My happiness rises and falls
with numbers carved in bone
seeking the sky for a code to my being

Happiness is but echoes of insanity
Movern and Maldoror on repeat
the sound is deafening

Borrowed words from a cemetery ceiling
borrowed lives, now lost
I have lost, yet the game continues

I remain the enjoyment of some evil Baal
Whose happiness rises and falls on the weight of my bones
and escape is but an echo through this cemetery tour
of a ceiling runway slideshow
of lyrics meant to melt and days wasted, time squandered
and more regrets than can be any longer held
to repeat

Of all the moments sought for
all the space wasted on determination of wrong
wrong turn wrong choice wrong chance
taken aback, no thought to give
to a time when life was right
when it could be right, when the tables turned and the tides twisted
and the moon aligned just right with the stars and her eyes
And the wonder of how I ever got here
to this new place.
A place of hope and anticipation. teetering, tiptoeing, waiting
Wavering.
for that old familiar feeling of wreckage
it never comes
It never comes this time, this time is different
Air sits heavy in a good way, heavy with smoke and perfume, and hands that shake when they clasp another
How is there room for this
room in my world

this is not my world. my world is cold lonely alarm clocks at night and dreams of city ordinances, visions of a fate carved out in binary
The ghosts remain, they weave in and out of roads before me
but they are weary too
blurring the truth and echoing memories that leave no memoirs
Struggle to see what is real until it no longer matters
all that matters is now, this moment, this Monet
the fear that words will fail you how many times now have they come to your rescue
How many times has there been no rescue
If this isn’t love then love does not exist

Lie still. Hold your breathe. Don’t wake up not from this
careless for tomorrow it is all worth it now
this second. this one, one, one more second
Is this a second chance

She is the whisper of oceans after a storm
the promise that the tides will ebb, the gasp of air when you thought you’d had your last
Transcend time and space
no need, she has stopped it all
the world is a coastline drive, salt-ladled wind in a broken window stuck permanently down and you don’t care
She smiles at me, a mirage I will tattoo on the back of my eyelids that I may never forget the roads traveled and the crosses born and the nails I drove so deep for so many years and on the third day it is risen the stardust that I am has given way
Given up, no

To be. Just be. She is chains melting and heartache healed and in this I know that I will live forever
How could I leave

Lying here in 5 day old clothes and 30 some years of contempt.

This story will end in tears. Like all stories do. After the epilogue, behind the scenes, post after party destruction. Devolution.

There is nothing quite so painful as prolonged insomnia. It magnifies the pain of day as words twist and turn, toss and tangle, warp and wrangle the mind as it struggles for peace just one. Moment’s. Peace.

But no, the words rage on losing all meaning gaining all momentum in their crusade of torment every second thought every regret every question looms in darkness those red lights are flashing how are they still so bright after all these years? You stare until your eyes blur blink look away but they remain

Every open eye. They remain. Cruel, red minutes that are your life. Go by

And how fucking slowly they go by. Burning eyes open to a passing minute. Then suddenly hours. Panic. I must sleep a feeble thought wails from somewhere in there before it’s washed away or railed away or run over by this angry mob of

Guilt.

Pacing doesn’t help don’t even try. Reach for the phone for some salvation frantically type out this one last note if those last few thoughts can just get out if you write them down no need to think about them

See

A new thought comes. Violently. Eyes rip open. Panic. Nausea. Greeting card from some 30 year old mistake. New round. New wave of madness chanting prayers and postulates sayings and old photographs and tacky homemade placards on grandma’s wall Irish proverbs and Spanish housewarming dream catching knick knacks of childhood are somehow all the saddest thing you could ever remember and you soak your pillow

Blurring time

I remember the first time I met you. It seemed like I had waited so long. The most anticipated meeting of my life, ever.
You were wide awake from the first moment. Perhaps you had been waiting too. I remember the first time you looked at me. Big, blue, alien eyes. You couldn’t have been more perfect.
I wanted to be your mom. I had many thoughts of us, big plans. Many happy days in the making of my mind, drawn out like figures in the sand.
Those figures in the sand, they changed with time. So ephemeral, so fragile, the smallest storm had the power to destroy them all.
And it did.
My life map was gone. My dreams, my happy hopes. The shoreline became a desert, and I was lost.
There were so many storms. So many wrong turns, searching for the path I had somehow deserted.
Searching for those big blue eyes, the smile of a Nazarath star, to light my way and lead me home.
To you.
But it was not meant to be. I was gone too long.
But you were never gone from me. My baby, my son. Through the darkness that one thought remained. The thought of you, and the little plan I once had.
I still see it sometimes. The future. The present as it could have been. As it should have been.
But those figures in the sand you see, once they are gone, they cannot be made again. Once washed away, they can never be as they once were.
Our life will never be the future in my mind. But there are always new dreams to dream, new plans to make, new maps to draw and paths to follow.
Now when I see your eyes and your smile, it’s like looking into a pool, where I catch my own reflection if the light is right, and I see an image of myself when I look at you.
I think you’ll hear it often. As you make your way down your own roads, as you cross your own desert, or sail the rocky waves of your own happy plan.
People will say, “you are a lot like your mother, you know.”
And I hope this doesn’t make you sad. Or angry, or ashamed. Your mother was a good person once. Remember the first time you met her? Your very first moment in this world? You looked at her with those big, blue, alien eyes. And the earth changed forever, with that one meeting…
I wonder now what they remember. Those ocean eyes of yours. I wonder what they have seen, and what they will see, and what images they will hold onto, after I’m gone.
I hope it is beautiful. I hope your life is unveiled before you with roses and red carpets, and you never find yourself lost in a dead and lonely desert.
But if you do, I’ll watch for you. I’ll wait for you. If you close your eyes, you’ll see me, I’ll be there. Forever drawing new figures in the sand for you.
No matter how many storms, you will find there is always a moment of calm. I will leave my dreams there for you, in those moments, and you will always have a way back home.

