how novel

I’ve started work on a novel. My gut tells me that it is going to end up being rather lengthy, and I doubt anyone will ever want to read it, due to the fact that, like so much of my writing, I have not one, but many, points in mind and they tend to get so hopelessly lost in each other that making sense of them is a lost cause.

I can say now that it will likely be a kind of guidebook to the massive labyrinth of confused thought that is my self. There will be some infusion of present events with old memories, lots of melancholy, rubbish, and nonsense.

marji

it is the world that spins
as she dances
fuzzy steps
and half-hearted lies
but the song continues
we shake as she bows
undulating features
thrown into the sky
to shine as stars

idiot

once, all of these things in my life
a guitar always played
heaps of dirty laundry
spread on the floor like
dirty jam
this is how it all plays out
pretending to live while
a fan blows on my face
just barely enough light to see
just enough will to want to
cloth stained with weepy dreams
still feeling sappy
enough to cry louder
and i realize with a long slow silent breath
that i don’t know what is going on
and i don’t know what i’m thinking about

this poem

this sentence will fade into what will be a memory
months from now, i will re-read it and wonder
whether or not i just wrote it yesterday
what did i eat for supper that night?
so much time in between, wasted on frivolity
dreaming out into blank spaces
with blank expression
wondering if i am conscious or not

dark alien

forced into the back of a car
driven by a hooded mystery
the quiet ringing in my ears
green confusion
and dizziness
the heart throbs and explodes
and as the blood drips
from my lips
i feel alive
and oh so very sorry for these poor people
the insanity vibrates in the air
like the heat waves
they nail my wrists to a cross
and point their guns at my grim face
the darkness welcomes me

miles

reach out and grab hold
of what it means to exist
discover all life as
a terrible miracle of nature
refuse happiness and seek it out
while breathing in wonder
that is air

prayer

my good friend
likes to pray
and so i pray with him
despite not believing in god
there is comfort to be found
in talking to oneself
for are we not all gods?

matchbook vs blog vs news

i have a little journal
the size of a matchbook
it opens as a matchbook opens
and it’s tricky to write in
on the front and back
sit birds on a wire
white crows barking at me
to record my intentions
transfer my brain to paper
maybe i’ll get to it later
but first i must read the worlds books
and surf in its oceans of uselessness
bigotry, and ignorance
(so that i have stories to tell)

loution

we all
grow up
shaping, dreaming romantics
fighting for ideologies that are ultimately ineffective
morphing into
shaping, dreaming politicals
fighting over platforms that are ultimately ineffective
so
what are we left with?

searching for truth
deciphering existence in the universe
stepping out of self
and looking back in
crying, guilting
laughing, emoting
staring off into the great eye of time
never blinking
until the end

whatever works

My favorite line in the movie:

Helena: “You must have a very dim view of the human race.”
Boris: “The human race…they’ve had to install automatic toilets in public restrooms because people can’t be entrusted to flush a toilet. Come on, they can’t even flush a toilet!”