'tis the season

i know christmas isn't about giving, but the presents you receive generally say a lot about how well the people who love you know you. based on that, this christmas was the best ever.

for the sake of this rant, let's start at my birthday which is seventeen days before christmas. i got a gretsch drum set from my parents. i've been playing the same sunlite starter kit since i was nine years old. i've since then considered myself a drummer having practiced and been in bands and played in various factions of music in school, so a new kit has been a long time coming. sixteen years later and i finally have a kit i'm proud of and will take the best of care of. i'm extremely thankful my dad's a drummer because a) he knew what he was doing, and b) he knew when i was ready and passionate enough about drumming to own such a fine set. point being, they knew my passion, but more importantly they knew me.

then christmas comes along and i rip apart colored paper to find (collectively) a nikon d3000 and a wacom bamboo pen and touch tablet (from the parents), a bansky book (from my brother), and a set of twelve prismacolors (from my sister). to start off, i didn't ask for these things (apart from the bamboo, i let that slip), but they knew. this means in the past year my siblings have gotten to know me (and i, them) better than ever and my parents trust and believe in me enough to get me these things that only encourage my creative angst and distraction. i'm not exaggerating when i say:

this was the best christmas ever!

not because of things, but because of why i got them: i'm loved, trusted, and believed in. it's been a long time coming, and those are the best presents i could've asked for.

gunslingers wanted

i'm no hero
the lesser of two evils
share and share alike
my mistress is plight
shoot the actors
not the writer
justice is no longer
for screens and paid elects
put me in, coach
i'm ready
willing
joyous
filling
the lot's up for short sale
coarse-haired rubic's cube
twist or turn, no matter
dust gathers and settles
so what are you?

hide and seek

my eyes have adjusted
through the leaves and branches
i perch high
you're not as low as you seem
so keen on the idea
of taking the path less trampled
by failures and upstarts
twin arrows pierce twice
but not as deep
a twig snaps
as does my neck to look
i'd recommend treading lightly
snares abound brilliantly
a sound never made by
dogs
or wolves
or beasts on two legs
uttered in the night
a moan out of sight
i saw your reflection
as you walked along the lake
you shivered, i think
or maybe it was the water
cold and restless
you paused at the fork, i remember
morning chased you down and
you disappeared with the moon
you ran, i remember,
until dusk
now as i let my eyes adjust
here you are
emerging from the brush

none more fair

music is my woman. she is with me and i with her. there is not a fairer maiden than she, but try sleeping with her.

recently i have found myself doting on music exponentially more than my previous mistress, the fairer gender. i can't help but assume that, because i am currently being satisfied more by music than i was by women, my feelings are to be considered bias, but i don't believe that's the case. there is simply not enough history with the aforementioned to warrant an affair.

i see a woman and i think to myself, how can she inspire me to create something beautiful. that's my ration. i've found (especially lately) that heartache brings about more inspiration for listening and making and loving than any other emotion. but that heartache is long gone and the product of said love-loss is currently in post-production, so i ask you this:

does one then search for more heartache and keep his true love happy and strong, or does he settle for loving two entities and sharing his heart?

fairies have tails?

i've never known a story to end, just continue at a later time or in a different way, but never end.

it could be that after someone leaves you you then go out and get drunk and dedicate a song to the person at a karaoke bar somewhere. then, months later a man approaches you on the street and recognizes you from your horrible rendition of "tiny dancer". he invites you to karaoke at what he affectionately refers to as "his bar" and you agree to bring some friends. upon showing up that evening it's revealed that one of your friends knows the bartender from college and introduces you to her, himself being in a committed and loyal relationship (or he, himself, would have had her by now). there's a spark between you and her. you see each other more often than not now and life is good - all thanks to someone leaving you.

the story never ended with that person, it helped the current story along. your life is your story.

live it.

and then...

i was about a block away from the vestibule when i heard her call - questioningly - my name. i stopped, though not convinced i should turn around - let alone return to her. i called out behind me,

yes? what do you need?

you, she yelled.

i turned to face a now running figure, as if i had left my keys on the kitchen table and she was delivering them to me, knowing i was in a hurry to get to work - i hadn't and i wasn't. she slowed as she approached my shadow and looked down to mirror my stance. she stopped and whispered,

i didn't get to explain. i wanted to, but i didn't have the chance.

