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Nov. 6th, 2009


space oasis // soular paradise

Will you-- if you do, take me back,
back into the darkness
of your embrace
where my body is yours again

the yearning to submit, to all
the forms you take and the voices
that you speak through
will you command me again

to lose myself to paralysis,
comatose within you, anesthetize me
before you cut the vessels
that stray too far from our heart

you, I am close by--
just a thin veil
if you feel me stagnate,
pierce through, and swallow me

into a pool of warm, black
intoxicant that pours
from the edges of your core
the deepest sleep it gives

dreams of death
that put life to shame,
a drought knows that all is ending,
blissfully complete

primitive our souls
that we suffer without
spare us visions of saviors,
messiahs of the desert

the cure prospers in the oasis
floats in the deepest space
and the reflection
off your waters

tell of galaxies
with stars like fish eyes
that shine
and see nothing

May. 8th, 2009


last pack, last pack!!

Buying cigarettes.
"Sorry I only have my college ID with me right now..."
"Well, it's okay. It says you're in university so..."
"Yup, gotta be at least 18 by now."
"Unless you're really smart and you--"
"Then I wouldn't be smoking."

10 min later.
"Hey! Those are bad for you."
"Yeah, I know. You want the pack?"
"You're too pretty to be smoking."

1 hr later.
"I gotta take your vitals again."
"Still smoking, eh?"

psst, I think the universe is trying to tell you something.

Oct. 21st, 2008



"It is a truism that almost any sect, cult, or religion will legislate its creed into law if it acquires the political power to do so."
-- Robert A. Heinlein

We’re welcoming the dark ages of theocrazy and church dictatorship again; the survival technique I endorse is transformation into a robot.

Listen, you ever wish you could process numbers as quickly as a calculator? Just see some wild arrangement of digits, make some sense out of them with a quick scan, and then use whatever mathematical operation to change the values around.

I can teach you how. You just practice with people first. Here’s a quick exercise for you to try out. Visualize a huge crowd of peasant women. You’re a witch-hunter. You’re thinking, “How do I know which witch is which?” This is problematic and not very calculator-like. That’s like seeing 20323429576 and going through each number and reciting its name in your head. Instead, you should think “They’re all women; therefore, all potential witches.” Then you apply kerosene and torches. Voila, your job is done: no more witches!

That made me shudder to type. I think it’s time for a change of topic, away from the idea of women writhing in flames. We need a lighter topic, so instead of murder, let’s talk relaxation.

Visualize a population of people. You’re a president. You’re thinking, “How do I get these motherfuckers to listen to me as I speak the word of God?” Because you’ve recently heard that God doesn’t think non-believers should get to enjoy Sunday. Instead of loafing about in public parks or restaurants, they should be mowing God’s lawn. And even though Sunday is an entirely social, human concept of time, which is yet another entirely social, human concept; it’s name is linked by dead people to God, and you’re president, so it’s under your domain, you lucky bastard.

Again, your technique is inefficient. Instead, you should think “They’re all humans; therefore, all potential sinners.” Then you apply an amendment to the Constitution. Voila, your job is done: they all have to listen now!--no matter how ignorant or blasphemous.

I’m atheist, so that was depressing to type. We need a happier topic, so instead of slavery, let’s talk marriage.

Actually, marriage is already mechanical enough; I probably don’t need to go through it here. Everyone knows what marriage is: A legal union between a man and a woman as husband and wife. If you can tell man-boobs from breasts, you’re all set to control the population of this “Christian nation”. But this is wicked fun for me, so I’ll explain it anyways.

We’re not numbers, and we’re not just people. We’re alive, thriving, suffering—human beings. If you’re content to be a chip in the system, an automaton, then you don’t need idiosyncrasy. Words, luckily, have plenty of quirks: definitions, synonyms, antonyms. As does marriage. A marriage isn’t just something between a man and a woman.

To all those who are happily married, happily in love, with warm families and candlelight dinners, marriage isn't just some technicality, some legality between a "man," faceless and about as human as a stick figure; and a "woman", the anti-man who must be capable of at least one of the following: childbearing, menstruation, breast growth, penis envy.

Marriage is a living, loving, intimate union of two individuals; “a mystery of the mingling of souls,” powerful, profound, sacred. The boundary of exclusivity shouldn’t cross between homosexual and heterosexual, black and white; it should simply circle around two people, like white gold around the ring finger.

So anybody uninvolved who might think to interfere should just fuck off. Yeah, go home, whip out your fleshtube or vibe, and let them enjoy their lives in peace.

They deserve it. We all do, for managing to survive beyond a mere subsistence, to find meaning despite the constant flood of receipts, advertisements, disappointments. Couples, no matter their orientation, are couples because of who they are together, what they’ve been through together, where they’re hoping to go-- together. If marriage is what they want, they deserve it just as much as Mr. and Mrs. Huckabee.

"Protect marriage" is the religious right’s message; and it is one I fully agree with. Protect what marriage is to human beings, what marriage means, idealizes, signifies, glorifies, sanctifies. Marriage isn't meant to separate. It stands so that people can unite―unite, as love, as god, as our country intended.

Protect the ideals of committing yourself to another; that this person is, out of 6 other billion in the world, the one for you; the one you imagine the rest of your life with; the one, your only. And this person is for you, and you only, to decide.

That is freedom. Freedom of the will. To truly be free is to break from the shackles of obligation, fear, oppression, control, inferiority, slavery. Freedom is what we espouse, but liberty and charity are sorely lacking when a union of two people, no matter what race, sex, religious affiliation, is seen as dangerous rather than ideal. It’s dangerous to the point where the government seeks to interfere, then rearrange. Rearrange the numbers, meddle with the people.

