tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39702851583581497052024-02-20T11:06:40.221-08:00absurdiathe poetry of brian paul crawfordabsurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.comBlogger93125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-14632348570473457692013-06-22T11:59:00.005-07:002013-06-22T11:59:54.777-07:00your voicei mean<br />
i dont care<br />
i mean<br />
honestly<br />
i just want to hear your voice<br />
i mean<br />
it doesnt matter what you say<br />
i mean<br />
i dont mean<br />
that it doesnt matter what you say<br />
i mean<br />
that i just want to hear your voice<br />
<br />
i mean<br />
i dont care<br />
i mean<br />
the words arent important<br />
i mean<br />
its the sound...<br />
...the resonance...<br />
...the lo-fi crackle of radio waves...<br />
...the buzzing in the air...<br />
...the humming fan...<br />
...the deep sleep affair...<br />
i mean<br />
...youre there<br />
and it soothes me<br />
i mean<br />
in the most selfish way imaginable<br />
it soothes me<br />
i mean<br />
the plunging rush<br />
i mean<br />
the bird peeped early morning rustle<br />
i mean<br />
...beep...beep...beep...beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep...<br />
<br />
it soothes me<br />
i need<br />
that hustled peace<br />
i mean<br />
crush me<br />
i mean<br />
whisper dusk deceit<br />
just lull me like a fool<br />
i mean<br />
seep into my skull<br />
and crush me<br />
<br />
i mean<br />
i dont care<br />
i mean<br />
honestly<br />
i mean<br />
i just want to hear<br />
your voice<br />
i just want to hear<br />
your voice<br />
i just want to hear<br />
you there<br />
i mean<br />
just talk to me<br />
just talk<br />
as long as i hear you<br />
i dont care<br />
i mean<br />
i dont mean<br />
that i dont care<br />
i mean<br />
i just want to hear your voice<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-42292126118893124822013-06-22T11:58:00.004-07:002013-06-22T11:58:34.704-07:00the seasons never changewe were roped in<br />
tokin refer<br />
hopes ramblin<br />
with intangible dreams<br />
you, the free-wheelin gambler<br />
me, heels diggin in<br />
<br />
a softness to the spring<br />
made our efforts all the more flowery<br />
we produced the heart stuff<br />
radiated billowy song<br />
from rainbow bellows<br />
to bloom out the sadness<br />
and keep the dark at bay<br />
<br />
cuz the seasons never change<br />
and we ll never be cold<br />
or alone again<br />
<br />
you can wake me up like thunder<br />
you can kiss me like the rain<br />
you can strike me down like lightning<br />
my love, i swear its all the same<br />
<br />
we were enchanted<br />
by dope spells<br />
hexey incantations<br />
motel exorcisms<br />
body fluid baptisms<br />
we drove the pope to tears<br />
made mecca quake<br />
and gave the holy lama wet dreams<br />
resounding passions to the wind<br />
never seeing heavy weather closing in<br />
<br />
a rawness to the sting<br />
when winter finally came and came<br />
our loss all the more sorrowful<br />
by hailin insults and frosty blame<br />
and violins now pluck their strings<br />
bass rumble bring the storm clouds in<br />
as risin waves swell between us<br />
and grey skies choke out the last resonatin rays<br />
<br />
we ll be<br />
washed ashore someday<br />
all the heartache washed away<br />
we ll hit<br />
another whimsied score<br />
and tap dance madly in the rain<br />
we ll feel<br />
that sun sent warm<br />
and our hearts will burn again<br />
<br />
cuz the seasons never change<br />
my love, i swear its all the same<br />
<br />
you can wake me up like thunder<br />
you can kiss me like the rain<br />
you can strike me down like lightning<br />
my love, i swear its all the sameabsurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-35383357943508949092013-06-22T11:57:00.000-07:002013-06-22T12:49:22.311-07:00losing the battle<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">losing the battle</span></div>
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3;"><b id="docs-internal-guid--2e92f8b-6d3e-2371-7e24-7d49ea88feb6" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
</span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">she asked</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“why do you act like life is a battle?”</span></div>
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
