Where do we go from here? Well, we stay above the low-life drama. Thugs & pimps don’t complain about anything besides getting to the currency. They cut to the chase & snatch up the bag. You can call life a bitch. But if life’s a bitch, damn I never minded her too much. The bitch of life is the cute & cool part, we just got to roll with the waves & not feel abandoned by this bitch called life, but find a unique stoke & excitement from how we go about perceiving & responding to the little intricacies & dilemmas & eager anticipations & peaks & occasional let downs of the whole thing. Each day, we are presented with a new bag to find. The best chasers will do anything to attain & secure the rarefied limited edition & collectible new thing to come up on & hold tightly onto. Each day we must determine the currency we are seeking to extract & come up on… then it is imperative that we by any & all means possible find a way to unlock the hidden secrets of wisdom within the current bag we came to collect. Day after day, we begin again with a bright eyed & fresh perspective & enter into the universal bank of life to make withdrawal. We’ll find out what we need to & keep moving on up & out, up & at ’em, until we’re all the way up.
Slut cut gut, flirting that hurts with a girl in a mini skirt, white girl tatted in the matte black car with the pale body & painted black nail polish all to my demolish… she worked at & pulled down at her dress that kept rising at the thigh, got a guy high then carved a wound deep inside & dragged his heart low against the pavement, her dancing to hip hop & punk in her old worn & torn beat up converse platforms & her dope ride she picked you up in, her fishnets & little piercings & rings on her hand… wildly playfully teasing you, making you feel like a real cool guy again, then weak in the knees, then completely vulnerable to every type of attraction to her… devil & angel on the shoulder, little bumps & hip stirs & fluttered core & playful wrists… everything on the low, grinding out on the dance floor, keeping the whole thing low key, truth seeming fiction, fiction seeming true, possessions of soul & body… maybe she practiced some devilish magic or witchcraft… the fact that she loved everyone, the nice guys who were naive & sweet, as well as the ones who treated her in all sorts of other ways, sometimes kind of badly… like she had a genuinely cute & sensitive & empathetic way of being; she just wanted to make sure you were okay & liked all of the attention & affectionate glances she received, but love never seemed like it was enough… she wanted a deep level of emotional & personal & vulnerable intimacy from all of the types she found comfort in or felt longing for… she wanted to know what little desires & secrets & wisdom others held deep within. No matter who you were, she found a way to tap into your own internal cravings… she broke my heart every time she walked up & down the block. That’s just the way she was. She was a heartbreaker.
There’s always more we could know, drugs we could take & money we could earn. But there’s really not much that comes from knowledge, drugs & money… in reality, you and all of us are probably better off never knowing anything… let alone finding out what’s really going on. It’s all bad. I’ve come to realize lately that sometimes happiness is all in the facade you set up & how you go about cultivating that facade. This is said without any negative connotation. We all must put up & live under a slightly constructed facade so that we may see things in an optimistic, unfazed light. Lacking a facade begets basic abandon, throwing yourself to the wolves & exposing yourself to a truly cold reality. Life is harsh, brutal & honest. So if you ever get a chance to avoid, ignore, or escape it… by all means, go ahead. Keep to the dream.
Dead batteries, suicide boys & the baddest girls are on my mind. Dead batteries, suicide boys & the baddest girls just seemed like a pressing topic I’d at some point need to address, either today or tomorrow or a year from now… or never. Over here, I’m chain smoking whatever I could get, whenever at all possible — I’ll always find a way to stay chain smoking, whether I’m homeless or housed. I’m reading a novel called Women by Bukowski. We both aren’t the best looking, but each of us has our ways & certain wisdom as pertaining to the opposite sex, the more divine one. Damn, Bukowski always makes me laugh. Women & all of the girls in general always seem to put a smile on my face. They literally make the world go around. Because, frankly, men are lazy & pathetic… even more so when they don’t have women around. But damn, men aren’t all bad. Guess most of us are just simple minded. Hell, women sure do often complicate things… the whole process. We try to impress each other, while acting like we’re not all that interested. It all seems like such a lousy way to live life… like we’re above it all? Sometimes you got to be. Well, most of us have moved on from all of that crying-over-someone-you-love & fake-empathetic-sympathizing-and-nice bullshit. It’s played out. Be cooler than that. I regret admitting it, but I’ve kind of turned into a so-called ‘playa’. So my main three rules to the game are: playas gonna play; don’t hate the player, hate the game; and never get hung up on one girl (I used to do that… trust me, a miss only leads to a better next swing & there’s way more than just that girl down the block… there’s thousands, if not millions more, and girls like playing the game as much as the guys do, so it doesn’t hurt to play as much as you want, no matter how many losses you’ve racked up). In the meantime, let’s be honest, I pretty much am up to nothing or jerking off as a matter of pure boredom or again up to nothing & could really care less about anything worth a damn besides maybe my writing & task of smoking 40 cigarettes & listening to the same songs everyday. Really, my agenda 24/7 is: to smoke too many cigarettes, drink lots of coffee, read from time to time, write when the timing feels right, sometimes watch Narcos on Netflix or the saga about Wu Tang on Hulu & exclusively listen to Bones & $uicideboy$ & Lil Peep. It’s a pretty good life. A lot could be said, though, about the fact that my last two book purchases were Naked Lunch (…by Burroughs about narcotics, filled with dark humor, witty banter & satire) & Bukowski’s Women. Some fiend for dope & drugs in the slums & cities; some of the same people & others also fiend for women & sex. Fuck love, really, but lots of us — on some base, animalistic & lustful level — crave sex… on an almost similar level, we crave women around us. Drugs go hand in hand, or sometimes offer a replacement to sex & women. Lastly, really I’m chain smoking & simply binge listening to cloud rap lately simply due to (straight to the nitty gritty): my lack of success with both life in general & really attracting the perfect kind of girl. Life & girls (which one is more important?) seem more & more hopeless as the years go by… the two ways I found of coping with inevitable lifelong heartbreak & becoming a deadbeat kind of guy — just like my dad (due to constant obstacles) — is through the relieving pick me up & sedation of nicotine in the form of a cigarette (I prefer natural tobacco over vapes… something about the high hits differently, almost rawer with cigarettes) as well as the equally relieving pick me up & sedation of music, more specifically cloud rap — even more specifically, Bones & $uicideboy$ & Lil Peep, who all feature better beats & flows than most artists these days. I’ve heard just about enough Country & Indie & Jazz & Electronic, to be honest. All of that sappy shit grinds at & hurts my ears… even when it’s not sappy, rather almost endearing or heart aching, it still somehow seems so inauthentic & lacking in ingenuity. I’d argue & say, instead, branching away from most mainstream music in today’s age, that the three artists I’m heavily rotating lately — Bones & $uicideboy$ & Lil Peep — are hands down the best hip hop artists & maybe artists in any genre. This whole emo trap cloud rap trend started back in 2015, as three of them began trends, a whole new .wav & started coming up in their own way: Bones (rapper for TeamSesh: a collective of sorts that started up with producers like Cat Soup & Drew The Architect) & $uicideboy$ (two cousins who decided to either make it as artists in the music industry or kill themselves if all failed… a little pact Scrim & Ruby had) & Lil Peep (lead artist in Goth Boi Clique who was one of the dopest new emo kids in the game at the time & started a certain trend to the ‘crybaby’ & ‘sadboiszn’ type shit early on, singing about drugs & girls without caring whether it was cool or not to focus so much on the two like his life itself depended on both the drugs & girls… and it really did because it was found out that he had passed away in 2017 in November after 2 girls gave him Xanax laced in fentanyl before he went back on the tour bus)… They got the ball rolling. The initial three artists in their respective groups came up, made a scene & switched up the game. Although it seems almost cult-like or morose to listen to these kinds of artists — like Bones or $B or Lil Peep, who waver towards ideas of death & some darker themes — listening to them still brings on so much high energy in the intake of their potent sounds that conceivably anyone could become a captivated listener. Every album of each of theirs carries heavy weight, with a remarkable amount of blunt truth found in all of their lyrics & well mixed soothing instrumentation that balances grimy & lush elements, incorporating everything from Memphis Drill, Long Beach Emo, New Orleans Trap & Detroit Boom-Bap influences to incredibly intricate mixtures of powerful 808s & aesthetic synthesizer melodies. They also include splashes of humorous or candid or revealing little clips & skits & ad-libs thrown in at the intro or outro of some songs, or as stand-alone tracks. No song by Bones & $uicideboy$ & Lil Peep is the same (as these artists switch things up here & there), but one can grow accustomed to a similar vibe on each of the artists’ tracks: music to smoke to that helps make sense of the idea of death & cope with the fact that most things in life are detrimental (we only really need, or should gravitate towards, a few more beneficial things). Their music also enables one to accept the often conflicting perspectives & aspects of pleasure & pain. You can’t have pleasure without pain. You can’t have the beneficial without the detrimental. And lastly, you can’t have life without death. I love women, but I’ve accepted the fact that I really am better off on my own — besides an occasional hook up from time to time — so I smoke a couple of cigarettes from my pack while listening to the two aforementioned artists (or reading Bukowski or Burroughs or watching a show) just to pass the time & keep my mind from spinning off into the sunset like a balloon sailing away in the cloud (with my ADHD, little routines help to focus & relax & relieve my mind). The cigarettes (as well as the copious cups of coffee) & other leisurely activities really help me realize a little ideal I live in awareness of: every day really is a day… a lot happens, but at the same time, it really is just a day & in the scheme of things, nothing really happens… so don’t worry about girls too much, or this or that; just focus on taking care of the self & anything possible to take care of at any given moment. Give yourself time to relax, rest & be grateful & do what you love, not because it pleases the rest of the world, but because it keeps you content. Doing things for ourselves keeps us motivated & interested. Each day, converse with someone, read a little something, do something or say something somewhat nice at least to one person sometime in the day & share a smoke & coffee with someone. These are rules I try to follow, or keep in my mind. You can invent them as you go… the rules of each person’s life aren’t meant to be complicated. So be kind to yourself in every aspect. All I know is this at the end of the day: there is a distinct balance of opposites & paradoxes (i.e. just because general consensus says cigarettes are unhealthy doesn’t mean they are unhealthy for everyone… sure they aren’t healthy for us over time in the distant future, but in some cases — like my own — the impulsively satisfying positive effects of nicotine actually outweigh any eventual negatives… from stress relief on a dime… to a way to chat with fellow smokers & make some new acquaintances… to a way to process thoughts & dampen over-excitement… to something that goes well with coffee & tea that you can look forward to wake up & go to bed to… to something to have as a little crutch, vice & counterpart making us feel at home & not totally alone even though circumstances may have broken our hearts or the shattered home we maybe once knew. For me, after all of the trauma I have been through & a feeling like I somehow didn’t belong, cigarettes have always been there for me & picked me up when I felt like I had nowhere to go & nothing left on this earth. Yes, they are unhealthy, but cigarettes (along with coffee… together ‘the breakfast of champions’) are purely remedying quick-fixes & practical cures to those who have become jaded & cynical & need a little assistance in, not just passing the time, but actually vibing with the bitter elements in life. Basically, the relieving dopamine release & serotonin & other effects from the substances of coffee & nicotine transform a previously jaded & cynical outlook into an attitude of simplicity & contentment towards the little beauties of the nature & routine of life. It’s not a bitter truth at the end of the road. It’s an almost revelatory zen truth that each day begins anew, in constant death & rebirth, to the point that life is almost one never-ending yet redeemable day in which we always just have to live in the only moment that goes on forever: this moment now. In these moments, we must have a way of balancing the mutual coexistence of opposites, the ebb & flow, the Wu-Wei.
