poetry submission

this rewrites itself again
  today in raindrops that seem bearers of a secret,
    spread across their form
      and sanctioned and dwindled
      and held at bay
  but tapping on my window...
    begging for a glance or taste
      the light touch of their fingertips on my skin
        subtle embrace that holds, and draws me deeper
      while lips inch over my neck,
        soft, patient, and resolved...
        now at my ear, send their whisper
          "let go... just be this"

through a child's eyes #8

Jason rode up to the two bikers. "Hey, are you guys in a gang?"
"Yeah. What of it?"
"You should let me in!"
One of the men smirked and leaned forward on his bike. "Do you ride, kid?"
"Are you fucking blind?! Of course I do!"
The man who had spoken took offense to Jason's disrespect, but the other biker was impressed. "He meant 'do you ride a motorcycle'... that's a baby scooter that you're on."
Jason's eyes squinted. "Fuck you... I'll race your ass!"

Both men started laughing.
"This kid's got fire in his veins! Maybe we should give him a chance."
The other man studdied Jason carefully in contemplation. "Nah, fuck that... let's just take his scooter."
"Okay, that works too."

Later that night, Jason was on the phone with his grandmother.
"So the men stole your scooter and you had to walk home?"
"Yeah, Grandma... they were total assholes!"
Laughing erupted from the other end of the line. "You little pussy!"
Jason replied with a prompt, "Fuck you, Grandma!!!" but she was laughing too hard to hear it.

updates

Here are the updates of my life over the last couple weeks. Brace yourself.





The city of New York doesn't want anyone passing through this 4-inch gap.







At Union Square, there were Chinese people trying to gather support against the imprisonment of practitioners of a certain type of meditation in China. They've been doing this actively since I first moved to New York. On this particular day, a Jamaican lady, with a yellow t-shirt that said 'Jews for Jesus', was preaching at them. The lady was wearing a bible on her head.





I have no desire to meet the owner of this license plate... I do have a desire to key her car though.





This is a picture of the Statue of Liberty; I didn't feel like going in closer for a better shot.





This is a picture of the calendar that's pinned up in a co-worker's cubicle... that's right, this shit is displayed in a place of business. I can see this from my desk. Now you know why I get nothing done at work.





This chick's ass looked bad enough before she caused it to bend around this pole.



There, now you know everything.

beneath time

At the heart of the emotion are days that move too fast - never a chance to stand still, never a chance to let my mind recover. I need to regain a sense of balance - to find my feet below me, and find myself above them. Treading water, still and blank, but wasted.

Something here wants to find its way to the surface. Tell it to these hands, and they'll tell it to all, but life keeps going... drawing itself out. Dragged along, no longer aware of what this is or what this means, what is and what isn't... all these things are buried beneath a pace that exceeds mine.

Call this what you will - find a name to fit the occasion. Find your words in the midst of mine, and find yourself in what's revealed. I'll meet you there some day... fate allowing.

poetry submission

reaching out to every end
    and I sense them;
      waiting, building... castles in the sand - but little more
      waiting to be gathered and put to use
        much like me
    and these sounds erupt from the depths of each of us
      as we try to hold our lives together
        but know that there's little reason to
        for it just doesn't matter...
  and still, all I want to do is pluck them from their lives
    give them the path sought
    give them the tools, the mind, the eyes
        and the reason
      to put empty hands in empty hands
        and hold them together

ten minutes of my life

I've been waiting thirty-five minutes for my computer at work to boot up and do all of its unnecessary network updates. Sitting here, watching the minutes tick away, I'm entertained by some little icon's animation on the screen... I don't know what the hell it's supposed to be, but it's sitting there next to the '10:38 AM' at the bottom right. '10:39 AM' now.

It's a Monday, like any other, the beginning of another week of a regular life... another ending of dreading its coming. I put my regular life on in the morning, hoping that I'll remember to shed it when I get home, hoping that I won't forget that it's just something you wear - a face you put on to hide the truth. It's not a hard life by any means - I'm just not sure that it's worth the trouble. 10:44.

Look inside. Are you forgetting to roll with the punches? Are you believing your own lie, or have you held your perspective? Duck and dodge and close my eyes, and hope that something within will begin to shine - that something without will begin to reflect the vivid shades of the possibility. Look deeper now... isn't that which shines from within just another lying face to wear? 10:48, and my life is still ticking away.

through a child's eyes #7

"Jason, it's time to go."
Ignoring his father, Jason stared at the flock of birds, as they searched the grass for scraps to eat.
"Jason... Mommy's waiting - we have to go home."
At two-years-old, Jason was barely able to speak, but was already quite stubborn. Looking at his father and pointing at the birds, he opened his mouth to protest, but didn't know the words.
His father understood just fine, but they had to leave. "No, Son, we're going home. You can murder the birds next time we come to the park."
Jason stomped his feet and started to cry, but his father couldn't be swayed. He sneered at him with all the hatred a toddler can muster and thought, "You just signed your death warrant, Fucker."

poetry submission

my life is painted in emptiness and circles
    moments left behind
      while others enter in
        -promising to be something more,
          but nothing keeps its promise
  this was never real...
    just another of tomorrow's memories

trapped

Any second, he would step through the door, and it was already too late to run. He wasn't always bad when he was drunk, but he called her on his way home; while he was screaming that she never listens, she did everything in her power to let him know that she does, but he didn't want to hear it. It wasn't the first time, so she knew exactly what to expect.

