Another night's come upon us
And then that night turns to morning
Sound doesn't stay still.
It's always playing about my ears
...this side and then that side...
Always teasing, never ceasing,
Seizing upon silence, an audio appliance
In full effect with the mute-switch misplaced.
I hope it turns up before it's erased.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
you are my drug
Is it bad that I sometimes sing my song simply to grab you...to draw you in and collect your attention, thoughts, and looks?
You are the next girl that will cause me to stumble,
And once i've got a hold I'll somehow fumble you,
Slipping through my hands after feeling so good in them.
You are my drug....and it only took
Half a hit and one look to get me hooked.
But if things seem to happen the way they usually do,
I'll go to find you and you'll disappear from view.
And then I'll head out west...an absolute mess,
Reaching for the top of the world.
Come Cold
On this near-november morning I see no birds soaring.
Just a nipping cold on my dripping nose
And as i huddle here i struggle dearly to remember my toes.
The sight might bring fright of frost bite to some but to me it numbs an old affliction and abets a new addiction.
Limbs become useless, and excuses move to the front of my brain and then drift again like the swell of a riff And then, I find peace...then my shivers cease. Against all warning, it's then my heart finds warming.
So when that cold comes find your fire...grab your blanket
But as for me and my dripping nose...we can take it.
And as i huddle here i struggle dearly to remember my toes.
The sight might bring fright of frost bite to some but to me it numbs an old affliction and abets a new addiction.
Limbs become useless, and excuses move to the front of my brain and then drift again like the swell of a riff And then, I find peace...then my shivers cease. Against all warning, it's then my heart finds warming.
So when that cold comes find your fire...grab your blanket
But as for me and my dripping nose...we can take it.
The Seduction of Silence
i have work. the worst invention of man apart from the weapon. i don't particularly like dressing up in a tuxedo, or being the only banquet server @ my resort that doesn't speak Espanol, but i sometimes think that it's a blessing in disguise. i don't comprehend the language, so they think i don't comprehend much at all and leave me alone. i work at an easy pace and take my time. At $25 an hour, i don't see the rush. that's what i do like about it. good money. easy work, except for the occasionally heavy lifting, and i don't have to talk to people, nor they to me. i can think to myself throughout the day, uninterrupted. and then there's Sarita, my little Mexican crush. short. cute face. great smile. a matching attitude. and that bottom--my god! she's always got these booty shorts on underneath, and i stare at the outlines and imagine her wearing only them. Despite the discomfort in my pants thereafter, it makes the day go by quite nicely.
our banquet director, gathers us and tells us that today we're going to be working a 'special' function today, and that 'NO TALKING' is going to be allowed. we are to work the way we always do, perform our everyday tasks the way we always do, but to add 'no extra noise of any kind.' i figure our executive staff is in attendance, entertaining rich, white owners or major stock holders, but i don't give a shit about them and quickly go on to other thoughts, like Sarita's ass, and start getting the things we'll need for the function.
approaching the Executive Lawn i notice there is not a whole lot of noise going on around the area. no lawn mowers. no gardeners. no room service, janitors, housekeepers, or any of the other usual work and i wonder if the illegal immigrants got inspired by the writers and went on strike again. then i see the sign...
The Seduction of Silence
what--the fuck?
the lot of us, sweating and chafing in our ugly-ass, wool penguin suits, walk out onto the lawn and are met by a group of comfortably dressed residents who are warmly greeting each other in a familiar embrace but at the same time it also seems that they don't know each other...and they've all got name tags on, and aren't saying a word. it all starts to come together.....these chumps have been scammed into some fucking "get in touch with your soul, become one, be silent, be still, give me your money, sucker"-typed seminar! they all have these smiles on their face like they've just been doped up (and they probably unknowingly have), and they're walking about, so...happy, but taking extra precautions not to make any extra noise.
'someone grab a gun and blow my head off,' i quietly consider, 'but would that require a silencer at a function of this nature? what? a silencer? for a suicide! you god-damned pussy! get the loudest damn gun you can find!'
they all file down the buffet line, breathing deep, take their seats and begin, with their forks and knives chattering for them, and the site and lack of any communication, while they're all sitting right next to and across from each other, leaves me absolutely creeped out. the only thing i can think about is farting as loud as possible. a few of them eye me and motion to their water or iced tea pitchers in a comedic, Charlie Chaplin-like manner, silently making hand gestures to notify me that they need a refill. i pretend not to understand so i can watch more of their elaborate, frantic movements. their arms flailing about, twisting and flapping, and i say, "what's that??? i don't understand! ....what?" laughing inside.
or i would excitedly nod and hold up my index finger, indicating, "Oh, I understand! be back in a jiffy!" and rush away confidently. they feel good about their finger pointing skills, silently patting themselves on the back, thinking what great deaf-mutes they'd be if circumstances were different when i come back with a smile of assurance, softly setting down nothing close to what they asked for. I give a big thumbs up, showing a lot of teeth when i see their eyes widen @ what I've brought them, but hurry away quickly, leaving them flailing more furious than ever, and--knowing they won't say anything--i don't look back. management should have known not to schedule me for an event like this...they should have known.
i can't help but think what absolute boobs these people are...giving away probably a thousand dollars for this "life-changing" event.
