March 7, 2013 § Leave a Comment
for a close friend,
for administering such raw, unsolicited, immeasurable love
Your speech endows my hearing;
your dress, my sights;
your fragrance, my ancient faculty—how olfactory nerves yearn, impassioned!
Against long distances
ambitions intertwine us
January 28, 2013 § Leave a Comment
lightness, a memo
Calvino highlights cosmic irony, hilarity
from silent city, I read Italo
my friend naps elsewhere
nimble creature, eyes shut away
receded, withdrawn — in sleep, we meet
illuminated tales dreamt a peach tree, a hill — reserved
for us, resultant of longing
Moon, Waves, separate
natural ways, we gravitate
January 7, 2013 § Leave a Comment
November 29, 2012 § Leave a Comment
November 21, 2012 § Leave a Comment
If I could stare long enough at a single point . . . say, I was standing in a room and staring—not into a corner or at a blank wall, but if I could stare long enough, holding my friend’s hand while I did so (because her presence provides such strength), I could see into that spot, into this empty air, this vacuum, this invisible little nothingness between the ceiling and the floor and the walls, the part we walk through daily without feeling it pass through us—
if I could stare into the nonspecific space long enough I might see the atoms buzzing.
There is a law in quantum mechanics stating the specific placement of an atom cannot be exacted. A definite number cannot place its presence. The measurements are given in scientific notation so as to account for error. This is because the atoms are never not moving. Everything buzzes always. Without movement, nothing survives. Without the moon’s gravity and the tidal push, organic matter does not shift, life does not emerge on land. Stagnant lakes harbor death and bacteria. With only movement does life and light exist. With collision, new life is birthed. With a dying star, elements are hurled out into the nothingness; here, the debris collects and compacts. Planets are made. They move. The atoms they are made of move.
The laws of physics we are submitted to are specific to us and our size. Our atoms do not follow the same laws. They follow their own. How is it that the very essence of which we are made of does not follow the same rules?
The meteors and the red giants and the colliding galaxies are rushing ever-always, looming overhead. We are stuck between the quantum-sized fabric of matter and the ominous threats, the larger, unfeeling, relentless beasts. We are the Middle, a harmonizing of the unseen and the incomprehensible, all coalescing into brawn and sensuality and intellect and humor.
Vibrations of the atoms affect each erogenous pocket of matter—
screaming, we enter
pleading, we exit—
how magnificent, how frightening—
this begs interpretation but the truth remains evasive (“truth?” is the wrong question to ask here but I am left lying here, fighting off sleep and these poisonous thoughts that often plague a young man in his twenties.)
Another quantum law states how no prediction can be reached on what will happen in any given circumstance.
November 5, 2012 § Leave a Comment
November 3, 2012 § Leave a Comment
October 31, 2012 § Leave a Comment
It nags, pulls here; it is not the impulse to write but
you sleep; I write
is this not true? Or am I deceived?
Skin of my bones, my muscle, my egg-carton of organs (cook, crack, split them; they expire, they spoil; all it takes is time)
all it takes is time and these nights fade
you sleep; I write
there was a life here, was there not? Out here floating off is a boy
a balloon missing its weighted-piece –
not “decorum” because my inflated form does not belong up here
not “decorum” because the wind whipped it about, scuffed the plastic, wore-down the edges
faded; all fades as these nights are closing
in, around — I am deceived
October 13, 2012 § Leave a Comment
I am typing from an unreachable space. Here, you are sealed off from the immediacy of the emotions coursing through my nerves, exacted by (oh, as I have referred to them as before) these interpreters made of bone and flesh and all that is invisible to me unless I were to peel these layers back until an emptiness revealed itself, until the void creeping into my thoughts as of late is revealed–
you should feel alienated by my words now. Good. It is best this way. The relationship we are forming is too knowable…You read; I live, I write; you read…How are you living? Well? Not-so-well?
If you are not familiar with this manner-speak, please, humble me by allowing yourself entry and entreat your mind to wander; do me this courtesy and I shall offer a heavily contemplated experience. I offer you honesty.
Here, you are sealed off from knowing me. You know the words. That is all I have anymore, really (do not mistaken this for pitiful remarks of Self.) It is true. The words say what my laughter and my new pair of shoes and my haircut and the artifacts on my shelves cannot.
April 17, 2012 § Leave a Comment
And already the calming effect of illustrating my doubt is easing over and through me; the sounds around me, silent, the colors of the sounds now rendered to shades; already, the immediate world has slipped from my awareness although I persist in writing of it; somehow, it is gone from me; somehow, I am gone, too;
(what I can best recall from those previous of Numbers is a whirlwind of terrible diction; I am adamantly striving to correct it)
somehow, I am becoming the constant state of revision; I am becoming the Corrected, the Commodity, even; somehow, I am shrunk to letters, to confined meanings, to the Page; somehow, I am found here, and you must see what I see
but you never see what I see (although I paint it for you)
as your eyes are not my eyes;
your sight is your own;
we perceive a dark hallway the way our own separate cognitive Selves perceive it;
yet, somehow, we make up the Whole. Together, All, we are Oneness
and I must remember this if I am to survive this mind of mine.
April 17, 2012 § Leave a Comment
A long while has passed for when a constant Stream has since vomited forth from the Head
(The, From, Has, For, A, Of, To, Uh)
and why should you care? You, the Identified, the Consumer, made by our linguistic consummation; that is, you interpret, I spill
(my guts) (your soft, vulnerable synapses firing)
fireworks, goes Us
(more allusions, more allusions, more of That and Those)
and why you are this far along with me now I am not sure
you must have plenty time to waste
(Time! Invention! more dull thoughts, and we’re stupider for them)
you give enough for Me to give of Me
I give so little for You to give of You