And I just don't know what to believe in
When nothing has substance or reason
In each changing season
There's only time retreating
The past stares at me teasing
A time at once pleasing
I'm a fucked up human being
Unsure of why I'm breathing
Hold on to your teachings
There's no rapture in freedom
Behind my mind, a sensation's creeping
Telling me to go find some place to fit in
This is no world to find peace in
So what's the point in deceiving?
Buy in/sell out to religion
Tell me, is your heart still beating?
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
Self-Loathing
You've disappointed me
Note no note of surprise
I’ve always been deceived
By kind, sorrowful eyes
No one’s fault but mine
Add another fault to list
I’m always keen to find
That which doesn’t exist
Write it down for record
No melody in my head
Every line is full of discord
Every rhyme is filled with dread
If only I could stop these voices being heard
I’d never have to write down one more painful word
I only sought to be an artist
Now I’m a fake like all the rest
I hoped to speak to passion
And somehow define myself
My aim I know is noble
My motives are sincere
I just can’t make up my mind
On where to go from here
No one’s going to love you
The way you need to be loved
And no one’s gonna save you
So you might as well give up
The creeping, lurching darkness now claws at my brain
I know that winter’s despair is yet here again
Monday, December 08, 2008
You Can't Do This To Me
So suddenly opportunity arose
Unexpectedly, as I had never known
A world of insecurities come to pause
That a moment of certainty could, is and was
Though with the day, it all seems like a dream
A miracle in sleep is only make-believe
You've woken something inside that yearns to be free
And to just disappear, you can't do this to me
Perhaps it is my youth or maybe I'm naive
I've always been the victim of my own ideals
Wanting to believe in something so very much
In my desire to touch you I might have lost touch
But when you've waited and waited for nothing to come
It's a miracle when you finally find someone
And to take that away, to deny what could be
It's not fair, it's not right, you can't do this to me
Unexpectedly, as I had never known
A world of insecurities come to pause
That a moment of certainty could, is and was
Though with the day, it all seems like a dream
A miracle in sleep is only make-believe
You've woken something inside that yearns to be free
And to just disappear, you can't do this to me
Perhaps it is my youth or maybe I'm naive
I've always been the victim of my own ideals
Wanting to believe in something so very much
In my desire to touch you I might have lost touch
But when you've waited and waited for nothing to come
It's a miracle when you finally find someone
And to take that away, to deny what could be
It's not fair, it's not right, you can't do this to me
Monday, September 29, 2008
Thursday, September 18, 2008
The Drought of Adrian, Redux
Another night. The glow of the television upon his forehead. Radiation poisoning, he thought. How far was the set supposed to be, in order to be safe? Safety, comfort, security. This, his apartment, was everything he ever needed, a kitchen, a bathroom, a couch, his laptop and his TV. Here, he could spend the rest of his days and there was a tremendous sense of accomplishment accompanying that thought. He relished coming home some nights. To exit the loud, crashing world, after being pushed and pushing this way and that, battling others for space, for money, for survival only to return from this unceasing war for a few hours of peace until he was called to action, once again, in the morning, around 5:50 AM. Yet, some nights felt like just another night. Those nights, he wanted to never return to that stupid, cramped apartment in Harlem, East 133rd St, to bypass the hot, crowded, jerky six train. He didn’t know where to go, or what to do, not that he would have anyone with whom to do anything with anyway, but he longed for the days of old. Of college, when the end of the day signaled the beginning of something. Where friends were across the hall, or a flight of stairs away. He could go to bed at all hours of the night and still wake up for class the next morning, or not. There was a freedom to those days that he had failed to realize, at that time, existed. All there was, he remembered thinking at age nineteen, was class, more class, a part time job and homework. It was slavery to the university system, was it not? He anticipated the end of college, the end of schedules and routine. But, with college’s end, came the end of carefreeishness. Should that ever be considered a legitimate word. The hours of the day blended into subway rides, coffee runs, data sheets, phone calls, blah, blah and more blah til he could scarcely remember what he had even accomplished earlier. Who was he kidding, he thought. Nothing was accomplished today. Or yesterday, the day before, etc, etc. And nothing will be accomplished tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after, in continuum, forever and ever until he dies. At his desk, or in this apartment, which was not as safe and comfortable and secure as it had been a minute ago. Now, it was suffocating. Confining.
Outdoors greeted him with its mild indifference, blowing gently through his open jacket. Still undecided about where he was going or what he was doing, Adrian walked to the subway. There had to be somewhere that mystical tube could take him. Eschewing his headphones and obligatory reading material, Adrian rode the six train. He wanted to feel, to experience the train, naked of his usual securities. Once the train arrived, the initial rebelliousness of this act crumbled into anxiety and he spent the entire ride down to Union Square with his eyes alternately buried betwixt his legs, or angling up at the ads for skin care treatment with an ethereal fascination. Union Square seemed the logical choice. He had spent many a night there in his youth—was his youth over, was that why he referred to it in the past tense?—and there was always something going on around there. He reached for his phone. Maybe he could give an old friend he hadn’t seen in ages a call under the pretense of catching up. Really, though, he was lonely and it was destroying him. He needed to be in the company of others just to feel all right again. Though he hadn’t felt all right since probably junior year. That was the last time he and Simon had last been together. They had dated since senior year in high school, after a few years of mild adolescent curiosity had matured into a shared understanding and appreciation. They both left Jersey to come to the city for school, Adrian downtown, Simon, uptown. Freshman year was the happiest time in his life and would remain so, he knew rather than thought. Everything was so new! He and Simon had a freedom to be with each other that they had never experienced in their smallish town and the city was their playground. Adrian’s grades suffered as a result of how much time they spent together, but he felt like a fictional character made flesh. Their love affair—for it must have been love…?—was too idyllic to be completely real. Even if the past is the best kind of cosmetic, embellishing and concealing. To return home to Jersey that summer was to wake up from a pleasant dream one knew eventually had to end, despite one’s best efforts to persist in sleep. They barely saw each other, Adrian and Simon. Adrian waited tables while Simon was a counselor at a day camp. And god did he hate children. The job was torture for him and barely paid minimum wage, but it was the only thing he could find. If he had been searching, as Adrian advised him, in April, like he had, then he could have avoided that post. But Simon never did listen, not out of spite, only because it was not in him. He was a talker and loved to share his opinions on everything, whether his interlocutor wanted to hear it or not. Still, they found time to be with each other. Almost every Friday, they would take their paychecks and blow it all in the city. Adrian sighed. He hadn’t indulged in anything in so long. Not even a new jacket, which would have proved rather essential considering the condition of his present one.
