Sunday, March 30, 2008

The Boy Is Dead (Dec 17 2007)

This is a story i wrote in early december of 2007. It's pretty much word-for-word of a dream i had about this boy that i wasn't in love with anymore.

The Boy had a terminal illness and we all knew that it was the day that he was going to die, but some people weren't allowed to be told. I t would cause too much unrest. There were 270 of us in all at the funeral party -- I guess you could call it a preemptive wake. The room was dark and concrete, the basement to some oversized New York apartment building looming up above. It had many rooms; it was a fitting place to say farewell, reminiscent of the catacombs of old.
The band began to play in the center of the room and the people thronged around them like ants. It was not a dirge -- the music was downright poppy -- and we found ourselves offended, crawling of into a corner of the room while the abomination occurred. It was the Boy's deathday, and they were playing a for spectacle, a show.

But then the pattern of the music broke, spilling across the basement in so many echoes like marbles come tumbling out of their sack. The drummer had broken down into sobs, and simply couldn't go on. At the sight of this I believe reality struck the Man, for he began to wail into the microphone like no human creature before, loud racking sobs accompanied by piercing shrieks and the most empty howls, like winds sweeping across a dark plane. The room grew silent as I left. I had to find him.

The basement had many strange rooms that I had become quite lost in before, but perhaps it understood the gravity of the situation. The foundations parted like a magician's curtain and I found myself in his room, paralyzed by the sleeping figure I saw curled up beneath the green paisley sheets of a bed much too large for him. I thought he was dead, and the room spun. The smoky tiles lining the fireplace became a blur, a miasma resembling a fortune teller's fire and the bare branches arranged so artfully in a vase the color of a robin's egg atop the mantelpiece a creature like Loki, 1,000 Lokis leering and grimacing and waving their mischievous arms at me, simultaneously calling Odin, gallows-god, to come for my boy.

The tear that plashed onto the exposed skin of my collarbone brought me back. It was a grim and probable fantasy, but I had to check, to be sure that my lover was dead before invoking such treachery with my thoughts. Odin arrives even unwelcome, and Loki never leaves. I could not prepare any sort of place for them here.

The Boy was curled around a stuffed bear, breathing shallowly. His kitten was nowhere to be found, probably scared off by the aura of death that hung about the room although the Boy was, upon my inspection, absolutely not dead yet -- his cheeks were dusted pink and a small shine of spittle graced his lower lip. Moving closer, I could still hear his breath.

The time was close, but it had not yet come, so I kissed him instead on his forehead as I left the room.

Outside the funeral party raged and roared once more, the dancers becoming frenzied as the time drew nearer to midnight and the slated day come closer to its end. I could see it in all of their eyes -- the half-hope that it was a lie, a false prophecy from an angry god, and that the slated act would not occur. This hope fueled the dancers' passion, and the band did not stop. Lo, it was a sight to be seen. Guests had come dressed in the Boy's honor, some as zombies and their awful brides, others as manga girls and boys, androgyny almost entirely contained except for the tiny skirts the girls were wearing -- without underwear. A few even deigned to arrive as those animals that he had dreamed about in his younger youth, dragons and giant lunar cats and confectioned butterflies. It was a maudlin affair; everyone was drunk and they were all dancing, but nobody was happy. Occasionally a blue spark would shoot out from the direction of the band -- tears had gotten into the microphone, into the amplifier, onto all of our faces. The equipment sizzled as our hearts did.
It was 11:57 and my eyes jerked down to my watch. I knew it was time, it was over, something was wrong, but the house was not admitting me. I felt things, horrible things, I knew their presence like I had known his, long ago, when he used to try to surprise me on the hallways. I had to get to that room, to bargain or to mourn, to save him or say goodbye. It was no use. The clock struck midnight and the revelers went mad. The crowd scattered, the band dropped their instruments, and no noise could be heard but for the scrambling of feet and the scream of the microphone, feeding back a grief greater than any put into it by the Man. Everything was wrong, I knew it. They were searching for a live Boy, it was past midnight, they thought that he was saved, they were all saved, and could leave this place now, carrying him atop their shoulders like a king but still LEAVING, still escaping the place that stank of death.

