Henry The Jealous Monk

The fear of misinterpretation haunts all of my actions.  I’ll use fear as a means of being afraid.  I’ll think about other’s reception of my love, for that alone is enough.  I will stand victorious with my chest matted with blood to be dominate in that moment, and I will love the ensuing downward slide to obscurity.  

I’ll cry and whimper when I learn you don’t love me like I love you.  That you’ve received my love as a perversion of what I meant.  In bringing all my feelings to the surface, I cast a shadow over the essence of my actions.  I have made a terrible mistake and I have no choice but to passionately accept it.  I cannot, like an ascetic, move on from what I deeply feel is the meaning of my life.

G_ddamn this fucking d___lish tragedy.  I cannot express the loss I feel to the ones I love.  At least not in the plain language that I want to use.  THEY LIE!  Don’t keep it hid, they say.  Am nothing but a Grendelian monstrosity in their eyes.  Sense of self completely desensitized.  What is this?  Passion fading. Heartless pity for the life thought.

Memories rendered.

Nostalgia triggered. 

The trees are scattered across the hay field.

I’m wandering up the creek searching for my teenage dreams.

Concrete exteriors, rod iron grates, and pollenated sagebrush They can callous the soles of our feet But we still walk on top, crush the dead growth into the dirt The pressure, the time I, we, are the pressure and the time

Extend yourself, like bumping teeth in your first kiss Feel permafrost underneath the skin Meltdown your body for its raw minerals Return when the times have changed...

My threnody for you grows stranger everyday

Reading like a fiend, a wounded fool, i don’t want to be found, especially by the likes of your kind

my threnody grows stronger, in my cancorous heart, in my growling intestines the victims of hiroshima are shreeking

let me play a threnody for you on my stratocaster...  (!I as well!) (!coming from a guy like you!)

my hope fades for a reunion with the aurora nostalgialis 

death knells and the rebirth

You don’t need to be drunk to be weird.  You’re drunk!  I’m drunk!  No you’re not, not really.  It’s denial, old fashioned human denial with no twist.  We sublimate our true thoughts until they explode, but not as some would say out of some cliched desire to sound normal in everyday life.  Denial and anxiety have terrible connotations to their names.  They keep our inner thoughts from becoming too powerful.  A symbiotic love between your good and bad sides strengthens your integrity and contributes to the functioning of a human being.  

All in moderation.  Never too honest, never too dull.  

Nothing is done in moderation.  Name one thing done in the traditional connotation of “moderation”, you helpless and silent reader!  During the most civil of debates and negotiations, a fire is raging inside the participants. Nothing can be further from civil, clean, and fair.  

A true warrior of moderation expends all their energy into their practice, a radical practice that shuts out a chaotic world.

No rage tonight.  Welcome to the stranger whose reading words written by an unknown host.  Stay a while, find some comfort if you can and if you don’t, don’t be polite.

These times, so crazy right?  Couldn’t close my eyes to sleep if I tried.  I wish I could buy my dreams and replay them on nights like this.  Dreams of infants, dreams of dogs, dreams I can’t even begin to describe

So few of them resolved in a satisfying finish, so many are left on a precipice of ambiguity.  Vulnerable to unwarranted interpretation.

What kind of life awaits me in the morning?  Most likely a sudden moment of existential reckoning to rock me back into my slumber.  A mediocre shower will seal the day in sanitary and protective soap residue.  Mornings, my first love of tomorrow.

As I wait for this love bulb to simmer my air and tenderly warm my matter, the all night theater will play his greatest hits, the golden oldies.  And I will sit in the back row swigging from my paper bag.  But the bender will end during the uncompromising autobiography, the dark blood of my nostalgia will fill to the brim and my previous dreams will turn pitch black.  It will all be forgotten and drowned the moment I step inside the shower, remembered in glimpses and shadows.  Remembered incorrectly down the road as events that took place here in this life.

A delight, the sound of a day that’s coming to an end.  Work still to be done and yet I don’t care.  A fine blemish on a marvelous evening of sorrow and honesty.  Why bother with the disintegrating  state of mind I’ve become so accustom to?  Rid yourself of all barriers, cloaks and fertilizer compounds.  This climate can teach me to read, to write.  I wonder if she still knows me.  Simple tasks seem so cruel when viewed from high cliffs.  Off in the just barely visible horizon, tremendous leaps of faith occur everyday.  

I sit and wonder at all the faces of the people I’ve met, where they are now and who they’ve become.  Do they even think of me?  What are their thoughts on the looming age crisis in Japan?  

White men touting a miracle for the most trigger happy country on earth.  What’s my role in all of this?  The Abstinent Manner and Constant Observer, objective in all beliefs.  Never failing to catch my self.  Always wondering wondering wondering

Take and be and run and be…

All of this action is kicking my head.  Some where along the way I said for things to be a certain way, I must make the decisions.  Running the vast expanses of everything from my old mind to windmills in China.  But I can barely breathe in this space and I’m powerless over my own mind, some times.  Why ask questions in the middle of poems so much?  

waters grow and fall to the shore, brings life to where there was none before.  Sun light dancing on ridged peaks casting shadows across the valley.  Waters still grow, fill mud clogged viaducts, and the rushing streams to oceans beyond mountains.  A life beyond dreams, on solid ground and fresh earth.  a new one to begin.  lifetimes, over and over, stretching beyond dreams.  So many lives yet to come.

to each other, we are creators.  and as the creators of one another, we find it in ourselves to keep each other in this life.

fine dots appear on the horizon.  it’s colored white and black.  today, she said, we sing together.  as one spirit.  one agony shared.   the voices, in harmony, in dissonance, in pure rage the waves grow and splash on the sounds from above.

it’s just ecstasy, why make the world cry?  

