feb 02, 1-6
'1. Pre-Morning'
The rain...the solid impassive sky. Awaken to the sound
of guitar riffing and riffing. Million images tumble through my head as I sit up and the music is killed as I switch it off. Lamp. Red hankerchief draped over it to cast ruby light on my room, illuminating my many bookshelves, filled with poetry and prose, memory statues of cats and dragons and the Virgin Mary, scattered rosaries of my Catholic persuasions, a bible, dictionaries sitting next to 'The Sun Also Rises'...stolen or kept from its owner (not me), libary books on the floor with notebooks filled and empty which not even I will read, air of pencil sharpenings and filthy laundry, stacks of warped and cut-up magazines, piled with less care than with which my books are piled vertical and horizontal diagonal, everywhichway on my shelves. Books of saints, books of the Dammed. Stumbling over bags and pants on my way to the door, to the shower. Shower. Shower, then stumble back to bed. Sleep now and later. Dress; same clothes every two weeks. I don't care anymore, appearence is everything, only thing that people take notice to so why should I care, I don’t care so I should give an appearence of not caring.
***
”2. Morning, Now.”
The dismal, gray, sad sky hung over me as I stepped carefully around puddles in the courtyard. A few years ago, I thought to myself, they let kids smoke out here...that was only a few short years before I came here. I wished that I could have a smoke right now, relieve stress and maybe give me a slight buzz, slight lightheadedness. Because I'm not a regular smoker, one cigarette a week was often all I needed, that and sleep. Today was perfect sleeping weather. Rainy and cold. It was going to be a long boring day; I had all of my work done, the teachers were lazier on Fridays, and I just wasn't interested. Careless. Not carefree, just careless. I am a sole glum sufferer as I make my way along the wet hard surface of the concrete walk. I am alone in the courtyard. Alone in thought. Thinking...thinking. There is a girl, I saw her this morning when my dad dropped me off; a short hispanic girl with lips like deep red rosepetals, skin like brown rice, kind smile too; but I'd only ever heard her talk a few times. Only once to me. She isnt like other hispanic girls I have encountered, different I guess. She probably grew up in the suburbs, didnt develop the unattractive attitude that many others have. I see her everywhere in school, as if we were following each other; and we make eye contact or sometimes flash a secret smile at one another, but never never talk of get more than a foot away from each other. I don’t even know her name, she doesn’t know mine.
I get to the other side of the courtyard after a minute or two and walk into the warm school with it's dim lighting, crowded hallways. I turn left and proceed down the hall, feeling funny but no friends pass me by on the left side. I see one friend, but she doesn’t say a thing, doesn’t make eye contact, I consider yelling her name to startle her out of the early morning trance, but I do not and continue down the hall more sullen and quiet then at first. I take another turn and stop at the water fountain to get a drink. My reflection is getting a drink in the warped image created by the curved basin of the fountain. A few more acquaintances (not really friends) walk on by while i have my back to the hall way, drinking. No greetings exchanged, I don’t even notice them until I turn around to continue to my homeroom. I feel lonely, even tho there was almost no way for them to know it was me at the water fountain. If I didnt know any better, I'd say I was a ghost. The reflection in the metal basin caused that notion to dissappear. I suppose I am alive. The thing is, nobody knows it yet.
~~
"truth is beauty, but so are lies."
love creates the perfect
illusion.
love
can make a whore
look like an angel.
when we are in love, ice is diamond
piss is wine
perfection is anything.
love makes everything
taste better.
its like a sirloin
big french fries
and ice cream
w/a cherry on top
for every meal.
every moment of true love is bliss.
but then again
not all love is true
love.
illusions are priceless but reality
creaps in like a cold wind thru a screendoor
in siberia.
angels become
whores.
ice melts.
piss begins to reek.
perfection makes you sick.
love begins to not be love
and begins to taste very very
bitter.
every moment becomes HELL.
and before you know
whats happening, you aren't in love
anymore.
at this point, you begin to be
alone
again.
