more than enough

funny, what the heart can convince you to believe. i know that what i'm doing is better for my health, my sanity, my future...but why is love elusive? why is it that when you find something that makes you believe it slips away? i know why. i have to be bigger. i have to test my intellect more, and let my heart be felt.
laying in bed last night, alone but warm, my heartbeat slow and steady. then thinking about her, then thinking about me, about the future, about pain and myself; my heart rate increasing...i squeezed my eyes shut, told myself to shut the fuck up already.
i am mature enough to have been through this before and i know what to do. there is no one to focus on. my heartbeat is a metronome for the song of my life and i better listen to it. i can't start whining and feeling like i'm not enough. i am more than enough.

inarticulated youth

forgetting immortality saying the least
it's a matter of ability, drowning in place
this tune taps into and again in, i and i and...
where this time goes, around we write
music to live little chants quitting vices

no longer lucky or everyones go to
god, where in me do you
around and around go devicing words
lip service to the masses of me, my body
when i was a child, awkward didn't
dance but made fire-pole climbs

long blond haired girl, rollerskates
hand in hand six years old, Tara
moved away, the last party i threw
was when i was eight years old...
my last chance at innocence though
i knew then so much
of what i know now

yep, went to kauai, took bunches of pictures...

1&2: anahola beach sunset
3: narcissus at night
4: plumeria, the flowers they make leis out of.

pursuing the love lottery ticket promised us in fairytales.

found material:
"New to dating again so not quite sure what to write but I love to bowl, read and spend some quiet time together. I am a good listener, hard working, fun loving person. I would like to meet someone who loves to spend quiet time together, just hang out, travel to different cities or small towns and just walk around, go out dancing once in a while, grab a fishing pole and catch a few. I would love to take a cruise like to Alaska. How about a fishing excursion on the Gulf of Mexico..."
27/f

a twist:

Hi there,
so, it's been awhile since i've been in a real relationship. dating is getting boring. it's like train track by the house whose whistle i've become accustomed to. or a record player.

i like: reading, writing, fishing, camping, bowling, movies, coffee, gargoyles, the spanish civil war, molten glass, bibliophiles, the greek alphabet as used in the subliminal subtext and background of egon schiele's "mutter und kind", lacy thong panties, the word "panties", polyglots, philanderers, philanthropists, british slang, lava floes, pacific islands (but just to visit), bedroom eyes, trumpet music, ramshackle hillbilly cabins in the depths of the adirondacks, sleight of hand, card sharks, photos of lions yawning, performing exquisite corpse, yard darts used for anything other than "yard darts", calligraphy place markers at large banquet tables, the letter "q", typewriters, vampire movies, impossible "post-modern-whatever" novels, watching people in airports and on buses, super androgynous models, hot air balloons in the sky on cold mornings, and flying kites...

i'd like to meet a girl who: doesn't mind being called "girl, lady...etc." in this time of such great gender obscurity/absurdity, likes to be quiet, understands weights and measures, is competent in manners of effusing love-bite antidotes, is bombastic, beautiful, a tempest in a large glass bottle, who considers the effective in art "that which rapes the emotion of the audience without nourishing its values" (durrell), doesn't feel the compulsion to build a Taj Mahal around something as simple as a good f----k, curses but not at risk of scurvy, shoos spiders, wears simple slippers, looks good in summer dresses, bakes cookies for the neighbors, harbors a nearly profane disregard for politics, is tender, rosewater, incense, an excursion into unknown waters.

if this sounds like you, or if you share my interests and you're not "weird", drop me a line, i'd love to share my pyramid sales scheme with you over cheroots, herbal tonics and pomegranate juice...

oh, yeah...i'm 24, 6'1", 175.5 lbs, thin, athletic, and i can pay my bills just fine thank you.
-ciao, T

kiss then blame your hands

this time
we can't help
but "oh rien"
what my heart
says when the room
spins awake frozen
limbs, laughter from
lastnight an echo

will we have
another? i should
hope to give
flight to all these
winged ideas
when a kissing
contest is just
around the corner

smile sharp bright
bite back french
"regarde moi" okay
"je suis" sure
fit for fantasy?
"oh, non."

