Creative Stuff

Entropy

2009-03-12T10:16:00.003-05:00

Entropy's a tragedy in the long-shot
But it's beautiful close-up
The soft hiss of a lit cigarette
The crackle of ice in a glass
The almost imperceptible cries
of order ceasing to exist.

Mixed-up Confusion

2009-03-02T11:08:00.005-06:00

I got it all mixed up somewhere,
I think.
I smoke cigarettes but not weed.
I drink coffee instead of beer.
I go to college to get educated and the library to get laid.
I have a plan for surviving the apocalypse but not a girlfriend.
I haven't eaten a vegetable in six days.
I stay up for days getting nothing done
I lie in the grass reading when I should be
lying in the grass fucking.
And I cry over songs about getting old
instead of dancing to songs about dying young.

We are all scientists

2009-02-25T10:26:00.001-06:00

We are all scientists
gay and dismal
natural and social
chemists and linguists and bricklayers
We cannot afford to delineate
We must take our truths
where we can find them.

On Viewing National Velvet

2009-02-18T22:40:00.003-06:00

Art is not a jackboot thug
with a blowtorch

Art is a kindly uncle
who shows up when we least expect
with wonderful toys
from places you've never heard of.

True Art Waits.

(Author's Note: Click here to see what I'm on about [It's not the film/book of the same name], if you're not from Denver.)

Drabble

2009-02-16T16:44:00.001-06:00

Ellen jumped out of a fourth story window and discovered she could fly. Finally she was free! She could go where she liked. She would feel the autumn wind in her hair and eat field mice and raw fish. She didn’t have to go to a job that slowly stole bits of her soul day by day, she could do nose dives or live in a tree or just feel the salt-sting in her eyes as she followed the vast illiterate arcs of the great sea birds.

Ellen jumped off of a cliff in Bolivia and discovered she could fall.

Good car to drive after a war

2009-02-13T17:20:00.004-06:00

(Authors Note: Guess which line I stole from a Mountain Goats song.)

We'll use our sentences
for life preservers,
After the war.
We'll use these words for kindling
these songs for insulation
these half-finished novels for rabbit snares

We'll eat our syllables
coated in
lard and cane sugar.

And we'll use this poem to build
a brand new Cadillac XLR
Elektra Blue.

2009-02-11T17:23:00.002-06:00

Last Thursday I woke up
and was overcome by the terror of existence
Weltschmerz, I guess you would call it
just, you know the horror of freedom
and non-existence.
Anyway, I could feel my pulse slowing down
feel my cells dying
and I tried to get up out of bed
to fix myself some tea or whatever
but I couldn't move my arms and legs.
So I just lay there
staring at the ceiling
for like twelve hours.

Anyway, that's why I missed my court date
Your Honor.

No Poem Today

2009-02-09T16:34:00.001-06:00

No poem today
I'm too sick
and tired.

(not like sick and tired of a thing,
just both sick and tired.)

I'm just going to lie on my pillow
And sleep forever
OK?

Newspaper Blackout: The Eary Years

2009-02-07T11:29:00.002-06:00

Insomniac Newspaper Blackout Poem

2009-02-06T03:53:00.001-06:00

Old Haiku Part Two

2009-02-06T00:34:00.002-06:00

Anti-aircraft guns
Pop like Rice Krispies
War is Hell

Just relax, man
You won't remember this shit
When you're dead

I hate these slow songs
Eyes like lit cigarettes
Hands like spiders

Computers are killing romance
Books, checks, vinyl
Divorce papers

Our first mistake
Was teaching the robots to love.
Cold metal sheen

The swift crane
Gets the worm but not
The sunset

When the aliens came
We greeted them with open arms
And open legs

The revolution
Will be televised, but on
The Disney Channel.

Old Haiku

2009-02-04T12:49:00.002-06:00

So I found a bunch of free-verse haiku in an old journal of mine. So here it is! Most of it is A-Softer-World-y, and some of it is awful.

We drink to stay young
Like vampires except with
gin instead of blood

The recipe didn't call for my dignity
But I put it in anyway
For a leavening agent.

They are everywhere
Cameras in the shower, bugs on the phone
Spiders in the dishsoap.

I hate this school
Drywall and halogen and
35° angles.

Every night
I still pour two vodkas
Clink clank hiss

I stare through the window
The moon is the moon is the moon
Not my heart

When I hear her name
I stare into my coffee
Two creams, one sugar

Styrofoam cups,
Non-dairy creamer,
Sweet-n-Low

More on Friday.

