a countdown to the end of reentry, and that's when today ends. slipping through the upper echelons of nineties, and counting backwards. wrap down around the ribs around the collar bones fall back and drown. skin darkens around the knuckle locks. eyes seal around the retroblade. sweat peels off. you warned me about your electric orgasm but i just wanted more, and the door was wide open. she stared me in the eyes and i fucked you.
"is this important to you?" the lover asked, wondering if what her mouth was swallowing was creating a lasting impression.
"is this important to you?" the liar asked, wondering if, in the long run, the vessel would remember its flight.
"is this important to you?" the lesion asked, wondering if, when the blood was done flowing, the scars could match his constellation.
he came in her collarbone,
untied her, and left.
the antennas wanted to hear it all,
record the face she made when she felated.
hold the esophagus dear,
x-ray a phallus, cock-hard and dick-sure.
and does she let out a liquid sigh when she's completed.
i gave in to her,
let that face
let that voice
let that memory
let that goddamn body
eat me a-fucking-live.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
too much good in the world.
"i drew a rose"
turned into a mind lapse that lasted until exasperation.
it was probably something about her, anyway.
new phone soon.
-
i finished dune, actually. i loved it. i loved the fact that frank herbert put so much into the world of arrakis (and even caladan, a place left behind). the religion, the hierarchy, the geography. he even touched upon pieces of its biology.
i can't imagine anyone being into this book unless they were into sci fi, however. i mean, let's face it, there are sand worms.
i actually got a true feeling of surprise from herbert's style, when he would change from stark, realism in his world of devout science fiction, into complete lucid mode. his descriptions of seeing forward through time and space were wonderfully done. i think sci-fi can be done by one of two people:
herbert just happened to be both.
i heard the movie is complete trash.
no clue.
and it's sort of weird, because when i finish a book, i usually like to summarize it, and give folks a much better look at things, but in this case, it just is what it is. i didn't underline any lines from the book, and i sort of regret it. i like giving little pieces of what it was about back to you all. this time, i just can't do that.
hey, i finished world war z, as well.
and vampire hunter d.
world war z was good. nothing mindblowing, except for style.
vampire hunter d was complete bullshit. i hated it.
candid photos.
turned into a mind lapse that lasted until exasperation.
it was probably something about her, anyway.
new phone soon.
-
i finished dune, actually. i loved it. i loved the fact that frank herbert put so much into the world of arrakis (and even caladan, a place left behind). the religion, the hierarchy, the geography. he even touched upon pieces of its biology.
i can't imagine anyone being into this book unless they were into sci fi, however. i mean, let's face it, there are sand worms.
i actually got a true feeling of surprise from herbert's style, when he would change from stark, realism in his world of devout science fiction, into complete lucid mode. his descriptions of seeing forward through time and space were wonderfully done. i think sci-fi can be done by one of two people:
- sci fi nerds
- writers with outward imaginations
herbert just happened to be both.
i heard the movie is complete trash.
no clue.
and it's sort of weird, because when i finish a book, i usually like to summarize it, and give folks a much better look at things, but in this case, it just is what it is. i didn't underline any lines from the book, and i sort of regret it. i like giving little pieces of what it was about back to you all. this time, i just can't do that.
hey, i finished world war z, as well.
and vampire hunter d.
world war z was good. nothing mindblowing, except for style.
vampire hunter d was complete bullshit. i hated it.
candid photos.
Friday, May 25, 2007
the best of what i'm waiting for.
The High just crave simplicity. to sit in the sun, to listen to an
album, to laugh, to synchronize with company. even just to fly.
new circa survive album for streaming on their myspace. (link)
my weakness is my hairy back. I can't even sit in my own backyard on a
weekend without a shirt without listening for the laugh track of
witnesses. like some god-satellite will scorn me for living on with this
infection. i lost 25-30 pounds in florida, and even still, when i took my shirt off at the beach, the first thing my best friend could say is, "Steve's got a hairy back!"
I go commando more often than not.
I never knew I loved the blues until I saw black snake moan.
once again, nicole scared me straight. the best.
album, to laugh, to synchronize with company. even just to fly.
new circa survive album for streaming on their myspace. (link)
my weakness is my hairy back. I can't even sit in my own backyard on a
weekend without a shirt without listening for the laugh track of
witnesses. like some god-satellite will scorn me for living on with this
infection. i lost 25-30 pounds in florida, and even still, when i took my shirt off at the beach, the first thing my best friend could say is, "Steve's got a hairy back!"
I go commando more often than not.
I never knew I loved the blues until I saw black snake moan.
once again, nicole scared me straight. the best.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
my whole soul.
my true sister.
a home without latitude and longitude.
we're going to find it.
i love you.
a home without latitude and longitude.
we're going to find it.
it's just a simple line.
i can still hear it all of the time:
"if i can just hold on tonight,
i know that nothing,
nothing survives.
nothing survives."
i think i'm turned around
i'm looking up,
not looking down.
and when i'm standing still,
watching you run
watching you fall.
am i making something worthwhile out of this place?
i am displaced.
i am displaced.
and she's my friend of all friends.
she's still here when everyone's gone.
she doesn't have to say a thing.
we'll just keep laughing all night long,
all night long.
and it's just a simple line.
i can still hear it all of the time:
"if we make it through tonight,
i know that no one; no one survives."
i love you.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
drugs vs. insecurities.
