Sunday, July 29, 2007

The Surgeon General warns, but the River never listens.

Still not in the babbling mood. But.. why the hell not post some random shat? Saw Pan's Labyrinthlast night. That is a freaky friggin' movie. If you haven't seen it, give it a glance.

... Well.. I really haven't much to say. Could be because I'm exhausted. Time fer me ta hit tha hay.



Quietly Now


Hold your breath
and watch your step,
my dear,
don't want to wake
these sleeping strangers.
They need not know our
nightly dance with damnation
or our
godless romps through paradise.
They need not know
of our time spent
in the sweet cover of shadow.

At times, the appearence of power is more potent then power itself

Greetings readers. I hope all bodes well for you and yours. Not much to say today. Well, that might not be entirely true... but I haven't much opportunity to go on for very long. Perhaps tomorrow night, or Monday's. I just felt the need to post a couple more things I've scribbled.

Enjoy.



Candlelight and Betrayal


I've heard it said before
that soap washes itself.
And I've heard it said before
that mud is worse than dirt.
And in truth
these lies have never
impressed me much.
So I guess I'm free
from impression.
A dangerous look often
works better than a
well thrown punch,
they say,
though until I see the proof
I'll keep my swinging up.
Jensen was the Wisest


TEMPORARILY REMOVED

Monday, July 23, 2007

This just in...

Man oh man, that last piece was kinda crappy. Guess insomnia will make anything seem wonderful. Either way, I was digging 'round the ol' book pile and found something I scribbled a long time ago. Thing is, I laughed when I read it. So I will post it. And title it... Humor.



Humor


Won't you listen, dear?
You say I'm talking in circles
but I swear I've got a point
I've walked this line so many times
trying to find the right angle,
but I fear I haven't any left.
Please, won't you listen dear?

Does this guy ever sleep?!?

Yes... I assure you I do. Just having a bit of an insomnia-ridden weekend. It isn't all bad though; Insomnia is a great tool for writing. Lines spew forth with ease. Granted, headaches are usually accompanying them... but... you've got to accept the good with the bad. This next piece, yes yes - You're getting the hang now! - is right out the mind. I have some others I want to tweak before I post. You heard correctly... I used a synonym (if slangish) for edit. I do want to change a couple things. But until then... read this one. The River Man implores you.


Spicy


She does what she must
Because she must.
No one knows if thats enough
but they accept it,
afraid to shatter their
homes of glass
they let the stones be.
Instead flicking pebbles
into filthy corners when
her eyes are turned away.

"Dirty whore"
they often begin,

"I bet she enjoys it."

"I bet she wants it,
Needs it even."

"It's probably for drugs,
Junkie bitch."

Their slander makes them giggle.
They aren't evil,
their minds just need to
balance the evil that
slops from their mouths.
A light-hearted laugh to
ease their conscience.

Hate in jest isn't really hate,
they tell themselves.



Far from their laughter
she's coiled around a pillow,
squeezing the life from it.
Wishing it were herself.
Her face is drenched in tears.
Her mouth tastes of vomit -
She welcomes it.
Any taste but his.

The humming begins
in her mind. Always does.
Calming as she
reminds herself
She does what she must
because she must.
She knows thats not enough
but she accepts it

and hums herself to sleep.

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Sunday Sunday Sunday... Again?!?!

Another sleepless night. This one is mostly my fault though. I am about to go to bed. It's worth noting I hate going to bed as the sky begins to brighten. It feels like such a waste of natural light. Guess you can tell we evolved from diurnal creatures. I did once, so long ago it seems now, love the nocturnal life style.
These pieces are a little old (well, two of them are) but... there was actually some editing done! Whoo Hoo man, Whoo hoo. I was flipping through an old book. I like the style I was using. Not far from my current style, but different nevertheless. So I played around a bit and created this one. Its obviously current, as the tone is 'Neo-River Man' but its a shot. I like trying to recreate my old styles. Eventually, I will meld them all into that unmistakable River Man-ness. One day Ky they will be saying 'Joe Shmoe is the new River Man.' =) Enjoy.



In Truth


At times
When I close my eyes
in search of sleep
I find you and am lost
in the comfort of
my head on your thigh.
The soothing strokes of
your hand through my hair.
The succor of your
soft song in my ear.
The shine of your smile
and paradise in your eyes.

At times such as these
waking is like death.
As It Is



She waits for me
beneath a street lamp
somewhere, and I...
I wait for her
swallowed in a shadow
beside a dozen huddled men.
Their breaths forced,
shredding the silence
I cling to for sanity.

