p_orno_graphoc

Wed, 15 Oct 2008 02:37:59 GMT

DEARDIARY: the trials of the mute and lost, the crushing weight of the ocean that i am across, and how to find a balance in all this?

A LUCKY CHILD DONT KNOW HOW LUCKY HE IS
right? right?

oh bro, i miss you the most. stretch your arms all the way to here and hold me, massage the doubt from my aching muscles. rearrange the bizarre contours of this new life and help me see it's all gonna be alrite. No matter the distance, know that when we are together again it will seem as though no time has passed. I feel already that no time has passed, bro - yesterday I was sleeping on your couch, waking up with the sun, seeing you off to work, and ONE NIGHT I WENT TO SLEEP ON YOUR COUCH AND WOKE UP IN FLORIDA, WOKE UP ON A PLANE, WOKE UP IN SAN FRANCISCO, WATCHED THE OCEAN MOVING IMPOSSIBLY BENEATH ME WATCHED THE SNOWY TUNDRA OF IRKUTSK GLIDE BY EFFORTLESSLY

WOKE UP IN KOREA
WOKE UP IN KOREA
WOKE UP IN KOREA

and my tongue's been stolen from me. again.

it's my mom's birthday today. I will call her tonite and feel the hours between us. and i will tell her how much i miss her, i'll look into the neon mess of Changwon at night and tell her I want to come home, that no matter how good this is and how lucky i am, it's all been a mistake and i'm losing my fucking mind.

MY TAIL'S BETWEEN MY LEGS
I DONT KNOW WHAT TO CHOOSE
FORGIVE US FATHER
WE KNOW NOT WHAT WE DO

Sat, 27 Sep 2008 06:27:44 GMT

DEARDIARY: what is the day what is the day what is the year

where have you been?
emptying out, penciling my height on the door frame anew, living like the undead, shying away from the sun, trying to remember where i left my arms. living the fiction of my life, wandering through america, trying to find a way out.
NO WAY HOME

the thing which soldiers-to-be hear in the trill of horns or the stacatto pulse of drums; the mysterious and hidden part of those melodies which siren-song them away from home -- i have heard it.
pack your sorry life into a single bag. kiss your mother goodbye. swallow everything you love into a strange place inside of you. cinch your eyes shut tight and piece faces together, watch them dissolve. tie the blindfold around your skull and follow the pied-piper over oceans to someplace new. and ask yourself: is this fate?

long ago, he wrote -- DEARDIARY: 'fate' is destroying me.
but it didn't.
DEARDIARY: i am no longer afraid.

I WILL DO MY BEST
I WILL DO MY BEST TO LIVE
MOM, I'M SORRY THAT I HAD TO SHOVE OFF AND LEAVE YOU ALONE IN A WORLD THAT'S ALL AUTUMN AND SHARP TEETH

BUT WHAT'S A SOLDIER TO DO?

Wed, 31 May 2006 04:10:17 GMT

I WROTE THIS FOR A CONTEST I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT
TITLE-->Kneeling Breech Birth

a red calx shorn from some breaking body she
understood: some canticle blooming inside deep

she could feel the slow sure time signature of life
the lazy tick of the umbilicus the hospital lights flickering

and presenting feet first Caligula: some mad
oyster rolled out kneeling breech she would recall

but what does that mean to a woman
skeptical of tele-evangelists? and un-doused

the parity of miscarriage: three of god's little rags falling out
of her: three questions unposed just breathless husks:

these things. the bells of a strange sunday. and this
reconsider. the scaffolding of disbelief collapsing

breath bicycling in labor she would recall
the firebolt of flashlight light her husband shone into her

like a prayer: like a compass that child would turn
he's placing a frozen package of peas where baby's head is

spies a car turned around on the highway; the traffic
report helicopter and she just laughs until tears bloom

like a prayer: like a compass that child would turn
but stubborn he didn't and they were unsure

this one would live to grow chubby grow hair
unaware: the womb is a seminary that some step out of devout

scourge of seagulls his first word is air he loves his father
with a smile that could disarm a time bomb

and each unfolding paper crane of a day she wonders: what is a miracle
five years of grown bones singing to the cat behind the couch

she is like a collapsed lung from behind the glass watching
boy under water holding his breath testing the favor of life

snug front gate latch. cowboy boots are his favorite
each day is a candle snuffed by floods of starlings

dreams: Caligula's thoughts turned to clear blue air
dreams walking backward. empty humid hallways

Mon, 29 May 2006 05:17:46 GMT

i had something to put here
but then i realized it was all about me
so i kinda threw it out and wrote this:

TRUE STORY RIGHT?
everyone's mingling
i'm wreathed in cigarette smoke/smell, a fog like
coastal forest at sunrise
this girl's mouth is moving at me, i guess that's how i know she's talking to me
: blah blah blah blah
i can't hear anything she's saying so i
rudely turn and go into an open bathroom
i won't see her again
piss; thinking: so bored of all this
(it's not that simple -- just wait a few days folks)
i look out the window
and see the kids running back
home and they're screaming
dodging traffic

Wed, 03 May 2006 18:24:15 GMT

DEARDIARY: any minute now i'll be broadsided; attention-jacked. it's hard to live as if living were possible, and without ceasing.

i am frustrated with ambivalent feelings about going home again.
try not to think about the future because it is fruitless.
i wish i had enough courage to assure myself: things won't change.
we are hopeful above all else.
i want to make this stuff count.
it already does.
i have accepted the quiet beneficence of friendship as a joy in/of itself.
this is a great boon.

each day, every day
comes to me like that;
a puff of smoke unraveling,
all violet; unmistakable

LIFE HAS GIVEN ME SO MUCH -- BAD FORTUNE HAS BEEN FOILED AND EVERY DAY THIS IS APPARENT IN SOME NEW GHOSTLY WAY

some nights us boys open the barn door to each other's bodies and see inside our hearts shaped like muddy fish
NONE OF THIS HAS GONE UNNOTICED EACH DAY IS AN OILY BUBBLE WE LOOK THROUGH BEFORE IT POPS BELIEVE ME I AM GRATEFUL DESPITE THE TIME I'VE WASTED ERRONEOUSLY EACH DAY I SPRING FROM MY BED MUSICAL SCALES BREAKING OUT IN MY THROAT (THOUGH TIME MAY SWALLOW IT'S OWN TAIL) EACH DAY IS A THING ITS OWN,

HOLDING ITS OWN RACING HEART

Sun, 16 Apr 2006 19:28:02 GMT

the world here is unrevolving? i don't know!

clay: it has driven me again to the pen -- brother, quite simply, watching you cry made me want to cry and how long has it been since i've felt that?

a reminder like a twin's scorpion sting; the elephant graveyard of poetry, what is that, anyways?
how many times how short of of a time a time a time my life is a series of clashings

and i am grateful for all of them
to learn; to love again and again

Sat, 18 Mar 2006 05:51:36 GMT

must be nice
have a good break
miss you already
Sent: 7:50PM 03/17

dear buddy: i miss you too and i hope when we get home (are we allowed to call it that) we can lay in my bed just side by side and stretch our legs against the wood bottom of the upper bunk because yeah i guess i sorta miss it so what. i hope soon we get a chance to grey ourselves out and roll down the hills of spring shave our faces shave our heads all over again melting and remelting each day until it attains a purity because imagine when it's a whole continent standing up like a colossus between us.
i was thinking as i was walking away from our place today that when we get back we'll have to drink and climb the fine arts building and stand on the top of it and fire our voices at the moon like rusty uncleaned rifles because i am desirous to do that finally. we should throw my ps2's hard drive off the roof of dewaters and whoop and write the word 'AIR' in red marker across the windows.
i'm gonna write a letter for every day i spend at home to some different person that i miss.
pub is here and i'm very happy to see him (etc)
my mom is a delite
home is a hard thing to do; feeling happy/sad

if you write a poem and no one ever reads it is it unwritten?

Tue, 07 Mar 2006 17:25:14 GMT

the skin from the back of your knuckles
fingernail clippings
the dust eroded from the soles of your feet
some breath just some old used up breath

not even
that

Sat, 04 Mar 2006 20:32:32 GMT

quick listen i'm writing all this down while i watch you sleep and im gonna put this bundle of paper in the basement storage locker #59 and maybe you'll find it maybe you won't but i've nothing left otherwise besides this understanding is just artifice

DEARDIARY: i never promised you jet engines; wings; silent-action rifle pin hammering bullets bidding them burst
DEERDIARY: you'll be interested in this: am still fists clenched over this mess of white space -- this begins in a library where i found a one-winged pigeon beneath a prepared piano with a pebble in its mouth; smoothest pebble i ever seen, then or since; if anYONE IS INTERESTED, the rare antlers room is just behind the rare books room in the new library, i used that tiny pigeon pebble to carve a capillarial tunnel among the curling and brown suffocated scrolls. it's a glorious place with antlers of all shapes and sizes; disembodied. they're glorious, notched by time and alone. I use a black pillow to muffle the sound of my raucous laughter -- whooping mad barbaric yawp -- from the dagger-lipped librarians when i see them -- rare antlers? who knew?

