Monday, March 18, 2024


 —HEY WINDOW PANE, DO YOU REMEMBER HOW SWEET IT USED TO BE?

 

 

Charlatan, All You Want to do is Dance 

 

How can you hate the sun you love and adore, just because it’s hitting you in the eyes and burning your cheek? Haven’t you asked, going on months now, for her to show her face, to arrive, goddamn it? And now she’s here, wearing a fierce yolk-yellow gown, twirling while remaining motionless, and all you want to do is dance away from her, escape her luminous swirl, her potency and sheen. Didn’t you always worship her? Didn’t you miss her terribly? You weren’t a charlatan, were you? You weren’t one of those men who say things they don’t mean, were you? How can you shy away from your beloved and keep a straight face while all she does is belittle herself, bowing and bowing and bowing down to you some more, her seams ripping across the sky, the color of blood that has reluctantly turned yellow? 

Friday, March 15, 2024


 --TOMORROW WE’LL RUN A LITTLE BIT FASTER

 

…Eric Carmen died on Monday. He was all of 74.

He was my second idol, music or otherwise, just behind David Cassidy. So, it was a sad day and a bit of a sad week.

I wanted to be him—to have that voice, that look, to be so romantic in song, so suave and vulnerable. 

If you don’t get this, well, you don’t get this, and I’m sorry, though I’m not really apologizing…

 

 

Boats Against the Current 

 

I know it's over
You know it's over
We're just going through the motions
But we're sailing separate oceans, world's apart
And you know it's breaking my heart

I was a dreamer
You were a dreamer
But perfection is consuming
And it seems we're only human after all
And we've both been taking the fall

But tomorrow, we'll run a little bit faster
Tomorrow, we're going to find what we're after at last
Feelings that we left in the past
There's romance in the sunset
We're boats against the current to the end

Maybe we're older
Maybe we're colder
So we disregard solutions
While we cling to our illusions once again
And we keep remembering when

Seasons are changing
Oh, reasons are changing
But the story isn't ending
So we find ourselves pretending one more day
Oh, while the years keep slipping away

Oh, but tomorrow, we'll run a little bit faster
Tomorrow, we're going to find what we're after at last
Feelings that we left in the past
There's romance in the sunset
We're boats against the current to the end

Oh yeah, tomorrow, we'll run a little bit faster
Tomorrow, we're going to find what we're after at last
Feelings that we left in the past
There's romance in the sunset
We're boats against the current to the end
There's romance in the sunset
We're boats against the current to the end

There's romance in the sunset
We're boats against the current to the end

 

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ITLZiaxNCKw

Wednesday, March 13, 2024


 

—EXCUSE ME, BUT CAN I BE YOU FOR A WHILE?

  

 

…“Here, let me help. You seem a little unstable.”

 

…If it seems like you’re bitching a little bit, it means you’re bitching.

 

…I’m dying out, but the flowers sure look pretty.

 

…If you watched CNN and played a drinking game where you had to have a shot every time the name “Donald Trump” was said, you’d be blackout drunk within three minutes.

 

…I need somebody to help me, and not necessarily 911.

 

…“Watch the water roll around the drain.”

 

…I’m definitely getting older. Now when I open up “People” magazine I scarcely know any of the people in it. 

 

…It’s pretty strange, and unsettling, to have a white van parked in your driveway and not know who it belongs to.

 

…I could probably play, “Life in a Northern Town” on repeat and never tire of it.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5UXnulANF8g&list=RD5UXnulANF8g&start_radio=1

 

 “I've noticed that when people are joking they're usually dead serious, and when they're serious, they're usually pretty funny.” Jim Morrison

 

…Getting too many vowels at once, or too many consonants—that’s the worst.  

 

…Just let me play, and when I’m done, I’ll be done. 

 

...I need more books like I need more ailments, or troubles.

 

…Poor Eric Carmen. I miss him already.

 

…“Why does something have to mean anything?” That’s a statement I think about a lot.

 

…I gave it a good go while I could.

 

...She’s so much stronger than me, but then that’s not surprising.