The lamp is
faltering. Blinking
in and out
tears further down her face
with every shine
and I pray
to a fading god
Pleading she's kept
in that glow.
Selling my soul
to the darkness that binds me,
for however long it wants me.
So long as she never has to know
the chill of this void.
A Lone Wolf's Howl



Blood was to be the end of us.
The fall of an angel caused
by its own existence.

Throwing my manly facade aside I admit -
Oceans have poured from my eyes in our honor.

Laying forlorn on a stone
above the world, tying
ribbons to the stars.
Confessing my apologies.
Declaring my adoration.
Hoping you will catch
the change is shine.
Reach
and read the thoughts
I've inked for you alone.

Friday, July 20, 2007

Thursday and Friday are One

Well, I cannot sleep. Or perhaps, on some subconscious level, I don't want to. The sun is officially up (I think) which means I stop trying to go to sleep. Just finished watching Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind for the hundredth time or so. That is, hands down, my favorite movie of all time. If you haven't seen it yet, go watch it now. Please. It is necessary.
I'm a huge Jim Carey fan. The man has a great deal of talent, far more than any give him credit for. I guess he cursed himself with being too good a physical comedian, leading to difficulty in anyone seeing him in any other light.
In truth, though, I guess my interest in this movie has more to do with my twisted attraction towards movies having to do with sad and often doomed romances. My top three movies would be: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Requiem for a Dream and Lost in Translation. Great flicks. If you haven't seen one or more of them, again - check them out. I suppose out of the three, the open ending of Spotless leaves a happier taste in the mouth. However, I have had a few discussions with people about it and they have different takes on what happened after the final scene. Unsurprisingly, I prefer my view.

I feel a bit like babbling. Honestly, I also feel as if this feeling is going to quickly wear off. In the meantime, I'll aimlessly speak of other movies I happen to like and, if I can explain, why.
The Jacket, for the same twisted romance angle and because their is something about time travel that takes hold of my attention. That's the reason behind my interest in Donnie Darko and Twelve Monkeys as well. Admittedly, Monkeys was a pretty bad movie. The plot was random, at best. Nevertheless, when it is on I am hooked.
The Final Cut and One Hour Photo because I think Robin Williams is another underrated actor, in regards to serious roles. While photo was sketchy at times, Cut was pure genius. Did I ever mention I'm a freak for the unrealistic. Throw in time travel, or some twisted futuristic technology and I'm in for the long haul. What can I say? All I read as a child were fantasy novels. The real world seems so damn boring, doesn't it?
300 and The Last Samurai because I have an obsession (racking them up here, aren't I?) with the classic warrior model and all the honor that was involved. Modern warfare is so impersonal in my mind. A true, honorable warrior gives his enemy the respect of looking in his eyes as he plunges his sword into their gut. I see no valor in picking an enemy off at a mile away. Whenever I catch a Discovery Channel special featuring previews to "the future weapons" that will kill a man from a greater distance a bit of the Samurai inside of me dies.

There are more -Piñero, Come see the Paradise, Manic and Crash to name a few - but I am officially tired of babbling. You are now free to read verse. Enjoy.

Bus Ride Observation


Innocently eying the interaction
of the couple across from me
and I wonder...

Why doesn't anyone really speak any more?

Our mouths are better labeled
assholes
with all the shit they spew.
Late Night Drive


Hung over
chasing phantoms in a
fog covered field,
grass spitting morning dew
onto my calves
and I can't believe
how far I've come.
Memories burst in clouds
of smoke
and lines of white
stinging something like
heartache
yet soothing still, like
new love.

A thought amidst the chaos:

Of all the things I've been
I think I liked myself the most.
And I wish so goddamn hard
that I could find him
out here
in this haze.
Frigid


Air Conditioned air
fills my small room
and I lay
Curled
On the verge of shivering
too damn lazy to stand...
But is it lethargy?
Perhaps I want to lay
Cold seeping through
my every pore,
coating every bone,
for sake of having part in
the summertime headline
'Man Freezes to Death
in the Middle of July.'

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Tuesday Blues

Hello all. I don't have much to say today. I'm at another low point on that roller coaster. And I'm late for work. So, here's today's piece. Enjoy.



