Tuesday, January 30, 2007


Like a neighborhood with no sidewalks. I wish I did not live there. As transcendent as it might be to wanna live a place that does not want you there. It only wants you passing by as you kill your neighbors more and more.

A light here required a shadow there. You cannot send a message without a text in the body. The text must have a body. Without a head, a middle, and feet, you are only transmitting a stream of unconscious desires that do not serve to purpose they were intended to: they are lost. These are only two numbers you are seeing. These are only diodes and filters. These are only synapses firing their guns to start a relay race. Take it as you may, but you’re still wasting my time. Please, leave.
The message is nothing but an empty shell of a structure, without any governmental funding left to maintain their needs. If there’s nothing left to take care of, then what are you still there clinging to? Doesn’t it make sense that you need a breath of fresh air in order to expunge yourself of all of these dangerous chemicals that are circulating around. Stand over the facts and see if you are able to comprehend them. Just try it. Don’t stand under them; take control of those little breadcrumbs you find so intriguing.
But you’re still hungry. I see how you’re eyeing my plate full of food. But you’re not interested in eating this shit. You want meat, and lots of it. Believe me, I want it as badly as you do, but I will not let this become one of those pitiful cases of accumulation where the bosses get beat at their own game.
So I look at my life and I'm curious about what I will ever do whenever I decide to grow up and become a man. It's life, the way it should be. There is no stranger more strange than I. I wish I could fly whenever the fancy fleeted its way in and out of my head. Where will we go when I think about this dream that I've lived and decided to taken upon myself. In this day and age, we all try to grasp onto something that is material and present. The problem is that sometimes we have no control over the events in our lives. As a result, some people feel very threatened by the things they cannot control. I wish I could just get to that point. After 45 years of getting thrown to the curb, I finally decided to take it upon myself to live and let others live.

Minutemen use firehoses to keep Mexican off of the US-Mexico border, yet the water source they are using had dried up since the Americans have dammed up so many rivers, streams, and tributaries. Why don’t you use the chili peppers, they’re red-hot, that litter the streets of the border in order to keep out the People of the Sun?

People always lean towards things when they are alone. The external nature of our perception and our existence depends solely on the fact that we need to perceive things in order to exist. Based on this, it is easy to see how the world can become distorted to the point where we become defined by our possessions.

Insincerity weaved between truths. How could I not believe what she was telling me? You know? Doesn’t that make sense to believe some opinion that someone gives you, while they are telling you the truth, you have to believe their interjections into the narrative of truth.

We love to be wireless. If you do not have wireless capabilities, something must be wrong with you or your system. Please try to and ask for help from the appropriate authorities in order to help yourself get out of that funk.

Indeed he seemed to her sometimes made differently from other people, born blind, deaf, and dumb, to the ordinary things, but to the extraordinary things, with an eye like an eagle’s.

I will go home in order to connect with people who only leave their breadcrumbs on the Superhighway. I wish I could just sustain myself with those crumbs, but I just have a bunch of pigeons circling over me with a licentious look in their eye. I am confused by it all. Why would I withdrawal in order to be a better human being? Why does being a human being mean I have to interact with others? I just don't understand life like I used to a long, long time ago.

For days there hung about her, as after a dream some subtle change is felt in the person one has dreamt of, more vividly than anything she said, the sound of murmuring and, as she sat in the wicker arm-chair in the drawing-room window she wore, to Lily’s eyes, an august shapes; the shape of a dome.

Friday, January 26, 2007

Ex-tempore poeticism in lieu of working on Spanish reading

I was running through the forest and I couldn't see the sky. I was thinking about Jesus then my body wondered, "Why". Jesus doesn't exist except when you need him. And you need him not right now cuz not even God could save your ass now. The bear is chasing you through the thicket and you're not able to stop. The blood is a-pumpin', the veins will not pop. I try to outrun but he keeps on gaining. This is a man-killer, and you continue with your futile straining. I fall through the cracks and down the drain. There's no longer the chance that God will ever reach his hand down into the deposal to pull you out of your mire. He doesn’t care. He’s wearing his wedding ring and he doesn’t want to hear his scream sing. The circle and the cycle go around and around, but the bear is staying still as he just stares. No fear. No lust. No nothing. Just the clear dust that brushes the scene. Watch closely and you’ll see that the birds and the bees are helping out the bear see that my trash is not worth the trouble.