(2/1/02 and 2/3/02)
~
”you and the sun”
i woke up this morning
and the sunlight
burned my eyes.
it was as if the window
window sill
and my blankets
had all been dipped
in gold.
it was softly gorgeous.
i woke up this morning
and the bright sun
the same sun that i sometimes avoid.
made me smile.
i was thinking of you.
whether it was the gorgeous sunlight
that made me think of you
or thinking of you that made
the sun look gorgeous.
i don’t know.
i don’t care.
it wasnt coincidence.
the light
your image burned under
my eyelids
the warmth that the sun
blasted on my half sleeping body...
it was all too gorgeous for me.
(2/03/02)
~~
”Sunday, looking at Friday and Saturday.”
on friday
i wasted the whole
day
at school.
then,
i wasted my whole
night
at work.
an hour after work
i went out driving around
w/brian and derek
and to me that time spent smoking cigs
and laughing at bullshit
was the least wasted part of the day.
i got home at midnight.
slept 6 hours.
woke up
shitty and tired.
and then proceeded
to build
the new family business.
from 8:30 am
till 7 pm
i drove
i hammered
i wall papered
i scrubbed
and
mopped...
in other words
if feels as if
i have wasted another entire
day.
just pissed it out the window.
(2/3/02)
~~
”untitled”
people in love make me
sick.
example: a sweet young couple
fighting over how SHE
always
picks where they are going out
and how sick she is of wearing the
pants in this relationship,
making the decisions
and keeping this going. the guy,
he just shrugs.
"it works that way
so i just go with it
ya know, babe?"
she begins to cry...
another example?
another couple:
he feeds her
ice cream.
she eats it and thinks about
sucking his cock
in the bathroom
right here
right now
at the fast food joint.
the lucky bastard doesn’t have a
clue.
and all i have to say to that
is that they can go to hell
w/their love.
they complain to their friends
about their "significant
others".
i hear their complaints
and
all i can think is:
i don’t have anyone to argue w/,
i don’t have anyone to make decisions for me,
i don’t have anyone to feed ice cream,
and i don’t have anyone to suck my cock.
(2/??/02)
~~
”everything's better in the end”
spent the evening
feeling exhausted/alone.
drove and smoked
talked and listened.
my life, i realize
is slowly tipping
back, towards the sun.
i've his rock bottom
but that was weeks
ago. now balance is
at hand;
ecstasy is close.
life was shit.
life is better, now.
soon, life
will feel
better than it ever
felt.
but at the moment
just taking a shit
hurts like hell.
(2/03/02)
~~
“typical paean” by john rogers
you are beautiful like the ocean
and like the ocean
you are not mine
and each time
i attempt
to hold
too much of
you
in my hands
you seep thru the
cracks my fingers make
and i cant
even enjoy
the feeling of you
in a cup of my palms,
i have to settle for the
sensation
of you trickling between
my fingers.
(2/5/02)
~~
“5 dreams awaken from” by john rogers
1
woke to the sound of cheap
electric guitar tinkling thru my
little stereo.
i sat up very quick
and very straight
and shut the damn thing
off.
i don’t want to hear a thing.
i was having the best dream
about sleeping in
today.
2
i feel sleeping on the bus
big, fish-smelling
yellow school
bus.
i don’t remember having dreams this time
but i woke up
thinking:
why aren’t i in bed.
3
thumbing thru an old picture
album of us
when we were us
and you looked so good
wet
and happy.
it was so good
i could eat that moment.
...i blinked, opened my eyes
to the sound of the bell ringing.
4
i rolled over
and knew it was a dream
cuz everything moved slow
as water.
i was in a small
cramped cold bed
but it wasn’t too cold.
no, there was someone else
in bed w/me.
her back was to me.
i tried to roll her over.
as she turned
i woke up
again
and across the room from me
it was her.
