Being sober’s
as overrated
as being drunk—
nobody wins.
You just have to live.
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Whatever you decide, do it without the need for validation—we are one.
Whatever you decide, do it without the need for validation.
To seek validity is but a farce. It’s like aiming to make a splash in a rain puddle.
A child learns early on whether they care to admit it or not, that their choice is theirs and theirs alone. Nobody really cares more than it takes them to realize, eventually with age, that nobody really cares.
Sure, a mother cares deeply, but only as far as it interrupts her well being.
A father can break his back many times, but only as many times as it serves his cause.
Progression doesn’t come from an audience. Progression comes from within.
Progression comes from love, awareness, and nurture.
And although social media tells a different story from reality, we seek it, crave it, we often need it, but do we really?
Perhaps the greatest lesson we can learn from posting our day to day lives, morality, and hardships is that we are all equally as alone as we are the same—myself included.
Not too long ago, there was a time, it seemed, the world was much larger than we could ever imagine.
Driving cross country felt then like an achievement whereas now—after doing it more than a dozen times—it feels more like a routine I’d rather not admit.
Mostly it’s this that scares me.
Desensitization. It’s this that makes me wonder.
What’s the point?
The point is to treat yourself with the same dignity you would a stranger—a child.
The point is to look beyond life’s blessings, with eyes wide shut, and understand that all will be regardless of whatever validation you seek.
We can learn this by simply looking at a flower bloom. We can understand this by accepting that although, it may seem, the flower dies, another will take its place, as equally and wholly as beautiful as its former.
So whatever you decide, decide knowing, you aren’t as separate as you feel—we are all one.
Ordinary
He felt lost
and alone, though
ever so ordinary—
which scared him the most.
A kick in the head!
I will always be curious
and allergic to cats.
Ain’t that a kick in the head!
Manhattan’s in the Village
You know what they say, don’t yuh?
Can’t live with em, can’t live without em
But don’t get me twisted, I’m not talking about women
though the skin beneath my tongue’s still sore
my heart’s still heavy and well
there’s nothing quite like seeing her smile come morning
but anyway like I was saying to this jug of doom
in the evening gloom where I choose not one but two
and then two more to boot because, well, hell
who am I kidding? Nobody but the moon this evening
cause it’s this bitter sweet feeling
the kind you feel deep down in the rumbling, stumbling night
where it all gets so far gone, where nothing meaningful is born
where it all makes some sort of convoluted sense
and alas, once again I am but the floorboards dull creak
where I am like the riverbed flowing calmly and discrete
where life is but a dream and I am dreaming once again
of you dear friend, rustling like the leaves at my front door.
Oh dear friend, how I long to walk the beach again.
How I long to hear your sick, silly, sweet voice again
like those long ago up all Friday nights of old
all those Brooklyn winter blue’s and yellow streetlights
guiding us home, or at least to Crown Fried Chicken where
like two youthful bums we’d scavenge our pockets for change
enough to buy a couple chicken wings, coke, and pint
enough to settle the bone, cold, sidewalk snow till home
where we’d fall arm and arm up stairs
to that old wood, smoke filled, railroad apartment you’d call Grove.
And though I don’t often pray, in my own little way
I do for you now as I did then, driving back to my Long Island apartment.
I pray this little song of self, this little song of you, this small token of my appreciation
for your boundless soul and effortless style and class.
I ate too much cheese, I’d shout while holding a kitchen knife to my throat!
Where in a Polaroid our youth is kept,
where so many nights while you slept I wept,
where you’d give me your bed for a smile,
where I’d talk with Forest about everything and nothing for a while,
long enough not to feel alone in that maddening, crazy New York glow.
So I write this little poem, not enough but enough to show you
I’m still listening through the terror behind the walls.
Dear friend,
How are you?
I can’t live with you, but hell, I can’t live without you.
Manhattan’s in the Village
God knows we never had the scratch, aligned
I feel inclined to take this time and offer you my best
impression not impressed?
CALL ME SPIDER! CALL ME SPIDER!
I just had to get these salami’s off my back.