He filed through the names in his cell phone twice, avoiding then lingering on S. He realized then that he had no real friends. Not anymore. Once, he was never want for activities or activity partners. He and Simon would go out every night of the week, either by themselves or with a group. Sophomore year, both faced with sagging grades, Adrian and Simon decided to cut back on their time together, but still went out a few nights of the week. A day could not go by without an hour-long phone call or a few dozen text messages or a couple hours chatting online. If not one then all of the above. Then with midterms, the calls became shorter, the texts and chats fewer and suspicion greater. They had their first fight on Halloween. When later pressed, neither could remember what the fight was entirely about, but it was the first of many. During winter break, they mutually decided to see other people, only to hook up with the assistance of free rum and burning loins, at a party celebrating the return from vacation to the rigors of university life. Officially back on, everything was good again, but the impending shadow of doom was easier to notice now that it had encroached upon their happiness. Their relationship was dying, only Adrian did not know it at the time. Yes, tensions might have been slightly higher, but if it was truly love—for it must have been love—they would work through their problems. The uneasiness between them, the forced kindnesses in hope of avoiding any conflict, the quick capitulation resulting from any conflict unsuccessfully avoided. By junior year, happiness was a façade, replaced by jealousy, bitterness and uncertainty. They broke up, this time not as mutually, with Simon dealing the deathly blow. Adrian did not take it well and most would say he never quite recovered. He never dated anyone after Simon, who seemed impervious to Adrian’s pain. Except once. A drunken phone call. Do you miss me? I’ve always missed you. Can I come up...? Sure. That was the last time Adrian had sex, a year after it had all ended, five years from the dreary existence he had cultivated for himself. He didn’t want to hide, but he could feel the hot tears stinging his eyes. Ducking into a bar, he bolted for the bathroom, locking the door behind him, stared into the mirror and wondered why he had let himself fall so hard. Fall so hard in love, fall so hard out of it, then fall so hard into nothingness. The friends he had once had, alienated by his morose behavior and refusal to give up the ghost, stopped calling. He imaged that there was a moment of indecision, whether to side with him or Simon. After all, they had the same group, thus someone had to be the loser. And Adrian played the role well. Too well, in fact. He pushed the devoted ones away, Chris, Sandra, Frankie, now he missed them and needed them so. He hadn’t seen any of them in years, too busy with work and self-pity, would they care to hear from him? Were there numbers still the same? He knew Chris had moved back to Cisco, out of necessity not choice. Perhaps, he thought, they could meet up just this once, for old times’ sake. He almost dialed Sandra, who was the last to leave. She indulged in his morose wanderings of the park, his pitiable poetry and his self-imposed exile, but even she, patient, understanding if a bit harsh, Sandra, could not fight to love him. He had to love himself….And Frankie. A rush of blood below the belt. He wondered if Frankie was still as beautiful. When he and Simon broke up for the first time, Frankie was quick to move in. Herding Adrian to bars and clubs, out to parties, bringing over movies and wine. Before he and Simon reconciled, he and Frankie, with the aid of cheap wine and “The Lady Eve,” made out sloppily, but passionately, before Adrian called a cease and desist. Frankie, although miffed, understood and respected his decision. After he and Simon, broke up for the last time, Frankie was in a relationship of his own, a fact that Adrian tried to overlook. After making an ass out of himself, in front of a few familiar faces no less—at one point proclaiming how “pathetic” Frankie was for missing out on an opportunity to have his way with him then spilling his drink on Frankie’s then boyfriend—Adrian withdrew from further contact with him. In the mirror, he saw a young man of twenty-six, a little overweight, in need of a haircut and a shave, but otherwise, passably attractive, laugh in spite of himself. Then, noticing the posters of a naked Josephine Baker on the walls, he knew he had been here before. A home away from home, it once was. Every Thursday, Friday and Saturday night for three straight years. Wiping his face, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to have a drink, for old times’ sake, at his old haunt. He was already there, after all.
“Rum and coke, please.” The bartender, short, gruff, muscular and handsome— “Actually, could you make that a diet coke,” Adrian added with a smile—had been there during his glory days. When he and Simon and their coterie of fabulous friends, drinking with fake IDs, would spend all night dancing and singing along to the jukebox. As the owners seemed perfectly adamant about adding any songs released after 1983, disco lived a life long after its supposed death. Drink in hand, Adrian perused the selection. Disappointed to find a few of today’s hits sprinkled through, he finally settled on the Emotions, “Best of My Love.” The song started, almost immediately, as if it had been waiting for him all along; a welcome reprieve from the time when one could and would wait an entire night to hear their song, but then again, the bar was a lot more crowded back then. That Tuesday night, there were only a handful of boozers and cruisers out. But it was early still. Adrian glanced at his watch. 9:45. Yikes, he thought. And he was already getting tired. His youth, as he had known it, was indeed over. Then what was this that he was doing now? Not middle age, it was too soon for that. What was this, this grey area? He was nearing thirty and for the first time the idea frightened him. What if he never had sex again? What if he worked at the same company, hating his life everyday for the next forty years until retirement? Then what? He already felt life was at an end at twenty-six, what of sixty-six? Seventy? The thought was too great for a sober mind. “Another, please,” Adrian politely asked while extending his empty glass.
