simply shallow (the deception of beauty)

6/15/05

so you think I could run?
you really believe I could
carouse away
and concoct the colors up to thirty one
in a solid smear the strength of the sun?

believe me
I could
but instead, if you’d have me
I believe I’d stay
for we’d together twist a string of the softest yarn
cord of the most sensual blue
from these fields of
soft white chances around us
we’ll twist
and tighten
and
fuck
I’m starving for those things

but they ain’t here

or there

or at the end of this run

but in the stare of the moonlight and the
hum of the sun;
they’re frozen
in the grace of your hand and the
the starburst of your pride;
they’re in the taste of your tales and
the sound of our
dreams
that echo about in
the silent chasm between us
as we stroll down the median
of a seven o’clock street
bearing the weight of the day
in our thoughts, sullen, sugar-glazed
and dipped
like
stale donuts
in cheap
murdered
coffee

Monday afternoon finds me sitting here chewing some Orbit gum and debugging my app in nothing but a pair of fuzzy gray shorts; these behemoth things called Pipes that came from Wal-Mart. Yes, i admit, i'll shop there once in a while, but it's only in a pinch, i swear! I needed shorts over a year ago to help facilitate effective spinning with Laura, and lo and behold ended up with these things, since it was the only store open at 10:30pm that sold anything remotely spinnable.

or so i thought.

Fleece shorts do not make effective spin-wear. let's just say one gets a wee uncomfortably hot.

But life isn't so bad, right now - i get to work in my homie shorts and blog and generally chill, which kicks ass. (evidently it actually does, since for some reason my right ass cheek has been hurting like a mofo all day long... but that's a whole 'nother story, reader.)

Alas, right now, i'm pathetically fucking bored. I'm cooped up here in my "office" for another two hours or so, and i'm getting down-right stir crazy. This absolutely stunning afternoon keeps whispering in my ear that I should come out and ride one of my bikes, but this gosh-derned program of mine just won't write itself these days. But the sky is so blue, the wind so calm, and the air just so fragrant that i can't help but imagine what it would be like to hit the singletrack with a vengance in about fifteen minutes. I guess i'll just have to hit that shit this afternoon when I decide to call it quits.

Part of me also really wants to get outdoors just so i can lay out for awhile. I'm still pathetically white (aside from the fierce farmer tan that i'm rocking, which is sooo hot - that's how i get the chicks) ... so a more even goat-tan is in order. But the bike so overrules that shit today; it's been since december since i've rode the war-horse anywhere. Road biking is fun, certainly, but it's nothing like mountain biking. And fuck, i'm in fucking Utah, reader - to not mountain bike or ski this state is sacrilege.

I feel like i'm done writing for now, i guess. Just more or less out of stuff to say. I could write plenty about the last trip to bismarck, i'm sure, but i'm on the fast track to getting over most of it, as i pretty much always do (i can't stay miffed to save my life), so ranting about shit in the past is probably, for the most point, pointless.

until next time, though, come, reader, let us frolic amongst the trees and bleat our little hearts out. stay happy and if you're feeling crappy, don't, cause that's not much fun.

this is not good.
i'm sitting
drunk
in my ex-girlfriend's bedroom
and her roommate

(who is watching
her mother's dog)

(and is, in all honesty,
amazing)

walked past me.

the dog,
even,
walked past me.

she smelled my hand
and in a fury of
distrust
and
disgust
turned her head
and walked
the other way

just as
they
always do.

and
always will;
for i'm
just the stinking drunk
stuck in a place
i can't even
bear to see
that i can't even
bear to notice
that i can't
grasp -

god, i'm frail
thin
wasted
emaciated
and i'll i'm searchin' for
is a bit of
food
something to
put a bit 'o meat
on my vegan bones
and tell me

(ever so
softly)

that i'm actually

the
shit

and that i matter
in this smatter
of crap
on the walls

god.... i'm drunk again, on tequila and wined and beer and fuck

i need to get laid so bad!

(anyone know of anyone in salt lake that's fond of the Barnyard Charm??)

aah.... nothing like free wireless internet at the bismarck municipal airport. Now, if only Denver would just follow suit; then i'd be one fucking happy travelin' Goat.

