Armageddon

This is because everything comes full circle.
Sometimes
I feel like I’m smart enough to know that there’s something going on
I’m just not smart enough to figure out what it is,
but some of the greatest minds in the world
aren’t curing cancer, or aids,
they’re curing hair loss up top and hair growth down under.
We are going in the wrong direction
like a derailed train that doesn’t seem to need tracks anymore.

Now there are document I can cite for every piece of this poem.
I think this social system is coming to an end.
There are too many repetitions hiding behind our biological limitations
even within our names;
Hugh Williams
December 5, 1664 a ship sank off the coast of Whales
with a sole survivor named Hugh Williams.
December 5, 1785 a ship sank again with a sole survivor names Hugh Williams.
December 5, 1860 another ship sank with a sols survivor named Hugh Williams.
August 5, 1820 a schooner went down and only a 5 year old Hugh Williams survived.
August 19, 1889 another ship sank, but this time there were 2 survivors,
both men were named Hugh Williams.

Have you ever felt like there was just something going on?

Look and Abraham Lincoln and John F. Kennedy.
Lincoln was elected to congress in 1846
Kennedy in 1946
Lincoln became president in 1860
Kennedy in 1960
both have 7 letters in their names
both wives lost a child while living in the White House
both were next to their wives when they were shot
both were shot in the back of the head
both had a secretary who tried to stop them leaving on the day of their deaths
both were killed by Southerners
succeeded by Southerners
both successors were named Johnson
Andrew Johnson was born in 1808
Lyndon Johnson was born in 1908.
The assassins John Wilkes Booth was born in 1839
Lee Harvey Oswald was born in 1939.
Lincoln was shot in the Ford Theatre
Kennedy was shot in a Ford Lincoln.

I think that something is trying to get a message across.
How many countless civilizations have fallen
and how far back can we really remember.

There’s this map that was found,
the Piri Reis Map.
He was an Ottoman-Turkish admiral and cartographer who found the map in 1513.
It was labels as a copy, etched in leather and shows the Northern coast of Antarctica,
this map shows details of a land 300 years before it was discovered
and with modern technology we’ve sent frequencies down through the ice to measure land masses
and this map has been shown to be accurate.
This would mean that the land had to have been mapped before it was covered in ice back in 4000 BCE.
We had the technology to map the world before the last ice age,
but we still wound up back at the drawing board
so what part of us is going to survive the next shift?

Now maybe I’ve just spent too much time on Reddit
but I don’t know about you,
I cant even keep a plant alive
how the fuck am I going to grow my own food?

I dont know what’s wrong with me.