I’d smoke a cigarette, drink a coffee, then get up to something… more like a whole lot of nothing. The time between a coffee & cigarette was just time spent wanting a coffee & cigarette. I’d listen to an album or two & read a novel I was currently invested in at the time & watch a show I had been binging. And, then, right on time, I’d be back to sipping my coffee & smoking my cigarette. Writing seemed like a better way to pass the time. Maybe if I wrote extensively enough, I would completely forget all about coffee & cigarettes. Sure, I may have nothing going for me, but at least I’m a writer, right? Maybe I’m not a writer, I just happen to make sense of words written on paper. That reminds me, where’s my coffee, sir? Hold on a second, lemme fetch a little cigarette out of my pack. There’s really no point to life, is there? Thus, we sip & smoke. Some wonder at the meaning of life… others just smoke another cigarette. I think the meaning of life is to make us appreciate afterlife more; to enable us to have a perspective on just how awful & tragic things can get, if only for a couple of decades, so that we may see how beautiful eternity is. For now, I’m going to pour another cup of coffee & smoke another cigarette. Life is bitter. Death will be rather sweet.
Her vibe was too essential & perfect. I’d see her & feel struck down in the best way possible. I would mention something to her & smile loosely, just kind of hoping to leave some kind of impression — anything at all… anything she did felt spot on. I felt like I could only grasp at her ultimate raw delicate touch & dynamic, intrinsic & intriguing fundamental beauty. I felt like there was one last ticket I needed to attain… maybe a taxi I had to catch. It almost felt as if the universe was whispering, “better hang on tight kid.” She was light glistening on snowy peaks, soft wind gently drifting down my spine. Her presence loosened up my own & woah, quickly lightened my stride. But there existed, so too, a minute hesitant urgency towards the ways in which I approached her at times. The feeling felt pressing. Of course, it wasn’t. I just wanted to enjoy little moments happening. A part of me wished she could always pass me by. There was a relaxing & also rapid, yet fluttering movement & loosely kinetic tension in all of it. I’d pass her way. I can’t say I wouldn’t have been opposed to an occasional devious stare thrown in my direction. She may have been thinking the same. All I can say is that there was an addictive quality to the glance. I looked over at her as she walked ahead. She was a little busy with some task. She often happened to be playing with her hair. Of course, I was always impulsively chain smoking out on the deck. I guess all that mattered was that she was never too far away. Well… yeah, 80% of cigarettes picked me up when she was busy & inexplicably — too inevitably — went away… she’d disappear to attend to more pressing, urgent matters & demands & wasn’t — well… really, couldn’t be — around. But she was always around, no matter what ‘at least… if only’ in spirit & so was my nicotine, addictive to the senses. The other 20% either felt like a romantic type of ecstasy or underwhelming bitter substance. Her vibe brightened my day. I yearned to be amidst her company & aura… that specific peak synergistic vibrance I felt, her ultimate strength, sparkle & glow. I was usually cozy in a hoodie & beanie. She had a similar outfit taste early in cold, sharp morning air & late at night. You could always tell when she was still kind of sluggish, just waking up. She’d be so sleepy & not really at all in the mood. Maybe she’d be in her bag or feelings, just like all of us… some days. She looked the same as she always did though. Too incredibly cute. Too incredible & cute. She could be really hot… if she felt so inclined. She was absolutely one of the most pleasing sights my eyes had ever seen. I’d see her & feel mellow, at ease… a sedative wave coming over, yet slight edginess. The universe really was right — “better hang on tight kid.” That’s all I could do. Although I didn’t necessarily need to hold her, I wanted to… badly. Like cigarettes, girls come & go. These little moments — the fading spark & connection — was inevitably fleeting… at least for all I knew. I’d always, forever feel some type of way about her. Please don’t worry universe, I’ll always hang on tight. ‘Dear Mother Nature…’
We drove fast out west & he was going hard as all hell, a little too rough around the edges of a chap if you can even begin to ask me about the wildly questionable… being criminally rough to the sweetly gentle & innocently angelic. Sure, of course, she liked the feeling of being taken to base levels of societally perceived inferiority as an intangible part of the solely shy & so cutely sympathetic psychologically zen disposition & temperament. So yeah, I take your rough & rowdy ways as strangely inconceivable in the little new world dynamic inherent in this God-damned God-forsaken country both the real down-to-earth sad boys, boys themselves & real-world cowboys actually genuinely feel proud to call the land of the free. No one ever called it the land of the abused & disregard, you animalistic monkey-behaving so obviously cruel & sick twisted shit. You call me a little bitch. Sounds like you’re the one bitching. I don’t care what a bitch did to you or how you used to slang whatever dope was available… probably some bullshit downer or depressant. You aren’t a druggie — like a real genuine drug kid — if you ever purposely set out or intend to drag any kind of girl insensitively into blatant submission. I don’t care what you have been through or if — at some core & so heartlessly insincere & inhumane level — want to make bitches pay for what they did… as if you go through more than them. Yeah, you’ve been through a lot. Well quite bluntly, smoking too many cigarettes at the moment while writing this because more than any kind of stimulant I could ever attain, I really just want to die so slowly each & every single day & love girls, the cool women — every woman in the world — with every traumatic fiber in my soul & wounded aching feeling left in this heartbroken shell of a heart I have. Trust me, I love so abundantly. I may at heart be kind of feminine or labeled a pussy, but I will love girls of the world to the day I die & will ride like an actual bronco — the tragedy to be a horse myself — as I save the artistic, cowgirl, wise & intelligent princess from someone who claims to be one of the boys, to be her cowboy set to ride into the sunset with or without her, when in reality you may as well be a god-damned football player still in the high school locker room without ever finding your own means to strut like a real feminine kind of a dope boy who rocks his shit out like a chill punker slut & ex-head-banged-skull-cracking-solitary-confinement-eternally-used-drugged-out-lifelong-mental-patient. Don’t talk to me about the day you had because it really isn’t all too pressing or important. The important thing is that she is okay. We all fucking care so fucking much. There’s not one guy on earth who has been through what a girl must go through every single day. If you really do feel some sort of way badly or truly awfully sorry, it’s okay, it really is okay, but no, fucking bruh, I will never sit on the side as a tolerating witness of the deep level of bullshit you acted upon trying to actually cause some fashion of a sleepily beaten up & concerning, altogether so genuinely frightening, demise growing in your own size in thought of her potentially drained next day or hurt sluggish fate. You will not solve your own issues & past neglect & abuse historically by damaging & destroying another kind & casually shy & punk-grunge-subtle-minded-gentle-vibe-soothing creature in this intricate & stunning gem of a universe. She is the reason we breathe air. She will forever be the cutest being to ever exist. All girls will be, especially her & they will live forever as angels on the moon in the galaxy’s safe & sage fairy garden kingdom of truly kind wisdom & enlightenment & blissful ease, no matter what happens to them today or tomorrow or the next day & all types of beautifully aligned lifetimes after that. She is my angel & I am her angel. But she flies over high, from this place we currently exist in to all of the places we could ever one day imagine finding kindly innate new visions of next. We step, one day or another, with serenely light hearted & pleasing flowing footprints from this universe to all of the dope new places that exist within the span of truly everlasting, youthful & expansive consciousness within all possible types of universes that lie beyond this one. I don’t write stories for Disney… I don’t really find a sense of like-mindedness with stories like Beauty & the Beast. All girls deserve more than that kind of life. They deserve more than many may ever begin to fully acknowledge. They will be destined inheritors blessed to flows of universal currency in the scope of the afterlife. Karma works miracles & she finds a way to love all of the people that walk up & down these streets, no matter what they may have preconceived in their heads about her & for that, karma will repay her in true intimate loving unfolding of abundance in days & lifetimes within the universe that fall before us. Trust me, I ride & die by my lonesome every day for my angels & for her I will always bitch about missing her & be forever in debt to her. No matter how much I’d do for her, it’d never be enough. I’ll ride & die for a baby like me every day even if I’m lonely & can’t bare the slit wrist cut-gut-soul-wrenching pain of wanting really just to see her walk the way she found it most casual & cozy to her to move around on the vibe-minded grass & cigarette ash pavement & find attractive qualities to all of the good things in which her soul gravitated to without a hesitant instance in whole-hearted & elementally cosmic & ever peacefully vulnerable ecstasy relief necessity. I miss you, one of the realest girls & homies to ever make it in this day, era & age as an undoubted legend, always & forever more an unequivocal angel. I’ll be the Romeo to her Juliet, I’ll be the skater-emo boy to her goth-grunge-godly-punk star-cool girl. If anyone ever takes her away or lays unwanted victimizing hands on her, I’ll stand in & take her place any way I can. Please, you can literally end it for me. I can’t save any girl, but I don’t mind going out with her. Or we can actually just go on a cute date. That would be way so much better, like you know. We could skate around & smoke cigarettes & talk all shy & cool about any type of little thing. Please let my baby stay. I really just want to make our date. Instead of harsh flits with infliction towards angels like her, just let a sad skater boy hood punk like me make it out in my stupid little way on a date with her. She’s the best & it hurts too much missing her being right around the corner to meet up & chat a little… that she’s really okay. I really do love a girl. Nobody could ever put baby in a corner. I guess I just wanted to make sure she was securely someplace safe, cozy & comfy. I guess I just had to see about a girl. To all of the girls & her… most especially her: I miss you… truly so much. Angel from my nightmare, we’ll have Halloween on Christmas & in the night, we’ll wish this never ends… we’ll wish this never ends, feeling this, roses on your door, little things make you know she cares, do you like my stupid hair, is it lame if I think it’s cool to dance to some Fall For You type Secondhand Serenade & Thriving Ivory vibing Angels on the Moon, dancing atop calm white rock.
This really is the only business to attend to
I absorb waves to escape savage nothing
Either one in pure light or one in pure dark
So I sit at the edge of this hollow dwelling
Trying not to let myself cave into dull shell
These degraded sentient beings overslept
I litter ash and butts, and loiter ever awake
I see a bird land on the roof & sit alongside
A perch all of our own making, so it seems
To hover around dumb founded nonsense?
