Above and Below.

oh boy.

today I realized that life to me can be defined by one specific event in my past. A 20 something year old shooting himself in the face and everyone else being physically punished for his decision to do so. How this makes sense, I dont know, and I think that's my point. Everything in this world is fucking ridiculous.

your name here, my name here

we'd whistle across the lake to hear our notes echo off the mountains
it was growing colder, more still, darker.
thunder could now be heard traveling through the valleys, searching for open ears.
the clouds lit up like thoughts from neuron to neuron.



there were wolves across the lake,
their cackles and yelps floating along the mirrored sky of galaxies and shooting stars
the eerie call of giant elk woefully searching for a reply in the emptiness.
how were you? how I wanted my calls to reach you.
just the faintest of tunes from my lips
to send a message, ridden on the hairs of your neck
come to me.

flirting with safety.

There have been nights when I ponder how these individuals would've lived
had their moment in time not been cut so short. With the deaths of several firefighters
this year, I keep in mind that camaraderie can be your worst enemy-it may be a horrible
thing to live with the decision to not follow your team into danger and death, but
is it worse than dying? Are the feelings of guilt, resentment, and shame stronger factors
than your own family's suffering? I just don't know what I would've done.
would I have left safety and followed-or stayed?

a familiar fear.

I don't see your eyes often
they're big, dark, intimidating pools filled with the might and sadness of a weathered woman
with a brow lowered to see past the glare of spoken words and promiscuous lips. 

so I greet your back
shoulders strong and articulated, resembling the rolling hills of our basin
ink brands and great bands of flexing muscles with drainages cut by small streams of sweat
shadows cast and move along the divides as our bodies meet and pull apart in the flickering light.

sometimes I whisper endearments to your bruised neck
with the reward of warm thighs wrapped round ears and a taste that welcomes a talented tongue

a love is sung by two wandering souls
a duet of moans and awkward statements
with laments of passed parents and those who would abuse these tones

I don't want to let go.

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone
Only darkness every day
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone

And this house just ain't no home
Anytime she goes away.

P.S. love makes me a better person. nothing else does. I've been a really shitty human being for a while, but there were brief moments where I truly thought I could be something else.

apathy and paperwork

The military just won't leave me alone. when I was released from that hell hole in Texas, it was one of the happiest days of my life. Now after two years, it's unrelenting claws have dug back in, trying to drag me back down. The army has claimed my empathy, creativity, passion, my sensitivity-I feel so grey inside. All I had was my freedom and I feel it slipping away again.

just leave me alone, please.
please let me be.


Texas, Washington, Montana, Alaska, these are my homes away from home. I wish to go back, but feel unsure of it being a reality now. I'm getting closer and closer to being trapped.
 

Among the taiga and tundra

 

 

 

ho-hum.

"Diversity training"

the group consisted of about 40 white males, age 24-35-one in his forties-one white female, two black men, and two Hispanic men-including myself-and one male ethnic Christian from Egypt.
notice the only issue that they couldn't own up to was race, many went into a rage when it was suggested that whites were the majority and dominant. They felt attacked, they were angry and enraged by their guilt. you could see it in their faces.

some things never change.
 

no bueno?

why couldn't that hoe's name never be spoken in my presence again? The world just has to be interconnected and full of surprises. Hope ya both stay happy and away from me and my ears for the rest of my life. good lord.

I just want to walk up mountains all day

 

I'll never leave this place.

my restless air, the hint of decay ingrained,
is stained and coddled with a blanket of droplets
pattering on a crumbling earthly mass a day, a day.
I lay iris to lashes on a garden of grasses and onto bees' backs I'll relax these tired branches and roots.

and sway with the fury of the firs...

and the fires that crown and flicker so violently, climbing and toppling over a wooden atlas
with fifteen foot feet-a network of beautiful fuels and four hundred foot souls,
burdened backs that burn less bright than the spark that sought what they lack;
an attack of angry arms reaching towards the clouds, and bolts of electrons running for the ground.

everything wants what it can't have
a release, a completion of this cycle

I'll never leave this place.
not for a penny or a pretty face-an angel on the mountains caked on the saddle of our hips
glaciers cursing and crackling in the valleys of passing hearts and fake plastic shit

this is it, this echoing monument to everything grand and out-lived, this is it,
to soft bodies laden with sin and lips spread for a connection between covalent bonds and palm fronds
plant my seed, nurture and let thrive, grow quietly, and be alive.

ho-hum

about the only moment that matters anymore.

(thoughtbubble)

Is it because I can't be serious and I refuse to be open-minded..... or is it because this issue is just ridiculously, outrageously stupid? This is the question I ask my self, in this time in my life, the most-and this worries me.

a ditch digger for half a day

swampy lips, murky minds;
twisted bits
livin off the land
diggin nails in the sand
just diggin a grave for time to pass by
'just say hi and goodbye!'
nothing to see here, folks
just hi and bye will do just fine
you see, its just the same damn line over and over again-
what are you lookin at? HIGH and fucking GOODBYE, FAGGOT!
its just that, you know, they say they understand, they say they listen, they say they're sorry
but
but does it-does any of it really matter?
does it?
nah.

doubt it.

only thing that matters is this, this damn shovel in my hand
and this permit of official fucking business that says I can go dig in this here spot
whenever and how ever long I damn well please
gonna dig to china
buy me some chickens
and cats
gonna start a restaurant called squawking breasts, hidden pussy
hahahaha.
and no one will ever say sorry
cause, well, they'll all be speakin fuckin Chinese of course
and the Chinese'll love me, ya see
like the poor dog they kick in the alley
but throw rice balls and hot grease at occasionally
its cool. its alright, I guess.
atleast it's honest, ya know?

I'll be cacklin,
hackin and a'howlin,
scampering about diseased and confused,
drunk on the filth and noise of my Chinese finger trap
no one'll give me dirty looks for being dirty either
its what's expected
instead they'll feel pity
they'll say things like, '有人要付諸表決,窮人狗,他的痛苦,'
or, '讓她走了! 讓她走了!'

our nature just cant be helped, I guess.
I guess, guess, guess.





 

precious memories, how they linger,
how they ever flood my soul. 

in the stillness of the midnight,

precious, sacred scenes unfold.



so it goes.

I've lost interest in everything I've ever loved. except pussy. I now know I am an animal.

for we are the champions of the sun.

the tears from your eyes are like the sweet waters of christ

they smear on my shoulder and baptize my soul.

and when I look into those shimmering jewels-

when I leap into those pools-I hold my breath

and hope to god I'll come back up ontop.

so let me stop.

"and who are you?"

"you know who I am."

but I never have. I'd like to think that has changed

for a battle of kisses and cute talks has been waged

from pudding cups and whipping butts,

 to singing songs while selena sees my nuts

I must say, you've caught me with my pants down and ass out

but I'll kiss your bald spot til your hairs sprout about

and rape whistles stop dangling from your pierced snout

until the mole near your butthole shouts out

"you want me meow?"

and to that I'll always say,

frack yes.

death rhyme

all my dreams and future reveries have all been ruined by past miseries-
not distinctly my own, but of association with a polluted ocean.
her surfaces covered with spit, blood, and semen-
the reason? its the oil to their fire; the gold of the liar.

to the waters once for hire, I love you.
to the beasts who littered and admired? you've been retired.
her liveries have washed ashore or in the currents, carried away.
your decay will erode-to oblivion, like obsidian, a flame dying in this ode
a song, a poem, of waves crashing on every note.


I want the morning air
to fill with the sound of your skin
and the swaying of your hair-
with the aroma of a woman I don't care to share.