some'antics

i think i’ll call it “infectious diseases in cattle”

i think i’ve changed. i mean, i know i have. reading these previous entries is like watching a movie you used to really be into, and now you just can’t really relate to the characters or feel emotionally connected. well, i guess you’ll always be emotionally connected…but mostly its a weird empty feeling in your stomach. it’s just strange to be so far from where you once were, and not want to go back. just look at it, and keep walking forward.

i love again.

remember the time you smiled and the world bloomed.

it was like spring surrendered itself to you, put its golden face in your lap

and giggled while you stroked its fresh, newly shed skin.

but the earth was too flat for you then, too full of fables.

you wouldn’t stare into the sun for fear of going blind and so chose not to see.

or maybe it was because i was standing behind you.

half draped in your holiest cloak,

and the other half, in your sheets.

maybe i should have apologized more profusely for the gravity of my suggestions.

for not holding my tongue, for chasing after yours.

or for coveting the smile i knew would bring the rain.

the world was in bloom, but maybe you didn’t notice the flowers on my dress.

or the pollin in my hair.

sunny and confused

Your eyes are a brighter blue

than the water you walk on.

In tattered robes and leather soles

clothed in love before its gone.

The day that you settle will be the first

that your bones are hollowed

and buried in earth.

So measure your sorrow

by the gravity of your laughter.

Before time has forgotten

the face of it’s Master.

trash conquistadors

so taboo. Who would have thought direct human byproducts would ever become such a social stigma..

“Don’t touch that Timmy, its trash.” That nagging phrase is all too fresh in our memories whenever we catch a whiff of a particularly rancid half empty can of tuna bubbling in the corner of the trashcan. What is it with trash that has created such a putrid image for itself? Perhaps if we explore the “Botany of Disgust”, rather than desire, we might find similar reasoning for why waste has become the bane of the human condition, the wretched monster of Frankenstein. Hidden away, tucked in the darkest pockets of the earth, it has been left to fester and ferment in our minds. And thus it has accumulated, lining the outer walls of our organs, coating our cells with its viscous film. And rather than purge—we proliferate, stacking pile upon rotting pile until we can finally greet Zeus on Mt. Olympus with a mouthful of feces. It’s true; the way we produce, manage, and in essence utterly avoid dealing with the industrial-trash-complex is sickening. And yet, so much is wasted. And I mean, really wasted. Perfectly good materials that could easily be recycled into re-use. I am reminded of an old adage— ‘one man’s e.coli infested toilet scrubber is another man’s toothbrush’, or something like that. I was never very good with American expressions.

However harsh these words may sound, the reality exists that trash. is. unstoppable. We cannot simply “stop” creating it. Well not in totality. And if that is truly the case, than why fear and loathe something so certain? Perhaps the notion of such omnipotence is indeed what is most terrifying, in that the inevitable creation of waste is out of our control. It is the manner of its production and care (to avoid the word “disposal”), that is all in our hands. Toxicity breeds toxicity, and carelessness gives rise to purple mountains of dukie.

Perhaps our ability to manage the byproducts that we as humans, consumers, earthen habitants, (insert hippy phrase here), etc will inevitably produce begins with us no longer envisioning Trash as our deaf, dumb and severely deformed offspring.

2 more days until

i can smell your dirty old shirt again. sigh. heavenly.

burning on the paved way.

Un-inspired heat, trading tickets at the doorstep. You were un-invited, and now im slave to these devices. I am traveling on your back as you pierce my swollen ankles. But i can only burn for so long before i have nothing left to sacrifice.

i wish i could put you out—of my mind and my misery. You have no right to claim either. You snuck upon me, and i gave you my blood. Now boiled. Evaporated. Now gone.

But i think there was a time, not long ago, when your name was forgotten…although now is feared. You are omni-present, and perhaps deserving of a final toast.

somehow

my tongue got twisted around your bottom lip

and it cant seem to find its way home.

tell me,

was it as good for me

as it was for me?