The Soul's Ichor

what do you want out of life?

I think I'm actually pissed off enough to answer this question. None of my usual wishy-washy complacency and indifference. What do I want?

I want to live in a city where I have a favorite dive bar and a favorite dance club because there are enough to choose from. I want to work hard for things I find rewarding -- I want my theater to be tangible and I want people to see what I do and I want it to make them THINK. I want it to make them FEEL. I want them to hate me for it and still be unable to drag themselves away.

I want to be consumed and devoured by love that is seethed through teeth like rage.

I want people to be not afraid of being angry.

I want to publish my book, damn the consequences of all the secrets being leaked, and any lies I told exposed. I want people to know my name, but never know my face. I want it to stir up enough shit that they give me a second book deal, and I can go on another adventure -- I want to go on an adventure that ISN'T fueled by love or infatuation with a person. I want to decide where I'm going by what train leaves closest to the time I get up, or go to sleep.

I want to live in Casablanca with Jessie, and lie in fields outside the city and smoke and write poetry and not have to worry about whether or not we're going to make the rent this month. I want to live in Argentina with her, on the top floor in the middle of the city, with no air conditioning on the hot winter nights, I want to spit venomous lines at each other in our fury at no one and and everything.

I want to make music when I can with people who are dedicated enough to sit down and practice with me. Who will work out the lyrics with me.

I want to add fire to this dull gray world we're living in.

Most of all, I want to laugh in an evening gown on some rich pretentious asshole's yacht; I want them all the compliment me, and tell me how fabulous I am. And I want to be laughing because of how they'll never know, never realize how cruel I am, how I'm exposing their idiocy and hypocrisy in my work. I want to publish their stories with changed names, changed dates, some changed places, with just enough truth left for them to think maybe its about them, but not be sure enough to ask me or the other people involved in that particular tale.

Ahora es tiempo para todo el mundo comer mi justicio.

This shit has flatlined, the exclamation has been uttered. Fuck you, I'm not living for you anymore. I'm living for me. Fuck your cause. I don't give a good goddamn.

an unravelling

the senses overloaded
our times are exploded
my mind is imploded
your visions of politics --
duly noted

decrease my ascension
yet another intention
the times of prevention
they're over, another menschen

the junction, no function
panties all un-bunchin'
my senses, such irk
though I know you're a jerk

call me visionary
mouths all therey
all touches are rough
so tough you're almost scary

give us the wheel
no need to feel
tell me you're meek
but all I see is weak-ness
over and done
but I finally think
this war may be won

I found I wanted to eat your heart out

I drowned in the atlantic
something I don't care to omit
fresh beating hearts --
oh you want poetry --
let me give you poetry by the mouthful in plainest English I know --
Silence silenced -- silenced silence

Boys are Dumb -- desire

I desire...?

back beat dark alley jazz/I am channelling Amsterdam and secreted thigh touches
--yes veebs is in the bathroom--
the badzimmer
but dutch
man both of you are blonde and its creeping me out
I desire touch down break down the bass touch fly touch/smoke and mirrors/the illusions of togetherness/
--yeah veebs went home to bed--
the moon is rising
I desire my ex in the reflection bdeside me/I am kickin on this beat/waiting for my moment to jam/but your lips are carrying me out that door before my chance even comes/I to my hostel and you to your hotel your girlfriend your wife your might as well be knife
If I had known them how we would end -- your cock -- never would've been touched -- you couldn't believe how I liked it rough -- secret weekend visits -- oh killer filler conversation -- finally figured out you didn't care anyway
I desire, no, require you to learn
you can't dress another girl
in Her clothes
that playtime equals passion
but passion doesn't always equal playtime.

shouted word poem

simply defenestrated, dog -- crimson obsession -- molting cinnamon -- defenestrated aneurysm -- neurotic crest caressed malicious peach -- coleslaw? simply ubiquitous -- dreamers shoelace dreams -- nautical analog -- cohesive -- cohesive -- rainbow crest cheaters simply disastrous

raw

your tintinnabulation finds me caught
underwhelmed exhausted
seeming to have lost some battle of wills
what is this chess that you speak of
some easy metaphorical mask to sneak behind
I am neither pawn nor queen
I am landmines beneath the board
where you seek logic I place danger
and you say that you will not walk away from this game
but I am explosions in the sky
I am Shock
I am Awe
something is missing in the way
we crossed paths
I am guns
you are peace signs
there's flowers for this barrel
or there would be if they'd not been devoured
by the wolves
You are late-night laughter
I am the fear beneath it
either way, the sheets are pissed upon
in light or dark
it doesn't matter
I am ten paces at high noon
you are a stroll on the beach
I am defenestration
you are a safety net
puzzle pieces that do not fit.
so just git.

be my electric cake mix

slippery slide lost to your
transatlantic psychic trills and calls
little guitar riffs that feed my insomnia
connecting without wires keeping
baristas from their beds
you are my pen that never runs out of ink
my intercontinental waterproof paper
you can tattoo me with your heart
you make me honest and I don't mind the pain