god

god is a grave stone mason

spider

a delicate strand of web

from windowsill to cracked corner of white walls

thinner than anything

more apparent than anything

glisten in the light cast by a december sun

be caught by the eyes of a remembering son of a son

fluid flowing light run up and down your lengths

with each sway of distant tree branch

each small breath that moves the blinds

when did the spider make your arc?

where has she gone?

i know you are there, little spider

i can feel you with my cheek pressed to the walls

do you spin my dreams above my head while i sleep?

was that you that spun in images of nakedness and family?

those fevered dreams that found me bare beneath my mother

and the smell of a dying grandfather who repulsed you when you were young.

was it you who impregnated me and made me feel whole for once

or was it you who covered my body with swelling sores that pulsed and flickered?

how much do you know about me, little spider?

and why the tiny strand?

it's okay

it's okay to be awake on the west coast

it's okay to jerk off and listen to odd blood

it's okay to only eat cough drops for 3 days

it's okay to reconnect with the ex who can make you more miserable

than anyone else has ever done

it's okay to have a pair of high heels under your bed

it's okay to wash your fingernails down the drain

it's okay to solicit sex at 2 a.m. in 10 degree weather

it's okay to watch old war movies and sob uncontrollably about never

knowing your grandfather or knowing what war is like

it's okay to be a vegetarian without moral objections

it's okay to wish you were very very rich and could be on drugs all day

it's okay to say faggot and gay and cunt and nigger if you're ironic

but maybe all the time too because they're just words and no one knows what you mean

it's okay to live in patterns

it's okay to break patterns

it's okay to hug your brother in the driveway and cry

it's okay to be afraid to know more about your grandmother

it's okay to wish your father had been more traditional with you

it's okay to want to shoot a gun into the sky

it's okay to hate every single human being you see at the shows because

they have no fucking clue what a good show is

it's okay to be human

it's okay to be human

it's okay to be

it's okay

obs tangent

there are a pair of women's high heels underneath my bed

that i have no intention of returning to the owner

and on more than one occasion i have had the

uncontrollable urge to smell them

the worst part of living in the city is that

at no point in the day can i look out my window or go for a walk

into a field of tall grass and watch them bend

arcing painfully gracefully back and forth

and the snow will not leave us alone

it even finds ways into our cars and somehow into our socks

and sometimes i think we should make a snowball and bring it indoors

and keep it in [social commentary] until summer

sometimes i think there are poetic things about

the tiny little bumps on the ceilings of apartments

as if the sordid little lives of the occupants are giving the building goosebumps

this building is ironic or easily entertained

pillar

jutting between my ribs

i feel you, pillar.

a phallic monument lodged between

two lungs and my heart

and my heart

i feel you piercing my heart.

i can feel your presence in an empty museum

after dark with locks and a lack of lights.

your shadow looming over me.

i know you loom over us all, pillar.

you loom inside us all.

i wish i knew your face, is it regal and white

and are you perfectly smooth.

or are you black and twisting like a cancer

through my veins. (all blood in your body is black. there is no light).

but you know this, pillar.

i want to turn face and stare into your massiveness.

i want to run my hands across your lengths

and press my ear to your cool surface.

i want to tell the world what you are, pillar, and lift the shroud.

i want to flood the halls of your museum, i want to shine a flashlight

into my veins and see what color my blood is.

because, pillar, i feel you every day. and i need to escape you.

or to at least objectify you.

maybe you are god and you've been placed there by a careful hand.

"Do you send back a signal to outer space?"

of course you are silent, pillar.

is it wisdom or bitterness? please answer me.

please.

are you an esoteric observation, pillar?

"It may be the bending of tall grass in a field in August.

It may be the stagnant harsh glow of lamplight.

I'm sorry my hands aren't perfect."

can you be captured in a phrase?

in a poem?

in a motion across pages?

why won't you let me in?

i've put my fingers into dirt and into other writers

and i haven't felt you there.

where are you?

once i felt you above me as i lied in bed with my arms

outstretched towards you.

i felt your gravity then and i knew i could expose you.

once i felt you when i lied in bed with my arms

outstretched towards a lover.

"I love you."

Do you love me, pillar? Do you love us all?

are you a forgotten memory, pillar?

do you block all my thoughts in hopes of hiding your true self?

"I don't remember, but it feels familiar.

Like cigarette smoke on her jeans or a story your grandfather told.

Like the rules to a card game."

i felt you when i split my hand open on a broken bottle

when i was a toddler and surrounded by the haze

that was maybe a dream.

in quiet hours [it'll be good someday]

i go from queasy

to horny

to blank

to hot

and i jot down my thoughts

confused by the knot

of the plot that i bought from the

girl or some name i forgot

and i scribble all this dribble

from my chin onto the page

and pretend that my age ain't

what's got my rage all in cages

but put out on stages in the stages of waged youth

and i gauge all my hate towards my peers

as i leer and i slate the date and write it down

to relate what i can to others or to sate

what i engage backstage as the judgement of all that grates against me

that was all bullshit but i wish i could write

minimal flesh

fingers

fingers

fingers

neck

not noose

not pulse searching

shirt collar

taaaaaaaaaaaaaaaught

fingers

tongue

pulse

pulse

pulse

pulse

fingers pulse

loose noose shirt collar

pulse

tongue

lips

pulse

hips

pulse

hips

loose around

pound jeans

pound

flesh

pound

flesh

regret the noose

lose the thought

taaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaught

pound

pulse

flesh

fingers

around

fingers

mouth loose

mouth loose

mouth to neck

neck to noose

kick drum

kick drum

taaaaaaaaaaaaaught skin

kick drum

snare

snare

kick

snare

snare

noose snared

lips

snare

leans

pulse

jeans

lose

pulse

lose

pulse

pulse

pulse

snare

pulse

pulse

snare

and the obligatory connection between a crescendo and a climax

and i fall into a drunken orange glow sleep at last

apartment window

day light spills

catch the unfinished jigsaw on a cut up coffee table

tea stains on a splotched surface without the history

without a culture or a maker

just instructions times new roman black on white

and an illustration with rounded edges

light moves

creeping inches

no not creeping but glacial flow across the floor

across wires into walls

dead skin and pocket lint up in the air

and whatevers got my lungs so filthy

no sawdust or tiny angels with tiny little harps

and a tiny little melody

and up the walls like moss

and up the walls like mice and the slow drip of paint thinner

when im on my back and theres ceilings in my eyes

and thats me alluding to french art movies

and over the shelves and the liberal arts college approved book collection

poynton and awakening and anything else

where a white woman kills herself

because society is patriarchal and this is not the point

and the light disappears at the corner of the wall and ceiling

and the orange pours in

artificial harsh

articifically harsh in a poem in free verse

and it doesn't touch anything

mechanical gear devoid of all oil and grease stillness

like your grandfather in the casket stillness

and it doesnt pulse and throb

when it throws your shadow up on the wall

for an hour ever 4 am

much needed whatever

as i was falling asleep i half dreamt that i would write about this giant pillar that is inside all of us. and it is in the middle of us, in the middle of our rib cage and lungs and hearts and in a museum that's shut down and locked. and we're all standing around the pillar and holding hands and looking outward and none of us ever see it. maybe we see the shadow and maybe we feel its looming presence but none of us ever sees it. except for me. and i turn around and i run my hands across its cold rippled cement, tiny bumps and craters, and i put my ear to it and listen to it deafly. and i describe it to everyone and its exactly what we've all been missing.

i have an imagine stuck in my head. it's of my apartment and the light that comes in the living room window. in the day time when the sun makes its slow arc and casts in the light, the projection on th wall makes a slow rise and fall on the opposing wall. the light is always alive and bright and pulsing. it has a slow motion like someone wading upstream. then at night there is an awful streetlight that pours harsh orange artificial light into the room. and the projection just sits there perfectly still. mechanically still. and sometimes i stand up and make my silhouette in this orange glow and feel akin.