Don’t look up, Bear. Don’t look up. You will find that there’s nothing there to guide you. Keep looking down. Hopefully you won’t hit a tree as you decide that you’re gonna pull all of the petals off of the flower beds and through them onto the forest beds. The more petals that go up and down, the more you start to worry. Don’t. It’ll come around to you soon enough. Sorry. It just got out of hand, and we didn’t know how to fix it. The petals. The petals. Up down. Up down. Up down. The pedals keep going. Up down. Up down. Up down. And all around. The heart is a-bumpin’ and the feet is a-thumpin’. Up down. Up down. I keep biking to my house and I only hear the beat of my feet as the pedals move. Up down. Up down. Up down.

The circle is complete and the empty becomes the street. There is no more meat on my bones for the bear to eat. He decides to feast upon my spirit since that’s all that there is left, oddly enough. But he tells me, “Buffalo, you don’t realize that it took you a lot of resilience to outrun me. You have the fight in you, and you will create more of it. Never fear: what you think will happen will never happen since you will never allow yourself to get there.” Thanks, Bear. It really means a lot.

If I were to be killed by either a grizzly, a black, or a polar bear, I would choose the polar bear since it would mean that I’d be able to see the staunch red blood on the purely fallen snow. Fuck fightin’, I’d just wanna see the show. Get me my lawn-chair and my koozie. No, the other one. The one with the fishes on it. Yes…. “fishes” is a word. It means multiple fish. No, I’m not making this up. Don’t do this to me today. We’ll just pause and let the whole world know that you didn’t mean what you just said. Okay, alright. Go ahead.

Daffodils. Dandelions. Hyacinths. Roses. Truck wheels. Spokes. Spikes. Trikes. Dikes with Spikes on their head when they want to display how mad they are that their best friends didn’t take them seriously when they told them that they were homosexual. How could they? Why would they? How do you erase a lie that you’ve played a part in for so long? Where would anyone ever be able to overcome themselves and fix the lie so that it turns into something that’s only less-false.

Sunday, January 21, 2007

Happy 21st!!!!

Marinara sauce.
Cream cheese.
All on Preston Street right next to the METRORail stop. I had fun tonight. Nothing like I would’ve imagined. There’s something about that number that means so much here. It’s inconceivable to me, really. I wish I knew what had happened for the past six hours. I remember going to Bier Haus to see Moxie. I remember driving back to Rice to go to Club Live. I remember shaking hands with the bouncer after he told me happy birthday. I remember getting thrown out of Club Live for groping someone, hope it was a girl and not the bouncer. Grasshopper? Red Lion? Slainte? Opus? Mangra? Flying Sauce? Where the hell have I been? All these lights are just blinding me. The light rail is no longer running. I’m stuck downtown. I can’t find a cab.

It started at dinner. It was at my brother’s house. My sister-in-law actually made the most delectable spinach lasagna. It tasted like lasagna should have. Because there’s such a huge disparity between my brother and me, we’re experiencing really different things in our life.

I remember when his first daughter Francis was born. I had been drunk all morning and I finally had gotten over it by noon. My mother called and told me I should go visit the primageniture in order to honor my brother’s blessing. Alright lady, whatever you want.
So I ended up driving over to the hospital close to downtown near around three or four in the afternoon. It was so much more simpler to find my sister-in-law than I would have ever thought possible. Just drop the maiden name and you’re in. There’s not much security or parameters that must be followed in order to penetrate the inner sanctum of the new-born baby. Within about thirty minutes, I was holding the first-born in my arms and rocking her back and forth.
I had watched this program on the Science Channel that was talking about how to quiet a fitful infant. Because infants are so hard to please yet so easy to influence, the television program suggested that a parent should wrap their noisy child in swaddling clothing and encapsulate them with their two arms, and then, the parents should start rocking the baby and make soft “whoosh”-ing noise into the baby’s ear. Because the baby was held within a placenta for 9 months, their sense of hearing is not fully developed yet. The whoosh and the rocking takes the baby back to their “special place”.
I did this whole encapsulation and rocking. The whooshing, to me, would’ve seemed the least been out-of-place. I kind of wanted to kiss the baby, for good luck, but I decided against it since the baby’s so pre-disposed to getting sick. Its immune system is nowhere near developed, and I didn’t want to endanger it anymore than it had to be.
So anyway, the basic point is that I was hung-over and rocking a new-born baby to sleep. She was so cute. The image of her hand around my fingers (a reflex I learned about on the Science Channel) still is ever-present in my mind. The world is not as it should be, though, since I’m hung-over and holding a new-born, especially family.

