I like the peace of Berkeley.
The trees, sunset, air, and people.
I hate my room in San Francisco.
Loathe it.
But it's all I have, for now.
I need to start planning,
how the hell to get free...
no way soon...
I don't want to go there!
But that's my home.
My place,
that I pay for
and fought for,
for years.
Trapped.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Short Story: Losing the Past
It looks to be falling apart. I'll have to change tin a day; the way that I smoke, the way I relate, the number of laundry I clean. Still starving, but now "they" are taking my joys.
The last addictions I have. Why can't I keep them intact? They seem to me harmless, medicinal even. I don't know how to live without them.
It's not enough for me to be brought so low. To steal the last of my inner child's candy. I must also learn how to be around others who do not go without. Be around them, love them, live with them... live with them, without anger or envy. Without self-pity, competition, hurt, defense, manipulation, or beggary.
Ah beggary, how could I be without thee? To mooch and couch-surf. To bum and to find. These have been my way for far too long. I was still running, while others staked out land; cleared it and built homes. I was away running.
Now I find myself old, unable to afford sugar, remembering the cartoon I saw as a child: About a wolf who did no work, always begging from the hard-working pig. Always lazy, never working, the wolf always starved a little in the winter. But what when there is no pig? The pig gets tired of feeding him.
That cartoon always haunted me, like I could feel my future reflected in it...
As an adult, now, I can confirm that haunted feeling was right.
The last addictions I have. Why can't I keep them intact? They seem to me harmless, medicinal even. I don't know how to live without them.
It's not enough for me to be brought so low. To steal the last of my inner child's candy. I must also learn how to be around others who do not go without. Be around them, love them, live with them... live with them, without anger or envy. Without self-pity, competition, hurt, defense, manipulation, or beggary.
Ah beggary, how could I be without thee? To mooch and couch-surf. To bum and to find. These have been my way for far too long. I was still running, while others staked out land; cleared it and built homes. I was away running.
Now I find myself old, unable to afford sugar, remembering the cartoon I saw as a child: About a wolf who did no work, always begging from the hard-working pig. Always lazy, never working, the wolf always starved a little in the winter. But what when there is no pig? The pig gets tired of feeding him.
That cartoon always haunted me, like I could feel my future reflected in it...
As an adult, now, I can confirm that haunted feeling was right.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Poem: The Things I've Loved
The first thing I ever loved was a pet;
It died before I ever realized.
The second thing I ever loved
was a man;
He left me for a woman,
before I knew
our time was up.
The third thing I ever loved
was a pain-killing drug;
It hurt me more,
than I'd ever
have guessed.
I left it before
it killed me.
The fourth thing I ever loved
was a young woman;
I hurt her more
than I'd ever
have guessed.
She left because
I told her to.
The fifth thing I ever loved
was Coffee;
It's hurting my stomach
so much
I'll have to quit.
The sixth thing I ever loved
was Tobacco;
It's hurting my lungs
so much
I'll have to quit.
The seventh thing I ever loved
was a woman;
She loved herself
more
than she loved me.
The things I love
haven't treated me well;
I guess I'll just stop
and rest
a spell.
It died before I ever realized.
The second thing I ever loved
was a man;
He left me for a woman,
before I knew
our time was up.
The third thing I ever loved
was a pain-killing drug;
It hurt me more,
than I'd ever
have guessed.
I left it before
it killed me.
The fourth thing I ever loved
was a young woman;
I hurt her more
than I'd ever
have guessed.
She left because
I told her to.
The fifth thing I ever loved
was Coffee;
It's hurting my stomach
so much
I'll have to quit.
The sixth thing I ever loved
was Tobacco;
It's hurting my lungs
so much
I'll have to quit.
The seventh thing I ever loved
was a woman;
She loved herself
more
than she loved me.
The things I love
haven't treated me well;
I guess I'll just stop
and rest
a spell.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Poem: Fake Friends
Those people are dead to me now.
Burned up in a moment of rage.
No love or forgiveness,
for one such as me,
though why I don't know,
I deserve it.