The voice of intrusive passers ridiculed me
As I laugh at their lifeless inadequate slurs
They really overestimated gravity of speech
Their annoyance is entirely theirs to hold
Leaf lit, show up, flicked slit
Wounded, lighter, heat touches wrist
Maybe a kind of sympathy
Empathetic to girls with slit wrists
Leaflet, warm literature, blush, the fit
Break down, at least so many nights
So I break down tobacco by my side
Black lunged soul matter essence
Black heart gives into death
Then death breathes life into me
Again and again and again
We all need some divine feminine energy
So too, comfort within our own solitude
I sit here, a vibe to be in my own space
Cozy, wearing a hoodie & denim jeans
Peaceful essence in a comfortable spot
Lost in thought with a good book in hand
I’ll look up from my frequent readings
Sitting in relatively sedated bliss
Not too worried about time passing
I’ll pull out a cigarette, appreciative
Of the back and forth motion
This waltz, this dance
More often than not
It’s sweet enough
Slow dance somewhere
Together so long
The old man and woman
Still looked as if
They were on their first date
Endlessly in love, still cutely enticed
Together so long, they mesh
Little tension quickly dissipates
Original first date feelings
Set up their whole, little rhythm
The small chit chat, the little nuances
The jokes, habits, ways to loosen up,
Dinner parties, breakfast mimosas
His friends and her friends
We’re used to it, they’re used to it
He moves in his own way
Nonchalant yet caring in nature
She moves in her own way
Soft in touch & warm in heart
I’m just waiting now
To find the right girl
To vibe with
Slow dance with
Our favorite song
On the speakers
Her head on my shoulder
A flutter of infinite nature
She pulls me closely in
Light step, this way and that
Here and there
In tune, cute little smirk
Heartfelt little sway
Soft kiss on my cheek
Soft kiss on her neck
We all just want
The one person
Who makes us feel
So at ease deep within
So cute, her little energy
Ways she goes about things
She tells me to take her hand
Just vibe to it all, she reminds me
The little rhythms of all of this
Someone I could ride with
So, in a way so cute
I had hesitantly asked her
If she wants to dance
A shy glance between us two
A flit of movement
Tussled hair, nervous hands
Glow about her eyes
Feelings, looking away
A bit shyly, then
Her eyes link up
I meet hers
Look away a single moment
Hopeful she feels it too
She really does, too
She closely moves into
Hoodie I wear
Saying anything at all
Felt unnecessary
The song played
Nothing left to do
But just so sweetly
Sway to the music
Arms around one another
She soothed my being
Delicate dispositions felt
We liked the song a lot
She was so cute
I looked alright enough
Their was warmth to her
So often, my heart had felt cold
But now she was right there
Sweet release slow dance
The song played on
We never drifted apart
At least too much
A few hours passed
I sat outside on the steps
I lit up a smoke
She came outside
Sat right up against me
Perched up on the step as well
She asked me for a smoke
“I didn’t know you smoke?”
“I didn’t know you did either”
“Seems like I have to”
“Yeah, me too”
“So glad you’re here though”
“Yeah, it’s really cool we met”
“Damn, yeah, it really is”
We smoked in silence
Stars rested glowing high above
As we rested alongside of each other
A slow dance, a smoke sesh
Someone to smoke with
Someone to ride with
Someone to vibe with
Finally, I thought, finally
But here, I sit, in a hoodie & denim jeans
On my own in a cozy little spot
Any place that felt like home
Writing this, about to get some coffee
Smoke a cigarette
I guess we’ll have to see
If I’ll ever find this girl
To vibe with,
Our favorite song
On the speakers
Here I am
There she is
It’s all alright
One day, one day
In time, in time
So the least I could do is stick to intuition
Essential to feel alright at slower paces
Rush unnecessary to achieve daily tasks
The path to proper vibrational frequency
Is by awareness, self care, creating light,
Coexistence, channeling pure energy flow,
Sound wavelengths & universal currents
Eternally bathed in gray, tattered, frayed
Sedated, splat, forever strayed, half jaded
Sedated daze, infinite day, low light shade
Blissful tea haze, steeped seep, it steams
Coffee, wet water, press, drip drop, dream
Pockets packed with snug packs stashed
Smoke plume, ever lit hues, stark contrast
Nightly lilac craves endless ethereal racks
Spliff tinted backwoods, zips, cash stacks
Tape deck, neck tat, sex & checks cashed
Dejectedly flitting & grasping hair strands
Gentle care, aware, stupidly there, so rare
Ambient effervescence, slate mist castles
Sunk, fluttered states, moonlit reefer owls
Arched punk gates, zone bliss stone fields
Astonished, quick withdrawal out of sight
Aura highlights flight over skeptic heights
Nearby drags on the low & thrasher lowlife
Solitude draped, partly twilight’s white flag
Subtly high off girls, the vans a soft brag
Such an endless drag, sad lag, slouch sag
Still dressed in the best, yet so depressed
Witch craft, spells cast whip up a sick hex
Still high off girls wearing vans, the checks
Up to our necks, nothing left, nothing less
What good is in the void… it seems barren
Well to some, maybe the void is adaptable
Maybe in emptiness, not seeking an ends
We can say we never wanted it to start off
Or we wanted to write on it all with a slant
Dwelling in the void with a mindful clarity
Often clarifies vivid accessibility to visions
Visions in the midst of rapid writing bouts
To some, a little of this and little of that fits
Sound collective clarity & individual tasks
Doing tasks over and over patiently opens
Portal keys to future states only dreamt of
The future constantly reveals itself in ink
They all say we can be anything we want
Repetitive practice of doing what we want
Instills expertise, finding effective rhythms
Hours a day for weeks on end for years
Old habits… new circuits to master craft
Art form crafted like stone in time carved
Continual pursuits unlock new timely spots
At the tip of our tongue stowed down away
Now found, after consistent routine habits
A little interval magic, driven down to flow
Downwind down tune to gather distinction
Distinctive voice, flow states, sensory form
We must be quick in keeping steady hustle
The come up at times happens all at once
Lots to take in when surveying open fields
Key moves too, tabs on our own playbooks
Lay claims, collect pay, a type of tip to self
Nobody tipped me… tips earned anyways
Daily writings… earned a pack of smokes
As I write, written works begun, finished
Each day I walk on over to the local spot
Pick up a pack & subtly reflect on my work
To not write only endlessly into the void
Without any grasp on recent written work
The cigarette means a contemplative lens
In which to view more melancholic efforts
Contemplatively aware, melancholic acts
Way to sink within words written in thin air
So I can channel an even better next intro
Intro leads to interlude and keyed up finale
Each time expands upon long lost outlets
One can only discover so much externally
Seek internal wavelength consciousness
Steady dosed: write to read, read to write
Who knew, paved guru, soon to be brewed
Seemingly millions of pages I jot, just knew
Yeah what’s new, ink fiend with bluetooth
The poetry collection & fiction writes itself
Writing up the strategy… nobody notices
Even a glimpse into intro, middle & end
The only reason we do it is because of
The little road we took firstly to get there
We’re never sitting at a final destination
Thinking, yeah now done, no space to go
The road always leads to new little spots
We don’t smoke 100 packs to dwell so idly
We continue to smoke in ritualistic ways
For reasons unclear at initial beginnings
And still on work left to do, so too chapters
Lead to ongoing next chapter, begun anew
Doing anything, smoking cigarettes, a jot, wrote note, poetic canvas, art form spoke
Extended time devoted, performative bliss
First we devote our livelihood to time spent
Then time spent turns to energy identified
Eventually a positive exchange of a stock
The stock investing in our self individuality
It starts… you with you, then whoever else
The whole piece only meets consumership
Once the means to create are set in stone
Been at it for years, discovered long ago
Maybe as artists we create for ourselves
We must flip the script, raging in stillness
Alone glowing, sparking lights in the dark
World instinctively passes up our own art
Pays no mind, intrinsic change via thought
Years later, words placed on paper glow
Infinitely casted in light of intent readings
Maybe a type of glance & contemplation
Only means these ideas in air caught wind
Paper the loose change, words worth cash
I’m just printing cash, future thrift currency
Not literally of course, but words on paper
Infinitely laced in value, intellectual wealth
Metaphorical boost within energy deposits
Thoughts on notes like independent cash
Words astutely etched, engraved in paper
Worth more value than initially envisioned
Conceptually in wake of digestive readings
We awake to currency not traded in coin
Written instead by a writer down the line
In terms of a lightening in tune to thought
Maybe those at the end love the writings
So much it becomes too a key to their lives
The life of others drawn to my inked paper
My poems weave into their intrinsic fabric
As it already weaved a thread within mine
Yeah, girls come and go forever and ever
The tides drift inwards and outwards
I should probably read more, see what
I get out of the act of scrolling through
Page after page, finding intellectual gains
The only gains truly worth mentioning
At least around here, just bumming around
Let’s be real, come ups with frequent jots
More quipped bouts of writing, scrabbling
Girls come and go infinitely into forever
As I drift along metaphorical sea change
Surely read, but I undoubtedly must write
You had me with your playful smile
The way I thought you actually hated me
You talked to me quickly for hours on end
I couldn’t stand it, I loved it all endlessly
Every minute in your presence pure all out
Adrenaline coursing, flowing in my veins
Addictive to hang amongst one another
You said you had nothing to take care of
You could put a few things off to spend
A whole day running around as little jokers
We basically were the ones scoffed at
But we didn’t care, so long as we held
Each other tight, as warm as a night light
Basically intertwined with one another
Star struck, you couldn’t have one
Without the other, incredibly dynamic
But then one day you didn’t show up
Nobody ever said what happened to you
It killed me, not knowing about it all
How something came up so you left town
You were my little soft eyed angelic girl
Now you were 1,400 miles away… too far
Nothing felt the same or shined as bright
Sure, this whole poem is a piece of fiction
But I always just assume my better half
Lives 1,400 miles away, all too caught up
Not knowing I exist, the two of us unaware
Of the potentially innate gravitational pull
Somewhere my other half resides… yeah,
One day our paths will suddenly collide
Maybe I’ll run into her as I lazily turn
Having just bought iced coffee at a café
She’ll look me in the eyes and I’ll know
I’ll just know it’s her with every ounce of
My perceptive being and bright eyed soul
My sheath won’t break through the stone
Grinding, gears shifting on sleet plywood
Where were we, this elemental warehouse
Fundamental matter grasps cotton thread
Caressing essence of the plain white tee
Picking at filter denim thrown about knees
Scuffed to the touch, a touch of currency
Soaked water foundations seal cracks
How does water melt to seal, settling
Deep within the internal Earthly seams
Closing, ice dissipated then frozen again
From dust we are born, to ash we return
Maybe Hell and Heaven is in coexistence
Frozen Heat, Warm Ice, Beautiful Balance
I light the smoke, envisioning my death
Lit up and smoked by kings on thrones
Having one last smoke before harvest
My bones crumpled down to nothingness
Only bits of a Whitman hinted grassy knoll
Leaves of grass and our skin the same
Each new skin layer a blade of grass
The sheet the paper the tree the breath
The skin the salt the earth the plant
So too surely we reincarnate to another
In a world of overtly natural disintegration
To bone rot and decay to full crush
Ash of our bones rising misty eyed above
Our skin, laundry returning to the Earth,
Soul released by God to angelic overtones
Maybe one day to be smoked potently
As we smoke the smoke that smoked
We feel like a cigarette in full drag
Puffs released by and from our being
The essential existence as ghostly form
If we existed in meta galaxies as a plant
Amidst a larger realm and outer universe
Surely someone could sweep the plant
We exist equally as, smoking us wholly up
We are nothing but littered plant shells
Who knows if our being turns to plant
Maybe we are already a peaceful plant
In the whole scope of universal theory
Plant matter not ash… reality is only reality
All at once, all at the same fateful time
We live to die, but death just awakens us
Let the flow state slow to a likely zone
Hold the frequency, freeze at middle end
End around, see how things turn out
Round and round, hovering at center
Point within a point, the absolute core
The fire pulls against leaves upstream
As if it rips plant to blaze on to cusp
All within filter paper, pre rolled class A
Ash stumbling into custom ash tray
Minds circling, drifting, returning
Constant fall to peak to fall to peak
Like autumn leaves swaying in wind
They go back and forth, detaching
No longer feeling connected to tree
Only feeling at rest once they touch down
First, however, they float to the ground
They don’t slam down, they first float
Why do some people take drugs?
