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Thursday, March 6th, 2014
12:03 pm - moon in cuba
am i wrong
that i am here
and you are on the other side
of the universe?

when once, not so long ago,
we occupied almost the same exact place:
a cheap hotel room in western Mass,
smoking and drinking beer
and just

and then all the sex,
and then waking up with
you pressed close against me.

and i knew you were the one.

but then as we came around the moon,
just as we would end radio silence,
gravity flung you off into the silken
milky way, skimming planets,

and now i focus my telescope for hours,
smoking and drinking beer
and just

and then i think i see you blinking
from some far flung fucking galaxy
that is definitely not the couch cushion next to me,
or pressed close against me,
or a cheap hotel in western Mass.

and i think
"what will i do now?"

and what will i do
when my eyes have seen the glory
of you in a cheap hotel room,
pressed close against me,
full of promise and hope,
with a waning moon in cuba?

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Tuesday, March 4th, 2014
7:28 pm - i'm no artist.
it is nice to feel creative again,
but not crazy.
but they usually come together.

when i am feeling sane,
the ship righted,
the course laid in,
i couldn't do something interesting
for my life.

but when choppy seas and
failing equipment persevere,
when thunderous acts of god tear
my little life into rumsoaked shreds,
begging for a healthy breath of water
to end my weary sorrow,
that is when i feel i could
piss on the mona lisa in the secure
knowledge that I could then replace it
with something much more profound.

but what i really do is text you,
and text you,
and text you,
and it isn't creative,
and it isn't interesting,
but it's a relief,
even when you don't answer,
which is usually.

and i go on with my mania,
and you go on with your secrets,
and the twain don't meet
nearly often enough.

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1:41 pm - you're not real girl
it is march again in the world:
in like a lion, out like a lamb,
just like you.
i think of you there
in the offices next door, in a cubicle,
answering phones.
so close, so close.
i picture calling, pretending
i am interested in your company's
services, just to hear your voice--
velvet and humor and cadence.
i wonder why everyone who calls there for
legitimate reasons and is lucky enough to
get you on the phone
doesn't fall under your spell and
consider clawing their way through
a hopeless, endless desert for the mere
possibility that you will be waiting at the end,
with water and a soft kiss,
in a flowing, shimmering dress:
the mirage you are and the woman i remember
from before i knew you,
at last the same.

but i can't call for all the sand in my mouth
and my fingers too raw from all the clawing.
and in my dreams you run in front of me,
your back to me,
occasionally looking behind,
but always one step ahead--
always just too far to reach
with my ragged fingertips.

i sip into my 11th cup of coffee
and tap out the rhythm of a popular song
i half-overheard on the radio today.
i should tell you my fingertips are just fine.
that was only a metaphor.
just fine, just fine,
save for the lack of you beneath them.

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Tuesday, December 11th, 2012
7:18 pm
if i don't update in december there will be no link for 2012 in my journal. i can't countenance that. i keep coming back to this old thing like it still matters. as if i have any connection or bear any resemblance to the angry, confused young man who used to write in it. all of my friends have long since left this silly site behind. but me? i post at least once a year just to grasp at some direct line to a past i no longer remember or relate to. as a nearly 30 year old with a darling young child, a failed marriage, a career, and mounting bills, i am under exponentially more stress than the me that was bitching here with such zealous ferocity ten years ago. the fact is that even though my skin is thicker, i'm still so sentimental that i can't release the old days. i can't let go of sallow, sappy me with my contrived "thanks for noticin' me" schtick. i'm embarrassed more than anything, but still i come back and reread the same self-indulgent word-vomit over and over again. a nostalgia junky through and through. even if what i'm nostailgic for is the questionable ramblings of a borderline sociopathic child so obsessed with himself that he didn't even notice how often he was purposefully hurting the people who loved him most.

things are better now and i am well, thanks!

