old poetry slam
I got two lovers that worship the ground I walk on, but just don’t turn my crank.
I got a lover who’s done so much worshipping that his knees are bleeding
I got another lover who’s got no trouble in conceding that he’s a novel guy, in fact, if I got nothing shiny and new to try then it might just mean, “Later, babe. I’m a skater at heart, and you know we never stay in one place. I know your face too well and I just can’t sell myself on the fact that you’re exciting anymore.”
You ever want to say, “Fuck it all”?
You ever just want to run away because this person demands too much, that person always wants more, and this one over here is too scared of his own desires that he can’t give you what you’re looking for?
I’ve got a girl over there that I might have been able to share a love with if it wasn’t for the doubts tangled in our hair.
I’ve got a guy over here who wants to know if they grow girls like me on a farm.
No harm done. Just having a little fun in my life before it‘s over. Just trying to pretend that it’s all enough to drown out the approach of my impending end. Four years ago I looked death right in the face and she spat in mine.
“It’s not your time,” she said as I wiped my eye. “But you don’t have much. So you’d better learn to live and learn to love. Things left unsaid don’t pause for the dead because death has no sympathy for unfinished business.”
She told me that I was lazy, that I was too cautious, she told me things that made me nauseous.
Things like, “You’d better get started, brokenhearted one.” And, “This is not a dress rehearsal, this is not a commercial. You’d better love people like your ass is on fire, because it is, you’d better conspire for this ‘passionate life’ you always talk but never walk. You’d better find people that understand that life goes so much deeper when you let death be your keeper.”
People always say, celebrate life. I say, celebrate death.
When that semi almost crushes you on the freeway on your way home from your shitty day at your shitty job, you suddenly forget about your shitty life, and what do you do? You go home to tightly hug your pretty wife.
When your doctor finds a lump on that routine visit and you’ve got to wait three weeks to hear that word that means everything: “benign”. In those three weeks everything falls in line, doesn’t it? All priorities become crystal clear with each exhaled breath,
Celebrate life? No. Celebrate death.
I want to go deeper, higher, further, faster, I’ve set my rocket laser on blaster so you’d better get the fuck out of my way,
I’ve got no patience for halfway today.
When are you people going to understand that you are going to die, this is not a joke, this is not something that happens to other people, this is you, this is me…and no, we don’t have eternity.
This love will not last forever. This life has no compassion for how badly we all want to stay together.
You’ve got a two second blip on the radar screen. How bright will yours be?
One of the most valuable things I’ve learned, is that I am not special. I am not more than the world can take, I am not a unique and beautiful snowflake.
I am marrow sticks, I am meat sack, I am blood cup, I am brain stack. My back is a testament to this way of thinking: I’m blinking in surprise at all of you that say, “Slow down.” “Don’t worry, it’s fine,” yeah, I can tell you’ve never seen the finish line.
You can’t see that IT’S COMING…and this is why I’m running…perhaps ignorance is bliss, perhaps it’s better that you haven’t seen this…I feel the ax above my neck and I can’t relax, I feel the facts piling up over me until they crush me, “Don’t rush me,” they say, but they can’t see that it could end TODAY.
Those of you who are older might shake your heads and smile, thinking that youth is wasted on the young. You think to yourself, “She’s got plenty of time,” yeah, that’s what I thought before I almost died. In fact, the phrase, “I’ve got plenty of time,” is exactly the thinking that made me waste my life. But now that I feel the knife at my throat I have the desire to love like my ass is on fire, because it is. I’m going to conspire for that ‘passionate life’ I talk, and I’m going to run, not walk. You think I’m running to get to the finish line faster, but that’s not what I’m after.
I want to see it all, taste it all, love it all. And at the end of the day, I’d like to say…that I fucked it all.
Yeah, “Fuck it all,” that’s my new mantra. Don’t you want to keep up with me? Don’t you want to see what I see? Come with me to take it all in, lose your love for life, cultivate your love for death, and then tell me when we can really begin.
