"That is not dead which can eternal lie, : And with strange aeons even death may die"

As many of you may or may not know, I have long had a history of suicidal thoughts. As a teenager I acted out on these thoughts in many different ways, and made many attempts. I can already hear certain voices who would say these couldn’t have been more then cries for help, I’m not 100% inclined to disagree. But something should be considered very closely about the suicidal mindset. Most of us who wrestle with this kind of chilling depression do not want to hurt anyone else. We don’t want those who love us (or purport to do so) to happen across a violent scene. Many of us don’t like the idea of pain. Further, the most efficient methods, while they most often work—have the potential for leaving one maimed, disfigured, or near helpless for the rest of what had already seemed a miserable life. The other methods, most of which are much more peaceful, have very low success rates. Many of us would prefer to simply live a self-destructive life style, gambling with our health repeatedly till our luck runs out. Enter the clichéd images of drunken poets, and wild eyed artists.

The intention of this writing is not to explore the history of my struggles with depression. The intention is to examine why I began writing in the first place. I’m not sure when I was first told writing can be a powerful way of coping with these thoughts. Nevertheless while struggling, my writing became more prolific—untrained and often full of the typical conventions I would bash during a critique today, but prolific nonetheless. I started writing to deal with the negative emotions that had been constantly stirring within me. I’ve heard it said that, anyone who survives childhood has enough material to write for a lifetime.

This process began early on for me, and I took it and ran with it. As my process was evolving technology was growing in many fascinating new ways, hence why this blog exists (or the term blog for that matter.) The computer became the main tool I had to work with; even when I would journal. My fingers became used to the idea of dancing across a keyboard desperately trying to keep up with the speed of my thought. The automatic writings and it’s hero’s like Jack Kerouac were the bread and butter of what kept me moving and working. (now I can’t even type a sentence without at least one revisal.)

I think at this point it is important to note that, I wear my heart on my sleeve. I’m an open book, (can’t think of a third cliché for this, I’ll get back to it later.) I’ve always believed that open honest truth, while it can be painful, saves more heartache than it causes. Not sure I believe that anymore. The thought makes me sad, but, because of the fact that I became used to writing as openly as I can, coupled with the immense power of the large social networking sites; I now have encountered scenarios where even the most tactfully presented truths still mar friendships and cause lingering pain.

I now feel a longing to go back to basics; to distance myself from the internet until I can force myself to get back into the habit of keeping a personal journal. I need to stop turning to the internet whenever I need to wretch the boiling black tar of emotional tumult from out my chest. For these reasons I am going to try to keep as low a profile as possible. At least for now, and until I give myself a better handle on what would simply be better left unsaid.

(this is worth an lol…. My very first poem was about the pain caused by leaving things unsaid, “words unspoken/leave hearts broken/with no token/of love shared” was the first stanza…. I like the little ironies that life throws at us)

