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600 Days Ago…
Exactly 600 days ago was the last time I tried to kill myself. Depression is a real thing. Anxiety, stress, self-harm, self-medication, self-doubt… are all very real things. I grew up thinking that you don’t cry, you don’t express your feelings, and you certainly don’t ask for help. So, when I got scared, overwhelmed, anxious, sad, angry… I found a…
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Jennifer.
walked past her house every other day going to jason’s or ben’s house snow white husky behind a chainlink fence i would crane my neck hoping to see her her hair glowed in sunlight and in shade green eyes cut into me i never talked to her but had conversations with her in my head we had everything in common…
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Bukowski.
“For those who believe in God, most of the big questions are answered. But for those of us who can’t readily accept the God formula, the big answers don’t remain stone-written. We adjust to new conditions and discoveries. We are pliable. Love need not be a command nor faith a dictum. I am my own god. We are here to…
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Song.
in a quiet room his heart skipped. he saw her from so very far away. his throat was dry. she sang. it was STRONG, fast, yet blissful. he never thought to talk to her. he would walk near her and listen for her voice to warble. that voice. it shook his soul. she made him cry. Every fucking time. His heart…
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Michelle.
michelle wrote in my yearbook “I haven’t known you long but you have a nice ass.” she held my hand and I kissed a woman for the first time hot summer morning we left school and drove for hours amusement park pool and haunted house hot dogs and potato salad trading tickets for second base we burned styrofoam and cigarettes felt…
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Confused and Sad
blurred eyes he walked to the end of the street barely remembering where he is and when he needs to meet her he sits on the bench with a schedule in his starched pocket smoking a cigar and gazing through amber tint buses come and go the sun drifts behind that hill and he squints his worn schedule confuses him…
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tequila and cash.
monday she sits in the dark her ass tingles from the hard seat she wiggles in her chair she bites her lip tuesday awake at 3pm at home ramen on the stove takeout in the fridge wednesday night at a bar nachos bright orange cheese pickled jalapenos tequila and sour her will is pliable legs wobble a weathered man with…
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Late Night Waffle House.
8:15 A night of family and awkward glares from past loves. Beer in hand smirking and shaking hands. I bite my tongue. 10:30 Driving. We need food. Greasy, cheap, food. The truck stop comes and goes. Waffle House. 10:37 Car parked. Holding hands as we walk up the steps. Worn red vinyl and chrome chairs prop the doors open. It’s…
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take me home.
darkness that is almost deafening. one red hot dot. a car passes by and I see the curve of her body. I can see her birthmark, and that scar when we got drunk and smashed bottles behind the drug store. she takes a long drag and tells me that she can’t do it anymore. it’s not high school- we aren’t…
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sundown.
riding towards the light to unfinished concrete and soft grass. that one cement seat for rain and filth we sat and wished of riches, women, and fame. as it set past the land we wished of love, understanding, and parents that never fought. it was always the same frustration, hope and fear. it was never the same hormones, sex, and…
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Hooker Love.
musty cotton sheets soft, hot skin, sweat. she smells like cheap patchouli and benson & hedges freckles on her thigh, her arm resting on her drooping tit. she buries another fucking butt into the ashtray and asks when I’m going to get a curtain for my goddamn shower. she likes the avocado ones with mushrooms on them. I tell her…
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Food Haiku.
Cereal happy box on shelf contents may not have settled prize is on the top Pizza hot and gooey cheese stuck to the top of the box no tip for you, pal. Burrito warm soft tortilla filled with meat and spicy love, belly hurts so much. Carrots crunchy orange goodness in ranch they are amazing and now…
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how i wish we’d met.
dirty frozen pavementpristine lines of whitefootprints melt intoconcrete path passing strangerscold windpink nosesand visible breath narrow walkheads buriedin rhythmof clumsy steps fleece and woolenelbowsbrushing oncefor just an instant a gentle toucha quiet nuzzleof elbowa moment of spark no glance backto watch her gojust softwarm weeks passthe walkwas lonelycold and wet watched feetold canvassnowflakeson pale denim nervous chestfeels heavy as sheglides…
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30.
Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. 30. Birthdays are surprisingly punctual. Same time every year. This year was just fine. All the birthday staples were available- cake, gifts… etc. I am getting closer and closer to the age that doesn’t look at a birthday and say,”Another year older! Joy!” No, I am starting to think,”Another year older?…
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cold rain does it to me every time.
frigid rain fogging up black thick frames knit wool tight over ears and eyebrows. howling wind through cotton and denim sleeves over numb fingers new shoes kicking icy puddles racing dreams thoughts of places far and hearts close longing for the chill to subside time forgotten in stares through wet windows and shining metal playing out a life needed
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Booth at the Restaurant
warm amber dances against her face into her eyes the booth is soft and quiet they hold hands across the table stolen glances from so close breath lost whispers forced from throats that beg to scream their love the gentle glow from frayed lamp and dusty shade flush against the walls his eyes catch hers that perfect slow motion stare…
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to the movies.
crunched white ice under worn bowling shoes frayed laces and empty circles stone dead hands inside borrowed fleece and cotton holding rolled coin knit cap on top gray and black over long thick hair he walks alone to the near empty theatre and asks for just one paying in rolled quarters and looking past the popcorn he forgets why it…
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in the moonlight
reflection of solid red glow in the cracked scratched glass sitting up in sweaty sheets and dry throats quenched by stale mineral water linen sheets breathing over naked legs and soft corners and lines of pink skin chest heaving still trapped in the moment locked in that embrace that has no words it has no moment no defined time or…
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summer rain.
out in the day squinting eyes and thick heat on naked necks clouds in the far dark and wet filling the expanse with its journey soon they meet a cool rush of air rumbles and ozone take relief in each other low rumbles and lines of quick light wet and hot humid and raining
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Sunday Morning.
quiet lovedraped in deep sighsand cigarette smokeeyeglasses andcold coffee long days in bednewspaper on the floorashtray fullbaggy shortson the floor calm brainno need for thoughtjust breathingand lovingholding onto the sheets talking in pausesbetween long dragsand sipswhite cottonworn like a uniform the memories flowand fill the roombillowing and stingingthen fading intonothing
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untitled.
the red flowsout of slits incarefully manuveredmovementand slices the releaserushes up fromtoes and fingersfeeling the lossinstantly against the grainsolid linesinside frail skinleaning againstcold white wet and afraidbut feeling thecalm and endseeing lessand taking nothing
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hydrants and wrinkles.
stones feel red hot silent bottoms of pink toes and hard heels bounce. we took pleasure in the tower of wet refreshed in white cotton and store bought uniform, we darted and jumped- the red man spewing from above. shiny hair, matted locks on backs, swollen eyes and out of breath. we were the same. children loving the moment till…
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My First Attempt At The Biography Section.
So I have started reading Charles Bukowski. I have also started reading Pablo Neruda. I knew that they were influential writers of the 20th century, but did not know who they really were until I started reading. As dissimilar as they first appear to be, their emotions parallel. So, if I got any of this wrong, would someone tell me?…
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found, cold and ashamed.
awkward feetstinging in wornshoesdrenched with mud shame and sweatstabs in chesthurtfrom the cold air tired handsshaking in the darktremblingsearching found hersilent, coldblue and alone her chestis stillher breastsdo not heave he would gazefrom afaras she curvedand softened he felt hermarble cold facetouched the skinhe longed for took her innocenceshe never lostwhen red love coursedin her thighs
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A 30 Second Dream
in the dead blue nightthe solid hard still coldthe steps are smalldarting and weavingfor sure footingto find the journey end feet entwinedstumbledreaching forfamiliar and exquisitei find her her tear soakedchinher warm chestfumbled handsknow the skinthat has never touched his it is calmserenepureand still he criesnot hearing her voicebut feeling her words in the still warm comfort.
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Mr. T Loves His Mama.
