wake up, again.

must work, again.

must live, again.

need food, again.

no sleep, again.

stresses. the wounding of being in this day. body aches. shoulders, back and neck are stiff but the sun needs your activity while it hangs on a cloud in the sky. on an unplanned day, the moon kills time slowly; just sweeping the stars away at a patient pace. turning, cycle, sphere. lonely planet. black space vacuum take me home. my vision backs out of my body, shapes transform to sketch and colors lean into each other.

cartoon world arresting this moment, again.

this black tie, and shirt, and pants, and shoes are too tight. i’m finding something new to complain about every year. government. religion. same old shit i’ve always fought with.

but then it’s okay, for some reason. sehnsucht gripping me every step, in every direction. it’s different. it’s okay. it’s alright. i’m alright, for now.

that insect was just living and now it’s dead. we die? one day there won’t be any more days for us. no one knows where to go after the brain has been drained of blood, electric signals through tissue under the skin and cells decay into the earth. i feel too real sometimes. is this my life? is this really my body? i am contained. how everything came to be, i’ll never know and it’s of not much use to anyone but where is it going? time passes away but stays in it’s place, it’s the clock that keeps ticking. where does all the time go that we’ve spent? into white holes or a city unkempt, housing ghosts and dust and stale liquor.

but then, again, a new realization gifts my soul just as it begins to tear into that chaotic cloth of spinning thought where nothing makes any sense. the cycle seems complete, something still missing but it doesn’t matter. i’m watching the fractal nature of the universe from a comforting platform. ah, yes. i remember now. the truth i’ve known that exists in all…

(as i begin to finish this thought)

there, upon a long hill of tangerine colored wheat, like feathers from a fowl, these grains sway in the twilight. the leaves of a half-dead cypress wander around the broken soil, carried by a current and lay on its waves. the stars blink, some are of a more serious face that never move, and an amber aurora sleeps under the clouds. the wooden panels on homes of stone and brick, echo the sounds of little animals who cannot find any rest in the forest or the field.

(my mind races to distant memories)

do you remember the days where everything was new? in the car when side streets would slip right past our reading? i’m pretty sure we were so curious and anxious to touch every object around.

(flash back to the current moment)

i find myself caught in a lightning blue haze of reflected light off the snow on this late night. orion rests to the left of our moon. a fair gust rustles about in the leaves not far from me followed by a passing car. the headlights beamed down the tall road in search of me. alone though and excited, i am.

(break into another moment of insanity)

seconds transude from the resonance of a clock on a wall. moments stain the alabaster fibers where dust once kept secrets until they were swept up into a trash bin. groaning furniture suggests a ghost to be with me, here. shadows dancing on the floor. useless starlight, television static, white noise lullaby and a graining commercial behind monochromatic bars on a shitty channel. stale glass of sharp, bitter milk relaxing atop her carefully carved table of trees. a deep, heartbreaking shade of red cloaks the unforgiving tone of a dead seed in a coma. the hot shower starts to peel at the paint on the walls in the master bathroom. raw, winter skin against a hawkish towel for drying all this water off. late coffee, it’s afternoon but my body wants to rest on a supple cloud or a sheet of the sort. the fan on high, alarm set again for the sun set but i’ve got to drive home. little black birds perched on the lamp outside, scatter when i start the car and settle as i pull away. the first wind of spring, wafting immigrant pollen through the windows with a few insects i’ve never seen. a stop sign. road kill. school bus. exit. sampled tea. chaotic song on repeat. home. bed. a book to read, in the corner of a desk i can’t reach. strings on the tile. dirty clothes without a plan for laundry. manila box full of forgotten papers of failing grades.

feeling desire.

watching identity waver.

fair handle and senses acute.

feeling thought.

waiting for the escape from,

the illusion to be.

orchestrate the irritation.

daily routine.

stoned madness,

unrequited survey of the self;

should i be driving?

these clothes are uncomfortable.

neck pulsing from a tie too tight around my throat.

aching heels and burning calves.

they watch the effort and conversations.

eyes on you even when loneliness is evident.

