| hey. |
[Oct. 23rd, 2009|11:30 pm] |
do you remember?
when i was home?
i called you to talk about plans.
with my friends when i got back.
and just before we hung up, you said to me:
i love you.
i didn't say anything to you.
but
i know
you know
that i
love
you
too.
and i will answer you
some day soon.
until then:
xo |
|
|
| rose garden. |
[Sep. 13th, 2009|04:07 am] |
don't you see?
darling
it comes
in threes
falling
to your knees
won't help a bit
come, you'll see
a whole forest
for it's trees
and the fruit
is yours
to pick
watering
a rose garden
full of everything
you ever wanted
ever wanted
you will look around
and think aloud
this is the place
i wanna be
pressing hearts
in books
like leaves
so that you can
stitch'em all up
on your sleeve
then you'll wear'em
out at night
for everyone to see |
|
|
| okok. |
[Aug. 20th, 2009|12:30 am] |
launder, press, then pray
for a little while each day
and you're o
k
ok
singing a song on a street
in brooklyn
looking at it from the other way
threaded on the inside
and watching the rain
you are
o
kok
ok
the guts that it takes to move away
from the church where you went on sunday
you had a light in your eyes
that won't be the same
the tiles on the floor
and the paint on the walls
in the house that you built
for when the company calls
you've got your girls
and their dolls
you're o
k
you are o
k
ok
ok
ohoh, you're
brea
kin down
yeah your
fault
lines howl
but loo
k around
and you're on the ground
ground, ground, ground
i promise you it'll be alright
as long as the sun is in the sky
you are ok
 |
|
|
| i was a nerd and i gave them money. |
[Aug. 7th, 2009|06:46 pm] |
there are things in this world that we, as humans - relatively tiny animals that sleep and eat in glorified hives on a spinning grain - want. we want things, we desire them. people, shoes, places, experience, food, money, respect, love.
when we want these things, and are specific about them, we spend a good deal of time turning them over and over in our heads. we think about what it will be like to hold what we want; a book, a hat, a boyfriend. we think of how they will look on our head, in our bed, with spine cracked and pages dog-eared. we do this automatically; it's second nature. and i swear to you: if we think of these things enough, if we truly want them, they come to us. maybe because in our focus, we easily recognize opportunities that will bring us closer to what we desire. maybe it's cosmic. i don't have the answer to that.
FOR EXAMPLE:
when i was a child, my father worked as a scientist. our living room was stacked with volumes of books on the beginnings of life, outer space, the anatomy of the brain, the atom, plants, etc. i would pull these hard, heavy books off the shelf and splay on thick shag carpet, unable to grasp what i was reading. the pictures were fascinating and confusing, especially because of their lack of context.
one of the books was about sight - "perception" i think was its title. in the back of the book, there was a fold out pair of glasses, a stereoscope, that you could assemble and hold up to certain images, bringing them leaping off the page and into the third dimension. this was a simple magic. two flat images, side by side on the page, came alive when viewed through this flimsy paper and lens contraption. the man seated at the table suddenly had depth! his glass of red wine was closer to me than he was! the painting on the wall was really behind him! i would stare, trying to will him to a sneeze or make some sort of slip up, telling me he was real, but he never did. he stayed frozen - but in three dimensions, which was good enough to keep my attention for a long while.
some of the pictures in this book looked like television static, or white noise. when you viewed them through the glasses, shapes or words would rise up and present themselves to you. in the early 1990's, people made a fast buck selling prints of this fuzz for nerds to decorate their homes.
i was a nerd and i gave them money. when i turned thirteen, i asked for cash. i needed a hundred dollars to buy and frame (i had to have a frame) one of these trendy things. there was a poster shop in the local mall, across from the recessed fountain/lounge and underneath the glass elevator that serviced only two floors. crowds of mallrats would gather, clumped and cross-eyed. most would exclaim that they could see it, while their friends or husbands would squint and tilt their heads, feeling left out. those who could not see would pooh-pooh the fad, saying it was stupid, but we all knew they wanted to see. we wanted them to see.