</span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">i was stuffing necessities in my sack</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">in preparation for another school day</span></div>
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
</span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">but that statement made me stop</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">and think...</span></div>
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
</span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">the first question was,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>do i?</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">it was instinctual, a defense mechanism. i knew i did, but she was attacking me. so maybe there was no merit to her accusations. but there was. and she was right. i was in the very heart of a battle</span></div>
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
</span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">the second question was,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>why doesnt everyone else?</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">i had no idea</span></div>
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
</span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">i said in my head to her,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“because, it feels like theres so much at stake. because, it feels like the obstacles are malicious. because, i dont know what im fighting for or whose interests im benefiting. because, all i see is life murdering itself. because, even though we hide behind civility, a little voice inside me says, ‘these are your enemies’. they smile, and shake your hand, and hold doors for you, but they would club your skull in with a femur bone under the right circumstances. because, i cant even look at a seemingly tranquil scene with butterflies, flowers and bees and not see the turmoil that is the very fabric of reality stretching and straining to keep everything in focus so the dream can feel real. because, i dont want to die. because, i want to win”</span></div>
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
</span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">...i decided</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">looking at her glowing eyes and glowing soul</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">for tactical purposes it was better to keep my thoughts and feelings to myself</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">she saw butterflies, flowers and bees</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">and nothing more </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">i felt the hordes closing in </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">so i threw on my pack, grabbed her by the hand and said “lets go”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">there was the disturbing feeling of seeping worlds and a tightening in our hold</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">at that moment </span></div>
<span style="background-color: black;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">i think we both kind of felt sad for each other </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-4260915890103889202012-06-30T11:52:00.000-07:002012-06-30T11:52:00.646-07:00somewhere along the way<br />
somewhere along the way<br />
we changed<br />
it shows up in this reflection<br />
in this screen<br />
straggly old man<br />
projected<br />
who’s eyes are guiltless<br />
about all the things we felt guilty about<br />
we enjoy aloneness<br />
we guiltlessly enjoy aloneness<br />
without even a recognizable reflection<br />
for company<br />
<br />
what happened?<br />
well, i could list<br />
a long list<br />
of listlessly affected events<br />
and an even longer list<br />
of listful thoughts<br />
that fought in the war of whether<br />
or not<br />
<br />
but, somewhere along the way<br />
laughable and immanent<br />
cards got dealt<br />
cards got shuffled through arcanas<br />
cards got played<br />
through a fools incarnations<br />
through rounds and rounds<br />
and rounds and rounds<br />
till the archetypes displayed<br />
the flip-book smiles<br />
of obliteration.<br />absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-10046408143603987542012-05-08T17:00:00.000-07:002012-05-08T17:00:48.784-07:00true lies<br />
i will sell you<br />
the air from my lungs<br />