Sean:
orange monkeys flying around in pink tutus while flying over purple elephants with business suits talkin bout bacon politics.
Steve:
teeth for miles, and only stepping on the molars. blondes love it when you touch the thorax. starving the evil empire but slaughtering the poor.
orange monkeys flying around in pink tutus while flying over purple elephants with business suits talkin bout bacon politics.
Steve:
teeth for miles, and only stepping on the molars. blondes love it when you touch the thorax. starving the evil empire but slaughtering the poor.
Monday, May 21, 2007
wax[caps]ow g[caps]rxg
tonight was going to be me writing in here with a six pack, because i am in desperate need of a release valve. instead, here's an e-mail i sent.
-
I swear to god...I swear directly to jesus, the savior, who shall return, I swear right in that prophet's face that in our house, our home, there will be NO alcohol, NO smoking, and NO disgusting lunchmeats. I said it. Disgusting lunch meats.
No beer, no wine, no hard liquors.
No marlboros, no parliaments, no salems.
No provolone cheese, no salami, no pastrami.
No coffee.
Everything here makes me sick. It's draining me. I went to start the dishes, and there was a doused cigarette in a half emptied cup of coffee.
I shouted right at Jesus for that one.
My dad hasn't been drinking (supposedly) since his accident, I guess bc of the medication he's supposed to be taking. But I swear, his aura wreaks of old beer cans. That terrible bottom of the bottle/can that the sober fear. Stale, and musty, and heavy like fog. And every word, every sentence, and every sigh fills the room with a yellowing suffocation.
My mother's smoking is to the point where if she doesn't have cancer or some early signs of it yet, then she's staving it off through tobacco. Seriously. When she coughs, it could wake the dead. When she laughs, she coughs, and everything just stops being funny. Once per conversation, she gets caught up in a coughing fit. Her breath smells like coffee and wine and cigarettes, so it's hard to get close.
My parents, see, they're deteriorating.
Jesus, are you listening?
I see this, and I wonder what people do to each other. Will one day come where you'll wish me to stop playing my video games, or listening to my music, or writing my words, or reading my graphic novels, or watching my anime? Will a day come when I want you to stop painting, or singing, or enjoying indie movies? Is that what marriage and life-ever-after is?
I can't ever say a sentence that starts:
"My dad is really into..."
"My mom would be so excited for..."
These aren't people, they're just caretakers.
And I think the best way to describe living with my sister goes something like what's happened in the past week. She comes home saturday night, drunk, at three in the morning and by four am, I'm already hearing her having sex... AGAIN. The next two days, I don't see her because her door's closed and she's napping, she's showering, or she's out working or getting work done or tying wayy too many on. Like fucking anchors. Tuesday, she really wants a slurpee but won't come with me to get one, just the two of us. She REALLY "wants to fucking see" 28 Weeks Later, but turns down an invite to come with us. For free. Wednesday she's nowhere to be found until later in the afternoon when her skin's been torched. "At the beach, and then tanning," she explains.
Dying by the light.
This morning, a Saturday, I wake up to mom cough-leaving minutes before my sister storms down then up the stairs. She screams in her room at no one for everyone to hear. We're used to this, so we don't react. She squeaks. She comes downstairs slamming doors wherever she can find one. Back up the stairs, another yell. "Kay," is what I'm thinking. Nothing is what I'm saying. By the time she leaves and it's okay to leave my room, I go downstairs to find nothing new. 2007, 1999, 1997, nothing new. An upturned hamper, a pair of jeans on the table, yadda yadda yadda. She probably couldn't find a clean pair of whatever.
She says mom's "a fucking idiot," because of something to do with laundry. This, because everyone here is afraid to tell her that she's a pathetic alcoholic who can't wash her own clothes. that's the kind of thing I'd tell her if I could, but I can't, because there's always the excuses from the mother.
23 years old.
And then there's the whole "at least I have a job" thing that I'm sure they'll fall back on, completely rendering my argument useless.
Hours later, after I finish my pizza, my father comes in here and makes a sandwich, sitting down, and saying, "hey would you mind getting [everything]." The smell still hanging heavy, he makes a horrible-meat sandwich (read above), and when done, he cleans his mouth for seven minutes. Breathing heavily, licking his gums, his teeth, sucking at food particles everywhere. The sorts of noises that are impossible to ignore, even on a subway car at rush hour.
Anytime we eat dinner together, a majority of their conversation is done with mouths full of whatever.
I wonder where I come from.
You ask why I'm sad sometimes, and this is just a brief look at that.
I'm so sick of everything here.
