning. And all the while I teeter on the verge of amusement and sadness because I'm not sure where to look, where to focus.. for what is the purpose of all of this and I have far too many questions you would love to dodge. I let me eyes linger on the corner of your lips equally pissed and intrigued by what I want to do with them.

Winning Nights

Twisted nights are the products of the crumpled sheets and lust is mispronounced as love but when I asked for one lump of sugar, one means one. Credits flick onto the television screen and projects a liquid light into the living room, which happens to be a room you never actually live in because I feel more alive in the kitchen then I do where the television sits on it's stand and brags about shit I may or may not want. But in the kitchen I feel full and I feel appreciated as I try and succeed and fail and succeed anyway. The TV is begging for us to sit down but we're taking it to the bedroom to wind down and meet back in the kitchen to make eggs that match the sun. And our crumpled night made lust twisted sheets. But we didn't break down in front of the television in defeat. We have won another night. 

Becoming Moronic Fiends

Moments began to run into one another and we didn’t even notice. It was happening so naturally that when something bad came along it seemed to threaten our entire existence. We pleaded with a temporary god to save us from ourselves. We begged for indifference because we feared that things would change. There was a make-believe notion that we could save whatever we held onto, so we’d cling to one another slowly dissolving into the world and into ourselves and even into each other… there we would stay, not for long, but long enough for us to realize our world was changing. We'd become these moronic fiends for the way things once use to be, but it would never get back all the way. Moments began running away from us and we thought we had been the ones running. It wasn't until we stopped and looked around that we realized we hadn't gone anywhere, we were wasting away in our own created nightmare.

The Internet Will Never Care

I could write you letters and tell you all about my days, but it would amount to nothing because of the modern plague. The social stance on our media has invaded all the things we do, adding them up and subtracting things making their value way past due. And I could describe the sky that reigns over me here, but compared to the graphics on your screen, well you wouldn't really care. And all the while, while I am here, you are there, and the Internet intercepts our way of life making you less aware; so do not disconnect your electronic self, but return your thoughts to a paper based perspective so that I will have something to hang onto and something to feel. And something to embrace because the Internet will never care.

Contribute or be Contributed

strangers passed along a busy street and only noticed each other's feet. 

the same clear sky dimmed above their heads but with necks craned down

they all seemed dead. stranger's went about their day, inhaling the same air, 

again and again. recycled ideas expanded on their desks; 

along with the headaches and pains in their chests. 

pressure built inside their spaces; offices growing dank with cases, 

nothing new just the same old faces.

the world grew strong in a concrete mass,

both rising and falling in another blast.

the people continued on their way,

never worrying about a day,

for they new their end would come without a say,

allowing them to start again.

and that is all they really wanted, was a faultier system

and empty promises, something they could lay their

blame; for they hadn't really contributed anything either way.

Consume and Kill Each Other

we breathed in the madness that was collecting

in the night around us, we had contributed such

sordid ideas with quick glances and shuffling feet,

we had wanted to be so near and so far from one

another all at once that we didn't know what

to do with all our thoughts but let them fall

over our lips and into the company of our

present, they looked at us, stunned and

conflicted. the wheels in their heads started

to spin and we willed the grit to settle on their

shoulders so that they could take some of our

weight. the wait we had for each other was

long over, fizzled out, now flat like soda left in

it's can out in the sun for hours, stung by bees

wanting to dance in it's syrup... 
we were so deathly sweet for each other and it

was all melting, all the chocolate kisses

now laid stale and broken and we wanted

the entire night to be aware of our battling

desire to both consume and kill each other.

the night so raw, exposed you exposing me

exposing you while the madness settled

and the whispers died to a silent vibration,

your cellphone sizzled on the table;

your other begging you to give up on me.

Your Cheap Tricks and Foul Inclinations Won't Dazzle Us

It all comes down to what we know. The information we harbor inside ourselves. The lights that will have a go, twitching on and off to signal that we are defying what we know. Our external sensors become noticeably irritated and we boil right to the tips of our eyelashes because of what we know. We've known all along and we've made a note of it in our hard drives but then other beings harboring the exact same information decide to work differently with it and decide we should too. But we don't. Because we can't and we won't. So everything we know becomes twisted with this absurd energy trying to will it to change. It all comes down to what we know. And I definitely know the racks of information pertaining to you is absolute rubbish, just like the pit that resigns where your heart should be. You're a parasite to yourself and to present company... always trying to rewrite the information we know. 
But your cheap tricks and foul inclinations won't dazzle us.

Freezer's Stocked For You

i cut through the produce right into the frozen

food, i don't even eat this stuff but i still stock

up my freezer hoping you'll come through, and

when you do you better know i'll be giving you the best goddamn microwaved feast you ever laid your eyes on, and while you're devouring pastas and mashed potatoes i will tell you of all the things i've gathered for you.. like a demonic squirrel praying the hydro doesn't go out, i keep my freezer stocked, just like my heart, all for you.

Inebriated Relief

wine dribbled over the top of the glass

when i slammed it down on the table,

i hadn't realized how strong i had become

when i was drunk, but it wasn't muscles forming

or armor tightening, it was simply inebriation

thawing the from the inside out, i wanted

to spill everything, including that wine.

the wine dried, forming little skins, 

belonging to grapes on the wood table top... 

reminded me of all the things i kept inside, 

under scabs, where

the blood was running but couldn't make

contact and there i hid the things i so

desperately wanted to tell you; wine scabs

and drunken lullabies and a truancy of

relief that i was never relieved to have had

the very next morning.

Whine Glasses Full

Lips stained with wine,

But eyes like a tiger.

There behind the glass

they hid their secrets from

one another only giving

each a tiny glimpse of the

other's soul through grape

pursuits and winery whines.