It was 12:51 when I finally made it to his room to discover a small girl, dressed in white, keening by the side of his bed. She looked up at me with china blue eyes rimmed dark and deep by sadness. Her mouth was drawn into the tiniest pink knot of misery. I knew who she was.
"Anima, you did well. Although... although the soul is gone the body..."
I choked on my words. I saw the Boy. He looked more beautiful than I had ever seen him before, skin white as ice and as even in tone, eyelashes spilling out onto it like December's willow branches grazing a frozen lake of truly unplumbable depths. The body did remain, but the soul had vanished. Slowly the ice was becoming bluer as reality set in and the winter in all of our hearts deepened.

I looked over at Anima. "Can you...?"
"Mrrowr."
"Oh." In her grief Anima had, like the Boy, retained her human form, but she had lost her will to be fully human. Her powers of speech had vanished just as she had the last time I visited him. I remembered my duties. I closed his eyes for the final time, sealing them each with my lips.

We both wailed, and as we cried to a moon invisible up through the greatness of our concrete vessel, a low moan accompanied us. It was the bear, and groans continued to escape her like pups, one after the other slipping out into this world as much of a curiosity as the fresh spawn of a unicorn, and as holy. She could not be living unless --
"You... you were successful." I gaped at the kitten, now feline once more. "Wonderful cat," I said. "If Bast were still alive herself to receive you, upon your death you would have the greatest funeral known to the animal world. He.. you... He shall return."
"Mrrr," she said.

Ballin'

I wrote these all in the F train from Manhattan to Brooklyn on 6/11/2007, I was pretty upset but I like how they turned out. Except the first one actually, i wrote that in some church near grace church but that isn't it.

000-000-0000

Silverdress churchpoem
sunglass blue koan
look at the dead saints
I like them because they’re static
but elbaorate, so pretty
text message cathedral!
Anachronism’s pen
self importance napping
in the pews
I won’t take them off
it can’t be checked
straws & eagle brains
train-quake shaking catacombs
how many dead people are there?
Look at him
his watercolour wash
embroidered bug
to the gloury of God
and in loving memory
Marie Hodges Bald
1924-1986
the shimmer on me is wearing off.

Madame Tossedsalad

Spectacle spectacle
daisy chain women
depression unfolding
oligarchy broccoli, spin
till you’re whipped and
fly free over mekons
rainbow gumdrops neon
cherry acid. Ray Richie
Rishy Ruma
Rumour
brat pack pick ice pick
eskimo sealgirl cobalt
aqua world how will I
tell it when you’re gone?

Z. Web

My brain buzzing all the
time so many words
they quest for rhymes over
and over intuition prohibits it exhibits
a brain writing about its “I”
monologuing in a cramped
dark glitter-free shed in the rain
and lightning crashes all around
you but you’re cool
and avoidant
this nightstalk cliché is
safe from documentation your upper
arms glisten & your crown
is the moon.

Caribou Nerve Net

Werewolves pine zone
ignominy bite-marking
everywhere all your pencils you love
to spit and twist
growlybark tail-chase
be still my heart
with a golden magic silver
bullet twinkle sky
wound seeping red blood
carnelian neck-ruff
howl-eyes moaning
in the crawl.

VIP

POV point of vance earl
bagger-baldy circumcized
strap-on in my bag
rainbow hidden toad
glisten pencils forest
fish toad pond crane
myth crab sparkle
bamboo?

Chanel No. 5

Drippyhead canary yellow
first cross scrawl
illegal ledge heart
falling and twist trapped
gravity g force limbo
tarmac down there
yellow lines parrot
fly order order perfect
always eyeliner order smile.

le.m.n.o.p.portunity

Hell city dolce sweet
time bomb tick clock
racing lucidarian F
garble ugh click talk
no spanish intelligence
indian europe tapestry
degree cash cow
krsňa club clap hands
writing mess odd
realtime feature
flick the loss of my
marbles put it back in the bag hope
dick cunt smiles at us
fame and fortune
queens & dreams
HIV killed me I
sleep on my left-
hand crayon box.

when i was young

"I will never say that something is my favorite thing again unless i consider it and mean it. the whole idea of favoritism is redundant, as favorites change. fuck it, it's not even about that. instead of being about me this is secretly about everyone who says things that they don't mean; out of love, out of necessity, out of desperation and fear. it would be complete hypocracy, but i wish everyone would stop it. lies are lies are lies are lies. i will never be involved with somebody who would lie to me.

