I surrender to the bond of brotherhood, to the days of youth and imagination that we used to share. I travel along the borders of reality, society, and I will always return home to you, no matter where I come from.
I think about you as I stare out the window of a greyhound or of an ephemeral home. …
He sat in the chair looking at the corner of his life, gazing in wonder at the mirror to his soul, makeup on, lipstick, dry eyes, melancholy. Hand on chin, the world at large as his heart and as deep as her eyes. “I’m a clown. I’m a fucking harlequin but I’m not Harlequin! I fucking hate Harlequin and all his bullshit!”
Harlequin is the one who stole his love away — the one who he was friends with — the one who swayed Columbine — Columbine — the love he could never truly have, and now everything under the…
When I was a kid it was always a bit of a problem —
my mom was always a little bit suspicious of it —
from the zero effort it took for me to down an oz
of the worst tasting cough medicine
to the uncontrollable nature of chugging
a gallon of orange juice in a day —
maybe I had sort of a problem all along —
I love(d) to drink.
It was pretty apparent that sooner or later
I would have an issue with alcohol —
but not before it was chocolate milk in gross
quantities then energy drinks in…
and so to the dune of harvard blast
from the realm of the pit of devotion
to the crown
of the unpretty of the
the curified form
believing to be dignified
by the block hope
for los angeles
to get to heaven in a steely car
and ramifications for the upset
in the court behind the gate
swearing to the rings on the roofs
of manhattan the bridges
see the badger attend to chivalry
protecting the family
and all these thoughts of governing
myself for a ride to the
casablancas to the home of the world
hoping for a friend to pass me by
until I don’t
only a passerby
on a dignified
only a nobody
only a bin
to store my thoughts
The sky revolved around our minds in wonder.
Had we really thought then that we were truly alive?
Driving through the desert. Do you remember?
the glimpse of our lives and all the undoings
flashing in a new great bang, oh, there were many philosophers
there too, preaching a greater confusion than what already was.
Do you remember the cities?
Followed by the thought that it was going to give us something more —
the hedonistic pursuit — unabashed, naked, true.
Do you remember the blood on the sidewalk and the body?
Then the riots, the invasions, and the fires.
The little pa and ma shop we had…
I have changed considerably over the course of just a few years — I’ve scouted the depths of my farewell soul and traveling charm. I’ve settled disputes with myself and my reflection — climbed my steepest mental mountains to the summits of thought — and — sometimes — when I fight — I fall back down and bury my head in the dirt — and then I admit the fact that I was fighting myself — and then I fight myself some more.
I will feel at peace for weeks, even months and years — and when I met you…
Perhaps I’m stuck behind the window of this car,
turning the wheel to mountains and bars,
feeling the echo of the emotions tomorrow.
Drive on, drive on, drive on.
Perhaps I’m stuck behind the window of my eyes,
sightseeing for shits and wine,
listening to the music of gunshots tonight.
Salinas grime. Stay inside, stay inside.
Staring out the window of my motel room, it’s fine.
Television is on, few channels to watch.
At least to dampen the hate first world brings.
At least to imagine the smog to clear to see the stars.
Imagine on, imagine on, imagine on.
On the highway now for hours,
even days, weeks, months, years,
depending on how you see time.
The clock says this,
my heart says that.
We’re holding hands
on your lap.
Having to pee,
but 40 miles ’til the next exit.
Almost out of gas,
but we’re both down to push,
get these wheels a ‘rolling.
Bob Dylan and Cohen,
Stone Temple Pilots,
the vibe, oh yes.
A Tribe Called Quest,
Uphill, downhill, steady, even roads,
cloudy, sunny, windy, still out here,
still in here, still in and out and in.
Staring at you, staring at me.
We are out here, doing this,
for the first time together,
Desert crossing, more road head,
more back sweat, feels gross,
but we like…
Squeeze the lemon in my eye as you speak to me about a future, about my next tier in the doubt of sunrays. Bathe in the juice to purify a dream, and cast away the calendar to resort to more fruitful days. Release my sight.
“So, what we are here today to do is dissect your brain and figure out why you can’t seem to get along,” the doctor says after he puts the lemon into his glass of water and takes a sip. …