the nothing i hold in my hand<br />
and the contemplations of a dead and buried man<br />
<br />
if you had any sense<br />
you would sell the farm<br />
your stocks, your bonds<br />
your children, your pets<br />
your husband or your wife<br />
along with the deed to your life<br />
you would sell every goddamn thing<br />
to buy the emptiness i bring<br />
<br />
i will tell you<br />
the secrets everybody knows<br />
to get the cleanest<br />
you must bathe with worms<br />
to love the sinner<br />
you must love the sin<br />
your fanciest outfit<br />
is your bare-naked skin<br />
i will tell you<br />
only the truest of lies<br />
<br />
if you had any sense<br />
you would cut down every tree<br />
and mine the earth to an empty shell<br />
to build a cage from the outside in<br />
you would paint yourself into a corner<br />
you would stay there for the rest of time<br />
<br />
you would be the bear<br />
caught in the trap<br />
that the long-gone trapper forgot he set<br />
your only desire<br />
would be never ever getting free<br />
<br />
i will sell you<br />
your cell<br />
with a countless-day, money-back guaranteeabsurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-6759995576789578172012-04-25T12:58:00.001-07:002012-04-25T12:58:21.028-07:00soul song<br />
i was wandering the streets<br />
like a fool without a plan<br />
i was seeing god in everything<br />
it was more than i could understand<br />
<br />
and i tripped on good intentions<br />
and i saw their lord<br />
she said, there’s a limit to my dimensions<br />
but many more than you’ve ignored<br />
<br />
and i learned to hold my breath<br />
and i saw their lord<br />
and he looked a lot like death<br />
and all our demons were his hord<br />
<br />
and i climbed the highest peak<br />
and i saw their lord<br />
he said, i’m lying when i speak<br />
and i’m out my fucking gourd<br />
<br />
and i got down on my knees<br />
and i saw their lord<br />
and he was howling with the rest of us<br />
screaming, wait till you get bored<br />
just wait till you bored<br />
oh, just wait till you get bored<br />
<br />
and i opened up my heart<br />
and i saw their lord<br />
she said, you failed from the start<br />
and there’s nothing left to be explored<br />
<br />
i was wandering the streets<br />
i felt the full extent of emptiness<br />
like a singer with no soul<br />
like a soul without a song<br />
like a mirror without reflections<br />
alone, to freeze in godless cold<br />absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-83434653851753956932012-04-25T12:57:00.001-07:002012-04-25T12:57:38.081-07:00snake bite<br />
i’m a snake<br />
coiled in the grass<br />
yes, i’m a snake<br />
as your barefoot feet run past<br />
and i’m a snake<br />
cold blood pumps through me<br />
yes, i’m a snake<br />
with poison circuitry<br />
<br />
<br />
and i<br />
feel the same sun<br />
that warms your face<br />
your pretty face<br />
<br />
<br />
and i<br />
feel the same breeze<br />
that rustles through your hair<br />
and brings your scent to me<br />
<br />
<br />
and i<br />
fear the same thing<br />
that got your pa<br />
and left him mumbling<br />
<br />
<br />
and i<br />
fear the same thing<br />
that’s made you blue<br />
and i’d shed one tear for you<br />
<br />
<br />
but i<br />
can never cry<br />
so i guess<br />
my skin will have to do.<br />absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-90762675913601483762012-04-25T12:56:00.003-07:002012-04-25T12:56:58.332-07:00a day in the life of a bigoted racist- a fill in the blank adventure!<br />
i wake up<br />
around 7:30.<br />
if necessary,<br />
i shower.<br />
after dressing,<br />
i sit down for breakfast,<br />
Cinnamon Life.<br />
i love Cinnamon Life.<br />
the box says,<br />
“you’ll love it!”<br />
and i do.<br />
i reach for the paper,<br />
but what’s the point?<br />
the __a__ is/are __b__ and is/are destroying __c__.<br />
i hate __a__.<br />
<br />
i go to my job.<br />
i have lunch with my friends,<br />
__l__, __m__, and __n__.<br />
we eat McDonalds.<br />
i’m loving it.<br />
i love my friends.<br />
my friends speak my language.<br />
we talk about __a__<br />
and about how much we hate them,<br />
because they’re so __b__,<br />
and we make jokes<br />
about how much they suck at __c__.<br />
i love making jokes.<br />
it’s such a simple formula:<br />
__a__+__b__=__c__<br />
or<br />
__a__ = __b__ + __c__.<br />
although, i’ve never been great with numbers,<br />