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Sunday, February 27th, 2011
12:18 am - a ditty.
i've kept every muscle tight for ten thousand tonights; there's no ecsape traipsing 'round the playthings of the farthest farthings of the embattled brain. i've toiled through these noises before, but there's no brethren blearing out a bloated protest, testing the internal pressure of partly attained dreams. seems lame to stain so sterling a reputation with so slow an apex. i'll flex these muscles for every ex-hope loping through the putrid lobes of this unfixed mind.

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Tuesday, February 15th, 2011
12:13 am - lyrics: merrimack valley
Loves of my lifetime, find fuel to burn. Do not accept ever lesser returns turning brilliance to beg at the heels of normal lives.

Beautiful flowers, reach for the sun. The day is ending, you're no longer young. Run through the rain just to lust for dryness again.

May a moment come when youthful hearts part from their chests.
A day of drums when passionless paths lead to less.

Well, I know it takes a long time.
I know it takes a very long time.

Tired blackbirds, gone grey and cold, counting the days down until they're old. Each lie they told is a reason to tighten our hold.

Loves of my lifetime, keep on, keep on. The achingest memories will spur you on to run through the rain and never need dryness again.

May a moment come when youthful hearts part from their chests.
A day of drums when passionless paths lead to less.

Well, I know it takes a long time.
I know it takes a long time.
I know it takes a very long time.

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Monday, February 14th, 2011
10:06 pm - lyrics: familial tremors
Failures falling by gravity flood my genes. A lottery, predetermining fevers, ferocious. They mar my mind, down from my kind. Not my design. Define my life. These familial tremors came to me from mom and dad and blessed family. My muscles wrestle muscle memory, unsuccessfully.

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10:03 pm - lyrics: looser nooses
I'm all alone. The house is cold. I'm writing fantasies that I might someday breathe a breath of air that is my own-- not subject to a lease. Not accruing penalties. I take what I get, but still believe in something more.

There is a song inside my heart, but my voice isn't loud enough for its beat to sound like much, but I will sing it 'til I'm dead. I've got a handful of friends who will listen 'til the end. I know what I'm not, but still believe that I will change.

How can I hope to sing when all we are is soldiering along in search of looser nooses? My notes can't clear my throat when all we are is soldiering along in search of looser nooses.

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Thursday, December 23rd, 2010
9:27 pm - the new combustion.
i post only because if i do not, there will be no link for 2010 in the calendar section of my journal. for personal reasons, this is unacceptable. i've had this journal for nearly ten years. what's changed?

i no longer burn. i'm no longer young. i seethe. i am older. i feel no desire to spill myself onto the internet's floor. i feel no compulsion to wallow in the least becoming cliches. i don't burn, but seethe, and i always thought i would hate myself for it. but instead i hate my old self for being so presumptuous.

i am seething; i miss you.

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Wednesday, December 30th, 2009
1:30 am - lyrics: fauxlosophy
these fever dreams of agency cycle through an infinite repeat until i have become a casualty of the lies that my eyes have told to me.

i don't want to be part of this pyramid scheme. it's all a part of my new philosophy that life is just a dream and i don't have to be anything.

so i don't want to go to sleep where my desire is allowed to breathe. reality is complacency, and a bitter end would be sweet relief.

i don't want to go to sleep.

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Friday, December 4th, 2009
1:14 am - lyrics: ode
I was born in '83, the son of an obscenity. The people rejoiced and said in one voice: one more child for the machine. My choices were made by '98-- the product of what they called fate. The people approved, and being well-moved, proceeded to show me to my place.

Love me and I'll always be good.
Love this child of the machine; lay your body on the gears.

I opened my eyes in 2005, but closed them before I could cry. The people opined: "what's wrong with his mind? Don't he know that he can't turn the tide?" But I am alive in 2009, a victory in its own right. The people are still busy building a hell of idols and gurus and dollars and flies.

Love me and I'll always be good.
Love this child of the machine; lay your body on the gears.

Bow down to the machine.
Kneel and pray to the machine.
Give your thanks to the machine.
Come and be judged by the machine.