Countless rum and diet cokes later, the room was a crowded, sweaty disco-fueled orgy. Adrian’s shyness, melancholy and misery dissipated and he danced erratically, but joyfully, to Cheryl Lynn’s “Got to Be Real.” He remembered last when he danced like this. It was with Simon. They always moved so well together, vertically and horizontally. He missed him desperately then, but he was also happy, he realized. He was happy he had been able to feel love and to feel loved, even if it didn’t work out. Then he felt impossibly silly that he had let this relationship, albeit a very important relationship, rule his life for the past ten years. He threw his head back and laughed loudly, the sight of which confused everyone around him. Adrian did not care. This. Yes, this was the first time in a long time he had felt so free and he would have no one encroach upon this freedom. Freedom, happiness, and all they entailed must be fought for. That was life. The struggle—that was life. “But what am I struggling for?” Adrian stood in the middle of the dance floor, his head slightly cocked to the side, wondering just what he had been doing with his life for the past five years.
He returned to the bar, his island in the sea of thumping tones and humping bodies, the dancefloor. He ordered another drink, but wished for something stronger. Something that would take him away from all of this. Suddenly, he saw a handsome, muscular stranger at the end of the bar. He sought to meet his gaze, but the man was too busy staring at his own reflection in the mirror directly behind the bar. Adrian turned to face himself in the same mirror and saw only a miserable, sloppy drunken mess returning his gaze. The loneliness in the reflection's eyes caused his entire body to quiver and he collapsed in tears, knocking his drink off the bar. Others turned to see what all the commotion was, but no one endeavored to help or ease the situation. The bartender gestured to the doorman, who, with surprising tenderness, escorted Adrian out of the bar. Propped against the wall, Adrian struggled to regain his composure. He inhaled the cool night air with a full mouth, as if the air were the only thing that could possibly save him now, bring him back from the barren fields of his depressed mind.
"Cigarette?" The doorman asked. Adrian didn't smoke, but it occurred to him that he really didn't care and he just wanted some sort of interaction of any kind to break the cycle of loneliness and self0-chastisement. He clumsily accepted but was far too inebriated to work the mechanism of a lighter. The doorman obliged.
"Thank you..."
"Steve."
"Steve."
Silence loomed over them. The night was winding down, approaching that magical hour between too late and too early, when the sky has hints of color and the air tones of familiarity. Adrian suddenly thought he'd probably have to call in to work tomorrow. It shouldn't be a problem, he thought, he was always at work, no matter how terrible, how sick, how exhausted with life he felt, he was always at work. What difference would one day off make. He took another drag of the cigarette and enjoyed the shared silence with Steve, the doorman. Wrapped up in the armor of night, he found his way home and passed out on his solitary twin bed.
Outdoors greeted him with its mild indifference, blowing gently through his open jacket. Still undecided about where he was going or what he was doing, Adrian walked to the subway. There had to be somewhere that mystical tube could take him. Eschewing his headphones and obligatory reading material, Adrian rode the six train. He wanted to feel, to experience the train, naked of his usual securities. Once the train arrived, the initial rebelliousness of this act crumbled into anxiety and he spent the entire ride down to Union Square with his eyes alternately buried betwixt his legs, or angling up at the ads for skin care treatment with an ethereal fascination. Union Square seemed the logical choice. He had spent many a night there in his youth—was his youth over, was that why he referred to it in the past tense?—and there was always something going on around there. He reached for his phone. Maybe he could give an old friend he hadn’t seen in ages a call under the pretense of catching up. Really, though, he was lonely and it was destroying him. He needed to be in the company of others just to feel all right again. Though he hadn’t felt all right since probably junior year. That was the last time he and Simon had last been together. They had dated since senior year in high school, after a few years of mild adolescent curiosity had matured into a shared understanding and appreciation. They both left Jersey to come to the city for school, Adrian downtown, Simon, uptown. Freshman year was the happiest time in his life and would remain so, he knew rather than thought. Everything was so new! He and Simon had a freedom to be with each other that they had never experienced in their smallish town and the city was their playground. Adrian’s grades suffered as a result of how much time they spent together, but he felt like a fictional character made flesh. Their love affair—for it must have been love…?—was too idyllic to be completely real. Even if the past is the best kind of cosmetic, embellishing and concealing. To return home to Jersey that summer was to wake up from a pleasant dream one knew eventually had to end, despite one’s best efforts to persist in sleep. They barely saw each other, Adrian and Simon. Adrian waited tables while Simon was a counselor at a day camp. And god did he hate children. The job was torture for him and barely paid minimum wage, but it was the only thing he could find. If he had been searching, as Adrian advised him, in April, like he had, then he could have avoided that post. But Simon never did listen, not out of spite, only because it was not in him. He was a talker and loved to share his opinions on everything, whether his interlocutor wanted to hear it or not. Still, they found time to be with each other. Almost every Friday, they would take their paychecks and blow it all in the city. Adrian sighed. He hadn’t indulged in anything in so long. Not even a new jacket, which would have proved rather essential considering the condition of his present one.