5
blackness...where has all the light
gotten to?
its warm
like the womb.
am i dead
am i being born?
someone shakes my little black universe...
i wake
and its my sister.
it was the afternoon ride home
and i had fallen asleep
again.
(2/6/02)
~~
“untitled”
lately
i haven’t been sleeping
w/out music
ushering me off to
dream.
music, soft lullaby
accidental honest music
often makes me
linger on
the idea of you.
your face of course
but your plump
hot
sweet
sexual body.
the body of
a
goddess:
shall i submit
to thee?
big round tits
a cute gut
big soft ass
sharp nails
glossy pouty lips.
lately
i haven’t been getting to sleep
at all,
thinking of
you.
lately
i’ve been waking
up
w/a hard on.
(2/03/02)
~~
”company”
there is a thing i’ve been w/out
for far too long:
one other human being.
one
w/which to share
all my secrets
and stories
severed hands and hidden talents
all my weird mental pictures
sexual fantasies
all my bullshit and poems
and my vast desires.
one person.
a lover.
someone.
one
is all i ask for.
just
one.
(2/5/02)
~~
”untitled”
i lay in bed
w/the covers pulled up
to my chin,
half sleeping, mostly
dreaming.
dreaming of something
that’s not
THIS.
THIS, being
my every day
my existence.
i do not
hate
my life, tho.
on the contrary,
i love it
(most of the time
for that matter.)
but every once in
a while
i dream myself
out...
out of here
out of now
out of myself
out of my friends
out of my family
out of
EVERYTHING,
i lay back
nod off
thinking of my life
as a tv show
that i just
changed the channel on.
(2/05/02)
~~
"untitled"
my face itches
from a quick
shave.
i scratch it
as i make a place
for my ass to rest
on the cluttered
couch.
it turn on my electric typewriter
and feed a couple pieces
of cheap yellow notebook paper thru.
i begin to type
deliberate
and slow
thinking up my lines
as i go
trying not to sound
too sentimental
and not talking too much
about stars and dreams and flowers
and shit like that
even tho i do so
regardless.
i try to write poetry
that anyone can understand
at least one line of.
it takes practice.
it takes life experience.
i have little of
either.
being alive
and having a life
are prerequisites
for doing anything
even writing.
especially writing.
i’m young
i’m only seventeen.
sometimes i talk out my ass
pretending to be an old poet man
tho i’m not one.
i’m young.
i still live w/my parents
and go to high school.
i work in fast food
and have
acne.
that doesn’t mean
i don’t know a thing
about
something i do
every spare moment i get.
everything takes practice
so keep writing writing and writing.
when i see/learn anything
i write about it
pass it along
tell people what’s
on my mind.
ideas and words are free
and i’m free to put my
ideas into words.
i look at the piece of poetry
i just finished typing
and decide it's
got some good lines
so i put it
in the pile
i like to call
my shit pile.
all of my poems
go there.
they all need a little
work
in that pile.
(2/6/02)
~~
"was it that obvious"
"youre still subconsciously in love
with her
aren’t you?"
is what you said to me,
on of our late nights
on the phone.
i told you no
of course not
but
now that i think about it
yeah, i guess i was
but why are you surprised.
kissing YOU
was like kissing cardboard
like kissing w/out saliva.
it was dry.
it was dull.
your kiss bored
the shit out of me.
no fireworks
no gunshots
no magic.
not even 12 hours
after i dumped you
i made out in the back
of a Buick
at homecoming dance
w/a girl i'd just
met in person for the first time
that night
and she
kissed me
infinitely better
and
w/saliva.
you didn’t notice how bored i was?
i noticed how dull and lifeless
your glass violet eyes were.
i noticed how much you had to
pose
to sell the public the right angle.
and the only thing
you noticed about me
was
that i was in love
w/someone else.
i didn’t know it was
that obvious.