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Thursday, May 28th, 2009
5:31 pm - lyrics: " Singularity!"
I was made on the day the singularity came, and for a trillion years I travelled through space. In the lonliest corners I waited for the particles and the waves that would one day make up my brain. They joined on one unremarkable day in February '83. Those atoms that they had made were forged in the noblest fire. But over the ages it dimmed and it waned, leaving me so uninspired. Their glory to recreate is my fondest desire. But the universe chose to put me on Earth, where I am cold, bored, and tired.

But oh to be back in the void, a random assortment of dust! Afloat on the winds of a nebula, finally among my brothers. We are all of us the same, the sons and the daughters of stars. All of us are immortal and wise, and blessed and cursed to die. We are blessed and we're cursed to die.

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1:06 pm - lyrics: "walk among us"
make me clean.
forgive my sins.
let me rebegin this life.

'cause i admit
i've had trouble with
seeing eye to eye

with the rest of these humans who call this a life,
with the audacity to believe we're alike,
who wake up every day just to help the world die.
they're a plague, they're the angel of death from on high.

the time has come.
let it be done.
we'll sink with the setting sun.

as if i could
do anything
but just sit right here and sing

to the rest of these humans who call this a life,
about my audacity to think we're not alike.
i wake up every day just to help the world die.
i'm a plague, i'm the angel of death from on high.

oh the rest of you humans who call this a life,
and our audacity to believe we're alike.
we wake up every day just to help the world die.
we're a plague, we're the angel of death from on high.

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1:01 pm - lyrics: "the reckoning"
the lonely ghosts that haunt my dreams
have found me outside my sleep.
and i'm a stranger in a strange place.
let the reckoning come today.

this place is so unclean.
there's so much shit i just cannot believe.
like the ugly look on every stranger's face.
may the reckoning come today.

i'm surrounded by thinking, breathing beings
glued to their TV screens.
squandering their beautiful minds.
sometimes i wish i were not alive.

i'm on my own 'cause sports and sex alone
cannot make me whole.

i know there's a place for me,
but i'm certain that it is not here.
so to the godless sky i pray:
may the reckoning come today.

i will wander through this life
waiting to be buried in time.
i don't care if i lose the race.

let the reckoning come today.
please let the reckoning come today.
just let the reckoning come today.

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12:56 pm - lyrics: "don't ask don't tell"
it's a beautiful, beautiful day.
but who cares anyway
when everything beautiful eventually withers away?

what money you've managed to save,
was it worth the price that you paid?
the little indignities of 8000 eight hour days?

summer is coming but i've got a troubled mind.
and i'd look for redemption but i'm frightened of what i might find.
so baby don't ask me if anything's wrong cause i'm fine.
i'm fine.

it's a beautiful, beautiful night.
the air all around me is just right.
but just right or not it is just one more moment in time.

i'd like to grow wings and take flight.
i'd fly 'til i was out of sight.
and everyone would remember with envy me up in the sky.

but my fantasy falters when i realize that i'm bound to the ground.
and i'm more lost than ever and i don't know how to get myself found.
so baby don't tell me the universe is beautiful now.
not now.

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12:52 pm - lyrics: "welcome to the republic"
if we write these songs long enough we can ease out the evil inside
our plight is to realize long enough won't come until we die
so we lay down in the bed of the devil who made us this way
and we pray to pieces of souls we don't think exist anyway

so our art's not for art's sake, our art is for our sake, OK?

our mouths are open in hopes we will vomit some good on the ground
and we're proud just to spit some truth, truth be told we just can't keep it down
the night is filled up with hours of our efforts to empty our minds
and our lives are rotten with knowledge the evil is staying inside

and the infinite hours stretch out for us to write.

