conversations overheard

While looking through books of poetry at Myopic waiting for the Double Door to unlock it's doors...I overheard this, "Do you want to hear something crazy? Somebody took a shit in the back of the store." I couldn't help but smile and giggle fiendishly to myself with thoughts in my head of how to further alienate myself from everyone. I did pick up a random book of poetry, The Love Suicide At Sonezaki by Siri Von Reis. A couple of examples of her work:

Available Soon In Stores, Judy,

the country's very first pregnant
doll, wears a denim maternity dress,

white tennis shoes and a wedding
ring. Even clever toddlers will be able

to help the ft. -high Mommy-to-Be
deliver an anatomically correct boy or

girl, with movable parts. Judy's
abdomen lifts off to pop the new baby

out, then flattens immediately.
(Little girls often stuff things into their

own underclothes or try to make
regular dolls look pregnant and pretend

smaller ones are their babies.)
Judy, though, has been called bizarre,

and a spokesperson for NOW now
says she conveys the distorted view

that women can look beautiful
and have babies all at the same time.

and one more that I love is:

A Composer Not Concerned with Melody,

harmony, rhythm, or timbre, Alvin Lucier
creates environments from feedback.

He holds a bowl over a microphone, or tapes
a familiar song and plays it in a teapot

while varying the sounds by lifting the lid.
Lucier has written for magnets and

ostrich eggs and once persuaded brain-waves,
amplified by electrodes, to make tones

that activated accelerating tapes, causing
percussion instruments to vibrate.

In one performance piece, Lucier records
his description of a work, then plays

the recording while re-recording the reading
with its acoustical reflections, which

thus grow in ever more resonating sequence.
Though his extended, imperceptibly

transforming music can irritate listeners,
Lucier insists that, when he elevates

tiny effects into celebrations of inner
workings, sound and space entwine

and the physical world sings.

My friends band URSA played at the Double Door tonight...nice to be finally on someone's guestlist and not having to put people on a guestlist. It felt weird just watching a show and not having to do something...almost uncomfortable. The whole night felt uncomfortable as I kept staring at my cellphone waiting for a phone call that never comes. I want to shoot holes in the moon...and tear the very fabric of space and time. I'm at a crossroads...decisions are having to be made...and I don't want to make them...wish someone else could make them for me. I feel the knots in my stomach like tiny baby fists...everything is coming to a head. It's going to overflow...and I'm thinking of clean slates...fresh starts...and a suprise twist in the story line.

I'm prepared for a long night...with no one to talk to...and a lot on my mind.

The Inescapable Art of Growing Up

I recall my mother lifting her shirt,
showing me the stretch marks spread across her stomach,
like lightning across a cloud, a road map of dead ends.
She said,

“it’s your fault I’m ugly.”

I recall my father splintering the bedroom door,
fist packed full of regrets and insecurity. My mothers
screams transforming him into a child, crying for his mom,
dad nearly beat her to death.
He asked,

“do you want him as a father?”

I recall Paul making a mess of his head
with a twelve-gauge shotgun. At thirteen and even now
I can’t understand. My friends and I buried our childhood
with him.
They said,

“it’s going to be ok.”

Carry guilt like a fallen comrade, can’t let it go
dead weight dragging you down. I’ve awoke at night to
the sound of screams and gunpowder on my breath. We all
make mistakes, we all make mistakes, we all grow up.
I said,

“forgive.”

You're #2 on my memory dial but #1 in my heart

Things get complicated. You think things are going to be so easy...that you don't see all the obstacles you're tripping over. Sometimes these obstacles come out of nowhere and sometimes they're right there in front of your face. If someone were to ask me if I thought I was a good person...I would have to say I'm not sure how to answer that...I've tried to be. Not always succeeding. The last 6 months have been a lifetime of a blur and I've made mistakes and I've tried to learn from them and keep moving. I would like to say that I've figured a lot of stuff out now about myself and life in general from the experience I've had...but I haven't. Underneath it all I'm still me, maybe just a little older and deeper in what? Debt? Yeah, but that's not what I was going to say...I'm deeper in doubt.