Why do some people choose not to?
There’s pros and cons to both…
One risks never seeing what it’s like
The other risks never quitting at all
Or maybe, some had already quit life
Or maybe life had quit them years ago
There’s a Kurt Cobain strain of angst
Sometimes the only way out seems
To ingest something in, then navigate
Like teen drama TV or gossip magazines
But we all really just ever needed oxygen
Oxygen, water, food, fresh air, small talk
The little things really are enough
If you want to do something in the time
In between, a way to take the edge off
To get away from melodramatic riffs
Well, then get into something creative
Yeah, you could hit a drag, sip on coffee
But all of that is really just low level
Stimulus, unneeded by most of the world,
But surely a must have to a select few,
Such as a nicotine fiend like myself
To simply pass the despondent lags
In time from wakefulness to sleepiness
Whether we smoke or sip, read or write,
Draw or get another tattoo, or dial up
A friend of a friend of a friend, anything
Like getting your hair done, applying
Make up, buying new clothes, any sort of
Retail therapy or business venture. Any
Kind of errand or coffee run or online chat
Some game, some date, others attend
Live concerts weekly. Some may say,
We are escaping reality… similar to drugs
It’s all addictive in a way, we all crave
Something, anything, even if it’s simply
A little jazz and light readings at dawn
We all crave something, anything to chill
Vibe with, decompress, pass the time
Everyone, surely, has a drug of choice
Their own metaphorical cigarette, though
It may not be addictive or a substance
Some may just want to cozy up alongside
Their kitten and boyfriend at day’s end
Some just want to rant about their day
Others want to climb into bed for 20 hours
We all crave and want something, release
So it is very important, both for people
Addicted to anything and coping in ways
To tune into their self awareness, harness
Absorb and release all that tense angst
Work out their mojo, feelings, and bodies
And at the end of some movement all
Along the way in the span of the day
We must take time to reflect minutely
Even if for a few moments, we move on
At least, we should decompress for a bit
Eventually escaping meditative hold
Finding our gravitational center and self
Coming to a state of reflective solitude
And then entering the world again, friendly
In communication, like water in movement,
And easily adaptable to varying outcomes
Move, meditate, collect, decompress, rest
Merciless, scathing contentment
We surely must be happy enough
Just to be here… sounds flood in
I feel like I’m at an amphitheater
Then the song just ends in a blur
Onto a little more harmonious syncing
It all seems to be space within space
Cigarettes bestow time within time
As you smoke them, you beg a few hours
To be docked later off life at some point
So that you can dose yourself a bit
With a few head high inducing puffs
At the current moment, lagging, sedated
Deeply breathing in intoxicating nicotine
And breathing out short lived relief
It’s the ADHD in most of us that turns
The experience into a mellow euphoria
I see a girl, I lean over to tie my shoes
I scruff up my hair and pull up my pants
I’m trying to pull myself together a tiny bit
You don’t want to look empty handed
When a girl that cute walks by… a glance
You pull out a smoke… if only a bit of gum
Anything to distract yourself in it all
You notice her and she notices you, yeah
And yeah, she smiles inwardly, combing
Her hair gently down, hands brushing up
You efficiently move from here to there
She asks for a lighter, noting the exchange
How quick can you flip it in her direction
Maybe she wants to know if you’re cool
Like cool enough to pimp out little things
If you can do that, you can handle her
The magnitude of her soft weight on you
The idea of her head nuzzled into yours
The thought of your hand around her
She’s wearing a sweater, maybe cashmere
She’s wearing doc martens, a bracelet
Thank God you wore your carhartt beanie
And those high top vans, always classic
Good to be classic and endearingly edgy
She’s cute in a way where she could easily
Pass as both a local girl and a city girl
You can’t really impress her, I guess
She can see right through the flex of it all
But it’s always nice to try, so you sharply
Pull the lighter out of your pocket, hand
The lighter, noticeably baby blue, to her
She grabs it, softly brushing against you
Damn, she lights a cigarette in a way
That’s more attractive than one may think
Right to the point, the flick of her thin wrist
Sharp drag, pull, and a crisp smoke trail
A thin cloud that only girls can really blow
You stealthily grab and pocket the lighter
Both of your hands linger on one another
She thanks you and kisses you so softly
Before she fades out into the evening
You never think to get this girl’s number
In the quick little cute string of events
I guess she must have liked the way
You handled the little flame, of the lighter
And heat of the initial spark with her
She also probably liked the high tops
The beanie sealed the deal on the kiss
Sometimes best not to see where it goes
That would be such a drag, right… I bet
You take two mightily steady smoke pulls
Before you ash out your one cigarette
It was a good night so you head on home
That girl in the all white cashmere sweater
With the doc martens and the bracelet
It was a good night so you head on home
Lost in catatonic noise, buzzing
Falling besides me on my sleeve
Fist bumping, fuzzy, warm thoughts
Warmer feelings, brightest synergy
Everything as clear as the initial page
First cut, cute blank copy white
Slight gesture, slight of hand, flight
From the fight in just visualizing clarity
Then once visualized, harnessing
Substances aren’t as important
As writing, word after word after word
In a second, I’ll be done with this poem
Give me a minute, I got to throw on
Some clothes, freshen up a bit, you know
But for now, I’m just going to scrap
Scrap this together, hustle up a few bucks
First of all, mindfulness… after coffee.
Take a break, a refrain and repose
From the hustle and bustle, our culture
Speeds by too rampantly for us to process
To really engage, you must be idle
Once idle, dwelling on the spontaneity
The impulsivity of everything from a slump
You come out of the cave, brush leaves
Brush a clearance so that you may wake
Awakening to light and a brand new day
There’s nothing left to do, except write
Sure the catatonic noise from these artists
Plays on infinite loop in my headphones
Everything from low key demo acoustic
To a little more hype and rave energy
To shoe gaze to grunge to punk to indie
To hip hop, pure sounds to grimier ones
The music is all there, background noise
Something to drain out all of the static
Sure, I smoke from time to time, drags
Off of a cigarette about once every hour
And yeah, the coffee remains ever flowing
Going to get a cup probably here in a bit
Always on my way to brew up something
Brewing up some more poetry here now
Where were we, anyhow? Metaphorically,
I believe we were talking about cigarettes,
Which in that relative context, we may be
Simply talking about writing or pondering
As all are little mechanisms, hand quirks
A way to catch thought, breath, and being
In a reflective way, contemplating this all
I look around, I sigh deeply, and I write
I look around, I sigh deeply, and I smoke
Smoking, writing, contemplating, deeply
Always deeply and reflectively, meditating
On words, on inhales and exhales, again
Always seeing where the pages linger
Always following the smoke lingering
The nature settles in sun behind the fog
I settle as the writer who doesn’t care
I mean, I do care, I’m just relatively bored
So I try to make sense and clarify thoughts
By placing words on paper, a smoke
Metaphorically, before the decompression
Awareness of thoughts, reshaping texture
Clarity comes and stays, drifts, flows
These ebbs and flows make us human
And the world around us shifts in nature
The universe sees how we put out efforts
To gain mindfulness, awareness, clarity
And surely enough, we find a blessing
Curses turn to lessons and then remedies
Remedies turn into skill sets and then bliss
Bliss turns into conscious expansiveness
Consciousness, once tapped into, gently
Soothed so that we may say hello kindly
To unfolding day, not hide away and avoid
Instead, we put out our arms, tip our caps
Take a bow as the worldly presence bows
We see the purely divine in each other
As we accept our own faults and scars
We can also see what enlivens the light
Within our soul, the light itself a cure
The scars fade and disappear, healed
Faults are forgivable, but first we must
Forgive ourselves… our unique liberation
Allows us to move ever so freely, creatively
And as we show our most genuine truth
Acting according to self realization peaks
We know ourselves, and thus humbly exist
We don’t seek some approval or kindness…
Simply, we love with and move in kindness
Because we walk within core dispositions
And at the end of the day… when in light,
We are kind, hesitant to boast, sincere
We speak little, but step with a cool hop
The energy, not from external attitudes
The lightness and glow and ease of shine
Stems from something way more internal
We may have on a nice outfit, comfortable
We look good so we feel good, vice versa
We may have been able to come up then
On a new pack and iced coffee to face
The day… sometimes we are apprehensive
Sometimes feelings arrive and dissipate
Some days, all we feel is jarring burden
We are weighed down, so too feeling
That our weight bothers others, sadly
Whether we know it or not, we rarely
Have any ability to predict weighted days
Just as we can’t predict the light ones
Some days we make people’s days,
But do not remotely even mean to
Some days we ruin people’s days,
But do not remotely even mean to
All you have to remember, is to seek lights
Kind of how nicotine can only be felt
When it is brought to light, stoked in a way
Or vaporized, so that chemicals release
So too, when we burn the fuse properly
Within our own energetic compartments
By doing what we love, with a clear mind
And head on our shoulders, so to speak
With nothing but love and gentleness
At the forefront of our mind, peacefully
Pursuing both needs and creative hobbies
With equal interest, intent, and curiosity
Then, conscientiously engaged, absorbed
Our minds find the match, stimulating
Our minds, loosely positively surging
In radiant waves and pulses throughout
We lit the natural chemical to find release
We light, feel, engage with the feelings
Letting go, coming back to, connecting
To ourselves, ground beneath, stars above
We find a tapped into universal wave state
If we’re able to feel universal wavelengths
And then decompress, allowing to settle
We can achieve what some only achieve
By sipping tea and coffee, or smoking
The fiend’s essence, however, is tied down
But if we can spark this natural energy
Light the dark spots, often creative portals
We can harness all that is tangibly bright
And then even intangible matter will find
A unique way to liven up in body and soul
All of our being will see the inevitable day
As something to be so truly grateful for
Because our minds and soul will be clear
Our body will be one with energetic bliss
We will be both cozy and ready to engage
The world poses something, we solve
Nobody abandons us. They often go away.