some phrases are in my head. "virgin disco" and some others i forgot. so that's the only one right now.

i can feel my bowels loosening already as i write this down. i wish i were really writing it down and not just typing it but i forget too much that way. i am a slow writer. i wish i weren't so afraid to do anything all the time. i wish i wrote down things right away.

another image i have in my head is of having a woman sleep in my bed. something like the recluse. and i dont take advantage of her if she is drunk or her of me and we dont have sex or anything like that. she just sleeps and i sleep somewhere else. the next day when i am alone again i take a shower and am all fresh and relaxed and my sinuses and senses are all clean and i lay down in my bed naked and face down and breathe in what she smells like. and sometimes it is earthy and full of cinammon and something comforting old. and sometimes it is sweet and bright and i get an erection. and i never tell her about it or see her again

i have an image of a man who is in power, political power or business power or drug power, who hates women so much he pays prostitutes or whoever to have sex with him. but instead he just ashes his cigarette or cigar into their vaginas. and then i realize i am aping bret easton ellis. and that i am too much of that person than i will admit and i am a coward and cant talk with women.

i want to write another magic realism peace and i want to edit my old stuff. that's what i am doing tomorrow. i am not sure where to go yet. i will text whitney for a location.

i want to make music and be the creative lead. i want to play drums very well.

dreams

i dreamt i was HIV positive and i was no longer to babysit kids that i watched all the time. i don't know how i contracted it in my dream.

whitney was in my dream but i forget to what extent. i felt like she was a voyeurist of my life. it made me feel awful and i don't know how to deal with it. i really hope i don't dream about her anymore.

i also don't know who to talk to about my dreams. i have no one to absorb my stress.

new short story [ver 1]

He stood waiting at the edge of the driveway. One foot in the hard dirt and the other on the harder pavement. His eyebrows were furrowed into a squint as he focused on the hill of the horizon which the road straddled. In the daytime he would close his eyes and listen for an approaching hum but in the evening and at night he watched for the growing glow of headlights. He wore a ratty baseball cap that featured deep brown sweat stains around the rim. His right hand was gripping the knob at the end of a 32 inch 18 ounce metal baseball bat which he would use to lean on when his legs would get tired from waiting at the edge of the driveway for hours.

Some days there wouldn’t be any cars coming over the hill. Some days there would be trucks with boats or jet skis behind them going to the lakes. Some days there were young kids in young cars going to a cabin to drink beer and fuck. Other times there were families in mini-vans going to visit dying or dead relatives. Some days there were loud motorcycles in pairs of two or four or ten. Some days there were nubile couples in jeeps with mountain bikes on the rack, or slightly older couples in jeeps with kayaks on the roof. Most days it would just be thunderous semis with food or furniture or gasoline. But some days there were no cars or trucks or loud engines or exhaust fumes or trembling pavement.

From the edge of his dirt driveway he would watch the cars go by every day. But he would mostly watch the people in the cars go by and would imagine their lives. Who they were and where they were going and when they would come back. He would imagine what they do when they reach their destination, how they would get out and greet their host and how they would eat dinner that night and talk about the drive up and whether or not they would mention him and what they would eat for dessert and what raunchy jokes would be told and then who would win the game of cards afterwards and then who would go to bed in which room and who would flip on the tv and who would have sex and what they would dream about that night. He did this until he knew each new person’s life that drove by before they escaped his gaze around the bend.

On the days that no one came he would walk along the side of the road, dragging his metal bat in the dirt behind him. He would keep his eyes on the ground and on the weeds that sprung up from the hot earth and in the cracks of the hot black pavement. Sometimes there would be burnt out cigarettes or empty bottles and wrappers and even once a condom. He would walk until he reached the looming transmission tower that dominated the landscape. It was the only one that he could see and so it was the only one that existed for him. Often times he sat under the tower for hours at a time, shutting his eyes and feeling the electricity radiate over him and envelop him. It felt safe to him. Then he imagined where the telephone wires went to and whether or not there were other towers and what the electricity in the wires did when it got there. When he looked up the electrical wires bisected the sky. The wide wide wide blue sky. He wondered which section God would be in. There were never any birds on the wires.

Once on one of the days when no cars were coming he went to the tower and studied the intricate triangular pattern. His chest welled up at the complexities and his eyes watered a little bit. He flipped his bat around in his hand and used the knob to scrape lines in the dirt. He scratched out a triangle, looked back up at the tower, then down again at the dirt and etched another triangle next to the first. Then another. And another. He looked up at the beautiful tower then down at his crude marks and kicked them out of existence. A wind came over the land and carried away the dust.

That night he dreamt about the tower that reached up into infinity and the wires that stretched out past the horizon. He dreamt that he climbed the tower and walked along the wires and then ran until he came to the edge and it was just blackness. He woke up and was sweating. He fumbled in the dark for a pencil and fell to the floor and tried to draw the tower on the wooden boards but his triangles looked dull and stupid and he threw the pencil across the room and it ricocheted quietly off a slumbering wall. Then he went back to sleep.

The next day he brought a pencil and a notebook he had from grade school out to the tower and sat down. He watched the tower for an hour before opening the notebook and making a faint and unsure triangle. He squinted up at the arches of the tower and the way the rusting steel relieved against the sky and the perfect stillness of the entire structure. The way the bars crossed in an exhilarating way that reminded him of something that he couldn’t quite remember, only that it was pleasant. The way the clouds would be visible in the tiny pockets within the tower and then the sunset if you sat on the right side of it. He thought of these things until he felt his chest tighten and his head tingle from the electricity of the tower and then he opened the notebook and tried to draw what he knew was beauty. When his triangles were still and dull and stupid as the night before he felt hot tears in his eyes and on his cheek and he threw the notebook into a dusty bush nearby. He grabbed his bat and ran towards the leg of the tower, mouth gaping and eyes shut, he sobbed loudly as he swung. Metal against metal. The ringing stung his ears badly and his hands felt raw and intense immediately and he dropped the bat. His momentum carried him forward and he fell into the solid steel leg and cut open his forehead.

He lie there beneath the tower, holding his head and alternating between moans and screams at nothing. When he finally opened his eyes again nothing was different. The tower hummed on with indifference. The wires reached far into the coming darkness. He got up, grabbed his bat and left for the driveway.

Leaning against his bat he could feel the blood from his forehead softly running down around his eye and to his jawline and then down to his chin, dripping off into the dirt and leaving dark spots. Soon he could hear an engine come over to the hill and after that he saw a pick up come in to view. As it drew closer he took the bat with both hands and rested the barrel on his shoulder. Just as it was about to pass him he book a strong step forward and in a great arc flung the bat into the windshield of the truck. There was a brief moment of silence between release and collision and he smiled at this. The truck swerved to avoid the bat but it was too slow and the windshield shattered and the bat flew off the vehicle with a loud clang up into the air. The car screeched to a stop a few yards past the driveway and the bat landed loudly near it.

A man threw open the door of the truck and came around the bed and towards the bat.

“What in the fuck are you fucking doing? You tryna kill me you stupid sonuvabitch?”

He stared at the man, unsure of why he had just done what he did. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t move. He could only picture the silhouette of the tower against a deep red sky at evening.
“Well? Are you gonna fuckin answer you stupid motherfucker? Jesus fucking Christ I am gonna fuckin murder you!”

The man picked up the bat that was lying in the road and took quick powerful steps forward.

“Maybe this will open your goddamned mouth you fuckin faggot!”