I have a broken clock on my wall. It still tells me the time anytime I want, but the little bird that’s supposed to jump out through the little wooden door (as if the house was on fire) no longer came out. The doors would open at noon and midnight, but the little bird wouldn’t move. It just sat there on a spring, waiting in the shadow for the door to close again. I don’t know why I bought the clock in the first place, sometimes I feel like I operate purely on impulse. I leave everything to imagination and interact more with text messages than I do phone calls.
I used to believe in everything and everyone. Now the only word that I can use to describe the way I was is gullible. It feels like being openly trusting isn’t welcome anymore. People are more guarded around smiles than they are when being ignored.
At this point in my life I think the only thing I’m really good at is coming up with excuses for why I’m still covered with mistakes. I have fantasies almost every day where I die and the repetition finally comes to an end. Sometimes I kill myself, other times I have an accident, like being hit by a truck. I’ve let so my aspects of my life go, as it I knew deep down that soon it was all going to be over anyway. I didn’t care and keeping up with life became something that only confused me. Every time I take a shower it only reminds me of how long it’s been since my last one. My skin is greasy and my hair is clumped together. I can smell myself when I take my shirt off and my socks peel like the layer of skin holding an orange together.
I just can’t seem to do anything. Every time I blink, days go by and the comfort that brings scares the shit out of me.
The clock has only been moved once, when I first came to this apartment. The walls were clean then and such a bright white that they gave me headaches anytime the lights were on. Since then the walls have become mine. Stained with cigarettes and scuffmarks from the backs of chairs and holes where pictures fell to the floor. I’ve spent so much time here that the walls that had become my own have now disappeared entirely. Only seen when I look at one of my pictures, now only the haze in the background.
Maybe everyone loses their grip over time. I should count myself lucky I never got married, and never had any kids. I can barely take care of myself, let alone raise a child, or keep a wife. Maybe that’s why I am this way. Always watching the other shoe so I will know the moment it drops, the moment it lets me down. I have become a person who expects everything to fail and so I wait for it to begin, wait for the signs of decay that are always there. I’m always waiting for affirmation of these fears I disguise as knowledge.
The feeling that I’m drifting away from myself is growing. I can see myself reaching out to me, but getting further and further away, like I’d been cut in half and the tide was tearing us apart. We would drift so far away from each other that we disappeared from sight and the voice we shared could no longer be heard. This is a vision I see every day. The time and place is left random, but the rip happens and I can see myself losing hope. The look in my eyes says more that any arrangement of words could ever describe. I’m always left to watch myself float away and once I disappear, I snap out of it and I’m back to what I was doing.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me and I don’t know what to do. I watch myself making the same mistakes again and again, but I can’t stop it.
When I interact with people I always go overboard. I get this feeling like I have to entertain them and make sure that they know that I like them. These impulses cross at the same time and it leaves a divide in those around me, many people become close friends, but some just feel uncomfortable around me. Most of them are still polite, but the pause at first glance lets me know everything. It reminds me that I can make other people just as uncomfortable as I make myself.
Most of the time I just sit there, waiting to be alone so I can think. I can feel something growing in my chest like a virus, killing me slowly from the inside out. I’m made to maintain so many connections with so many people and the farther I go along with it, the more I lose touch with myself. I can’t remember most of the people I’ve known in my life and so many of them were more than just acquaintances, they were important to my life, to myself, but now I have moments when some of them remind me that we were once friends, or we’re already friends online. I just can’t get myself to work with the timeline. Everybody else seems to be able to go out into the world and every day and every night. All I can do is pretend, act like I remember everything when nothing is clear.
Another thing I’ve been doing a lot of lately is breaking plans. I make them with people and either forget completely, or just decide not to go at all. I just wind up sitting there at home all day and night with my phone turned off. It’s like I have an extra set of hands that reach out from me, but cant touch anything. These are the only hands I can call for help with, the ones that cant grip when trying to hold on. I picture them being soft, without the calluses from contact, only the smooth fingers like clouds trying to catch birds in the wind.
Yesterday I was supposed to see Crystal and then a poet. It was mainly a day to drink and trade questions and remarks over comfortable tables and soft lighting. The entire day was planned for a week, but at the last minute, I just stayed home. And it’s not even that I turned off my phone, I just never turned it on. It’s more than hiding, I’m disappearing, I’m forgetting so much of myself that I feel like my life is getting shorter the older I become. If I’m lucky I’m only halfway through this life, but who knows. Maybe I still have it in me to be more than just an animated silhouette.

Canadian winter survivor

waiting for paint to dry

Almost made it

There comes a time in every poet’s life

when they realize what kind of poet they really are,

and I…

am a heartbreak poet.

I don’t know how this happened,

But my emotions can be seen from space.

I have the ability to articulate an emphasis on the description of my feelings

like I was taking a highlighter to smiles and tears.

Half the time when I’m on stage

it’s only because my feelings got hurt

and I wanted everyone to know,

not only that,

but I want to take you all down with me,

I’m that drowning asshole grabbing peoples ankles on the way down.

So this is a letter to one of my ex-girlfriends.

 

We became what I never thought we would become,

but for a while

it was like we couldn’t get our hands on enough paint

to cover the canvas at our feet.

When we met,

you were more like a road map torn in half

and I was a GPS speaking a broken language.

Everywhere we went,

we left behind the people giving us guidance.

It was as if the creases in our directions

wanted our imperfections to match each other,

to meet each other half-way

so we started touching each other a little differently,

we began reading it in each others skin

like homemade tattoos,

or bedroom back scratches of nameless acts.

I liked you so much

that I wanted to delete my browsing history

before I invited you over.

But I respected you so much that I didn’t,

and I just left it like an open window,

you made me fearless when it came what turned me on.

I don’t know if this is a misogynist poem, or not,

but I still want to call you mine.

I can deal with being alone,

just not both of us being alone at the same time.

Because you were the answer I was looking for

and I was a reason for you to stay behind,

just to keep your mind busy,

this perfect distraction,

just tall enough to keep you from seeing

what was waiting for you,

until we became more comfortable

with telling each other about our days than actually sharing them.

 

You were the hand written letters

lost in a stack of memories.

I was the envelope

that cut the corners of your mouth open

when all I wanted to do was kiss you.

Now,

I have written the first half

of too many emails to remember.

You became the price tag of my future

I wound up being more like the receipt of your past.

We left each other buried

in my wallet and your purse,

beneath other people’s pictures,

beside transit passes and

behind all the things we used more often than each other.

I think at some point trying to keep things playful,

we only started playing games with each other,

like hide and seek

became the way we moved through the room.

Speaking only through notes on walls

and tagged pictures online.

In our minds

we created an impossible future for us,

one so disgustingly romantic

it kicked the shit out of the Notebook

in a Pulp Fiction kind of way.

 

I don’t know

if you believe me when I say I’m sorry,

but I mean it.