But the universe is always right there
As a willing listener, a genius light source
As it gives us what we need, momentarily
We find within ourselves an inherent gem
Self care and self love flows externally
As we let ourselves glow within, shining
Others see us, channeling our frequency
And our light meets them at first glance
Rather than make an impression, unfairly
They can’t help but return their light
The universe may actually be more fair,
In the most impartial way, than we thought
We just have to unleash the light within
We just have to find a metaphorical match
To light a natural fuse within our beings
Our essence the stimulant, properly lit
As we ourselves find what fuels energies
Within us, thus we can always find release
We smoke so much and drink so much
Maybe we just had to spark and replenish
Our potential potencies in more pure ways
Here’s a match, go find and unleash
The soothing inner warmth, natural chills
The worldly highs and insightful lows
We only need to bask in self love, aware
As we kindly regard ourselves, we glow
The match I gave you is truly solely yours
Yours alone to refuel maximum capacity
Capacity to kindly approach everything
From yourself to others to daily tasks
All of the meditative aspects just give way
To a way of freely focusing with clarity
On all that is around us and within us
Sometimes there’s a comfort in energy
We face the day and our mood brightens
Nothing can stop us, because in the end
We hold galaxies within us, flowing
With the current currency like the rivers
Intricately connected with wavelengths
As they come and go in the universe
One mindful, clearly focused mind state
Rotating on the world’s axis
Mood migrates, capacity maximum
Tape spinning, onto the next
She undresses like the best
It’s always something, isn’t it?
This, that, and the third
I flinched as she kissed my hand
I wasn’t aware she was so gentle
The velvet softness felt angelic
All she wanted was to let me know
She liked my subtly cool disposition
Vaguely overshadowed in a way
Why does the world corrupt us?
Innocence flees from the mind
She saw something in me
A trait she noticed in her youth
Those boys had a glint and glow
Flint deep down, lighter stowed
Dwelling serenely amidst starlit eyes
Guess she craved that age old magic
Wisdom in the forest, leaf’s essence
So too, as snow falls, we bundle up
We all want to absorb the radically innate
Inner workings of embracing warmth
Based in the root of being down to Earth
Yeah, heard about that down the way
Didn’t know fog would settle in today
I liked the way you cared so deeply
Sometimes tears are the only thing left
Then we cry little rivers, the flow pours
And then there’s nothing left at the end
We sink, but then find contentment
When we slump in the bottom of it all
He chain smokes, the other guy drinks
Constant alcoholic sipping to abandon
Yeah I chain smoke too… hold the tequila
Where’s the stash at, essential life matter
Does life matter? Sure, don’t overthink it
We constantly get all tangled in messes
Keep that pure vitality raging in your veins
The difference between life and death
Is death is acceptance, hopefully at least
Life seems like it is pretty sick at times
Sick in both ways… but life is suffering
Death is the release of all mortal chains
One day, we will all float, soul in flight,
Not to the clouds, but to a headspace
Of clarity that resembles how you would
Expect falling in a flowing cloud feels
We are not caught by the cloud itself
But our internal state reflects our outer
So by dwelling within metaphorical clouds
Our mind is blank, nothing drags us down
The little draining needs fade away
And we slump in the bottom of it all
So utterly at ease with the world’s ways
Everything is so impermanent… but
Death is permanent blissful solitude.
Sometimes you reach Nirvana
Sometimes you don’t know where
To even contemplate beginning
Sometimes I guess you passed it
Not fully aware you went too far
But always, always, you can pivot
Shift direction & realign once again
With the elusive, fleeing & freely
Engaging state referred to as
Nirvana …Sublime oneness
& a type of ecstasy
In relation to overall being
Relative to all that matters
In this universe
Everyone & everything
One mutual, together, wholeness
A way to attain
Zen bliss realities
Just want to be dazed
On a rainy day
Feelings evicerated
Smoking a cigarette
Smoke would die out
Just the soothing rain
Everything else so mundane
I want a cute enough
Girl by my side
So it goes, ride or die
She cozies up, French inhale
Another night, some other guy
All by my lonely, misted iris
Solitude, scuff marks on my shins
Guess I fell down, lost in the drift
Heart blank, wrist numb, brain adjusting, veins a little too alert… yet there’s nothing. Soul weary — soles & a willow fiend, a bayonet in backwoods snow… caught up in nonsense, so left to flow… underrated ash & longing wind blow. So it goes, the way of this little love note — love note & note to self: slow down. What’s the low down? Down low, I’m locked in… so what’s the deal? Down low, secrets amongst best friends, paving a path on the come down
Find your person, but first, be your person. Find your kind of people. Attract that specific energy. But first, be your kind of people. Radiate that specific energy
I listen to music with a vibe like something Sylvia Plath would smoke spliffs to… melancholic & despondent in a rain forest; skies cloudy, dimly lit. Overall though, there’s a tinge of ethereal undertones to the atmosphere… sounds grunge as a single rain drop falls on your cheek: ethereal forest
All I really wanted & craved simply
was the hit of nicotine smoke somewhere
nice & grunge minded & minimalist
as the rain on the balcony outside laps
softly, brushing against my skin, puttering
music so kindly pouring in with tonalities
that verged on feeling like pure euphoria
atmospherically sending electricity waves
throughout the entire body, head to toe
surging through the wrist, fingers
pressed tightly in the clutch of a cigarette
coming to caressing, polite lips
taking in slightly shy, incandescent drags
passing along to someone a little rough
along the edges who wanted to bum one
meditatively escaping the current numbed
state most drifted away in melancholically
rather up & into an evasively fresh realm
of thought, mind state, mentality
as well as scopes
of galaxies to galaxies within & without
people unknowingly, to many besides you, capably holding entire universes within,
their deepest fear not their inadequacy
but the power they held within themselves
that was powerful beyond measure
& forged perfect little optimistic trails
through seemingly uncrossable stone
to new worlds, galaxies, and universes
designed with architecture premised on
brand new thoughts & coping mechanisms
meditatively decompressing, releasing
slowly absorbing fully & letting go of
all thoughts, pretenses & pressure points
on this natural earth we inherited, so
we may instead float up to a Heavenly
Third Eye Kingdom — soft swift plunge, light
ascent into a domain lying at the heart of
the depth of our connectedness to focus… how we focus & gather consciousness
of which we must pivot adrift & channel
underlying wave frequencies adept at
transferring knowledge only attainable
to the one who is gifted in the art of being
a pure energetically welcoming light
shining & emitting a signal from currents
electrically raging through the galaxy
communicating with nature’s wisdom thug
infinite universal dealer simply finding
the connect between wall & cord
so too we are meant to shine as lights
late at night, to help guide others
but first, we must know ourselves deeply
as well as intimately enough to know
just where our inner circuits & wires beam
radiating endless energies throughout
flowing within our vibrational bodily shells
inwards & outwards into metaphorically
the gratefully accepting outlet, plugging
our needs in knowledge and wisdom,
communicated from the outlets: Earth,
Mother Nature, the Universe & Galaxies
to us lowly Earthly Creatures as we
distance ourselves from low level stillness
instead beaming as one with everything
all in the span one could’ve simply, casually,
oh so meditatively & nonchalantly been
focusing on their breath, inhaling & exhaling amidst any background setting,
chaotically tinged or amidst semblances of peace,
as one lets go of vague worry, embracing & accepting the great Tao of everything in the eminent line of sight, touch, or feel & takes in any & all occasions, sometimes excusing oneself as a matter of
politeness to quickly, most deliberately sip
some Japanese Tea or steaming hot drip coffee or something iced while pairing
this reflective sipping with the quirks
and gestures of raising and flicking wrists,
repetitively bringing to mind & from mind,
inhaling and exhaling as you smoke what
seems, to a young bodhisattva like myself,
rather reminiscent of how you may very
well envision afterlife ecstasy feeling…
more distinctly, ecstasy within the afterlife;
as in death, we find life, and so it goes
infinitely onward as the living must simply
keep living to the best of their energy state
capacities and levels so that, one day,
in all due time we all may find what we so
seek, the ever Elusive Nirvana and the opportunity to experience the subliminal
pleasures of ecstasy in forever’s afterlife.
soft gray air clouded high above
as the light touch brushed their face
they knew not yet where the path led
they just knew they were on the way
she looked at you so sweet
her glance made your heart hurt
in the worst & best way possible
all of the universe fell beside
gravity rides everything
just know things end up just fine
it’s all alright, endless melancholy
as it perpetually sits along little
treasured, two sided ecstasies
practices, meditations
remedies, a cure & mediation
medicine for our often times
sore spotted consciousness
all our minds ask for is light
the glow of loved ones around them
simply affirming their existence
you ever just wake up
and feel so grateful
the earth is green and blue
the sky is a black, lit by
infinitesimal glowing stars
as white, airy plumes of snow drop
in little droplets like clear, almost
blue rain hits in patters against your
ever awakened skin, reminding you
yes, it’s okay to be soft
and yes, it’s okay to notice & observe
the little things
minute details we almost
can’t discuss in casual conversation
so i write down what i see & feel
all these blissful sounds sink in
forever, always
I saw the slit in her dress
And the ones covering her small, fragile arm & wrist
She’s dainty, but maybe I shouldn’t call her fragile — just irrevocably numb to all of the pain she’s been through
Yet still always finding ways to compose simple, kind words to others and gesture an unswerving smile with the sweetest, cutest dimples you might have ever seen
Tracing patterns in the sky, patterns in your hand, auras around your being, and determining the answers to all of your questions through a simple tarot reading and small talk around a lightly burning and roasting fireplace
Gazing underneath infinite starlight gleaming in her eyes
Both warm and cold
She is the light bright and cold stone at every angle of your subtle and gentle being
Sometimes it’s best to do nothing, say nothing
Roll with the punches
The only sympathizer & listener
The music you receptively embrace as it hits your ears
Pure zen euphoria, even if slightly antisocial
Just wear the usual average fit
Don’t worry too much about appearance
Namasté to each approachably, kind
Attract high energy
Covett all best possible outcomes
Whether in preferred exchanges
Or preferred places to reside
& lastly, return energy
In the same way you receive it
Channel wavelengths.
Sometimes I hate the sun
Beating down relentlessly on our withered frames, cigarettes tasting like pure pollution to my corrupt lungs
Other times, the sun, like the rain, illuminates and glows a soft, dazzling, and refreshing essence — kind of like the splashing of water, the substance of light drizzling when it’s not raining too hard
At those little colder, subtler moments, I take a polite drag of my cigarette and inhale, with my music tapping in my ears, and the dopamine rush and head high feels not at all unlike something similar to the way you would imagine ecstasy feeling on the skin.