I got a lover who’s done so much worshipping that his knees are bleeding
I got another lover who’s got no trouble in conceding that he’s a novel guy, in fact, if I got nothing shiny and new to try then it might just mean, “Later, babe. I’m a skater at heart, and you know we never stay in one place. I know your face too well and I just can’t sell myself on the fact that you’re exciting anymore.”
You ever want to say, “Fuck it all”?
You ever just want to run away because this person demands too much, that person always wants more, and this one over here is too scared of his own desires that he can’t give you what you’re looking for?
I’ve got a girl over there that I might have been able to share a love with if it wasn’t for the doubts tangled in our hair.
I’ve got a guy over here who wants to know if they grow girls like me on a farm.
No harm done. Just having a little fun in my life before it‘s over. Just trying to pretend that it’s all enough to drown out the approach of my impending end. Four years ago I looked death right in the face and she spat in mine.
“It’s not your time,” she said as I wiped my eye. “But you don’t have much. So you’d better learn to live and learn to love. Things left unsaid don’t pause for the dead because death has no sympathy for unfinished business.”
She told me that I was lazy, that I was too cautious, she told me things that made me nauseous.
Things like, “You’d better get started, brokenhearted one.” And, “This is not a dress rehearsal, this is not a commercial. You’d better love people like your ass is on fire, because it is, you’d better conspire for this ‘passionate life’ you always talk but never walk. You’d better find people that understand that life goes so much deeper when you let death be your keeper.”
People always say, celebrate life. I say, celebrate death.
When that semi almost crushes you on the freeway on your way home from your shitty day at your shitty job, you suddenly forget about your shitty life, and what do you do? You go home to tightly hug your pretty wife.
When your doctor finds a lump on that routine visit and you’ve got to wait three weeks to hear that word that means everything: “benign”. In those three weeks everything falls in line, doesn’t it? All priorities become crystal clear with each exhaled breath,
Celebrate life? No. Celebrate death.
I want to go deeper, higher, further, faster, I’ve set my rocket laser on blaster so you’d better get the fuck out of my way,
I’ve got no patience for halfway today.
When are you people going to understand that you are going to die, this is not a joke, this is not something that happens to other people, this is you, this is me…and no, we don’t have eternity.
This love will not last forever. This life has no compassion for how badly we all want to stay together.
You’ve got a two second blip on the radar screen. How bright will yours be?
One of the most valuable things I’ve learned, is that I am not special. I am not more than the world can take, I am not a unique and beautiful snowflake.
I am marrow sticks, I am meat sack, I am blood cup, I am brain stack. My back is a testament to this way of thinking: I’m blinking in surprise at all of you that say, “Slow down.” “Don’t worry, it’s fine,” yeah, I can tell you’ve never seen the finish line.
You can’t see that IT’S COMING…and this is why I’m running…perhaps ignorance is bliss, perhaps it’s better that you haven’t seen this…I feel the ax above my neck and I can’t relax, I feel the facts piling up over me until they crush me, “Don’t rush me,” they say, but they can’t see that it could end TODAY.
Those of you who are older might shake your heads and smile, thinking that youth is wasted on the young. You think to yourself, “She’s got plenty of time,” yeah, that’s what I thought before I almost died. In fact, the phrase, “I’ve got plenty of time,” is exactly the thinking that made me waste my life. But now that I feel the knife at my throat I have the desire to love like my ass is on fire, because it is. I’m going to conspire for that ‘passionate life’ I talk, and I’m going to run, not walk. You think I’m running to get to the finish line faster, but that’s not what I’m after.
I want to see it all, taste it all, love it all. And at the end of the day, I’d like to say…that I fucked it all.
Yeah, “Fuck it all,” that’s my new mantra. Don’t you want to keep up with me? Don’t you want to see what I see? Come with me to take it all in, lose your love for life, cultivate your love for death, and then tell me when we can really begin.