When sides become chosen
there's no one on mine,
just me,
and the ghost of my thoughts
for all time.
Paper-thin all my friendships,
dissolved in an instant,
I cry for connection that deeper,
but where is it?
At first comes regret, then shame, embarassment.
Self-Pity, depression, acceptance.
Then back-sliding, attempts to fix,
and apologies, realization
that there is no going back
for me.
The hate and disgust
my peers feel for me,
like metal gone rust
stuck out in the rain.
If only they knew
my true feelings inside,
they'd love me the most,
not cast me aside.
But that's just a dream
and reality sticks.
Alone in my pain,
all my "friends" are short-lived.
Forgiveness and warmth
are feelings unknown:
Not given, not seen,
no calls on my phone.
For a few angry words
is enough to destroy
all semblance of friendship
for this little boy.
Al that this proves is
the hate all along.
I never was loved,
it's been faked,
an illusion.
And so I grow older
and learn the hard truths.
It's better to be unknown
than known as uncouth.
Burned up in a moment of rage.
No love or forgiveness,
for one such as me,
though why I don't know,
I deserve it.
When sides become chosen
there's no one on mine,
just me,
and the ghost of my thoughts
for all time.
Paper-thin all my friendships,
dissolved in an instant,
I cry for connection that deeper,
but where is it?
At first comes regret, then shame, embarassment.
Self-Pity, depression, acceptance.
Then back-sliding, attempts to fix,
and apologies, realization
that there is no going back
for me.
The hate and disgust
my peers feel for me,
like metal gone rust
stuck out in the rain.
If only they knew
my true feelings inside,
they'd love me the most,
not cast me aside.
But that's just a dream
and reality sticks.
Alone in my pain,
all my "friends" are short-lived.
Forgiveness and warmth
are feelings unknown:
Not given, not seen,
no calls on my phone.
For a few angry words
is enough to destroy
all semblance of friendship
for this little boy.
Al that this proves is
the hate all along.
I never was loved,
it's been faked,
an illusion.
And so I grow older
and learn the hard truths.
It's better to be unknown
than known as uncouth.
Poem: Old Friend Mike
A friend that I had
he turned out quite bad,
though I've known him
since his very start.
Once brothers in faith,
he smiles to my face,
in private he tears me apart.
While spreading sick rumors,
I don't understand,
his cowardly gossip,
that slanders this man.
It must be because
I never began,
to fuck him,
or view him,
with awe.
The lies that he spread
awoke pain in my head,
confusion,
at malice so cruel.
Small network of friends,
I thought true to the end,
kicked me
in the gut
like a mule.
So now here I stand,
just like I began,
alone,
with my Angel
and God.
I know all those who lie,
will sure one day die,
and answer for sins,
one and all.
he turned out quite bad,
though I've known him
since his very start.
Once brothers in faith,
he smiles to my face,
in private he tears me apart.
While spreading sick rumors,
I don't understand,
his cowardly gossip,
that slanders this man.
It must be because
I never began,
to fuck him,
or view him,
with awe.
The lies that he spread
awoke pain in my head,
confusion,
at malice so cruel.
Small network of friends,
I thought true to the end,
kicked me
in the gut
like a mule.
So now here I stand,
just like I began,
alone,
with my Angel
and God.
I know all those who lie,
will sure one day die,
and answer for sins,
one and all.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Poem: Insomnia #17 (Mother's Day)
No sleep.
Big Jeep.
Fat sheep.
Food cheap.
Cold air,
feels fair.
Go where?
Nowhere.
Mother's Day.
Little pay.
Friend's gay,
Says "hey."
Feel OK.
Another day.
Which way?
Mid May.
Big Jeep.
Fat sheep.
Food cheap.
Cold air,
feels fair.
Go where?
Nowhere.
Mother's Day.
Little pay.
Friend's gay,
Says "hey."
Feel OK.
Another day.
Which way?
Mid May.
Poem: Rhibald Othello
The Selfish Swine
I love all the time
cares not
for my sleep
or my food.
Her only concern
is her cigarettes burn
and the swell of her
all-changing mood.