Iced coffee, along with a light pairing of music softly playing in the ears and soothing poetry, is transcendental. Slowly, softly, words written, beats produced, lingering like a butterfly touching down on your shoulder, mere moments seeming like centuries of good faith and good luck surrounding you, then passing by. Abrupt is nature, quick is its devastation, yet the fluidity of natural flow goes with the river, all in divine time for the art of the world.
He looked around, in the years of his prime
There was snow falling soft on the ground
Drugs being passed about in the village
He tossed those things aside, unfazed
Focused on other inherently valuable highs, such as quality time, style & culture
The dusty melodrama and ulterior motives of citizens slid off his shoulders
He walked forward on his curious path
The road less traveled, Frost imagined
Sober as the eggs frying in his traditional rusted pan that morning, 7:11 a.m.
His humble abode, his foreign tea pot
Floral patterned tapestry & plush carpets
Like a 60s hippie mixed with Japanese bum mixed with 90s grunge rockstar
He was always scrabbling little words together wherever he could possible
Writing his number on napkins to give to lovely waitresses as tips & gratitude
Not necessarily a narcissist, but always having enough healthy and proper ego to understand the waitress would be the one missing out not calling him, not vice versa
He gambled from time to time, impulsively
Caught a few professional sports games on television, every now & then
He was a green tea connoisseur
And loved his coffee and cigarettes in the morning — reading Vonnegut’s novels
Breakfast of Champions sat on his desk, littered with notes, family portraits, two dozen additional books of poetry and fiction, an ash tray, and drawings from friends he promised he’d one day get marked indelibly as tattoos, etc.
All of his doodles, spontaneous prose, and stream of consciousness writings either tossed aside in a waste bin he never planned on throwing away or logged and documented on his typewriter & phone
He was a man who frequented bars,
Only to order a coffee, anticlimactically
He had plenty of one night stands,
No stranger to unrequited love from afar
So he simply always kept people, mostly girls of his dreams, at a tolerable distance
Cutting ties before the bond became too unwaveringly solid to eventually crush him
But he had tons of loyal fans & friends
Loyally following him as he followed them
He went to work with a Walkman in his baggy jean pocket, library book in hand
Some bulky bass amplifying Skull Candy headphones on his ears, Charles Bukowski’s poetic words on his mind, thinking about how he and Bukowski are gonna ‘nail her ass’ for real this time
He’d work some vigorous eight hours
Figuring out all of the loose ends
Toiling away at his shift, relentlessly
Then remove himself with a chip on his shoulder after his laborious efforts were finished, and retire to the music lounge at his loft, uncorking a freshly minted wine bottle, pulling out a record from a slightly used, worn out & warm pocketed sleeve
He’d dust off the record jacket, clean the vintage vinyl, any dirt and cotton off the needle, and lightly drop it on the edge
The needle sliding and then settling into contentment and place on the first, much awaited sound of the album’s intro.
A long overdue finished work week
And a weekend full of art, mostly just writing, reading, making & listening to music in his cute little dwelling pad
A bachelor’s pad to say the least
Where’d he’d sip slowly, smoking fervently
Not a player, but he did like playing the field, fuck it he’d say as he would ash out a cigarette and pull another from the pack, turning two more over opposite end around for good luck and good fuck, having a better relationship with chain smoking then with playful girls of his era.
So he’d bang a few woman, smoke too many Marlboros and Montego 100s, and that was the way the little life of this man went, mid 30s, looking around, watching snow falling on the ground, this and that passing him by, going to and from work, in an old railroad town, scrabbling notes to waitresses on napkins, meditative & high.
Why do we pass away? Maybe death is life after life, peaceful eternal bliss. Maybe death is the intoxicating hit of nirvana occurring as a result of smoking the first cigarette of your pack on a gently rainy day, when you rip a drag of metaphorical afterlife on a perfectly foggy cold weather afternoon, clouds amicably moving ever so peacefully to the right above you.
Spooky season was always the best, watching clouds form and rainfall in September, October, and November. The chills, the ghostly breeze as she speaks in literate, yet unknowable mysteries, the nothingness and emptiness, like in Tao, which begets something and an entirely engulfing wholesomeness from its shallow, shadowy, yet intrinsically complete shell.
Just a skater punk cowboy staying as high as the night sky and blessed in the moonlight, universally vibing with the pavement below his little beat up board, trying to glance at the moon — the magnificent moon which smokes dope amongst its bright hues spewing magical radiance into an otherwise dimly lit, yet still highly cultivated & cool universe.
I could do practically nothing all day, just skirt by & write, listen to mellow tunes, smoke and read novels & poetry, staying perfectly content with the ebbs and flows of this wayward nocturnal life. I ride out, keeping my energy high, noticing that the misty, formless, mystical sea balances harmoniously with rugged, sound, threadbare mountains… smoking cigarettes, watching birds pass by like an old working man’s blues song
Crazy, amusing, musing, rambling, sprawling, spontaneous music
From the city of Chicago to Mardi Gras in New Orleans to Detroit, to suburbs in Sacramento, villages in San Francisco, and nights clubs in Florida & Manhattan
The beats write poetry to this Northern Country swan song of infinite awakening, magic, and light… smoke clouds, moonlit aura, her essence as she caresses the midnight breeze forever lost in the effervescent glow of long lost wisdom, enlightenment, and poetic nature found along the way, love even on passing days with crashing waves. Ultimately, we have found inspiration, a muse in the sleepy, rhythmic twinkle of illuminated minds, warm hearts, self aware intelligence, and the distinct gaze of the lover’s light.
There’s this kid I heavily vibe with these days as I sit on a porch somewhere remote and quiet with love in my eyes
This kid is one of those real down-to-earth Emo Thug Thrasher Punk Cupid Kids
Finding ways to love on girls without telling them he loves them
Little compliments about their hair
Noticing their cute lace up platform boots
Grabbing at a bracelet some girl’s wearing ever so nonchalantly, telling her it’s cool
‘Everything’s cool, so long as girls exist’, thinks the Emo Thug Thrasher Punk Cupid Kid, cutting his hair a little shorter these days than when he used to grow it out
Not because it shows a different side of him or anything, but just because with the sides short, he gains a sort of punk edge which always played well with the hobo chic grunge styles of girls in his town
He likes however girls wear their hair
He doesn’t care about feminine attention
He could care less if the girl he was crushing on that week even mentioned his name, let alone talked with him directly
Not possessive anymore in the slightest
As he so often used to be a bit obsessive
This little Emo Thug Thrasher Punk Cupid Kid understandably thought talk is cheap
Chet Faker sang something about that
In his eyes, most things just stole the immediate intrigue away, probably why he fell back into a pattern of unrequited love
He wanted the girls he really loved to know everything about his little life, but felt the natural spark would unflinchingly carry on whether small talk was had or not… little words need not be spoken to contemplate & channel good energy back and forth between loved ones within the universe.
Still, he didn’t shy away from a little mellow flirting or playful smile with an almost devilish grin aimed straight at girls he thought were cute as all hell.
He would dance like nobody’s business
He made the most of his hard yet tolerably graceful life… but his parents didn’t have much, or at least couldn’t give him much
He dabbled in every recreational drug, as a means of self discovery, but mainly just stuck to his routine pack of cigarettes and too many pots of coffee each day
Girls liked to get him hooked on things, noticing his addictive traits & personality.
One girl got him hooked on energy drinks… to the point where he drank 3 Monsters a day after initially holding onto the belief that Monsters tasted like pure cow’s piss.
This other girl got him hooked on ballet… to the point where girls complimented him on his ass, which he trained in ballet class
Another girl got him hooked on shoe gaze and dream pop… to the point where he impulsively bought two vintage electric fender guitars and a classic drum set
Another girl got him hooked on astral projection… to the point where he’d dissociate almost every single day, projecting himself into other dimensions
Another girl got him hooked on tarot cards & zen meditation… to the point where he nearly became a monk at a monastery
The thing was, every girl wanted to mold him into her little pet art project, uniquely customizing the design of what this perfect little feminine skater boy could or should be. The funnier thing was he never even minded, always submitting ever so graciously to their whimsical demands
He liked girls who tasted like pink bubblegum when he kissed them
The ones that would bum a cigarette off of him after blowing a huge bubble at the park right in front of him… so he guessed, it was just for aesthetic, not their breath, but to him, having a combo of cigarettes and gum on your breath was never really even such a bad thing, almost preferable.
He liked eskimo kisses and snow angels on cold winter mornings when snow kissed & frost bitten noses gently touched while you lounged and flapped in thick powder
He liked girls in beanies who smoked spliffs and probably had hookah rigs
They’d tease him playfully & treat him as if he was a guest at the playboy mansion
Pleasing him because he only wanted to please them so instinctively & longingly.
Well, he was far from Hugh Hefner, but he loved girls in Playboy Magazines too. So too, he adored girls who hid their bodies, due to sadly toxic & traumatic abusive past circumstances in each of their lives — which he always indirectly attempted to help them cope with and work through by means of unwavering gentle kindness, politely sincere remarks & little cute gestures… the Emo Thug Thrasher Punk Cupid Kid never minded or even really cared to notice too big of a difference between a girl having double Ds or a flat chest, but always thought a nice ass was probably the most preferable of the two. He was additionally always inevitably acknowledging how girls actually looked so cute after dressing in his baggy shirts and baggy Lucky Jeans they practically ripped off of his waste, not to have sex with him, but to tighten it with a belt around their skinny girly frame, roll the pant legs up, and rock the baggy dad jeans for themselves, laughing as they stole his beanie away too… always failing in attempts at hiding his vulnerably messy post-beanie skater boy hair
He had gotten tattoos given to him by girls who never even gave anyone else a tattoo before in their life, either needle or stick & poke, and would easily pay a girl in multiple currencies and favors to simply draw art for him, even doodling little sketches on plain white hoodies in sharpie
Girls, in his view, knew more about the little nuances of life, had attained more wisdom in all things considered & played the muse to the world’s artistic endeavors
He went home almost everyday after morning errands and work and studies, and immediately listened to The Cure without fail, absolutely loving the goth romantic era, playing their debut album “Three Imaginary Boys” as well as their albums “Wish”, “Disintegration”, & “Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me” on repeat, dwelling on every girl who crossed his mind in life.
He always smoked perfectly rolled & mild Marlboro 27 cigarettes, ash littering the cement pavement below his feet
The Emo Thug Thrasher Punk Cupid Kid always wore black, white, and grey attire, as well as some vintage denim skater jeans, yet otherwise sought out the pink undertones and soft vibes in the feminine world that surrounded him, whether in music, energies, or material goods… basically anything bright and soft
Lush and shimmering, bright and soft
The same way pink is bright & soft
The same way The Cure — even in all goth attire — plays music bright & soft
The same way this Emo Thug Thrasher Punk Cupid Kid is bright and soft
With bright eyes and a soft mind, sensitive to ways of femininity, self aware of inner workings in his deepest innermost psyche The boy reminisces about girls who got away in the past, a nicely soft pink mood
He ashes out his cigarette and lights up another one, a subtly casual gray mood
A lightly moody rotating nostalgic routine of smoking & reminiscing about girls lost, ash from cigarettes flicking away from his wrists, contemplating relationships & what they’re worth with each & every meditative inhale, exhale, wrist flick & sedative ash.