Like when I was mean to you

for no other reason than to get your attention.

I meant it.

But I just wanted to be your dirt,

that rough filth scratching you clean,

caught beneath you fingernails

after such long days

of building these sandcastle housing projects together.

I’m not even with you anymore,

but I still toy with the idea

of letting you go

and I still keep the pictures you gave me,

but I haven’t looked at them in a long time,

they’re somewhere in the distance,

kept at bay,

stacked in a folder,

tucked into a bag and

locked in an empty room.

 

 

           

Life

Life, like urinal cakes in a bar bathroom,

You can only take being pissed on for so long

Before you begin to disappear.

Left to slip down some drain made to look like a water slide.

 

I don’t remember much from when I was a kid

But I do remember

How I used to brag about

All the things I was going to do with my life

And what I pictured for my future

Had too many bells and whistles,

Too many accomplishments

For any one life to contain,

But now, at best I can be the bottle in my hand,

Something capable of any shape

But so breakable

It cuts like self-defense

And I keep climbing in and out of these ruts like nets.

Every time we meet

We still greet each other like strangers

Because

I feel like I’m always changing something about myself,

Like only my name has survived the days we’ve spent apart,

Left only as a reminder,

Written on a name-tag,

Like the street signs above intersections

Where I crossed my heart

And hoped you’d find me.

 

All I have now are my reactions.

I’m an unknown speech impediment

Heard only when listened to closely.

I keep claiming I know the words

But still left asking how to spell them

Because maybe I just don’t know anymore,

The thought escapes me

Like I’m a cat spending my life

Trying to catch the red dot.

 

Someone once asked me for a truth, so here it is:

We might still be people,

But we’re not human anymore.

We’ve forgotten about our grandfathers

And waited to long to know our grandmothers.

When they left

They left us only photograph footprints

From a black and white world.

I still keep thinking

I’ll get a do-over at some point,

Like if I wait long enough

I’ll get one more chance to back paddle,

One more chance to repeat myself

And all this time I’ve wasted

Might be put to better use.

Like tongues o what they’ve tasted

And a love for what might have lasted.

I want to repeat myself,

But draw a different outcome,

Like sidewalk chalk could erase bare walls

The way leaf’s fall over dead grass.

 

I don’t remember what I did today

I don’t know what I’ll do tomorrow

And I’m fine with that because

All that’s left of this moment is a shard of light

Clinging to the sky

This entire evening is dropping opportunities like bombs

And I cant fit anymore regret into this bucket list

So for now I’ll keep spinning these circles

Like the hollow tornados leaving deconstructed houses

And I’ll make my mark

In some other way.

Haikus (most came out dirty…even that came out dirty…no pun intended.)

Flash and it’s over,
life, a game from our childhoods
pieces left behind

Imagination,
porn still gets me there faster,
just a click away

Writing these haikus
only taught me how dirty
my mind really is

When I think of sex
there’s nothing I wont try once,
let that settle in…

Both my testicles
look exactly like acorns
in a plastic bag

YOLO is bullshit,
it’s all condoms and seatbelts
if you want one life

Blue balls don’t exist
it’s just a secret guilt trip
from a hurt ego

Beautiful thick girls
smiling between their dimples
from a sideways glance

I have a secret
I dance at a club downtown
please come make it rain

This is my “O” face
I think math to make me last
until she looks bored

Next years Halloween
I’m the slutty teddy bear
covered in sequins

Forever alone
broke a hand masterbaiting
busting knuckle nuts

Zombies eat our brains
I prep for apocalypse
by watching TV

It is a sad truth
if my socks had ovaries
I’d be a dad now

Star Trek and Star Wars
JJ Abrams controls both
way too much power

Have a dirty mind
corruption flies through fingers
and drips from our tongues

For you I will smile
and will always brush my teeth
waiting for those lips

Fucking hate winter
stupid snowflakes and the cold
shrinking my man parts

LohEl once told me
there’s a dark side and light side
to the force in slam

Surfacing inside
is a healthy inner child
hopped up on steroids

When it comes to love
I am the dirt that filth breeds
and the smile that spreads

Rusty Priske. Fuck-YEAH!
He is still one of the best
and always bad-ass

He weaves his music
named PrufRock Shadowrunner
and his words cut glass

My twin brother Hyf
is a music MacGyver
where sounds found and fixed

Realization
haiku’s force pronounce
broken sentences

Monique Simonot
writes far better poetry
than pens can handle

Be truly fearless
overtake the broken parts
that once defined you

I have a penis
it has a mind of its own
somewhere in my pants

I love having sex
it reminds me of summer
and lazy Sundays

Our souls are rising
now talking to each other
with more than just words

The word “nipple” is
still something that makes me laugh
just like the word “taint”