i would pore over the stock of 3D posters in the shop. dolphins would emerge, sexy girls, peace signs and drug culture, dinosaurs, cars, disney characters, etc. i crossed my eyes at them all, but was drawn to only one image. this poster was purple on top, faded into blue and ended in light green at the bottom. when you relaxed your eyes, a dramatic woman draped in long fabric would appear, holding high a flaming torch. the crown she wore radiated sharp, long points. behind her loomed the skyline of an emerald city. the statue of liberty. and manhattan. in 3D.
i would spend hour upon hour in my room, losing myself in the tall buildings and the nuanced curves of her lips and strong brow, reading the letters on the tablet she held close to her person. she did not move, but there she was, reaching out of the wall to me. beckoning me. she asked me for my tired, my poor. i looked at her every day. when i should have been doing homework, i was staring at her. each time i passed her, i would fix my eyes and my dreams would re-inflate themselves and hold there until i dropped my gaze.
in time, different obsessions would introduce themselves: guitars, comic books, theatre, other young men. eventually the statue poster came down off the wall and was replaced by a mirror, which was then replaced by a coat rack from ikea.
years and years later, i finally moved to new york for work. when i met with a friend to discuss the possibility of living with him, he gave me a tour of my potential neighborhood: a dunkin' donuts/baskin robbins combo, an ancient cemetery, luigi's pizza. when we got to the intersection of my maybe new apartment, he stopped me in the middle of the crosswalk. he checked over his shoulder for traffic. then he pointed and said "look."
i did. and before me, at the very end of the street, was a strong wish granted. a statue of a woman draped in long fabric, holding high a gilded torch. behind her, an emerald city. my mind spun back to my childhood room, thinking of how many waking hours were spent on her false three-dimensional image. but this, this time it was real. the real one. the real statue of liberty was reflecting real sunlight and bouncing it into the tiny holes in each one of my eyes. my own two, looking right at her.
i moved in. and i see her everyday. i don't need special glasses. i don't have to un-focus or squint my eyes for her to appear. she is there always. in real life 3D. |
|
|
| red curtains. |
[Jul. 8th, 2009|01:32 pm] |
the flickering of the light on a third story window. clap your hands, tap your feet if you know how the words go. it's the same old story, it's just a different day. you call your children to your bedside, smile at them and say:
son, someday. |
|
|
| little black book. |
[May. 25th, 2009|11:21 pm] |
a few days ago, i stopped to talk to a humble couple from a town near where i grew up. they gave me a very small bible. in speaking with them, i deduced that they were not academically learned folk.
with earnest and weathered eyes, the man asked my name. i told him. his quiet wife moved gently to touch his arm. she had long, rough hair that was parted in the middle and pulled into a pony-tail.
he asked if i wanted them to pray for me.
i looked away, up the street. cars painted yellow were resuming their southbound procession after holding at a light. i thought it couldn’t hurt. and that maybe it might even work.
so i said: sure.
and the weathered, earnest man smiled big and shook my hand.
he and his wife both said: god bless you.
i hadn’t even sneezed. |
|
|
| sightings. |
[May. 17th, 2009|09:01 pm] |
i saw the back of him. flanked on each side by the backs of his roommates. as i left a cheese store.
i walked the other way. his hair is longer than what i think looks good. but it's not my hair to cut.
i saw him on a photo blog. i was clicking through pictures and suddenly, unexpectedly, he filled my screen.
i closed the computer and breathed to myself for a while.
i saw him walking towards me with his roommate. at a street fair near our seperate houses.
she saw me first. before him.
she whispered under her breath, alerted him of my proximity.
he said:
hey, how are you?
i said:
well.
and kept walking in the direction i was headed.
and i did not look back.
i couldn't. i'm sorry. i couldn't.
i had not meant to be rude.
but i just couldn't. |
|
|
| all of the angels. |
[Apr. 1st, 2009|01:20 pm] |
i heard a story
of all of the angels
walking along in a
thin straight line
and the captain
implored them
not to fail
all alone
on a cold winter night
go
go
safe flight
goodnight
so the 375th went ahead
and the next ones to go
watched them leaving the ground
thommy was crying
jimmy was laughing
and johnny just couldn't help looking around
at them
go
go
safe flight
goodnight
the fight or the flight
the fight or the flight |
|
|
| romanticize and destroy. |
[Mar. 18th, 2009|02:36 pm] |
sun has resumed streaming through my windows. there are trees with bits of bright bright green beginning to show. and the animals that live in these parts are running around everywhere, reacquainting themselves with each other and with the world sans cover of frozen water.
