You decide the title, it will be better that way.
Birds of Paradise
have flown away
or rotting and falling
to the ground.
I'll leave them
for the gardeners
or the neighbors
or anyone who cares.
See, I am a lumberjack
a calloused soul
with downed trees lining
the map of my past.
Small, tall, dead
they all fall at my will.
I wish them death:
it is so.
I wish them defeat:
easy said and done.
I wish them love
and gnash my my teeth.
Not today, not ever
always the last standing.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
You decide the title, it will be better that way.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
I have been finding paint everywhere. On my chair, on my mouse and on my thumb. It is all different shades of blue. What this has to do with that, I am not sure. But this rogue paint keeps distracting me from the thoughts I want to put down.
Put down like a sick dog?
I am a fan of baptisms. These include the ones on little babies, who have no say, but usually cry. I enjoy the irony. This also includes my own baptism on Palm Sunday some fifteen years ago (at least). And it includes the multiple baptisms I have performed on myself, none of the religious or the sexual (zing!) nature.
See, I am a fan of rebirth. I am always looking out for some conversation, road sign or person that will disrupt my life so much that my only natural response is to baptize myself, hoping to come out better on the other side.
It has happened in an ocean.
It has happened in a tub.
It has happened in a shower.
It has happened with scissors and barber clippers.
I get too entirely wrapped up in shit that sometimes I need to shed whatever person/place/thing that is binding me to that moment.
Why all this? Why tonight? I thought everything is going great?
It is. But there are patterns of thinking, and they do not do me any good.
So I am giving them to you, internets, that you may do with them what you will. (That shall be the whole of the law)
As for me, I am taking a shower and leaving the thoughts and behaviors that I don't need anymore to circle the drain.
No more finger crossing.
I've been leaning back in my chair. hand on my head, scratching at my scalp.
It is a nervous tick.
I'm fucking nervous. Insane. Too much. I totally fucked up. Everything I said I wouldn't do, well, I did.
But it is sooooo good.
Those fleeting moments you seem to see in movies, or read about in magazines, or hear people talk about on trains.
I have that now. All to myself.
And I'm the only one who knows.
I've lately felt like I've been screaming into a cave, yelling at the top of my lungs in the deepest ocean.
It is totally ok.
At least I have a voice.
Monday, April 26, 2010
It was 11:35 one night, and I was standing in the middle of some street. It was a slow residential type of road. The moon was out, I could see whatever part of it it felt like showing me between a street light and the branches of a tree. I was smoking a cigarette. I'm pretty sure I was falling in love.
It is always one or the other: fall in love or fall out. I keep it going, the cycle, to be consistent, to keep someone happy, to make sure the bets keep paying out.
I talk all of the time. When I'm not talking I am thinking. When it isn't that it is this, or some song, or some poem or story. I always have something to say. Always.
At 11:35 that night I had nothing.
(I am exhausted right now. I'm taking 36 second cat naps. My eyes are burning from the combination of old cigarette smoke, no sleep and thinking about this. It must come out)
I was destroyed at that moment. There were valleys of thought, mountains of feelings, rivers of, well, rivers of everything. It was a strange feeling.
Because I couldn't tell anyone about it. I didn't know how. Fuck. I don't know how to tell anyone about it now.
I know this:
Worse case scenario: this is the last time I ever feel like this again.
Best case scenario: it isn't.
I miss my inside joke about sandwiches that only I got. I miss the routines of car trips and parking permits. I miss my secret life and my not so secret life.
And I miss that night on the street. At least the way the air felt on my skin. And you being so close and so far away.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
I wrote some poetry while standing on a subway car yesterday. I haven't written on public transportation since the great Chicago Winter Extravaganza of 2008. This isn't really about yesterday, or Chicago, but this thing that happens when I write poetry.
I put it up here sometimes, poetry, like every six months or so. It isn't that I don't like it, or I don't know if it is good, I just feel weird about the idea of putting poetry up on a blog when I'm not a poet.
I mean, I guess I am a poet, from writing lyrics for the bands and what not. But it is strange. I think I figured out what it is.
I EXCLUSIVELY write poetry about women. Every single one. For probably the last ten years. Women. Loving them, hating them, missing them, wanting them, thinking about them, kissing them and leaving them. And most of the time is about this combination of women I know, like a frankensteinian (made that one up) monster of ideas and loves and perfect character traits.
I guess I'll write another one. I'll put it up tomorrow, for Earth Day.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
I am on a train. Not a fun hobo cargo train, but a train none the
less. I've spent the day with a friend from twenty years ago and we
caught up like we needed. She knows me better than I know myself.
Here's to you Amanda, you see right through my shit. Damnit. I'll
finish the ride from long beach home in silence.
Posted by anthony at 4:13 PM
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Today is the end of an era. This is is for one of my favorite houses ever. And a lot of other things too.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
in which the two cities are actually people
I am sitting at my desk in the early evening. It's MY early evening; it is one in the morning. The champagne bottle that was started yesterday is almost finished. I just put on XO by Elliot Smith. It has been a while, a long while, since the last time I listened to this record. But I am trying to figure something out about it, him and some people I know.
Now let's begin.
And don't forget: it is WAY more fun when you are vague.
I know a woman with soft features and a young face. I also know a man with hardened edges and years carved onto his skin. I have just recently found out that she loves Elliot Smith as much as he does.
Now Mr. Smith is not central to this thought I'm tumbling towards the ground with.
No. But I am VERY interested in how one person could attract two different people.
Funny thing, I just got it.
There are things I know about this woman and this man that don't surprise me. And there are things I keep learning that astonish me. And that is what this is all about. We decide what shoes everyone will fit into, and what we know about them. We are wrong all the time.
Funny. I didn't see this here.
I'm trying to think of the next line, the next thought, and I am suddenly walking into a bathroom at a McDonalds in Oakland.
I can't put names to all of the faces in the restaurant with me, or faces to the names I hear. But I know its me. And an ex. And a step dad. And maybe a cop. But he might not be there. But I'm pretty sure he is. We're going to a hospital to pick up my mom. But first I/someone else had to piss. This bathroom keeps jumping to the front of my mind.
I don't care about why the man and women I know both love Elliot Smith. And I'm not worried why the Oakland bathroom keeps coming up.
I just know that in a few swigs, when all the champagne is gone, I will get out of this chair and slide into my bed all alone.
And I am OK with it.
Tonight I have Mr. Smith to keep me company. Maybe I'll figure this out yet.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
There is still a burning in my calves. Its not from dehydration, which it is sometimes, but from the series of steps I have been cramming into the previous 10 days. I've been in four different airports. I missed one flight and had another make an emergency landing. I walked all over Chicago, LAX, and parts of Santa Barbara. I had my heart trampled on somewhere along the 14 and restored in a good friends kitchen. He used booze and kind words to patch it back together. I made late night phone calls to answering machines that got intercepted. I smoked what seems like a hundred cigarettes. I shared meals and toasts with friends old and new. I danced with a woman older than my mother and girl who drank like she used to. I made plans and promises and broke both I am sure. It was exhausting.
And I am not tired one bit.
More life, I think that is what I need. So I'm going to do it.
Thursday, April 08, 2010
To Whom It May Concern,
I keep seeing people get married. I watched a couple get married on the beach yesterday from behind some glass. Then they came upstairs and I served them and their guests drinks. A lot. Everyone was happy. There were people from all over the world. It was raining cats and fucking dogs outside. There was a moment, just a second, where I was pouring shots for the family, and the music was real loud, and most people were dancing and I realized that I was in one of the spaces.
Clarity sometimes comes at the expense of others.