Weblog

Saturday, 24 October 2009

  • Craving Amata

    "Follow your heart"
    I whispered to her
    though I knew she couldn't hear

    "You can do it"
    I promised myself
    though the pain was so intense.

    It comes and goes like shivers
    on a cold and frosted day
    when the deep blue sky
    is stretching over the
    white-cloaked world.

    There's nothing
    that mimics the beauty
    I've found in my lady
    No butterfly or mocking-snake
    dare try to mimic and take
    her mysterious allure.

    I take her soft shoulders
    against my chest sometimes
    lose my breath down her chest
    and tremble with such desire
    to ravage her skin like a
    starving animal.

Tuesday, 20 October 2009

  • the end of amata.

    i wonder if empty has always
    felt like an ocean of water
    still, lacking a single wave?

    have i always had the ability to
    (one day, when the quarter had
    fallen, heads up, not guessed)
    be sullen-faced and broken-tongued?

    am I like a million caterpillars
    struggling up a deep green bush
    retiring from life to gamble for more?

    i'd ask Amata like I always have
    she's always held my hand from
    stove tops, and other bad ideas
    but she was a foster-lover and
    as such, counted her days till
    she could cash them
    in for an exchange.

    there's no morals and no stories
    no happy ending no surprises
    no smiles and no meaning
    if you can stop one thing--

    --stop fucking dreaming.



Wednesday, 14 October 2009

  • oh you silly cigar-sucker, you.

    cheez-it's make difficult
    that which was before done
    with such ease and punctuation
    simple tap tap taps become
    crunch crunch taps
    errors.

    gay girls line my bed like
    ants who follow blindly
    the scents of those
    who trailed
    before.

    straight boys try to delegate the
    cells inside their bodies
    to procreate, to calibrate
    into ancestral ego's;
    into manhood.

    it's an interesting tango
    seen only by the few
    who can uncloak their eyes
    of traditional compromise.

    the men pretend to humor
    the lesbians whom say
    that nice as it may seem
    they'd never go that way.

    secretly they mistake
    hopes for facts and see
    only girls playing a silly
    hard-to-get game

    these girls clearly desire
    like a baby flame of fire
    a breath of air, truth
    through a series of
    [caresses
    by] [wo]men.

Monday, 12 October 2009

  • Copy and Paste

    The grass is climbing
    against all timing
    that I could observe
    or study
    or see through the muddy
    situations  so "bloody"
    my English friends would so jest. (hahahahaha so jest=suggest. hahahahaha fucking awesome)

    Repetition in three's and fours
    making art into dismal chores
    of counting syllables, and the
    length of lines, like shores
    that tease the bare footed
    and sexed teens out past
    curfew.
    curfew.curfew.

    It's a trend that we follow
    and the dignity we swallow
    for fear of standing out alone
    for fear of breaking stride alone
    for fear of anything, alone.

    the grass that I mention is not
    in anyways to ever be caught
    in uniform shape, color or
    towering triumphantly
    from the decomposed
    (too many yesterdays)

    So my young friends please continue
    down the carbon-copy venue
    where a million small minds subscribe
    and copy and paste with such allegiance
    I swear I've seen their flag before...

Wednesday, 30 September 2009

  • carolyn

    she found my soul
    and threw it away
    not recycled, not
    worth dimes.

    i went searching, by the night
    to find the land fill with
    my essence, lost quintessence.

    but old men and women
    and a few heathen children
    were searching the same plots.

    i found myself a fledgling --
    quickly discouraged.

    but then, like the god's could [be] hear
    a graceful hand brought warmth to mine
    and a million worlds wrapped into one
    girl, with broken smile, looking
    to me.

    but why would she look to me?
    i'm empty as a worker bee
    who's lost inside a home
    too many eyes to see.

    what is there to find
    when all the land of the world
    has had flags mounted, deaths counted
    just to engulf and decompose it's owners?

    when she's a million first breaths
    a million warm winter blankets
    why is she lost with me?


    lol i'll finish this later

Monday, 21 September 2009

  • Not you

    you can have a sense of fervor
    (the kind that produces products
    limited only by it's reactants)
    about anything in this world.

    have it about the children
    who trust such broken people
    to make them into stupendous
    exceptions to the common rule:

    students learn half of what they're taught
    students teach half of what they learn

    have it about the peace in nature
    as it sits awaiting death
    by human hands
    that it gave
    life.

    have it about anything you want
    pick it before you unveil my eyes.
    let it be truthful. let my eyes stain
    with drops of pain that mimic rain.

    all jargon aside, simplicity made
    "not you" is all I'd hear you say.