she's lying, she had plenty of chances. she continued,

i was never good at any of this, but i tried. i really did, darling. lover, i did.

she trailed off as i spoke - how? how did you try? not with the forced recollection of perjury could you ever convince me you tried. i believe that you wanted this and did, at one point, enjoy us, but -

i couldn't finish. she looked upset, but more confused. like she had just woken up from a three-month coma to find everything she loved gone. i couldn't help but take her hand. she looked me in the eye and said,

i'm sorry.

i think i nodded my acknowledgement and i'm sure i squeezed her hand before letting go, but i'm certain i said, before turning and walking away,

no you're not.

love is when you pillage the weaker villages

so far, so good, right?

i mean, it's time, right?

to make that trek, that fast-paced,

that limelight

i think i might

stay and fight

rivaled only by the right we have

to see the night burn;

to watch the page turn;

the rich learn

that nothing earned is real

and we have to learn to steal;

to beg; to borrow,

lest we die by morning, let's

hold fast to the truth that

love is the true test

of our endurance of pain

and the will to forgive

our assailants

don't call me shirley

miss the dawn

and forget that the sun is gone

she's moved on -

has forgotten how to sing our song

it makes sense to just carry on,

live my life as if nothing's wrong,

and learn that the queen always takes the pawn

so make an unintended half-smile

he deserves to see you laugh

unless you're playing him too

ruins get to be rebuilt

torn down in anger

zealous natures lead to destruction

i am

a product of our times

an anecdote

obsolete

needed

crazy

a winner

sanity in a bottle

clever

bewitched

an after-thought

a space-saver

a waste of space

pleasurable

interesting

handsome

a gas

sinister

mind-blowingly awesome

numb

a joke

wack

here

there

anywhere i can be heard

seen

grateful

nice

sexy

repulsive

a drummer

a writer

a man

sorry

confused

hurt

bleeding

okay

hopeful

love

me.

lemur

"it's over," she said

with no hesitation.

"the feelings i once had

were just my imagination.

"i'm sorry you hurt -

though no fault of my own;

i warned you from the start:

i need to be alone."

if the weather refuses

to change with the seasons,

the accused and accusers

are left without reason

so say what you will

this is not an ending;

a rip in the plot line

is not yours for mending

less dead

it’s all so serene
this feeling of being
loved, but not wanted
and lost, so it seems

even in my dreams
i am an unintended thing
a wayward, a praise song,
a make believed scene

when, instead of accepted,
it seems i've been bested,
underhandedly dealt
a winning hand tested

short of a miracle
should i ever be found
a man in the eyes
of a goddess under ground

it made more sense as a novel

i had a few minutes before the service. i walked in her shadow and, if it wasn’t for her silhouette, into the sun. her scent lingered the few feet i followed behind and masked the harshest stench the city had to offer – regret.

she stopped suddenly just short of the oratory and stood stone-like as if the ghost of the day’s honoree appeared violently. she whispered,

i want to be alone.

you won’t make it alone, i murmured, somewhat hoping she would be too preoccupied with her own grief to hear me. she did.

i just want this to end, but i don’t want to hurt you.

she stood silently, waiting, and if it weren’t for the slight rise and fall of her shoulders, i’d have questioned if she were even breathing. then, as if just realizing she wasn't alone, she turned and said,

i’m going to say goodbye. if you’re here when i’m done, we will return together. if not, well,

she looked at my lips and i caught myself mumbling incoherently – presumably words of encouragement, doubt, adoration, or repose – before her gaze wandered upward and rested in mine and continued,

i’d understand.

she was giving me the decision to make. it was light on my shoulders, but heavy on my heart. and i waited.

and waited.

and then…

maybe later

street lights flicker
burn the wicker man quicker
show her what a dick's for
not for loving, but for overcoming
the odds are in your favor
maybe later
you and i could savor
the events the day could
bring us, even sing us
a lullaby, shut your eyes
choose your disguise (wise)
the prize is never what it seems
until you realize the seams
are meant to be torn, born
of what may be

me, myself, on rye

i've found myself again. here's a beginner's guide:

my band: antinovella

my beats: deezign

my thoughts: twitter

my eyes: twitpic

my ears: last.fm

my smile: vimeo

my heart: tumblr

a metaphor for love or something

beneath the cradled bodies
over twilight skies
never has there been a purity
not like you and i