I try not to give the traditional holiday wishes… I tend to go for more eclectic tidings. Mother’s Day is one of those holidays that should not be forgotten. Mothers do so much every day, they give of themselves selflessly. Think of your mother today. Do something for her. Even if she is no longer with us, remember her and…
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I want to be a Systems Analyst when I grow up…
I’m told that life is full of sacrifice. The small bit of optimism in me wonders why it must be that way. Why do we give up our dreams… why do we put the wishes of our youth away? We grow up and we do what needs to be done. We lose those dreams for staunch resolution. Compromise and negotiation.…
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Snow. In April. In Texas.
I woke up this morning to snow. Well… fluffy ice. You’d think that we as Texans would be used to the most unusual weather. 80 degree days in December. Thunderstorms in August. Snow in April. But of course we still point and take video of it as if it’s Bigfoot. It didn’t stick, and it stopped and started all day.…
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Look at how young you look…
My mom has been cataloging all of the family photos recently. I looked through the photos that she had piled into white plastic boxes. I came to the pile of photos in the box marked “Jeremy.” Flipping through each one- none of them were the same size. A school photo here, a Polaroid of a Superman cake there. I dismissed…
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untitled.
Banana boxesfilled with booksand journalssit outside the door Garbage bagsstretched thinwith clothesand twisted hangers Dusty framesoff of the wallin a twisted towerthey lay Ready for the jumpdivots in the carpetholes in the wallsempty closets It will all make sensesooneven if it’s confusingand new They cry for their lifethey smile for the newthey hold handsand journey ahead.
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untitled.
Banana boxesfilled with booksand journalssit outside the door Garbage bagsstretched thinwith clothesand twisted hangers Dusty framesoff of the wallin a twisted towerthey lay Ready for the jumpdivots in the carpetholes in the wallsempty closets It will all make sensesooneven if it’s confusingand new They cry for their lifethey smile for the newthey hold handsand journey ahead.
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I read a book!
I bought ‘Me Talk Pretty One Day’ by David Sedaris on the advice of a Barnes and Noble employee. I never talked to this person, but their name was Robin and it was one of her Picks of the Week. I pictured Robin walking the shelves and plucking this book from the shelf and embracing it. Reading it from cover…
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Bluetooth. New Page.
I was one of those that would profess to never purchase a Bluetooth for my phone. “I don’t want to be THAT guy that walks around with a tiny thing attached his ear- talking to himself in thin air and ignoring everyone around me.” Yet, here I am at the computer with a dark blue, shiny, blue LED flashing piece…
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her.
radiant witunbridled lustamazing humorglowing beauty.her. she cries every dayshe can’t sleepher anger and painis heard throughthe distances. he listensand cries for herhis heart sinksand meltsin the same breath. they closetheir eyes and listenhopewish. she keeps himsteadyevery dayradiantand beautiful. soon the daysand nights willbe completeas it shouldalways have been. the tears endand the smilesare biggerand the heartsknowwhat they needed.j-
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This might turn into a habit.
My daily Wikipedia browsing took me to the ‘Comics’ portal. I read ‘Blankets’ a long while back, and noticed it listed among the graphic novels. I read that Craig Thompson had written it to put on paper the feeling of laying next to someone for the first time. I would agree with others in saying that he succeeded. I thought…
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dot net.
grungyparadigm.net was easy to buy from godaddy.com. doing the whole dns setup and all that mess was easy too. although, i’d like to have a real honest site that i coded myself. but, i’m an unmotivated cheap sob who doesn’t want to pay to have a site hosted. so until i decide to crunch some code and do all that,…
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wow. snow.
snow. i won’t discuss the snow. it’s there. it’s wet and white and cold. so very cold. i am sure there are a multitude of snow and winter blog entries that no one ever reads. so i won’t contribute to the wasted bandwidth. oh, but i sure have done just what i set out not to do. like stubbing…
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goth and the jock
jake sat with his friendsin the same uniformwith the same lunchlaughed at the samejokestv showskidsmaddy stood outside with her friendsdifferent clothespuffed a clove cigarettedidn’t laugh at the samejokestv showskidsjake walked home with his buddiesmaddy kicked rocks alonejake came home to lovemaddy’s mom is never homejake went out to a moviemaddy sulked in her roomjake walked to schoolwith maddythey held handsand…
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san antonio. day three.