My Heroin[e]


She sat half naked
often
Dingy robe far beyond its lifetime
covering her well worn skin.
She hated clothes
hated what she felt they stood for
and though she couldn't recall
what she felt they stood for
she hated them.
She had come to know hate well.
Love was a tainted word for her
so she cast it aside with clothing.
Nudity was amazing
only second to the sweet kiss of
a needles point to her thigh.
Her arms had long lost their use,
all veins buried somewhere far
from that bittersweet kiss.
She sat
half naked
staring at the blinking numbers
of her VCR
resting atop a television
that had lost the ability
to show any more than
her darkened reflection.
12:00
12:00
Always Twelve o'clock.
She liked it best at
twelve o'clock.
It was her time to be freed
by that sweet kiss.
So cold
that kiss
but it became so warm
and her...
she became so serene
Sitting naked
beneath that dingy robe.

Sunday, July 15, 2007

Sunday Sunday Sunday

G'Afternoon readers. East US afternoon at least. I had a particularly uneventful Saturday night. A couple of beers, a viewing of Apocalypto, and entirely too much sleep. The past few days I've been sleeping well into the day. I used to love waking up at noon, but now it makes me feel like a bum. This whole working nights thing is screwing up my schedule. I'm going to have to do something about that before classes start again.I posted a few pieces today, all written within the last few days. Enjoy, dear reader.



A Real Man always asks for Directions


Where can a poet run
when he's tired of his own words?
When he's sick of his own words.
I'd like to find that place
and call it home for a while.
Changing the Station


Your voice
is little more than
a whisper somewhere
in the back of my mind
and if you don't mind
I'd like to forget you.
I've been carrying you so long,
these shoulders need a rest.
I've got to lose myself in
some other tune.
Some other song but ours.
She Says


"Don't go home, please."
More demand than request
but either way I feel
I can't grant it.
I'm far too tired of
our dance.
How many times do we
have to fuck our way
into friendship,
only to fight our way back out
when we're done?
The eternal question
nagging my mind more than
the meaning of life:
What is the meaning of love?
or lust
or whatever twisted game
we play too well
or horribly.
I don't know anymore.
I only know I can't be here.
Not now.
Wishing I'd said all that
I mutter
"Sorry."
and disappear out the door.
It'll happen again.
It always happens again.

Saturday, July 14, 2007

Pampered Leaf Society - Unite!

Greetings all. How was your week? Mine flew by at light speed. I feel as if I've gotten very little done in the last couple weeks. I know the things I should do... it's just that process of getting off my ass and doing it. --And the River Man has just been hit by Déjà Vu. Always happens when I talk about needing to get things done.
On another note, went to the second meeting of The Writing Group. It's turning out to be a good move. I do so enjoy writing for a crowd -- Didn't you notice? And there are some very talented people there. Highly inspirational. I'm working the next meeting, but I'm going to see what I can shimmy.
Today's piece was written a couple days ago. You guessed it - No editing. Enjoy.



Jamais vu



It was a pampered leaf, really
bearing no scars
of insect jaws
No blisters filled with
Some unknown progeny.

Born on a cool
Spring morning
shortly after a downpour
and just before sunrise.

Spring flew by
as all childhoods do -
In a haze of fragrant flowers
and refreshing rainfall,

but Summer was its greatest time.
Long days of soaking in
sweet sunshine
deep breaths taken in the
cool nights.

A lark would sometimes
settle beside it and
sing of far off lands.

A troop of ants
mindlessly absorbed in their orders
would occasionally march along
its tender flesh.

Bright green and
tender flesh
grew brittle in the coming cold,
breaths slowed
and the orange of a life lived
swallowed its appearance.

Sometime
shortly after a chilled shower
and just before dawn
it loosened the hold on
its mother
and silently drifted
into the darkness below.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

And so he returns...

'Ello all. I'm back, and typing this for the second time because I'm a fucking idiot. Inevitably, it will be only a quarter as good as my original rant (as is always the case when trying to reclaim lost work). Chicago was pretty good. It was a bit like a slow paced New York, and when I wasn't bored - I was having a reasonably good time.
One downfall: I found myself to be completely wordless the entire time. I guess Aoide prefers New York. Hopefully she returns to my side now that I've come back. I'm sure she will.

I honestly don't feel like retyping this. Sorry. I'll post something later with more detail. Enjoy my attempts to write without my sweet muse.




Fountain


Does the moon
ever visit
this city?
I can't seem to find
peace without it.
Listening to my own
labored attempts
at breathing
and the distant
splashing
of a fountain
I have long since
lost sight of.
Not a Second Glance



Laid out
above Chicago
in the summertime heat
Words won't seem to come to me
Haven't been since I
First arrived
in this city.
My sweet Aoide
Do you desire New York?
Do you miss the
crack heads and
coke fiends?
Do you miss the
alcohol drinking
and dice rolling?
Do you miss that
same old shit?

