3 subject notebook

you've been terribly inclined for him
since longer than you thought:
six months rather than three.

nostalgia, maybe
or just the curiosity of
looking back.

everything seems out of place
you can't find what you're looking for
and documents are constantly lost.

yet all the while, he is
a solitary figure.

hearts beat, not one at a time
but many at a time, and for many.

he knows this.

the outdoors are now foreign
and the ones you love are too
but now, you can't tell if it's
your fault or their's.

maybe the man with the brick face
triangle eyes and silent composure
will never ever know how you feel.
maybe, not matter how many times
you search for skin
for eyes
he will never fully understand
and will be blinded by veils
of uncertainty for his own being.

there are other's, and there will be
painted black, as if to blend in to the
night
but still you see them clearly.
and in this state
you think of apartments and cooking
and to change the course of direction
would be the most foolish decision
you could ever make.

quick

twilight
when the sun falls under the horizon
when the sky darkens
moon rises, stars alight;
there is no REM
eyelids are poised open
and grasshoppers
maybe distant static
is the only sound whispered in your ear.

it's madness in it's own form
but it's your only
escape.

at times,
rhythmic beats will create a pattern
within your toes
within your arms, sinew and muscle
within your mind
and all you hear is rushing
a river passing,
blood,
and all you hear is
the beat.

at times,
the beat stutters
or maybe gets too loud
and, off track
confused, maybe
frightened
you will try to find your way back
and you will succeed.
every. time.

and if it ever were to end
it would not be your doing.

sometimes,
you look too far ahead
and you wonder how things change
from one side to another
and you fear for something wonderful
because you are afraid of losing it.

often,
you'll disguise the indistinguishable
but off the radar it stays
and you whisper it
into keyboard, into ears

just soft enough so no one hears.

a lost voice,
something you can lose without having
speech is lost under quick fingers
and red cheeks, beating hearts.
you have strength in expression
just only when it's silent.

worthless

unusual feelings;
someone's blowing balloons up in your chest
it's pressure, it's stress.
things aren't the same
they all feel different
and maybe this is just growing up.

it's scary
and the thoughts in your head
open up different horizons
new and fresh and foreboding
and you will always daydream
and fear the worse
but fear yourself into some kind of
super human
that you'll never be.

somber eyes stare in the mirror
round, brown
half the time remarked as
remarkable.
and the rest they are just
shit.

maybe this is just the blood flowing
through your veins.
maybe it's the sights you saw today

your head never seems to settle
words, thoughts, feelings
a jumbled mess.
and everyone sees that as something bad
but you use it to your advantage,
you use it with what you're good at.

no sleep, good for the soul

"frown"
he commands
and upon request, you supply
supply and demand
and he says
"look, a smile"
and laughs.
but all you see is a
frown.

you feel the need
to thank an other worldly force
god or something more ridiculous
for such good fortune.
every visible patch of skin
a color you could never vocalize
or describe with pretty words
is something you wish to
run your fingerprints over
over and over and over...
until they bleed or until
anything can stop you
(time, mostly)

and this is the most beautiful thing
you think you've ever seen
and every single piece
is just as beautiful as the next

go home now

knuckles,
where intermediate phalanges meet
proximals;
they rap
(a hollow noise)
onto breastbones,
to create
smiles and laughter
and wonder.
but put your ear to his chest
to hear a beating heart
and realize,
he's made the same
just like everyone else.
and in some aspects
this is a let down,
but also a relief.

you thought,
maybe,
a heart does not control this boy
nor a mind, a machine
but something else
to make him so different.

but his blood pumps through his veins
like every other human
and in this thought
he was born the same
and he will age the same,
with you
but he lives different,
very much so.

bad for you

10 days straight.
any questions asked
will be swept away.
dust pan and broom
scratches the surface of
beige leather
or tea with milk
soft hands brush soft hair
out of piercing eyes.
looking back
what you have are pictures
and words.
what you've always had
and what you must give away.

sleep can wait.
the human body tests its limits
daily
everything happens at night
everything worth living for.

trucks driven,
vans,
fancy cars without
acquaintances and
snarls.

you wont see the sun until 7
maybe
but light leads the way
the day breaks at 5am.
and life seems less livable.

the more you look at him
the less he seems.
before he was a figure in life
a statue of something preservable
inspiration, something to look up to.
ruin and love rip off his mask
to reveal the truth beneath.
his simplicity and lack of tact
burn perfect cigarette circles
into your memory.

to your closed eyelids
the car is infrared.
their outlines sear through
the sheet with bristles
radio, body, wheel
they all stay perfected in your mind
for just that moment.
and when you open,
a new world approaches
one with lights and solidity.
eyes closed, 2-d virtual
eye open, 3-d nerves.

in the van we chase a storm
to the beach where the lightening
strikes far off into the black ocean.
the tin water swallows the electricity.
the lights are bright on the strip
the sand gray, the air cold.
here, time is segmented
time comes in little bits and pieces
and each matter and are loved.
forgotten japanese gardens find their way
into your mind.

you're disconnected now,
a separate story from the rest.
the rain falls,
bites at your skin
and nothing matters anymore.
each mistake made
each slip of a finger
creates a smile
wide and bright that you must hide
behind foreign scarves.

the world is split
four parts, again.
deja vu makes its appearance
as always.
the familiarity brings warmth
and home.

each impulse comes in waves
radio, micro, unearthly
it crashes over you, like an ocean
and tightens your body
sets you straight
shiver and convulsions grind like gears
inside.
intoxication, it sets your skin on strings
lifts you up to where
it should be.