He filed through the names in his cell phone twice, avoiding then lingering on S. He realized then that he had no real friends. Not anymore. Once, he was never want for activities or activity partners. He and Simon would go out every night of the week, either by themselves or with a group. Sophomore year, both faced with sagging grades, Adrian and Simon decided to cut back on their time together, but still went out a few nights of the week. A day could not go by without an hour-long phone call or a few dozen text messages or a couple hours chatting online. If not one then all of the above. Then with midterms, the calls became shorter, the texts and chats fewer and suspicion greater. They had their first fight on Halloween. When later pressed, neither could remember what the fight was entirely about, but it was the first of many. During winter break, they mutually decided to see other people, only to hook up with the assistance of free rum and burning loins, at a party celebrating the return from vacation to the rigors of university life. Officially back on, everything was good again, but the impending shadow of doom was easier to notice now that it had encroached upon their happiness. Their relationship was dying, only Adrian did not know it at the time. Yes, tensions might have been slightly higher, but if it was truly love—for it must have been love—they would work through their problems. The uneasiness between them, the forced kindnesses in hope of avoiding any conflict, the quick capitulation resulting from any conflict unsuccessfully avoided. By junior year, happiness was a façade, replaced by jealousy, bitterness and uncertainty. They broke up, this time not as mutually, with Simon dealing the deathly blow. Adrian did not take it well and most would say he never quite recovered. He never dated anyone after Simon, who seemed impervious to Adrian’s pain. Except once. A drunken phone call. Do you miss me? I’ve always missed you. Can I come up...? Sure. That was the last time Adrian had sex, a year after it had all ended, five years from the dreary existence he had cultivated for himself. He didn’t want to hide, but he could feel the hot tears stinging his eyes. Ducking into a bar, he bolted for the bathroom, locking the door behind him, stared into the mirror and wondered why he had let himself fall so hard. Fall so hard in love, fall so hard out of it, then fall so hard into nothingness. The friends he had once had, alienated by his morose behavior and refusal to give up the ghost, stopped calling. He imaged that there was a moment of indecision, whether to side with him or Simon. After all, they had the same group, thus someone had to be the loser. And Adrian played the role well. Too well, in fact. He pushed the devoted ones away, Chris, Sandra, Frankie, now he missed them and needed them so. He hadn’t seen any of them in years, too busy with work and self-pity, would they care to hear from him? Were there numbers still the same? He knew Chris had moved back to Cisco, out of necessity not choice. Perhaps, he thought, they could meet up just this once, for old times’ sake. He almost dialed Sandra, who was the last to leave. She indulged in his morose wanderings of the park, his pitiable poetry and his self-imposed exile, but even she, patient, understanding if a bit harsh, Sandra, could not fight to love him. He had to love himself….And Frankie. A rush of blood below the belt. He wondered if Frankie was still as beautiful. When he and Simon broke up for the first time, Frankie was quick to move in. Herding Adrian to bars and clubs, out to parties, bringing over movies and wine. Before he and Simon reconciled, he and Frankie, with the aid of cheap wine and “The Lady Eve,” made out sloppily, but passionately, before Adrian called a cease and desist. Frankie, although miffed, understood and respected his decision. After he and Simon, broke up for the last time, Frankie was in a relationship of his own, a fact that Adrian tried to overlook. After making an ass out of himself, in front of a few familiar faces no less—at one point proclaiming how “pathetic” Frankie was for missing out on an opportunity to have his way with him then spilling his drink on Frankie’s then boyfriend—Adrian withdrew from further contact with him. In the mirror, he saw a young man of twenty-six, a little overweight, in need of a haircut and a shave, but otherwise, passably attractive, laugh in spite of himself. Then, noticing the posters of a naked Josephine Baker on the walls, he knew he had been here before. A home away from home, it once was. Every Thursday, Friday and Saturday night for three straight years. Wiping his face, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to have a drink, for old times’ sake, at his old haunt. He was already there, after all.
“Rum and coke, please.” The bartender, short, gruff, muscular and handsome— “Actually, could you make that a diet coke,” Adrian added with a smile—had been there during his glory days. When he and Simon and their coterie of fabulous friends, drinking with fake IDs, would spend all night dancing and singing along to the jukebox. As the owners seemed perfectly adamant about adding any songs released after 1983, disco lived a life long after its supposed death. Drink in hand, Adrian perused the selection. Disappointed to find a few of today’s hits sprinkled through, he finally settled on the Emotions, “Best of My Love.” The song started, almost immediately, as if it had been waiting for him all along; a welcome reprieve from the time when one could and would wait an entire night to hear their song, but then again, the bar was a lot more crowded back then. That Tuesday night, there were only a handful of boozers and cruisers out. But it was early still. Adrian glanced at his watch. 9:45. Yikes, he thought. And he was already getting tired. His youth, as he had known it, was indeed over. Then what was this that he was doing now? Not middle age, it was too soon for that. What was this, this grey area? He was nearing thirty and for the first time the idea frightened him. What if he never had sex again? What if he worked at the same company, hating his life everyday for the next forty years until retirement? Then what? He already felt life was at an end at twenty-six, what of sixty-six? Seventy? The thought was too great for a sober mind. “Another, please,” Adrian politely asked while extending his empty glass.
Countless rum and diet cokes later, the room was a crowded, sweaty disco-fueled orgy. Adrian’s shyness, melancholy and misery dissipated and he danced erratically, but joyfully, to Cheryl Lynn’s “Got to Be Real.” He remembered last when he danced like this. It was with Simon. They always moved so well together, vertically and horizontally. He missed him desperately then, but he was also happy, he realized. He was happy he had been able to feel love and to feel loved, even if it didn’t work out. Then he felt impossibly silly that he had let this relationship, albeit a very important relationship, rule his life for the past ten years. He threw his head back and laughed loudly, the sight of which confused everyone around him. Adrian did not care. This. Yes, this was the first time in a long time he had felt so free and he would have no one encroach upon this freedom. Freedom, happiness, and all they entailed must be fought for. That was life. The struggle—that was life. “But what am I struggling for?” Adrian stood in the middle of the dance floor, his head slightly cocked to the side, wondering just what he had been doing with his life for the past five years.
He returned to the bar, his island in the sea of thumping tones and humping bodies, the dancefloor. He ordered another drink, but wished for something stronger. Something that would take him away from all of this. Suddenly, he saw a handsome, muscular stranger at the end of the bar. He sought to meet his gaze, but the man was too busy staring at his own reflection in the mirror directly behind the bar. Adrian turned to face himself in the same mirror and saw only a miserable, sloppy drunken mess returning his gaze. The loneliness in the reflection's eyes caused his entire body to quiver and he collapsed in tears, knocking his drink off the bar. Others turned to see what all the commotion was, but no one endeavored to help or ease the situation. The bartender gestured to the doorman, who, with surprising tenderness, escorted Adrian out of the bar. Propped against the wall, Adrian struggled to regain his composure. He inhaled the cool night air with a full mouth, as if the air were the only thing that could possibly save him now, bring him back from the barren fields of his depressed mind.