I dreamt of you last night
And awoke this morning happy
To have met you
In another realm
If only I had known you
There.

Another telescope goes blind
Searching
what I’ll never be, I am
Demise
That which was never my own
No claims to be
No fame
But Borrowed energy from the universe
That missed me somehow
Lost among the trees and the stars
I watch them as they give
Beauty, warmth, and light
Imperceptible facades
Inspiration
Promises of hope
Proves false.
Fabled destinations
I have none
No gifts to give
No songs
No new wizardry of words, they have all been said
Before and time again
Drumming only the vacancy of heart
Too frozen
In the black hole chaos cauldron magick, mystic, moon-bred fall
Of Purgatory
Empty vessel, hollow shell
Exoskeleton with pieces still attached
Doomed not to wander
But remain…
Never to feel the ocean’s breath
To gaze into a heat mirage
Rising
These ashes give no birth
No Phoenix, no messiah
The infinity above
Atmosphere does not exist in here
What is not created
Can it be destroyed ?
Worlds have passed me by, many
For they know
Emptiness
When they see it.

Genius surrounds me i can’t escape it
Beauty abounds and i try to hide
Home
Is neither distant star nor xmas flight nor daily penance of all the wrong decisions
It is a cauldron
Poison and pictures
Time spinning faster with each all night drive
Eyes on the road but not this one i am seeing another
And another
All those winding roads i had avoiding all those second chances i never took
Age becomes another weight synonymous with time running out
These sunsets that have plagued you
Now guide you
Away from what you know
Always searching
Forever searching blindly for keys for clues for memories you try to piece back together try to conjure all you’ve lost but it is too much and the pieces they are always wrong always missing some crucial thought
That you cannot quite place
Panic rising higher and higher in your chest like beautiful tides of by gone minutes you tried to last forever
The shutter fails
Record skips
Brakes fail sending all intentions cascading into fate
Where the words no longer hurt and the dreams no longer threaten
To be real

Another Mecca stumbling towards
Moonlight
leading astray All good intentions

Beauty coated madness
Genius of my only talent, torment
Words betray me, the world betrays me
Slipping off its axis
Screw by screw
Anchor chainsaw, bars, and balance breaking
Dissonance, decay
Atlas was right

We are footprints in cemented doom
Paralyzed
by what we can’t bear To be wrong
Liquid looming calligraphy
Melting
Meltdown
Who’s world will ours destruct in turn, who’s worries will we turn away, whose lives matter and who will fall

clinging to imagination
Imaginary lines clinging to man
Man made this
Made you
Who you are
Who are you
Words, still intended to meet you
On the other side
On the molten after birth of earth’s evil spawn
As it Welcomes you, warns you, warms you

weathers and wanes you
Then withers
You
Until the music ceases fire
Too late

I tiptoe past the death

On my doorstep

And I tiptoe past so many things

More

Words and their meanings

Have long since tiptoed past

  Me

Around these implications, assumptions

Answers I don’t want

All just as real

Every bit as unreal

As this corpse

I can’t remove

Can’t remember

Can’t resist

To look

Can’t seem to look away

This is how it ends

he says so many times

In my dreams

Of what was what could have should have was never meant to be

Realness

What is

And what can’t ever

This stillness this decay

Proves nothing

Can never prove

This fugue to be a figment

Imagination

or Creation

LIFE

I know both

for I know nothing

am sure of even less

Than I was

When I held it in my hands

Warmth breath, beating terror

LIFE

it was there or was it

Always

Rotting hallucinations

On my sidewalk

i am moved by discontent. discomfort motivates me, pushes to me continue, to persevere, were i to be cliche. it is what gets me up in the morning, the simple thought that i will make something better today. the thought of leaving behind mistakes, regrets, future tomorrows evitably yielding a fuck up of some sort. leaving behind words, which is hard. words haunt me. my own words mixed with ten million others i’ve heard along the way, over and over, changing just a bit with each round of over. a telephone game. by the end of this day, hell halfway through my commute, the words start to blur, my own are no longer my own no longer distinguishable from all those that have passed through these ears the past 34. years or so.

discontent. it makes me do things. i get up, show up, i care for a minute. write lists that i lose, make plans that i break, countdown to some metamorphosis. i am the insurance of change, good or bad, bet on me. change is the only promise that i haven’t broken, and yes you can guess it’s broken me. i don’t count change and i don’t count on it. my faith lies behind the door i didn’t choose, it is the wrong turn uncorrected and whether or not it is clear to you , whether you spend your days looking or it creeps up from behind it is there in every breath and every skipped heartbeat, every broken heart and every last goodbye. it is in every giving up and every bargain god has gotten. check on that, he’ll loan it out.

a gambler of change. and these nights that are rare now, when i catch a glimpse of the clock its extra large neon status post designed for panic, always running out. days that blur together in some collective second chance. no hope left that they will yield to me. anything. that i desire…

but i digress, i regress, and you don’t know the story. i am more than just a pretty face and i am more than my sadness. you didn’t like that. that is no answer. that is no exit, let alone a grand farewell, well. no more.

held up by hatred, no. all urgency has passed. i spend these last days picking up the pieces. letters and suitcases, broken pieces of each near miss and every failure. into the trash they go. maybe pocket, maybe box, maybe pyre, depending on the mood.

this is surrealust.