Interests:Sports, comedy, God, making shampoo mohawks, playing bass... annnnnddd... being happy. that definetly interests me. Expertise:I don't play hockey much these days. i can still rock a bass though.... heres a sad fact for you: I've been playing videogames since i was two. I literally cant remember a time when I havent been playing videogames. I have many faults. I'm currently trying to learn one thing a day for all of 2009 Occupation:Retired Industry:Entertainment
saw a photo of you and tried to read it, the way a layman tries to read ancient hierogliphics, the way a deaf man tries his best to keep tempo. still i looked and there was an old sense about something in the way your head turned up and, the way he looked down towards the ground, and was there in the same uniform, uni formed against you probably pressed bread dough play dough into little stars and circle shaped and damn happy to be so might I add.
and your socks brought me back to little hallways and the bow in your hair to a drawer in your room and a slightly upturned eyebrow, and light li
and ya know, I knew it was stupid, but I saw and saw that I didn't recognized, so sawed off my sawed off and saw myself off..ff.ff
lets be honest- four or five months ago i was rejected from the music program up here and since then I haven't written a song. i spent over half my summer and the latter part of a stressful school year destroying my relationships all while swearing allegiance to a bad idea that drove me to my wits and and parts of me that i hate that i hadn't seen in years rose up and showed up and haven't as far as i can tell really left since then. I get lonely at night because I have trouble sleeping sometimes, and i look out windows and think about grounding poems and wonder why i was never grounded as a child, not because i was perfect but because my parents were too tired to do anything about it, and now they're even more tired, and i send my poetry teacher poems and he says this that is stained with your nose blood is shit but this that you wrote simply because is beautiful and wonderful and sometimes i just can't- so i open my mouth and all that happens is that i open my mouth, it gapes, and it gapes, and it's empty except for a tonsel which is disposable and a tongue which i can't use and I look at you and implore please read my mind please read my mind and it's not fair to you that i ask you, and it's not fair to you that i ask you. and i come home and i want to write, so i pick up a guitar and my fingers now know CMaj because i taught myself, because no one else will teach me, because it's two thousand dollars tohave someone recognize you're learning and four hundred dollars to learn just so that you can be vapor, and i pick out thirds and try to sing and it's just a gaping mouth, full of teeth that i'm rotting away. so i put down the guitar and click clikc click and none of it means right now, i can't write right now i can't write right now, because i've been busy learning romantic s, the early romantics for class, and when i stare at a blank page i feel the weight of knowing that it is as meaningful then as it will ever be, and perhaps a thousand times more relevant than anything i could fill it with. and i mean to write a thank you letter, and i mean to write you back i have stories to tell you, and i mean to write and never to be as mean as i seem i'm mean to be i don't mean to be . and i look to talk but there's noone to talk
and i take a deep breath, it's 3am and i'm brushing my teeth and the cars passing by on 36 are going farther than i feel i'll ever go. and there are bigger things, there are always bigger and bigger things, and bigger than me, and i open my mouth, and it gapes, and there are gums which i've been told once have irreversable damage, what does that mean, isn't this all irreversable damage, every dent in my feet every harsh tongue lashing and the image of you crying in that chair and me walking out and thinking whatwhywherehow do i am i please help please help. as if you could ever reverse damage
and the people are so cruel. always assuming always thinking they are better.
So i lie down, and lying down i close my eyes and my mouth gapes and it's just a hole, just a hole to be a hole to be filled and feeled and i don't mean to hurt you or to be mean
like you're hurt now (it's not your fault please know that. i'll be happy to talk when i get back from class since my phone is brok, i love you)
and i just plop, and it cranks, cogged in my me myohmy
I've seen urnials wrapped in black trashbags. As if there were anything more redundant. What a waste of waste space rolled in a wasted waste bag, implying you could waste incorrectly by what, saving waste? Save your waste properly and waste your waste properly i.e. never piss on said black verticle plastic or the floor will likely echo a sickly coffee teethed tile needing bleach or beaten till just ripped up missing gap toothed telling you pissed on the bag didn't you?
had one the other day to do an english to english translation of a poem- so, basically you just distort the already perfect language of an already perfect poem so it means sorta the same thing, except less.
SO I did poem 794 by emily dickinson which reads:
A Drop Fell on the Apple Tree -- Another -- on the Roof -- A Half a Dozen kissed the Eaves -- And made the Gables laugh --
A few went out to help the Brook That went to help the Sea -- Myself Conjectured were they Pearls -- What Necklace could be --
The Dust replaced, in Hoisted Roads -- The Birds jocoser sung -- The Sunshine threw his Hat away -- The Bushes -- spangles flung --
The Breezes brought dejected Lutes -- And bathed them in the Glee -- Then Orient showed a single Flag, And signed the Fete away --
---
now presenting:
Poem 794
by Emily Dickinson
As translated from the
original English by Sam Columna
One ounce sprinkled the first buds of spring-
One ounce pitter pattered just above our heads-
Six ounces pecked the gutters-
and tickled the fascia.
Four went out in support of a stream
which gathered in support of the lake-
But all I saw was the silver sliver of dew-
Draped against your collarbone.
It clothed dusty roads in silk suits-
and made the mockingbird laugh-
Even the hot sun loosened his tie,
and the bushes shed their thorns.
The zephyrs found old pan flutes,
and showered them in laugher-
All the east was united in celebration-
And called in sick to work the next day.
--
anyway everyone in the class did these, and passed them to the person to their right who was to add lines in between the lines of the poem they were given then to delete the original lines and put lines in between the new lines. you dig?
So this is what I came up with,which in no way follows from the emily dickinson displayed above.
Your Mind When Confused
Somewhere between the mustard and the milk,
this, shimmering electrical, pop
protruding, heavy, grasping
for the dark behind a closed fridge door.
I tied leather, lyric to my toes,
and found out to set you, livering in my linger.
The trees babbled, brooks branched
contorted, and knotted nylon harness
like a grown man at the opera, his vest and cummerbund not
of the same seed, pallor, or hue.
Aware of my own Diaspora, missing a Lilac Atlantic,
hanging on word spun web
like a baby bird pines for his mother’s vomit
----
i tried to have fun with the whole thing. who knows if its any good
