Born of the Angst Generation
2002
1998-2001
(Asleep Inside)
1995-1997
I wrote this while hiding in a
fire escape stairwell
I feel the need to kill. I am seeing the evil in so many people. I want to
disappear and try survive alone in the wild. People are evil, and all they do
is hurt and get hurt. It's so hard not to lash out and claw or bite. Because I
am a person, they expect me to act like they think a person should act.
I feel so much raw emotion, but I have been conditioned to show none. But
sometimes being stoic makes them angry. I'm never right. I want to regress into
emotion. I feel so much id, and I want to indulge it. Listen to me!
I'm using THEIR terms for what is pure emotion. The emotion is what is natural,
and controlling it is called civilization. Hence, it is uncivilized to follow
emotion. Well FUCK THEM!
My anger is too powerful, and it scares me, but I want to indulge it. And I
can't help thinking if this irrationality is a teenage whim as they want to
make it seem like. But it's been there so long and so recurring that I'm
beginning to believe myself, because they have lied so much before. And now I
need to do my homework, because that is what they expect of me. FUCK THEM!
And if they analyze this, they will think I'm either crazy or a moody teenager.
Don't you just love it?
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Listening To Music
The hair on my arms is standing up. The hair on my neck is standing up. My jaw
is clenched and my eyes are watering. I am so tense, so bothered. Slowly
growing rage is welling up inside of me. Rage that can consume me. My eyes are
watering still. I can not hold all this inside me. If it does not come out as
rage, it will come out in a tear.
"I still recall the taste of your tears."
This song will kill me. My throat is tight. I'm choking slightly, gagging on
the intensity. Oh, God, please help.
I can't stop this.
"This thing is slowly taking me apart."
And every time a thought pours out my head, the song resounds a related line, and
I can see how much life is wanting "something I can never have."
God, this sounds cheesy when I relate it to a song, but this song has affected
me so much since I first heard it when I was fourteen years old. My head hurts
SO MUCH! STOP! Stop all of this! Ow! Please stop! Ow. stop. I am shaking now,
but I am also numb. I can not feel my arms. My eyes are now drooping from lack
of purpose. My lack of purpose. Head still hurts. I think I'll stop it all,
now. Forget myself. Just do what I'm supposed to.
I'm not what they want running around. And they have almost broken me over the
years. But there has always been a bit of what they fear still in me. Now they
try to break that. It is all I have, but it is strong enough to hurt me, even
kill me, if I keep it in much longer.
I have two choices, release it or destroy it, and I don't want to give them the
satisfaction of destroying it. It is all I am still holding on to. And my grip
is very tight. Tight enough to crush them if I want to. And they are scared.
But they can see my instability, and they know I am not invincible. My
mortality is obvious, and my existence is being threatened. But they ARE
scared.
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Animosity
I feel so lonely. I don't know what to do. I haven't been feeling well mentally
for a while. Yesterday and today I've sort of taken off to rest, but it doesn't
seem to be doing anything except make me lonelier.
When Jer cancelled Vampire last night, I was really down. I needed to be
someone else for a while. I was rather upset when I found out we weren't
playing. Then my dad called up and said my grandma's lung had collapsed. THEN,
I began thinking about Kenn's letter. I put on a violent song. (That was bad.)
I absolutely flipped. I scared all my friends to the point where they really
don't talk to me anymore. They avoid me, and that's probably the worst thing
for me.
WHY??!! What did I do? I called Kenn, but he wasn't home. Now I'm sitting here
in an empty, quiet room at the computer. I'm going nuts, but I'm going there
quietly this time so I don't scare people. It's taken the people here this long
to see me like this. Obviously they haven't paid close attention to me, even
though I guess they are my friends. I have one burst of me, and now I'm treated
like a diseased child. What the fuck? What did I do? Am I that strange?
My stomach is burning inside now. I ache, but it wasn't there a little bit ago.
I'm beginning to hate it here. No one understands or even tries to. They just
shy away. They are scared! Damn it, maybe they should be! But why? Why am I any
different than anyone else here?
I'm starting to cry, and my insides still burn, and I feel so lost. Lost inside
me, because there's no one else here inside me except the part of me that is
crying to be freed. I feel like a kitten in a bear trap, mewing pathetically
until someone frees me. But I know that as soon as I am freed, the kitten will
no longer exist, but some ravaging beast will takes its place, and there's no
going back. I feel that since my little rage yesterday, I am already on my
track to destruction, and if I want to go back to controlled life, I must make
the decision soon. I don't feel quite like I did before yesterday. I'm going
somewhere, but I don't know where. I don't know if it's good or bad. All I know
is that it's different, and I don't know if there will be anyone else there or
if I will always be alone. I want to be able to survive alone, but I don't want
to have to. Humans are dependent creatures, and even if I regress, I am still
human and will always feel the tiniest need for another. Time will tell what
happens, but I'm scared of what is to come. I admit that I do like people, some
people.
To be left by them because of who I am would really hurt, but I feel it
happening already. I don't know if anyone will understand.
I think will go get some food.