Then again, freedom has always been seen as a threat-- especially when it involves love, which is, by nature, uncontrollable. Suddenly other people don't have as much control over the married couple; and neither can the government, the draft, the wanton arbitration of parents, teachers, pastors, institutions-- suddenly the couple is impervious to these pressures. Why? Because they have each other, are in love, are free.

Ultimately, one person’s freedom corresponds to everybody else's freedom―who can ever ethically support segregated freedom? But in this current political climate where 47% of us are in favor of taking people's rights away by what is essentially force, and 11% are undecided; it would be preposterous to think ourselves already free. Goethe, the author of Faustus, in which a man makes a pact with the devil, warned us: "None are so hopelessly enslaved as those who falsely believe they are free."

Deny some of us the right to marry, the right to live as joined, as devoted, faithful, in love-- no matter in whose eyes, glad or damning or perhaps just jealous―and you break people apart. Breaking them into scattered pieces drifting from city to city, lover to lover; just pieces now, left to the storms and tides of the world, to be collected like income taxes, to be used like toilet paper, to be burned dry like gasoline.

Oct. 8th, 2008


Butterflies for Psyclop

Butterflies for Psyclop

your world is back to chaos
"can I help you find anything?"
walls stumbled into each other
the masonry crushed the architects
"I assure you, our quality is the best"
buildings, they naturally succumb,
and earth cascades back into earth
"every detail is perfectly preserved"
in your shadow lingers a dust storm
"yes, please, take a look..."
in your footsteps I am trapped
"alright, let's ring you up"
the sign perched atop this mountain of rubble,
"Orientalis Sichuana,"
hides me from the sun.
the steel beams bent like weeds against the wind,
"stainless steel pins, handcrafted,"
protrude from my back.
the asphalt cracked, an underbelly of jagged scales
"and papyrus paper, Egyptian style"
slowly skins my feet.
the debris dries thick over my face
"sir, don't you want your change?"
in patterns streaming down my cheeks
"thank you! have a nice day!"
so don't point that thing at me

Sep. 11th, 2008


Another before bed

Blood, we share
down toilet drains
and running sink water,
flushing red,
swirling away,
pounding deep in my ear,
melodious panic,
in overdrive,
smoke and fire.

I miss your warmth,
the burn, mother,
of your lullabies,
soft, ashen,
from the wind
drying your skin.

Play with me, toy with me
and teach me to love
myself, blindly
wretchedly, alone
and my future
will be as your
dirty reflection,
in my clouded
rearview mirror.
The road is cold.

The asphalt harsh
like your breath
is bitter,
like acid clouds
weeping fog
for a murky dawn,
the ultramarine blue
cracking, peeling,
crossing the abyss,
my night in false glamor:

Tell me of the shadows,
my brothers in treachery,
their strange faces
and stranger names
etched in
furrows and hair,
to be licked up
and sucked away
by somebody else-
so succulent,
this filth,
past lovers' spit.

"rearview mirror" from Garrison Starr - Gasoline
"lovers' spit" from Broken Social Scene - Lover's Spit

And not about my mother, at all. Mother, in a different sense.

Sorry I haven't made any actual entries! I know I've already said I'm going to get to it-- I will! :D

Sep. 10th, 2008


Old Poem

written for that night:
when our hands clenched and unclenched against each other's, palms facing, fingers entwined. We leaned against the wall; we fell onto the floor; we ran outside; we melted into the walls of the hallway, writhing and silent;

when we were heartlessCollapse )

Sep. 5th, 2008


Sarah's Last Night

...but it's not yet time for goodbye.

Aug. 19th, 2008


Movie overloaddd

Within the past week, I've seen

The Dark Knight (2nd time)
Pineapple Express
City of Violence
Running Scared
Event Horizon
Police Story
Big Fish
Pulp Fiction
Tropic Thunder

... which is way too many, and too tiring. Too many identities, connections built and lost, beliefs challenged, perceptions altered, wishes conjured and memories resumed. I hardly feel real anymore.

From Clerks, I really liked Randal, who coincidentally, also reminded me of someone just as charismatic and free, with a similar fuck-the-rest-of-them-its-just-you-and-me-now charm. Randal's rogue wisdom and sensibility perfectly reflected the best of this person, what I missed and desired most. Unconquerable, fatalistically responsible, selectively heartless and always witty, Randal simply spoke to me- I was sorry to see it end, and that my vicarious view into his life had ended.

Aug. 7th, 2008


(no subject)

I miss the internet and my computer! I'm borrowing my roommate's at the moment.

Jul. 20th, 2008


Some incomplete poetry

it's your silhouette against the sky- swinging higher,
your dashing eyes inviting me to challenge the silence;
it's your back turned to me- curled up in my bed,
listening over the crash of your constricting chest;
it's that we turn to each other- to hide our faces
when headlights trace our shadows into asphalt;

it's these images, drawn from the
soundwaves brushing past,
that were our moments,
like masterpieces of art.

like murals threading through the corridors of my brain
as I follow the flickering light through memory lane
like vaulted and painted ceilings doomed to collapse,

infest the gaps between colonies-
clusters of beautiful people,
lightning flashing from cheekbones,
silhouettes of hats and horns,
of hips riding stilettos;
white is the color of their
exhaust of cigarette smoke,
of their teeth bared fiendish-
devilry enthralls the night

set your gravity to freefall-
roaming by in no distance,
the plague hunts new blood;
so stake a rock by the roadside,
but trampled dirt spreads out.
they push away, prance your way
until we're shoulder to shoulder,
folded and sealed shut by the
limits of spinal rotation.

Oct. 10th, 2006


(no subject)

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