i try to refrain from lookin too needy

but i often wonder if you know how much you mean to me

i have a history of fallin in love too easily

these’ll be the days that turn me to a jesus freak

the last thing i wanted, was to put a bump in the line

            of your vital signs

i’mma jump to your rhyme

i’mma skip to your lou/i’mma leap through them hoops

gather up the loot/play ya like pan’s flute

i’mma man the tools that fuels the fire in your jewels

make a noose with fishing wire, i’mma strangle with the spool

scarab beetles in Judas Iscariot’s cranium

a pair of needles in my veins/ i’m gonna have to save me some

            of them ends

            kiss light while it bends

i’mma clutch the plight

hold it tight

till night comes to end

then i’m greetin the sun cause the weekend is done

got a bag and a pipe gonna have me some fun

i like scotch, i like rum

i like shootin them guns

poke a hole in the sky drink the water that runs

deeply through the river giver slither inside

squeezing on her figure triggers sliver to slide in the skin

                                                            i’ve got a grin

and tonight i’m gonna crawl inside a bottle of gin

the realist in me already cut his own wrists

the optimist only wants to rub your lips

he wants to memorize your fountain and recite the drips

the pessimist sees wall a board and a fist

he uses a brick to crack open his skull

he lets his mind drift instead of repairing the hull

his compass will always point back to you

he held the vision in place with a tack and a screw

i’d like to inventory and get honest for a minuet

i ain’t tryin to rhyme but it keeps the stories spinnin

i only fall in love with women attracted to women

think it comes from the fact we share some similar interests

it’s encouraged by creative expression and love for the arts

and lessons that are learned when intuition’s in the heart

and it’s dancing romancing the bullet and the chamber

i’m standing on the brink trying to drink the remainder

but all I got left is my cynical laugh

it covers up the tears, the pain, the anger, and the wrath

and if no one knows the difference, they’ll think I’m a real man

but i’m not

i’m a kid who’d rather sleep inside a cemetery

pick apart the pixels strip it down to binary

you and me we an equal yet opposite charge

we carry round these equal yet opposite parts

i got skills with the tool that’ll make you see stars

if you want me to i’ll catch ‘em you can keep ‘em in jars

if you want me to i’ll break apart every prisons bars

if you want me to i’ll use my hands and build you home

i’ll do anything you want, even leave you alone

the realist in me already cut his own wrists

the optimist only wants to rub your lips

he wants to memorize your fountain and recite the drips

the pessimist sees wall a board and a fist

he uses a brick to crack open his skull

he lets his mind drift instead of repairing the hull

his compass will always point back to you

he held the vision in place with a tack and a screw

and he’s slipping, leaping, shaking, breathing, needing and dreaming

and he’s tearing off his eyelids at the thought of you leaving

he’s bleeding on the seedlings, encouraging growth

but the feeling is needling at the back of his throat

cause he’s staring at the ceiling and he’s sleeping alone

he can’t even cope/he’s starting to choke

cold sweat twisted in the sheets life battered his boat

hold tight he’s ripping the disease from outta his bones

every one of his dreams is holding you close

he can’t even toast his thoughts, the words are a ghost

he don’t mean to boast, he loves rockin a show

when you hear it, taste the spirit cause it’s starting to grow

and if you look very close, you’ll see his breath cause it glows

like the police man did, i beg my tears to flow

the realist in me already cut his own wrists

the optimist only wants to rub your lips

he wants to memorize your fountain and recite the drips

the pessimist sees wall a board and a fist

he uses a brick to crack open his skull

he lets his mind drift instead of repairing the hull

his compass will always point back to you

he replaced the needle but he cracked the tube

my hope was better off empty

the notes were only just pretending.

the music in my life is descending

my songs never could have a happy ending

if i were to let my sense of entitlement encourage me then, perhaps long ago, i would have unabashedly and unashamedly  began to complement your eyes—firstly—then your lips, your skin, the line of your hip, your breath, your tongue… your fire.

if i were any less a coward, i would pray this letter finds your eyes alone. but, being as i am, i can only confer upon it the title of prose poetry in the hopes of safe-guarding my anonymity from you, and yours from other eyes which happen across this page. 

if unafraid, i could birth words illustrating the quiet quiver in my chest when first our two gazes met; how fragile the potential pearl, the blossom between us, the water’s skin

whisper shatters bud 

without breath
mute tongue

dragging lips across the skin of an olive
and feet across cold ceramic tile

sipping warm sake
i sigh
_____________________________________________________________________

Sad Skin: Prose on a Flayed Grape*

if water’s skin is an empty sack
wrinkled as a scrotum
if the flesh of a detoned mammal
weighs 1/3 as much as the living animal
when eyeballs dance free of sockets
when teeth and tongue seek shelter from mouths
when flies root in roses
            and bees in shit
when poets are sober
i will press wine from my tumb


*I was once sure this poem was by Pablo Neruda. Now I have looked all over the internet for this translation of this poem, to no avail… I suspected Lorca, Marquez, even Rilke this is beginning to trouble me. I’m surely facing a translation issue.