"this is the answer to my problems." one winks to the other.
"oh, this is most definitely the cure." the other nods back.
"...and what a fair price!" another smiles.
fucking suckers....then i start to think about the church retreats i went on as a kid, and how the people there didn't know one another, but they too would embrace each other, like they were childhood friends who had finally found each other. and seeing all this makes me think how i was probably at one point just like these people. thinking how good it is to be ignorant. and it really was. things haven't gotten any easier the more i've learned, the more i've realize what a fucked up place this is we're in. they give the Shepard's cane to an ignorant son, and tell him he has one job: keep the sheep ignorant, keep them fearful, and keep them in line. get them fat and comfortable, keep them busy, and DISTRACT, DISTRACT, DISTRACT as they're led quietly to the cliff.
our banquet director, gathers us and tells us that today we're going to be working a 'special' function today, and that 'NO TALKING' is going to be allowed. we are to work the way we always do, perform our everyday tasks the way we always do, but to add 'no extra noise of any kind.' i figure our executive staff is in attendance, entertaining rich, white owners or major stock holders, but i don't give a shit about them and quickly go on to other thoughts, like Sarita's ass, and start getting the things we'll need for the function.
approaching the Executive Lawn i notice there is not a whole lot of noise going on around the area. no lawn mowers. no gardeners. no room service, janitors, housekeepers, or any of the other usual work and i wonder if the illegal immigrants got inspired by the writers and went on strike again. then i see the sign...
The Seduction of Silence
what--the fuck?
the lot of us, sweating and chafing in our ugly-ass, wool penguin suits, walk out onto the lawn and are met by a group of comfortably dressed residents who are warmly greeting each other in a familiar embrace but at the same time it also seems that they don't know each other...and they've all got name tags on, and aren't saying a word. it all starts to come together.....these chumps have been scammed into some fucking "get in touch with your soul, become one, be silent, be still, give me your money, sucker"-typed seminar! they all have these smiles on their face like they've just been doped up (and they probably unknowingly have), and they're walking about, so...happy, but taking extra precautions not to make any extra noise.
'someone grab a gun and blow my head off,' i quietly consider, 'but would that require a silencer at a function of this nature? what? a silencer? for a suicide! you god-damned pussy! get the loudest damn gun you can find!'
they all file down the buffet line, breathing deep, take their seats and begin, with their forks and knives chattering for them, and the site and lack of any communication, while they're all sitting right next to and across from each other, leaves me absolutely creeped out. the only thing i can think about is farting as loud as possible. a few of them eye me and motion to their water or iced tea pitchers in a comedic, Charlie Chaplin-like manner, silently making hand gestures to notify me that they need a refill. i pretend not to understand so i can watch more of their elaborate, frantic movements. their arms flailing about, twisting and flapping, and i say, "what's that??? i don't understand! ....what?" laughing inside.
or i would excitedly nod and hold up my index finger, indicating, "Oh, I understand! be back in a jiffy!" and rush away confidently. they feel good about their finger pointing skills, silently patting themselves on the back, thinking what great deaf-mutes they'd be if circumstances were different when i come back with a smile of assurance, softly setting down nothing close to what they asked for. I give a big thumbs up, showing a lot of teeth when i see their eyes widen @ what I've brought them, but hurry away quickly, leaving them flailing more furious than ever, and--knowing they won't say anything--i don't look back. management should have known not to schedule me for an event like this...they should have known.
i can't help but think what absolute boobs these people are...giving away probably a thousand dollars for this "life-changing" event.
"this is the answer to my problems." one winks to the other.
"oh, this is most definitely the cure." the other nods back.