(2/6/02)
~~
"dying to confess"
blood rushes to my face everytime you ask me something
and i feel like
the blushing school boy that i am, but if i could
i would tell all
but i fear that would be all for
our friendship
our relationship as people, and my fantasies
of you as a lover
and i break in two everytime i glance
over at you
and see the brightness in your eyes
and i feel
i feel so sad and yet so happy and alive
i would tell you
but i fear it would not work
i would want to be able
to hold you and look at you but you wouldn’t
feel the same
i would be pushed aside and looked at
w/sideways glances
backwards and over shoulders, blonde hair
draped over your shoulders
and i would feel ten times more lonely
because
i would have confessed to you my desire
and you
would have shot me down over the ocean
and i would sink
faster than a drowned swimmer or a rock,
my heart weighting me down.
(2/6/02)
~~
"heaven & hell"
in the end
you end up dead.
that’s what we all got in common
besides
being born
of course.
if you really think
about it,
the means don’t have to justify
the end.
how can you justify
death?
it happens to the best
and the worst of us.
but depending on
what you believe
and don’t believe
there is often
a choice
of where
you go
after death.
the afterlife.
most religions have a heaven
and quite a few
have a
hell.
some religions
consider earth
hell.
very very few
consider earth
heaven.
heaven, paradise, nirvana
whatever.
it all means
the same thing:
you did alright
go on
have fun
good job
you didn’t fuck up
you’ve earned it, kid.
so
if you believe
in heaven
what ever they might
be, according to your rules
according to your God(s),
then the means
DO
justify
the end.
either way
you die.
your body dies,
at least,
and all you got left
is a soul.
and where that soul
goes
depends on the kind
of life you lived
when you still
had a body.
we all have a choice.
personally,
i'd prefer
to do my suffering
in the here and now
just in case
this IS hell
and i’m being punished.
besides
if there is something
somewhere
worse than this
i don’t want to find out.
(2/07/02)
~
god has a sense of humor
standing in front
of the mirror
i observe my
soft torso
weak arms
sweaty pits
small hands
awkward legs
hair all over
lonely cock
acne
and
i’m sure
that
god
has a sense of humor.
(2/7/02)
~~
The rain...the solid impassive sky. Awaken to the sound
of guitar riffing and riffing. Million images tumble through my head as I sit up and the music is killed as I switch it off. Lamp. Red hankerchief draped over it to cast ruby light on my room, illuminating my many bookshelves, filled with poetry and prose, memory statues of cats and dragons and the Virgin Mary, scattered rosaries of my Catholic persuasions, a bible, dictionaries sitting next to 'The Sun Also Rises'...stolen or kept from its owner (not me), libary books on the floor with notebooks filled and empty which not even I will read, air of pencil sharpenings and filthy laundry, stacks of warped and cut-up magazines, piled with less care than with which my books are piled vertical and horizontal diagonal, everywhichway on my shelves. Books of saints, books of the Dammed. Stumbling over bags and pants on my way to the door, to the shower. Shower. Shower, then stumble back to bed. Sleep now and later. Dress; same clothes every two weeks. I don't care anymore, appearence is everything, only thing that people take notice to so why should I care, I don’t care so I should give an appearence of not caring.
***
”2. Morning, Now.”
The dismal, gray, sad sky hung over me as I stepped carefully around puddles in the courtyard. A few years ago, I thought to myself, they let kids smoke out here...that was only a few short years before I came here. I wished that I could have a smoke right now, relieve stress and maybe give me a slight buzz, slight lightheadedness. Because I'm not a regular smoker, one cigarette a week was often all I needed, that and sleep. Today was perfect sleeping weather. Rainy and cold. It was going to be a long boring day; I had all of my work done, the teachers were lazier on Fridays, and I just wasn't interested. Careless. Not carefree, just careless. I am a sole glum sufferer as I make my way along the wet hard surface of the concrete walk. I am alone in the courtyard. Alone in thought. Thinking...thinking. There is a girl, I saw her this morning when my dad dropped me off; a short hispanic girl with lips like deep red rosepetals, skin like brown rice, kind smile too; but I'd only ever heard her talk a few times. Only once to me. She isnt like other hispanic girls I have encountered, different I guess. She probably grew up in the suburbs, didnt develop the unattractive attitude that many others have. I see her everywhere in school, as if we were following each other; and we make eye contact or sometimes flash a secret smile at one another, but never never talk of get more than a foot away from each other. I don’t even know her name, she doesn’t know mine.