crushed up, mustard snow line;

evening snack of crackers, water and opiates.

cigarette for the final push.

itchy sleep, scratching my dreams away.

new sounds, unfamiliar melodies;

stealing every brilliant method.

marriage of two ideas and claim it.

you’ve got to wake up before traffic,

before the rush hour of foreign company on the road.

do i like myself?

i enjoy the time alone.

why am i so critical around others?

i don’t really care though.

the inconsistency raises many questions.

do i even aim for stability or is it just a pretty picture i’ve been painting for entertainment when things get boring?

one thousand frantic ants, digging into the first layer of flesh. gnawing at the bones, you can feel every pincer grip on the nerves and electricity of flashing pain from the spine to the brain. senses chaotic, manic chemical reactions flood logic out. only paranoid, delusional, speed dream speak rambling is left for others to dissect.

one second of silence as the machine shuts out all stimuli and attempts to sacrifice normal processes for the calm…

(flash back to the womb)

amniotic sea, floating in an abyss of nurturing. smooth movements. waves of comfort. tranquil thoughtless life, unknowing and pure of judgement.

(fast forward to child hood)

the cool scent of fresh cut grass, evaporating gasoline and sweat off your forehead. laughter, playful voices from young children baking their heads in the summer heat. all the kids enjoy the empty days and fill them with running. there was a time when you couldn’t stay inside. the sun was welcoming and would beg for breakfast to be a memory, wishing for your feet to sail over every yard you could see.

(fast forward to a week before the current moment)

there’s no time for anything anymore. it’s always melting right in front of you. always dying, no more growing. stress keeps building. nothing is going your way. the universe frowns for you. must retain proper function, remember the world. can’t forget what exists. you’d like to enter the void but there isn’t any time. it’s gone away again. just out of reach. can’t stretch forever. can’t live like this. won’t make it much longer.

(current moment)

too much. too much.

my headlights washed out the horizon at midnight, every unseen turn came so suddenly. they would seize me, like the albatross under the over pass. autumn became the summer and skipped winter again. where did the last year go? burning, in my eyes, too many hours where sleeping should have been done and instead was spent on being bored. swearing by the sun every morning and cursing the moon for it’s come to quicken a cycle. can’t get comfortable, won’t be running anytime soon for anyone. around everyone, i feel so alienated. my thoughts shy away from me, hide and decay until i have nothing left to say or think or even start. the pulsing vision, flip of a page, and sight has gone without me. i wouldn’t leave here, i couldn’t stay there unless i’m dead. that would be an escape disguised as elevation, as rising above everything i must accept. should i soar as low as the black swallows on your shallow road?

i had been waiting almost two hours when i stood up and noticed that the floor was warped to the left and spiraling into the utility room. the tiles took the form of pale, leaflet green chinese take out boxes and keep switching their minds about what shade of brightness to be. after deciding that i had crossed over and that i wouldn’t be able to leave for awhile, i sat down.

at ground level again, everything seemed normal until pulsing lights raced around the room like a flickering computer monitor. this happened in my hands as well. every image i could see turned into infinity as i saw black nothingness and rich technicolor in these things. i felt free.

at the peak, my emotions began to rise at an uncomfortable rate within me so i withdrew myself from my body and watched them wheel around in chaos before me. i felt thousands of years older and sensations of decaying flesh consumed my neurons. it didn’t bother me. i just sat there.

i didn’t learn anything i didn’t already know.

liquid epiphany in the morning on the flip side of a stumbling night. sour eyes, burning, even under the overcast sky. hollow throat, rotary voice; echo on the inside of a cavern. crackling vinyl, warbled piano keys smoke up the room. the temperature doesn’t change; i can’t feel it, really. disappearing sensations, fleeting anxiousness. the black water calm that follows all. the years drag, spin like wheels, always seem the same and i am always in my place. expecting every flower to bloom into fullness brings such pain when the tending is done, in process but insects eat away at the bulb. could i enjoy another garden without envy, without pursuit of possession?