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Lost Hope
NOW I AM TRULY ALONE. The one person I had hoped could relate to me is lost. He
is in himself now, giving himself to anyone who will take him. He has become one
of the world's biggest flirt. It hurts. I had hoped we could relate to each
other, but he has other people. I don't have anyone. I was hoping he would end
up being different, but he's not really. He actually told me he liked me, but I
think he liked the idea of someone not hating him because he's "different",
and since he's found others (or more to the point, another) he doesn't need me
anymore. So I go back to where I was, my only hope gone.
He doesn't even let me talk anymore, even if it is to relate to what he was
saying. He uses me to unburden himself, whether if it is to tell me about his
rage (which I can relate to) or tell me about the pretty girl he flirted with
and made everybody jealous (which hurts me like hell.) What can I do? I still
want to be here for him, but now it just hurts me to talk to him. Everything he
writes is what I think, but everything he says is so cheery and flip. It's
fucking¿ me up. I had my hopes up, which was stupid. I don't know what to do now.
What about Chad?
I don't know what to do about Chad. He never talks to us anymore. But the last
thing he told Kenn was that he was afraid he might die of AIDS. And that is the
last thing Kenn heard from him. He didn't say why he was afraid of it, but he
has a major reason hidden away in his head. And he won't talk to us.
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No Worth
I don't have anyone to talk to anymore. My one hope for understanding is gone. I
have another friend, Chad, to worry about. I have myself to worry about. I have
Joaquin to worry about. I still have Kenn to worry about. And I have no one to
talk to, because the only people I might be able to talk to, or WERE able to
talk to, are the people I'm worried about. I'm so fucking lost. I'm helpless,
hopeless, and useless. I have nothing to give, nothing worth anything. I gave
what I could, and no one could use it. Kenn doesn't need me or want me. Joaquin
doesn't use what I give. Chad doesn't acknowledge my existence anymore.
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Love's Little Pleasures, Love
is Little Pleasure
Love should be a many slandered thing.
Theories about love permeate human nature. My theory is that love is a word
that should never be used, because all it does is make things worse. People
throw the word away without even thinking about what they are saying. I've
heard the word "love" drip from the lips of the most shallow and
insincere people, whereas those who truly care and cherish never use the word,
for they, too, believe in its raw power but do not know its true definition. How
can anybody know what love is? And if someone does know, why don't the rest of
us? Or am I the only ignorant one?
Two people (ie. boyfriend, girlfriend, lover, etc.) have told me that they love
me. I didn't believe either of them at the time nor do I believe them now. They
just threw the word away as if it would impress me. Was it supposed to impress
me that they could throw away possibly the most important thing a person can
give? They wasted the power, they misused it. There is only one person whom I
may have come close to loving. But I do not know "love". I never said
it, for I did not know.
It's like a dentist saying he's knows about medicine and then performing a
triple bypass. The misuse of power results in a damaged heart; a mutilated,
hacked up, pulsating, raw, bloody, damaged heart.
And still people "love" everyone and everything. Maybe they are
right. Maybe love can be simple, easy, and even shallow.
Maybe love isn't a deep, serious, precious, and rare emotion that should be
cherished. Maybe you can love someone just because you think they are
attractive. Maybe you can love someone just because they are rich. Maybe you
can love someone just because they are famous, or popular, or portray the right
image. Maybe. But I won't.
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Dad Drives Me Mad
A long time ago a child was born by the name of My Dad. God blessed him with
unsurpassable stupidity. When My Dad grew up, got married, and had kids, he
decided to utilize his gift granted by God.
One day, he decided to disconnect the washing machine without any professional
help. He did. I was working on a paper when I heard him yell "water
everywhere! someone come here." I did. He told me to go downstairs and get
a wetdry vac. I did. He told me to empty it on the lawn. I did. He told me that
he didn't want to get electrocuted, so I should stand in the water and plug in
the vac. I did. Not because I'm stupid, but because I know that being
electrocuted is far better than not doing what he says so he'll do something
else stupid. (My brother calls him "a professional fuck up.") Then he
told me to go downstairs and get the other wetdry vac. I did. He yelled at me
because I got the WRONG other wetdry vac. He told me to go downstairs and get
the RIGHT other wetdry vac. I found it. It was covered in toxic sawdust. He yelled
at me for taking so long. Mind you, not only is the dust toxic to breathe, but
I am also severely allergic to it; it makes me break out. I brought the wetdry
vac up. He told me to empty it, so I threw it across the lawn. It broke open
and all the wood chips and toxic dust went onto the grass. I put the vac back
together and gave it to him. I plugged it in. I went downstairs to help my
brother set up buckets to catch the water that was coming through the ceiling, but
he yelled at us, so I went back to my paper. A little while later, My Dad
screamed for me. He yelled at me to shovel up the dust because it will kill the
grass. Oh, the poor grass. It doesn't matter that the dust fills the basement,
where his family and pets are, but it would kill the grass. I shoveled it up.