recklessness should be avoided
but here you stand in the middle
of everything you ever hated
and everything you said you'd never do
and in love with it you are.
you've never been so confused
and you've never smiled so wide.
but alone you are in a full car
everyone lives in their own world.

the LCD looks like a movie screen
old, cracks in the film
dust on the reel.

this isn't what you expect
but it's something familiar
amplified ten times.
maybe you just can't ever remember
'last times'
for you must forget to remember.

a weight on your stomach
literal and not figurative
it centers your attention
words repeat
'pure delight, sugar pie'
and rapid rivers flow past.
wrinkles in the sheet of water
black and the light is orange.

you hate yourself but
what else is new?

heat, rain.
legs bending like sandalwood inward
legs waterlogged,
face crumpling inwards, heavy
then stretched open into a gate.

light means sight
without it, you are one object
a machine, typical.

him, your existence.
a vehicle and the water.
a three part life.
beasts walk in front of you
lead the way to your blind eye
and your feet are sandpaper

the water floods the streets
turns asphalt to ocean
parking spaces and double yellow lines
just a part of the sea floor.
there are oceans in the parking lots.

naivety can be tasted in the air
and the climate is just rights.
the lightening falls into the gray sky.
what intimacy is here?
a car garage with numb fingers and spring water.
ranting to yourself
drowning in your owns words, causing heavy breath.

the one girl you are connected most with
you don't think she likes you
anyone or anything for that matter.
she sits with a blank stare
unaware, an apathetic injury.
this may be a horror movie.

you feel like a motherly figure
and yet one stands before you.
you feel as if you have a soul
and it comes from somewhere beautiful
celestial.
but the guilt swells up, too.

walking along
slogging to civilization
lost but not lost
a world you've forgotten
lived in
and are rediscovering.

each eye has its own perspective
each on a different path
a light shines through his middle
two halves are created
each eye has one, in focus and contrast

the subjects they speak of
sense is lost
and never found
and to you, it feels like metal ripping from cars.
she is so different,
cold, asleep
but awake.

silent screams are hidden
behind swirled lips
insanity ensues
it feels like you're going 12
on a 65 highway.
there is silence
but old NES sounds fill your ears
static and blips.

her eyes in the mirror
it's too dark to see
if she's watching.
breaks squeal and alleyways come in
to focus.
alleyways are taken and breathed in.
street lights create two lives
and now water is a fear.

right now, it feels like a family
and now you know the workings
of the universe, to some degree.
in front of you, a phone
misshapen, bent.
someone took your memory reel
and cut out segments with scissors.

animal instinct on the tip of your tongue.

mucosa

sobriety a lost eden
4 parts segmented
and full.
none purified
none accepted,
you will surely go to hell.
what you have in arms reach
your friends
and with that power
you are your own god

wet

the roles have switched
a hand, burgundy
it seems it seeps through
fabric, the same
or maybe the cloth itself
is attatched

lungs

all liars
all clay molds
all catalysts of one another,
reacting against but with.
the same message repeated
the same synapse to cause
a thought.
the same repetition through
god hated mouths.
hate swirls from
caves with white stalactites
and they collect in a whirlwind
counterclockwise
a funnel cloud.

the room bursts and no one cares,
they laugh.

off in a lake
the surrounding area
exists in just a mind
and the bodies inhabiting?
fake.

floating on your back.
eyes never blinking
breath never inhaling or
exhaling
at a constant rate of
asphyxiation
and the tides bring you
to where god wants you.

melt

your life lingers in your throat
any sign of teeth
the spasming of diaphragms
it surges up, seeking an escape
but your memory is firm
no matter how round the disks are
how destructible,
your life will stay stuck.

claws

when the blade speaks,
you're in.
and when it says
"let's get creative"
it's time to leave.
so swallow everything you've got
wipe the earthy taste from your lips
and smile with teeth
covered in a blue film.

weeds

organic, green
its roots spiral through
the ground.
leaves grow up, like stalks
and extend into jagged
stars.
its essence, its vapors
a sleeping pill all its own

...

you don't know
how i feel.

and you don't see
what i see.

you can never imagine
what happens after dark

a few more days

it feels as if
you are watching evolution
on film.
black and white
grainy film.
bodies writhe, shake
slither up from the floor
blossom into extended arms,
hands, fingers
they flex and jive and juxtapose
and fall once again,
like a flower dying
it's petals curl, suck in to the core.
fetal to lucid to solid to fetal
all in one motion.

the world shakes,
the floorboards bend.
such a small room for such
energy.
the walls resonate
with not just sound but
emotion and
life.
the warmth:
does it come from
outside
or from the bodies that
surround?

not a frown in the room
smiles
maybe drunken, maybe induced
maybe organic and true.
the lights reflecting on the windowpanes
they mimic stars on the dark sky
and fool any passing eye.

dual bodies
entirely different in sight
but in voice,
in passion, they are identical.
they shelve themselves
for the crowd to see and
speculate,
just to be
speculated
to be
heard.

the lights are dim,
the atmosphere dense
and full
yet tasteful.
people open their mouths
for a taste.

a crack, a scratch, a mere blemish
on a window
or perhaps an insect with
see through wings.
the light catches it
just right
and you are sure of
nothing.

in a finale,
or a final thought
the arms outstretch
to one beat, then another.
a constant sea, constant waves
of human action and
instinct.
one half partial to the offbeat
the other partial to
treble.
they create an ocean
together, in this room.