 

…Time for a nap. Have I ever said how much I love learning to nap? 

 

…It’s easy to let the gray rain scour you, but you have to embrace it, and look for the beauty in it.

 

…Sometimes a hug from someone you love, or care about deeply, is the only thing you need to keep going. 

 

…If these walls would just say something, anything at all, it would make a big difference.

 

…Dogs don’t act like they have a worry in the world, and I’m happy about that.

 

School’s out for summer. School’s out forever.

 

…I remember in grade school how if you acted up, or were perceived to have acted up, you got sent to the Principal’s office. He had a paddle there, and he used it vigorously.

 

…Pick your poison, but stick with your pick, otherwise you’ll end up a hypocritical dick.

 

…So much glass, so many waves.

 

…I think I might need a replacement.

 

…What a jerk you have to be to complain about all of this, any of this.

 

…Maybe yoga’s the answer.

 

…I had some really vivid, and horrible dreams last night. I wouldn’t share them with anyone, not even a therapist.

 

…You can’t help what you dream, can you? I mean, it’s not your fault, is it?

 

…I have a lot of conversations with a therapist I no longer see, and it’s okay that he never answers back.

 

…Someone recently told me that there are no flat mirrors, and they’re probably right.

 

…Coffee sounds good, but my hands don’t think so.

 

….You know things are dicey when a Styptic Pencil becomes as important as vitamins.

 

…If I never have another piece published, I’m okay with that, which is something, the younger me, would never have said. 

 

…Poor Stevie Nicks, waving her tail around, always left out of the fun.

 

…Why do I always feel worst after good things happen?

 

Into your restless arms

Monday, March 11, 2024

 

—A SALVATION ARMY BAND PLAYED, AND THE CHILDREN DRANK LEMONADE, AND THE MORNING LASTED ALL DAY

 

 

In Therapy

 

I cried the Pacific, Atlantic, Indian and 

Dead Sea, and felt ashamed.

I cried until the whole world was smears 

and nothing mattered but the soothing taste of water

trickling like wet worms down my throat.

My mother said the world would end with me, 

but she was a pathological liar so her 

words often flipped off my shoulder like false regrets.

On that day, robins slammed into the windows and 

starlings dropped from the sky, already dead and featherless.

Armageddon didn’t make any more sense to me than 

being a bastard child, but I clung to the rail nonetheless. 

Jesus is coming, I heard my mother say, right before 

she raised the belt over her shoulder like an Olympian.

“Why does any of this matter now?” the therapist asked sincerely.

In front of me, the clock stitched backwards, the hands 

twirling like a junkie that had done far too much cocaine.

I wanted to answer, but there wasn’t a suitable one to be found and so he said, “Doesn’t matter anyway, our time’s up now.”

Rising from his chair, he pointed toward the door I left through, 

ghost of a man-boy, floating into one world, that one, and the next.

Friday, March 8, 2024


 

—MY DOG WON’T BITE IF YOU SIT REAL STILL

  

…And there you are, and there you’re not. 

 

…I really don’t hate Friday as much as I say. It was just one dark day where it all poured out, unscripted.

 

…Hold my hand, okay? It’s going to be a bumpy few weeks.

 

…Even my shoelaces smelled like Cabernet, though I didn’t notice.

 

…I might be the only guy who literally flips off books that I hate.

 

…Never read “Brian” unless you’re imprisoned for life, and that’s all there is.

 

…Sooner than later, I’m guessing.

 

…Get over yourself already. 

 

…I’ll have this one, another one, one more, and that’s it.

 

..."I sometimes feel that I am becoming and unbecoming whoever it was I was." Brontez Purnell

 

…“I don’t know, but I’ve been told…”

 

…Maybe we should just split the difference on this one and call it even, if you can't see it that way.

 

…I’m too tired to keep counting sheep that aren’t really there.

 

…I wonder if it’s actually as pretty as it looks from here, from what I’m feeling at this moment.

 

..."I often worry about the metaphor I’m becoming." Brontez Purnell

 

…I catch myself reclosing the very windows I should be jumping out of.