I get to the other side of the courtyard after a minute or two and walk into the warm school with it's dim lighting, crowded hallways. I turn left and proceed down the hall, feeling funny but no friends pass me by on the left side. I see one friend, but she doesn’t say a thing, doesn’t make eye contact, I consider yelling her name to startle her out of the early morning trance, but I do not and continue down the hall more sullen and quiet then at first. I take another turn and stop at the water fountain to get a drink. My reflection is getting a drink in the warped image created by the curved basin of the fountain. A few more acquaintances (not really friends) walk on by while i have my back to the hall way, drinking. No greetings exchanged, I don’t even notice them until I turn around to continue to my homeroom. I feel lonely, even tho there was almost no way for them to know it was me at the water fountain. If I didnt know any better, I'd say I was a ghost. The reflection in the metal basin caused that notion to dissappear. I suppose I am alive. The thing is, nobody knows it yet.
~~
"truth is beauty, but so are lies."
love creates the perfect
illusion.
love
can make a whore
look like an angel.
when we are in love, ice is diamond
piss is wine
perfection is anything.
love makes everything
taste better.
its like a sirloin
big french fries
and ice cream
w/a cherry on top
for every meal.
every moment of true love is bliss.
but then again
not all love is true
love.
illusions are priceless but reality
creaps in like a cold wind thru a screendoor
in siberia.
angels become
whores.
ice melts.
piss begins to reek.
perfection makes you sick.
love begins to not be love
and begins to taste very very
bitter.
every moment becomes HELL.
and before you know
whats happening, you aren't in love
anymore.
at this point, you begin to be
alone
again.
(2/1/02 and 2/3/02)
~
”you and the sun”
i woke up this morning
and the sunlight
burned my eyes.
it was as if the window
window sill
and my blankets
had all been dipped
in gold.
it was softly gorgeous.
i woke up this morning
and the bright sun
the same sun that i sometimes avoid.
made me smile.
i was thinking of you.
whether it was the gorgeous sunlight
that made me think of you
or thinking of you that made
the sun look gorgeous.
i don’t know.
i don’t care.
it wasnt coincidence.
the light
your image burned under
my eyelids
the warmth that the sun
blasted on my half sleeping body...
it was all too gorgeous for me.
(2/03/02)
~~
”Sunday, looking at Friday and Saturday.”
on friday
i wasted the whole
day
at school.
then,
i wasted my whole
night
at work.
an hour after work
i went out driving around
w/brian and derek
and to me that time spent smoking cigs
and laughing at bullshit
was the least wasted part of the day.
i got home at midnight.
slept 6 hours.
woke up
shitty and tired.
and then proceeded
to build
the new family business.
from 8:30 am
till 7 pm
i drove
i hammered
i wall papered
i scrubbed
and
mopped...
in other words
if feels as if
i have wasted another entire
day.
just pissed it out the window.
(2/3/02)
~~
”untitled”
people in love make me
sick.
example: a sweet young couple
fighting over how SHE
always
picks where they are going out
and how sick she is of wearing the
pants in this relationship,
making the decisions
and keeping this going. the guy,
he just shrugs.
"it works that way
so i just go with it
ya know, babe?"
she begins to cry...
another example?
another couple:
he feeds her
ice cream.
she eats it and thinks about
sucking his cock
in the bathroom
right here
right now
at the fast food joint.
the lucky bastard doesn’t have a
clue.
and all i have to say to that
is that they can go to hell
w/their love.
they complain to their friends
about their "significant
others".
i hear their complaints
and
all i can think is:
i don’t have anyone to argue w/,
i don’t have anyone to make decisions for me,
i don’t have anyone to feed ice cream,
and i don’t have anyone to suck my cock.