My life thus far has been quite interesting...but tomorrow I go to the clinic to pick up some results of tests I've put off taken for a long time. I would like to say that I'm going to be fine...but I really don't know...I definitely don't deserve to be fine. My first memory I can recall is one of extreme guilt and I guess guilt is what I'm feeling right now. Guilt and a faint pinch of regret. There are a lot of people I've loved, hated, used, and a few have just really let me down. I know there are people out there right now who feel the same way about me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not knowing how to just let things go and I'm sorry for sometimes having no self-control.

I apologize to my friends. I'm just exhausted and I'm sick. I don't understand why it's so hard sometimes to just be a man. It's all been a good show...I was born into a world where it hurts to breathe sometimes. I guess the word "understand" is what's troubling me...because I just don't seem to. I don't understand any of this...I don't understand me. I don't understand going from point A to point B. I doubt any of you really understand what I'm trying to say...that's ok...I don't need you to.

Why do we listen to music? Is it because sometimes it speaks to you? I'm listening to Peach, Plum, Pear for the 6th time today and I feel like she's speaking to me. Kind of like when people pick up a bible and say they truly understand for the first time.
She said..."you've changed some"

I've been dreaming of snakes and crocodiles that bite, I've been waking up with the taste of gunpowder in my mouth, but I don't remember you in my dreams, although I felt you there. I just want to wake up happy sometime and feeling like I actually had some kind of rest. It's mostly my fault...I've abused myself for a long time...but most of it are seeds that were sown when I was a very small boy. You learn two of the most horrible things in humanity are a tongue and hands. My self-esteem so shattered that any one could have me for a smile and some attention.

So how do you sleep at night? I panic when it gets to that point of dozing off and try to fight to stay awake. I don't even know why anymore...what does it matter. My captain is anxiety. I can pretend it's all getting better but it's so hard to sleep at night and it's so hard to interact with other people like a normal person. My boss said it looks like I'm going to cry all the time...funny...that's how I feel. I've tried to open myself up more and expose myself so maybe I can heal. Maybe I care too much.

I do care...as much as I don't show it...
The people I love know who they are...thanks for making me feel real sometimes...
Thanks for dealing with me
And thanks for caring about me too

My heart is a pump...

I'm an empty dream

I'm sore as hell after spending the night battling kids again at the Bottom Lounge. I've never had to kick out so many people at a show before. Mostly drugs but a few for trying to get into fights with me when I told them to settle down. I'm small but don't fuck with me. The fun part was when I dragged this kid out who took a swing at me and shoved me...as I pushed him out the door...there were two plains clothes cops waiting and they grabbed him and started patting him down...sucks to be you asshole.

I broke down today and bought the Joanna Newsom CD, The Milk Eyed Mender. She deserves my money for making my brain feel all fuzzy when she sings...and her lyrics are great.

Peach, Plum, Pear
by Joanna Newsom


We speak in the store
I'm a sensitive bore
and you're markedly more
and I'm oozing surprise

But it's late in the day
and you're well on your way
what was golden went gray
and I'm suddenly shy

And the gathering floozies
afford to be choosy
and all sneezing darkly
in the dimming divide

And I have read the right books
to interpret your looks
you were knocking me down
with the palm of your eye

This was unlike the story
it was written to be
I was riding its back
when it used to ride me

And we were galloping manic
to the mouth of the source
we were swallowing panic
in the face of its force

I was blue and unwell,
made me bolt like a horse.

Now it's done.
Watch it go.
And you've changed some.
Water run from the snow.

Am I so dear?
Do I run rare?
And you've changed some:
peach, plum, pear

I also bought a dvd called Off The Charts about the weird world of the song-poem culture. Sounded interesting to me...I'll let you know.

I have class at 9am...so I must hit the hay while listening to my new CD. I was going to make a promise to update this more often...but fuck that...I'll get to it when I can.

good night...and dream empty dreams.

The Atrocity of J.G. Ballard

I was trying to post a new poem I wrote about J.G. Ballard on here but it won't let me publish it in the way I want to. So screw it. I was reading how J.G. Ballard writes everything on a typewriter still and inspired me to write a poem about him. Anyway...I'm tired and I have class in the morning...and now I'm all pissed.
Make sure you read the labels when you're buying new underwear...because sometimes you get something you weren't expecting. Just be careful.

I saw a pigeon...and I swear it was the reincarnation of this homeless guy I used to see all the time...it kept going around picking at cigarette butts.