The man swung the bat viciously into the side of his head. His skull split open instantly and he fell to the ground with incredible weight. His neck snapped into an awkward angle and out of the crack in his head came a flood of bright blue liquid that glowed in the dusk. It shimmered and flowed in strange thick movements all around him and on to his dirt driveway. The liquid absorbed into the earth with an unnatural quickness and just as quickly patches of lush grass and lilacs and roses and wild flowers and lilies and orchids and tulips and dahlias erupted from the ground, surrounding the body. From the wires of the tower a canary watched the scene curiously before taking flight.

declarations

i regret everything i have written about whitney. it feels like a lot of forced and delusional beauty. i cant stand to even read the things i wrote about her because i was legitimately inspired and now i am not. at least not in that way.

i know that no one has a love for me right now that can ever touch what i imagined it was with whitney. and i cant shake the feeling that i wont be able to.

i had a dream where a scientist told me i was a paunchy loser who needed sex and his chubby lab assisstant agreed.

i literally have no sex drive.

sometimes

sometimes there is nothing more beautiful than watching a field of tall grass sway in the wind. nothing can compare the the visual bliss of seeing the shoots bend just beyond the apex of an arc and bend towards the earth. that precise moment, immediately after the uncertainty of the motion has passed, is where i can seek solace as the autumn creeps into the world.

and sometimes after the brief instant that my mind goes blank when i climax the only image i can see is the wooden paneling on the walls in jill's basement and all i can smell is the cheap perfume that all girls use where i'm from.

and sometimes after that while i am lying in bed i can smell the come on my hands and you are the only memory that is brought to mind. and i can never decide if this is a meaningful sign or if it's just depressing.

[ver 1]

sometimes i see a red wheelbarrel in my backyard

leaning purposefully against the wall of my shed

with weeds and grass sprouting up around its wheel

and rain water pooling in its rusting basin

and sometimes all i can see is how in 5 years

i've never once taken the wheelbarrel into a garden

and let the dirt cake underneath my fingernails

while i pull the deep weeds from the warm earth

new poem [ver 1]

you sent me baren to the west coast

where i hid under the shadow

of the looming mountain's stare

ominous and stoic in the distance

in my mind i felt your there

i spent the year stealing some shelter

underneath the mighty pines

so high so high and so surrounding

so like a mother's flowing gown

and still so rooted in the ground

you called me back across badlands

back into this machine town

filling with oil rust and sound

of squeeling brakes and unhinged voices

and cigarettes and radio wires

and smashing bottles and running showers

and thick paint brushes and midnight walks

and softer moans and louders screams

and yoni's voice and cracking lips

all buried deep beneath the snow

and i find myself in an asian painting

in a quiet room in the mia

i am the singer su hsiao-hsiao

and i am no longer grieving for autumn

and i am plumbing the truth of my heart

Dream Journal 11

at first i was talking with my old friend kyle niskanen about how attractive desirae hoskins was. he said that she was a girl that was just normal when you are talking with her and didnt strike him as particularly pretty. i disagreed and then said that i would rather have a sweet interesting girl than a pretty but boring girl.

at this point we got onto a school bus since we were on a field trip to somewhere and i moved to the back of the bus where i was sharing a seat with jake haarstad. he had a back massager cushion that looked really great and both alec (who was sitting in front of us) and i wanted to try it out.

when we got back to school we were all sitting at a table in the classroom. whitney came over and sat at the table with us and i felt very uncomfortable. i kept trying to not make eye contact or say anything to her. she made some comment about how bitter i was and it set me off. i called her a bitch as i got up from the table and stormed away. i left the classroom and then i left the school.

i think at this point i semi woke up and fell back asleep.

next i was lying in my bed and there was an elderly man lying across a bed where my dresser would be. he was a very famous director who had only ever done two plays in his life but they were both masterpieces by all accounts. we were talking about how his 2nd play was being turned into a movie featuring George Clooney, John Liguizamo, Rivers Cuomo, Lionel Ritchie, and Matt Damon. the play was about a bunch of neighboors who hate each other or get into large arguments for most of the play.

i was talking to the old man and saying how it could be a good movie if the actors lose their egos and try to go for a more subtle perfermance, or maybe not depending on how the play was. he said that he disagreed since "it isn't that kind of movie" and when i asked him what kind it was i only heard "ehh.." which was his death rattle. apparently he had been on his death bed and we were both in a hospital. my mom came in just as this happened and alerted the nurse that he had passed away. i let the nurse know what he had said and she said he was always saying semi-profound things.

next i was living a moment in his first play. i was a black man in some department store that was trying to find a fitting room to try on some jeans. i walked to the very end of an extremely long line of rooms and found one. it smelled bad but i shut the door behind me anyways and tried on the jeans.

today

i couldn't masturbate. all my sexual thoughts fell back on to how they were never realized and i just couldnt

buffalo [v1]

it was something terrifying but also beautiful

when you and i drove to the edge of buffalo

and lake eerie peered at us with dark eyes

and the wind whipped the waves into a fury of whitecaps

we dug our beers into the sand then

you walked up to the shore and let the black

lap up against your feet

i wondered what you felt in that moment

and the clouds in the sky behind us were a deep orange

it seemed like buffalo was on fire and we were praying pilgrims

begging the water to be a savior

just once

but the rain fell away to the south eventually

and we went home and got trashed

because every suburb looks like its burning alive at night

language and blood [v1]

she loved language and the way it made her feel

like a virgin on the cross

letting ellis and bukowski drip down between her fingertips

and into her palms

like eggs through her ovaries and past her cyst

she loved her blood the rushed through veins

that flowed out of her and

onto her pages

and into me and into me

and into me

bringing wisdom and security like a tyrant

language and blood pouring from her

like the words of the clergy

and the swords of the cavalry

and they fell

into me

Dream Journal 10

this was one of those dreams you have when you're sick. everything is warm and hot and jumps around really fast.

i am in the audience for a performance of something chirstmas oriented. i think it is supposed to be like the rockettes or something doing a dance like in catcher in the rye. my mom has paid a lot of money for me to be there and i can sit in the front seats if i want but i am alone and i stay away from the crowds that form there. and this point the dream goes back and forth between being at this concert and being in the dug out of a baseball game. it seems like a natural occurence so my dream self doesn't mind. the baseball game i am in the dug out of a team that doesn't exist and i am sitting next to players that i like. i think i am running the books on them, like tracking stats. back in the concert part of the dream i keep going to get snacks at the front desk and when i come back to my seat others have taken it so i keep getting pushed further back and to the sides.

at the end of the show my mother and brother show up at the theater. my mom comments on how expensive it was for that kind of a show. she isn't mad at me about seeing it because i didn't want to see it, i guess it was a thing i was required to see. at this point i look in the lobby of the theatre and notice there is a giant portal that is turning from red to blue. i guess if i get it all the way blue it will close and that is a good thing. it turns further blue by shooting it so i ask my brother to help me with this since it takes a long time to get blue and it's almost there. unfortunately just as i say that it quickly goes back to red so i say forget it.

now i am playing halo on a level that doesn't exist. i am playing with some of the professional gamers who i like and i am on their team even though i am obviously not very good. the map is multi-teared and each "wall" is actually a floor you can jump onto and gravity shifts. we practice on this map a little.

it is 4/20 and around 3:33 pm and i am walking around town with a cell phone upset because I missed an opportunity to call rich at 4:20 his time to make a joke about smoking pot. I decide I will call him back when it is 4:20 my time and it will still be just as funny.

