Monday, July 23, 2007

For Gertrude (part two)

days like this, when i sink into contemplation when i cannot help but contemplate over contemplation itself,is there any damn good in it? am i damning myself by trying to find the good in it?am i losing the details of life,as life rushes past all of us at a fair lip, am i not getting my share because i am focusing too much on the details inner details,like i am turning myself blind, like i am holding back my own breath?

what a drag this is..this dragging myself into mental pits,where i have no means or motive for pulling myself out,i cant possibly be the one who can give myself the helping hand out when i am too busy digging the pit deeper.divulging myself in the fact that i have been miserable most of my life and because of such,i have become very good at being miserable;definately better than most,if this is something to brag about,i am not certain,but i feel to brag about it is better than whining about it, legions whine about their problems and i am making an effort to not be a part of the legions so i will embrace this as part of me as it has embraced me as some kind of nest for which it will grow stronger, able to pollenate from this point...i will be either the bee or the flower..either way, there will be more like who i am now.

and such a realization makes me wonder if i myself am comfortable with the concept of more like me, the concept of a mirror image world pressed against my face,is there anything here that tells me that i am not alone, there is nothing that screams sollitude more than your own reflection, and when all the world is practically your own reflection, then you are practically alone.

but then again,in contrast to such thoughts, the idea of many like us only unlike us in enough details for it to seem like individuality may exist is something that may keep us entertained,something that will prevent us from jumping off of a bridge,into some swirling abysmal blackness,to see what would lie next, something in me says it would only be more disappointment..

Sunday, July 22, 2007

For Gertrude (part one)

walking to nowhere in particular i was walking in the direction that i was going when i went a little farther that way i realized i may not be aware of the direction and may be following only a whimsey and that whimsey may have no roots in reality, as reality has often pulled its roots from my soil,and in these moments,i try feeling something and i do feel something, but all that i feel is the pulled apart gaps in the soil which were the areas in which the roots of this reality which is gone now, but when i t wasnt it was right here, where these holes were,where these holes are is where my sweet reality was.but not now,now it is not there now is it anywhere that i know of at the moment,but at this moment i can convince myself, or at least try that the moment that is now is one in which i know much less than i will later,later i will know much more and be embaressed
by the holes in the ground which are not even whole holes, they are merely the areas of departure from whre reality was,after it securely fastend itself to me and then exited;it pulled itself away from me,pulled itself out bu the roots.
i wonder whatever could i have done.

the sun is shining to today, this sunny day today, not a cloud in the sky,which is good because a cloud or something such as it would have made this sunny day less so, and then i would have fewer moments to contemplate with the sun on my face of what it is like to have the sun on my face,if it were not on my face at this moment it would only be imagining for the sake of would be myself wondering what if,what if the sun were out, what if when the sun were out a few hot beams hit my face and i was calm and things felt good and i felt more relaxed and better able to focus on things at hand, opening up my hands seeing they are empty,so ask myself what is on my mind and what is most on my mind is why i let such small trivial things rest on my mind such as they do...

but there is little to do for the mind, other than to do dwell i realize, and if one does not, all the mind does is grows slow and therefore, weak in a sad,limp way,so perhaps it is best to simply walk into the clouds than to not be able to go anywhere at all, the times like this that i go here and there but not really ro anywhere at all are the times when such thoughts are most justified by my own mentality that spinning ones wheels even without destination is better than sinking into the ground, i am not ready for death, i may not be ready to further my llife,but for death i am even less prepared, for death is ones last move, and i have no idea how i could add some kind of brief glory to this..i would however want the last thing that i do to have some kind of lasting worth, even if not long lasting,i would want it to last longer than the fading sensations of neurons and the prayers that most people would say at that time,drifting off into space, these words herded into prayer,looking for some kind of god to latch themselves onto. is that the purpose of prayer,or even words in general?to drift from our mouths like moths hoping to find an audience like a flame of light-bulb that we confuse for the moon?

Thursday, July 19, 2007

The pheasant hunters

the most annoying damn bird in the world is the pheasant
and vale was infested with them ; pheasants have a tendancy to fly into the windshields of oncoming cars, we never said"i hit a pheasant with my car" we said"a cocksucking pheasant hit my car"
every windshield in vale had cracks in it due to one of those funny looking bastards,their black necks and multi-colored bodies made them look like the transvestite priests of the animal kingdom.even cooks dont like them,pheasant under glass is really pigeon.