is it ok? EVERY PLACE WE KNOW HAS A MYSTIC RIBBON HIDDEN BEHIND ITS TEETH??????????????????????????????????????????????????

found a skylight that opens right up there and i can use it to climb to the top of a tooth-colored sandstone lighthouse shining me some path home. (using lighthouses for insidious giant shadowpuppets skittering across the skin of fathoms)

one piece of paper. folded into a small bird. undone; one word: BROTHER

Wed, 01 Mar 2006 05:35:30 GMT

Nine years of some bullfrog’s thorny
Tongue lashing out at the living world,
Now just music from a far-off room.

The day Kotex’s house burned down
He would sit on the floor of my bedroom
And tell me about walking through the
Wreckage, everything breathing smoke,

A huge white house transformed into
Some impossibly black colossus,

“Like a cored apple,” he said.

I imagine that now,
Walking through the wreckage,

Nine years of poetry like an
Airplane laying down alone
In a white field at the edge of a forest;
Pieces scattered for miles.

my tea always tastes the same because i never wash the cup. it's so lazy! what is making life so gaysauce i dunno.

i have a roommate who stretches muscles to the buzz of violins in the almost-dark we silently he presses the wild iron bars of limbs to the ground passing breath in little gusts waiting for something to release some stuck clutch that won't catch glancing up at me
and my shroud which
he knows but does not know spaces betwen bones shifting the sharp sghing crack a knee floats like an ark to some wooden plank of a chest a violin's voice bounces between us like a cry off canyon walls
the fibers unslack and pulling himself through him he knows nothing while i write this all down

Mon, 20 Feb 2006 03:26:27 GMT

dear mom everytime i think about you dying a black dolphin jumps in the oil spill of my throat

Fri, 17 Feb 2006 05:02:07 GMT

i have spent ages inside this bedroom
breath steaming the windows
reaching out to the halos of streetlights
digging deeper into some stratum of sheets

a hidden road

Wed, 15 Feb 2006 12:44:13 GMT

DEADIARY: choose any boy to spend and deflate your heart on

just so long as he sings
when no one else is around
in stairwells
knee-deep in echo

Tue, 14 Feb 2006 18:17:21 GMT

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY DIARY I HOPE YOU ARE AS LUCKY AS I AM
IN PROCURING SOME LAD OR LASS WILLING to fake it for longer than normal
dear boys and girls who have a crush on me: {No thanks.}
but in any case, i have a friend and his name is FeaTuReLesS and he is fond of tea, obscuration and strong-arming me to the side of the road and he wants to share a song with YOU:

never be afraid to say it
we learn to speak by watching others speak
this is my lesson

each time i see you
i feel your tension like
a whip's cruel barb
outstretched
spine tight as a stretched band
your tension
rippling up the sidewalk
unholy
and i laugh

iam: stalling drug addict daisychaining detritus affixing adjectives wont to verb nouns enjoying my time alone sick of matching clothes sick of women sick of sex and lubricant drawn to the smell of ink woken each morning by the perversion of words struggling up from sleep like a balloon underwater pressure cooked able to be brought back to life for short amounts of time but unable to sustain resurrection immune to collapse bored with myself just as you are shorn sheep able to be met in dreams but come to my door and i might hold my breath;

leave you hanging

Mon, 13 Feb 2006 00:34:20 GMT

I DONT KNOW THE GUY NO
I DONT KNOW THE GUY NO
i called you suckling piglet in the light of this new place i have called you suckling piglet to remove the knife
god has given me permission to do all of this

i am god's excercise in patience
my father was a clockmaker
my mother was a homemaker

when a character in a videogame turns its eyes to my human eyes and asks me how big my penis is when it is fully erect i think it might be time to stop but it also occurs to me that it could be time to step closer
DEARDIARY: today i got the wind knocked out of me and all of my socks are dirty
slowly learning the art of the unclenched fist
bracket his heart is like a flag unfurled bracket

every written thing is gonna end with 'and now you know'
hundreds of poems later our hero is still fucking it up

Thu, 09 Feb 2006 05:16:41 GMT

the sound a funeral makes
is not laughter

IM NOT WAITING FOR MYSELF TO RISE LIKE A MOON UP ABOVE THE LINE OF EXPECTATIOn
im waiting for honesty
and waving and wavign and waving in a trance waving now
robot voices wash over your voice and pour out of your mouth you shouting ninny
cannot wait cannot wait

you are a new friend. you are unresisting. you are friendly. you are someone to talk to. you are welcoming. you are a strong and admirable person. you are an echo lord. you are jellyfish waving tentacles at the wavy crazed sun. you are waiting for something grey-green to deliver you.