I walk around town trying to find a dairy queen to get some ice cream. It is summer and i am very hot and dehydrated. I am walking through town and everyone else is high and getting snack food from pizza places and mcdonalds. i keep getting lost and walking too far along highway 169 and can't find the dairy queen or my house. a black kid walks in front of me when i pass the mcdonalds and he gives me a stare like he is looking for his friends who should be right behind him but they arent. i try to walk past him but we are all moving very slow in the heat. like the sidewalk is an airport walkway going in the opposite direction.

i wake up in a house that is completely darkened with a start. i am sweaty and confused about where i am. i check the time and it is 4:33 and i missed another chance at calling rich. it has been exactly an hour since i felt this way.

i am in a house that is like the halo map only it is a regular apartment. kids are sitting around talking and they are like the kids from south park. they are talking about something involving a silver speck of dust that leaves a tail behind it when it leaves and it is super elastic and springy. they watch it for a while as it bounces all over the room and gets flicked off of their swatting hands and pillows and rugs. a bunch of them go to leave. their little baby brother walks into a next door room. the speck of dust hits him and he grows gigantic. he grows into the room on the 3rd floor where his brother is. his brother finds a gun and shoots him in the eye to make him small again.

the brother is shooting the video game character from the halo level. he gets bonus points for shooting into that room on the 3rd floor since it is murky and hard to see.

some throwaway haikus

my feminine wrists
clipped nails expose aching skin
raw tip of my tongue

head in seattle
lungs filled with foggy pine air
minnesota heart

new portrait of you
drawn every day from scratch, on
my palm and eyelids

Dream Journal 9

i am sneaking around in a garage with a girl, i can't remember who. i think i dream this twice or i experience deja vu because i felt as if i had been there before. in the garage i see a few cars and they are both white with purble and black stripes and being cut up. apparently they are going to be molded together to make one super car for some mob boss.

i guess that makes me a private detective.

as we are sneaking a car pulls up and it is filled with the mob boss' cronies and they get out and walk into the garage. the woman and i hide behind one of the cars and must be absolutely silent, not even taking the chance of breathing.

the first time i dream this we stay silent. the second time she moves the sleeve on her wind breaker and it alerts the cronies. i realize now that the woman was bjork. when the guys come for us i fight them, punching stomachs and kneeing faces.

in the second time i dream this i found a motorcycle in the garage that looks more like a bicycle. i hop on it to get away from the scene and bjork hops on the back with me. as we start to drive away i notice, or a third person narrator tells me, that we are not going very fast at all. i think we are only able to go like 30 miles per hour. the narrator tells me that the motorcycle is powered by poetry and that to go faster i must bend over the side and write stuff down on the road as we drive.

i do this and we start to go much much faster. eventually all i am able to write is a long line of black ink. down the road we come to a quick turn and i lose control of the bike and it slides out from under us. we end up in a big field that looks like the park near my house but i guess more desolate and removed from society since we are in danger of starving. somewhere around here the motorcycle turned into a llama-like animal instead so it is also in danger of starving.
__________________________________________________________

later in another dream i am hitting a golf ball out of a bucket of rocks while standing on something that is rocking back and forth. a swingset or something but a large one. probably like the swings you have on porches.

i am trying to chip onto the green and my mom, dad, brother, and grandpa are all watching me. my practice swings all look really good but when i go to actually hit it i use too much power since i'm nervous and hit the ball over the green and into a snowbank.

to practice i am suddenly back in my neighborhood and hitting golf balls up a neighboors driveway pretending thats where the hole on the green would be. i have a device set up so i am hitting one golf ball after another and i think i am standing on a ladder. my brother is hanging out on a house off to the right and he is rolling around on the roof. both my parents yell at him to get down from there, my grandfather is no longer with us.

after i hit all the balls i go to collect with my dad and notice that a lot of other golf balls that arent ours got mixed in with the ones i was hitting. we were hitting titleist so that's the only one we tryand look for. after we find them my mom says we have a ton of gifts which are suddenly there and we need to carry home down the block. my dad says he will just get the car to pick them up and my mom says whens the last time we walked anywhere.
__________________________________________________

in another dream i have applied to and got accepted into Perpich. my first day we are going on a field trip but i forget where. i meet shannon and all the other lit kids in the lobby of some building with glass windows. it is raining outside so there is a very thematic image of water running down the windows in those slow waves. everything has a bluish tint to it and shannon asks me to introduce myself to all the lit kids. whitney isn't there and i feel somewhat vulnerable.

as i start to say my name and some of my favorite authors or poems some boy from across the room is talking over me and i get flustered and say "oh well nevermind i guess" thinking that shannon will tell the boy to be quiet so i can finish. this is not the case and everyone just sort of stops listening and talks amongst themself. i keep waiting for whitney to show up but she never does.

Author [ver 3]

longing
longing

outside my window
snow caught in the tiny streams
twisting flows
like fine fabrics blown
winter's writhing wedding gown
the tight precise arc
the rise and fall
impossibly quick

the intricacies of their pattern
paternal to my inability to see
beyond the grains of a tibetan mural
beyond the digits of universal equations
beyond the words of our last three years

lying
longing for the ceiling
to get caught in my eye
longing to seal in the art

with a sigh

am i the wind?
am i powerful and sweeping?
do i create vast patterns with glimpses of beauty
in little pockets so hidden
that only God could appreciate them?

or
am i the countless blossoming crystals?
am i racing to my resting in a concrete coffin?
a banal burial in the banks
bereaved
passing without a sound
without an inscape
without a sound

longing
longing
instress

Author [ver 2]

longing
longing
propped on one elbow
to face out my eleventh story window

outside
snow caught in the tiny streams of air
plummet
reverse
sideswiped
the tight precise arc of rise and fall
impossibly quick

the intricacies of their pattern
paternal to my inability to see
beyond the grains of a tibetan mural
beyond the digits of universal equations
beyond the words of our last three years

i lay back down
longing for the ceiling
to get caught in my eye
longing to seal in the
art

with a sigh

am i the wind?
am i a powerful and driving force
creating vast patterns with glimpses of beauty
in tiny pockets so hidden
only God could appreciate them

or
am i the countless blossoming crystals
racing to the resting in a cement coffin
dying without a sound
without an inscape
without a sound

longing
longing
instress

Author [ver 1]

longing
propped on one elbow

outside the window
snow caught in the tiny pockets of rising air
of slanting air
of diving air

the intricacies of their flight
beyond the grains of a tibetan mural
beyond the digits of a chess playing computer
beyond the words of our last three years

i lay back down
hoping the ceiling won't get caught in my eye
am i the wind?
powerful and driving
creating vast patterns with glimpses of beauty

or
am i the countless blooming crystals
dying without a sound
without an inscape
without a sound

Dream Journal 8

i'm swimming in an ocean of music reviews. albums that are rated really well are mounds of sand that stick up out of the water and i am swimming around them or climbing them and appreciating them. One album was my Swan Lake but it's one they haven't made one yet, the other is by Sunset Rubdown and it's one of their older ones.

Suddenly the ocean becomes my backyard and a campground. Other tenants are sleeping or pretending to sleep as a huge truck roars into the site. out steps a "hard" guy with a leather jacket and stuff and his babe of a girl friend who is a knockout in those old timey movies. As she is undressing (to go to sleep or to just tease other guys) the boyfriend marches around making sure no one is peeking at her. As he is doing this I pretend to be asleep and lay face down on the cold grass, a guy behind me is watching through binoculars and is dirty talking to her under his breath. I envision a fat greasy man in a white tank and a bald head but I never look.

The boyfriend walks towards me and I get nervous so I switch positions to get away from him but end up nearer to the girl. I still don't look and after the boyfriend fights some other random guy they leave together.

The backyard is now the inside of an apartment that Jackson and I live in. I am going to the bathroom and as I am peeing the boyfriend shows up and starts smacking on the door asking me to "Cut the bullshit" and to "Get out there to talk" but I have the door locked. I tell him to let me finishing peeing and when I get outside he is gone. Three asian girls are there instead talking to some asian boy who lives next door, he runs off saying he has diarrhea and the three of them turn to me. They have me sit on a couch and they sit facing me, their knees pressing down on my thighs and crotch and they tell me to say hello to them, so I do and feel like I am in a porn video. I don't like it and I suspect they are prostitutes working for the leather jacketed boyfriend. They introduce themselves so that I can say their name when I greet them.

One looks like an asian Amy Winehouse and says her name is Psyzombni but I have a hard time hearing her and remembering it, so I really don't ever say it out loud. The other one is shorter and more curvy and says her name is Ita as she bends at the waist looking at me, exposing her cleavage. I have a tough time not looking at it. I ask her if Ita is a nickname or short for something like "Titanium" and she says that it is a nickname but it is short for "Genitals" and I tell her that's a strange name. As we are talking I seem to have a lot more chemistry in Ita and the other girl seems discouraged.