My brother left to go to another house to do his homework. I went back to my
paper. My Dad decided to stop cleaning up the water and come to my room, where
I am working, so he can tell me about his new CD. I cannot express how angry I
was. When he left. I shook so much. I screamed inside and almost hit my
computer. Tears streamed down my face in fury. And then I decided to write
this.
It's been about a half hour since my rage subsided. I went to blow my nose. Of
course my nose expelled a good amount of blood due to the dust, and that which
wasn't bloody was discolored my the color of the dust. My Dad decided to try to
justify his stupidity. Apparently, the professionals DID install the washer, but
they didn't put the hose on tight enough, so it came off during the wash. Whether
this makes My Dad significantly les stupid remains to be seen, but the stupid
situation wasn't initiated by him, just continued on a grand scale.
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Dream...
I was at Park Place trying to find the address to where I had to send my credit
card bill. An antique train the was part of the red line traveled through Park
Place. It was kind of touristy. I met two guys, one of which I called Mike. We
decided to follow the tracks for a while, just hanging out. It was night, and
the tracks laid way outside of town, but every once in a while, we'd find a
group of people waiting to see the antique train. Then we realized that we were
lost after hours of following lots of train tracks. So we squeezed through a
fence into a residential area, which looked familiar to me, but only slightly.
We realized that we were in some sort of housing development, but I knew it was
near my grandparents' neighborhood. And then, in the dark, I saw that one of
the houses had my uncle Ernie's senior picture outside their house, like a
memorial. I went to a different house to ask where we were. For some reason, I thought
we were in Madison. An old lady came to the door. "How did you kids get in
here?" she asked nervously. "We came from the train tracks. We need
to find our way home. Do you know where Council Crest or Spring Trail
are?" "No," the old lady said. "How about Nakoma Road?"
"No." "We were just in Boston, and I'm trying to find my was home."
As we were talking, other old ladies from nearby houses cames out in their
pajamas to see what was going on (It was about 30 degrees. You figure out that
one.) And, for some reason, I think the guys I was with had disappeared. Then I
said, "But some house over there has a picture of my uncle in their yard,
Ernie Bruns." All the ladies fell silent accept for one. "Him?"
she asked, and held out a picture.
It looked just like my uncle when he was in his twenties, but he was that age
in the seventies, and the picture looked brand new, like a studio picture. Then
I'm not sure what happened, but the picture, looked like one from the proper
time period. He looked like he did in his wedding picture on my grandparents'
piano. After seeing the pictures, I don't know exactly what happened, but I was
talking to my mom. She said, "Ernie always said he liked you."
This COMPLETELY threw me off. "But mom, Ernie hasn't been able to talk since
before I was born, the August before." (Ernie was in a car accident in
which he was paralyzed, basically vegetated, and his wife, Pat, died.) My mom
said, "Yeah, I never could understand that. But he always said that he's
liked you since he met you at the train station."
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When was the last time you
talked to yourself?
1991-1994
Animal Wrongs
Painted smiles and canned laughter
just a happy shell
cherry cordial to the last
the last straw
the straw that broke the camel's back
The camel's pain is what I feel
I am lost in my turtle shell
Moving slowly, growing older
but what about wiser?
Mr. Owl, how many licks does it take to get to the center of my soul?
Just a scaredy cat
Blind as a bat
I've been fished in
Just spread eagle
Over your pelican briefs
So I bury my head in the sand
Bear in mind, cub in hand
And I see their crocodile tears
Take flight and avoid the dog fight
It's just spit in the wind, boys
Drive your cattle around town
I want to go society tipping
Moo, everyone, I'll have your hide
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Average Joe Sonnet
Average Joe has got me guessing,
as to what his intentions are.
His words and deeds, are they curse or blessing?
Will he give me a kiss or a scar?
Inordinately intriguing, I find him to be.
Must study the curiosities that bestow him.
He is pleasing to a certain degree,
despite that I don't even know him.
I do not know what is to come to be
of this most unusual commencement.
Whether it be pain or ecstasy,
to this challenge I give my consent.
Who is to know whether this be an indenture,
but finding out shall be an adventure.
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A Better Place
Passively, quietly, want of life is leaving.
Foregone is the stale time of bereaving.
My opinion of life is nonchalant;
this indifference is impossible to daunt.
No longer do I fear death's dark shroud.
Happier in death than in life am I vowed.
To me, death is the only bliss;
all I must do is slit my wrists.
But before I do, I must make amends
with all my family and all my friends
must make it known, that which is my final decision,
to take the knife and make an incision,
and go to a more friendly place,
where it isn't painful putting on a contented face,
a place where its inhabitants do not judge,
and ne'er have they conceived of a grudge.
The route to my asylum is through death's design.
For euphoria via fatality, I pine.
My material self shall rest in my grave.
I've had enough of being this plane's slave.
Passing on to a supernatural clime,
I find solace for all of time.
Willingly, eagerly, I die,
and for infinity to paradise I hie.
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Cheese on Your Goat
There is pain in my heart because of what I know.
He loves another, who only drinks his soul, and still I cherish him so.
I see the adoration in his eyes, and I know it's just for her,
but when she has eaten his giving spirit, his body she will burn.