jokes are like math i understand.<br />
<br />
i go home.<br />
i drink __z__.<br />
i love __z__.<br />
my dad loved __z__.<br />
so i love __z__.<br />
i watch t.v.,<br />
so i can have a few laughs.<br />
i love the shows with the jokes.<br />
i usually fall asleep with the t.v. on.<br />
<br />
<br />
OPTION/S:<br />
{[(a = other/s, b = evil,stupid, inferior, c = everything, l = lance, lamarr, lilith, m = mort, mustaffa, ming, n = nelly, NaCl, nebuchadnezzar, z = suffering) = c] = z} = c... <br />absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-3017760708843701852012-04-25T12:56:00.001-07:002012-04-25T12:56:10.992-07:00exhausting<br />
billion-time blinking<br />
flickering fields<br />
born into form<br />
forming forms formed from former formulas<br />
vast expansion outward<br />
saturation or<br />
the epithelium limits of respiration<br />
<br />
<br />
the gloved hand<br />
handing gas filled rooms<br />
over to pointed-collision conclusions<br />
the gloved hand<br />
handing out doom<br />
because there’re always things to be done<br />
and always hands to do them<br />
<br />
<br />
like handing out balloons<br />
like balloon-headed councils<br />
like bundled balloons vying for more space<br />
like space invaders<br />
like invasive species<br />
like the turbulent storm system<br />
that is my body<br />
or the feedback loop<br />
i call my mind<br />
or the exhaust produced<br />
the exhaust produced<br />
exhaust produced.<br />
ex-haust:<br />
a substance,<br />
oftentimes mistaken<br />
for important thoughts.<br />absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-39112487871994267082012-04-25T12:55:00.001-07:002012-04-25T12:55:26.682-07:00the frosties<br />
ever since they moved in<br />
i can’t seem to<br />
watch a movie i haven’t seen<br />
visit somewhere i haven’t been<br />
forget the violence of the shattered violin<br />
<br />
<br />
artic howls<br />
<br />
<br />
i don’t fear<br />
anything<br />
but i live with them<br />
and the paralyzing truth they bring<br />
<br />
<br />
compacted freezer-burning sounds<br />
<br />
<br />
we walk downstairs and upstairs and down<br />
the hall to his temporary coffin.<br />
sometimes, we go to that store<br />
with those familiar aisles<br />
but i only see the treats i know<br />
<br />
<br />
ice creamers<br />
<br />
<br />
and raccoon piss runs down my walls<br />
and if i had a voice i’d scream<br />
and never stop<br />
<br />
<br />
angel imprints<br />
<br />
<br />
the little ones play it off<br />
the old folks dance it off<br />
snow falls<br />
spheres get stacked<br />
and men melt.<br />absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-80325600441363445862012-04-25T12:54:00.001-07:002012-04-25T12:54:46.311-07:00Moirai's play<br />
it is a set up<br />
the conspiracy of everything that has ever happened up to now<br />
a door held open<br />
an invitation<br />
with a limo pick-up<br />
a precariously placed object<br />
atop stairs<br />
a polypeptide<br />
a paddywagon ride<br />
parted lips<br />
perfect fit<br />
<br />
<br />
there is no decision<br />
there is a condition<br />
for a lock and a key<br />
<br />
<br />
there is a play that might as well be<br />
a movie<br />
re-run for the 22nd time<br />
at midnight<br />
on t.v.<br />
<br />
<br />
there is a heartless puppet<br />
and a heartbroken script in the devil’s hand<br />
with a heartfelt speech that is eternally banned<br />
there is the way it is written<br />
that ensures there is no other way<br />
it is written<br />
<br />
<br />
there are walls separating rooms<br />
where spaces are filled<br />
<br />
<br />
there is everything<br />
but not everything<br />
gets everything<br />
there is a thing called love<br />
there is love<br />
<br />
<br />
there is a thing called love<br />
that this fucked-up fluke is not allowed to have<br />absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-88647088075541277932012-04-25T12:53:00.001-07:002012-04-25T12:53:56.682-07:00here goes<br />
i feel sick...<br />
maybe it was too much<br />
coffee<br />
maybe it was that<br />
flea powder i sprinkled on my floor or<br />
maybe it’s the smell<br />
of everything<br />
decaying all around me<br />
<br />
<br />
i’m on the train<br />
taking deep breaths<br />
to stifle the nausea<br />
i’m being taken somewhere<br />
against my will<br />
but lately,<br />
everything i do is<br />
against my will<br />
