July 23, 2014
Honesty & caterpillars.

There’s no time or feeling more extraordinary as when I’m being honest. And when I say being I mean being. Not just the verbal and vocal attachment of honesty. But existing in an honest way. You feel every leaf shudder and whisper in the breeze. Every caterpillar holds and gives some meaning to the honest man. “I hate you caterpillar”. “This caterpillar makes me wanna weep”. “Why do you exist caterpillar?”

It isn’t all butterflies and sprinkles. Contempt can be a beautiful thing out of an honest man’s heart and so can its rejection by another. It’s just that honest things flow with an ease, if not an ease, a naturalism that restores us in the life flow of existence and maybe even God. I have a vague memory of someone telling me or reading about the illusion of wrong or right. How the definition changes from person to culture to country and border. I think it’s bullshit, you can’t kill a man for no reason. Though like I said a culture is entirely capable of producing a citizen who doesn’t understand your wrong as his wrong.

In this person’s paradigm whether it’s the extreme of acceptable murder or which hand is blasphemous to shake, what always give me a lovely chill is the pure and honest and fully self-believing execution of these movements. No ulteriors or nuffin’. Whether I agree with it or not, watching someone be honest and being honest is the greatest thing on earth and possibly beyond.

July 20, 2014
How do you say…

Three women on the 5, speaking a language I don’t know. They’re young, white, hip, in good spirits and talkative. They might’ve been talking all through my sleep. even about how handsome the young dirty looking napper is. *Foreign language* If he was clean I might bring him home to my  mother * I think i like him dirty’, says the other. Of course this isn’t what I want them to have said and especially isn’t what I think; I’m talking shit. But probably, despite their prettiness I’m not sure how easy I am, their language sounded beautiful and meant for play and lightness. Maybe because of their good mood. Or maybe that’s how it is. A language that didn’t lend itself well to anger and general negativity. Funny. A language of peace, of good times. An actual language. Not phrases and -isms. an actual language. Funny Funny Funny.

July 17, 2014
I know what i got

My mother said I was stolen from her. I must have stockholm’s. why would someone wait until someone was gone to be their sweetest, I don’t know. To ensure that person will come back? Because while I was around it was easy to assume I’d always be around so there’d be time to be sweet later? Whatever, I wasn’t stolen, i was requested. and i accepted. Not even the universe can have its cake sometimes. One thing opens up, another closes. fuck it.

Post-script July 20th, 2014

Nah, she just misses me and is scared I’ll abandon her. It’s peculiar, I have to show her I won’t leave her hanging, in a way to win her nagging back. Life’s forever funny.

July 1, 2014
Less is More

What’s the greatest lessons I’ve learned in the last month. Fuck if I know. Maybe to give less of a fuck. I get these feelings in my gut and then people put these words and perfectly logical sounding things in my mind and ears and I begrudgingly, my soul begrudgingly ignores itself and follow these logical sounding things. Then you know what happens. Disappointment, lol, most of the time. Not all but most. Por Ejemplo:

My gut goes ; Man I should go this show,bar,do this assignment before or after boom boom boom

Someone/Something else/even my own brain goes ; Man that’s stupid.

My brain goes ; yea, you know what, you’re right, that’s some good old cold hard logic.

My spirit goes ; *facepalm* in the corner of the room.

I go ; What?

My spirit goes ; Nothing man, just go.

I’m like ; No, What?

My spirit ; *clams up*

I ride the train or stay where I’m staying, doing the opposite of what my gut said to do. My soul, my whole shit feels uneasy, but I tell myself “that’s just your body rebelling against making sense” lol.

But you know what? disappointment. I get to the place/thing. I get a call or text. And the thing is canceled or pushed way the fuck back or was the day before or the person didn’t even care or obviously wished that I showed up later because they were still doing their thing. And I’m standing there sad and lonesome ‘cause my gut-soul-chakra is at home crying in a corner like a wife who’s been left home alone again for another night of selfish wandering. It’s fucked up.

If I could have a polygamist marriage. It would be between me, my gut, and Alizabeth.

Less of a fuck in more of the right ways.


June 18, 2014
Funk Crux Punch List

Listening to the Silver Jew
The album where I found my beau
The soundtrack hasn’t gotten stale
I’m in the funk but will prevail

The words I said but never did
Makes her wonder about this kid
Next time, Next time I repeat
and now the crux has come to speak

I am scared, yes I am scared
Cause I am far, though I am near
My bootstraps pulled to my hairline
I scream and punch my teeth I grind

With each breath a strand of gold
over horizon’s head begins unfold
Until it covers her and I
Love’s list begun, sluggard denied

June 4, 2014
She's Impressed

"yo, what is there to do? you go do something that only you have the knowledge to do and lemme do something I could do on my own, like you go clean your room or something, what else is there to do" She said the kitchen needed cleaning. "bet, imma do that then" I could tell she was impressed.