I weep inside my aching heart; my body is a hollow shell
to contain my drizzling rain of sorrow and envelop my personal hell.
And if he cries, I weep thrice that; an ocean I may cry.
And if he feels the slightest ailment, I feel that I will keel over and die.
(Cheese on your goat. Spit in your eye. Cheese on your goat, I say.
Be wary for your life, you damned harlot, for the wolf in me is at bay.
If you should hurt my beloved one, it will pain me three-fold.
And I will shred your taunting, sinning flesh and let your bones grow dry and
old.)
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Choice
Masked by fear,
a single tear
rolls down my face.
Nowhere to go.
I do not know
which is my place.
In strangled voice
I make my choice
that I don't want to choose.
I am scared,
and if I dared,
surely I would lose.
I am confused
and afraid that I will lose
someone for whom I care.
My heart is torn.
This decision is a thorn
and a terrible grievance to bear.
But I do choose,
and one must lose.
I truly hope that he
does not hate me now.
But, inside, I know, some how
that the one to lose is me.
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Commandments (as written by two 14-year olds)
I. THOU SHALL NOT COMMIT ADULTHOOD
II. THOU SHALL DRAIN THE LIFE FROM AN ALUMINUM ENCASED ONCE A WEEK BY THE
PROCESS OF À FANGING
III. THOU SHALL WEAR THE BLACK GLOVE TWICE A WEEK
1V. THOU SHALL WEAR THE CEREMONIAL TRENCH COAT WHEN COMMUNICATING WITH OTHER N.
OF THE BLACK GLOVE
V. THOU SHALL NEVER CONVERT TO THE WAYS OF THE NORMAL AND DISGUSTINGLY POPLUAR
VI. THOU SHALL NOT STRAY FROM THE PATH OF NON-CONFORMITY
VII. THOU SHALL CONTINUE TO FOLLOW THE LIFESTYLE OF THE SQUID
VIII. THOU SHALL REGARD ALL PREPPIES AND CHEERLEADERS AS THE BANE OF EXISTANCE
IX. THOU SHALL ATTEMPT TO CONFUSE AN UNSUSPECTING PASSER-BY ONCE A WEEK
X. THOU SHALL RECITE THE KRAFT CHEESE SONG BEFORE EVERY MEAL
XI. THOU SHALL DON THE SACRED AND BIZARRE NECK WEAR ONCE A WEEK
XII. THOU SHALL MAKE DEFINATE EFFORT TO MAKE THE WORLD A STRANGER PLACE
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Faltering Mind
Back before your time, my children, leisure suits roamed the Earth.
It was a frightening time for all. Polyester tyrants controlled the minds of
people..
It's true!
-What to do?- the people asked.
-We can't burn the leisure suits; they will melt and put black smoke in the
air.-
These polyester tyrants were unstoppable..
It's true!
I Am the walrus chaffeur.. Those damn walruses (or is it WALRI?) never tip very
well.
Stop it! Stop the train! My head is on it!
NeVeR VeRNe!
You ask me why. Well, I have no answer for you, my children. No answer at all.
Don't ask me why.
Don't tread on me, Damn It!
Salmonella on your dish.
i ASK YOU THIS:
iF YOU WERE A GOAT WITH FIVE DOZEN EGGS, WOULD YOU CARRY THEM IN A DUFFEL BAG
OR JUST STICK THEM IN YOUR POCKET?
Now, you see, I have no real reason to be existing right now.
I've finished mowing the lawn, and now I'm considering imploding.
YES! I AM A HERBACIDAL MANIAC!!!
DEATH TO THE SHRUBS!! DEATH TO THE SHRUBS!! DIE, SHRUBS, DIE!! DEATH TO THE
SHRUBS!!
Save a beaver, eat a tree. Poached oak in a white wine sauce. Yum!
Maple syrup in my eye. I've got sticky sucrose eyes. Don't you turn my sucrose
eyes gangrenous.
I'm dying in my mind. Dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead
dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead....
Or maybe it's just a bad day.
I like my Lucky Charms and beer.
Dysfunctional Julienne fries!
I have a bottle in front of me. At least that's better than a frontal lobotomy.
Faltering minds want to know.
I could tell you that I care, but I would be lying. But then again, I always
lie.
But when I say that I always lie, was I lying or telling the truth?
Napalm in my happy hat.
Cry freedom for lemmings!
Do what your mother tells you!
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Figure in my head
That figure flashes behind my eyes,
sitting alone, sad and secluded.
With face buried in roughened hands,
tears are spilled over sorrows brooded.
Tales of malaise are written upon the brow,
while dewy eyes are forlorn.
The stench of victorious desolation wreaks in my heart,
as the demise of my dreams is mourned.
As fleeting aspirations bade farewell,
unwanted grief takes its course,
infesting this weakening spirit of mine.
All joy has turned to remorse.
And the figure sits in the recesses of my mind,
a mere shadow of the pain that I feel.
I see the suffering deep in the shadow's eyes,
and to me, that suffering is real.
