Friday, September 28, 2012

Letter to His First Wife, Edie

“I have lots of things to teach you now, in case we ever meet, concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so don't worry. It's all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don't know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever. Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson you forgot, which was taught in immense milky way soft cloud innumerable worlds long ago and not even at all. It is all one vast awakened thing. I call it the golden eternity. It is perfect. We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere: Self is only an idea, a mortal idea. That which passes into everything is one thing. It's a dream already ended. There's nothing to be afraid of and nothing to be glad about. I know this from staring at mountains months on end. They never show any expression, they are like empty space. Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away? Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one universal essence of mind, the vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, will never crumble away because it was never born."
-Jack Kerouac 

Sunday, September 23, 2012


The air is thickly filled with molten breeze
My fingers try to grasp it, 
pull it through my hands like molasses 
Manipulate it
Like I did your heart
It rises above me, and for a reason unknown,
I'm not bothered by it
I don't know whether that gives you joy or pain.

Saturday, August 11, 2012

"Massacre"- A Poem

And I don’t want to hear them talk about it
They ruined Daisy
They took her pastel yellow dress and pearls
Flung them across the room and interrogated her
In the corner of her own house on a
Wednesday afternoon
Her blonde hair astray, wisps framing her golden eyes
A look of confusion on her face, crossed with tears
Settled in the crevices of her eyelids
Now they’re moving on to Gatsby
Tearing his tie to shreds
And destroying his gilded pocket watch
By smashing it with their hands, their voices
Which sound like the ear-piercing squeals of hundreds of
Strange houseguests outside on the freshly cut lawn
They lock him in his closet with his now soiled trousers
They’ve drenched with wine,
Not even the expensive kind
I sit in my chair quietly and I want to defend them,
Take their hands and help them up from the
Massacre that is these teenager’s assumptions
But the teacher, she’s already seen my face,
And realizes the damage is done.

Friday, August 10, 2012


maybe i'll just keep it all to myself 
and fill journals for the rest of my life
I remember when he said, he looked over and I was
furiously writing, he said 
"I couldn't understand"
I said 
"You could've too. 
Anyone could've."


"sorry, sorry, sorry"
"don't apologize so often, why do you do that?"
"because don't you see? there's just so much to be sorry for."

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

"Buddhists"- A Poem

My stomach twists
Like a bendy straw in the 
Grasp of a little child
It churns when I think of how
I must be 
Maybe if I went to someone
Spoke my thoughts out loud
Maybe if I went for a seven day walk
Like a Buddhist would
Maybe if I became Buddhist
It would be easier
Because Buddhists can't kill things
It's against their faith
The thing is
I don't have any.

Tuesday, July 17, 2012


“Those moments before a poem comes, when the heightened awareness comes over you, and you realize a poem is buried there somewhere, you prepare yourself. I run around, you know, kind of skipping around the house, marvelous elation. It’s as though I could fly.”
-Anne Sexton

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

"Helplessness Blues" by Fleet Foxes

I was raised up believing I was somehow unique
Like a snowflake distinct among snowflakes, unique in each way you can see
And now after some thinking, I'd say I'd rather be
A functioning cog in some great machinery serving something beyond me
But I don't, I don't know what that will be
I'll get back to you someday soon you will see

What's my name, what's my station, oh, just tell me what I should do
I don't need to be kind to the armies of night that would do such injustice to you
Or bow down and be grateful and say "sure, take all that you see"
To the men who move only in dimly-lit halls and determine my future for me

And I don't, I don't know who to believe
I'll get back to you someday soon you will see

If I know only one thing, it's that everything that I see
Of the world outside is so inconceivable often I barely can speak
Yeah I'm tongue-tied and dizzy and I can't keep it to myself
What good is it to sing helplessness blues, why should I wait for anyone else?

And I know, I know you will keep me on the shelf
I'll come back to you someday soon myself

If I had an orchard, I'd work till I'm raw
If I had an orchard, I'd work till I'm sore
And you would wait tables and soon run the store

Gold hair in the sunlight, my light in the dawn
If I had an orchard, I'd work till I'm sore
If I had an orchard, I'd work till I'm sore
Someday I'll be like the man on the screen

Photo Journals

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

"Cat Lady Suicides"- A Poem

some study somewhere
claimed, ("said only" according to
my communications teacher)

Cat Lady Suicides

how tragic- how 
a rise in death in being alone
with windows
and lots of sleeping fur
but the need for your own blood
because of society

how cat-

i had always liked them 
with their outdated moth clothes
and cracked smiles and
flyaway foggy-monday colored hair

they had always seemed

but these "studies"
would argue with statistics spitting
and facts flying

i never liked them.