"Cigarette?" The doorman asked. Adrian didn't smoke, but it occurred to him that he really didn't care and he just wanted some sort of interaction of any kind to break the cycle of loneliness and self0-chastisement. He clumsily accepted but was far too inebriated to work the mechanism of a lighter. The doorman obliged.
"Thank you..."
"Steve."
"Steve."
Silence loomed over them. The night was winding down, approaching that magical hour between too late and too early, when the sky has hints of color and the air tones of familiarity. Adrian suddenly thought he'd probably have to call in to work tomorrow. It shouldn't be a problem, he thought, he was always at work, no matter how terrible, how sick, how exhausted with life he felt, he was always at work. What difference would one day off make. He took another drag of the cigarette and enjoyed the shared silence with Steve, the doorman. Wrapped up in the armor of night, he found his way home and passed out on his solitary twin bed.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Blue Balls
Staring into faces staring blankly out at me
Everyone starts to look the same eventually
We all want the same thing, to be fulfilled
Whether filled with love or filled up with jizz
A constant state of longing, the homosexual condition
So frustrated
Inundated
Unconcentrated
I fall to the sides
Look into my eyes
And tell me it’s all going to be all right
I stopped drinking today, quite a feat, rest assured
And stopped smoking too, in an effort to mature
Left frustrated by life, my future is in my hands
Throbbing and pulsing, at attention he stands
Stroke the shaft of freedom, cup the balls of youth
Feel the shiver of fruition as it comes upon you
So frustrated
Inundated
Unconcentrated
I fall to the sides
Look into my eyes
And tell me it’s all going to be all right
I gotta bust a nut to save my soul
Ejaculate to feel resplendent
Ravishing surrender to feel whole
I’ve got to burst this shell to be free
Beat faster, faster, faster, faster
I can’t wait for love to come over me
So frustrated
Inundated
Unconcentrated
I fall to the sides
Look into my eyes
And tell me it’s all going to be all right
Everyone starts to look the same eventually
We all want the same thing, to be fulfilled
Whether filled with love or filled up with jizz
A constant state of longing, the homosexual condition
So frustrated
Inundated
Unconcentrated
I fall to the sides
Look into my eyes
And tell me it’s all going to be all right
I stopped drinking today, quite a feat, rest assured
And stopped smoking too, in an effort to mature
Left frustrated by life, my future is in my hands
Throbbing and pulsing, at attention he stands
Stroke the shaft of freedom, cup the balls of youth
Feel the shiver of fruition as it comes upon you
So frustrated
Inundated
Unconcentrated
I fall to the sides
Look into my eyes
And tell me it’s all going to be all right
I gotta bust a nut to save my soul
Ejaculate to feel resplendent
Ravishing surrender to feel whole
I’ve got to burst this shell to be free
Beat faster, faster, faster, faster
I can’t wait for love to come over me
So frustrated
Inundated
Unconcentrated
I fall to the sides
Look into my eyes
And tell me it’s all going to be all right
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
I summon the stubborn tears
I summon the stubborn tears
To relieve the pain in my chest
The intense pain of loneliness
That makes me cry out at night
The intense pain of loneliness,
By which I fear the return…of yet another day.
I summon these tears
For salvation from the crushing,
Bruising, destructive will of life
That disappoints and deprives
You promised me greatness!
I wanted fulfillment…of my youthful desire
I summon these stubborn tears
To indeed, know that I am alive
To know I can feel something real
That, in myself, grows by leaps
As time ticks and flickers away
This thrilling, terrifying sense…of what could be
I want to love and cry out for joy!
To be loved…what does it mean?
I want to have tears outside of mourning
For my own failings and shortcomings
I summon these, my stubborn tears
Yet my eyes only burn for their own impotence
To relieve the pain in my chest
The intense pain of loneliness
That makes me cry out at night
The intense pain of loneliness,
By which I fear the return…of yet another day.
I summon these tears
For salvation from the crushing,
Bruising, destructive will of life
That disappoints and deprives
You promised me greatness!
I wanted fulfillment…of my youthful desire
I summon these stubborn tears
To indeed, know that I am alive
To know I can feel something real
That, in myself, grows by leaps
As time ticks and flickers away
This thrilling, terrifying sense…of what could be
I want to love and cry out for joy!
To be loved…what does it mean?
I want to have tears outside of mourning
For my own failings and shortcomings
I summon these, my stubborn tears
Yet my eyes only burn for their own impotence
Monday, July 07, 2008
You & I
You and I
Can’t seem to get this quite right
You and I
At each others throats every night
Only to
Reunite
Over some lines and insight
We drink to oblivion
Can we ever come back?
You and I
Walk miles ad infinitum
Will we ever come back?
Music is our common language (you and I)
Between the mumbles and asides
How do we manage (you and I)
To push back the coming tides?
Our time is always at stake
The last straw always set to break
Still we keep on fragile ground
Treading softly, hating the sound
You and I
See ourselves in one another
And don’t favor the reflection
You and I
Could, in good graces, be brothers
If we could only bear the relation
You and I
I’m afraid nothing can save us, I pray
Cuz who wants to be saved anyway?
Cuz who wants to be saved anyway?
We can only be all we are, you and I
To be anymore would only be a lie
Can’t seem to get this quite right
You and I
At each others throats every night
Only to
Reunite
Over some lines and insight
We drink to oblivion
Can we ever come back?
You and I
Walk miles ad infinitum
Will we ever come back?
Music is our common language (you and I)
Between the mumbles and asides
How do we manage (you and I)
To push back the coming tides?