Words are coming to me like they’ve never done before.  An effortless glaze drops over my eyes.  

Contacts, with no solution to counteract the deterioration

Matter churning headaches that bleed my vessels raw

 On a path we drove.  A friend and i and another.  The gum I spit in the canal.  The pacifico I downed, in what seemed to be a slow burn of our time. The lightning illuminating the realm beyond city lights and outside my story.  

I am even with no one in my world.  Some people may come.  They take and I give, only if I receive my due.  A sum of what you can be to another human being: Chewed Gum in Oily Hair.  Kick me to the curb and I’ll go.  I removed your shoes from my feet and slid my sandals on snug to run from your gum.

I am expecting a great lightening to come.  I may float to great heights in the aftermath.  Among stars and river rats.  Animal brains and whiskey shots. Revelation is a surprise to no one these days, ‘we all knew, just tell us the details to confirm our squirming curiosity.’  A revelation to change my mind and alter my spirit is difficult to come by.  

Arrow shots through my friend’s shirt remembers the life of another.  Beer and open night talk creates new roads to tackle and travel down to what no one has seen before.  So much water will fall into our worlds, but my summer friends and winter cortex wanderers are out of sight and out of mind.  What have these memories amounted to? 

Challenging escapades born of tumultuous happenstance 

Go fuck all your lovers, who knows how much time you have left.  The fuel light is lit.  50 miles to go, give or take?  The trip reads 426, and that’s when I get anxious.  That’s when Wednesday really stinks into my skin.  One of these days you’ll hit igneous bottom like a holy organic musical sex toy.  

You’ll take everyone down with you, sink softly into the ocean’s abyss wiping pubic hair from your lips.  The wide eyed orgasmic faces will flash before your eyes, 

forget the names

forget the characters

Oh fleeting and wandering cumulous clouds.  Bright was my horizon until you came into my life.  Leaving no one spared, my soul writhes screams and shouts. Left me wandering the streets at dawn post a glorious and empty night.

you can’t leave me now, not when it’s all just a game

Not when it’s all just started with your friend, he’s dull and very lame

when i see you again things will have changed for the better.  why not come now and enjoy this electric hot weather

its not a crime to be with me, i swear

you will not die or feel pain, just an agony within and my onerous talking

There's no quiet in the streets tonight.  Railroad gardens rumble on the outskirts of town

My old mind is making up rhythm in my dreams again

What kinda curse can be found worse than its maker?

The kind pulled from a stolen pocket

Out of character

With no presence of mind to stop you

Saying hi to no one, she’s just that runaway loser.  Is it within you to make someone smile or do you pout this deep constantly?  Would a child know the difference between your smile and a hole in the ground? I wouldn’t know, my mind is constantly besieging my soul

for everything not nailed down

for everything that hurts not to have

for the things i thought i held dear

What dearly held things?  Do you mean the highly praised eyeful of saline?

This was all just an escapade.  I was just lying, i hold no such honesty in my arsenal.

ruining games and parties left and right, my conscience is unfazed.  But with you, in the hallway, my younger self’s amazed.  And i’m called back to that lonesome teenage dream of flowers in the shade

Of a lawn’s morning in the sunlight, bursting apart the grass sprouted dirt minted with the sweaty dew of earth’s hellish and organic desires

inside my tiny room, the stucco seals me in

You, running circles round my bed, open the door and begin!

there’s no time left to feel the pain.  No space to wonder anymore

silence is easy when you’re doubtful and lame

unveil your darkest corners, the utmost and impenetrable vaults.  All things are meant to be revealed, why else would we anxiously guard ourselves from a large exon valdez incident.  These things wouldn’t be around if you didn’t fucking love it like a masochistic scene girl

think to walk to run to sprint to fly

a transcendence maybe a little too high?

teetering on the precipice of an evil ocean so crazy my feet can’t keep still.  My heart’s pumping a foreign venom, do i trust it?  Hopelessly transfusing and losing isn’t the way you wanted to live.  Soon you will be invisible and that’s when i fall into a trance.  This is what I’ve longed for, a release from your natural states and beings.  

Oh where do you go?

go be that loser lost in the whirlpool

no fool will pull me out

no selfish face will smile at me again

no loosened body will shudder in my presence ever again!

no black cat can stand ridged and forlorned near my feet

no wandering, intoxicated girls can tear your precious atomic particles to pieces, you fetsh’ing woman hating waste of fresh perverted flesh and grey matter

no goods or currency are worth the time and effort it takes to be within yourself  lost like spinning doors in the grand hotels of embarrcadero avenue

mouse traps on the third floor and ant’s poison on the fifth

roach aerosol cans in the freezers, clouds of rats reaching the knobs that the doormen said without a shadow of a doubt were impervious

i’m cutting my hotel room into digestible pieces for my dog to eat

cold sweating to jazz standards i hope are in key

mugs ablaze from the firewater, "that’ll put cysts on your liver”

a foreshadow of a tumor's birth and it’s death along with it's host

‘Here it is, a lonely prey soon to be infinitioned inside a museum.  My whole heart aches for my old bloody venom.  Everyday I drink growlers of water to get fucked up and back to where i was: