Take us away from our lives,
to that other
world.
Sweet destruction,
the hope through
the void.
Amorous excitement,
laughter.
Someone trying too
hard
to impress another.
Are two in
competition?
for the one?
No.
Corners being
forgotten in the
midst but
glad that
I am.
I am,
for once happy with
life.
And in love.
Blue night with the clouds
still reflecting
white or...
maybe a yellow.
Orange mercury vapor glow
from the everlasting
power of
street lamps
and head lights.
And the never ending
torment of
people passing
and goings on
through the
halls of souls lost.
Come to think of it,
I vomited a lot in
that bathroom in
Harm's Way.
That bathroom where
hookers would go down
on men for 10 bucks
and spit it out in
the soap dispensers.
That bathroom where
I kicked the shit
out of 2 different
men.
Damn.
I vomited a lot
in that shitter.
Excitement, the sons of spirit
amidst the lonely night.
We are here to be distracted,
by loud noises, darkness,
and dreams
Headlights, car pulls up
the gears are thrown.
Someone gets out.
Heat lightning on
a summer night.
My drink is on
the windowsill same as
my chin.
My love is on the couch
talking
and I'm
forever in love
as I feel
the cool
summer breeze.
I awoke from a
dream, the other night.
It was another nightmare,
of course,
that's all I have.
Dark visions of
death and loss
and emptiness abound
but such is life.
We live, breathe, die,
ashes to ashes
dust to dust
if the navy can't do it...
the army must!
I can't remember how
many times I've
sat scrawling in
a book similar
to this.
At a bar.
people all around.
And no one
has ever asked
why.
Why I look around,
drunk,
and scrawl things,
in this
book.
I remember the
first day I went
into Harm's Way.
After drinking all night
I went into the shitter.
I looked at myself in the
mirror and
thought, "Dear God..."
and vomited right then
and there.
I knew God was talking
and I heard His message,
but I walked out
the door to order
another Old Milwaukee.
I'm helpless before
her presence.
And a slave when I see
her eyes.
Dear God! I think
how could you have made
someone
so perfect.
I'd die
if she so
wished it.
In the movies and on
the television
the music steps in
where actors cannot.
to evoke the mood--
make women cry,
and men move.
If then all the world is
a play yack yack yack
and we are actors...
Does earth then need
a soundtrack?
are we not providing
the proper emotions
do we need help?
It's a mother of processes
asking for keys for th ecar
stumbling first kisses
awkward sex.
Contrast:
no keys,
suicides and loneliness
Despair of the broken
dreams and drunkeness.
Jealousy and misconceptions.
Man, don't I know it.
The fruit swallows days,
the worst.
Much like corn but,
never lost.
Stinnn-jee.
Then, of course, the
alcohol kicks in.
Shit.
Alcohol is the--
Savior of the
inflicted.
The Buddha of the
oppressed.
Red background
outlined yellow circles
with black and blue
in between.
The light's reflecting
a soft arson purple
walls
Sitting behind a
barrier--waiting for
dreamland cinnamon
the suburban void
of life.
Rehearsal,
The slow strumming of
sorrowful guitars.
We are making worship.
We produce the moods,
the tears, the ecstasy.
How many times have
I
been swept up
by a well-played chord,
or the holding of singers'
note.
Was that God moving me?
or just...
the wish that I would
be important
enough for God
to bother.
Satisfaction
is not
one
for the mind nor
is it
one
for the soul but
it does
not
matter because
it is
for
the life of the
indi
vid
ual.
Shadows and forfeiture,
dimmed lights
flickering screens.
We've got deadlines
to meet, Dammit!
And a paper to
put out.
No time for
lollygagging or
mollycoddling.
This is the
hard news business
and we're the
hardest.
Smiles faces
shuffling outside of
a theater.
Arms around each other
in a teenage bliss.
Ah! Youth! The
holder of so many promises.
Hopes, joys, fears...
innocence.
Where did you go?
and how can I be missing
what I didn't have?
Sorrow, man. It's a bitch.
You'd swear that you're
the only one
who has ever felt
the pain.
That old familiar pain.
Where you feel the
sinking and a slight
tug of the heart. That's
just the begining man.
Shit.
I could teach a class...
Sorrow.
Everybody swears they're the
only ones who know...
Shit, man. Shit.
The coffee is weak,
regardless of flavour rating and
french roast.
So here it sits,
during a sermon
on David
and Samuel
including a bitter,
old
Saul.
Saul, the one who
loved the music that only
David played and David was
the only one who
could
play it.
The great flood
was 10 years
ago.
Damn.
Significant pause...
My grandpa died
10 years ago.
Significant pause...
I love them.
Where did they go?
The sounds of malpracticed chords
bounce off the walls
as dry dismal people
find seats.
The lights are low
the mood
somber.
People sucked into
themselves as
they provide
their only
interest in this
place.
Save yourself.
There was a time
when I
thought
that I could find the
answers
and
write them all down
upon
the
pages. But that day
never came
and now this ink
glistens
in
the beer hall's light.
This moonlight doesn't
shine out
here in
the suburbs.
Nor does the
night reflect
a lover's
gaze in the
manner of what one
wants to find.
1:10
life staggers on
with the scraping of
dragging flip-flops
in pink.