My pain doesn't move her,
my words come out silent.
Continuing hubris
that strikes me
like violence.
While owning the World,
she spits on this bum.
Distorting my heart-ache
and sucking her thumb.
I love all the time
cares not
for my sleep
or my food.
Her only concern
is her cigarettes burn
and the swell of her
all-changing mood.
My pain doesn't move her,
my words come out silent.
Continuing hubris
that strikes me
like violence.
While owning the World,
she spits on this bum.
Distorting my heart-ache
and sucking her thumb.
Poem: The Heroes of Justice
The Heroes of Justice,
chuckling, drinking coffee.
The masses of Animals,
Human-Animals,
locked up
only ten feet away
behind a wall
no one can see.
The Heroes of Justice
no longer believe,
only "doing their best"
and sometimes
not that.
The Animals who used to feel
Human.
The Heroes who once wanted
to feel Heroic.
Neither like their position.
Between them;
The Parasites.
Bail Bondsmen, Courts,
Lawyers, and worse.
Fake lawyers
who pretend
to be
on your side
and you never
suspect
they are not
until it's over.
And you lost.
Justice the Blind Woman,
with a sword and a scale,
She rules here no more.
Dead, raped, and defiled,
cold corpse on the floor.
The Heroes of Justice
eat lunch.
While the Animal-Humans
starve.
Man's cruelty knows no end,
often hides itself,
from itself.
Thus The Poison attains
a strangle hold
on Life.
chuckling, drinking coffee.
The masses of Animals,
Human-Animals,
locked up
only ten feet away
behind a wall
no one can see.
The Heroes of Justice
no longer believe,
only "doing their best"
and sometimes
not that.
The Animals who used to feel
Human.
The Heroes who once wanted
to feel Heroic.
Neither like their position.
Between them;
The Parasites.
Bail Bondsmen, Courts,
Lawyers, and worse.
Fake lawyers
who pretend
to be
on your side
and you never
suspect
they are not
until it's over.
And you lost.
Justice the Blind Woman,
with a sword and a scale,
She rules here no more.
Dead, raped, and defiled,
cold corpse on the floor.
The Heroes of Justice
eat lunch.
While the Animal-Humans
starve.
Man's cruelty knows no end,
often hides itself,
from itself.
Thus The Poison attains
a strangle hold
on Life.
Poem: This Little Earing
I wear this earring
in remembrance
of a young woman
who claimed
she loved me.
And I her.
I always will love her
and this Golden Circle
is a fine symbol.
I was young,
but she was younger.
She was sick,
but I was sicker.
We were both addicts,
but I was legit.
We argued about it for years,
but she'd never get a Doctor.
And I...
I ran out of waiting.
Got raw from her whippings,
all of which came
from her lack of medicine,
which she refused to get.
She blamed me for our
"failure of a relationship."
I blamed her addiction.
We were both right.
I wear this earring in
remembrance
of a young woman
I loved.
May it never happen
again.
in remembrance
of a young woman
who claimed
she loved me.
And I her.
I always will love her
and this Golden Circle
is a fine symbol.
I was young,
but she was younger.
She was sick,
but I was sicker.
We were both addicts,
but I was legit.
We argued about it for years,
but she'd never get a Doctor.
And I...
I ran out of waiting.
Got raw from her whippings,
all of which came
from her lack of medicine,
which she refused to get.
She blamed me for our
"failure of a relationship."
I blamed her addiction.
We were both right.
I wear this earring in
remembrance
of a young woman
I loved.
May it never happen
again.
Poem: Old Future Henry
Henry walked through the years of advertisements
on his way home from the Library;
First ads for movies he'd never be able to afford to see,
then 3-D movies and virtual reality.
Still using a keyboard at sixty years young,
Henry was considered more archaic than a fossil.
He was an enigma, a retard, an art piece maybe.
But few would notice.
After a few decades the ads on the walls changed
to things he'd never heard of before,
"4-D" and "Senso-Motion Experience"
and on and on.
But Henry wasn't interested
and couldn't afford to be if he was.
He just kept typing out his gibberish until death,
hoping that one day
it might mean something to someone.