I’ve been trying and slowly becoming the authoritative male I know I am. I don’t wanna be a bully, dick, loud-mouth or aggro-monkey, but I look in the mirror and don’t see a push-over. Even in my thoughts are the thoughts of a pretty harsh/serious/not-to-be-fucked-with dude but my words come out different. pussified.

Anyway, I could tell she’s impressed, hehe. I’m not trying to impress her, shit needs to get done, but I know she’s into seeing me get all laser like. lol. Anyway I’m flying around like a monkey, I forgot who was in the house with us. Jonathan I think. I’m singing roadrunner, super loud. at first i’m kinda timid, like who is this nigga singing downstairs? but then i’m bellowing the lyrics, cause fuck it. Every time she comes into the room or I think she’s coming, all my nerves go to my dick heart & mind. and maybe a few in my throat. I just wanna marry fuck baby kiss her right then n’ there.

We kiss every now and then, I don’t know how we let go of each other sometimes. It’s a good day, Sun is shining, everybody likes the sunshine, and her fucking house let’s in sunshine like a dive bar with no scruples. It’s everywhere. Her hair.

Eventually I’m screwing some shit in with a powerdrill. She’s impressed. lol, she’s taking pictures of me drilling this single screw. She’s impressed, I’m playing cool, but I’m thrilled at doing this single task (outlier thought, handiwork is awesome). I look forward, thinking to myself, to learning how to do some real shit, plumbing and wiring and electricity. It’s fun working with your hands. The same scene repeats itself when I’m upstair unclogging her drain. She’s SUPER impressed. lol, fuck it. I’m bout that life. The drain unclogging might have come before the cabinet drilling but who cares. Still happened.

I’m in the kitchen at some point in the process, cleaning, listening to tunes on my cell phone speaker. Everything’s on random. I think some Styles P came on followed by some fuckin’, ionno, everyly brothers. I laughed at that. reminds me of my college days when I confused the shit out of my roommate with my music playlists. Schizoid, tastefully. Amyway,  This jam comes on, it’s punk, hardcore, well maybe not hardcore but respectfully thrashy. Nigga’s like “Life…LIFE…LIFE IS THE ONLY THING WORTH LIVING FOORRR!” i’M like whoa, this is pretty inspiring for a punk song. I’m so used to, experience wise and stigmatically to think of punk-hardcore songs as a mellow-harshed anti-this anti-that. But nah this one was uplifting. SUPER. ayiway. She walks in. I wanna fuck. She’s doodling around, I’m looking at her a little, the song in the background of all these Alizabeth thoughts for a few seconds.

She pipes up, “Who is this?”. L”Life…LIFE…LIFE IS THE ONLY THING WORTH LIVING FOORRR!” just playing in the background. In my head I’m kinda shocked, like why the fuck is she asking me this, you’re not supposed to be into this kinda shit. Wha? But that’s like 1/10 of a second worth a feeling and I say “I dunno, it’s on random, shit’s tight though” or something akin. She lightly hmmfs to herself and leaves. Cool man, She LIKES this shit? She’s into Beyonce I’m into Pavement. I tell myself I gotta figure out what song that was that she was into. That was a few weeks ago. i haven’t seen her in days. It’s all the same. Minutes, seconds they’re all “I haven’t seen hers.” The song pops into my head again, not sure it really left. I fucking tell myself I’m gonna find it. It had a unpolished sound to it. Not damaged, too angry, not husker, too nascent. I reach the bottom of my playlist. Fuck. Cycle through again…Got it. Check the lyrics to make sure, sure nuff is. Song’s positive as fuck, I’m bout it, thought i’d just send it to her but then…ouroboros.

Wonder if she’s still impressed with this joint. Hope’s well alive.

May 15, 2014
Lover of Sleep

On some nights sleep abandons me
leaving out of illogical spite
too enamored to stay away

On some nights sleep comes and goes
teasing me to madness
until dreams come orgasmic

On some nights sleep waits for me
trembling lovingly on my pillow
while my mind toils into the late hour

On most nights sleep embraces me
squeezing me with the calm fever
of my love who hasn’t seen me all day

March 28, 2014
Calls to arms.

I look in my love’s eye
and see the reflection of a child
I hold her hand with my left
fear runs through the right

She dares me to be bold
threats hardly veiled
she’ll leave me as a consolation prize
or will stay and put gold to shame

I look my love in her eye
with my mind I search hers
ignorant of my reflection
only seeking this moment

Doubt is left on the shelf
increasingly, I question its place
on the shelf itself
Where love needs more and more places to call home

March 28, 2014
A parable for those who ever intend on loving

A man stands outside his lover’s home. Day and night he stays there as proof of his undying affection. After some time she looks upon him, his clothes tattered, skin filthy, and words murmured. She no longer loves him.

March 24, 2014
lovecast #2: Broken clocks work three times.


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