in the dawn it waits
ever vying for our faith
bereft of light, it takes
our every breath away

now that the day's begun
never ever forget
i'll always be here for you
even if our sun has set

future rhyme

if it's all about the summer, but
not about the weather, then i
hate to be a bummer, but
this summer's gon' be wetter than a
nevermind the rain
i'm talking tears from the vein
from the arms of the vain
pain made obsolete by shame
i'm talking planes, dames, and trains
ride one, pay one, blow up the other
but which is up to you, my brother
a choice made from the gutter
this storm's coming in quick
about to flood where you lay
float with the paper boats, the sick
the hungry til you reach the bay
the streets are wet, wheels to the left
steer through the set, swerving til you let
go til I say stop, this is not your father's pop
it's a whole new vehicle
i bet you lost control 22 years ago
basically you never had it

i wrote the book, you only read it for the pictures
i wrote the hook, you only listen cuz your girl does
i made you look and all you saw was white ass
ahead of the game from hollywood to lind ave

these cigarettes kill my lungs
as these bitter sets kill my fun
second to none, i find solace in the broken,
the innocent, the young
these eyes hold the world
like steinbeck's pearl
shiny, new and raw,
but also beautifully flawed
i fell in love with the music
of my darkest hour
the beauty in the madness,
the corruption of power
hungry coyote complex
bake sale mentality
conversations for carnivores
on fasting from reality
first the hare's winning
then he takes a nap
wakes and sees he lost
then has himself a tortoise snack
cracker jack prize fighter
sucker for the sucker punch
line drawn in the dirt
so he never gets hurt

what the wave said to the shore

this sunset looks dismal
i should probably chase the dawn
and greet her with a wistful yawn
sleeping sounds unpleasant
ear to the ground lessens your chances of ambushed glances
from passersby dances
let me ask this:
how many times will the river bend before you're washed ashore?
icicles make grave diggers when the water takes your legs
hurry now the shallowness is sinking your days
may day parades and macabres are better watched from the stage
all saints had to die and all sinners search the sky
it's nothing if not a waste
i've been here before;
this path,
this door,
this place is no more
but the remanence of a shore

i ramble pt. 1

cruise slow through the streets to soothe my racing head drones
live in stereo, the mono creepin' in the head phones
droning on so as not to zone out
hand to mouth to stifle shouts or win the bout
all hail the victims of the inner city's clout
i bet you're nothing more than a quote out of context
stay vexed; for every sick puppy there's a vet
who noticed the paint job?
red was never really your color,
but it's more of a pink when the colors run together
stay under covers undercover of nightfall:
you call it mercy, i call it obsolete;
you say i'm worthy, i say you're just in heat;
you play the victim, i'll play my self-defeat...
'til we tally up the baddies and find the numbers left us weak
fuck a new leaf, i'm turning over forests to make my looseleaf
to hold my words when my teeth fail to hold truths
pick a suit: hearts for the lonely,
spades for the dead,
clubs for the bullies,
and diamonds get you into bed
now where did i put my glass?
alas, on the brink of insanity lingers drink
thinking of weather changes and open ranges
only distorts the matter
mad hatter comes to mind
that rabbit chasing time
all lickety splickety splat
splatter dapper draped in white
take flight on fancy feets
footwork lost in a game of double dutch
just trying not to trip isn't much of a fancy feat
survival of the fittest fit nestled in the tiniest of places
between over zealous and forlorn faces
much to do, not much to be seen
i believe i'll take my coffee black
as well as my lung stained nicotine

you love the way i say you're vain
i see that look on your face
no disgrace, just displace the hate and
make up your mind
it's cold the way you stare or is it
just too hard to bare me
being on your mind
take a second, watch the
time pass you by
maybe later on
down the road you took so long
to walk instead of run you'll
fin-a-lly find
a better way to lose
yourself inside your attitudes
when latitudes and longitudes are
lost on the grind
it's okay to say
you like yourself
it's all the same
to lose or never play the game
but play not in mine

this is, too

this is hope
this is change
this is indifference
this is a challenge
this is hard
this is awkward
this is old
this is moving
this is stagnate
this is growing
this is shade
this is glare
this is writing
this is reading
this is knowing
this is getting it
this is travel
this is spontaneity
this is direction
this is gusto
this is not a sequel
this is not a fairytale
this is not a poem
this is NOT real

this is.

just is.