i am reassembling, i think. i no longer have a beard, or a boyfriend, and stiff new denim wraps my legs when i walk the avenues. i smoke cigarettes and feel dreadful about it. and cool. and embarrassed. people choke and cough when i walk by; either out of protest, or out of judgement, or because they have a lingering cold and aren't even thinking about my bad habits. god, if my mom knew... my dad figured it out when i was home. he locked me in the backyard. later i found an empty can of diet caffeine free with recently stubbed butts in it. i put mine in there too, dad.
down the stairs into cold, wet tunnels that only amplify the howls of public rail transport. shaking and jolting and starting and then stopping until i rise to my feet and walk off. up the stairs onto a famous island that people romanticize and destroy in cinema. they romanticize and destroy it in real life too, actually. i pass monuments and carts teeming with cheap food and countless strains of bacteria. through front doors into a little metal box on a chain that pulls me up several stories. in and out of rooms with the most advanced technology a tripod can support, i go.
i line up with men close to my age and physical appearance. some people i know, some people i don't. some people i want to know, some people i don't. the people in the rooms tell me to "slate", which means say your name out loud in the air so that the camera can hear. after that, i read words off of a card or words that i have memorized before arriving. then i walk back out into the hall and feel everyone size me up to figure out how it went in there. put the jacket on, take elevator down to the street and kiss it up to god.
when i am waking, or walking, melody and messages in bottles present themselves in my head and my mouth and lungs push them out. my fingers work out something to hang them on, and i sharpen them in my room. bounce them back and forth in the small space i have to myself and get them closer and closer to what they want to be. my friends say, go boy, go. do it because it's in you. and i say are you sure? are you really sure? and they say no, but you are. which is more than good enough.
the security guard in the courtyard makes noises with his personal electronic device. he's focused. maybe he's training for something big. i can hear him gaming well into the night, his slice of technology blipping and cooing out into the giant brick bowl that makes up my building. the bowl is lined with trees, some grass and some doors. one door leads to me. but before you come in, you must traverse a threshold with a cross broken four times, arms pointing to the right. it used to mean good luck. until someone ruined it for everyone. |
|
|
| the arrangemnet. |
[Mar. 7th, 2009|07:35 pm] |
Hello,
Yes i just want to let you know that you are qualified to be our house cleaner for atleast a month.We just bought the house and i will like you to know you will be responsible for general cleaning of hallways (dusting, vacuuming and mopping), doors, windows, pick up trash in common areas, sweeping and snow removal at building entrances, and changing light bulbs etc. Must be able to climb a ladder and lift up to 25 lbs. Also you will be working for 2hrs in a day at the rate of $15 per hr,so you will be earning a total sum of $600 per month. In order for you to know we are very serious about this we will sending you a upfront payment for the first month via a bank official check issued by my financier and will be mail to you via UPS next day delivery. The house is a 4 Bedroom 2 bath Duplex unfurnished, so i have made an arrangement with a painter to paint the interior part of the house. so you will be working with the painter in cleaning of the house in general. My financier will include the cost all expenses in your check.
My financier will effect the payment as soon as i give him the instructions to do so..The payment you will be receiving will be for your one month pay in adavance and the rest will be for the painter coming to paint the house. The keys of the house is already with the painter and you will be duely informed on arrangements made to get inside the house by the painter when all arrangement are set. I believe that both of you can work together to make the house as clean as possible and also the painter will set up a date and time for your meeting. Get back to me with the information below if you are truly serious about the job, so that my financier will issue out the payment asap:
Full Name:
Address:
City:
State:
Zip Code:
Home Phone:
Cell Phone:
Possible Working Hrs:
Email:
Kindly let me know if the arrangemnet is okay with you and i believe you will be at your best in cleaning the house for me and my family.