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The Gospel According To Rita
the Lord said to Rita :
"Go forth into the world and spread my word and never watch scary movies
or you shall go to hell."
And Rita did as the Lord had told her, spreading God's word, and ne'er did she
watch a scary movie. And it was good.
Then the Lord said to Rita :
"You f**king idiot! Didn't you know that the scary movie thing was a joke?
You are so gullible."
So Rita repented and watched scary movies. And it was good.
Rita watched scary movies for 40 days and 40 nights. When she was done, she
went to the Lord and said :
"God, I have done your bidding."
And God asked her :
"Rita, what movies did you watch?"
Rita answered :
"I saw Friday the 13th, which begat Friday the 13th 2, which begat Friday
the 13th 3, which begat...."
And God interrupted Rita, saying :
"I get your point."
Rita thanked God. And it was good.
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The Great Crustacean!
He will perform unbelievable feats of illusion before your very eyes.
Never before seen on MTV, it's...
The Great Crustacean!
Never before respected, or even tolerated, it's..
The Great Crustacean
Not a shellfish
Not even a barnacle, it's...
The Great Crustacean!
Don't ask me why, but this revolting sea-faring creature said he wanted to do
some sort of magic show for YOU!
So put your flippers together (no matter how pathetic he is) for...
The Great Crustacean!
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Gunning Down the Playground
Yes, I remember it well.
It was a Saturday afternoon in early November when I became mentally unstable.
My state of insanity was completely unprovoked, though some of my superiors
have hypothesized that it was caused by stress. They don't know anything about
stress. Their idea of stress is not being able to set the clock on the VCRs.
Anyway, I don't feel that I was under any significant stress.
The Saturday afternoon was like any other day in early November, in that it was
grey, breezy, but not too chilly. It was a light jacket day. You know what it's
like. I was lying on my sofa with the TV on and was paging through a magazine.
I don't know why, but about 2 p.m., I flung the magazine a the TV, jumped up
from the couch and kick the TV. It's screen shattered, and sparks flew around
for a second.
I figured that the next logical step in loosing my mind would be to start
creaming. So I did. Nobody else was around, though, to hear me or restrain me,
so I ran out of the house.
I didn't know what I was to do now that I was crazy. Killing sounded
appropriate, but with what? I then remembered that my neighbor was some
military fanatic and collected semiautomatic weapons. How convenient. So, I
broke their window and clubbed in.
They were gone. I grabbed the closest gun - I'm not sure what kind it was - and
pulled the trigger to make sure it was loaded. A cluster of bullets flew from
the barrel and hit a ceramic pot on a table. I grinned with satisfaction, as
any loony should at the destruction of anything, and climbed out the window.
I wasn't sure where to go from there, but I figured that I should find a large
group of people who were virtually defenseless. A playground! What a great
idea! So, that's where I went. I hobbled down the street. My shoulders slumped
and back hunched, with the gun in my left hand. My hair hung in front of my
eyes and was damp from the sweat on my face and the bit of saliva that was
clinging to my bottom lip.
I knew that the playground wasn't far, only a block more. I started to hobble
even faster. "God, this is exciting! I can see the playground now! Look at
all the little children having a merry old time! Ha, ha, ha!"
By that time, I had reached the playground. I held the semiautomatic thingy up
against my shoulder (that's where people in the movies held them) and pulled
the trigger. A shower of bullets let loose into the sandbox. After that, it was
all a blur. I remember hearing people screaming and seeing people running. I
also remember picking off some kids who were on the monkey bars; they dropped
like flies. Little people fell from swings; parents ran around scooping up
little bodies. Oh, yeah. Somebody called the police. I remember that part.
Three large guys in neat blue uniforms (boy, those uniforms looked dapper)
tried to grab my arms and the gun. Well, eventually, they did get my arms
wrenched behind my back and confiscated the gun.
Of course, I had to uphold ,y image of insanity, so I kicked and screamed a
bit. I spit at one of the police officers, but the two holding my arms pulled
them tighter behind my back, and I yelped in pain.
Hey! This wasn't supposed to happen! I was only going to gun down a playground
and go home. Nobody mentioned the police when I started out this afternoon.
It doesn't matter anymore. Nobody doubted that I was insane. I remember the
quote in the paper, where my neighbors said, "She seemed so nice and
peaceful. We never suspected a thing." How cliché! They took me to jail,
but the trial was so quick that I was in an asylum within three days. I guess
that's what they think is best for me. I don't know. I have to talk to a
counselor every other day, and the cots where we sleep are not very
comfortable.. But something good has come out of this experience. I learned
that it isn't always a good idea to kill children, and I've become quite a
dexterous basket-weaver.
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I Dream
Oh, how I fear the sounds of closing minds and wagging fingers of disapproval.
Yet, still, I am driven to be my own, one of dreams and hopes and loves and
thoughts,
disregarding any resulting upheaval.
How I long to shout, to dance, to run, to jump, to cry.
Every tear of salty pain is a dream not fulfilled, a thought disregarded, a
love lost, and hope left to die.
I want to flee to forever and back, to ride the wind, and taste the rain and
breathe the deepest, fullest breath of adventure, and play.