-
I swear to god...I swear directly to jesus, the savior, who shall return, I swear right in that prophet's face that in our house, our home, there will be NO alcohol, NO smoking, and NO disgusting lunchmeats. I said it. Disgusting lunch meats.
No beer, no wine, no hard liquors.
No marlboros, no parliaments, no salems.
No provolone cheese, no salami, no pastrami.
No coffee.
Everything here makes me sick. It's draining me. I went to start the dishes, and there was a doused cigarette in a half emptied cup of coffee.
I shouted right at Jesus for that one.
My dad hasn't been drinking (supposedly) since his accident, I guess bc of the medication he's supposed to be taking. But I swear, his aura wreaks of old beer cans. That terrible bottom of the bottle/can that the sober fear. Stale, and musty, and heavy like fog. And every word, every sentence, and every sigh fills the room with a yellowing suffocation.
My mother's smoking is to the point where if she doesn't have cancer or some early signs of it yet, then she's staving it off through tobacco. Seriously. When she coughs, it could wake the dead. When she laughs, she coughs, and everything just stops being funny. Once per conversation, she gets caught up in a coughing fit. Her breath smells like coffee and wine and cigarettes, so it's hard to get close.
My parents, see, they're deteriorating.
Jesus, are you listening?
I see this, and I wonder what people do to each other. Will one day come where you'll wish me to stop playing my video games, or listening to my music, or writing my words, or reading my graphic novels, or watching my anime? Will a day come when I want you to stop painting, or singing, or enjoying indie movies? Is that what marriage and life-ever-after is?
I can't ever say a sentence that starts:
"My dad is really into..."
"My mom would be so excited for..."
These aren't people, they're just caretakers.
And I think the best way to describe living with my sister goes something like what's happened in the past week. She comes home saturday night, drunk, at three in the morning and by four am, I'm already hearing her having sex... AGAIN. The next two days, I don't see her because her door's closed and she's napping, she's showering, or she's out working or getting work done or tying wayy too many on. Like fucking anchors. Tuesday, she really wants a slurpee but won't come with me to get one, just the two of us. She REALLY "wants to fucking see" 28 Weeks Later, but turns down an invite to come with us. For free. Wednesday she's nowhere to be found until later in the afternoon when her skin's been torched. "At the beach, and then tanning," she explains.
Dying by the light.
This morning, a Saturday, I wake up to mom cough-leaving minutes before my sister storms down then up the stairs. She screams in her room at no one for everyone to hear. We're used to this, so we don't react. She squeaks. She comes downstairs slamming doors wherever she can find one. Back up the stairs, another yell. "Kay," is what I'm thinking. Nothing is what I'm saying. By the time she leaves and it's okay to leave my room, I go downstairs to find nothing new. 2007, 1999, 1997, nothing new. An upturned hamper, a pair of jeans on the table, yadda yadda yadda. She probably couldn't find a clean pair of whatever.
She says mom's "a fucking idiot," because of something to do with laundry. This, because everyone here is afraid to tell her that she's a pathetic alcoholic who can't wash her own clothes. that's the kind of thing I'd tell her if I could, but I can't, because there's always the excuses from the mother.
23 years old.
And then there's the whole "at least I have a job" thing that I'm sure they'll fall back on, completely rendering my argument useless.
Hours later, after I finish my pizza, my father comes in here and makes a sandwich, sitting down, and saying, "hey would you mind getting [everything]." The smell still hanging heavy, he makes a horrible-meat sandwich (read above), and when done, he cleans his mouth for seven minutes. Breathing heavily, licking his gums, his teeth, sucking at food particles everywhere. The sorts of noises that are impossible to ignore, even on a subway car at rush hour.
Anytime we eat dinner together, a majority of their conversation is done with mouths full of whatever.
I wonder where I come from.
You ask why I'm sad sometimes, and this is just a brief look at that.
I'm so sick of everything here.
Friday, May 18, 2007
when she's not around, i make her out of empty space.
we lose a lot of things
to distance and time.
but some things will always be mine.
to distance and time.
but some things will always be mine.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
vertebrae by vertebrae.
you
can tell by the way i talk about it. i have no idea what i'm doing.
but i'm still doing it.
like i said, "on and on and on and on."
you
can tell by the way i used to talk about it. i had no idea what i was doing.
and i can see that from now on, the world will always be made of this. the way the angles of her face make their ways into the shapes i see in sunspots. eyes wide, dream-ready. the mind hungry and charitable. strong fingers, delicate hands. unspeakable, unspeakable. unnameable. and great shoes.
got caught kicking the canvas down.
i had plans but they never seemed to work out.
wide-eyed and on the lookout, got caught tearing the whole thing down.
i was halfway done;
but then you know this painted scene could never leave me.
oh please believe me...
&
when we are awake we sing "never... ever".
this is where you must make up your mind.
should beauty be design this time?
this time you decide cause we go with whatever.
we take our time.
it's like you said:
the never stopping.
i gave you archways,
and they're yours to keep.
i hope you always knew.
.cartographist.
her
robots and mannequins.
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