<br />
<br />
this is the last stop<br />
before the final destination<br />
i should get off now<br />
but it’s too late<br />
the train has started again.<br />
here goes the passenger.<br />
<br />
<br />
i feel sicker...<br />
maybe it’s the poison<br />
maybe it’s the poison<br />
my black heart pumps, or<br />
maybe it’s the poison<br />
<br />
<br />
i’m in the car<br />
poison pumping to a destination<br />
somewhere<br />
i don’t want to go<br />
but lately,<br />
everywhere is somewhere<br />
i don’t want to go<br />
and if free will exists<br />
i can turn around<br />
but i pass<br />
exit after exit<br />
imprisoned in my lane<br />
so i can watch the loveless movie<br />
that’s playing on the other side of town.<br />
here goes the passenger.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-1302293663821822722012-04-25T12:52:00.003-07:002012-04-25T12:52:58.978-07:00unsatisfactory pencil drawing<br />
like all unsatisfactory pencil drawings,<br />
this one began as a rough sketch,<br />
more like a scribble, actually,<br />
like some abstract impression of primordial noise.<br />
<br />
<br />
more strokes were added<br />
out of boredom, because<br />
when there’s nothing to do,<br />
doodle.<br />
<br />
<br />
and thus the doodle evolved,<br />
sometimes filling the page<br />
with heavy handed lineage,<br />
sometimes being erased<br />
down to ghostlike graphite indentations.<br />
<br />
<br />
always changing.<br />
always unsatisfactory.<br />
<br />
<br />
along the way, the doodle met<br />
many photocopy machines<br />
and was reproduced at differing stages,<br />
momentary incarnations committed to inky permanence,<br />
like an image chiseled into stone.<br />
<br />
<br />
at some point, the doodle developed<br />
self awareness and looked back<br />
at all the hideous forms it had taken.<br />
self loathing quickly followed.<br />
<br />
<br />
the futility of it’s fickle future<br />
combined with the mockery of it’s past imperfections<br />
caused the doodle to begin entertaining<br />
matchsticks, bunsen burners, and lighters<br />
in hopes of being set ablaze.<br />
but, just before the orgies of fire broke out,<br />
a copy would always arrive<br />
to extinguish all hope.<br />
for the doodle knew that<br />
even if it was reduced to ash,<br />
it would live on<br />
through the copies<br />
and all those that had laid eyes on them.<br />
<br />
<br />
so, the doodle resigned itself<br />
to become a crumpled wad<br />
in the back of a desk drawer<br />
and patiently waited for the end of the world.<br />
joining the rest of us,<br />
who are too undefined to compose a better future<br />
and lack the creativity to contrive<br />
our own apocalypse. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-3724690205023835662012-04-25T12:52:00.001-07:002012-04-25T12:52:06.365-07:00another one about salvation through brain damage<br />
so sayeth the gospel of what’s good for me:<br />
<br />
<br />
it’s not too late, although<br />
you should have been sniffing<br />
glue, goading angries for a punch<br />
and six kicks to the skull, shooting<br />
for the sake of confusion, skating<br />
on the rails high above the grounds of gravity, driving<br />
recklessly to Marwencol with Darger riding<br />
shotgun, mixing meds, falling<br />
out of beds. you should have cracked<br />
this egg before the yoke solidified.<br />
<br />
<br />
what would be the harm in freeing the beasties?<br />
<br />
<br />
but freedom always builds a prison<br />
to keep itself from exploring<br />
all the goddamn possibilites:<br />
<br />
<br />
all the fucks i could fuck<br />
that i wouldn’t want to fuck.<br />
<br />
<br />
all the toys i could buy<br />
that require all the endless add-ons<br />
to build the megazord that sits<br />
on my shelf collecting worthless<br />
dust.<br />
<br />
<br />
all the places i could go<br />
so i can feel desperately alone<br />
on the other side of the world.<br />
<br />
<br />
all the people i could know<br />
that will put me on their dusty<br />
shelves, next to their collection<br />
of megazords. (sorry about the power rangers<br />
references, but as<br />
a metaphor, it’s a formulaic fit.)<br />
<br />
<br />
i could cut myself loose<br />
from all the grasping, get my hands back<br />
from the devils playground.<br />
all it would take is one dented<br />
head to leak my stagnant brain<br />
cells, but i’m too much of a passive<br />