I hope to hear the sounds when doors of minds are opened and nodding heads
respond to what we say.
I beg to drink from the pool of love, to lap at its quenching juice; Oh, it
would be paradise.
And, still I sit, all numb and sedate, with hidden hopes and muted dreams of
forever and back;
and people say: Oh, she is so quiet and nice.
And inside, I shed a salty tear;
when those very words I hear;
and I try to offer myself this advice:
Soulless statues are quiet and nice.
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Night
Fly by night, sleep by day,
ever should be the way,
for night is a wonderland
blinded only by the sun.
The sun casts shadows,
shadows in which lies are hid.
However, night casts no shadows,
and truths must be spilled out upon the stars.
The air is clearer when not filled with sunlight.
The weight of day is lifted from our shoulders,
letting free our spirits.
We can do what we feel,
for the sun isn't bearing down on us and scorning our individuals.
The celebration begins at dusk and ends at rise.
In this dark sanctuary, we dance and sing and laugh
and revel in the night,
for in mere hours the sun will come and swallow all that is worth living for.
-------------------------------------------
Nine Nein 9
In awe, I observe the pandemonium,
taken aback by blurring bustle.
Unable to merge into the flow,
I am thrust into the gutter,
sprawling in the gravel,
choking upon the dust.
Eyes are stinging,
nose is swelled with debris,
lungs lurching in pain at every inhalation.
So I stand up and brush off my bruised pride,
extend my thumb
and try to hitch a ride to acceptance and tolerance.
But the norm drives by,
and I, by the wayside, watch and wait,
until my mind, muddled with inquiries
tells me plainly:
Find a road that is your own,
blaze a trail to your destiny
reap the overgrown grass that entangles your dreams,
ford the seas that flood your hope.
And so I proceed on my new-found path,
the golden embers of hope stoked as I travel.
The nomadic life has made me the wiser,
and a smile crosses my lips as I reminisce on how naive I was.
And so I proceed on my own path,
the infant of happiness nursed by my mother voyage.
-------------------------------------------
Our Sky
A portrait painted, spanning the heavens,
of hues so subtle and sweet,
a palette of oranges, violets, and blues.
'Tis under this canvas we meet.
A glorious clime teems with celestial globes,
illuminating the newborn eve.
Luna's orb parts the downy clouds.
Nothing of more splendor could I conceive
but to watch the firmament change to anew
and witness the birth of night with you.
-------------------------------------------
Sanity
I'm freaking out!
Yes I am!
I'm on my way to Bedlam.
Freaking out!
Gonna shout!
Finger painting sauerkraut
Paint it red
I'm out of my head
Elvis Presley is dead DEAD DEAD!
Make no sense
head's full of dents
Majority says I'm mentally bent
Sweat in my eyes
Blood on my hands
tears on my lips
anger forced outward through my fists
Heart is pounding
Emotions need grounding
Wails about my head resounding
Sweat in my eyes
Going blind.
How dare you say I'm out of my mind?
Why, oh, why
must I eternally cry?
I just want to whither up and die.
caught in the rain
I'm going insane
Who's to say I'm humanity's bane?
Never successful
At least I tried
Need to find a place to hide
Speaking in verse
My soul in cursed
Soon I'll be hitching a ride in a hearse
corruption
disruption
destruction
Induction into a sect of fear
can you hear?
visions appear
stop my confusion
it's all disillusion
sanity is overrated
I need to be sedated
Bedlamites are free and elated
people constantly isolate me
I feel like the unwanted black juju be
against the grain
bleeding brain
they say that I am humanity's bane
ridicule is rough
I've had enough
I need to know
will you let me go?
all of our existence is a puppet show
anxiety
notoriety
never sure about piety
threat to society
life is toxic
feeling sick
destined to be a raving lunatic
they've been cheating
psyche is beaten
looked upon as some sort of cretin
the chance denied
was unjustified
and now I'm mentally fried
fate looks bad
surely I'm mad
just your common household maenad
no more learning basket weaving
my will to live is leaving
I don't expect any bereaving
wish I were flying
only dying
no use crying
time for good bying
the part I dread
now I'm dead
stone by my head
no tear has been shed
gravestone read:
Here lies Clare
(as if we care)
her sanity fled
now she's dead.
-------------------------------------------
Self-Destruction
In my little chasm of a soul
I meander aimlessly about,
lacking a path upon which to travel,
a distinct and direct route.
A road to my future, hopes, and desires
is currently blocked for construction.
But there is a detour if I don't want to wait,
the highway of self-destruction.
What fun!
I think to my deteriorating self,
to kill and be killed, what a lark!
Due to the dissolution of death's grandeur,
I've left my fate in the dark
I've already picked my number
for when it is my turn.
Now I'm in the waiting room of limbo.
Don't know if I'll fly or I'll burn.
-------------------------------------------
Sonnet F*** You (and f*** iambic pentameter)
Ask me what you will.
I'll answer what I want.
Suicide's a thrill
but death is nonchalant.
My soul is obsolete.