For the Tourists

2009-02-02T15:03:00.002-06:00

Ian was right
Love will tear us apart
Molecule by molecule
Atom by atom
'Till all that's left
of you and me
is a love-colored stain on the pavement

Donne was Wrong

2009-01-26T19:04:00.001-06:00

Every man is an island.
We stand on the shore
shouting our deepest held hopes and dreams
at the top of our lungs,
but there's no-one there to hear us.

Thank God.

2009-01-12T21:40:00.002-06:00

I think the reason our society is so obsessed
with Big Brother and thoughtcrimes
is that secretly
we wish some giant governmental organization
cared enough to
read our thoughts.

Today is a good day I think for drabbles

2008-12-18T06:40:00.003-06:00

So a drabble is just a short story that is exactly 100 words long. They are also super fun to write. Here is one.

“I hate that phrase: ‘no use crying over spilt milk.’ Either it’s saying that crying about milk is stupid, in which case the adjective is unnecessary, or it implies that there is a better time to cry, either while the milk is spilling, which is clearly a time for action, or before the milk is spilt, which would just lead to constant sobbing in front of a full glass of milk. I posit that after the milk is spilt is the only rational time to cry.”
[A short pause.]
“That,” Dan said “is exactly why she broke up with you.”

Juvenile Quotidian Bullshit #1

2008-12-09T22:24:00.002-06:00

On my better days I know
cheap vodka and cigarettes
are no substitute for good friends
and vegetables
but right now
I'm an easy mark

I sit in the courtyard
smoking like a chimney
Waiting for god to strike me down
The last nail in the god damned coffin.

Untitled Love Song

2008-12-06T00:56:00.004-06:00

I don't know what I love more:
the sun
rising over the horizon
throwing its rays softly over
the good and the evil
and the poor schmucks like me
whether we like it or not,
or you.

(Aw christ

it's probably all the same thing
anyway

I always get the last laugh

2008-12-04T15:53:00.003-06:00

The Flash laughed when he saw my Entropy Man costume
but now it's two hundred trillion years later.
Who's fucking laughing now, Barry?

We shall fuck on the beaches

2008-12-04T02:50:00.006-06:00

Single White Male
Seeks Single White Female
for weekday drinking and
foreign films.
You are seven feet tall,
impervious to bullets,
an art school drop-out.
I'm a twenty-seven-year-old
Werewolf Anarchist fuck-up
with a bad dayjob and a good nightlife.

This is a war poem
but the war hasn't been fought yet.

I hear they have an IHOP!

2008-12-02T22:01:00.005-06:00

So this poem is pretty terrible, but I didn't write anything today so it will have to do.

The road sign says
"See Moore"
and all I can see is Moore

of the same.
The same cheap bars, the same billboards
the same square houses
The same first-and-second-and-third hand stores
The same sad faces.

Another sign
"Even Moore - 23 Miles
Moste - 47 Miles"
I take the secret exit
over gravel roads
and rusted bridges.

A mildewed sign
welcomes me to Lesse.
I drive straight through to Leaste where
I shop for coffee.
It's late, but I drive on
to Nothing
which everyone knows is just a short walk away from
Everything.

Maybe Not

2008-12-01T20:20:00.007-06:00

I walk among the
boys and girls of the English Department.
Sad eyes scanning syntaxes.
Fingers tightly gripping the covers of
Chaucer and Blake
to keep from floating off
and disappearing altogether.

It's a classic case of the tragedy of the shut-in:
Catcher in the Rye will never
love you back.

I take my place in the parade
opening my book I
chew each word thoughtfully
roll it around my tongue and
drink deep of it.
It warms my soul like hot coffee.
Maybe that's enough.

An Observation/Fantasy, October 21st 2008

2008-11-01T01:15:00.004-05:00

Some would say
that the automatic door on the first floor
was broken.

True, the door shudders open and closed
constantly.
But tonight
the ghosts go where they will.

Tell Me, O Muse

2008-10-30T21:12:00.002-05:00

Why is it that I only go outside
when I want something?
I stay inside all day
surrounded by machines,
but whenever I want to write
I wander outside
and stare at a blade of grass.
"O Mother Earth
with all your beauteous bounty
inspire me to great lyrical heights"

I am like an abusive boyfriend
who doesn't call for weeks
and then picks up the phone
at three AM
begging for sex
And I wonder why she doesn't pick up.