Fast-forward two years and here I am: amidst the entire disjointed family. My mother, my step-father, my father, my step-mother, my infant paternal half-sister, my brother, my sister-in-law, my sister. They were all there in my brother’s dining room table. The table only fit 8, but it was fitting 10 with little to no comfort. I was sitting on a lateral side, right in the middle on the table. Everyone was within my field of vision. That rarely happens, so I was really excited that I didn’t have to back myself into a corner in order to obtain the viewpoint I wanted.
After the entrĂ©e, my niece Francis started to cry because the cake was chocolate. “Francie, it’s okay. We’re going to sing the ABC’s, okay? You remember the ABC’s, right?”, my sister-in-law volunteered us for. Shit. “A-B-C-D-E-F-G”, we all respond as if in a church. “Now I know my A-B-C’s, next time won’t you sing with me?”

This is my 21st birthday.

My stepdad told me not to slow down the front-end loader because he was going to lose the productivity of the investment he put into it. He told me I might burn the front tires of the front-end loader. He told me, “Goddammit Nick (n.b. old spelling), I didn’t hire you to fuck around with my equipment. Just get off the goddamn loader if you’re just gonna fuck with your limp dick.” And this guy is singing his A-B-C’s in order to appease a two-year old who hasn’t realized that all good-tasting cakes are not made of vanilla. Wait ‘til you try this whole “icing” thing, Francie. It’ll blow you away.
The family is crowded around the table like they’re trying to find the right nuts to take home for dinner.

I’m getting tired. I’ll continue tomorrow or later. Whatev.

Thursday, January 18, 2007


When there's no one around, I get lonely. I don't know what it is. For some reason whenever I've been away from family and friends for an extended period of time, I start to feel like I need to see someone or call someone. I turn on the TV in order to get some relief from this feeling that I have. It's weird. I think it's just that I'm spoiled. I get to hang out with people all of the time, and I get a sense of malaise once I try to actually do anything around the house. What is it about people? Why do I enjoy hanging out with people? I think it's because I'm spoiled. My brother told me so. Makes sense. I'm just spoiled. That's what it is.

Friday, January 12, 2007

Working on Aleatory Writing

A smile that takes more muscles than a frown.

As my eyes swell and I can't see too well I start to think that this pain must be all about me. I think of the sea. The salty tides. They ebb. They flow. Ebb. Flow. Ebb. Flow. Now let's all go way too slow.

The vermin and the hermit have much in common since neither is wanted yet neither is needed.
I wish this shirt was pleated
then I'd be able to feign my mistreatment.
Where was I supposed to go?

Where the group of loud Asians be thinkin' they spacin'.
Double check your lines 'cause they ain't amazin'.

Wish you.
Could you.
Please just stop
Wait one sec
you'll get to the top
As I
Sit here and wait to die.
I will see you in your eye.
And you
many not think that's cool
You'll find out
That I own the spool.

If there were a mighty wind, I would give up and just sing. Please don't do that or remake. Or just do that for heaven's sake. No more heaven and no more hell. No more bail and no more jail. If I were to sing my voice, I would give it with no noise. And to claim this is fun. My line ain't close to being done. With no reasons to enhance, you will find I love romance.

Thursday, January 11, 2007


Everyone's got their own mirror
Everyone's got their own shadow.
What about the reflection and shows no green at all
Where's the reflection that is all but true.
Everyone's not a true believer
In the next day to bring what's gold.
Forget the days of old on the standard.
They are no more and we have so much inflation.
Of imagery and self and of our minds.
Like webs of spiders tricked out when they're on caffeine
So many sighs and the teacher's still mean.

Believe in the shadow and believe in the dust.
There's nothing else to hold onto
So just sweep me away and board me on the next cross-town bus.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Sorry Mom, Sorry God. I didn't know you were still alive. Come over tomorrow and we'll see what we can do about that thorn in your paw. Don't you hope we all can create the world again? That'd be amazing to see. Yup, that's what I said. When I was younger. I didn't believe that we'd ever survive these times. Long ago, I was impure and delved in the lies.