Our time is always at stake
The last straw always set to break
Still we keep on fragile ground
Treading softly, hating the sound
You and I
See ourselves in one another
And don’t favor the reflection
You and I
Could, in good graces, be brothers
If we could only bear the relation
You and I
I’m afraid nothing can save us, I pray
Cuz who wants to be saved anyway?
Cuz who wants to be saved anyway?
We can only be all we are, you and I
To be anymore would only be a lie
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Love is for Some, Love is Not for Me
I’m dying
I’m empty
I’m dying
I’m empty
Take me away from here
If it’s you I’ll go anywhere
Is it you? Are you there?
If it’s you, make me aware
I’m dying for your love
Come save me
Fill me with hope
I’m empty
I’m dying
I’m empty
I’m dying
I’m empty
I need to know you exist
That I’m not all alone in this
I hope you know, I hope you know
I’m only living for your kiss
I’m dying for your love
Come save me
Fill me with hope
I’m empty
I’m dying
I’m empty
I’m dying
I’m empty
I’ve got nothing but my pen to keep me warm
Nothing but thoughts and ideas to weather the storm
I’ve tried it alone, I can no longer lie
There is something to love, something beautiful inside
I’m empty
I’m dying
I’m empty
Take me away from here
If it’s you I’ll go anywhere
Is it you? Are you there?
If it’s you, make me aware
I’m dying for your love
Come save me
Fill me with hope
I’m empty
I’m dying
I’m empty
I’m dying
I’m empty
I need to know you exist
That I’m not all alone in this
I hope you know, I hope you know
I’m only living for your kiss
I’m dying for your love
Come save me
Fill me with hope
I’m empty
I’m dying
I’m empty
I’m dying
I’m empty
I’ve got nothing but my pen to keep me warm
Nothing but thoughts and ideas to weather the storm
I’ve tried it alone, I can no longer lie
There is something to love, something beautiful inside
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
A Life Less Ordinary
I don’t want to waste this youth
I may not have another
Everything too quickly slips away
When orphaned by a mother
Time threatens me unabashedly
With every second wasted
I’m reminded that I’m 22
And easily devastated
Anxiously, I hurry and wait
For an overdue intervention by fate
Hey Bus Driver
Don’t tell me to turn down my jams
It’s the only thing
In this world I can stand
Let me blow out my eardrums
Fuck, they’re mine
Life’s so short
And we’re all running out of time
I’ve got to exert my freedom
Cuz these drugs aren’t comfort enough
There’s a difference after a while
Between freeing your mind and just getting fucked up
Once you’ve expanded your horizons
And searched for what makes you tick
You’re just numbing the pain
Burning and returning, bent over sick
I’d like to be driving a truck somewhere
Just to be out in the open air
Hey Bus Driver
Don’t tell me to turn down my jams
It’s the only thing
In this world I can stand
Let me blow out my eardrums
Fuck, they’re mine
Life’s so short
And we’re all running out of time
I’m tired
Of being told what to do
Just tired
And when to do it
I’m fed up
At having no choice
Just fed up
At having no voice
It’s fucked up
To have to live for nothing
So I’m fucked up
Because it’s something
Hey Bus Driver
Don’t tell me to turn down my jams
It’s the only thing
In this world I can stand
Let me blow out my eardrums
Fuck, they’re mine
Life’s so short
And we’re all running out of time
I want to live an unconventional life
A life less ordinary
Everything’s losing it’s value
So nothing’s mandatory
I may not have another
Everything too quickly slips away
When orphaned by a mother
Time threatens me unabashedly
With every second wasted
I’m reminded that I’m 22
And easily devastated
Anxiously, I hurry and wait
For an overdue intervention by fate
Hey Bus Driver
Don’t tell me to turn down my jams
It’s the only thing
In this world I can stand
Let me blow out my eardrums
Fuck, they’re mine
Life’s so short
And we’re all running out of time
I’ve got to exert my freedom
Cuz these drugs aren’t comfort enough
There’s a difference after a while
Between freeing your mind and just getting fucked up
Once you’ve expanded your horizons
And searched for what makes you tick
You’re just numbing the pain
Burning and returning, bent over sick
I’d like to be driving a truck somewhere
Just to be out in the open air
Hey Bus Driver
Don’t tell me to turn down my jams
It’s the only thing
In this world I can stand
Let me blow out my eardrums
Fuck, they’re mine
Life’s so short
And we’re all running out of time
I’m tired
Of being told what to do
Just tired
And when to do it
I’m fed up
At having no choice
Just fed up
At having no voice
It’s fucked up
To have to live for nothing
So I’m fucked up
Because it’s something
Hey Bus Driver
Don’t tell me to turn down my jams
It’s the only thing
In this world I can stand
Let me blow out my eardrums
Fuck, they’re mine
Life’s so short
And we’re all running out of time
I want to live an unconventional life
A life less ordinary
Everything’s losing it’s value
So nothing’s mandatory
Saturday, May 17, 2008
The Miracle of Closeness
You were a young boy of 24
Quietly distressed, therefore all the more
Reason to be easily loved, if not wanted
There was something in your eyes, so tired and haunted
That spoke to me like none til then
Pleading, almost, to be let in
From the cold that now runs in vein
And threatening, if you were hurt again
To exact revenge on this, this life so pale
That to live it promises only betrayal
I was a boy of limited means
With grand ambitions and even grander dreams
Who could never for the life of me
Settle on whom I wanted to be
Thrilled in indecision
Obsessed with complication
To breathe was a labor, to think an obligation
Resulting in a constant state of frustration
While loneliness kept at my gate each night
And I feared to see the glare of the early morning light
Wounded we walked the windy streets in mutual despair
Occasionally exhaling our thoughts into the air
The world for us held a sense of wonder
And a kind of beauty we found in one another
Suddenly, “you’re alive!”, it seems for the first time
As if a switch has been turned on in your mind
All the possibilities creep out from the corners
All our hopes crystal clear, crystal fine
Two broken fragments, somehow made whole?