i am DATing my thoughts with a tape recorder affixed to my head in the night when i sleep
they say i talk in my sleep about something that isnt bullshit
well thats a start isnt it?
i am ready for honesty to sponge me off and brush this dirt from my spats.
CUZ I DO WEAR SPATS RIGHT OMG THAT SO DUMB RIGHT
i have better ways to spend my time

all things are haiku
things which buddha frowns on, like:
fucking in the sand

Mon, 06 Feb 2006 18:09:14 GMT

i have not written this

memory is just
a vanishing act

Wed, 11 Jan 2006 21:33:14 GMT

ok.
we're NOT gay.
the rocks beneath my feet are a movin
you can tell exactly what kind of mood i'm in by the way i greet you -- if i scream i'm in a good mood and if i jus say hey it's a bad/sub-par mood
the truth of the matter is: now is the week for some taylor-time (at least until friday) and i'm LIVIN IT UP SOLO after weeks and weeks of out-of-control (fun) bullshit

the pipes clang at night ghosties

Tue, 03 Jan 2006 15:48:19 GMT

TODAY TODAY TODAY TODAY
i don't even have to tell myself that anymore
they are pulling coarse rope
from the bellies of beached whales,

Fri, 23 Dec 2005 02:30:02 GMT

i'm lacing bright red ribbon through your teeth with my fists
i have dreams where we fight over her
i have dreams about you and i
but dreams are boring

i am really even more courageous than before, i climb trees to knock down the snow, i nurse frostbite, i patch my pants and climb on frozen waves. it's all enough for me. i mean, i smile without license and whoop. i think i could do this for a lot longer than a month.

my dog had to be put to sleep. they turned his thoughts to clear blue air. i'm not sure what i feel about it. we didn't have the best relationship.

got bored and ran on my mom's treadmill
i miss my friends from school.

Sat, 26 Nov 2005 17:18:48 GMT

waiting for breakfast wet and amorphous i can barely distinguish between here and there
i miss you but i think it'll be fine
suffer this gulf -- waiting for breakfast and all i can think of is falling my face down in the snow and breathing frozen water up into my hot nostrils and digging my fingers into the hard earth's flesh

zombiebride: you don't know how you've changed; latched-on, your new pair of eyes is scaring the hell out of me

i'm lonesome when you're around

Fri, 11 Nov 2005 16:59:57 GMT

i'm out jumping fences trying to find a place to wet my feet -- sleeping until sunrise and not a minute later, stepping into a world awash in morning light -- i'm whooping at the soul of this place to come out swinging -- i'm taking it on -- fists up and i'm popping it one clean across the face for rouge -- this is the only way i know how to love; this violence.

she wolfshredded and me just wolf-raised, feral child, my eyes can see the dust swept beneath the bruise-colored rug of night.
she wolfshredded and me just wolf-raised and oh god what a pair eh

i miss the winter and lake michigan rolling out those jagged and huge tongues for us to skate upon

wind take me laughing wild and i'll end up wherever its capricious wiles will let me and that's OKAY.

Sun, 06 Nov 2005 18:54:15 GMT

i'm dreaming of a phantomless life
in love with neither old world nor new
only when i sleep do i see you, pal o' my heart
i wish you the worst:

burial alive,
or, worse,
solitude and a place
in only god's memory

Sun, 23 Oct 2005 22:14:48 GMT

DEARDIARY i don't know what to do with her, to do with the shreds that wolves left behind. i know so little about reparations, i don't know anything about the moon and i don't know why it smiles down on me when everything

is so fucked up. what happened to that time when we would
march out into the cold
and fire arrows at the thing,
firing arrows because even
climbing trees, reaching up,
you couldn't feel the
bruised plum night sky
close enough.
loosed arrows would scream,
but so would we,
shieldless,
cracking our voices on that ceiling
when god sent our arrows back
like wordless replies.

the moon remains unpunctured and unaffected by our animosity. it's benevolent as always and that pisses me off just a little, just a little bit inside. i'm into acceptance, and i'm definitely not into mourning so i'm gonna take those wolfshredded skins and just carry them on my shoulders, i mean, i guess, because there's so little else to do.

i keep that letter by my desk, and i read it so i won't forget.

a tuning fork between two worlds: i am that too john, at times. i mean, at times, we all are. but since when is the grass greener on both sides?

Sun, 16 Oct 2005 06:41:59 GMT

i have spoken of you for so long
without feeling anything

and now this