The conversation I guess is boring them and they either have low attention spans or are just not interested in me so they decide to turn on Call of Duty but it's a television channel or show, not the game. Also on the television is a show where there is a static camera pointed at the facade of a house in the suburbs that is on 24 hours a day. I laugh and say we should watch that. I can't tell if I am seriously interested or mocking.

Jackson walks up to us now and puts his leg on the arm of the couch in a sort of manly pose. I ask him what he's doing but I can't understand him, or he's just making little sounds like "Ahhhhh yahhhh mmhmm" as the third asian girl walks up to him and he mock grabs her breasts. They leave to go somewhere else but I don't think it's sex.

At this point I get up and go do something else. I forget what, and when I come back the girls are playing a video game on a computer.

I wake up.

For Whitney 2 [ver 2]

a strange sun drenched beach
summer heat is pounding
pounding
pounding

shore holds the flame __________ to
rch gold and red
your savage feet
your pagan feet
pushing you back into the wil _dn __ erne ____ss
salivating salvation

the sea beck ons
washing over your feet
it is your savior and your christ
no
you are its savior and its christ
a holy trinity
eyes of a writer
tongue of a lover
lungs of a woman

cold creeps up your notched spine
with a terrifying speed
cool waves rush
rush
russhhhh
against your
calves in salt
thighs in salt
waist in salt
penetrating fluid fingers engulf
you in the gulf
you are the gulf

feeling flesh on the sole
fearful knowledge of the soul
a sharp sting ____of serrated shell
sole finder
soul finder
fingers penetrate the fluid gulf
sift the slow struck sand

ribbed and regal you surface it
pour the grains and the salt from its porous
chest
glimmer and smooth
poor us who don't find such treasures
hidden pleasures
wear it regally resting over your ribs
pour the grains and the salt from
your chest

Why [ver 1]

i keep wanting to cry
but my throat
its not big enough

i

please

sit with me
i need you

all those people
theyre dead
they cant disagree
or eat indian food
or love each other


its sweet
being alive is so damn sweet

What Do You Want Me To Do?

i want you to love me
i want you to love me because were not dead

i want to see you
and taste you
and smell you
just because i can

whats that you smell of?

Nostalgia.

For Whitney 2 [ver 1]

a strange sun drenched beach
summer's heat is pounding
pounding
pounding

shore holds the flame to
rch gold and red
your savage feet
your pagan feet
pushing you back into the wildnerness
salivating salvation

the sea beck ons
washing over your feet
it is your savior and your christ
no
you are its savior and its christ
a holy trinity
eyes of salt
tongue of salt
lungs of salt

shivers shoot up your notched spine
cool waves rush against your
calves in salt
thighs in salt
waist in salt
penetrating fluid fingers engulf
you in the gulf
you are the gulf

feeling flesh on the sole
fearful knowledge of the soul
a sharp sting of serrated shell
sole finder
soul finder
fingers penetrate the fluid gulf
sift the slow struck sand

ribbed and regal you surface it
pour the grains and the salt from its porous
chest
glimmer and smooth
poor us who don't find such treasures
hidden pleasures
wear it regally resting over your ribs
pour the grains and the salt from
your chest

For Whitney [ver 1] (layout is fucked)

like in all my favorite songs
our voices ssslllliiiidddddeeeee across telephone wires and over
the mountains of the west and their ex
pan
di n g
forests of deep green
under
the
rivers
i

i mean

the hot cr ac k ed black top
roads
that cut out the west
hard dry plateaus
carry the trail
ing echo of your laugh
my love

echo
exciting me
smiling me
writhing me watch echo
writhing you
echo
your b face
in u a
pil r low
y echo why

through the wires echo
a painful distance
words beck ohn you here
my mouth resting on your
neck
oh love
oh echo

Dream Journal 7

i was at dan's house and we were playing old school video games. it seemed as if he had recently converted to christianity or something. he had that really nice sweater vest feel to him of superb hospitality. he offered me a beer but i said no thanks which made him very happy. i will remember more of this later probably.


i had a pet grizzly bear and polar bear. the polar bear was out on the ice where i cut a hole so he could scoop fish from out under there. the grizzly bear who was in the snow on the bank of the lake or river got jealous and stepped forward. he weighed a lot more so when he got out to the ice, he and the polar bear both fell though. it sucked them down like a vacuum and left a really strange ripple effect at the surface. i dove into the water to try and find and help them but i couldnt see very far and am not a good swimmer. eventually i see the grizzly swimming back up at me with pieces of white fur in its mouth. i race back to the hole and surface just before the grizzly does. the polar bear has died.


in a dream from a previous night i was a woman. i had applied for some job at a corporate place but the woman working there never returned any of my calls. i end up going to her office and demanding an answer, after she ignores me for a long while i start to slap her face repeatedly. eventually she says that it is not out of fear of me taking her job but out of attraction for me. we start to kiss passionately as i push her up against the wall and she wraps her leg around my waist. i am now myself at this point, that is i am a guy now. i never get aroused while kissing her and never want to take it further. eventually some coworkers start to show up so i have to get beneath a blanket. i guess we were suddenly both naked. she runs into another room to get clothes on.

as the coworkers come in i am sitting down beneath a blanket. some guy with glasses and one of those idiot faces comes up to me and starts to pull it off for some reason. i tell him if he keeps doing that i will break his face in. he laughs so i rip the glasses off his face and throw them to the side and give him a hard stare. he stops pulling at the blanket.

For Fred [ver 2]

browsing through porn video after
porn video
an uncomfortable hot radiating from my shins
and from my back
a saliva sweat saturates my skin
flush folk guitar filter in through my headphones
making an aquarium of my teeming head

i wonder what the people on the elevator will think of me
in 10 minutes
will they know from a nervous twitch of my lips or
my anchored eyes
will they be able to smell my shame
my hedonism
my

sickness

my thoughts drift to Fred
like exhaust at a red light in December
i don't even know how the cancer took you
bones, skin, brain, lungs
maybe the lungs
i know how you smoked for the 50 years before me
but stopped with my birth
a new life for us both

and i do know how the illusion of this new life smelled
as you lied confused
in your own sweat and filth
on the cheapest looking bed from the hospital

i fucking hate that smell
a beautiful man reduced to
compost

i never get to the elevator

i leave the shower on cold

For Fred [ver 1]

browsing through porn video after
porn video
with the soul crushing sadness of Alela
filtering through my droning head
i wonder what the people on the elevator will think of me
in 10 minutes

my thoughts drift to Fred
like red light exhaust in December
i don't even know how the cancer took you
or how you spent the 50 years of your life before me

but i do know how you smelled as you lied dying
in your own sweat and filth
on the cheapest looking bed from the hospital

i never get to the elevator
i leave the shower on cold

Dream Journal 6

i have decided to move in with jackson and go to an art school with him. except jackson is played by joe delgehausen in my dream. arty funkhouser is his dad, and some attractive older woman is playing the role of jacksons/joes mom.

when i first am going to school i have a hard time finding the right bus. i need to be a\on bus route 6. eventually i find it and get on, paul is on the bus and goes to school there too which is exciting. i sit nexzt to him on the bus after he moves a bunch of his stfuff out of the way. the bus driver i dont really trust but it may have been because he was black and homeless looking. well i trusted him, he just had me feeling uneasy. he was very blunt.

when we get to school we go to our english classroom that is taught by andy meyer. we start to rearrange desks so that i can sit near paul. some girl asks if i am british for some reason and i say no. we end up sitting near her, she is short and round with pudgy features and the qualities of a girl who loves english class when no one else does. sorry anyone who loves english class and is in great shape.

as class begins i get a super runny nose and a cough. andy meyer says something to paul about good job for getting me here, but that he doesnt think i really belong. as if i wont be writing well enough about the prompts. as class is going my nose starts running worse and worse and im wiping it with my sleeve. i go to take a drink of water but there are little swirls of brown specks in my bottle which apparently got in through my desk. like the contamination jumped from desk to bottle. the same thing happens to the girl behind me who asked if i was from britain. i go home.