"...and what a fair price!" another smiles.
fucking suckers....then i start to think about the church retreats i went on as a kid, and how the people there didn't know one another, but they too would embrace each other, like they were childhood friends who had finally found each other. and seeing all this makes me think how i was probably at one point just like these people. thinking how good it is to be ignorant. and it really was. things haven't gotten any easier the more i've learned, the more i've realize what a fucked up place this is we're in. they give the Shepard's cane to an ignorant son, and tell him he has one job: keep the sheep ignorant, keep them fearful, and keep them in line. get them fat and comfortable, keep them busy, and DISTRACT, DISTRACT, DISTRACT as they're led quietly to the cliff.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
what a week
Every time my old college buddy, Santana, comes to town...we GO TO TOWN. He was in this time for business, testing a machine that measures corrective lens or some shit. we had been bar-hopping the previous four nights and the following morning i was an exhausted mess of stink on the verge of vomiting, cursing the day i met him from my toilet seat, choking on the nastiest beer shit i had had in some months. my whole body was beaten up from late nights and carrying heavy loads as a banquet server...over...and over...and over. it gets ridiculous at times and one can see madness in this system we call 'society'. we fucked it all up and everyone seems to know it, but no one wants to stop, or start over, or make things right--maybe it's too late for that--so we submissively continue under the demoralizing conditions of indentured servitude, waiting for our day, but it never comes. And it never gets better. you're always on the bottom, treading, fighting just to keep from going under and any visible light on the top is a dream being dangled above you, just out of your reach--never obtainable--and that's how they like it. keep you believing that happiness is just around the corner--you just have to 'work harder.' work for happiness. pay to live...hmm. i think my rib is cracked.
we woke up around eleven this morning and decided we'd hit up the Flash for some nourishment, and to hopefully get this lousy feeling in my stomach to desist. cold, bone-chilling blasts of November wind were attacking the shoreline, so there weren't many people out, and i liked that for a change. quiet. still. nice. we ducked into the Flash and it was a Sunday, which is the day that all the assholes put on their football jerseys and get tanked and then have a "who's the loudest asshole" contest. Santana ordered a mimosa, and myself a bloody mary that i could only finish half of (that's the best half anyhow) before i moved on to a beer. Feeling full after downing the drinks and five appetizers, we never got around to ordering lunch and decided to sneak off and see what some of our other alcoholic buddies were up to. we were somehow able to avoid Izzy (the hardest bartender in southern California to say no to), in part (i think) because it looked like management was cracking down after he gave the bar away to us last Sunday. This time, we were grateful for the reform.
we jetted over to Polumbo's (the award-winning cigarette smoking alcoholic who will either die at 38 because of his habitual choices, or live to 120 because he's such an asshole that even Death would procrastinate it's duties so as not to deal with the mother fucker), but he and the others weren't there. the tv was left on and a cheesy-ass, 'scary' movie was playing about a baby-sitter being stalked by some pervert who breathes heavily into the phone, and she's too damned dumb to do anything but make bad suspense with the help of a bad director and a bad orchestra. we sat and watched for a few minutes to see if the baby-sitter was at least going to get naked, but when that never happened we phoned Polumbo. he was at Open Bar, a place next to where we had just been, and after working my ass off to get Santana's stoned ass off the couch we went there and a good deal of heavy drinking pursued shortly thereafter.
the place was loud and messy, the music from the jukebox was terrible, but the pitchers flowed nicely and seeing as how i only payed for one but drank much more, made it a damned good day. After three or four pitchers we were able to convince Santana to miss his flight again and instead leave the next morning. some time after that i lost sight of him..."hopefully he ends up at Polumbo's," i muttered.
somewhere along the way i met Kirstin, and somewhere after that she fell in love with me and i with her...fucking booze. what to say about Kirstin...she sells 'legal' drugs to pharmaceutical companies or some boring shit, and after blowing a bunch of smoke up her nice, big ass she smiled and said, 'I like your eyes' ....'thanks,' i thought, 'your face ain't so great, but i like your rack.' it was tan, freckled, and amazing. i wanted to bury my face in that mess and just hide there, like an ostrich, and not ever come up until we found ourselves in a place that seemed a little better than the one we're living in now. i wanted to take her home and really see what that body could do, but she said it 'wouldn't be the best, tonight.' apparently, she had to stay at her friend's side and play 'wing girl' later on. maybe she wanted to seem respectable and sure, be a good friend, and that's to be appreciated a little i guess...what else can one really say. looking at it now i'm glad things happened that way because I was unaware that another girl I had recently been seeing was hanging out at my house with my roommates...it could've been awkward if I had walked in, drunk, with a girl on my arm.
When I saw her, she approached me with a warm hug and asked how my night went.
"fine" i replied, "can we grab some tacos?"
Later that night, once she had fallen asleep, i checked my phone for any word from kirsten, and a text message was waiting...
"im very happy i met u. I had a great time tonight."