Alas, it'll be good to be home, in some respects. While i'll undoubtedly miss the crew up yonder here in the great white north, it's been an interesting trip, to say the least. I could elaborate plenty, i'm sure, and i can almost guarantee that i will at some point. Right now, though, the name of the game is to simply get mah ass back home, ensure nothing has become graciously fucked in my two-week abscense from the apartment, and do a shitload of launrdy, cause dude, i'm so out of clean clothes. Any longer and i'll be running around Utah stark naked, otherwise, and that's just a scary, scary thought.

I'd hate to upset the Mormons. They haven't found me yet... and a naked Goat prancing amongst their domain would assuredly attract far more attention than I could stomach.

If I can hold them at bay until next year when the lease expires, my little stint in Utah will have gone pretty smoothly, I think. Of course... i still have like ten or eleven months until that happens... alas.

But my plane boards soon... so more to come later. Have a peaceful day, and keep smilin', homeslice.

I'm off to see 3 powerman 5000 shows in a row! Tacoma, Seattle, and Portland. See you Sunday!!!!!

(give me a call, reader, should you wish I'll have my phones and i'll have so many stories to share!)

until the end of the weekend, have the best of days, and keep smiling brightly.

---------------------------------------

what in the blue…

5/18/05

shit.

it seems that
tonight
under the duress of
a pot-of-coffee caffeine
executioner of
rationality
I’ve wandered astray
into what appears to be
a garden
(of all things)
half Bosch and half
Bruegel,
just a bunch of
peasants
fucking
and, oh, lord,
can I leave?

can’t I
just get out of
here
meet my friends
and have
a drink
like the old times?

eighty-five

5/17/05

she called me scarface
because my forehead had this awful magnetic
attraction to sharp metal objects
like mobile home skirting
and the bumpers of pickup trucks
and oh god she couldn’t be more right
for the July sun and cool of
our summer pools
are what’s in those lines
on my face
and inside these eyes
that can never let go
of the scents of deck-stain
and fresh cut grass
and the bullhorn blare, gilded glare
of endless Tom Petty flowing ‘round us
as we started the day and
lived it long
as it was
in those times; endless and smiling and always bright
for the clouds
simply didn’t cover us

we were lords of our realm
Colonial Estates
trailer park on the southeast
corner of town

and it’s that home
which I take with me
on the road
to my own

frozensolid gluestuck

5/11/05

what I feel like now is like
soil under the sunset
on the plain
in the
dead of winter, dim and empty as
night falls on me, flat land where
the wind stole the snow
and
only left the
grass
sticking up in
crazy bedhead
        tufts
that taunt and tease
and make you wish
like a child on christmas
that there was snow, just a little bit of fluff
just a
tiny
bit
that’s all I need

to obscure this desolation

radiating from
my icecube
toes
below

to the farthest horizon

found on an indie/anarchist's blog:

"i'd punch myself in the face just to make something fucking happen. ive got to stay loaded on something to numb the realization that im sitting here wasting time, softening myself, becoming more insecure and reverting back into the old me, whom i despise."

said punk just took the words right outta my mouth.

(god, i can't wait till pay day tomorrow... being cooped up here without any way of going places blows severe ass)

a wee too weak

5/7/05

I just went outside
to get my mail; funny
how I never did that today, but actually
went outside in the morning

alas, the couple passed
and I fell drunk in her perfume
fleeting and so meaningless, for I shall
never pass her again,
never sip a drop of that intoxicating
exotic
scent
that made me want to bed her

but I looked up, on the way back
(it can’t be more than
a mere thirty second walk)
and on the way spied two stars, so bright
amongst the low clouds
bloated with rain
and wondered what they meant

yet as I turned to climb
back up the stairs, the three flights that
lift me gracefully to my door on the
wind of angels
I spied a third, a dim, weak little star
near those two, but on the edge
like a shy friend who feels a bit lonely
and wholly out of place
puppy amongst the sharks

and if I could I’d reach above
grasp that lonely dog, pull her down
and simply look in her eyes
tell her
"you’re strong
so fucking strong
and the life you have is in your paws
hard as it is to notice
but it’s there –
grasp it in your claws
and don’t let go"