 

…Patience, practice and prayer, that’s the only way I know how to get out of this drought.

 

…“I believe I’ll pray, see what the end is going to be.”

 

…Maybe I really am the ghost I always thought myself to be.

 

Is that seat taken? Congratulations. Would you like to take a walk with me?

 

…I watch my fingers shake sometimes, and it’s like viewing a Geiger counter, or a lie-detector test.

 

…I’m definitely not winning this fight, and that’s okay.

 

…The streets are looking dangerous.

 

…A lot of times I hear my life reported back to me, past or present, in a voice-over that sounds somewhat like mine, and I’m not sure if that’s good, or if it means something I should pay special attention to.

 

…Where do all the Shadow People go?

 

…I got this, or so people tell me, one of my very least favorite expressions, but I don’t got anything.

 

…I’ll take a mulligan, if I’m able.

 

…It’s hard to be this sad and not totally break.

 

…It’s funny, or ironic, or something like that, the way things turned out.

 

…Well, there’s always, “Ooh La La.”

 

…I should have felt more this week. What’s wrong with me?

 

…You can really hold a grudge. I guess we’re both really good at that.

 

…So, that’s just how it’s gonna be. Okay. Okay.

 

…The key is to stay above the noise, but that’s not so easy.

 

…A lot of times I hear my life reported back to me and it sounds like no one I’ve ever known.

 

…“Just a sentence. Start small. See where it takes you.”

 

…I should go somewhere, but I have nowhere to go anymore.

 

…It really is, “Different strokes for different folks.” I just need to remind myself of that regularly.

 

…You never know. You never know.

 

…How could someone know you so well but not know you have an eating disorder?

 

…Am I really the only person who notices, when you’re in a crowd, that there are no black people there?

 

…Anxiety is really awful.

 

…Can you be unhappy and hopeful at the same time? Hmmm.

 

…I’ve said this before, but turbulence is definitely not my friend.

 

…It’s pretty interesting people-watching at an airport. I always wonder what that person is thinking, what they’re carrying around inside themselves.

 

…I’m scrapping all of the “Friday” pieces I wrote, as my best friend advised me. All twenty-one of them.

 

…My life is going to swing pretty soon. Like right now.

 

…I sure hope I’m not making another huge mistake. I’ll let you know in another week or so.

 

…I might need a prayer, or three.

 

…It’s really difficult to finish a bad book or film. But then I once watched all of “Ishtar” on an airplane.  

 

…I realize I think too much. It’s a problem I’ve had since I was a young boy.

 

…Young boy, young boy, young boy.

 

…It seems redundant to explain to a Hispanic person what a terrible person T is, but sometimes you have to do it, nonetheless.

 

…Walking on these slopes is like laying belly-up in the ocean, waiting for that one great wave to arrive.

 

…I realized I finally look my age. Maybe even older than I am now.

 

…A cane could do the trick. But so could getting paid.

 

…But what about tomorrow?

Wednesday, March 6, 2024


—I LOOKED AT THE MOON AND I FELT BLUE, THEN  I LOOKED AGAIN AND I SAW YOU

 

 

Legend

  

Let’s face it,

We’re never going to be

As happy as we could be

The universe is too fragile, 

Unapologetic and disorganized

Time has outlasted us

Kismet fading into mauve

But I have my pen

And you have your incessant questions

Together, can’t we make

Our ending extraordinary?

Monday, March 4, 2024

  

 

—I’M BREAKING EGG SHELLS WITH A PEN

 

 

Balloons

 

 

We were scruff, so we stole on the sly, stupid stuff---sox, Snickers Bars, squirt guns, laxatives, and magic balloons, which were plastic-taped to a board that promised to grow into something gigantic and magical if you blew on them hard enough.

We wanted to be something different, anything different, so we blew and blew, my twin and I. We took turns when one of other was out of gas.

I don’t know if we really believed in magic back then, Sis and I, but after making sure the door was locked, I held her hand while she said a prayer for help.