Friday, 18 September 2009

  • I'm just pulling strings.

    I play you like it's an art
    singing right into your ear
    like humming birds swarming
    fighting with their brothers
    motives growing for
    food.

    You'd think I'd learn some morals
    lines that I shouldn't cross
    words that I should keep so
    when the darkness falls and
    asleep have gone the people
    I can find my way back
    home.

    But people are as blank as paper
    (cellulose bleached and pressed
    until everything that it was
    is the skeleton of what's left.)
    I think it's fun to fold them
    into paper planes that fly
    away.

    You couldn't know me if you tried
    I'm cryptic like a heartbreak
    you never saw coming.

Wednesday, 16 September 2009

  • you're worthless, and you're worthless.

    it's funny, isn't it?

    how you found yourself
    amongst my shelf and
    the book I wouldn't pick?
    eclecticism at it's finest.

    moments passed when my mind fell
    empty like your skull,your destiny
    nourishing your e-go by not lettiiin-go.

    people have seen me and that bookshelf
    like my thoughts were on display
    engulfing anybody who dared to look
    at my costumes of hate and dread
    sinking into my every sunken cavity
    encapsulating my terror.

    did you really think you found a home?
    in a mind that's not your own?
    even a slice of ham would be better placed.

Wednesday, 02 September 2009

  • meant to be sang. sorta fast, too.

    you said
    'tell me tell me tell me
    tell me tell me how you wound up dead'
    'how you wound up
    oh how you wound up dead?'

    i just lost my head
    chasing dread
    with some lead
    i thought i heard you cry
    i think i heard,
    i think i heard me cry.

    you said 'i thought I knew your soul
    but there you go
    and i've been chasing,
    chasing the wrong goals.'

    you couldn't see me
    as i walked on out the door
    you couldn't catch me
    before my body hit the floor
    but hold me more.
    just hold me, more.

Thursday, 27 August 2009

Wednesday, 26 August 2009

  • you're going to want to leave soon.

    why's the sun always
    exploding with desire?
    is it going higher?
    where's it going now?

    *chilling whisper*
    you're. going. to want to leave. soon.
    you're gonna break me. soon.
    i'm going to take you higher?
    where am I going now?

    it's a ludicrous life
    we're just here to kick you
    down your dusty path.

    sun shine on fingertips
    ready to be smeared
    "please paint me as the
    Golden God, caricaturist"

    we're just trying to throw
    you against a wall
    finding out if you're of glass
    or if you're a bouncy-ball.

Saturday, 22 August 2009

  • fuck my life.

    I'd never let you down.
    I'd never break my word.
    I'd keep you where you are.

    I'll get to the bases
    of diamonds you traced
    when you were playing ball
    (with me as your bat.)

    I'd pick you from the ground
    and plant you in a field
    where sunflowers try together
    to bloom as nice as you.

    I'd kiss you when you screamed
    and punched the air at me
    I'd hold you till your hate
    lost it's will to breathe.

    It's true that I'd do these things
    if I could micromanage
    me.

    love's just aw(e)ful.


Thursday, 20 August 2009

  • Talk to water. (Song)

    Tell the ocean it's not made for you
    all it's waves mean nothing as you're passing by
    Tell the ocean it's not made for you
    Tell the ocean. (Oh, I beg you.) Try, try, try.

    Words and birds and baby turtles try, try, try
    finding all their truths as they lay down to die
    it's only sick and twisted if you hold on too tight
    keeping their spirits from taking The Flight

    "Stop braiding your hair with my kisses,"
    says the morning sun
    "I've got places to go."

    "Come, follow me" says a rainbow
    two states away
    (something tells you that pill
    might have been laced)

    Tell the ocean it's not made for you
    all it's waves mean nothing as you're passing by
    Tell the ocean it's not made for you
    Tell the ocean. (Oh, I beg you.) Try, try, try.


    "We can walk on water
    if you're feeling blasphemous"
    (why are you listening to mosquitos?)
    "you could lay down on a cross
    and i'll play the soldier"
    (he's just looking for a meal.)

    "I think you've got a deal(er)"
    "I love to be the deal(er)"

    God this life is so silly
    when you're seeing two's
    freaking out 'cuz your shadow's
    been chasing you.