We say in 2008, “damn I wish I could go back… to those days when I didn’t care
We say in 2012, “damn I miss like early 2008, when nothing mattered.”
We say in 2016, “damn 2012 was lit, wasn’t it”
Now in 2024, even though a part of me wants so badly to be that kid in 2016, riding slopes of Tahoe mountains infinitely in a place that felt so much like Heaven
I realize the paradise of days of old
Is nothing akin to the paradise of right now
No matter, where you are, look around
See the gold in it all
And explore something constantly better
But know this is the better
If you appreciate now, you will appreciate now in the long term, as it is always now, a moment to moment basis forever, always
Please, dear reader, don’t paint me black when I used to be golden
Because I am golden
I am as bright as sifted jewels
We all sometimes are desperate
Metaphorically making our signs
As bums on the side of the road
Asking for the simplest things in return
Always hoping we aren’t too demanding
Then someone looks our way, notices how we deserve more, and by their little kind regard or sweet and thoughtful gesture
We feel an alleviation of slight brain fog
A little more optimism about the day
And are compelled to return the favor
In some way down the road
Good karma moving along
everything’s cool from afar
well most idealistic cravings,
tendencies & settings
girls are so cute from afar
rather just drift like a ghost
skirt most things between girls
ignorance is bliss
and bliss is bliss
i’d rather just banter
on a steady blissful point
no need to really elaborate
the topic enhances in multitudes
unlocked universes already await
to those who just keep
an open third eye
here we go, a wayward flow,
back and forth, all the same
so too constant shifting change
motion sickness
A thousand days of nothingness
Lost in the poetic minimalism
Of life in dedication to art
Starving for the pursuit of
Making something out of nothing
I dream of a cool room
Bare with exception of
White walls on all four corners
A stereo system
An album collection
A typewriter and an ash tray
A little desk on which it sits
And the comfiest of all chairs
My preferred simplistic workspace
All I do is listen and type
Music the engine revving the writings
The gasoline helping my creative outlet
Channeling all artistic energy
Into every word I ever write
This Girl (Part 1)
She walks, heavy boots clad on her heels
Treading on asphalt pavements
As she takes a breather from her
Casual morning stroll
And sits on steps outside of a cathedral
Her toes pointed inwards
Hoodie hiding her cloudy, misty eyes
Goosebumps forming on her skin
As a result of musical catharsis
She leans into her praying hands
And cries deep, melancholic tears
Pondering past romantic flings
And whether she should confess
Her little faults, barely even considered sins to degenerates in a nearby alley
These faults weighed on her so heavily
Even though she was far from a sinner
She was far from a Saint too
Writing sonnets in her loft, she thought
Shakespeare would be proud of
Tossing every single one of them aside
She found peace in Joy Division
The band that always cured her torment
Alleviating and relieving
A constant, lingering headache
Not knowing what to do with
Her current mixed state
Both manic and depressed
Half delusional
Only finding happiness within the sadness
She wanted to feel acceptance
Even if that meant a smile
From a cute, local barista boy
So she made efforts
At getting an iced coffee
At the local café
To feel kind of like a semi decent citizen
She made her way over to the local café
Upon getting up from the cathedral steps
And wiping away all of the
Downtrodden tears off of her cheeks
The attractive barista smiles
And hands her the iced coffee she paid for
She felt she deserved half as much
She bought a book of old poetry
At the local bookstore
And headed back to the cathedral
She stepped into the confessional
With the priest
Purposely missing both of her appointments
At the gynecologist’s and her therapist’s
She felt cleansing her sins
Would do her better, at least her soul
She looked at the crucifix on the wall
Jesus dying on the cross
But still making time to forgive her
I guess life’s not that bad, she thought
Now sitting cozily in her loft
She read the old poetry book she bought
And cried tears of joy this time
Thanking the Lord for forgiving her sins
And blessing another day of her existence
We all get 365 days each year
To make the most of it all, she thought
Far from a sinner, but far from a saint
I guess life’s not that bad, she thought
This Girl (Part 2)
Metaphorically, cement was her worldly
Substance of choice, visually at least
Charred, slowly corroding yet unwavering, once malleable and soft, texture
As well as the instinctual airy breeze
The dark & harsh paired with the invisible
The juxtaposing contrast between the two
In addition to her cigarettes and coffee
Caffeine and tobacco, her usual barely contemplated daily tendencies
Surely addictive habits, inescapable,
With any kind of cheap, leveling stimulant
Awakening mindfulness in her senses
Routines, any common subliminal Earthly substance cultivating outerworldly thought
She blankly moves about, forlorn
Removing her little kettle from heat
In her tiny kitchen, preparing to steep
The green tea she had originally bought
That same winter while visiting Japan
Hoping to feel less apathetic & casually despondent in drastic perpetual lag
As she so often had for days at a time
She makes it a point to read something
Any time she sips her steeped tea
Poetry deep within her core thoughts
A poetic rhythm to the way she moved
Refreshingly sober and grounded in reality
One with the cement and breeze
Unshifting asphalt pavement, set in stone
Only elementally deceived by the currents of the steadily transforming breeze
Speaking and reading in alterable tongues
Either heroic or villainous
She possessed both qualities
Rolling in every direction
Floating, engulfing, passing through
Anything confirming her existence
Bringing both comfort & dismay
Below her old heavy worn out boots
A light, feathery feel stimulating her otherwise overly desensitized skin
Paved down and floating up all at once
Hurt and recovered all at once
Empty and whole all at once
Fleeting and permanent all at once
Flawed and perfect all at once
Duly noting American soils receding
Just cement and air in every direction
A few plants in her garden, just because
A kitten consistently purring at
Her dusty, bellowing doorstep
Overlooking while knitting on
Her front porch, hazily focused
Like a preoccupied mother
To her, over population the only pollution
All she wanted subconsciously
Was the bliss of a timely peaceful death
We all moved towards its fate anyways
The waiting for the inevitable overbearing
Her only suicidal thought, however,
Was dying like Chet Baker or Elliot Smith
Falling out of a window, or
Jumping off of the roof of a building
Simple and quick, the sudden crash
Through the breezy air
Onto the cement ground below
She was, without a doubt,
An abstinent minded creature
Devout in doing little and talking minimally
Devoted to simply being aware & alive
On a moment to moment basis
Dreaming of the day she was embraced
By the afterlife she craved
But never feverishly indulged
Too hastily finding, unexpectedly
Semi content & grateful existing, yet
Day dreaming frequently of the day
When her bodily being
Transcends eventually into a ghostly form
Life like the shifting dissipation
Of cement into rubble into thin air
To feel one with sobering cement
The way the breeze must feel
As it collides against its cement counterpart, balancing opposites
A yin yang alchemist of the windy
elements and bare trodden ground
To some, obviously a crush eternal
At one with the great nothingness
She was a ghost on Earth already
At least in her eyes, conceptually
Barely reflecting on her looks in the mirror
The heroine spoken of so vividly
In feminist literature
Appearing like an eclipse
Only visible for mere moments
Her thin figure, dress barely brushing
Against mid thigh, soft fabric flowing
Hair strewn about in whatever way
It fell that morning
Quiet naturally, innately gentle disposition
The softest, shyest of temperaments
All she was in this small town was a ghost
At least in her conceived imagination
Avoiding the lustful glances
Of the men passing her
Moving humbly from place to place
Keeping on her mind little phrases
To get her through tasks and chores
The sojourner of an imaginary world far
From the one she actually occupied
Hesitantly accepting her present world
She was recognized in amity by many
Some locals who knew of her
Since forever ago
Some visiting tourists
She remained constantly disillusioned, focused on highs only meditatively accessible to those who sought after them
A yogi of sorts, as attractive as any and all
She loathed her Earthly form, though
The beautiful exterior
Hiding what lies on the interior
If only someone could really notice her
Her true and genuinely angelic soul
Tending to the damaged aspects
Of her heartbreaking cuts and wounds
She longingly wished for more
Yet still appreciated what came her way
Craving the day she passed on
Smoking her cigarettes,
drinking her coffee
Anything that enhanced clarity
And kept her at peace with the bare and raw concept of living, constantly adjusting to the fickle whims of everything so needy
She didn’t mind existence too much
If she just meditated singularly
On the connection between all beings
On a much more expansive mentality
A brighter, fundamental wave length
Destined for far more than just human
Fallibility and corruption
Which she hides away from
Viewing herself more as a ghostly presence and airy creature
Because to her, ghosts were perfect
So long as they refrained from haunting
Apart of the Heavens, out of Purgatory
Fully free from attachment
Free of superfluous touch
Human engagement just tarnishing
The original unblemished state
Of everything in this realm
She idealized little ritualistic behaviors
The idea of doing nothing
By doing something
A sip, a smoke
A drawing, notes on paper
A little witchcraft and attention to detail
A book about anything
Dwelling in solitude
And disengaged from social gatherings
Hiding away from all exchanges
All the stupid pretenses
A game of popularity
& day to day appearances she hated
Even though she knew her looks
To be envied, coveted, and talked about
She pretended to not see gawking stares
Of classless men
At least they had good taste,
She pondered, skirting off out of view
In her mind, she was all but a ghost
In human form
The soul waiting to free itself
From its mediocre cage
One day she’d be free
Apart of that majestic, supernatural realm
Where she already envisioned herself
We were definitely up to something
We were up to nothing at all
Getting high by candlelight
Ash & smoke from cigarettes
Cluttering the ground & sky
Alright, alright
Guess I felt kind of shy
When I said hello, hi
Figured I’m sweet, a nice enough guy
Pretty fly from time to time
We were definitely up to something
We were up to nothing at all
Getting high by candlelight
A spark in her eyes
I lit the match
Your aura consumed stars, a burst of light
I hesitated, thought for a second
Freestyled a verse, jotted down a line
Took a drag so quick and sly
All I ever wanted was true and tried
So I sit in my grunge garb
Wondering why we’re here
Oh hey, oh hey… my oh my
Neil Young sings Heart of Gold
On this lonely & lovely little night
All we can do is sit pretty
And when needed, attempt & try
everything’s cool from afar
well most idealistic cravings,
tendencies & settings
girls are so cute from afar
rather just drift like a ghost
skirt most things between girls
ignorance is bliss
and bliss is bliss
i’d rather just banter
on a steady blissful point
no need to really elaborate
the topic enhances in multitudes
unlocked universes already await
to those who just keep
an open third eye
here we go, a wayward flow,
back and forth, all the same
so too constant shifting change
motion sickness
This is just the beginning of a dream like everlasting quality. Dream Pack Infinite
That thing we clutch so tightly
Routinely make as if from memory
On Groggy Early Mornings
That first pot of coffee at 6:34am
That first pack of 27s at 7:11am
Stumbling out of the bar
Treading asphalt pavement
Rocking vans or converse
Mindlessly peering off at the sky
Skies potently lighting up, shining
An illuminating nature to the universe
Conceptually envisioning, grasping
Transcendental Elusive Nirvana
Bro the whole point
Like of it all is that
There’s no point
so just chill
imagine wildly vivid thoughts
retain inner bliss
zen mellow zone
drift wherever your
beat up shoes
gravitate on this
overcast day
sometimes the sadness feels good
maybe they kissed on the steps
the steps at the door by the porch
He looked at you
and honestly never saw
anything cuter, subtle glance
the ways she moved
gliding on the moon
it was a time
everything and nothing
stoked on silhouettes & cigarettes
you alluded to the fact
i must be okay with the big nothing
seek nirvana idealism by minimal means
the great Tao appears subtly
and, in essence, to find what i seek
i must rid myself of the vain need
to be perfect at all times
and just explore tangled aspects
cluttering egotistical areas of my mind
flowing with a wavy disposition
the way was great yesterday
so it’s great again today
maybe it’s not all that depressing
everything’s just blatantly boring
might as well barely use my phone
just open up & read a book instead
slow my mind down to idle stillness
when you know it all, you know nothing
the answer to the meaning of life
lies somewhere within nothingness
so there you have it
nobody really knows anything
everybody caught up in bullshit
you really think i’ll stay down forever
nah i’ll stay low, then come up quick
not much left to do
or remotely worry about
moment to moment
day to day
say it ain’t so
it’s all the same
such an endless drag
He was a heavy deceiver
Yet highly impressionable
I could never have minded that much
We both still went about our day
In the commonplace way we always had
We met up a few times for coffee
Business always taken care of elsewhere
I guess we were all just a little preoccupied, mind wandering again
We never minded each other too much
I guess I was a little caught up
In my head… perpetual reflection
of basically, well, reflection
of nothing at all
we were buddies, met up for coffee
all was alright
Kind eyes
Shy smile
The good
Kind of shy
The cute kind
The kind
That says
I miss you
The one
You know
You can
Be vulnerable
With
She’s the
Gentlest
Cutest
All we
Want is
Simply
A type of
Creature Comfort
She’s like
A Bon Iver song
What was it?