but I’m drunk, and there’s beer to be had
and she’s
far too high
for me

so I came back inside
instead

modest

4/12/05

I am the modest

silly little druid in a silly little land
sadly robbed of my forest! But
more often
I meander like
a duck
in the desert
frantically at first
sand burning my little webbed feet
as I waddle across the dunes
but eventually I give up
give in
accept that I’m not really built
for desert life
but keep waddling on in a mechanical way
for some distance later
I’m sure I’ll find an oasis
where I can swim for a time
and cool feet ‘jus fine –
I could clean the dust
from my feathers, too
perhaps

but as I waddle
being modest
I lay low to the ground
so I cast a small shadow in my travels
and slide across places
with the smoothest of ease,
my humble disposition the oil to grease the wheels
of my silly social shortcomings
and inept inequities
and as low to the ground I am
it makes it hard
to spy those rare pools
off in the distance

but at the same time –
I’m drenched in the scent of the
planet vibrant above me, the beautiful brothers and
strong sisters around me, and
duck as I be, modest as I
dream, or perhaps only perceive
through my tiny laughing mallardeyes
I smell the orchestra this afternoon
and taste its vibrant golden tones; it sounds
like cayenne and looks like the deepest, richest
corner-bar jazz
everyone and
everything
woven and
spun tight
in this perfect depiction of the higher
plane
man woman child and dog
grandmother son bird and wind
green and gold and blue and white
goosebumps and godly pride
blending together and
draping over me like a
silken cloak of smiles

yet I remain modest!
a modest merchant above
this marketplace of emotions electric –
a child spying magic amongst the clouds
and screaming dreams at
anyone who would hear,
any soul or hopeless fool
who would take the time
to hear a rhyme
and listen to my wild raspy quackings
as I shake the desert
from my feathers wise and cracking

uncommon product

5/7/05

steal thy friendly urchin
and straight from the bottle
i shall drink
with a zealot's zest! a love
for the strange, and the bizzare
like a lust for sunlight
or hermaphrodites
or simple things like
snakes in the grass

touch me, and deliver me to
a place of bliss; tempt me with
your tiny tongue, rusty with
the love of blood
and suck me off like a
salt-covered pirate on the docks of home

and listen to the breath i
exhale
like a gale from the middle sea; it's laced
with the scent of wine, the
australian that i'm letting slide down
through me now
and as you drink in that whisper
that scuttles from my lips
cover my eyes
and love me some more

sitting on Utah

4/12/05

so why not sit down in the grass?
I know that some of
my very best
writing
has been done inside, always
in the glare of a phosphorus window
or amber light, Sylvania’s best –
but why not let the real sun
touch my arms and light
my fires? Why not let this
spring breeze
        last of the day
mess up my hair with its playful fingers?

        It’s like a child, the wind –
and the playground ain’t far off

so come, wind, let’s ride the earth
like drunken gypsies, father and son
leering around like a pair of
basketballs trotting the globe
in search of nothing
nothing at all
save the fairies in the grass

bedroom howling

4/29/05

the dog downstairs, at least that’s where
i think it lives
must not be appreciating my
music this morning;

it’s a pretty picture-frame outside with
a light breeze and hot light shining through new
spring leaves, a few accidentally-bruised clouds
dancing off to the east
but the dog I suppose can’t see out the window
or something
because the music is driving him
insane

for an hour it has been howling and shrieking
at nothing but the hand percussion flying out
from my speakers;
percussion that blends well with the waltzing clouds
and playful blue sky of my morning

so I’m sure the dog must be locked
in the bedroom
below mine

where it’s
gray
and
oh so forlorn

Go listen to some Guster, children! It's hottt...

Have the best of days, reader.

---------

GUSTER - Love For Me

I know there is a place
A place where I belong
Not mistreated or undone
And if I find that place
I'll keep my mouth shut
Cause I won't be there alone
And if you're standing there with me
I'll swear it's a lie and I'll still believe it
Cause I came
And I spoke
And you ran
Didn't even wait to hear the words
Or see the look in my eyes
Cause I bled
And you watched
And I cried myself to sleep
Came to wipe my tears away but you
You couldn't look in my eyes again
Because of the love for me
I understand the time
It passes so slowly
And I can hear its laughter
But there will come a time
When you will ask me
And I will join you then
And if you're standing there with me
I'll swear it's a lie and I'll still believe it
Because of the love for me