"Punnett Squares"- A Poem

It was a dull day in February 
She told us how she had a student 
During blood tests 
(back when they were allowed)

But Mrs. Doe, why doesn't it match? 
And she told us how she looked at her and said
Maybe check your work,
you may be incorrect.

Avoid, avoid
She said the girl went home
Mom, why does it not match?
Dad, it doesn't make any sense.

They said the unbelieved truth
And while she said this 
The class was quiet
We all were imagining

The girl walking home,
Her mind darting, breath quickening

Wondering why 
They never had any photo albums.
And how lying is such an easy skill
They should teach it in trade school.

Sunday, July 1, 2012

"Lifedance" by Charles Bukowski

the area dividing the brain and the soul
is affected in many ways by
experience –
some lose all mind and become soul:
some lose all soul and become mind:
some lose both and become:

"Aberrant"- A Poem

I try to explain
the words won't form
my mouth asks for help
like the air is dense with itself
so full of itself

and if it were winter 
things might be different
things might be better

but the clock just kept ticking
and i just kept thinking, considering
about how people need 
so much
people need each other
to cling to 

and for some aberrant 
I can't end things anymore
they just go on and on, 
then they start up again

like those roller-coasters 
you see at the amusement park
that I never ride.

Friday, June 22, 2012

"Pulse"- A Poem

I feel my pulse in my hand 
. . . .
I wish it was yours
Your fingers in the space between my fingers
I want it more than breathing, living
I want it for the future of my vision of humanity 
My stupid belief that everything can be okay
And will be okay
Even though we all know things change, everyday
Slowly the air forms between us, our bodies 
Becoming separate beings
Separate souls
For I always knew my soul couldn't combine with someone else's
My soul has holes, ripped like an old t-shirt
With rose paint and morning eyes
Vines like ivy, reaching
Clinging to spirits unknown and unheard of
My soul has rain puddles filled with tears
Of lost fantasies and expectations
On the sidewalk in front of an old furniture warehouse in the city
With "for lease" signs stuck on the dirty glass
It's spewing cities and late night phone calls and street lights and
Acoustic guitar sessions played in old bars that
Stranger visit to escape from other strangers
It has people and faces and names
Of doctors, lawyers, bankers
Of unhappy people and their black shoes
Walking onto buses at three in the afternoon
My soul has melodies, cigarette smoke
and a small trinket box housed up in a little girl's room
It's full of everything and nothing
the universe and space
and black holes
even though I've always been afraid that's how we'll all die someday
although I'm hoping the sun will explode
for I'd rather die in light than in


Why am I so ashamed of this
While I sit here and realize it's
What keeps me sewn together?

"Right Side Up"- A Poem

There's this lightness and it comes in waves
Like the world is right side up
Even the southern hemisphere
Those little village people
Bringing water from the river on their heads
Little do they know,
To get back home 
It's upside down

And for some reason
My world is right-side up 
For the first time
In ever

Thursday, June 21, 2012

"Love of an Orchestra" by Noah and The Whale

If you gotta run, run from hope

I know I'll never be lonely
I've got songs in my blood
I'm carrying all the love of an orchestra

gimme the love of an orchestra [x3]

So now in my deepest sorrow
there's no need for despair
I'm carrying all the love of an orchestra
gimme the love of an orchestra [x3]

If you gotta run, run from hope

Sunday, June 17, 2012

"Ten Years"- A Poem

My whole world
has been disrupted 
and things just aren't working
the gears aren't 
turning the right way 
and to think i haven't looked at the 
it feels like ten years have passed
and my bones are brittle with
my greatest fears

Sunday, May 27, 2012

Million Miles an Hour

“There is something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you are the only extra person in the room. It's like watching Paris from an express caboose heading in the opposite direction--every second the city gets smaller and smaller, only you feel it's really you getting smaller and smaller and lonelier and lonelier, rushing away from all those lights and excitement at about a million miles an hour.” 

-Sylvia Plath

Monday, May 21, 2012

The Perks of Being a Wallflower

"Dust"- A Poem

I have no words for you
And that is saying something
Every time I see you it’s just dust
The kind that you can’t ever
Seem to clean away
Or the kind that gets in your eyes
So you can’t see straight
Or even think straight for that matter.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

"I Met Up With The King" by First Aid Kit

I met up with the king
He confessed his body was burning
I met up with the king
His body had begun to rot
And he said don't think less of me
I'm still the same man I used to be

But no one believed him
No one believed him

I once knew a pretty girl
And she was in love with the world
And she loved a young man
Who loved her body but never saw her mind
He took everything she had kept
And then he took everything else that was left

But no one believed her
No one believed her

I feel just like the king
As I fall on the muddy ground
I feel just like you gal
There's people thinking
They know something now
Well I don't know anything at all
And we mean nothing to history
Well thank God

So tell me do you believe me?
Do you believe me?
I bet you don't
I bet you won't