today we went to the enchanted springs ranch. lots of cowboys and damsels and stuff. usually. but there was no one around. we walked halfway into the place before we saw anyone. it was fun though. lots of animals. zebras and cattle and some exotic animals i couldnt see. from there we went to gristmill… a restaurant in an old…
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san antonio. day two.
today was a bit more hectic. we were going to fiesta texas, but it’s only open on the weekends now. so, we went to the alamo. i took pictures of the front and on the grounds, but somehow they weren’t on my card. so… i have all the other pics i took. i bought cheap touristy crap… but you are…
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san antonio. day one.
day one went pretty well… the first stop on our trip… brand new gas station. my dad’s behind the door… those are my mom’s legs. my brother from afar. the entrance to oma’s haus in new braunfels. german food! rack of beers oma’s haus serves. german, of course. mom, dad, and daniel. i’m the one taking the photo, natch. tha…
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sat
sat alone on the first daywas the only oneeveryone watchedfingers tingledhead heavy and pounding sat alone on the first daywasnt the only onewatched everyonehands sweatyhead heavy in thought sat alone for many dayswith new friendsthat did not knowor understandor care sat alone for many dayswith old friendsthat knewand understoodand cared sat alone for many yearswith no onewith pen and papereyeglassespouring…
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falling short
i read the listall of it makes senseand in an instanti dont rememberthe words my heavy heartcringesmy eyes blur insolitudeit is all true failure is normaljust another symptomof my gifted mindwired wrong fromday one i read the list againhoping it has changedconvincing myselfthis is not whyim a genius and a mess author artist poetfriend lover confidantson brother nephewall fall shortsomewhere…
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the house.
so much was in himfor many yearshe was strongand faithfulto them all over time he fadedhis joints creakedand achedbut he was brought backby the ones he loved in thunderous roarand cold snowy evethrough hurtand sadnesshe was there the old mancomforted themsheltered theirtired bodiesagainst the world even when theywere apartthere he waswaiting patientlyfor all of them to return away they gosoon…
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upstairs and alone
fist pounds against metalshe staggers into itit opens and she is thereshaky feet as she yellsthe half empty bottlespilling outonto the front step she confesses her sinsand stands therewaitinghoping for embraceand releaseof a forgettablenight of sweat that aromaseeping from herthroat as she slursand kisses andcussesand touchesher invitation isall too hard to ignore her body is warmand her heart is coldyet…
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untitled:
he sat in the darkwiping back the tearsspinning the gold onhis dry fingerwondering why it hadto be this way she had alwaysbeen theresince they were childrenholding handslaughing at the worldpraying for the best their skin thinnedin their agechildren grew oldbut they had theirsouls to appeasethe fading memories young and pigtailedslender and sprythey took on the worldwith youth and lovekind and…
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wishes:
i was going to wait to write about my birthday on the actual day, but i decided to get it out of the way. the day will come and go, and i will not be changed in mind, body, soul, spirit, or outlook. i will go out to eat with the parents, i will open some gifts, some mediocre fanfare,…
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field:
early morningmy legs numband steelyfrom the abnormalvigilimmense and placidmy gaze is the sameopen or closedmy blind eyesdarting for a glimpsea huea shadea colorfolded armsworn gray warmthpulled over my bonehard fingersshufflingfeeling for anythingbut the darknessmy world isin front of meif i only knewwhich way to standturnand walk coldly jj-
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flight
the wind invites my stridepushing my heelsagainst the worldarms spreadfingers hardand clenchedgazing throughthe dark greenmy heart liftsdigging heelslighter beneath mepiercing pale bluedeafening screechrushing past my earsopening my fingerstouching the open worldin the cloudsthe haze belowthe blackness abovefeet free from the worldmind untethered from the earth
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untitled:
i try to remember her face. i close my eyes, and try to remember her perfume. her scent that i could smell before she came into the room. i try to remember her laugh. her hearty, loud, boastful laugh. she only smiled when i made her laugh. my brain strains and hurts to recall anything that will open my horrible…
