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Neurons and Synapses

It’s the sense of self that betrays
any contentedness.
What you think you are
or should be, or could be
doesn’t serve any purpose
but entertainment
and speculation.
People feed their ego
in different ways
but it’s not always
to glorify
the persona.
Sometimes it’s to feel like
you’re doing
your due diligence
or to re-approach the prophecies
proclaimed by the ones who claim to love you,
who don’t really know you
or want to know.

We get cold, you know,
and hardened to other’s imperfections;
their false analysis
of who you are or what you should be.
They don’t exist without you, or you them,
being exactly as you, or they, are
as you, or they, could not be
any other way.
And when you change and they don’t
or if you don’t and they do
don’t be afraid to point out
and confront
your utter and desperate confusion
as to why you can never meet
in the middle
like Benjamin Button.

After all this
what I really feel to be the truth
is that your brain
is a motherfucker.
Consider this:
Neurons and Synapses firing at irregular intervals
coupled with abnormal oxygenation and variable light, sound, scent and touch stimuli
leads to a potential for unorthodox behavioral interludes,
additionally perpetrated by periodic euphoria and delirium
which at times can be symptomatic with abnormal sleeping patterns,
inconsistent nutrition and dietary habits,
and situation driven emotional reactivity.

So, yeah, that’s why we’re crazy.

 
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Posted by on January 29, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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F*CK your lawn

Overgrown you say?
Flowers, though wild, do not appeal
to your pristine senses?

I say,
maybe you’re wasting time
trimming your grass
daily.

Hmm?

I say,
maybe your yard,
your stupid yard
is boring
and lacks personality.

Hmm?

And maybe,
the ecosystem, living
under the ice
in my
above ground pool
is far more humane
than the chlorine factory
you keep in your backyard.

Hmm?

And maybe,
my bushes have
too many limbs,
no symmetry to them
at all,
but yours
piss me off
with their sculpted form.
Your vanilla arrangements
ain’t got nothing
on my
Rocky Road.
Bitch.

 
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Posted by on January 17, 2014 in cynical, poetry, Uncategorized

 

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the hole

midnight delirium

distance tricks the human eye

deep into folly

 
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Posted by on January 15, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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fukushima daiichi

Image

 

fukushima daiichi

how you glow among the cherry blossoms

though the water is not safe to drink

and the air is not suitable to breathe

your shinto shrines are no less solemn

the city lights beam with activity

harajuku girls hair bigger than ever

with rhinestones to make it shine

eyeliner drawn along your smile lines

fujiyama still screams with beauty

and deadly suicide

trains continue uninterrupted

business cards exchanged

but the fukushima fifty

do not rise with the sun

 
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Posted by on January 15, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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#community (not the T.V. show)

What makes a community? A community is a group of people. To have a community you typically have a bunch of buildings. Communities have not only people, but people doing things. What kinds of things do people do? People go to church, people go to school, people have jobs, people go to restaurants, people are having arguments with each other, people are telling jokes, people are going to grocery stores. What makes one community different from another community? Communties have different levels of education, some communities have more trash lying around, some have meaner people, some have nicer people, some have areas of the city or town where people go to shop, sometimes those shopping centers have fancy cloths, sometimes it’s just a big box variety store. A community can be a town, a city, a suburb, a collection of farmers, a bunch of students, a group of cops, firefighters, or other government workers. Communities pay attention to their local sports team, a smaller group of people will say that they don’t care about those things. People usually have a consensus about general vibe of their living in that city, whether the city is a shithole or a swell place to live. Sometimes it’s just okay. Communities have people that usually speak the same language, but there are definitely communities where that isn’t the case. In Texas, where I grew up, a lot of people spoke Spanish and often you would see spanish on signs in certain parts of town. In that place where I grew up you either saw Spanish or English, but in another place I lived you saw Vietnamese, Cambodian, and Thai pretty often. I know in L.A. you’ll see Korean all over the place. A community to me means….well that’s why I started this journal I guess. I don’t really know. I went to church, yes, I went to school, yes, I had family, of course, but I just existed within those constructs, I didn’t define them. Obviously, that seems to be the point though, it’s very difficult to be a trailblazer in every moment of your life, like every moment you’re redefining genres and like, punk rock all the time. Really though, I don’t think I went far enough with any group of people or activity to really define myself by that community. I’m not really a writer, or an artist, I don’t have a skill or a trade, and jesus why is everything I write part of an existential crisis. Man up, you fucking coward, stop constantly looking inward, it’s really really really bad for you. You’re a nice guy, why do this to yourself all the time? Every panic attack you pull out of thin air due to a feeling of failure and emptiness shortens your life by a few minutes.

I make fun of my wife for being afraid of storms and constantly watching disaster videos on youtube. But fuck me for doing that, she watches that shit because she feels something by watching it, who am I to critique someone’s reaction to a natural occurance? Even if I percieve it as negative, she actually engages with the world around her. I feel like I never do that!!! Everything is a reflection of me, I see everything within the scope of my artistic or social interpretation of it. The fucking ego of that! WHO THE FUCK AM I TO ACT AS IF I SEE THINGS SO DIFFERENTLY FROM EVERYONE ELSE?