'me too kid. me too,' i thought.
then i got up, drained a warm beer someone had left, sat down and took another good shit and sighed, what a week.
we woke up around eleven this morning and decided we'd hit up the Flash for some nourishment, and to hopefully get this lousy feeling in my stomach to desist. cold, bone-chilling blasts of November wind were attacking the shoreline, so there weren't many people out, and i liked that for a change. quiet. still. nice. we ducked into the Flash and it was a Sunday, which is the day that all the assholes put on their football jerseys and get tanked and then have a "who's the loudest asshole" contest. Santana ordered a mimosa, and myself a bloody mary that i could only finish half of (that's the best half anyhow) before i moved on to a beer. Feeling full after downing the drinks and five appetizers, we never got around to ordering lunch and decided to sneak off and see what some of our other alcoholic buddies were up to. we were somehow able to avoid Izzy (the hardest bartender in southern California to say no to), in part (i think) because it looked like management was cracking down after he gave the bar away to us last Sunday. This time, we were grateful for the reform.
we jetted over to Polumbo's (the award-winning cigarette smoking alcoholic who will either die at 38 because of his habitual choices, or live to 120 because he's such an asshole that even Death would procrastinate it's duties so as not to deal with the mother fucker), but he and the others weren't there. the tv was left on and a cheesy-ass, 'scary' movie was playing about a baby-sitter being stalked by some pervert who breathes heavily into the phone, and she's too damned dumb to do anything but make bad suspense with the help of a bad director and a bad orchestra. we sat and watched for a few minutes to see if the baby-sitter was at least going to get naked, but when that never happened we phoned Polumbo. he was at Open Bar, a place next to where we had just been, and after working my ass off to get Santana's stoned ass off the couch we went there and a good deal of heavy drinking pursued shortly thereafter.
the place was loud and messy, the music from the jukebox was terrible, but the pitchers flowed nicely and seeing as how i only payed for one but drank much more, made it a damned good day. After three or four pitchers we were able to convince Santana to miss his flight again and instead leave the next morning. some time after that i lost sight of him..."hopefully he ends up at Polumbo's," i muttered.
somewhere along the way i met Kirstin, and somewhere after that she fell in love with me and i with her...fucking booze. what to say about Kirstin...she sells 'legal' drugs to pharmaceutical companies or some boring shit, and after blowing a bunch of smoke up her nice, big ass she smiled and said, 'I like your eyes' ....'thanks,' i thought, 'your face ain't so great, but i like your rack.' it was tan, freckled, and amazing. i wanted to bury my face in that mess and just hide there, like an ostrich, and not ever come up until we found ourselves in a place that seemed a little better than the one we're living in now. i wanted to take her home and really see what that body could do, but she said it 'wouldn't be the best, tonight.' apparently, she had to stay at her friend's side and play 'wing girl' later on. maybe she wanted to seem respectable and sure, be a good friend, and that's to be appreciated a little i guess...what else can one really say. looking at it now i'm glad things happened that way because I was unaware that another girl I had recently been seeing was hanging out at my house with my roommates...it could've been awkward if I had walked in, drunk, with a girl on my arm.
When I saw her, she approached me with a warm hug and asked how my night went.
"fine" i replied, "can we grab some tacos?"
Later that night, once she had fallen asleep, i checked my phone for any word from kirsten, and a text message was waiting...
"im very happy i met u. I had a great time tonight."
'me too kid. me too,' i thought.
then i got up, drained a warm beer someone had left, sat down and took another good shit and sighed, what a week.
Monday, November 19, 2007
The Feather
The Feather
Words. They waft and wave in the wind. Like a feather. A brush in the breeze, dancing,
Painting the face of an invisible force
Floating and falling, back and then forth
Bouncing with a rhythm like fingers on keys
Dodging dumptrucks and chimneys, church steeples and trees
Calling on creatures whose limbs are light
To leave their burdens below, grab that wind, and take flight.
Words. They waft and wave in the wind. Like a feather. A brush in the breeze, dancing,
Painting the face of an invisible force
Floating and falling, back and then forth
Bouncing with a rhythm like fingers on keys
Dodging dumptrucks and chimneys, church steeples and trees
Calling on creatures whose limbs are light
To leave their burdens below, grab that wind, and take flight.
The Morning
it's the early morning...5:29am...things are quiet. not much moving. i like it. the early morning is the best time of the day for me i think. nothing has gotten fucked up yet...there is potential for some good to come of it. it's fresh. i guess it's the same reason i enjoy being around and have crushes on the younger girls (18-20 year olds...nothing younger). they haven't been touched by this cruel place yet. there's this tiny light in them and one prays to the gods that her purity and beauty can be seen by everyone the way i see it, and one prays that that purity and beauty would go and kill off all the war and greed and inhumanities in this dark place and that flowers would bloom all around, and trees would rise up from their ashes and be green and breathe fresh air to us again. when i'm around someone like that i have a feeling that there is still hope. and there is. People just need to look up and see it, and grab hold of it. That is how i feel about the morning. things are still, and quiet. i like it.
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