Here it is, changing everything you’ve been told
You were a beautiful boy of 24
Unaware and unwary of what life had in store
Chasing the moon, you said stars were dead.
Always meaning to stay but end up leaving instead
I was a boy of substantial affection
Making all the right turns, but in the wrong direction
Pulling away and pushing too far
Finding the worst in the best intentions
It fit so easy yet fell apart just so
Here it is, confirming everything you’ve been told
Quietly distressed, therefore all the more
Reason to be easily loved, if not wanted
There was something in your eyes, so tired and haunted
That spoke to me like none til then
Pleading, almost, to be let in
From the cold that now runs in vein
And threatening, if you were hurt again
To exact revenge on this, this life so pale
That to live it promises only betrayal
I was a boy of limited means
With grand ambitions and even grander dreams
Who could never for the life of me
Settle on whom I wanted to be
Thrilled in indecision
Obsessed with complication
To breathe was a labor, to think an obligation
Resulting in a constant state of frustration
While loneliness kept at my gate each night
And I feared to see the glare of the early morning light
Wounded we walked the windy streets in mutual despair
Occasionally exhaling our thoughts into the air
The world for us held a sense of wonder
And a kind of beauty we found in one another
Suddenly, “you’re alive!”, it seems for the first time
As if a switch has been turned on in your mind
All the possibilities creep out from the corners
All our hopes crystal clear, crystal fine
Two broken fragments, somehow made whole?
Here it is, changing everything you’ve been told
You were a beautiful boy of 24
Unaware and unwary of what life had in store
Chasing the moon, you said stars were dead.
Always meaning to stay but end up leaving instead
I was a boy of substantial affection
Making all the right turns, but in the wrong direction
Pulling away and pushing too far
Finding the worst in the best intentions
It fit so easy yet fell apart just so
Here it is, confirming everything you’ve been told
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Impatiently
Impatiently, he waits
For Life to begin
But then,
What is all this around him?
Life is, not in the pauses,
Active, kinetic, always
Until it is no longer.
To wait to live is simply
To wait to die
For Life to begin
But then,
What is all this around him?
Life is, not in the pauses,
Active, kinetic, always
Until it is no longer.
To wait to live is simply
To wait to die
Thursday, April 03, 2008
hustle
They’re never cute. Not ever. Not that it makes a difference. After it’s over, I don’t even remember what they looked like. Who they were. What they sounded like. Just how they felt. Yeah, how they feel. That’s what’s important. That and how much they give me. It’s probably best they’re all dogs. The uglier and fatter, the more cash I get. And they’re just a distant memory after the bills leave their hands. All but the softness of their skin. The warmth of their bodies. That stays with me forever.
I feel sorry for them. These skinny, methed out, coked up, disillusioned boy whores, who think that they’re going places. That they’ll meet someone to take them away from all this. To take them away to God knows what. A warm house. A safe bed. An uncomplicated life of domestic bliss. They can’t see this for what it really is. It’s no means to an end. It’s just an end. So they use to escape this world. But I like it. I like it because I see it for what it is. Everyone’s lonely. Everyone needs to be touched and made to feel special every once in a while.
That one looks like my seventh grade science teacher. Tall, lanky, receding hair line. Giant nose. This guy’s probably got a forest growing in their too. It was so gross, but I could never stop staring. How the nose hairs mingled and became indistinguishable from his moustache. His eyes are shifty. It’s his first time. Probably not picking up, just picking up a boy. You can always tell. He’s circled the block six times already. Slowing down each time. Staring us all down. Wondering if he can summon the courage. Or the desperation. I don’t approach them, though. I never do. They have to pick me up. And open the door for me. At least that. It's just respectful.
I think his name was Carlito. Strung out little Mexican boy. They found him in the dumpster behind Maria’s Pizza. His torso anyway. They found his legs in Bartlett Park. His head at Smith School’s playground. On the slide of the jungle gym. All fun and games I suppose. I saw him a couple times. Never spoke to him. I don’t speak to any of them. They all think I’m stuck up. Like I’m better than them. It doesn’t take much to be better than trash. Especially trash that doesn’t realize it’s trash.
He finally stops. Pulls up to the curb. Rolls down his window. He’s looking at me. It’s about time. Thirty minutes already and not a single bite. I was beginning to lose faith…How do you want to do this? Call me over? But that would bring too much attention to yourself, now wouldn’t it? Another trick advances, though he’s so clearly looking at me. He can have him if he wants him. They’ll be others. There always are. My seventh grade science teacher’s doppelganger, or maybe it really is my seventh grade science teacher after all…Mr. Kruller. Was that it? He mumbles something to the boy. Gestures towards me. The boy turns around, an ugly little thing, acne-ridden, pock-marked. Is it any wonder he would chose me instead of you? He turns around and nods his head in the general direction of a Mr. Kruller, if not the Mr. Kruller. I make a show of stepping off the wall and put out my cigarette for dramatic effect. I don’t even smoke, really. But it’s important to keep up appearances.
In the car, he’s all nervous chatter. Making this out to be more than it is, more than it needs to be. I stare straight ahead and tell him it’ll be 75 now, 85 later. He gets the hint and we ride along in silence.
The door closes behind us and he’s all over me. Hungrily kissing my mouth, holding my head tight between his large, bony hands as if I was going to suddenly escape. He rubs his head against mine and lets out the tiniest sound. A whimper, a sigh. He rips my shirt off, kisses my nipples, my stomach, strokes my arms up and down. I’m hard. I love it. He takes my jeans off, nearly tearing them in the process. But I don’t tell him to be careful. He is on top of me. I draw him closer because I love the pressure. I love the weight of his body on top of mine. I clutch him closer and closer, our bodies become one. And everything goes dark.