It never did.
Like so many other hopefuls
his life's work was thrown in the trash
along with his body and megre personal belongings.
Lucky for him,
he was too dead to notice.
on his way home from the Library;
First ads for movies he'd never be able to afford to see,
then 3-D movies and virtual reality.
Still using a keyboard at sixty years young,
Henry was considered more archaic than a fossil.
He was an enigma, a retard, an art piece maybe.
But few would notice.
After a few decades the ads on the walls changed
to things he'd never heard of before,
"4-D" and "Senso-Motion Experience"
and on and on.
But Henry wasn't interested
and couldn't afford to be if he was.
He just kept typing out his gibberish until death,
hoping that one day
it might mean something to someone.
It never did.
Like so many other hopefuls
his life's work was thrown in the trash
along with his body and megre personal belongings.
Lucky for him,
he was too dead to notice.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Poem: Another Day #5
I feel like I'm all nerves;
stomach hurting for food
but revolting at the first bite.
"It's just another day,"
I say to myself.
Wanting to cry,
wanting to scream.
There are no answers to my pains,
no cures for my questions.
Everything in this life seems wrong,
I don't belong here.
But here I am.
Surviving like a cockroach.
I've already taken my medicine,
but my hands are still shaking,
can't write
any more.
stomach hurting for food
but revolting at the first bite.
"It's just another day,"
I say to myself.
Wanting to cry,
wanting to scream.
There are no answers to my pains,
no cures for my questions.
Everything in this life seems wrong,
I don't belong here.
But here I am.
Surviving like a cockroach.
I've already taken my medicine,
but my hands are still shaking,
can't write
any more.
Poem: A Prayer to Shango
When I start to think of God,
I start to think about patterns
and fractals
and pages of math,
describing quanta possibility matrices,
yet there is consciousness.
Each pattern is conscious.
The patterns created from the first
are conscious also,
in different combination's of
Zero and One, The Yin and The Yang.
Different patterns.
Large patterns.
So large I can't even begin
to understand it
except for symbolically.
But conscious never-the-less.
And I.
A consciousness-pattern,
part of a larger one,
who is part of a larger one,
until God,
Infinity,
the Fifth dimension.
Work with me Larger Pattern!
Hear your little self calling to you!
Come to my aid, Great One!
Bring down your fire,
that all your children
of the thunder-stone
may prosper.
I start to think about patterns
and fractals
and pages of math,
describing quanta possibility matrices,
yet there is consciousness.
Each pattern is conscious.
The patterns created from the first
are conscious also,
in different combination's of
Zero and One, The Yin and The Yang.
Different patterns.
Large patterns.
So large I can't even begin
to understand it
except for symbolically.
But conscious never-the-less.
And I.
A consciousness-pattern,
part of a larger one,
who is part of a larger one,
until God,
Infinity,
the Fifth dimension.
Work with me Larger Pattern!
Hear your little self calling to you!
Come to my aid, Great One!
Bring down your fire,
that all your children
of the thunder-stone
may prosper.
Poem: Depressive is Pain
I am a Depressive;
Most of my life is pain.
My physical health is pain.
My mental/emotional health is pain.
My dysfunctional family is pain.
My deeply troubled lover is pain.
Though I love her,
am often happy to see her,
get fleeting moments
of happiness and warmth,
sometimes,
when we are together.
It's not enough.
My life still hurts.
I don't cry, like she does.
I get real quiet instead.
Slowly losing the ability to speak,
until I'm an unmoving, silent, human,
in pain.
So much pain that any word
seems pointless.
So she leaves me to my silence.
When I need her most.
To hold me.
To talk to me.
She doesn't.
I'm alone in my pain,
like I guess we all are.
She is not good enough
to make my life good.
(Though when she tries
she makes it better).
But no matter what she does:
I'll still be a depressive.
For the pain in my body,
for the pain in my soul.
I wish she could accept that,
accept Me
the way that I am.
And still continue
to love me.
Most of my life is pain.
My physical health is pain.
My mental/emotional health is pain.
My dysfunctional family is pain.