Holocene?
Or maybe
Skinny Love
I love her
Graceful aura
Her serenity
Her peaceful beauty
I’ll give up
In the most
Meaningful
Way possible
Give into you
So vulnerably
To give you
A delicate flower
To see you
Handle my tears
With tender care
I think you are
The closest thing
To angelic
Gentle wings
Angels everywhere
If you have
A perspective
On the matter
Been thinking about time
How it makes
Foe a friend
And friend a foe
What am I doing here
Literally who made it
So that we live to die
That in itself
Is the most poetic thing
Or maybe it’s just
Catastrophic and tragic
All things meet a
Halting, if at all untimely
Crash
So in the ebbs and flows
We must not care too much
And just understand that
Life is a miserable attempt
At stopping the inevitable
When we should be focused
On how special
the present time is
here we go again
watching the o.c.
any random show
any random song
any random book
these words on this page
any random sight
anything just
to kill the time
not that it’s random
but it’s always nice
to do something
that’s so familiar
as if by memory
mornings, nights, routines
all by memory
lost in the song
I’m in conversation
But I forget
Where my story is going
Lots of things saved
Lots of things unsaved
I hope this all
Makes some sort of sense
In the future
Time is all the same
I love you, I love you
Forever and always
I miss you, I miss
everything about you
Forever and always
Those things are
All I know
we are simple
think about where you are
and just be fully invested
in that moment
don’t worry about the outcome
just be grateful
and gratitude
will turn into everything
lost in time
in time, we’re lost
find your way back
to magic witchcraft
to the spell cast
to the wishing well
make a wish last
be quick, but not too fast
don’t rush to the graveyard
your gravestone marked
with your legacy
father, brother, son
son of a bitch
son of a gun
don’t worry about the little things
they’ll kill you faster
skate punk in thrasher
i’m just an emo thug who loves her
listening to my music
headphones, strapped in and on
send her emojis on the iPhone
what has and hasn’t been
home alone and stoned
nicotine in the bloodstream
spliffs and an emo tone
fairer weather
the weather is overcast
rain falls and I’m happy
rain falls, the moss is sappy
we’re discovering things lost
i love my family, but what happened
i want her to fill my lonesome
feel my walls close in
backyard cigarettes
she’s there but nobody’s here yet
i’ll write her a poem
how do we make this last
how do our heads crash
crash into you
need you, want you
you’re like bet
boo thang shawty bae
thank god for music, poetry, and you
thank god for her eyes
everything i love dies
so this is me walking away
this is me facing the day
this is the beginning
of not caring
this is the end
a doors song
just need one friend
to do nothing with
to do everything with
this is a full send
a way to waste a life
who gives a fuck about girls
no relationship in real life
not planning on dating
let me do me and you do you
nervous about what
a slut is a slut
hope she keeps the door shut
hoe lock the door shut
what does she want, what
sad for what
lust is lust
refuse to fuss
light the fuse, u must
ignore all temptation
stfu, hush, just hush
slit wrist and a lost crush
out to sea, brush the leaves
the path to ecstasy
feel the breeze, let go of lust
look at the trees, let go of crush
i realize real eyes realize real lies
your stoked, I’m stoked on ur thighs
come here, she’s going to mesmerize
i memorize her eyes on mine
we always find a way to shine
times ticking, on the table a line
i write my thoughts down
i avoid putting the drugs down
don’t need what doesn’t want me
ignore her text, left on read
we all see what we wanna see
to some, my thoughts are just
in my head, another twitter thread
poetry just something to do
one flew over the cuckoos nest
one flew, just call me drew
a bird blows thru
blow, blown through
drugs on the table, what’s new?
drugs… I’m through with them
and I’m through with you
I got a sober crew
This ain’t nothing new
we out here smoking nicotine
and drinking cold brew
High on life, high on her
minimalists high on
the thought of you
blue boy, why am I so blue
probably because I lost
The thought of you
I’m a Taoist
Not a satanist
I’m a vegan
Who eats meat
who smokes nicotine
Gave up caffeine
but i drink coffee
We need a lil sugar
But just enough
I barely eat
I gave up dairy
but i eat cheese
I just smoke some
nicotine not weed
Drink water
No alcohol, no tequila
No moonshine nor rum
besides an occasional
seltzer or beer
she wants me to get some
Money and get some pussy
She asks how many times
Can a girl cum
Before she’s over it all
Girls just want to have fun
Get some, she begs
A couple times, get some
i ain’t sad,shit
ride in it
die in it
cry in it
be shy with it
i like how u handle it
emotional wit
came with the bag in it
came strapped in it
strapped with it
carrying shit
getting lit
not high, just dying in it
lost in it
bought with it
brought the shit
with the shit
nobody gets shit
she lets down her hair
i may get what i want
just give it time
the process is a process
no more late nights
no more fight nights
not too concerned bout
everything and nothing
I’m simply just alive
I love women
From afar
I love everything
About her
From afar
I love all of this shit
From afar
I’m just a piece
To others’ puzzle
You won’t hear the answer
To the riddle from me
I’m working on it
I’m working on
The big nothing
Listening, loving, learning
I’m just a vessel
To the answer
Not the answer itself
I’m sorry
But you and me
Are the answer
But I won’t let them
Know that much
All they know is
I love you.
My love for her
Will not be televised
It’s not possessive
nor is it obsessive
just kind of endearing
she thaws and melts
the cold
soft, sweet candy
She’s my high
practice not putting in
more energy than they do
just be an available source
ignore self doubt
practice tolerance
of yourself + others
practice a quiet aura
a subtle uniqueness
a mellow personality
you’ve been through a lot
soon it will make sense
all of it
but for now
wade through the deep end
it won’t be deep forever
just vibe with life
hopefully it vibes back
realizing what i got
things i’ve acquired
and lost in the span
of my entire life
i’ve rid of much
besides my records
stored in a crate
at my moms house
a record player
a handful of books
an old guitar that
I’ve had since high school
2 duffels of clothes
a back pack
and snowboard gear
i’ve had since the winter
of 2015
that’s it
oh and the iphone
im typing this on
that’s what i’ve gathered
in my 29 years
on this universe
less is more
but why does
it just feel like
less is less
a job, a place
some things, some hobbies
it’s all very minimalist
of me this little life
my little life
in a sparsely lit
sparsely furnished attic
no car as of yet
can’t find my wallet
but here we are at
the outskirts of summer
the beckoning of fall
a new year
looming soon enough
with my little things
that could fill
a regular car’s worth
no more, certainly
not less
couldn’t even closely
fill a storage crate
my only habits are
the vape i hit
nicotine not weed
and the coffee i make
every morning
my only form of caffeine
besides an occasional green tea
i have two pairs of shoes
and two hats, two beanies
this is what i’ve
gathered, let’s not
mention what i’ve rid of
i take 4 meds
including an inter muscular shot
mood stabilizers, anti-anxiety, antipsychotics, sleeping meds, etc.
drink water constantly
watch things, read things
write things, listen to
things… it’s all rather
barren, void
not of soul or life
my things are fully lived in but there is a lack
of real abundance
but depth in the little
that i do have
that’s all to report
half way through 29
a small family
my parents and siblings
grandparents passed
no wife or kids
this is my little life
and things i’ve gathered.
I write
As a practice
I knead
Things into being
I need
Things for my existence
For my being
Being alive
Is a task all in itself
I will write
Till 1000 pages of poetry
Fill a book
I want the soft accent
Of her French language
French kiss on my lips
French inhale in her lungs
I want a cute brunette
To sweep me off my feet
Is that too much to ask?
I live so simply
Like it almost hurts
How simple the morning is
Just want a coffee date
Is that too much to ask?
No affairs after
No inner workings of magic
In bedrooms
Just a simple chat
Around a coffee table
Tea spilled, pillow talk
Without the pillows
Talk of the town
With a woman,
coffee shared
Is that too much to ask?
To her, I’m nobody
To me, I’m simply
A young Leonard Cohen
Stylistically of course
…only stylistically
who cares, simply put
story of my life
that fickle yet still endearing
friendship amongst loved ones
amongst little flings amongst homies
never mattered
all that much
to me too, me neither
so anyways
I’m going to ash out my cigarette
listen to my music
to me, tunes sedatedly euphoric
and continue my prolific
stream of consciousness
joint writing ventures
all of these lingering habits
all of these overcast vibes
all of these meditative moods
reflecting with my mellow
coping mechanisms.
Elusive Nirvana 