My heart is nothing but
a worthless piece of meat.
My mind is in a rut a rut a rut a rut a rut a rut a rut.
My psyche waxes numb.
There's nothing I can do.
My lips are stricken dumb.
In solitude I rue.
Maybe I'll overdose
until I'm comatose.
-------------------------------------------
Sonnet Py (boycotting iambic pentameter)
This poem has specific meter and rhyme,
surely you can count on it,
a style of Shakespearean time,
that of the Elizabethan sonnet.
This line does not rhyme with the next,
but rhymes with the one after this one.
Sonnets need no sensible text.
Their primary purpose is to woo women.
The noblemen lounged about with their pens,
writing on every subject they thought of,
from themes as obscure as dancing guinea hens
to common themes like flowers or love.
But however somber the text,
they indubitably write about sex.
-------------------------------------------
Waves
The damp air brushes a pasty dew upon my face
as I listen to the disquieted sea,
and all I can think of is you.
In my mind, I see your precious face
I miss you so, the way that you touch me,
and I desperately long to embrace you.
The wind picks up; the waves have aggressed
but they can not drown out the wails
of my lonely soul; isolated and depressed,
and my cry to you still fails.
The waves, uproarious and irate, rip at the shore.
Equally rampant, I rip at the hair upon my head
and roughly wipe the tears I bear,
but still it seems oceans I shed.
My fits are futile.
All I can do is simply wait
and listen to the waves agitate
until I can finally see you, touch you, kiss you.
English Class Assignments (1992)
Assasain
Tawny--
Stealthy, wise, sly and criminal,
Sister of those in her clan,
Lover of danger, excitement and sharp objects,
Who feels happy when stalking, excited when fighting and complete when killing,
Who needs time, darkness and weapons,
Who gives choke holds, knife wounds and death experiences,
Who fears revenge, police and a cheap customer,
Who would like to see respect for all assasains, peace within her clan and
Kevin Costner in a movie in which he does not show his butt,
Who lives to extremes,
--Stuart
-------------------------------------------
Cheers
Flowing.
Shards. Shards.
Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.
Falling.
Crisp. Crisp.
Bung. Bing. Bond.
Gallstone.
Pinch. Pinch.
King. Kong. Dung.
Cheers!
-------------------------------------------
Chuck
It's canvas body,
wrapped in lace,
makes way for the sole.
It wears its badge and star wherever it goes.
Every race is accepted;
none are discriminated by color.
-------------------------------------------
Don't
Put Off Until Tomorrow What You Can Do Today
(an actual assignment completed the study hall before class)
'Tis a sad tale I'm going to tell,
as sad as a basset's eyes.
It's about a poor student who didn't finish her work,
Despite her numerous tries.
She got her assignment from her teacher
And thought: I can do this!
So she did all of her work, except for that assignment.
She was a model procrastinist.
She got to school the day it was due
And realized she hadn't begun.
She was panicky and unnerved about the assignment
And knew English class wouldn't be fun,
For she would would fail this assignment - that's bad -
If her teacher found out it wasn't done.
She knew her day would be as grey as slate,
For she couldn't find time to do it.
She sat through her first and second hour classes
And eventually thought: Oh, just screw it!
But third hour finally rolled around
Like a brightly coloured beach ball,
And she remembered that that hour,
She had a study hall.
Yay! I have time to start it, this student thought,
But it must be done for next hour.
So she set to work like a bat out of hell
And using all of her power
She started to write her exemplum for class.
But, lo! The bell did ring,
So she couldn't finish her -
Don't Put Off Until Tomorrow What You Can Do Today.
-------------------------------------------
Electrical
Storm
A drowsy breeze enthralls into a mesmeric trance.
The clock strikes 16.
People seem to float about their business.
The sun begins to bake a warning upon your head.
The clouds block out the once reigning sun.
The stratosphere falls upon the heads of the people.
The breeze is transformed into a raging beast,
following the Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde syndrome.
In a rush of stinging droplets, you flee for any shelter you can find.
The wind rips at your hair.
The thunder grips hold of the ground and tries to shake it out from under your
feet.
You scream in terror, only to be silenced by a fatal bolt of lightening.
Once the storm has subsided, you are found by the police,
slightly singed and very dead.
Awww!
That's too bad.
-------------------------------------------
Happy
Hat
A happy hat drawn sad with a bow;
place this hat upon your troubled head
and tie the bow beneath your chin.
How is your hat today, Mrs. Brown?
Happy, I suppose, seeing as mine is sad.
Place that flower upon my hat.
Make my hat as happy as your hat,
and I will place this spaghetti upon your happy hat.
Our hats shall be happy evermore,
without bows,
but with flowers and spaghetti to make them happy hats.
And happy hats they are.
-------------------------------------------
I
used to... Now I...
I used to be a single match,
strike me and I burn a bit.
Not I'm an Aim-N-Flame,
and if you pull my trigger,
I'll burn down your house.
-------------------------------------------
Jealousy
Jealousy, with his nasty, taunting grin,
spits in my eye
and slaps me across the face.
He taunts me.
He teases me.