when i get home i am talking with jacksons mom and dad who are also josephs mom and dad at the same time. i go back and forth in my mind about whose parents they are over the course of the dream. as we are talking about school, jacksons mom lays on her belly and faces me, her low shirt exposing a lot of cleavage. i try my best to keep eye contact with her or look at other things. jacksons dad points out that they have a trumpet and a saxaphone there and if i play i should go for it. i say i used to play but not anymore, afterall the trumpet doesnt have any, any, uhh

here i make a hand motion as if playing a trumpet

"plungers" says jacksons as he walks through the door. im glad he is there so we can leave the awkward situation. we go to buy some food from a stand like were at a sporting event at a stadium. on the way there i bring up his mothers seductive attitude and how it puts me in a weird position. also i suddenly have a video of her on my cell phone doing a sexual grind dance in their backyard. jackson says its fine and laughs it off and to not worry about. its very comforting

now we go back to the house and i begin working on our first assignment. i have to relate the events in the first chapter of a book to my life somehow. all i can do at first is make a short list of things that correspond. i cant remember what they are now. i think this part of the dream ends with me staring at it, fearing having to do more.

there was another part to my dream that was a lot weirder. it involved a giant slug being hunted down by me like moby dick in the ocean. and then it froze and we were on ice and foot. then i got frustrated and changed the scale of both of us so i was normal sized and the slug was the size of a cat. i shot a harpoon at it but i think it missed and it got away. i also think the setting changed from the wide open seas to the guest room in my house before my brother moved in there. this is a short version because i remember way less details or timeline. and it isnt very interesting.

i woke up

For Ema [ver 5]

hidden pink lungs expanding with each new breath, secretly
contracting with each
exhalation
visible in the algid atmosphere
ten thousand years ago from ten thousand other lungs
being born again
in ten thousand mighty Montereys
full of creation

timber in the fire that you've made
burns for comfort and for vision and for love
it must split and crack
a persistent percussion playing off the pines
you finger a fallen cone from a nearby bough
then drop it into the flames
expanding and releasing its seeds
bringing warmth and sound to the
cold quiet forest

illuminating

looming furrowed trunks extend into the night
rough bark expanding with age
with grace and wisdom
creating little pockets
little seams for winter's snow to settle
before falling into fire's flickering light
to make a ritual
a spectacle of dancing crystal

under foot you feel the fertile earth
in motion on the shoulders of atlas
land shifting with heavy moans and sighs
soft soil fissures into slivers
the sea spills in and fills the streams
full of creation

clouds haunt the skies for miles in all directions
blanketing the woods and blanketing you
starving the woods and starving you
your eyes turn up, searching for heaven's glow
the dark stares back

then
a break, a crease
they split open the way you have
exposing the universe
exposing your universe
bare and powerful
full of creation

Dream Journal 5

i am an altar boy for some man's wedding. someone religious that i know like maybe james hersch. i am up there at the front with him, the soon to be wife, preacher, and his son but it isnt jon. we are standing on what seems to be a water bed like surface. we are going through practice rehearsals inside when we notice it is raining super hard outside. as we keep looking out the window it gets worse and worse until we stop rehearsing. then the waves start crashing against the window and the building begins to move. our feet lose grip on the water bed surface and we are slamming into walls. eventually the entire building detaches and we are floating away, the house spinning and flipping.

i wake up, it has only been a dream. i want to call whitney to tell her that in my dream, my last thought was of her. i get out of bed and notice my underpants are damp and that i have a pizza box on around them. i am not sure if i was sweating a lot or of i pissed myself from the terror of almost dying. i stumble to a bathroom and my eyes dont work right and are unfocused. im walking like im drunk, eventually finding the bathroom. i take off the pizza box and use the bathroom. i go and get changed and head to the wedding rehearsal. before i get there i stop in a living room and start to talk with my cousin about some promo cd he is selling of his for 5 dollars. he plays me a song that is alright and i look at the cd. i think he does a Panda Bear cover but my eyes arent working right yet and it really says Robert Bear, a bearded classic rock guitarist from the 70s. i am much less impressed. i eventually leave.

when i get there and take my place at the front james asks me to go and sit with my family and i do not belong up there. so i do and he asks if i have been blessed yet as i leave and i say no i have not. when i sit down next to my mom i take a bottle out of my jacket pocket and pour some in my hand, it steams and hisses, and i rub it on my face and pour it on my head. i decide i cant stay at the wedding so i go to leave and get on an elevator out of the building.



next i am in a prison with an orange jumpsuit on. i am there because i used the elevator which turned out to be illegal for a reason i cant remember. i also realize that i am on a mission to kill a boy but cant remember who ordered me to. as i am sitting in prison Paul comes and visits me and talks about what i will do now and i say im just happy sitting in prison and biding my time until i get out and can hunt that boy down. somehow i lose this train of thought as paul leaves and i walk out the front door with him, no one stops him.

we start to run once we get a little ways away from the building but paul is a lot faster than me and pulls away easily. for some reason i have a life preserver around my neck that is huge and heavy and slows me down but i am too afraid to take it off and leave it on the ground since it would provide a trail of evidence for anyone chasing us. i catch up to paul as we are walking through a greek row of some college campus and all the buildings are huge and church like. beautiful teens are everywhere playing games. paul remarks that someones girlfriend's mom is over there and she is really hot.

we get into another elevator at some point and start to go down in it. other people come in and as it reaches each floor this girl asks if we can hold the door for a few minutes as she uses the bathroom. the asian girl next to me is upset by this but doesn't say anything. paul and i get off at this floor anyways and start to use the staircase. as we are walking down (i am now in street clothes) i can hear a disembodied voice speaking a review of an album paul and i have made and it is like the review for wolf parade. we both have our own personal styles but they blend well.

as we exist the door at the bottom of the stairs paul is now my older friend kyle janssen and as we are running through the campus at night, i notice a lost cell phone. i stop to pick it up just in case. as we continue running we come upon a group of cops arresting some kid. they ask for his license and i am afraid they will ask for mine and realize who i am. i walk up to an officer and tell him about the lost cell phone, he takes it and i thank him. he doesn't suspect i escaped prison. i start to run to catch up with kyle and accidentally bump another cop as i run past, i apologize but he thinks nothing of it.

i escape.

i wake up.

For Ema [ver 4]

hidden pink lungs expanding with each
new breath, secretly contracting with each exhalation
visible in the algid atmosphere from ten thousand
years ago and from ten thousand other lungs
being born again
in ten thousand mighty pines
full of creation

timber in the fire that you've made
burns for comfort and for vision and for love
it must split and crack
a persistent percussion playing off the pines
flames bringing warmth and sound to the
cold quiet forest

illuminating

looming furrowed pines
rough bark expanding with age
with grace and wisdom
creating little pockets
little seams for winter's snow to settle
before falling into fire's flickering light
to make a ritual
a spectacle of dancing crystal

under foot you feel the fertile earth
in motion on the shoulders of atlas
land shifting with heavy moans and sighs
soft soil fissures into slivers
the sea spills in and fills the streams
full of creation

clouds haunt the skies for miles in all directions
blanketing the woods and blanketing you
starving the woods and starving you
your eyes turn up, searching for heaven's glow
the dark stares back

then
a break, a crease
they split open up the way you have
exposing the universe
exposing your universe
bare and powerful
full of creation