Thanks |
|
|
| of emeralds. |
[Mar. 4th, 2009|01:08 am] |
down the stairs
down the staris
auntie em
storm is comin
houses goin
all the hens
you got a ticket
to a colorworld
of lions and men
made of metal
crush the petals
in between
your hands
for all the world to see
for all the world to see
this city is so green
this city is so green |
|
|
| son, someday. |
[Feb. 26th, 2009|01:26 am] |
he said son, someday
a woman'll come and
wash you away
into the ocean
and you'll fight back
with all the emotion
that you've saved
until that day
you're coiled and wound
and you're set in your ways
the rushing, the sound
of the sea and the waves
you'll lose yourself in the best way
it's black
below
and sometime so so long ago
there's a ship
that sailed
it's crumbling now
red rust on the nails
and the people sank
or floated away on a wooden plank
to start anew
which is just what you are about to do
he said son, someday
a woman'll come and
wash you away
into the ocean
and you'll fight back
with all the emotion
that you've saved
until that day
you're coiled and wound
and you're set in your ways
the rushing, the sound
of the sea and the waves
you'll lose yourself in the best way
trust me
trust me
|
|
|
| My iPod touch |
[Feb. 21st, 2009|01:06 am] |
My iPod touch works perfectly,but my iPod touch had the same problem once,but what I did was unpluged the electric inlet out of my Linksys router and my cable/internet modem and the wifi connection to my iPod touch worked!
The ground beneath your feet is not new. It's been beneath millions of other people's feet. And they had problems too. You aren't alone in any sense.
i sometimes want everything all at once. a crashing wave of color and sound. like god's gentle finger pressing me into the soft ground.
 |
|
|
| green wood. |
[Feb. 7th, 2009|03:01 pm] |
there's parrots in the cemetery spires
and you could walk for miles
bein on your own
with just company of your shoes
your treads, your tires
and the lives
of everyone down below |
|
|
| everyone calls me a hero. |
[Nov. 11th, 2008|08:27 pm] |
what i told you was the truth
i put the head in a bag
i brought it back and that
is whatcha got in your lap
you shoulda seen
the dog that she had
with eight eyes
three heads
and fuckin mean and fat
i gotta family
that i gotta feed
now will ya pay me whatcha said
for gettin blood on my feet
i'm tired
and i wanna lay down
just let me rest a while
and i'll come around
you can stand pickin stones
for your crown
but i'm gonna sit and watch
the world go around
i gotta look at my kid
and tell him what i did
to get the shirt and the shoes
and all the books for his school
and in the town
where we settled down
everyone calls me a hero
i am tired
and i wanna lay down
just let me rest a while
and i'll come around
you got yer castle
and your crown
but i'd rather sit and watch
the world go round
i did what anyone else
woulda done
i just got stuck in this
specific situation
it's not my fault
i ain't have a choice
that my name got
written all over the walls
blood
stained
all over my clothes
and when
i've
got my eyes closed
all
i can see
are the ghosts |
|
|
| song for little bicycles. |
[Jul. 7th, 2008|03:39 pm] |
everyone's got stories to tell
so stand in line and repeat all the words to yourself
while you've got time
remember to speak loudly when it is your turn
you'll only get so many chances in this world
and as long as what you say is true
light will find you
be happy that you get to do
things like breathe and read and cry your silly eyes out
no one's gonna blame you if you have to go ahead and
shout shout shout shout
and over and over again, you'll hurt yourself so bad
and keep all the birthday cards that you got from your mom and your dad
and dreaming will help you get by
make you what you want
but it's harder than you'll
believe
believe
invisible electricity
is all that makes us
pick and talk and tick
and meet for tea
and when the sun sets inside
inside inside of me
all the leaves
release the grip
that keeps'em on
the tree |
|
|
| getting groped on national television. |
[Nov. 26th, 2007|08:39 pm] |
you know that t-mobile commercial where the guy gets frisked by the dad that's an ex-cop? yeah, that's me getting groped. by art carney's son, actually.
if you want to see what it looked like when i was shooting it, go here.
weird, huh? |
|
|
| baller, shot caller. |
[Jul. 25th, 2007|02:02 am] |
“Yes, I’m surprised,” he said, “but I think no more surprised than the head of the F.B.I., the head of the C.IA., that rogue employees turn on their country in criminal activity despite the best investigative procedures you can possibly imagine.” |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Jul. 25th, 2007|01:22 am] |
the only thing.
that is a result of sex.
that you can't get a test for.
is love.
XO
EN |
|
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