I just had to sing this short praise of you Mac.
skull and crossbones
At the end of the race
make em say:
to hell with these eyes they’ve seen too much
this tongue is all rotten with tasteless buds
what ears are these they’ve heard enough
and liver? What gall you, it’s all washed up!
His sole’s so worn, all callus and rough
even nail beds torn up from climbing so much
lips like a canyon, dried, cracked and his blood
it’s cheaper than whiskey, diluted with love!
To hell with his soul, heaven’s full and what?
His brain, are you mad? It’s pondered enough.
What use is this flesh, it’s ancient as stone
he’s breathed his last breath, he’s skull and crossbones!
It’s all understandable. (for every no one who ever was)
To be honest
and be open
put yourself in
her hands like you’re a toy.
There’s a reason
for each season
pollen eaten
her wind cradles a boy.
They know nothing of us,
and we
know nothing of them.
We all
just sort of pretend.
We’re bitter still.
In the air there’s a bitter chill.
Like a car crash
I tell you that
it’s not too bad
we both just try not to stare.
In the glove box
there’s a snuff box
full of coupons
I keep in case that you cared.
The leaves on the ground,
remind me
how powerless that I am.
It’s natural to fall down,
we all
just sort of try to fit in.
Leave me alone, no don’t
leave me alone.
Memories fill my head
like waves
crashing down on the shore.
Just as soon as they hit
cast away
back to the ocean once more.
To be bitter
or be broken
understand that
this is for no one who ever was.
footnotes in nursery rhyme
Got up this morning ahead of my time
shook fear from my hair and tears from my eyes
took to the mirror and spoke to this guy
who said he knew me from before —
it’s there that he unlocked the door.
He gave me a sunrise he gave me his hand
he told me a secret I could understand
life isn’t a journey or destination
it’s your choice to choose to buy in —
for me it’s better not to win.
So I sharpened my memory and tore out his tongue
recycled the organ from which I’d dislodged
filled it with the secret and sealed it shut
if X marks the spot then I’m fine —
love’s just footnotes in nursery rhyme.
Connecting the dots which soon filled my head
aligned with ideas I spoke with each step
life ain’t no cake walk or deal with respect
it’s your throat or mine well of course —
I’d take mine to spare you the course.
It’s kill or be killed so I’m on my knees
no fear any longer just tranquility
it’s obvious ain’t it half hearted pity
runs deep like the roots of despair —
no one’s got the cure or should dare.
So with that in mind one swift hit should do
a hole in the head hell it ain’t nothing new
I was head over heals now I’m sinking through
the clouds which look soft from afar —
at the end of this there’s only dark.
With all things considered it’s lovely I guess
like spilled paint confetti this hole in my chest
I’ve dug it before since third grade I guess
my actions speak louder than words —
it’s all been a blessing and curse.
Sometimes Mostly
Sometimes
—mostly—
alone
is better.
Nobody
gets hurt
—sometimes—
mostly.
As Mona Lisa smiles at her Rembrandt
She’s Mona Lisa
looking across the lobby
With her eyes
transfixed on his cold dead body
While the kids line up
single filed and obviously
Unaware that there’s any problem
It’s a warm fall day
colored leaves spin around
And there’s this tired old man
selling shaved ice proudly
Nice to meet you sir
can I help you out
As Mona Lisa
smiles at her Rembrandt now
He was an eye sore for her eyes
it hurt so much still she had to look twice.
And there was something in her smile
lips spread thin like she was in denial.
I didn’t mean to
bother you it’s a habit
I just noticed you
looking lost or sad
With this expression
drawn like a bloody bath
Please now excuse me
I’ve gotta be getting back
Hey wait a minute
won’t you just take a second
To admit that something
is wrong in your head
And if you’d like to
call me sometime and
Chat when you’re feeling
better I’d quite like that
She wrote her name down on his ticket
her area code and seven lovely digits.
Then he wrote in the palm of her hand
a little note that read I think I’d understand.
So Mona Lisa
held her hands calm and steady
Framed herself back
against the wall already
She now felt out of place
like in a fictional setting
While some students
drew her in lines quite badly
What’s the point of hanging around
when rarely any good comes to you in this town.
Thats when she placed her name tag on the floor
and made out for Leonardo exiting the door.
Words Of An Average White Male 