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

guess i've learned not to fully trust all those grand premonitions. instead listen to guitar solos without jealousy, patiently await phone calls...make plenty more. whatever. the artist has learned to feign or at least have a deeper respect for a narcissistic tragedy complex. i've learned to kiss naturally, without feigning anything as though every time could be love incarnate. Sagittarius, it is every time...but not for all time? i read that love is the only thing that can keep you going when the realization of your own existential placement catches up to you. something of that paraphrased nature.
beginning to doubt what i thought was my last hope. because it walks in and out, loaded gun. like meeting someone will really be enough to push me over the edge i stand on, waiting to dive back into me. but not alone! ha ha ha. guess i'm gonna have to at some point anyway. dive that is. just wish i had a boot, (mary jane shoe) at my ass for that little, gentle nudge i think i need. is this what it is to use humanity to better yourself to better serve humanity. i thought that was what college was for. god, it's been so long it seems. a different planet with different craters.
is it my fingertips nerve endings and skin that want for her...or is it in my mind? i keep blaming my hands.

a song for the forgettful

tonight in the wind
i bend my hand to sweep
up a twig which i twirl
between my thumb and
finger, thinking about the first
moment i saw you, how little
it mattered

now, beneath the lone cold
slice of moon, my jacket bundled
at my throat, i see
how much about love i know
from peering at the objects in a room
once, when i was totally aware
of god in every shadow and
crest of skin and light

a rasp of wind that drags
some faint wisps across the
nearblack sky, pulls the snip
of tree in my fingers and whispers
you'll never be as whole
as you are now, so alone
with me and eddying with love

let your feet carry you while
you carry with grace your load
and the chill street shorten
beneath your warm roomfull flood

smooth::brush::off

come up a slip
spray a scintillating
hate that, mist, a
why don't we?

half do, we just
wanna believe but
everything says
don't touch
me, in airbrush

ideas tumble so,
alone i go, fuck
it with everywhich
way a bent bough

luck has it this time
again i gracefully
avoid a kiss by
frequent proximity

chest heavy i'm so
good at being
bad at this, beckon
and/or stop all
outgoing calls

your eyes smile whispers shake into

the nicknames we make up
for each other are petri dishes
where memories will flourish
once we've gone away

but we can't fly 'til we've
roosted, pigeons in their
black caress of stooplight
while bats zoom in and
out of swarms

i'll escape this freight
train hold, this momentum
that takes my labels
pins them up and
fires rifles to point

the mess of you in my arms
letting go, your hair splayed
i could not do this alone but
i am. a figure of speech.

eyes loose all there is into
yours but it falls endlessly
into a bottomless wish
gathering wings to gust
windy glides, can't you just

hold me up, for a sec
let go of your idea, and
yield a current i cannot
trace...the finest markings
on your reddening skin-

scape, the words are chinese
finger traps that don't
stand for these hearts chances
when in this sappy crust
i've found sparks

spears and history to hurl
them at, found regret to
ignore, and a girl whose smile
is a circuit i wish i could
complete.

sleep

when the young pay
tribute to battle pick
up with me a small flat
stone to skip

let's get forth vast
hours of clacking to
end
abruptly, planes fall
to oasis in trees


hourly i awake til
dawn shudders alarm
clock finally goes
fuck another
day

and at the end
are my sheets
welcome aware
or does only the ceiling
fan stir

i bet time is a legendary snake

i suspect a wave
a winged thing a
night trajectory
to swoop in erasingly
to rend chimera from
mache, crepe dresses
to rain fluttery, stick
in the anorexic branches

i suspect a new nations'
flag to be a shoehorn or
virtual kiss, a magnet or
ouroboros emblem pinned
at the ire of god to
the breastpocket of man

we know what direction
the wind will blow tomorrow
at nine a.m. and we set sail
accordingly, half mast to
billows but a silk lined
coffin just won't do, we
need bacterial linament

the dearly beloved is
no lie, but a dream of
cut grass, ankles combined
moontipped fingers, and
wine, a reluctant infinity
in the face of time

one more breath...

"sometimes afraid of reunion, sometimes of separation: you and i, so fond of the notion of you and i, should live as though we'd never heard those pronouns."

because i'm so tired of talking about "you", or her, or "i", when i'm always talking about just one thing. wanting to go back before we bit the apple of language, when it was just in our eyes and the serpent of speech was sleeping at our feet. this garden shrinks, our expulsion is written all over our weary hearts.

we, one-sided, mobius strip in and outside wish to get closer how do i hold my own back...how do i hold myself back. rush forward into you, preview, love this doesn't end with us.

