Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Been away

Sorry to anyone who's been reading this (as if anyone would waste their time here...), because I've for some reason been unable to think of anything to post... anyway. I read an essay by a person who pretends to be a rational, decent person. It's called "What is it Like to Teach Black Students?" by Christopher Jackson. You should check it out. Just google it. Or to make it easier, here's the link: Do it. Use those 10-20 minutes of your life. Anyway, I haven't been feeling great lately, and a few comments might be nice, just to know someone's reading this, and I'm not just talking to myself. Message me on facebook or myspace or any other way you can if you have any problems commenting, because I really do want to get my blog's comments and stuff working.

Thursday, July 16, 2009


It's been a long day.
Tedious, crammed with
Nothingness, and long.
Clenched tightly in my
Fingers, my pencil's width
Seems vast, somehow wrong.

I seek refuge in my bed,
Hide in my soft pillows,
But my cough finds me;
Racks my lungs. I feel bled,
Drained of strength by what follows:
A sadness from which I forsee

No relief. No escape. No plan.

A sting.
Sometimes a hiss.
It doesn't even hurt anymore;
An echo of a thought,
No design,
Just an impulse.

Even though I joke,
With my "kxk," always
Under the surface
I'm deadly serious.
Not an easy yoke,
Though in these days
No fight 's shown its face.
I've never understood the fuss.

and my song lyrics (ish)
The judgemental ones who condemn difference.
We fight.
We fight.
Forever we strive against the hostile cult:

For more widgets please visit

Friday, July 10, 2009

Portrait of Blood--29/6/2009

The brushstrokes flowed together so fittingly,
Their delicate lines and blotches lovely in their simplicity.
Somehow though, an intricate, complex web
Glinted, maybe the cracks that permeate every life.
Why did it all shatter? What reason is there behind
The chaos of fragments and shards on the floor?
As I turn and walk away I cannot stop the flood of tears,
Or the trickle of blood, or cease looking back, staring
Over my shoulder, as it liquifies, pools, and with
Ripples forms a delicate blossom on the floor, haunting
With its beauty, a reminder of what could have been
so wonderful.

Laughter (an experiment)--29/6/2009
Why does he laugh when his heart is leaden?
Maybe he tries to fool himself into thinking
That he's fine, that everything is just dandy.
Sometimes it can hide the feeling of despair,
And it can fool those who aren't interested
Into believing that everything is just dandy.

I on 1/7/2009
I don't know what's dragging me on,
I can't tell if it is kind or cruel to do so.
I had a purpose once, but now it's gone;
Abandoned me, so now my arms no longer know
Effort, my knees can no longer support
Me with their willpower stripped away.
My heart continues to beat as my last resort
Compels it, my music a bellows supplying breaths in rhythm.

I've written a few of these poems, but I'm not sure if I can post these... but basically they describe how I feel on the specified date, and if I can't complete the poem I never go back. No editing, or anything like that...

Sunday, June 28, 2009

I wanted to write a poem about how I want to tear my eyes out and grind slat into the sockets, and scream until my lungs explode and my throat bleeds, but I can't really cause I don't have time... This evening was rather excruciating. Oh, and the scream is more like a primal bellow/roar than a chick in a horror movie who's just seen a zombie or some ugly green girl crawling out of a TV.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Sooo... just thought that in the wake of the death of such an influential and controversial public figure, I'd voice my comments. I don't particularly like Michael Jackson, but I do love a couple of his songs, and I'm generally sorry he's dead. I really wish that people would stop being so fucking insensitive and generally assholes...

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

I can laugh.
I can always laugh.

Sometimes it makes me hurt more, and sometimes it helps.
Sometimes I don't want to breathe, because that hurts...
but I always keep it up, because the alternative is far worse.

onthespot poetry at 2:41 AM not great, but it's fun to write...

Monday, June 22, 2009

I wrote these poems this morning at about 4:00

Drowning Rain -- 22/6/2009

I realize that my lungs are full of fire.
Unable to stand the pain,
these flames unquenchable.
I exhale: that short gasping breath of desire.
I want to breathe air.
No more of this drowning rain.
Slowly, I find hope in fantasy, life in distraction,
But to believe that, I was a fool,
in this life so unfair.
I should have never expected satisfaction.

Shards of a Heart -- 22/6/2009
I tear myself open, hoping, expecting to find
Something normal, something whole.
But instead, as my blunt fingernails dig through
The skin, pry my ribs apart, I find
Only fragments of something wholly unfamiliar.
There's no use trying to put it back
Together, and it's not even worth it. I scoop the
Wreckage back into my chest, along with
The filth it has gathered during its inspection and
Attempts at recovery. It will continue to
Eat away at my breast, its shards driving deep.

Mist --22/6/2009
A silent creeping mist stalks across
The ground from tree to tree, pooling in
Hollows, fleeing from hummocks.

It steals under my eyelids, slips
Under my eyeballs into my welcoming
Brain. To the world at large I whisper,


Sunday, June 21, 2009

I really don't want to go to bed

but at the same time I really want to sleep forever and ever... I want to write a song... but I'm not quite sure how... and overall... life kinda sucks... but hey... that's life, right?

thoughts I have about my song...

lyrical themes: fire, hypocrisy, judgment
sound: punk rock, minor eb tuning

Friday, June 19, 2009

first poem I'll put up...

one of my favorites...

Find Myself or Honesty – 13/7/2008
Broken, rent from my foundation, bleeding from deep wounds.
Lying riven and empty, vanquished by my own hand
As enjoined by my enemies. Conformed to their will
While abandoning mine I lie, tired and confused;
Ignored, spurned for my pains, attempts to please the crowd.
Hoping for their notice, pleading for their attention;
I gain neither, and am not myself, not one of them.
Stripped from my identity, my soul stricken, bled dry.
I’m deserted, left desolate with my empty thoughts.

Slowly recovering, trying to regain myself
From my self-inflicted void, that hole bored deep inside.
I still cower, afraid of others’ opinions,
Too cowardly to resist that stifling influence.
What I enjoy, they despise; what I do, they spurn,
I try to please them, but it rings hollow, mere pretense.
It stops now: the obeisance, the sacrifice of my
Soul on the altar, offered to the mocking crowd’s whim.
I’ll fight back, I’ll seize my life from untrustworthy hands.

Crusade for myself, leave no stone unturned in my search.
With no aid, flight from the mob is my only option.
No longer a faceless member of the pack, I must
Defend my thoughts, likes, actions: my very being.
I flee, and though they raise the hue and cry, I’ll escape,
Run to the stronghold and loving embraces of my
Long-neglected friends, the ones who were there through it all.
A new friend too, one who helped raise me from my stupor,
And reminds me of long-forgotten parts of myself.

How long will it take to repair what I’ve done?
Will it take months to heal my wounds? Years to regain my friends?
All I know is that I must return to how I was,
Recover my true self, not the fabricated one
Made to please others. I need help: mem’ries of what I
Used to be; visions of what I could possibly be.
But most of all I need a companion, one staunch friend.
A fellow human, who’s always willing to listen.
Find myself deep under the chaos of what I’ve been.