Friday, July 6, 2007

Ch Ch Ch Chicago

The ol' River Man is headed out towards a lake of greatness. I'm off to Chicago for a Plant Biologist Conference and I'm actually more excited then one would expect an event like that to entail. I'm tired as hell though, as I haven't actually slept yet. I went with a couple of friends for an all night drive. I figure I'll make up the needed sleep (or a small portion of it) on the plane.
I expect heavy inspiration from this trip, so I should come back with plenty to post. In the mean time I figured I'd post a few random scribbles. Enjoy, dear readers, and have a great weekend.



Upon Waking


I am most jubilant
and despondent
when I am in solitude -
with no more company
than a cigarette
and a beer,
Trying desperately
and in vain
to escape thought itself.
Wayward Angels


We thought
somewhere
wayward angels were
directing our curious dance
with the unthinkable.
So young
yet
swallowed in an ageless love
(or so we labeled it
in silly midnight conversations
awash with
excessively sweet lines
resembling a sickening love song)

Drowning
in our filthy offshoot
of heaven.
Some When


Locked in awkward conversation,
we couldn't end the silence.
The queen of hearts and I
and I,
the jack of all trades
and nothing at all,
could find nothing to say.

It ended there
in silence
and cumbersome glances.
Bluest Blues



Beside a forest of empty
beer bottles
and a lonely cigarette
in its own box,
He contemplates his worth

The conclusions he reaches
are astounding-
ly disappointing
and he burns the sole survivor
in response.

Thursday, July 5, 2007

Shhhh

Happy (late) 4th of July, U.S. readers. It's late and I'm tired, but Aoide has been singing my ear off all night. I told her I'd post this latest one, then go to bed. She agreed. Edits may or may not come. Enjoy.



What's the Use?


3 O'Clock
in the morning
Eating cold Chinese food
to the retreating haze
of a night worth of
beer drinking
and I can't help but think
(as the chicken lo mein slides
unwillingly
down my throat)
Is this to be remembered?
When I'm long gone
to dust and worm shit,
when my name is forgotten
from the minds of my
children's
children's
children
Will this moment -
Spent greasy lipped,
somewhere on the edge
of a stomachache,
lost in ink and thought -
be worth any more than
the dirt I'd become?
Will any humanity,
any reality of who I am
remain with the name
on the gravestone?

Tuesday, July 3, 2007

Running Late


Coffee stains the page,
turning lines
struggled for
fought for
from the mind of a poet
into an inky mess.
In this he feels
loss
but no sadness
because a true poet
is no master of words
but one of the
meaning behind them.
Sleep Walking


Lately
My life has felt like
a dream
not in the ideal
Blue skies
and butterflies way.
Instead
as if at any
moment
I'll wake to find that
my mind
has created all
I've been
and I am just a
child
with no idea of
the world
I was born into
and tried
so desperately to
escape.

Monday, July 2, 2007

Show me a killer. Please.

Another wild weekend passes by, with a huge switch in alliances. Apparently, I am no longer in a circle I didn't quite realize existed. More importantly, people I had begun to trust (unwarranted trust, mind you) proved to be a bit... wishy washy?
My family is hilarious. I know all families have bizarre and amusing interactions, but I think mine is one of the few with death threats.
For those confused, I started some war with the majority of the family I'm in contact with. Regret level: 0. What can I say? My brother is a punk. Such is life.
Today’s piece was just finished 45 seconds or so before I began writing this little rant. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't heavily inspired by a morning of Bukowski and Gluck. Ah, and my dear Aoide of course. Great set of muses to have, wouldn't you agree?




What happens then?


"You're killing yourself"
She maunders,
casually chewing a handful of cashews.
I can't help but smile,
threads of smoke escaping
my overbite.

"You're probably right."
But I'm awfully sick of
Life
anyway.

I keep the last half to
myself
raising my cigarette
to my lips
I'm sure she knows already-
it's hard to hide indifference.
Harder still to get over it.
Eventually I'll try.

"Don't you ever worry about dying?"
Her eyebrows are tight already,
as if she’s angry at the response
I haven't given yet.

I choose not to give it.

"I worry more about living."
The crowd in my mind
goes wild.
The world moves smoothly when
You're your own biggest fan.
Wordy wordsmith: One Point.

"You and your fucking poetry.
If you'd listen to listen
instead of listening to respond
you'd be a lot better."
She's fuming now
and I swear I can see
smoke
(thicker than the stream rising
from my sweet cigarette)
seeping from her nostrils.

Taking a long drag,
nodding
I can't help but smile

"You're probably right."