"love does not begin with another person, nor end with that. it begins with the air the beloved breathes and never ends."

shantysoul cardboard blues

i've been moiling in this present
life, in its ever redirected course
to find that time is a sphere-
like fantasy, a mimic of a mind

i see place, a you out there
churning, almost close
enough to find carress of,
but i've already lived this
am and am already missing it

my mandalas blow away
before i can finish them, women
don't call pigeons parrots but
i can't help but parade my
flashy feathers in the dark

language is a trapieze artist
s dream, a slow pendulum,
an inside-out sleeve i surf
and wish well to you too
midnight effervescent a
spark ploughed shoe

bloodbread

all loosed up & unhinged
sitting clausterphobic & free
wine in lowball unwound now
would be a good time to
take a phone call, hands
empty, high stepping
through sand, dictionary
stares...words pinball
decide your easy black
fate. vampire come
squeamish and bow this
is bread not some bloody
adornment, or teeth to
crave such sweet red.
if i knew what love is i
would sleep forever to
not wake up alone
again.

samples

new star cups starboard cut over as though i've been gone for so long, forgetting that i don't want to say i, her, anymore but so afraid to have muddied up these (my) memories of her. me?

don't return the spoon to the bucket. sleep all day and get evening coffee blearyeyes mumbles, it's five. no, there isn't any: authority on truth. no, not even you on yours. tell me. fall.

tattoo my back with leaves blowing in a swoop. gesture over your shoulder. yes. that is exactly where. guitars. air guitars. just a sip hon. a little taste. neon cherry tree.

my refridgerator makes a noise like a cell phone vibrating on a hard table. but all i have are soft tables. the refractive index of heat/pressure. this bell rings and islamic angels are written.

more about Cassanova:

Cassanova really loved every woman he was with (so many)
and you know why they didn't see it...because he loved
them by himself when he found their curled hairs
in his bed and on his bathroom floor.

look at some of this...

cavecanum.com

people post anonymous secrets. it makes me feel so tiny and yet somehow important. plus, all the shit people go through makes me feel more sane and better about my petty sadnesses.

for those of you who don't know; mercury went retrograde today. the next two weeks ought to be interesting, as if sh*t weren't already interesting.

i'm mean huh. i shouldn't be trying to teach other people lessons that i can't even teach myself...but, i guess i said that in my last post. then why do i do it? well, if i wanted to be focused and there was a person near to me that could force me into a more directed course, i might want them to try...but i'd probably take it personally too. makes sense. oh well. this probably means more lonliness and judgement...but i've still got now. eh?

i'm so done...

i've put my phone in a cabinet and i think i'll change my message to say, leave me a message, or write me an e-mail.
i'm tired of the games and drama other people are going through around me. i don't want to help anymore. i can't even help myself. i don't want to be expected to be available or want to hang out or talk. i can be alone if i'm left alone.
i don't want to use this blog or other forms to communicate anything at all. this is an outlet. (see post: primary outlet) and i don't want it to be informative. this is the most direct thing i can put out right now. it's my intention. i will manifest the present unadorned me...my very own right now life.
i hope you are well. i hope i can do this honestly.
see you on the other side of my struggle. my melodrama must die. bye.

potentially a phoenix. potentially a fly.

i want to cry until i puke. fuck everyone. no matter who calls i'm still alone, and the bottles just keep going empty on me. sobbing, retching, passing out. i want to wake up on the other side of a storm, but the thunder keeps heating the air someplace i want to be, and the cold here brings the cowshit stink from north of town. goddamn you.

trevor it's so hard. you're going to be okay. they're beautiful, and so are you. wake the fuck up. this pain is a most necessary part of actually living. scream FUCK inside your head. smile and cry at the same time, you silly schizofrenic little boy. they may never ever see you, but damn are you alone now. and so what. CHANGE IS THE ONLY CONSTANT! THIS TOO SHALL PASS! always always pass. sad and alone to happy and loved...joyous and free to pissed on and dejected. surf the heat of the middle. let it pass. let it pass as it has to. born, live and die alone. which is unity, not duality. lover of the lyrical romantic, you will be crushed by all the glittering beauty you conjure. but hey, where the hell did the phoenix come from...yep, that's right.

primary outlet

sloth tangles in the mixed impossible hegemony.

you musn't make sense of outlines of phonecalls, two hugely dark birds swooping and cawing, may i call you by a true name i've asked in this wish to disappear. the toilet paper running out, mentioned again, and again, and i remember physically to put the roll back on the right way. OVER!

but to wish you in a dreaming day is stifling. do i, or don't i, just want to be alone. her smell is so captivating, even here where it's just a wisp of a trace memory. the most powerful kind they say. who the hell.