He tries to make me angry or upset.
I try to ignore him,
but he only gets louder
and more hateful,
until I finally start to cry.
-------------------------------------------
King
Of his subjects, I am the most loyal.
The aura about him is royal.
His presence brings carols of sensativity.
About him, wonder has its nativity.
Born into a world of fools,
he beholds the power of rules.
Ever respected by me,
King of my heart is he.
-------------------------------------------
Letter
to a Pibb
Dear Mr. Pibb,
Your carbonation makes my life worth living,
so bubbly and caffinated,
Maroon of can and white of letters,
the aluminum of your casing makes me sing and dance and do silly things.
Let me drink you!
-------------------------------------------
Life
is a...
Life is a box of Binney and Smith Crayola crayons,
full of colors,
but if you leave them in the sun,
they become a melted mess of ugliness.
Color nicely now, children,
and stay within the lines.
-------------------------------------------
Loaf
The grey-green fuzz
on the bread
grew
and Grew
and GRew
and GREw
and GREW
until it
covered
the
entire
LOAF.
-------------------------------------------
Man
In A Chair
Stumbling into the small room,
tripping over the rude ferric shackles,
grey cotton cloth dripping down his scarred body,
reflecting the light off his newly shaven head,
he is shoved into the chair.
With glazed over eyes and dry wry smile,
he awaits what he is there for.
He seems indifferent,
but no one really knows that he does have thoughts that run through his mind.
The switch is flipped, and he is dead,
and all of his hopes and dreams are replaced by a waft of the odor of singed
flesh.
-------------------------------------------
Marbles
Years ago, long before any of us were even a fraction of something's
imagination, the gods were playing a friendly game of marbles. I know this
sounds silly, but what else were gods supposed to be doing with all their spare
time? Anyway, on god, Bacchus, who was a bit on the tipsy side, (well, alright,
he was plastered) flicked his largest marble at all the other marbles in the
circle. Unfortunately, with that extremely powerful thumb, he shot the marbles
all over the place, to the ends of the universe and all in between. These
became planets upon which we live, and Bacchus was never the same after he lost
his marbles.
-------------------------------------------
Maroon
Boy, I feel maroon today.
I cannot really say why.
It could've been the maroon I had for breakfast
or the maroon that got in my eye.
I got maroon on my shoe,
and it wouldn't come off.
The maroon that sits next to me
just gave me his cough.
-------------------------------------------
Myself
When I'm myself--
friendly, kind, wise,
always cheerful,
keeping spirits high--
personification of the word "smile".
When I'm my other self--
tense, afraid, paranoid,
people are watching me,
keeping up my guard--
the cheese that stands alone.
-------------------------------------------
November
November sweeps in under its shroud of grey,
bringing with it, the death of summer.
Vegetation wilts as it glides over them
and casts its spell of new-found cold upon them.
-------------------------------------------
Recipe
for a Location
First, find a place, any place.
Now it's a location!
Yeah!
You're special.
-------------------------------------------
Smile
I saw you smile.
You made me smile.
You are my smile,
radiant all the while.
I heard you laugh.
You made me laugh.
You are my laugh,
ever the happy epitaph.
I know you dream.
You made me dream.
You are my dream,
far-fetched as it may seem.
I hope you love.
You made me love.
You are my love.
Let us explore the world thereof.
-------------------------------------------
Spelling
Spelling is knowing that most of our native language is foreign.
Spelling is remembering the silent letter.
Spelling is I before E except after C or in words with the sound of an A.*
Spelling is more than a bee; it's a hive.
Spelling is getting creative when you haven't a clue.
If you spelled "QUEEN" and a "KW" would you get a pet tree?
*unless, of course, it's weird.
-------------------------------------------
Spiral
Put your finger in your eye
listen to my song
it really isn't all that short
but it isn't very long
As the crayons color my world
the soup will drown my sky
I can hardly make out a single line
with this finger in my eye
The tired little hamster runs
to turn the wheel of my heart
I slit my wrists with a rubber knife
now life's vacation can start
Anybody want to carpool
on your way to hell?
the patron saint of Tupperware
is said to be an amiable gal
The rose bush pricked me
the carpet began to bleed
a trusty pair of boxer shorts
is all I really need
A flannel toothbrush drives my bus
the Legos killed my dog
a material god is no longer my life
and I've evaporated into a fog
A fog that spins and whirls
and collides with the asphalt
Becoming ever the litter in the gutter
to be rained upon
to evaporate
and to rain once more
who wants to play croquet?
-------------------------------------------
To a
Plague
Who spread your devastation,
your various virus and germ,
your bacteria ever so infecting,
your power of infestation held firm?
People disperse me throughout the land,
through public bubblers and a common bedpan.
They throw me around, no care for what I want,
so the power of vomit I flaunt.
What else do you want to know,
you scabby little fart?
I've got a rash of scarlet fever to start.
-------------------------------------------
Wish
There are many things I wish I could be--
a muscian that can live music,
a mathematician that can live equations,
a write that can live words,
the moon that can live the night and light the way for day.
-------------------------------------------