(2/??/02)
~~
”everything's better in the end”
spent the evening
feeling exhausted/alone.
drove and smoked
talked and listened.
my life, i realize
is slowly tipping
back, towards the sun.
i've his rock bottom
but that was weeks
ago. now balance is
at hand;
ecstasy is close.
life was shit.
life is better, now.
soon, life
will feel
better than it ever
felt.
but at the moment
just taking a shit
hurts like hell.
(2/03/02)
~~
“typical paean” by john rogers
you are beautiful like the ocean
and like the ocean
you are not mine
and each time
i attempt
to hold
too much of
you
in my hands
you seep thru the
cracks my fingers make
and i cant
even enjoy
the feeling of you
in a cup of my palms,
i have to settle for the
sensation
of you trickling between
my fingers.
(2/5/02)
~~
“5 dreams awaken from” by john rogers
1
woke to the sound of cheap
electric guitar tinkling thru my
little stereo.
i sat up very quick
and very straight
and shut the damn thing
off.
i don’t want to hear a thing.
i was having the best dream
about sleeping in
today.
2
i feel sleeping on the bus
big, fish-smelling
yellow school
bus.
i don’t remember having dreams this time
but i woke up
thinking:
why aren’t i in bed.
3
thumbing thru an old picture
album of us
when we were us
and you looked so good
wet
and happy.
it was so good
i could eat that moment.
...i blinked, opened my eyes
to the sound of the bell ringing.
4
i rolled over
and knew it was a dream
cuz everything moved slow
as water.
i was in a small
cramped cold bed
but it wasn’t too cold.
no, there was someone else
in bed w/me.
her back was to me.
i tried to roll her over.
as she turned
i woke up
again
and across the room from me
it was her.
5
blackness...where has all the light
gotten to?
its warm
like the womb.
am i dead
am i being born?
someone shakes my little black universe...
i wake
and its my sister.
it was the afternoon ride home
and i had fallen asleep
again.
(2/6/02)
~~
“untitled”
lately
i haven’t been sleeping
w/out music
ushering me off to
dream.
music, soft lullaby
accidental honest music
often makes me
linger on
the idea of you.
your face of course
but your plump
hot
sweet
sexual body.
the body of
a
goddess:
shall i submit
to thee?
big round tits
a cute gut
big soft ass
sharp nails
glossy pouty lips.
lately
i haven’t been getting to sleep
at all,
thinking of
you.
lately
i’ve been waking
up
w/a hard on.
(2/03/02)
~~
”company”
there is a thing i’ve been w/out
for far too long:
one other human being.
one
w/which to share
all my secrets
and stories
severed hands and hidden talents
all my weird mental pictures
sexual fantasies
all my bullshit and poems
and my vast desires.
one person.
a lover.
someone.
one
is all i ask for.
just
one.
(2/5/02)
~~
”untitled”
i lay in bed
w/the covers pulled up
to my chin,
half sleeping, mostly
dreaming.
dreaming of something
that’s not
THIS.
THIS, being
my every day
my existence.
i do not
hate
my life, tho.
on the contrary,
i love it
(most of the time
for that matter.)
but every once in
a while
i dream myself
out...
out of here
out of now
out of myself
out of my friends
out of my family
out of
EVERYTHING,
i lay back
nod off
thinking of my life
as a tv show
that i just
changed the channel on.