Thursday, January 4, 2007

It's hard to watch your mother cry histerically right in front of you. I've never had it happen, but you can imagine it... you know?

I was 7 and I had figured out how to survive outside for days at a time. There was one time when she noticed my absence, and then had to come out and search for me from 7 until the sun went down. I was in a tree near our house. I had been able to fashion myself a little sling about 30 feet up where I could sit in while I just watched all the other squirrels and birds do their thing. Because our little trailer home was right near a creek, my mom was always afraid that I would drown in it. She always was afraid of the oddest things. I remember when I was a senior in high school, she was afraid of traffic and the undertow when my rowdy group of friends of mine decided we all were gonna just caravan to Galveston. All of the other parents were worried that we'd get drunk, get robbed, or have orgies (n.b. we did all of the above).
So I was slung in this tree and the story goes like this. I was just communing with nature when I saw her '88 Taurus drive onto our dirt road from a distance. I remember feeling like a soldier on duty ready to report something important to a superior. It was my responsibility to keep an eye out for any enemy activity on the perimeter of the compound. She went in to unwind, I s'pose, and then like 20 minutes later there was a lot of noise coming from the house. My older sister was at her boyfriend's (his parents were in the city for the night) and my father hadn't been able to get back from the warehouse yet. Shortly after the noise started, my mom comes storming out of the trailer like it was an elevator filled with her own noxious gas. Then she looks around the trailer as if there were anything to look for. After she does her circle, she heads straight toward the creek that's 50 yards from the house, yelling my name frantically.
She got to the creek and just looked around like an Indian scout leading the Conquistadors around. I didn't say anything. She was walking away from me and I did not say anything. She walked out of my line of sight. The next time she came into view she was on the other side of the creek, wet. I sensed a little bit of fera in her gaze. I remembered it was fear since there was that one time when I ran my bike right into the rear windshield of a parked car. She had this same face and I asked her what was wrong. She told me she was scared and that's why she looked so. She started wandering around in the forest. This was an absurd thing to see since she never did like being outside much. After being an operator for Ticketmaster for so many years, her body had acclimated to the climate controlled lifestyle. She just kept looking down and around her. She muttered to herself. She started to curse a little. It was weird to see my mother cursing since I always had been getting in trouble for it (I learned it from my sister's boyfriend). She wandered as if looking for an earring in a movie theater for about 30 minutes, but to no avail.
She fell over a log. It was her fault really, but she had scrapped herself on the bark of a tree in an attempt to break her fall. She lingered there as if ready to receive the final blow from her arch-nemesis. And then she just looked sky-ward. There was a look of illumination on her face: she was starting right at me through the shrubbery. We met eyes. She found what she was looking for. She looked around as her head was titled back. She was looking past me and at the pretty sunset . The colors were a glorious purple that mixed with the orange and red with those amorphous clouds that distort the clarity of the colors to give it a certain amount of spontaneity and thus beauty. She smiled.
She grinned really, but, either way, she stood up and brushed up her hands. She turned around and started walking back home. I was upset that she hadn't seen me looking at her, and yelled out ot her. She turned as if she had heard a ghost. I get her attention from way up high. I start to detach myself from the nature and then I start jumping from tree to tree in order to slowly but surely get down to the ground. I was about halfway down when I grabbed onto a rotted-out limb. It gave way and nature took me on my way down. It started out slow but then the fall was short. I lay splayed out on the ground feeling as if I had fall out of a tree.
My mother screamed bloody-murder and started scurring over to where my body lay. She started to yell out phrases to God and to Man. She picked me up and started to carry me back. I was crying and told her, "Sorry, Mom. I was watching you the entire time. I just didn't want to come home." "Well, do you wanna go home now or do wanna stay out here?" I opted for my bed or the couch. I got the Lay-Z-Boy. I got pizza for dinner. My mother and I watched Homicide: Life on the Streets. She made sure my entire well-being was taken care of. She disappeared after Homicide was over and started talking a lot on the phone. It got a little loud, but nothing seemed to be too interesting to hold my attention. She came back out in nicer clothes and a two suitcases, one small one and one big one. She kissed me and told me to mind my sister and my father. She told me not to believe anything else. She told me that this was for the family.

Dad got home around 10:30 and I handed him the envelope that Mom had given me. He read it. He threw it away afterwards.