pussy to break myself, to much<br />
of a habitual creature to wander<br />
into the shady part of town, so<br />
will a friend please play natural selection<br />
and beat the idiot into me? <br />
<div>
<br /></div>absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-84791511194941125942012-04-25T12:51:00.001-07:002012-04-25T12:51:17.022-07:00brackish flow<br />
my mind is still<br />
with the flat-lined frozen echo<br />
of a cold conversation<br />
between me particles<br />
on matters of me<br />
metaphysical heart<br />
and their indifference<br />
to the rotting goop phenomenon, and<br />
<br />
<br />
for a moment,<br />
i smell my own decay and<br />
feel useful and<br />
natural,<br />
for the first time since he was carbonized.<br />
like one link in a conga line.<br />
i’m not dancing alone.<br />
<br />
<br />
this passes, and<br />
i thank them<br />
as the feeling turns<br />
to a memory<br />
of some bullshit cliche lesson about<br />
going with the flow.<br />absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-17853526884739403392012-04-25T12:50:00.001-07:002012-04-25T12:50:38.273-07:00habitual friends<br />
and you fall<br />
you fall into<br />
again<br />
the pit of habitual<br />
friends<br />
floor of broken glass<br />
and needles and walls of<br />
wasp hives so you can't sit down<br />
or lean weariness off<br />
the hand of a great three-eyed beast<br />
clamped around your ankle<br />
there are stairs that lead up and<br />
out, but you’ve grown accustomed<br />
to standing, and become addicted to<br />
stinger venom, plus the stairs seem so steep<br />
and you really only have the strength to stand<br />
plus there are no friends up there, outside this pit<br />
and you have a beast that’s always here, always grasping<br />
gripping tighter, holding faster, pulling harder and that’s how you know<br />
you’re needed. down in this pit of suffering, this is what defines you. this is you;<br />
a confused and forgotten dig. a classic case of getting carried away and another of<br />
gone too far to turn back now<br />absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-54737636075571034492012-04-25T12:49:00.001-07:002012-04-25T12:49:34.017-07:00denthead<br />
the accident was caused<br />
by the thought<br />
compounding iteration<br />
a dented head<br />
hood splayed<br />
with that pounding head-<br />
ache shattered on the wind-<br />
shield scattered as in<br />
wait wait wait wait<br />
i lost my thought<br />
<br />
to travel back and pause<br />
to the moment ringing heavy<br />
with a silent conversation<br />
irrelatively heady<br />
and repetitive<br />
a moon echo repeated<br />
as in the metered streaming<br />
cars, white comets oncoming<br />
two beams, two beams, two beams<br />
shaken bead stimulation<br />
as in the spray-can<br />
or loosely bolted mufflers sprayed<br />
primer grey, prime time<br />
delay in the live feed<br />
as in distraction<br />
as in is as out<br />
and we’re back<br />
through filtered frames<br />
shots of head break<br />
on his back<br />
on the front of a caddy<br />
<br />
down that block<br />
blockaded surprises<br />
as in not there last night<br />
free circulation barricades<br />
where habit force veers<br />
to the right, crowds<br />
as in punctured clouds<br />
with clear light clarity<br />
empty stare witnesses<br />
glaring constituents<br />
as in is as out<br />
an accident and then<br />
a dent head<br />
open wide with all the juicy bits<br />
aired outing gawks<br />
gaping excessive thoughts inside<br />
<br />
the accident was caused<br />
as in the axis jolted stone<br />
with the comet crater<br />
where water wells a hole<br />
for the age of the beasties <br />absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-52259933919051422032012-04-25T12:47:00.003-07:002012-04-25T12:47:56.495-07:00handle<br />
thoughts flow like a river<br />
goddamn<br />
goddamn<br />
let them go<br />
<br />
i got a handle<br />
i<br />
i got a handle<br />
i got a handle<br />
on all the drugs<br />
i got a handle on all the drugs<br />
except you<br />
<br />
days pass like a winter<br />
godless cold<br />
godless cold<br />
let them go<br />
<br />
a silver string<br />
that’s all yours<br />
that’s all yours<br />
knit a heavy sweater<br />
throw it round your neck<br />
and sweat the look that’s good<br />
that’s all yours<br />
<br />
and you’re living<br />
living for the score<br />
you’re still living<br />
