Tuesday, October 21, 2014


I got the will to drive myself sleepless.

So much time is cashed.
So much smoke is wasted.
Sudden disappearance
In the air is thick and cool.
I can't approach myself
Skidding over this perdition
And now I'm out on the verandah
When I should have gone to school.

Well I call for sleep,
But sleep it won't come to me.
Shuffling in the hallway,
I can hear him on the stairs.
I hear his lighter flicking.
I hear the soft sigh of his inhale.
And the whole width of my intentions
He exhales into the air.

I got the will to drive myself sleepless.

Skeedunt, stunt the runt,
Smoking buddha blunt.

I got the will to drive myself sleepless.

- Soul Coughing


Monday, October 20, 2014


I am wearing death and memories. On my wrists, my fingers and inked into my feet.
I will reclaim the joy tomorrow.

Tuesday, October 7, 2014


My life is lived within
the grid of a calendar
the lines of a ToDo list

I get reminders about reminders about deadlines
I chant to myself "This is not a trap, this is a welcome constraint"
Practicing how to say "No" in the mirror

Resorting to text because my mouth is not trustworthy.
Never "One day.", so painfully vague
Always "Hmm, how about this week instead?"

I will meet you, I will visit, I will play and I will explore
Just not today, or tomorrow or this week.
Lets plan for next week, in two weeks or next April

Thursday, October 2, 2014

Momentary Blip

“Absence is a house so vast that inside you will pass through its walls and hang pictures on the air.” 
― Pablo Neruda

I go to collect Papa's ashes tomorrow.  I will be blending them in with T's.

Funny, I just realized these are the last two men I've loved and one was a cat.  Their memories now live in a house of absence I built and have maintained since childhood. Each room holding one set.

It is a beautiful house though.

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Sleepy Daydreamer

So you get poetry:

The History Of One Tough Motherfucker

he came to the door one night wet thin beaten and
a white cross-eyed tailless cat
I took him in and fed him and he stayed
grew to trust me until a friend drove up the driveway
and ran him over
I took what was left to a vet who said,"not much
chance…give him these pills…his backbone
is crushed, but is was crushed before and somehow
mended, if he lives he'll never walk, look at
these x-rays, he's been shot, look here, the pellets
are still there…also, he once had a tail, somebody
cut it off…"
I took the cat back, it was a hot summer, one of the
hottest in decades, I put him on the bathroom
floor, gave him water and pills, he wouldn't eat, he
wouldn't touch the water, I dipped my finger into it
and wet his mouth and I talked to him, I didn't go any-
where, I put in a lot of bathroom time and talked to
him and gently touched him and he looked back at
me with those pale blue crossed eyes and as the days went
by he made his first move
dragging himself forward by his front legs
(the rear ones wouldn't work)
he made it to the litter box
crawled over and in,
it was like the trumpet of possible victory
blowing in that bathroom and into the city, I
related to that cat-I'd had it bad, not that
bad but bad enough
one morning he got up, stood up, fell back down and
just looked at me.
"you can make it," I said to him.
he kept trying, getting up falling down, finally
he walked a few steps, he was like a drunk, the
rear legs just didn't want to do it and he fell again, rested,
then got up.
you know the rest: now he's better than ever, cross-eyed
almost toothless, but the grace is back, and that look in
his eyes never left…
and now sometimes I'm interviewed, they want to hear about
life and literature and I get drunk and hold up my cross-eyed,
shot, runover de-tailed cat and I say,"look, look
at this!"
but they don't understand, they say something like,"you
say you've been influenced by Celine?"
"no," I hold the cat up,"by what happens, by
things like this, by this, by this!"
I shake the cat, hold him up in
the smoky and drunken light, he's relaxed he knows…
it's then that the interviews end
although I am proud sometimes when I see the pictures
later and there I am and there is the cat and we are photo-
graphed together.
he too knows it's bullshit but that somehow it all helps.

- Bukowski