They stirred on everyday

mediocre topics, but when

their silent gulps fell on

love they couldn't

take their eyes of

     each other's glasses.

Internet Baby Can't Handle the Truth

you project an image

that we all see

you defend an image

you feel we believe

you plagiarize moments in time

you remodel pictures, with all your disguise

you desensitize memories

and infiltrate futures

you've created a network

but this isn't dreamworks

and you are slowly

losing all your pixels,

internet baby, take a step outside

internet baby, quit typing your lies

internet baby, you are so lonely and disconnected

refresh. reboot.

internet baby, we've got nothing left for you

Your Business is a Disease, Left For Someone Else to Catch

your business is not something i want to invest in.

you in general are just  a waste of space and are

eating up my contributions to society in the

most unnatural, unpleasing, and severly unhygienic

ways. your business is something like laundry,

and you've hung it to dry in the most public of

places, leaving it in the park for anyone to come

and gander, to poke and prod, to make assumptions and to assume 

is surely what is happening, but you're in the business of lies and deceit, 

of debt and regret. your business is a sinking ship 

and even those become valuable because the legends

 start up and there are souvniers and we are all suddenly standing in line waiting 

for the foam fingers and light up sticks so we can show 

that we had known and known all along. your business is a closed shop on the corner 

of a downtown street; filled with squatters and bad publicity. 

you are the face of a serious problem. your business is something i want away from

but it's like a toxic poison dripping into all the outlets and found

 on bus stops and under couch cushions. you business is a disease left 

for someone else to catch, you think your operation is baseball 

but you are missing all your targets and all your balls have fallen out of your basket. 

your business is something we don't want to get into. 

but you've corrupted our lives with all your cries and i am trying to cut all ties, 

but to cut the ties would mean to die and to die by your side; 

would be such an incredibly fucked up thing to do 

because your bed has been made, and lay with the roaches you will

 because the flowers have all spoiled and you words are charred and broiled 

and i hope you get out of the business of being in our business, 

you filthy animal.

 

Moon Bound

scattered pop culture,

throwing in the magazine.

i don't want to be involved

with my own self proclaimed

insanity, but if i were to meet

myself on another day, i might

just try to talk myself into

a different way, but as i converse

with myself in the middle of this

afternoon i cannot help but

distaste the doom and

beg for something different

to get me to the moon.

Devouring Myself

Already the season is changing and I have yet to board the ship. The time is lapsing and I feel the urge to miss. And as we do go passing, like two strong solid ships, you will be full of passengers and I will be full of shit. There is a different kind of air coming in from the east and it is uplifting me from my sit, demanding greatness at least... but I have misplaced my feet to step up to the plate and I am starving for a solitude that has me clothed in a terrifying defeat. I imagine me seeing you in a warmed little shop, touching trinkets and ruffling hair, paying no attention to the clock. All the while I am seeing you I can't help but feel like I don't belong and I probably never will due to my turning infiltration of devouring myself. And as I cause a ripple in my own stream I will always admire that you were grounded there with memories while I was off on a forever flee.

Unlocking My Atmosphere

there was a moment of devastation,

a brief flaunting moment where i thought

the walls i had created were going to

crumble down, leaving me in a pile of

rubble, rubble i still dont think i am ready to

try and go through, put back together.

i dont want to collect the pieces.

id rather leave them there, discarded

for some lost soul to find and take a look.

ill find new walls to build, under different

sun and with new surroundings that i

wont care to see, but i should be fine.

and knowing that someone else is looking

at what was once me and thinking about

it makes me think i might not need these

walls, but my heart is far to weak for

such nonsense.. and the possibilities.

i dont think my heart is ready for the

possibility of telling you all about my

opportunity to move up and out without

the walls.. i think i want that sense of

freedom, i want to just be. and to be

without the confinement of myself, i was

locked in my own prison and i have

picked the lock and am stepping out

into a different kind of cage within

the atmosphere and giving it a shot.

Half a Bottle, Half Shaved Legs

She drew a bath.
Drank half a bottle of wine.
Sat back. Relaxed.
Murmured to the curtain about
her life, her job, her day, her future.
She propped up one leg.
Lathered. And shaved it precisely.
Sat back. Relaxed.
Finished the other half of the bottle.
Propped up the other leg.
Lathered. Shaved absent mindedly.
She drains the tub.
Towels off.
Goes to bed.
She likes to feel her legs
                                                      in bed, the way a man would
                                                      feel them, after half a bottle of wine.

Surfing the Internet in a Mermaid Tail

She wore butterfly wings and a mermaid tail.
For she wanted to feel both the highs and lows of her existence
and she wanted to be beautiful while she did it.
She preferred talking to people on the Internet
because she wanted their words and not their emotion,
she feared what their words might actually mean and their tones
would define that and she wanted to be with them
in the same glow of the browser.
She surfed the Internet with her mermaid tail.
The only high she got was high scores on Internet games.
All of her friends were virtual, swapping viral diseases
of information all the while
being so misinformed in a fish bowl of strangers.

She Mispronounces Truth and Leaves Lies

She's present with her dislocated sentences.
Everything has become a run on sentence,
so far gone she can't keep up.
The grammar for which she chooses
seems to be picked out like clothing
yet she has horrible taste.
She mispronounces truth and leaves lies.
A question with no matter or facts
but a blank canvas to present exquisite intricacies.
Without keeping all the ducks aligned
she surely creates a wayward pond
of moments without punctuation.
For the question mark
has certainly become
her first and last name
and any character that was salvageable
has fallen through all the holes in an endless labyrinth,
a ruthless path of mediocrity and boredom.
And she surely could not recite her story for you
from start to finish because the plot is always changing
and she hasn't figured out when exactly she should finish.