dull face, grey and mosaic. a blur of everything, like the windshield in rain at high speed and the lines are hiding in tracers of stop lights.

the alarm goes off…

my life programming rushes into my memory as i try to figure out how to control this body. everything is blurry. the head space i’ve awakened to is automatically hectic and stressful. getting this fucking alarm clock turned off is all i care about.

but wait, i can’t go back to sleep. i have to wake up. another day has started.

so i grab a towel and head for the shower. stumble into the bathroom, undress and forget about the relaxing warm water. i’ve got to clean myself on a schedule so there’s no time to lean up against the wall as my muscles release the tension of waking up to so much immediate bullshit.

there’s coffee to be made so i can stay awake. toast as well so i don’t feel completely ill. iron my shirt and pants. get in the car. drink my coffee. smoke a cigarette. make it to work on time. stand for hours while juggling phone calls and remembering a bunch of shit that’s taking up space where music could go.

then i leave work. relieved.

we were walking down the gravel path, a weltering sun set almost blotted out that bird to black but some red whispered itself into my vision.

it flew so low to the ground; led us straight for the bridge.

fog on the river, down some ways, stayed while we walked and was there waiting on our way back.

another month of dreaming continues…

another way to spend a day,

safety comes swiftly when so far away.

windows slowly fall into their cracks, in the door, in the car. spring evening smell rushes out cigarette breath and coffee stains, all over my clothes. highway drive to quiet sunday country where dogs have friends and run free while the sun scrapes across the dying sky. when it burns black, it’s time for me to be heading back but i’ll return sometime soon. 

the work hustle, small time struggle for living and things and money.. and money. busy schedule. sorry, can’t make too much time for anyone these days. time is all cut up into sections i can’t remember. i know my routine and forget all my music. hours spent dealing with people who are shit just to have a little slice of fun. when we were born, they didn’t tell us all of this. easy riding for a few years, i guess it was a long while worth remembering. plans and driving and sleeping and all the things i’ve got to get done in between. drop glasses on my face when the sun starts blowing up the concrete and leather seats and even the afternoon. trying to reach for some inspiration or figure out some weird music after everything else.

exhausted and insomnia won’t stop burning my eyelids. books and strings and molding coffee make a mess on the floor, i won’t pick up for months. it’s not that much. cradling dreams, left for nights where my body wouldn’t listen and my spirit strayed away into somewhere else. you know where else.

you were a happy morning, white teeth, and running for your car. you were a ghost letter sealed with thick spit, sweet as the clouds you licked up, love. milk and glass and spring smell all over your dresses. late last phone call from home for my bad weather moods before bed. i just want to quite smoking cigarettes and breathe easy.

my body is too sore for even cracking today. well, the fingers are fine for such movements but beyond that and into the back are where my problems start. it’s like a terrible yawn that ends too early when all you need a second more to fuck the waking consciousness into sleep.

i knew i would be up until hours where ghosts start conversations with the wall, insects crawl inside the light bulbs and cigarettes hang from dry lips that wish to suck on cancer smoke until coughing permits a break.

just a break, no longer or shorter. a moment of the lungs collecting air, just enough for the cardiovascular system to replenish it’s natural demeanor. you know. real healthy shit.

working tomorrow will be a pain, but i’ve got those bastards by their teeth. some form of caffeine and nicotine waits for me to get high and then preform my job like i enjoy doing so.

everyone knows that no one likes working. who the fuck would like to be a slave? aren’t we supposed to be free? no. this isn’t true. they want you to hold on to the idea of freedom so that maybe one day with enough consumer loyalty to the companies that make your favorite color candy, you can sit back in a house with all the things you’ve wanted to own with no time to ever enjoy them and that candy bar will be waiting for you in your local grocery store next to the “i don’t give a fuck about my soul” isle. it’ll taste sweet on your way to work, right before you park your car and start sucking your bosses dick and jamming it down your throat, coarse from all the cocks that’ve been shoved down that tube meant for air over the past thirty years.

but never mind that. drink that beer. smoke that grit. fall asleep and repeat all the shit you hate until you forget who you were.