For Ema [ver 3]

pink fleshy lungs expanding with each
new breath, contracting with each visible exhalation
into the smoke filled atmosphere from ten thousand
years ago and from ten thousand other lungs
being born again
in ten thousand mighty pines
full of creation

each log in the fire
burning for comfort or for laughs or for love
must split and crack
a persistent percussion playing off the pines
flames bringing warmth and sound to the
cold quiet forest

illuminating

towering furrowed pines
rough bark expanding with age
with grace and power
creating little pockets
little seams for winter's snow to settle
before falling into fire's flickering light
to make a ritual
a spectacle of dancing crystal

under foot you feel the fertile earth
in motion on the shoulders of atlas
land shifting with heavy sighs
soft soil splitting into slivers
the sea spills in and fills the streams
full of creation

hanging clouds stretch out for miles overhead
blanketing the woods and blanketing you
and your eyes upturned searching for heaven
the dark stares back

then
a break, a crease
they open up the way you have
exposing the universe
exposing your universe
bare and powerful
full of creation

For Ema [ver 2]

pink fleshy lungs expanding with each
new breath, contracting with each visible exhalation
into the smoke filled atmosphere from ten thousand
years ago and from thousand other lungs
being born again
in ten thousand mighty pines

each log in the fire
burning for comfort or for laughs or for love
must split and crack
a persistent percussion playing off the pines
flames bringing warmth and sound to the
cold quiet forest

illuminating

towering furrowed pines
rough bark expanding with age
with grace and power
creating little pockets
little seams for winter's snow to settle
before falling into fire's flickering light
to make a ritual
a spectacle of dancing crystal

hanging clouds stretch out for miles blanketing
the earth and blanketing you
and your eyes upturned searching for heaven
the dark stares back

then
a sliver, a crease
they open up the way you have
exposing the universe
exposing your universe
bare and powerful
full of creation

For Ema [ver 1]

pink fleshy lungs expanding with each
new breath, each new moment
taking in the atmosphere from ten thousand
years ago and being born again

twisting furrowed cherry blossom trees
rough bark expanding with years
creating little pockets for winters snow to settle
then fall out in the sun's rays
to make a breath taking spectacle of dancing crystal

and each log in the fire
burning for food or for laughs or for love
must split and crack
a persistent percussion playing off the pines
flames bringing the warmth and sound to the
cold quiet forest

hanging clouds stretch out for miles blanketing
the earth and blanketing you
and your eyes upturned searching for heaven
they open up the way you have
exposing the universe
exposing your universe
bare and raw
full of creation

For Susan [ver 1]

his passionate lecture
about the impossible nature
of repetition
of pure repetition
of instantaneous repetition
and

and
and o f a st
of a stutter
the moment when language is true
ly alive

and of Helios and his march
He powers the sun
He at the end of the life cycle
when He makes it swell up and throb red
but dead on the inside
a masculine metaphor
a metaphor for masculinity

i (eye) w(o/a)nder
who else in this class knows How
e
these words are a present
in the present
for penetrating preset perceptions

Dream Journal 4

we are on a class field trip on a bus and stop at some building that is kind of like those team building activity exercise places. we all sit down in a circle and start listening to some live bands that are there. animal collective is there but they are all teenagers and noah lennox is a girl.

as they are playing the ahola twins walk through the show with their headphones on and loudly ask questions to one another about when something will arrive. i call them cunts and tell them to shut up but they dont hear me. they walk into a back room.

after the show is over and we go to leave we can't find the ahola twins. we go into the back room and it has been completely abandoned and i guess there use to be a drug factory of sorts in there just hours before. one of the teachers starts climbing through the heading ducts to find evidence of this but then the heat mysteriously turns on while he is in there. he scurries back to the hole in the pipes and falls down, on fire, on top of me.i hit him with my jacket to put out the flames. someone pours water over him.




later i am at dinner with whitney. we are at a really upscale place. she is telling me that i am too vulgar when i talk about other peoples relationships, that i shouldnt say they have sex or are getting some. she says i should say they go to bed together. after some resistance i agree to what she says. the check comes and it is a lot more than we expected for food neither of us really liked. we only come up with 150 of the 180 dollars that are due. whitney goes to take care of it

i wake up

An Observation 4

warm wet bodies squatting in the hall
bent over papers with the homeless eyes
of a mother watching a sick child

speaking in soft tongues
in hushed tones like pious monks
no

no
not like that
like

like sinners with rosary beads

An Observation 3

jogging on the treadmill
awkward sweat welding my shirt to my spine
and my developing breasts which i am fighting so hard
bounching beneath my shirt

i wonder if the five women in the room
think of me as i think they do
a moist pig with his tongue hanging out
small black eyes on their hard calves and fresh necks
the way produce looks in the supermarket when it gets
sprayed

i wonder if they can smell me from across the room

Dream Journal 3

emily brostrom was suddenly back in my life. i was in a small dorm room with 2 other roommates and we were the typical 'nerd' room. for some reason there was going to be a big party in our room so everyone started to get ready.

i continued you lie in bed and pulled the blankets over my face and pretended to be asleep. emily walked in the room and i think she knew i was faking. she laid down in the bed next to me and i turned on my stomach and buried my face in the pillow. she laid across my back and we talked about catching up.

she said that i should turn around and face her when we talk so i did and she laid on the side of me the way a couple would. i dont remember what we talked about but i think she kissed my neck.

later i am talking with my roommate about how weird it is and how i dont get her. jackson and i leave to go to a movie which is nearly sold out. we have to sit in seats that are way off the side and we have a very skewed view of the screen. i think we are watching Milk. i jokingly say we should save a seat for emily but i think i am serious.

that's all i remember

short story [ver 1]

He stood out in the cold, rocking from heel to toe in his worn out sneakers. His hands were pressed against his face as he blew hot air over them in hopes to restore feeling, though he mostly did this because it's what people did in movies when they stood out in the cold waiting.

He looked down at his shoes and noticed that the melting snow near his ankles had begun to creep up his blue jeans, staining them a darker hue. The air was starting to bite at his nose and ears, and little tears of impatience began to form in his eyes after a while but he couldn't leave. A flock of birds silently left a gnarled tree in the distance. This was longer than usual.

The door opened and she came striding out laughing with her head turned back towards the inside. He blinked away his frustration and smiled, as she drew near he could smell her, or at least half of her. She took out a cigarette and he took out his matchbook. She inhaled and looked at him, examining his hair before messing it up with her calloused fingertips. He instinctually pulled away before relenting. Exhaling her smoke he could smell all of her. He picked up her guitar case and they walked to the car. A trail of cigarette smoke and freezing carbon dioxide and biodiesal exhaust.

They drove to the dam, streetlights flowing their glow over the hood and windshield and disappearing into the rear headlight. She pulled up and parked the car in the spot overlooking the gates where the water cascaded down with a terrifying weight. She took out another cigarette and he took out another match.

you don't mind the smoke?

no, it's fine

when i was your age and my sister started to smoke i couldn't stand being in the car with her

oh, yeah, i'm fine with it.
i just like the smell

you've told me that already

sorry. are you nervous?

The sound of the falls churning up foam and the hush of the bending pines in the wind washed over the car and filled its cavity. She dropped her cigarette out the cracked open window.

let's go to the show

She pulled into the lot of a cafe. He grabbed her case and brought it inside. The place felt small and smelled like wet leather. She walked up to the stage and put the mic in front of her, he placed the case at her feet then moved back to find a seat. She began to sing and play. Her fingers moving softly up and down the neck.

and i'd love to see it but it's something you just feel
and i'd love to feel it but it just isn't real

He crossed his legs on his chair and folded his hands in front of him. He kept his eyes at her feet or on the sticky reflective table in front of him. His eyes moved up her jeans, up her loose flowing blouse, past her hanging hair. He met her eyes.

and god is whoever you're performing for
and god is whoever you perform for

He looked away, he didn't notice that she kept looking. He checked his phone and then pretended that he had to scratch the top of his head. Her fingers kept moving. He didn't look up again for the rest of the show. He clapped when she was done and so did the few other people who were there.

that was really good, like, really good

it sucked the mic kept fucking up and cutting out

i liked that you played the one about all the good poets being dead

yeah i was gonna play i'll be laughing but i didn't feel like retuning

oh alright

let's go

He picked up her guitar case and followed her out to the car. She started it up and they sat there for a while to let the heat start up. He clamped his legs together and made himself small to conserve heat. She took out a cigarette and started to drive. She kept it in her mouth until they parked at the dam again.

why did you look away?

what?