(2/05/02)
~~
"untitled"
my face itches
from a quick
shave.
i scratch it
as i make a place
for my ass to rest
on the cluttered
couch.
it turn on my electric typewriter
and feed a couple pieces
of cheap yellow notebook paper thru.
i begin to type
deliberate
and slow
thinking up my lines
as i go
trying not to sound
too sentimental
and not talking too much
about stars and dreams and flowers
and shit like that
even tho i do so
regardless.
i try to write poetry
that anyone can understand
at least one line of.
it takes practice.
it takes life experience.
i have little of
either.
being alive
and having a life
are prerequisites
for doing anything
even writing.
especially writing.
i’m young
i’m only seventeen.
sometimes i talk out my ass
pretending to be an old poet man
tho i’m not one.
i’m young.
i still live w/my parents
and go to high school.
i work in fast food
and have
acne.
that doesn’t mean
i don’t know a thing
about
something i do
every spare moment i get.
everything takes practice
so keep writing writing and writing.
when i see/learn anything
i write about it
pass it along
tell people what’s
on my mind.
ideas and words are free
and i’m free to put my
ideas into words.
i look at the piece of poetry
i just finished typing
and decide it's
got some good lines
so i put it
in the pile
i like to call
my shit pile.
all of my poems
go there.
they all need a little
work
in that pile.
(2/6/02)
~~
"was it that obvious"
"youre still subconsciously in love
with her
aren’t you?"
is what you said to me,
on of our late nights
on the phone.
i told you no
of course not
but
now that i think about it
yeah, i guess i was
but why are you surprised.
kissing YOU
was like kissing cardboard
like kissing w/out saliva.
it was dry.
it was dull.
your kiss bored
the shit out of me.
no fireworks
no gunshots
no magic.
not even 12 hours
after i dumped you
i made out in the back
of a Buick
at homecoming dance
w/a girl i'd just
met in person for the first time
that night
and she
kissed me
infinitely better
and
w/saliva.
you didn’t notice how bored i was?
i noticed how dull and lifeless
your glass violet eyes were.
i noticed how much you had to
pose
to sell the public the right angle.
and the only thing
you noticed about me
was
that i was in love
w/someone else.
i didn’t know it was
that obvious.
(2/6/02)
~~
"dying to confess"
blood rushes to my face everytime you ask me something
and i feel like
the blushing school boy that i am, but if i could
i would tell all
but i fear that would be all for
our friendship
our relationship as people, and my fantasies
of you as a lover
and i break in two everytime i glance
over at you
and see the brightness in your eyes
and i feel
i feel so sad and yet so happy and alive
i would tell you
but i fear it would not work
i would want to be able
to hold you and look at you but you wouldn’t
feel the same
i would be pushed aside and looked at
w/sideways glances
backwards and over shoulders, blonde hair
draped over your shoulders
and i would feel ten times more lonely
because
i would have confessed to you my desire
and you
would have shot me down over the ocean
and i would sink
faster than a drowned swimmer or a rock,
my heart weighting me down.
(2/6/02)
~~
"heaven & hell"
in the end
you end up dead.
that’s what we all got in common
besides
being born
of course.
if you really think
about it,
the means don’t have to justify
the end.
how can you justify
death?
it happens to the best
and the worst of us.
but depending on
what you believe
and don’t believe
there is often
a choice
of where
you go
after death.
the afterlife.
most religions have a heaven
and quite a few
have a
hell.
some religions
consider earth
hell.
very very few
consider earth
heaven.
heaven, paradise, nirvana
whatever.
it all means
the same thing:
you did alright
go on
have fun
good job
you didn’t fuck up
you’ve earned it, kid.
so
if you believe
in heaven
what ever they might
be, according to your rules
according to your God(s),
then the means
DO
justify
the end.
either way
you die.
your body dies,
at least,
and all you got left
is a soul.
and where that soul
goes
depends on the kind
of life you lived
when you still
had a body.
we all have a choice.
personally,
i'd prefer
to do my suffering
in the here and now
just in case
this IS hell
and i’m being punished.
besides
if there is something
somewhere
worse than this
i don’t want to find out.
(2/07/02)
~
god has a sense of humor
standing in front
of the mirror
i observe my
soft torso
weak arms
sweaty pits
small hands
awkward legs
hair all over
lonely cock
acne
and
i’m sure
that
god
has a sense of humor.
(2/7/02)
~~