for every rotten ember shed its ghost upon my floor

for every exoskeleton now tearing at the door

for all people poison and the usefulness of whores
to taste the gun powder now bleeding from the pores
throw away the shells and raise a glass to the specter
the tongue tickles deep untill it touches nectar
tempted by the worms that even now still conquer hector
the truth is now assembled among the apple cores
where larva earn their wings worms feed upon the sores

if i thought i  could blog about  God
i’d go back to jr high like i was taken your pogs
like the only thing we smoked was breath so cold it would fog 
bleeding rabbits tend to satisfy the addict in Mars
breathing mimics my habit, so i look to the stars

polaroid the predicts of etiquette  and relevance
shaking hands with particles bouncing off the elements 
his hands are only shaking cause he’s rolling the dice
he saves the grease from his bacon just to flavor his rice

half steppin' from the circus with a ringmaster's stance
is similar to flippin' coins to measure your chance
combine licked lips, quick wits, and the occasional glance
to me it makes some sense to think that Gods bet on dance

to take aim at the cutie i’d send a text that was fruity
right now i’m picking up a Jetson by the name of miss Judy
we headed to the cineplex so we could take in a movie
the film was over rated like a pirate minus the booty

now she’s lickin her lips chewing the fruitiest juicy
the yellow wrapper rips as my nerve is reducing
confusing beautiful paintings with any music that moves me
i stole a sack silver saints while my Judas was brooding

for every rotten ember shed its ghost upon my floor
for every exoskeleton now tearing at the door
for all people poison and the usefulness of whores
to taste the gun powder now bleeding from the pores
throw away the shells and raise a glass to the specter
the tongue tickles deep till it’s nudging on nectar
tempted by the worms that even now still conquer hector
the truth is now assembled among the apple cores
where larva earn their wings worms feed upon the sores

*Some of you have seen a previous incarnation of this one before. Some of you have even heard me play the blues version with my guitar. Now I've added some spoken verses so the original song serves as a series of hooks. Lemme know what you think!

so this old man came around and started knocking at my door
i asked him if he heard the fable, 'bout Lucy who drove a Ford
a story book was on the table, asked if i had met Lenore
"Never more" the raven's cawing and the clawing makes me sore

now where was i? i'm confused, before the allegory spins
we're weaving webs inside a cave, an' from his glasses plastic rims
i see a wicked light it seems to say that morning's almost come
let me pour another coffee cause this cup is almost done

now Aesop said that Lucy don't waste time inside her dreams
and that wolf in lion's skin he ain't always what he seems
the fact she tried so hard, well it's almost proof enough
that she loved more than a little and she'd always call your bluff

the old man pulled his pen removed the cat's eye from the tip
he said "i don't need nepenthe i just need to cry a bit"

old man come 'a knockin

caught a splinter out my front door

old man come 'a knockin

caught a splinter out my front door

let that lion come into the house

from his paw i pulled a thorn

now come one winter day a stranger knocked upon my door
said "if i don't have your product i could always help you score"
i said "that's ok, be on your way" he slide his foot inside
he dropped his voice and then he said "you gotta help me hide"

i'd heard every story and his was just the same
and my first thought told me that this guy he might just be insane
but i decided to ignore the bubbles in my stomach
that was how i found out that no good deed goes unpunished

it was just like chillin with a friend kickin back with booze
we started runnin low he said "we should take a cruise"
"nah dog, i don't drink and drive, it really ain't my style
the beer store's just a couple blocks we'll hoof-it in a while"

i kick my feet up close my eyes just to kill the spins
when i wake up not just my head the phone it also rings
to my surprise my new found friend is on the other line
"i borrowed your car i'm in the clink i gotta DUI"

stranger come 'a knockin

better not let him come into your home

stranger come 'a knockin

better not let him come into your home

let that stranger come into the house

better throw them lions a bone

now Lucy used to daily come and knock upon my door
Lucy's little sister Missy always seemed to like me more
Lucy drew and Missy painted images with words
if Lucy paints a tree Missy's poem's about the birds

the sisters blessed my nest every time they came to visit
one stole my breath one stole my heart then flew away and hid it
then she'd slip into my dreams, thieves do their work at night
half awake and half asleep i'd wait for her to kill the light

it isn't right, the way she shake her hips could almost break the sun
if the rain refused to fall she'd still catch it on her tongue

young is how i feel when she looks into my eyes
dumb is what i am with my hand upon her thighs

it wouldn't work cause she's pure and she's far to young for me
who'm i kiddin' a pretty bird would never chase a busy bee

