february 28th, 2012

how to assassinate the void


You must start with Imagination;
the blessed,
caged
and chosen beast
handpicked for gruesome battles
such as this.

For the void is a disease
that feasts on the public,
tricking the cerebrum
into believing that money and monotony
breed satisfaction;
happiness,
contentment,
a meaningfully adequate existence.

The sad part is
the disease has claimed mountains of victims.
Some of them are dead,
unable to repeat and repent,
and some of them are alive,
walking past you on the sidewalk,
serving you lunch
or cutting your hair.
They are merely shells of human potential;
hollowed out bodies
programmed to respond with simple answers:
“Yes sir, right away, sir.”
“No sir, my fault, sir.”

The diseased are no different than crudely built robots.
They accomplish their tasks at work
with moderate
to above moderate success.
They acknowledge their co-workers
with polite farewell gestures
and drive home in a generally safe manner.
Red lights mean stop,
green lights mean go
and yellow lights should be read as slow down.
God forbid you strike another vehicle
and injure a healthy,
capable cog.
The government does not appreciate such accidents.
In fact,
the government does not appreciate much of anything.
The government is doing just fine,
so move along.
Nothing to see here.
Your work is appreciated
and so are you.
Move along, champ.
Nothing to see here.

The next hurdle involves Passion.
A dash is fine,
but I recommend a handful.
Passion is a difficult ingredient to apprehend,
so do not succumb to its elusiveness.
Do not surrender if the search prolongs;
Passion is a pure
and honest commodity
worthy of its journey.
Many weak legs have collapsed
before reaching the pillar it rests upon.
Many courageous men have lowered their sword
in valiant defeat.
Passion will evade your efforts
until desperate necessity kicks in;
pumping ferociously
like the legs of the prey
narrowly outrunning the fresh feet
of the hungry hunter.

Problem is--
the hunted outnumber the hunters,
but the scaly beast of oppression
strangles the advantage,
sucking the air out
slowly
slowly
slowly
until the purple, lifeless face
collapses in defeat.

There is no formula
no matter what I’ve said,
no matter what you’ve heard,
so do whatever it takes
for however long
to assassinate the void
and emerge an independent
fireball of a progressive thought.

january 16th, 2012

Here's another new one, a quick Sunday night/Monday morning cut-up.

leaning out on the edge

The spiraling roar of a miracle

tears through curtains of porcelain doubt

like a golden comet

shot through tattered lace.

The whirling spasm of ingenuity,

when caged

and tagged for future research,

crushes a lifetime of groans in a

single

violent

breath.

Life is a relay race

and the only thing that matters

is whether or not

you’re holding the baton.

january 15th, 2012

Here's a random piece of prose I found written in a legal pad. I'm sure it's the result of a late night, but it's not bad.

top five

People make lists because they are physical, organized manifestations of interests and disinterests we consider “real”. Lists provide validation, state opinions and etch trivial decisions onto paper, cementing a thought, albeit momentary, into the sidewalk of a chosen surface. They act as handprints in the sidewalk, and when put into perspective, affect nothing equally. Like most activities, lists attempt to solidify the invisible.

january 11th, 2012

throw him a curveball is featured on Young American Poets blog today, which is very nice of them. the heavy musk of masochism and keep it simple previously appeared in late 2011.

http://youngamericanpoets.blogspot.com/2012/01/throw-him-curveball.html

I haven't posted new work in a while, so here are two poems for you to enjoy.

can't you hear me knockin'?

Before I could react to the knocking

it was gone.

A few modest pounds

followed by sustained silence.

The kind of silence that permeates through an auditorium

hours before an orchestra takes stage.

Hauntingly inspirational,

yet suspiciously dormant.

Before I could answer the door

the knocking was gone,

and I was left standing

like a fool in the rain.

los feliz

Now we live together.

Just like that.

Seems like, well, at most a year ago

when we first walked toward each other,

awkwardly closing the cement gap with wobbly legs.

Sure as hell doesn't feel like four years.

Now we live together

and we're 25 years-old,

merely skimming the surface of potentiality,

meticulously chipping away at the tip of the iceberg.

A subdued smirk sprouts above my chin

because I have seen the ocean floor

and the massive frozen base.

I have seen what we are capable of

and fully intend to capture it,

ensuring we are there to witness it blossom.

Others are free to watch,

for they will always remember the couple

who unleashed what they could not.

Now we live together

and it's easy.

The vinyl is continually spinning

and the art comes in spurts,

always returning moments before you swear it's gone for good.

december 8th, 2011

Few things to speak about in this post, which is always a good thing.

First-- station to station will appear in the new issue of Out of Our, which will be printed on Friday. Booyah! This is my third piece in their publication, the first two being my generation and forever grasping a clutching, which led off the previous issue.

Second-- the new issue of Beatdom, featuring horseshit, focuses on the topic of religion. I find that amusing. Basing my guess on the info in the link, it should be available for purchase soon.

And the last little announcement is that soon enough more stores will be carrying my books on consignment. At the moment they are for sale here:

Book Soup

Stories

Daily Planet

Skylight Books

All of which are in Los Angeles. New stores, out of state (and possibly out of country), will be added to the list in time.

Thanks for giving a shit, take care.

Beatdom

The poem horseshit from Remain Frantic will be published in the next issue of Beatdom. I suggest you check their site out.

Here's a reading of the piece by a friend of mine, Brian Charles:

http://soundcloud.com/cliff-weber

Also on that link are readings of my generation and nude photographs of immortality. All three are fucking spot-on in my opinion.

I'll follow up with a link to the poem in the issue once that becomes available.

young american poets, pt. 2

Here's "keep it simple" from Jack Defeats Ron 100-64, the second poem to be published on Young American Poets:

http://youngamericanpoets.blogspot.com/2011/11/keep-it-simple.html

Enjoy.