living for the score<br />
you’re a living man<br />
with an automated core<br />
<br />
like tunnels collecting wind<br />
like waters and the pipes they fill<br />
like the span of time<br />
in a single line<br />
<br />
i<br />
i got a handle<br />
i got a handle on all the drugs<br />
i got a handle<br />
i got a handle on all the drugs<br />
except you<br />absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-52773868236797359502012-04-25T12:47:00.001-07:002012-04-25T12:47:17.985-07:00the complex riddle of mute mallorie and her operatic toes<br />
tending towards tendrils<br />
such as assorted<br />
crops bending<br />
on the lazy wind<br />
bright light staged<br />
in a window stream frame<br />
and soft cream glow<br />
<br />
one is missing<br />
tucked under the blanket<br />
of time<br />
<br />
one is missing<br />
and they all talk<br />
the saccharine slander<br />
sharing saw-toothed whispers<br />
of how they all remember<br />
<br />
a cellar<br />
or the dock of a ship<br />
a malign formation<br />
or the rock and the slip<br />
a birth deformation<br />
or a brother that bit<br />
a cellar<br />
and the trauma<br />
and a family writhe with loss<br />
<br />
but you don’t look up<br />
you can’t<br />
<br />
tear away from the tail<br />
tick tapped in<br />
aphasiatic cadence<br />
like a type writer missing it’s “a”<br />
it w sn’t the pl y<br />
it w s the w y they pl yed<br />
nd it w s th t p rt th t sc red you<br />
<br />
but you don’t look up<br />
because you did that once<br />
now you can’t look up<br />
because her eyes shout lazers<br />
the same color as the paint<br />
on her toes<br />absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-8033927726226022502012-04-25T12:46:00.001-07:002012-04-25T12:46:27.510-07:00like unto a pebble<br />
i broke down on I-<br />
fifty five<br />
i broke down the last wall<br />
separating my bewildered drive<br />
from the distance acquiesced<br />
in the middle of<br />
a crisis<br />
in the middle of<br />
a lifeless attempt<br />
to act righteous<br />
in the middle of<br />
a retrovirus<br />
spreading faster<br />
than wheels can spin<br />
i broke down<br />
between the gravel gully<br />
between two grains<br />
between the gamut of my ability<br />
to be<br />
a speck between specks<br />
<br />
i came to some crossroads<br />
some crossed roads<br />
they were such<br />
cross roads<br />
and i was angry too<br />
at that black cat that<br />
crossed my path, trailing dirt in the sign<br />
of the cross<br />
across the road<br />
<br />
i got a ride<br />
from michael claiming to be<br />
kismet<br />
and he said,<br />
"pardon the drag,<br />
but this is not a car,<br />
you see..."<br />
and the fields flew by<br />
and i adjusted my air vent, blowing icy on my sunburnt face<br />
and we enjoyed a moment of disco-ball refraction<br />
and then he concluded,<br />
"... and we are<br />
merely a pebble<br />
in the roller-skate<br />
of allah."<br />
<div>
<br /></div>absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-7693037013425903722012-04-25T12:45:00.003-07:002012-04-25T12:45:47.866-07:00good mourning<br />
for the heat death<br />
of a bubbling inferno<br />
now coal hard and cold<br />
<br />
we mourn<br />
<br />
for the stillness<br />
of the space between leaves<br />
repined with longing<br />
resting all energy<br />
in a sad song about being tickled<br />
by the wind<br />
<br />
we mourn<br />
<br />
for the amé solitaire<br />
pressed between two sheets<br />
of glass, watching but not<br />
seeing, laughing, but not...<br />
of a reflection<br />
entirely more delicate<br />
of a hairline fracture forming<br />
from the separation of all form<br />
<br />
we mourn<br />
<br />
for the top dogs<br />
among us, for the rulers<br />
of this world, for the decisions<br />
of the masses that buck against the norm<br />
for the jittery leg of the strung out<br />
of white walls overwashed<br />
for the tangled threads<br />
among us<br />
of the tightness<br />
for the tightness<br />
of the tightness<br />
at our core<br />
<br />
you know the rest<br />absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-44916130437469327492012-04-25T12:45:00.001-07:002012-04-25T12:45:06.077-07:00casting for satan<br />
they all had a right to be<br />
there, 6 hundred or more red devils<br />
pubic eyebrows and sallow contact<br />
lenses, token tails, fake nails, headband horns, evil grins licked lipstick clean<br />