 
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Posted by on January 14, 2014 in depression, prose, random, writing

 

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#ghetto lyfe

Across the wooden planks, they creak so loudly,
handrails peeling like victims of an acid rain,
Though the carpet on the porch makes no sense to me,
frozen water trapping the dead leaves and squirrels,
yeah let’s not mention that above ground pool bullshit.
Tarp came off the lawnmower a long time ago and the gas can exposed to the elements, 
and lets not mention I put the gas in the car, 
obviously using a severed 2 liter Coke bottle and…. A mangled Coke CAN fashioned into a funnel.
I’m big on product placement in my ghetto-ness I guess, though it’s not like I have a contract with Walmart or anything.
Anyway, nobody knows what’s in the corrugated tin shed,
I’m not at all sorry that I nailed the shingles back to the house, it looks better from the street at least.
We raked the yard, put the leaves in bags 2 months after everybody else did, and yeah we left those on the side of the road.
And let’s not mention all that other ghetto shit either.

 
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Posted by on January 13, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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A False Need

I see your face through distorted, sepia-toned, trans-dimensional drifts, and I can’t tell if you’re a boy or a girl, and I can’t see how old you are or what you’ve become, but I know you’re there.  Somewhere.  You exist to me in the here and now, I love you so very much, and if I could just find that wormhole that would suck me in and bring me to you, maybe that huge void that’s been with me all along would make sense.

I was meant to be your savior, your lifeline, your friend and guiding light.  I would teach you the meanings of the words nuance, relativity, acceptance, and discernment.  I could give you the gift of music.  I could teach you how to dance, ultimately giving life and purpose to your every movement.  I would tell you it’s all in the wrist, keep your eye on the ball, just let if go, you’re better than that.

But is that how it would be?

More likely you would learn from me what everyone learns from everyone else;  propriety, limitations, regulations, the value of a dollar.  That false premise that you exist independently of those lesser creatures and archetypes.  You would have to be someone else when you’re with me and I would willingly accept whatever character you created for me.  If you showed me something genuine and imperfect, or something less than angelic, I’d extend to you a stoic, passive, smirking rejection.  And it wouldn’t make sense to you until you reach the retrospective haze of your mid-twenties.

But at the apex of your soul-searching you would find my legacy…

Extended to you, bequeathed to my possession, would be my void and need to create an existential crisis.  And the cycle perpetuates.  Feel my anxiety, you little clone….

 
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Posted by on January 10, 2014 in poetry, prose, random, writing

 

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to keep my word – per tenermi la mia parola – să mă țin de cuvânt

i LOOVE this poem

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual text: English, Italian and Romanian language

Today seemed to me to be crippled absolutely everything
the children went with a smile supported on crutches
even a stray snowflake descended on crutches…
birds away – apparently the commas… ran between words
with bandages waving instead of the wings
even the sun has glued a patch on the chin…
until you
she came
and has healed my fears, the ghosts and the promise
(made by myself in the mirror) that I will be the best
But now I’m limping, though unjustified, in some way like a tic
I try to keep my word … with both hands

Image

created by Tom Flemons

Oggi mi sembrava storpio assolutamente tutto
i bambini andavano con il sorriso nelle stampelle
persino un fiocco di neve randagio discese con le stampelle…
uccelli in lontananza – apparentemente virgole scappate via tra le parole
sventolavano bendaggi invece di ali

View original post 143 more words

 
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Posted by on January 9, 2014 in poetry, shared, Uncategorized

 

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#Neuropathy

All Aboard the S.S. Lazy Boy, your T.V. tray frames your World,

And the Wires snake every which way, Electric Blanket choking you.

Like a caterpillar wasteland on the Shag-rug carpet, Down there

Trinkets you could never find, Enough Metal to Transmit a Radio Broadcast

What kinds of creatures dwell in the dusty corners?

How many cobwebs does it take to frame a home?

We’ll never, never see the boldness of recovery,

Until the demon leaves the Hold.

 
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Posted by on January 9, 2014 in poetry

 

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The adventures i’m not having

envious of the people giving early morning airport rides, morning cups of coffee, battery stockpilers for all the Playstation Vitas they never intend on playing, warming up the car people, cinnamon toast crunch eating bottom liners

watching the headlights and the tail-lights from the helicopter viewpoint, early morning commentary, politico, buzzfeed, NYTimes hating relevancy giving folk, pausing for the moment of silence, The Lord’s Prayers, Matthew 3:16 Stone Cold Stunners

expressway taking, Exit 14B taking, carpool lane taking, toll booth workers, the luminescent vest wearers on their short days, the primetime Youtube watchers, NSFW means something to them, people who like sports for normal reasons

people on probation, people going to funerals, people on drugs that are prescribed to them for whatever reason, people who take naps at the same time every day, people who go to Denver, or Portland, or Austin, or whatever place no better than here

 
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Posted by on January 9, 2014 in poetry

 

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