He looked up and noticed her cigarette and got out his matchbook, he messed up on the first stick.

during the first song you looked up at me then looked away right away

the lights were really bright

oh

He messed up on the second stick.

here give me those

She took the matchbook out of his hands and put them down in between their seats, still holding on to his hands. His body locked up. He kept his eyes on the matchbook. She put her hand on the back of his neck and her cold fingers send a shiver down his spine. She pulled him towards her and he could smell her. Her lips pushed against his before parting and sliding in her tongue. He shut his eyes tightly. He felt her hand on his thigh and then on his penis. He felt the heat rush his cheek and a cold sweat on his back. She undid his pants and moved them down his legs, she did the same. She was on top of him in the car seat and he was inside of her. He kept his eyes closed. He came.

The sound of the falls churning up foam and the hush of the bending pines in the wind washed over the car and filled its cavity. She moved off him and back into the driver's seat. She took out a cigarette and grabbed the matchbook. He opened the window so he couldn't smell her. His head rested against the taut seat belt, as if hung in a sling.

She drove them back, leaving a trail of smoke and freezing carbon dioxide and biodiesal exhaust.
She parked the car, looked at him, grabbed her guitar case and went inside. He walked back in the cold. He looked up at the moon, its glow amplified and its details clear through the cold winter's night air. He looked down at his hands as little tears fell and pooled in his palms.

In the distance a flock of birds silently left their barren branches.

Dream Journal 2

ema was secretly in love with me and she walked towards me dressed only in bed sheet. i could see her feet, ankles, legs, one shoulder, and her face. we just stared at each other for a long time and i think i turned her away despite my primal urges.

another dream i was in a room, i guess one of my classes for college. the class was over at 9:10 pm and my professor stayed with me after everyone had gone. i was waiting to catch a train to Pennsylvania but it didn't come for a few more hours. so we sat and talked and i put on the album The Crane Wife by The Decemberists. I think my professor was Thomas Sullivan or Tom Waits or someone older like that whom could be a grandfather figure in my life. he liked the album. while watching the clock mine was an hour ahead. paul called and i forget about what but i told him i would be home in 5 hours

while waiting i got a phone call from the abortion clinic that i had missed my scheduled meeting with them today for three abortions. i dont remember why i made the appointments, maybe for someone else since i was a man in the dream. maybe 3 other people or maybe for triplets, i forget.

i start to tell the man about a stupid television commercial i had seen where there is a lion on some raft floating down the river. the commercial was for a car and it was something like 'scare tactics' or 'scarily intimidating'. i dont know how it connected

then all of a sudden i am in the dream and i am swimming in the river. the lion hops off the raft and starts to chase me down. the old man and another man, maybe my dad, are with me now. they all swim ahead and the lion catches me and drags me out of the water with its teeth.

at some point in a dream i took a key off a dead man and opened a safe in his room. there was an alarm clock on top of the safe, and when i opened the safe i could see all the wires that powered the clock.

Dream Journal 1

i was lost on my bicycle trying to find my way home

some woman on a balcony had her cat stolen
she was being blackmailed and looked over the balcony and jumped
to save her cat

me and you were in the backseat of two teenagers who called the building
when the police all arrived, one of them had the keys to the building
after the cops went in they called and said that Bob Hart was the one who made her jump
this was a lie and Bob Hart was your estranged dad
i yelled at the end of the message that it was a lie
and we choked the two punks from behind until they passed out

we walked around for a while and now we were shirtless, some strange man i thought
was Bob Hart we ran into who was also shirtless, we talked
the two teen punks came out of the woodwork and the man
slit their throats while they just stood still
it was intense and unexpected, like maybe we had done the wrong thing
we started to walk back to Bob's house and the man scratched my back
like my grandfather would

we get there and it is deserted so we look around
the man tells us a story about how stubborn Bob Hart is
how he let a black poisonous frog get all over hes leg one time
and he got sick and bloody from it and couldnt
go to church with you
you were with me then, viewing the memory
you loved the dress you had on in the past

after this we left in fear of being on the wrong side of Bob Hart
and the 3 murders that had taken place, we say were going to my house
but we go to yours to trick them

we end up going to a friends house but we forget it is halloween
and everyone else is dressed up as terrifying monks
you say 'holy shit, we forgot' and the friends mother gets mad
or rather i think she gets mad at us for being vulgar
so we run away to my house

we run through the snow and you have bare legs and feet in flip flops
so i arch my back and stick my arms out and you jump on
and i carry you through the snow and up the hill
i slip and you fall but you laugh
the fall has exposed your stomach and now you have dark skin
i pull you up by grabbing your hand

i wake up

a dream [ver 3]

the tired peasant mother of a mother
calloused hands with grooves and furrows
small stepping feet float her to the field in adagio beat
with the surrounding sounds of natures sweet ring
her arms and aching back carry the acquired anamnesis of
two generations trapped in toiled labor

ostinato hoe turning earth and birthing it again
a ritual a funeral for rotted leaves and packed dirt
surfacing soft soil for the seasonal scatter
blessing burnt black sod with the sheen of the sea

finality fills her tired peasant eyes as the last seeds are sown
she will not collect the coming crop of Cancer
and weather the wintery wind's wicked blows
she gracefully floats to the rhythm of the coda

burial in the fall with the fallen leaves
the fuel for a future funeral of minerals and weeds
a wry smile unwilting across her wrinkled face
laid in the loam of an unknown reap

waking
my fertile head in your lap
soft sounds of sinatra surfing your sighs while
stacatto fingers linger and harrow my scalp
sifting up the syllables that sprout and swell
into impending verses and idolatry

sing o muse [ver 1]

language dripping easy off your tongue
like rain water running off the edges of a leaf
and i stand below
the dumb savage, the panting beast
cracked lips wide awaiting your moisture
on my primal tongue

instictual reactions of dilated pupils
and a rush of blood to blush
i am the apes gathered around the monolith and
i am the virgin with a glass of wine and
i am the cancer patient with a morphine injection
i am penetrated

a dream [ver 2]

the tired peasant mother of a mother
calloused hands with grooves and furrows
small stepping feet float her into the field
her arms and aching back carry the anamnesis of
two generations toiled in labor

hoe turning earth and birthing it again
a ritual a funeral for weeds and mined minerals
surfacing soft soil for the seasonal scatter
and blessing burnt black sod with the sheen of the sea

a feeling of finality fills her tired peasant eyes
as the last of the seeds are sown
unwilling to collect the coming crop of Cancer
and weather the wintery wind's wicked blows
she floats with sure-footed rhythm to the coda

burial in the fall with the fallen leaves
the fuel for a future funeral of minerals and weeds
a wry smile unwilting across her wrinkled face
laid in the loam of an unknown reap

waking
my fertile head in your lap
finessed fingers harrowing my scalp
sifting up the words that swell
into impending verses and idolatry

a dream [ver 1]

the tired peasant mother of a mother
calloused hands with grooves and furrows
small light feet float her into the field
her arms and back carry the memory of
two generations toiled in labor

hoe turning earth and birthing it again
an annual funeral for weeds and mined minerals
surfacing soft soil for the seasonal seeds
and blessing burnt brown sod with the sheen of the sea

feelings of finality fill her tired peasant eyes
as the last of the crops are sown
unwilling to collect the coming crop of Cancer
and weather the wintery blows of the wicked wind
she floats with sure footed rhythm
back to the wooden house that belongs to unfolding mothers

buried that fall with the fallen leaves
and the fuel for a future funeral
a wry smile unwilting across her wrinkled face
laid in the loam of an unknown reap

waking
my pregnant head in your lap
your fingers ploughing my hair
turning up the words to breathe life
into impending verses and idolatry