"have faith" real love will always give you what you need
till Lucy finds me with her sister and she tries to make me bleed

maybe i was wrong, maybe it was just infatuation
maybe ever song i ever wrote was vocal masturbation

maybe i just tried too hard, my heart wasn't enough
she played me like a fiddle, shoulda known she'd call my bluff

little girl come 'a knockin

tell her not to touch them lion bones

little girl come a knockin

tell her leave them bones alone

let that little girl play with the bone

she gonna her some lions roar

Saint.Sinner.Suns
let us simmer till this winter's done
spark the flint and cast me out
till the splinters taste like gum

I'll take position
standing at the tip of a bible belt buckle
cause the demon just walked in and he walked out with the muzzle

the trouble is I'm sinking
without a life preserver
gimme permission to rub it in this mic I'm 'bout to murder
and i heard her make a sound even though she kept it under her breath
the clouds are touching the ground but the thunder has left

Saint.SinnerSuns
I'm gonna pierce this Angel's tongue
and staple it to my cranium
till i memorize the taste of the rum

I'll scream "siete.seis.trece" then I'll hijack these beats
I'm rockin it for me gente before the rhyme hits the streets

Wake-Self and drop pills for this life that i cherish
like I'm workin the door at got skillz after carrying vinyl for Perish
our rivals embarrassed cause we mastered their dialect
without Def-i-ing no treaties told you Nato's got my respect

i attended a beautiful funeral memorized eloquent elements you just pulled
outta your hat till the rabbit attacks and followed his tracks till he swallows the fat
of a dutiful solider sippin on foldger's; world's on his shoulders
cast it off with a shrug till they roll out the rug
I'll spit my salt at a slug
yo brethren where is the love?

From the 505 to the 605 and back again
found the rhythm in the heart
tap it with my pad and pen
back and fourth a metronome
I'm out alone and desert roaming
keep on driving till i get back home

tattoo voodoo suck the ink from the skin
sheddings full of venom that i stuck the needle in
extracting the drugs that break down the nervous system
pull the plunger back with the precision of a piston
listen and envision cause they both bring the rhythm
taste the sting of an incision for every mile I've drivin

torch the tree of life to burn the nest where the nest where the serpents dwell
we'll turn the knife the worms infest as far as we fell
a bell turned upside down full of Dynamek tension
rings like Godsent the tones for the sake of ascension
did i mention we can raise the dead
the pawns on the back line
clutch a femur like a scepter
slap a gong with a slack spine

cut an ill tongue from a cherubim's son
feed it to a Serif-im staring at a gun
give him a sack full of razor blades and honey
pour a quart of milk where the river mouth's running

From the 505 to the 605 and back again
found the rhythm in the heart
tap it with my pad and pen
back and fourth a metronome
I'm out alone and desert roaming
keep on driving till i get back home

tattoo voodoo suck the ink from the skin
sheddings full of venom that i stuck the needle in
extracting the drugs that break down the nervous system
pull the plunger back with the precision of a piston
listen and envision cause they both bring the rhythm
taste the sting of an incision for every mile I've drivin

From the 505 to the 605 and back again
found the rhythm in the heart
tap it with the pad and pen
back and fourth a metronome
I'm out alone and desert roaming
keep on driving till i
get
back
home

Lets open our skulls with a crowbar
a contest to see who knows more
you think you robots flow hard
a runny nose blows more

I'm the reason the handlebars are missing from the bike
cause i stole 'em and used 'em to beat your third eye's plight