    Tell the ocean it's not made for you
    all it's waves mean nothing as you're passing by
    Tell the ocean it's not made for you
    Tell the ocean. (Oh, I beg you.) Try, try, try.

Wednesday, 22 July 2009

  • carefully letting go.

    it's dark and cold
    wherever you are
    and nothing I say
    will take that away.

    all of us work in harmony
    like pieces of a clock
    the hand tries to stop
    it's ticks and tocks
    but finds out it's fate
    is to change the date.

    Sometimes you can't hold on
    not because you don't want to
    but because you're not supposed to.
    am I to hold you back
    from being happy?
    I can't remember your laughter
    I can't remember your smile.

    it's so easy to question
    how forever became so short
    and the easy questions
    warrant easy answers

    "carefully."

Thursday, 16 July 2009

















  • lolololol but then he got butthurt and washed it all off. Jerk. So the movie is delayed until I am back from my trip. (Yes, I should be sleeping--we're waking up early! But alas, I am not. !!)

Wednesday, 15 July 2009

  • Photo Album

    New pics posted to my photos. Of the epic reading of one of nogray's poem.................


    but my brother got butthurt and washed his stuff off after all my hard work because he was a douchebag and didn't want to let me use his toy guitar. because he said "it'll look weird"...since he OBVIOUSLY didn't already look weird AT ALL.


    idiot.

    Anyways, check 'em out~ they're uploading!

Tuesday, 14 July 2009

  • smarties

    these words will lack any season
    that I probably should sprinkle
    through useless adjectives.

    the entire world is just the same
    through every minute that
    passes probing
    the hand of the next
    paper person.

    there's always the occasional person
    who's spent too many minutes reading
    and even more minutes memorizing
    words to paint their intellect.

    you want, for all that is good and holy,
    to shove some spirit into their vacant eyes.

    a million words can describe any idea
    but if that idea you can't create,
    you're not fooling anybody.

Sunday, 12 July 2009

  • I assure you

    I assure you I am indeed alive.

    I am going to be doing a video or recording of a friend's poem. It's going to be nothing short of epic. But of course, you knew that, right? I wouldn't let y'all down.



    hahahahahahahaha
    it will be my "hey i'm alive" thing.

    But I am leaving town for a month in about four days, so it needs to be done soon?

Friday, 10 July 2009

  • it's gone.

    I'd say "fuck you"
    if words were enough
    to make anything
    but your ego blush.

    i found myself stammering
    to keep my words traveling
    --miniature bullets lacking
    any speed, rhythm, tracking--
    but we'll keep this to ourselves.

    I've got a million touches
    and I leave them easily
    when my eyes lower
    (mediocre goals)

    though it's not enough to say
    your words chase me away
    it begins and ends with a click
    (i know it makes you sick)

    all I really want
    finds itself stuck inside
    prideful women with angry eyes
    getting used to all my shaking tides
    'till they forget my ocean drowns damsels.


Wednesday, 01 July 2009

  • A promise one day I'll promise.

    I cut you down
    so thin,
    you mesh with ground
    slip in,
    groaning your sounds.

    I never meant to be
    such a broken record.
    When the needle sticks
    itself into my ridges?
    My harmony's all off.

    I'd choke any words
    you wanted to hear.
    That's why I'm scared
    of myself, my dear.

    When I'm livid,
    my waters cloud.
    So thick with pride,
    poisoned with hurt,
    tinged with uncertainty,
    and all I am is a blur to me.

    You can't see the fish
    frolicking amongst the waves
    that send weightless pebbles
    whirling through my river.

    I'm murky and polluted
    with my own aggravation
    so all my emotions are pinched
    and my own words betray
    like "fuck" and "I don't care"
    always seeming so absurd
    painted on your heart.

    I swear to you, on all my air
    and every bone that builds me
    if I could stop the quiver in my throat
    I'd promise forever to you,
    I'd drop my pride and to my knees--
    --I'd make my stance for God, for good,
    groveling, as I know I should,
    for all the times my record skipped
    and my waters became so stagnant
    so riddled with disease and death
    that you swore you'd keep
    your offspring safe from.

    But my throat won't stop swelling
    and the chords are dancing, still.
    I know what you need from me,
    and if I could--if I had the will,
    it would be yours in every color.

Adalyne

Pulse