i'm not ignored. just reminded by people i don't want to, who come in and out of hours and consume so much my breathing resricts itself to coughs. wake me by phone, heat, a lazy lazy look in her eyes. i'm not impressed. how long is a million seconds? how big can you visualize? marbles, say, 1, 10, 100, 1000, 10000? then what? ten thousand times one hundred. good luck getting that to stick a picture in your mind. anything, even post-it-notes, or dice, or sand, eggs, people? how bout 8 million inside NYC limits, and 30 million more in the metro area. those numbers are completely unchartable in our mental space. no map can correct your course through that size system.

and the deal is, i was born, she was born, and after the adventures we've already had, and the wisdom we've gained, we're supposed to meet. and we will. but why isn't it ever who i think it is. i have yet to shake her hand or kiss the further reaches of her thighs/flights. whisper back, i have ears for radio waves and all kinds of other resonance. put out a drawing signal. i'll stop whining. let's clear this static with some supersonic WHUMP! and we'll know precisely where we are in this mess by the echo that makes.

why do walks always have to be long?

okay, i read personal ads. the free ones on craigslist. i have several reasons: i think they are sad and pitiful and hilarious, and entertaining...occasionally i find some person who piques (yes, that is exactly how you spell piques) my interest. i've actually met in person a few of these people.
i guess that's not the point. there's something else: in personal ads people always say things like, "i enjoy cooking, eating, red wine (almost always red), reading novels, and LONG WALKS...hmmm, now is that really true? who the hell takes long walks? i kind of enjoy short walks. you know, around the block, or maybe seven blocks if i have to walk to work or something. hiking is different, i enjoy longish walks in the mountains, but come on, these people are talking about walking around their neighborhoods on concrete paths.

maybe the sidewalks will turn to cotton. maybe that cottonsong on my feet will give me a final levity. that's what i read instead. long walks? i enjoy naps. especially with company.

(to my blog readers, that rant was stupid and i'm sorry : )

me either.

i forget to breathe. a sweatsalt lullaby caromes off the nightening sky.
"for everything's fucking sake!!!" i want to scream. i can't scream. i yell
so fiercely this sake*miso forsakeness, wasabi sting, her perfect skin/
averted eyes...i saw you for sure looking at my window...don't reply.

so shallots sever a necropolis, shhhh. i mean shush. grityourteeth one
slicing back and forth sinews, slung into a grace i cannot name. nearsight
ability to penetrate panes through which a million signals defract. i love
your light eyes in the dark slieght of shadowed doorways, say bedframes.

when paychecks are paint: the searchslides will set life, the evensong
calls pantomimetic, a nearwhisper catcall, an inaudible curse, the cast-
out old will generate ships, set anchor in love...spell everyword wrong.
the elephant in the parlour is your desert hoofprint thirst: a hearse.

bloom sixteen petalholes in the door. catch balloon flights two high.
cotton forgetting, your thighs miss me, your eyes are suchdeep mirrors.
i am a hearth where secret pages turn to flameghosts, your name
on every one. you are tonguetied bright, a porchlamp for my life.

rhetorical answer?

think of me in a dying light
as i am, it will never all be
said and done, though chalked up
official french syntax, tibetan
buddhism, trumpets: think
a word or two of books i've bought
to read out, in a living light,
loud to you, say, a poetic
proverb to save me.

could jesus still wash my feet
from his right hand seat
in the linguists dream of god,
the pedagogue of sight
and wherewithall of slumber
carpted steps in a vault where
i keep a photograph of my back
in a tiny gold box, password:
genuflect

re-peat

there are certain things i don't allow myself in this overfree, unadorned life like
calling you when i've promised myself i won't, or writing on the empty cardboard toilet paper roll in sharpie "you're fucked now" when i've just used up the last of it in a public stall.

these things define this evening, where i break other promises (no smoking!), don't drink on work nights, don't spend all your tip money the day you get it...5 dollar wine. quit wishing for phone calls, know that you are who you want to be.

rambles in anonymous wireless, faltering beta, wanton disregard: exhibitions that come tumbling all ass over end into a new distillation. you pixillate through my head regarded highly as static, as foreground, mortar. serf, surf, surf. work play crash a shoreline distinctly overwhelmed. peat.

this is what i do for a living: create beautiful, temporary art on peoples lattes and other drinks...it's like my own version of the buddhist sand-mandala. humbling.