I shake and laugh and break the glass
pull a drag off a cigarette and start a fire in the trash

you can't escape the math of helicopter crashes with rotors shuddering
you can't break away or take the day without gettin noticed jitter-buggin

don't look at me cross-eyed, I'm not sayin that I'm famous
but most of the people in this club already know what my name is

now you can sit and stare prayin that your card is gonna come
but fishing's simply stupid when payout's less than 5 to 1
so you can fix your hair playin with a loaded gun
get you throat slit by cupid before you untied your tongue

i'mma brake your ground leave you alone with no past
every chain has it's weakest link on your bling it's the clasp
so tie a yellow ribbon round this whack emcee
his ass needs to get back and gather his faculties
i'mma take you down slow like a stone and a rasp
a stained pair of sneakers drinks the bones and the flask
while we swallow the rhythm of a mattress spring
the glass bleeds through thick cracks while the fractures sing

i need a Tolkien quotable before i go any further
i need to choke the notable before i ponder this merger
murder the crows and flock the sheep by the dozen
tic toc till the clock starts squawking and buzzin

wake up wake up and chase gun
i can play chords on mercury's tongue
get the message, the race is done
i'mma sit out side and embrace the sun

*
quick silver with a silver tongue sly as fox
beaten the box with the side of his head
severed matchstick access, toast with the glasses and bread

rippled and pondering the wanderings of an awkward awakening
breaking the silence in between the drips of the kitchen sink
he stops and blinks twice in the twilight
licking the skylight's blue haze while his appetite is forced to graze

had enough of me talking? Thats ok i just bought a walkmen
picking the lock with the my mouth
south bound downtown latter climbing ladders not that it matters
when the fire escapes shakes and brakes and takes the fall
and shatters against the sidewalk chalk portraits
that forfeit the secrets caught under his eyelids
this is his island rhyming the scriptures
out lined in charcoal and bar codes
Bar stools circled by flies & purple rice & turbans tie-dyed
in the murky waters of the Dead Sea Scrolls
flirt with teeter-totters and the bread we stole
*

i'mma brake your ground leave you alone with no past
every chain has it's weakest link on your bling it's the clasp
so tie a yellow ribbon round this whack emcee
his ass needs to sit back and gather his faculties
i'mma take you down slow like a stone and a rasp
a stained pair of sneakers drinks the bones and the flask
while we swallow the rhythm of a mattress spring
the glass bleeds through thick cracks while the fractures sing

A friend posted a "warning" about our president elect, it was a forwarded message, in one of the fwd responses one of the readers suggested forwarding to "all your democratic friends to see what they think" this was my response:

you want to know what i think?

i fear a race war will begin. this is an example of the kinda of propaganda which would fuel the flames.

there are a lot of people who look past the eloquence and fairness in many of this man's statements and only take offense.

there are those who think barack obama's goals of a more peaceful union, with a place in the world that steers us away from the verge of world war three (US against the world, and we were getting close under bush) will only leave the US more vulnerable to attack. the truth is, this new attitude will serve to disarm the enimies of democracy. the people throughout the world that have hated and feared our country for generations will now put down arms and look curiously to find out which direction we intend to travel.

may it be one of peace.

i thought the fact that the majority of this country was willing to praise equality and the goals of worldwide love and peace. that maybe we had a shot.

but i've never seen such indignece among those who's candidate didn't win.

since it was announced that barack obama won, i've encountered more blatnent rascisim then i've seen in the rest of my life.

i am afraid the old gaurd will (indignetly so) feel as if it's power is slipping and will react. I pray I am wrong.

my uncle said "Barack can't win, some one will assassinate him before he gets into office." he was reffering of course to all the radicals in this country. there have already been killing sprees stopped before they were begun, killing sprees in which our new president elect was meant to be the primary target.

this makes me nauses.

my uncle may have been right. there are extreamists on all sides of every issue. if they have their way, this will be the catalist for the begining of their race war.

personally i believe we are standing at the center of the fork in the road. and the fact that Barack Obama won this election on the stance which he took (race not withstanding, message is the key here) then maybe, just maybe there is still hope.

that being said, the area i live in is surrounded by the "good 'ol boy" mentality.

so i continue to pray.
and pray
and pray.

i do believe our country is strong enough to surpress its extreamist.
but if i am wrong.
god help us all.

That was the whole of my response.
but what i fear more is the glaring obscenity that i missed. whos prescence i forgot to acknowledge.

"...When these same media outfits are spending millions of dollars on a PR campaign to try to convince you they're fair and balanced when they're some of the most ignorant, and racist people giving that type of mentality a safe haven..." 
                             --Immortal Technique
                                                  (excerpt from "the 4th branch")