i was never really a hunter type
but was happy to join my friends tim and chance to go turn a bunch of those damn things into heaps of scattered feathers before they had the chance to do so themselves with our windshields.
the three of us were all 16 at the time, and had been familiar with rifles for about 8years by that point i remeber when i was 10, my mom made sure i had daily practice,just in case i had to shoot my dad;i became a really good shot, but by the time i actually had to,we were out of bullets.
i was writing in the back of chances pick up,tim in the passenger seat with the barrel of his 12 gauge sticking out the window as we cruised the back roads,waiting for some to come out of the corn fields...
soon, we see three of four of them coming our way,
tim finding no reason for us to stop the truck,sticking his body half way out the window with rifle in hand yelling "WELCOME TO VALE,YA STUPID SONS A BITCHES!"
he fired,got one,another rammed into the grill of chances pick-up,
and another went in a different direction

another time the three of us were doing the same on foot with tims birddog, budweiser.
budweiser went to get a fallen bird,but instead of bringing it back,we ran into another feild with it in his mouth to bury it,
we all ran calling him, tim shouting his name, me and chance yelling :C;MERE YA PILE A SHIT!"
tim saying it was no use,his dumb dog dont speak american.

it was really the last time the three of us hung out
afterwards,we didnt see each other as much,and a couple years later chance was killed when pulling a rifle from his dads gunrack the safety was on and the barrel was pointed his way,it went off.
i finally got out a while later
tim,on the other hand
stayed in vale, still a hunter,got married and has 3kids
works as a minimum wage box boy in the grocery
and is quickley becoming a drunk like his old man
he says he is happy,but i cant help but think that 2 of the three of us escaped...

Sunday, July 8, 2007



Monday, April 9, 2007

MALHUER (chapter two part one)

the pick-up truck pushed its way through vale at a slow pace,but filled with the restrained energy of its 2 passengers;there was a desire to simply shove the gas pedal through the floor,this was their escape, after all. but instead,,sopia kept a steady pace at just under the 25mph limit.they knew they could really get going once they got on the highway,although it felt like it was farther away than they wanted,the most it was was a ten or so minute drive but ideally,they would have loved it if they could have gone from drive way to freeway,and in this part of oregon, that wasnt uncommon at all,grady grew up on afarm that was only a quarter mile from the highway,also by a bridge and railroad tracks,when puberty hit grady like a torpedeo,he decided to go off on the first of mny unsuccessfull escape attempts fromredneck hell.sophias eyes were fixed on the landscape that she was,hopefully,abandoning forever.she wondered if she would miss it,it was kind of beautifull in its stark barren wasteland kind of way,by looking at the horizon dotted with sagebrush and livestock and wire fences,,between those details,the fine line nothingness of the desert seemed to suggest that by looking just past it you could see into infinity,with god hiding in there somewhere sophia thought there had to be a cloud thrown in there on occasion other wise there would be the risk of a town full of enlightend rednecks kinda sounds like violent pacifsts. then there was of course, the mornings, with the fog covering the hillsides once you stepped out of town, and its funny to drive somwhere, outta town, and the fog,swirrling and churning,and siometimes,you could see the outlines of cows going about their buisness, it was like looking at a loose drawing of such animals,who would have thought that in such a simple area,you could allow your mind to run with such abstract subjects?

with the earth itself looking like a caved in skull in this part of oregon,it was easy to understand how grady and sophia wanted to leave before their lives were lft to mingle with the dust occasionally only stirred up by the wind.and their was a reason to think the area looked like a caved in skull,despite the fact that sophia did think it was beautifull in a way, the cracks in the ground and the complete and utter lack of any sort of visibel life for miles made it seem as though this were a close up on the face of death itself. we are finally gone,sophia said to herself,in what was probably the hundredth time in the couple days when they started packing, and making the calls and preparing to purchase the trailer.sophia heard that jobs were easy to get in twin,in a way she hoped she wouldny get strattled with another service industry jobalthough she could deal with it if she did,she was certain it would be different here anywy,that there would be some sort of sophistication in a town of ten thousand,it may sound like a stretch o say that that sounds likean area n which size justifies a sense of sophistication,but try living in a town of 1700 first. we need music,sophia said. we got music,grady said, as he opened up the plastic bag with cassettes,many of which without cases.the rod stewart cd in which they began their trek had long run out,"time for cyndi lauper" sophia said. "aw,christ," grady said, "what?" "i thought i was going to enjoy this trip" "you gotta problem with this" "yeah, kinda" "well, just what the hell is it?" "i just dont dig that 80s shit" "its not shit! it some of the best music ever made,fuck face," "right,girls just wanna have fun,never with me they dont.bitches." " need i remind you whos driving here?" "no,i am perfectly aware of whose driving.need i remind you whose paying for this whole goddamn thing?i dint invite you along just so i could gag on gay-ass dinosaur music" watch your mouth with the term gay-ass, fucklicker" "why?your a lesbian,i think of lesbians a much cooler than gay.when i say gay ass in this instance,i mean it in a way that some of what she writes sound sugery in way thats meant to be sentimental, i mean if i am beaten to death by a bunch of gay clown with whoopie cushions filled with straps-ons,play time afte time at my funeral. oh, and speaking of lesbians..if you bring a chick home, can i watch?" sophia rolled her eyes .but smiled and lauged under her breath. "you still have that winning personality,grady,"she said. "i know,"grady replied. how odd, sophia thought, that could try so hard to be an asshole,and yet somehow, make it seem charming. "ok, play cyndee lauper"gray said. "but were playing judas priest afterwards". "not a problem,sophia said.