daguerreotypes

4/26/05

your eyes are guatemala and your hair the sky i saw
above the canopy in the morning, the breeze your whispers
and
the light dust kicked up by the fruit man's
truck
with its seductive smell suprisingly close to your unwashed hair -

i was drunk down there, stumbling down the street on a magic
carpet like i am tonight, lost in blue and white retina memories that
burn like magnesium flames
and could i close my eyes and shut out the seduction i would
but like pain the beauty pins my feet to the ground and
glues my eyes wide,
overexposing my sore and tired point-and-shoot oculars
to some of the toughest things
one could ever wish
to forever capture -
breezes and scents and the morning colors of the sunrise
and the way it lit her skin as she wept

oh

4/6/05

it’s faint, like the
brush of a kitten on your ankles as you
wake up and place your
feet unassuredly down on
the cold berber below; this
whisper that you curl ‘round my ear
tastes like soft-serve on the warmest of
August evenings, a little bit of chocolate
drizzled on a calming heap of vanilla elegance

elegant … yet … dark

with a hint of an African sunset
behind the closed doors of a plainclothes
Presbyterian retreat
so let’s stroll for a time, before we run out of time
before the sun remembers its time
and dies

and oh,
keep on whispering those things you do

the old-time jazz

4/6/05

kodachrome snapshots:
       orange black lusty blood rouge
       the black of a jilted sky starless
       gray of a illuminated pen harmless
       and silver-sterling smiles
       on the floor
drip into me like cavewater
and spin me around like a
baby
trapped in a seizure
mother screaming in background, panic-driven frenzy
and all they want to do is build a new story
but how in the hell
can you

bend

the river current soft in the night?
She’ll take you to the delta if you let her

lots of coffee... lots of driving... big vegan cookie, lots of conversation... lots of smiles. lots of confusion. and lots of ... love.

this, my dear reader, was my evening in SLC.

oh, i guess i had some fierce spaghetti at my place, too; simple stuff but made with Amy's organic Wild Mushroom pasta sauce, which is one of the most amazing things i have ever tasted, save for Emeril's vodka sauce. Pity the latter isn't vegan, for it contains heavy cream. Unholy travesty!

It's now my mission to make a badass vegan vodka sauce for my pasta.

But in shorter terms of time it's of high importance to get me some rest ... seeings as it's a mere five hours until i need to work. Bah. Alas, i finished a poem as well, so here goes. Sleep well, reader, and don't land in any weird sexual dreams tonight, unless you're of the kinky persuasion, or you're just feeling randy. rawr.

---------------------------------------

forever stuck in hell, motel six

4/6/05

when my small friends
of the avian persuasion
make their little excursions across this
slate afternoon
the world seems to
blur a bit
and smooth out like a sheet of construction paper
rough and haphazard, colored by
chunky splattered wax painting the page
in faint crayon black, an irregular textone blast
of
roadhouse coffee-colored islands
floating in a silver icelocked marshland –
like a menace I try to
spread the black and push it back
but the crayon keeps disappearing, sauntering ever closer
to my stubby little toddler’s fingers
as I grind it across the paper
the frustration so hot it won’t even burn –

always these white isles in dusky seas
that elude the farthest reach!

to forget, oh, the essence of the calming ocean
but the birds …

this morning i feel... dim. Sort of here, but sort of not, and certainly, most certainly, confused beyond any and all description. But that's okay. Life without it would be, well, too easy, perhaps.

I just don't want a re-run of Black Summer. And, oh, she looks to be an interesting one, if it's this fucked and it's only April.

Alas, i just wrote a poem, so here goes! Not one of my best, but just a little rambling lament that seemed appropriate for this hung-over, windy Sunday morning. Be safe and stay smiling, reader, and enjoy this last day of your weekend.

---------------------------------------------

as it stands

4/3/05

we’re all living with those borrowed minds
in the shadow of stolen lives
with a courage endless the winding road round the world
red thread against the blue heart –
if only we’d throw open our colored shuttereyes
and spy its light!
feel it land on our skins and wash us
like the springtime sun
realizing that if the well were poisoned
its water tainted and tinted
from crystalline clarity to a
dyed hue of confusion
that what draws from the earth
is
always
water
and that
like the courageous highway
never ends