My deeply troubled lover is pain.
Though I love her,
am often happy to see her,
get fleeting moments
of happiness and warmth,
sometimes,
when we are together.
It's not enough.
My life still hurts.
I don't cry, like she does.
I get real quiet instead.
Slowly losing the ability to speak,
until I'm an unmoving, silent, human,
in pain.
So much pain that any word
seems pointless.
So she leaves me to my silence.
When I need her most.
To hold me.
To talk to me.
She doesn't.
I'm alone in my pain,
like I guess we all are.
She is not good enough
to make my life good.
(Though when she tries
she makes it better).
But no matter what she does:
I'll still be a depressive.
For the pain in my body,
for the pain in my soul.
I wish she could accept that,
accept Me
the way that I am.
And still continue
to love me.
Poem: Why, why, why.
Why don't you love me,
like I think you should?
When you say that you love me,
but I can't feel it,
or see it.
And you wont hold me.
I'm always there for your tears,
but you're never there for mine.
You just make it worse.
My needs are so simple.
My wants are so pure:
Stay with me,
Look at me,
think about me.
hold me when I'm sad.
Listen to my words,
do not twist around my meanings.
If I can't even talk,
then it's really time to try.
Tell me that you love me.
Lie with me until I say
"stop."
Dedicate your time to me,
as I dedicate mine to yours.
When thinking about you only hurts.
And there is no medicine for me,
but to be alone...
After enough time alone,
anyone seems like an Angel.
I just want to be loved.
Something you are no good at.
Oh, you can talk.
But when it comes to shutting up
and just holding me,
well,
forget it.
Like it is not your job to support,
because you're a female.
All you can do is cry,
which makes me feel worse.
God, baby, I love you.
But when it comes to compassion
and just plain healing...
you suck.
like I think you should?
When you say that you love me,
but I can't feel it,
or see it.
And you wont hold me.
I'm always there for your tears,
but you're never there for mine.
You just make it worse.
My needs are so simple.
My wants are so pure:
Stay with me,
Look at me,
think about me.
hold me when I'm sad.
Listen to my words,
do not twist around my meanings.
If I can't even talk,
then it's really time to try.
Tell me that you love me.
Lie with me until I say
"stop."
Dedicate your time to me,
as I dedicate mine to yours.
When thinking about you only hurts.
And there is no medicine for me,
but to be alone...
After enough time alone,
anyone seems like an Angel.
I just want to be loved.
Something you are no good at.
Oh, you can talk.
But when it comes to shutting up
and just holding me,
well,
forget it.
Like it is not your job to support,
because you're a female.
All you can do is cry,
which makes me feel worse.
God, baby, I love you.
But when it comes to compassion
and just plain healing...
you suck.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Poem: Love Is...
Love is:
Letting someone go,
if it is best for them.
Forgiveness,
for any
and all
actions.
Love is not hate,
hateful,
jealous,
greedy,
needy,
angry,
or short.
Love is permanent;
Infinite,
It does not end.
There are no
conditions to be met,
no expectations to live up to,
no rules,
laws,
words,
clauses,
or traps.
Love exists,
It's around us all the time.
Feeling Love
can be a transitory
experience.
Felt for a moment
while eating,
fucking,
falling asleep,
smelling flowers,
giving birth,
and more.
When it passes,
there can be a terrible hole,
a racking,
a sucking,
a painful,
gap.
What will you fill it with?
But Love?
Letting someone go,
if it is best for them.
Forgiveness,
for any
and all
actions.
Love is not hate,
hateful,
jealous,
greedy,
needy,
angry,
or short.
Love is permanent;
Infinite,
It does not end.
There are no
conditions to be met,
no expectations to live up to,
no rules,
laws,
words,
clauses,
or traps.
Love exists,
It's around us all the time.
Feeling Love
can be a transitory
experience.
Felt for a moment
while eating,
fucking,
falling asleep,
smelling flowers,
giving birth,
and more.
When it passes,
there can be a terrible hole,
a racking,
a sucking,
a painful,
gap.
What will you fill it with?
But Love?