Sunday, March 25, 2007

ENDTABLE (a short play)

cast of characters:
moses, late 20's to mid 30's,floppy hair,casual dress,dark colors.
robot:a little younger,maybe early to mid 20s,camoflauge clothing.wearing red sunglasses.

the set:
a typical portland coffee shop.tidy, but not particularly clean looking.board games strewn about. a chess board is between moses and robot.

MOSES:i love days like this; the sun makes me feel more alive,like the warmth from the sky justifies our body heat,our own inner warmth.

ROBOT: but it is raining.

MOSES: the sun is it is everyday,just above the clouds to lightour faces;rays come in between the rain drops.we are able to see ourselves better,and hopefully,while our eyes are so filled with details,we can see the best in everyone.

ROBOT: you are too happy.

MOSES: i do not want to die.

ROBOT:but we all must at some point.

MOSES:but not at this moment!

ROBOT: no,not if we are alive...

MOSES:what do you mean?

ROBOT:well, 2 distinct ideas came into my mind just now...

MOSES: lets hear them,then.

ROBOT: the first idea is the somewhat frightening idea that we are already dead.

MOSES: nonsense! the dead do not partake in life to the extent that we do.that i do,at walks in the park,watching the birds in the sky,i see their beauty feel the sun on my face,to go with the rain and the breezes.every day,i go through so many emotions as well.pain and pleasure.sadness and fear. seldom if ever have i met a corpse so moved by things around him.

ROBOT: it brings me to my second theory...

MOSES:is it as hair-brained as your first?

ROBOT: maybe.maybe not...

MOSES: well, get it over with...

ROBOT: my other theory is that we dontexist; that we could just be words on the page;scrawled down by some wanna be writer on a weekend morning.trying to write a play,maybe wanting to rip off beckett, think about it, why else would we have such ridiculous names?

MOSES:like we are just words put down to be played with like toys?thinking we exist?by someone who thinks they have an artistic vision?

ROBOT: that is what i suspect...

MOSES:then,i know the way to find out.we shall get up from this table,and go on about our lives.if we exist, then things will go on even when we are not seen.

ROBOT:fine.lets go.

MOSES: yes,lets go.

ROBOT:why arent we moving?

MOSES:i do not know...

(curtain comes down) fadeout


Sunday, March 18, 2007


its funny to see a sunrise,in portland,over the horizon through the houses and trees and such,and often i am subject to such a pleasant site these days;whether it has something to do with work,if i happen to be working graveyard that night, or if i happen to wake up early or if i had been at a party a little longer than i had originally expected.

seems almot ironic that i would write about this sort of thing i am often disapointed by people who send time on contemplations of sunsets and sunrises and the lot,but i have thoughts i connect with the concept of watching the sunrise with that go well beyond nature and more into human nature.

being a poet,i am obviously subject to drift back into the past, which i am as guilty of cheese-ball sentiment as anyone,but also,i am as guilty as anyone as letting it pull me into my own personal resavoir of shadows,and it occoured to me the other morning that i had purpose fully avoided looking towards the horizon at morning,and it is for reasons that go back to the beginning of the new millenium.

back in 99 and 2000,i had drug problems,admittedly,i did before and afterwards also, but my focus is specific in this; i had moved away from my hometown(and i use that term very,very loosely) of Vale,Oregon, in a dsasterous move to twin falls idaho, of which,is apartial basis for my novel in progress,malhuer,in the sping of 99,and in idaho,my habbit had become strengthend, or i had weakend, however you want to look at it,needless to say many things went wrong,and i came running back home, to stay with my mothers for a litte while (i was only 18) while i tried getting my life in some sort of near order.

i moved out, in with a friend of mine, upon her telling me that there was work if i wanted it, doing the sort of manual labor farm work we both were acustom to,so i of course snapped at the offer. with my friend,well, we became more than friens,but unfortunately, some of my bad habbits rubbed off.and some of us are luckier than others.
it was during this time,when we would do our work, usually having to start early on,when we could see the sun rise over the hills which, depending on the season were covered in either alfalfa or wheat or or just plain old sage brush,and seeing the light hit the hills and the brilliant rays seemingly envelop the hillsides like they were aflameand had become more than their value on the planet and were about to jump up into space itself and join in unison with the sun itself.
i am,finally, after all these years gone by,learning how to look at things and realize i am notstranded in memories, only visiting.