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Sunday, January 25th, 2009
10:39 am - lyrics: "40 hours"
i slave away my days, and for what? to make and save and spend my money on things that i can only enjoy on the weekends. and i'm lucky if my weekend isn't eaten up by anxiety.

sunday slips away from me, and it's the return to the tyranny of timeclocks, bosses, and machinery.

i learn nothing new. i say nothing nice. i eat nothing healthy. i wish mom had told me that a paycheck won't make me wealthy, and it's whisky that keeps the bill collectors away from me.

that pie in the sky is going to stay up there pretty fucking high, and forty hours weekly won't make you wise.

my life is slipping away through the cracks in the factory floor, but when they ask if i want overtime, i say "more, more, more!"

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10:35 am - lyrics: "we're nobody"
words dead in heads, heads in our hands. who are we to make demands? eating our shit with our shit eating grins. after all, we're human, but still we're nobody. we think that we are someone, but what we are is dust. we're nobody.

everyone lies, then everyone dies. our headstones are all inscribed: here lies nobody. but hey look at me, a celebrity man. get in line to shake the hand of nobody. we think that we are someone, but what we are is dirt. we're nobody.

the days fuck the weeks and the weeks fuck the years. throw your body on the gears, cause you're nobody. all of us dogs, and all of us clowns. the ship is going down, and we're nobody.

we're nobody.

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10:31 am - lyrics: "song for sleeping dinosaurs"
everyone knows that nothing's real
everyone knows that we're not here
everyone knows what no-one sees
everyone knows that we're not free

everyone, everyone, everyone

we're just the see-through suckers in some dinosaurs bad dream. we've got our clothes, our homes, our loans, but nothing's as it seems.

everyone's eating their own shit
no-one's getting sick of it
we prey on each other like predators
the debtors, the lenders, the creditors

everyone, everyone, everyone

the weak will be our ladder as we clamber for the top, and nothing here on this meteor could ever make us stop.

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Thursday, January 22nd, 2009
12:49 pm - lyrics: "desert variations"
i'm out here at the corner of desert and doom, and the escondido freeway traces faces on the moon. from way up on the wind the cars' headlights look like jewels, but get down a little closer, it's just a long parade of fools. the fog hugs close to the contour of a high and lonely ridge, and way too much depends on the ticking of a three dollar wal-mart watch.

and whatever happened to strawberry ann? lost and stoked on stackers, took the late bus to japan. you finger her a minute and turn to go back in the bar: the jack and gingers and brunette singers, and the scorching summer stars.

and hey, the desert's getting darker. hear the blearing of charlie parker on the jacked-up jukebox, the jingling of the quarters in your pocket. it's a strange thing. it's a broken wing. it's sixty-eight cents, a chinese take-out fortune and your wedding ring.

the rabid bats bat lashes at the bugs they'd usually eat, because everybody goes a little bit crazy in this heat. one hundred seven hunkers down on the hungry human heart, and the chapparal and sagebrush make out shameless in the dark. all this place needs is a five pm fast, furious new england thunderstorm. because there's a thousand reasons why you left back east, but only one that you're still here.

so you smeared your fingerprints all over this fishbowl, so it's hard to see the double yellow line when you're headed on back home. when they pull you over, just pull your ace out of the hole and say that california's confiscated the remainder of my soul.

and hey, the desert's getting darker. hear the blearing of charlie parker on the jacked-up jukebox, the jingling of the quarters in your pocket. it's a strange thing. it's a singapore sling. it's thirty-eight cents, a chinese take-out fortune and a summer fling.

the creosote cowboys cut faces in the rock, with a coyote caterwaul and a car up on blocks. the power lines are purring like a cat that's gone unfed, and they charge off to arizona straight as a bullet to your head. and there's a song on the radio right now that i'm confident could cure cancer, bring aobut world peace, and make toast. all by the beauty of it's melody, that haunting, high-heeled harmony, and that backbeat.

and what did ever happen to strawberry ann, with eyes like errant tides teasing the cape cod sand? i think so called so-cal must've scared her half insane. her postcard said she packed your heart and got on board a train.

and hey, the desert's getting darker. hear the blearing of charlie parker on the jacked-up jukebox, the jingling of the quarters in your pocket. it's a strange thing. it's a suicide king. it's seventeen cents, a chinese take-out fortune and a terrifying happening.

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