like photo-negative whores.<br />
<br />
they all had to be<br />
there, a conglomeration of bad.<br />
driven, devoted,<br />
like priests to the calling.<br />
an amalgam of predatorial dry wit and<br />
heathenistic howling<br />
and all with over 6 hundred fucking mouthes<br />
to feed.<br />
<br />
the competition was felt in the walls, spectrum<br />
stained prints, swiped from nervous red brows.<br />
the aftermath, a graveyard of excitement and disillusion dropped<br />
props. blood colored people<br />
returning to their day jobs, knowing<br />
the decision was prearranged.<br />
for many<br />
the devil scrubs off with soap<br />
and a few saps have to wait for the dye<br />
to fade,<br />
but one lucky motherfucker gets paid to stay red<br />
for all of god-damned time.<br />absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-1299053455294451872012-04-25T12:44:00.001-07:002012-04-25T12:44:18.889-07:00cheech, chong and my dad go to carl's junior<br />
scene opens with a fat, bald man<br />
walking across a desert.<br />
it's windy.<br />
he approaches<br />
cheech and<br />
chong and<br />
the stone pile they are sitting on<br />
<br />
cheech: hey, man, do you know.... do you even know what we got here, man?<br />
chong: yeah, man, open your eyes and see, man.<br />
my dad: looks like a pile of rocks.<br />
cheech: yeah, rocks.<br />
chong: (laughs) rocks.<br />
my dad: what do you do with them?<br />
cheech: awe man, they're good for so many things, you know, but mostly, we just hit ourselves in the head with them.<br />
<br />
chong hits himself with a stone and laughs.<br />
<br />
the wind stops.<br />
you can hear one bird,<br />
swirling<br />
around and<br />
around<br />
overhead, high<br />
over head<br />
<br />
my dad: that sounds like a good time.<br />
he takes a seat on their stone pile and whacks himself on the forehead with a large flat stone.<br />
blood trickles down and drips<br />
off his bulbous nose.<br />
<br />
the wind picks up again<br />
cheech: so, what are you doing in the desert, man?<br />
chong: (laughs) desert.... dessert.... de-sert<br />
my dad: ..... i can't remember<br />
he looks off into the distance<br />
you can hear one bird's<br />
hunger call<br />
my dad: ... but, i think i see a carl's jr over there.<br />
he gets up to leave<br />
<br />
scene ends with a fat, bald man<br />
walking across a desert<br />
following yesterday's depressions<br />
in the sand<br />absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-10223179619533141502012-04-25T12:43:00.001-07:002012-04-25T12:43:21.122-07:00electric world<br />
on the current<br />
where the angels go<br />
a billion little spirits<br />
flow, off the grid<br />
into the danger zone<br />
there is a charge<br />
for all we know<br />
<br />
that song is playing<br />
but it sounds like screams<br />
red velvet murder on<br />
repeat<br />
red velvet murder on<br />
to dishonor<br />
volume<br />
at a heartbreaking low<br />
<br />
we, electric world<br />
conductors<br />
the heat of the dead<br />
in our laps<br />
the fire of the fallen<br />
in our lamps<br />
warmth exploited can't stop<br />
the cold wind<br />
sun sent to steal<br />
seethe freed souls from<br />
our raised and dimpled flesh<br />absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3970285158358149705.post-79614160117171683342012-04-25T12:42:00.001-07:002012-04-25T12:42:28.091-07:00iteration<br />
somewhere, down in the machine room<br />
they caught wind of<br />
something going on up in the dream room<br />
a conspiracy of sorts<br />
a plot against the whole.<br />
<br />
hierarchy handed down<br />
a short list of demands<br />
minority thoughts<br />
a disguised attempt to take control<br />
with ideas<br />
about universe<br />
acquired from university<br />
<br />
i'll shut this whole thing down<br />
said worker number 666<br />
while shoveling coal<br />
or breaking a rock<br />
threatening<br />
to reiterate<br />
only to be<br />
distracted<br />
by the moment<br />
dreaming of an outcome<br />
where he's on top<br />
unaware of<br />
fractality<br />
<br />
somewhere, down in the dream room<br />
there were suspicions of<br />
something going wrong up in the supreme room<br />
esoteric shenanigans<br />
rumors<br />
that god might be<br />
eating his own poo<br />
<div>
<br /></div>absurdiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12076099226890373772noreply@blogger.com0