Silently, he drops me off. An hour, maybe two, has passed. I don’t remember anything about him. Who he was. What his dick was like. All I have is the 180 dollars he gives me. He likes to tip. The money is heavy in my front pocket, laying right next to my dick. I stroke it on the ride home. The wad of cash. My hands are still warm from holding him. My lips still tingle from the tickle of his moustache. If I close my eyes, I can feel his presence all around me, like an aura. He pulls off, the tries want to screech, but can say nothing. I re-take my place against the wall. Rub my hands up and down, up and down, up and down on my shirt. And quietly, I whimper, I sigh into the night.
I feel sorry for them. These skinny, methed out, coked up, disillusioned boy whores, who think that they’re going places. That they’ll meet someone to take them away from all this. To take them away to God knows what. A warm house. A safe bed. An uncomplicated life of domestic bliss. They can’t see this for what it really is. It’s no means to an end. It’s just an end. So they use to escape this world. But I like it. I like it because I see it for what it is. Everyone’s lonely. Everyone needs to be touched and made to feel special every once in a while.
That one looks like my seventh grade science teacher. Tall, lanky, receding hair line. Giant nose. This guy’s probably got a forest growing in their too. It was so gross, but I could never stop staring. How the nose hairs mingled and became indistinguishable from his moustache. His eyes are shifty. It’s his first time. Probably not picking up, just picking up a boy. You can always tell. He’s circled the block six times already. Slowing down each time. Staring us all down. Wondering if he can summon the courage. Or the desperation. I don’t approach them, though. I never do. They have to pick me up. And open the door for me. At least that. It's just respectful.
I think his name was Carlito. Strung out little Mexican boy. They found him in the dumpster behind Maria’s Pizza. His torso anyway. They found his legs in Bartlett Park. His head at Smith School’s playground. On the slide of the jungle gym. All fun and games I suppose. I saw him a couple times. Never spoke to him. I don’t speak to any of them. They all think I’m stuck up. Like I’m better than them. It doesn’t take much to be better than trash. Especially trash that doesn’t realize it’s trash.
He finally stops. Pulls up to the curb. Rolls down his window. He’s looking at me. It’s about time. Thirty minutes already and not a single bite. I was beginning to lose faith…How do you want to do this? Call me over? But that would bring too much attention to yourself, now wouldn’t it? Another trick advances, though he’s so clearly looking at me. He can have him if he wants him. They’ll be others. There always are. My seventh grade science teacher’s doppelganger, or maybe it really is my seventh grade science teacher after all…Mr. Kruller. Was that it? He mumbles something to the boy. Gestures towards me. The boy turns around, an ugly little thing, acne-ridden, pock-marked. Is it any wonder he would chose me instead of you? He turns around and nods his head in the general direction of a Mr. Kruller, if not the Mr. Kruller. I make a show of stepping off the wall and put out my cigarette for dramatic effect. I don’t even smoke, really. But it’s important to keep up appearances.
In the car, he’s all nervous chatter. Making this out to be more than it is, more than it needs to be. I stare straight ahead and tell him it’ll be 75 now, 85 later. He gets the hint and we ride along in silence.
The door closes behind us and he’s all over me. Hungrily kissing my mouth, holding my head tight between his large, bony hands as if I was going to suddenly escape. He rubs his head against mine and lets out the tiniest sound. A whimper, a sigh. He rips my shirt off, kisses my nipples, my stomach, strokes my arms up and down. I’m hard. I love it. He takes my jeans off, nearly tearing them in the process. But I don’t tell him to be careful. He is on top of me. I draw him closer because I love the pressure. I love the weight of his body on top of mine. I clutch him closer and closer, our bodies become one. And everything goes dark.
Silently, he drops me off. An hour, maybe two, has passed. I don’t remember anything about him. Who he was. What his dick was like. All I have is the 180 dollars he gives me. He likes to tip. The money is heavy in my front pocket, laying right next to my dick. I stroke it on the ride home. The wad of cash. My hands are still warm from holding him. My lips still tingle from the tickle of his moustache. If I close my eyes, I can feel his presence all around me, like an aura. He pulls off, the tries want to screech, but can say nothing. I re-take my place against the wall. Rub my hands up and down, up and down, up and down on my shirt. And quietly, I whimper, I sigh into the night.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
The Lonely Poet
The lonely poet
Yet is there any other kind?
He who celebrates beauty
In a world that seems resigned
To quelch his ambition
To ruin is life’s design
The lonely poet
He craves a soul akin
To his own, the fool
Whose virgin heart is aching
Crying out for love
With each day that he awakens
Yet is there any other kind?
He who celebrates beauty
In a world that seems resigned
To quelch his ambition
To ruin is life’s design
The lonely poet
He craves a soul akin
To his own, the fool
Whose virgin heart is aching
Crying out for love
With each day that he awakens
Friday, February 22, 2008
Hefty Price/ Price Beauty
What within a beautiful boy
Distracts and captures a complex mind?
What power in their restless eyes
Leads man down roads to his demise?
Fairness in skin, strength in body
An old man lusts for brighter days
Yet beauty fades with passing time
And exacts its price in terrible ways
Distracts and captures a complex mind?
What power in their restless eyes
Leads man down roads to his demise?
Fairness in skin, strength in body
An old man lusts for brighter days
Yet beauty fades with passing time
And exacts its price in terrible ways
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
belonging
everyday must be filled
with certain creativity;
every moment must be alive
with hopeless uncertainty
my time is my own
but my life has been rented;
partitioned and divided
with no hope of being mended
with certain creativity;
every moment must be alive
with hopeless uncertainty
my time is my own
but my life has been rented;
partitioned and divided
with no hope of being mended
Passion
Sweet, merciless passion
Claws at my flesh
Burns like a candle
Ignited in my chest;
Devoid of intimacy
Unfulfilled by desire
Therein lies my sole passion
To extinguish my soul’s fire
Claws at my flesh
Burns like a candle
Ignited in my chest;
Devoid of intimacy
Unfulfilled by desire
Therein lies my sole passion
To extinguish my soul’s fire
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