in all sobriety, it is interesting how much integrity the written word has lost. or, the word in general. there was a time when to swear your honor was to put your very life and mortal soul at stake for a cause- now what we say means nothing. is this inevitable as society begins its downshift into what will surely soon become a period of heavy regression? i only use the downfall of society as a point because i think it is obvious to everyone that that is what is going on at present. but, that said, how much can anyone be trusted to be honest? considering that we are of the iGeneration where indigo children and prodigies run rampant through the streets and it becomes easier and more recommended every day to disguise who you truly are, i don't think that honesty exists anymore. i see myself and everyone else i know moving through their spheres spitting and receiving mental garbage, and i cannot let it go. i don't consider myself a vehicle for social change, but it has grown to the point that i would rather isolate myself with artifacts from the past than continue participating in this culture of dishonesty."

aw

inside the cardboard box covered with pictures of christian bale (Jul 19 2007)

some sleepover midsummer last summer:

It's shitty when you eat food and go to sleep on your half-full, half-empty belly churning away, metabolizing regretfully in the half-dark of premorning. It's at this time that it becomes clear to you - every fault and crack in the blighted and collectivized ass of America. And slowly... as the leftovers snake their way through your upper intestine this perspective - this nearly transcendental knowledge extends and balloons to encompass the whole world. And you wonder: why. am i so alone.

Everywhere there are thousands - millions of people who I hate, they're all crawling around like only semi-conscious ants, dragging their bellies through somebody else's shit, eating and recycling it until it becomes their own, but they're still there, still happy, ever-present for my ridicule: In becoming a God, all filiality, all lovecare and mental socialism, is gone.

Sacrificing my godhead is not an option,
and even though I have you, snoozing away in the semidarkness, my titan twin chained to a bed like Caucasus we're isolated our fusion has ruined everything except one for the other and even though we're in love it's in a crystal-cut bubble suspended in impermeable space: we watch the clouds amble by in darkness only to be broken by occasional, painful visits of grinning reality.

I'm a ufo and you're a doll and we both serve our social purposes - we got memes and yours is older than mine but -

Luna-1

today is the day that the soviets launched my namesake.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

i'm still getting over its sound

navy blue ocean
birds and telephones, standing

beneath it he looks
just like he always does ,
jesus and mark twain
just
those
two

things

fists and turkey and jam sandwiches folded we
watch the phylogenic trees they're
stirring in subaquatic winds our
secret words will shimmer
in the largest crystals
they're broken.

Sunday, March 2, 2008

LOLcats

1. Does anyone know your password to your MySpace? nope
2. What was the last thing you ordered at McDonald's? i could only afford one cheeseburger.
3. Are you an emotional person? tryna'
5. Do you like your name? it's okay
6. Do you believe in love at first sight? only in retrospect
7. What was the last thing you did? read "Lolenzo's oil" in a text-message
8. Who was the last person you ate with? felix
9. What are you listening to right now? the Palestrina
10. How's the weather right now? someone told me it was nice out
11. Last person who called you? "tola"
12. Last lie you told? all of them!
13. Last song you sang? the stupid hi-hat portion of lucas' mario party beatbox thingie
14. Lost a friendship over something stupid? yeah! mother came home when i was drunk at a friend's house. i was allowed to be there previously but post-incident i am apparently a criminal.
15. Last thing you bought? a milky way because i was avoiding my mother.
16. Last time you had starbucks? barnes and noble hot chocolate party alone
17. Where do you wish you were? someplace warm and clean
18. Faked being sick to miss work/school? absolutely.
19. What time did you wake up today? 1:04
20. What did you do last night? consoled and carried lots of drum hardware. coughed up a few things as well.
21. Last person you made fun of? felix
22. What are you wearing right now? pajammers
23. What's the first thing you notice about the opposite sex? same thing i notice about the same sex.. the way they carry themselves i suppose. posture says a lot about a person.
24. Where are you right now? my bedroom
32. Whats the most annoying thing someone has said to you? silence
33. Last thing of yours that broke? shirt
34. Do you want to get married? ˚∆©ß∂¬∆
35. Would you bungee jump? probably
36. Can you speak Spanish? enough
37. Do you like roller coasters? they make me cry,
38. Is there anything you wished for this summer? reciprocation
41. Thinking about someone right now? not really
42. Concerned about life right now? always!
43. Have you ever tripped going up the stairs? ow
44. What are you looking forward to this summer? BURNING MAN