She didn't know what to do... should she defend herself? Would he be easier on her if she took the blows unflinching, or would he rather see the pain he puts her through? There was no time to decide... she could already hear him outside the front door, already yelling at her as he fumbled with the lock. She wanted so much to run, but couldn't find the will to move her feet; she made an easy target.

He had her pinned over a chair, one arm twisted behind her, pressed into her back by his knee... her other arm clutching the cushion, expressing the pain that she dared not let him see on her face or hear in her cries. While his yelling continued, he pulled her head up by her hair, so that her ear would be in a better position to receive his insults, with one leg on the floor, and the other still bracing her arm behind her back... that's when she felt the snap. He was too drunk to notice, and she was unable to tell him; her hand dangled loosely behind her back, hanging from a broken wrist.

And life builds up to moments like these... moments in time, captured. The past didn't flash before her eyes, and there was no thought of the future; she was trapped in that moment, with no other time willing to receive her thoughts.... different rules apply, and they refuse any notion of compromise.

Helpless to speak, helpless to tell him what he was doing, she unwillingly endured... unknowingly sending all of her anguish into the cushion that refused to lift a finger to save her. She needed to learn to listen, she needed to show him that she could, she wanted him to be happy and she wanted it to stop.. but as much as she tried, the pain was tearing her away from his words. His screams blended together, as she struggled to keep them in line, but it was no use... she didn't have the power to please him; for this, she felt guilt.

Moments like these... moments in which the entire experience seems to strangle the senses, pressing from every side and confining you in. She was powerless to escape, and powerless to make sense of any of it... her body the first victim, then her emotions, then her mind... and the longer it continues, the harder it presses, until it finds every part of you to confine.

When the lecture was done, she was no longer to be seen... not in that moment. A creature lay there wounded, thoughtless, docile. Seeing what he had done, he was overwhelmed with guilt, trying to bring her back, trying to pull her from that moment. After some coaxing, she returned... she wasn't conscious of the fact that she did so to please him. He told her it would never happen again, and for some reason, she believed him... again.

verbal masturbation

I think I could spend the rest of my life writing this, sipping coffee, sipping ale, drinking in the people around me... limiting their lives to the space of a few lines. Pair the real with the unreal, fill the gaps with a few random words, and forget it all for something new. I'd tell you it matters, that I matter, and the color of the words would convince you. Painting each picture, a thousand words at a time - giving up halfway in, and in that, I'm finally telling you the truth. Pour another ale and we'll forget we ever happened.

You'll tell me it really does matter, you'll tell me it actually happened, but I've already forgotten.

poetry submission

smirking behind these eyes
      ...defiant, and unchallenged
    drawing up from within
      maybe a sense of the self
      maybe a sense of what the self wants to be
      maybe something conjured by the imagination,
        but these are the same -
          these will shine through, regardless of their origin
            hiding behind the safety of their mask,
            but rising up the same
  it doesn't fear you,
    doesn't care what you want it to fear
    doesn't care.

hammer

Of thirty-two people, eight would lose their jobs. It wasn't an act of malice, nor anything personal... the machine needed to protect itself, and in order to do so, it needed to spread its arms wide. The hammer strikes at random... it picks at parts... it sees gears, not the faces they wear.

Each knew it was coming, but they didn't know who would be chosen. Their jobs weren't being eliminated, just moved elsewhere... and when practicality sets in, this means that they'd be given to others. They knew, and they knew why... all that was left to chance was who, but now who was known. Some say that it's better when you don't know if you've been chosen, others say that the anticipation is worse than the reality of the act; I think this separates those who hope from those who expect the worst. Now that the hammer was in sight, both groups were joined back to one... the names had been read, there was no longer anything left to question.

The machine needed its new gears properly molded, and therefore, the old would train the new. As closure to an era of years of service to the machine, each would get to pass the torch directly, shaking the hand of the new one to hold it, looking him in the eyes, trying to hold back any tears of protest or feelings of betrayal. But there wasn't anyone to blame... this wasn't personal, it was just something that needed to happen. The hammer chose based on logical reasoning... it didn't know the names of those it chose... it only knew their functions. Hate would have helped to soothe these eight victims of fate, but there was nowhere to put their hate. The only ones to hate would be the ones who replace them, but they couldn't do this openly... they'd have to train them, teach them, guide them... probably only days before they were asked not to return.

In time, there would be eight empty desks, the computers given to their new owners, the chairs put into a large room to occasionally be used for conferences. The desks would remind those who remained of the friends they'd no longer see, about the years and years that transitioned into something unexpected, the desks' emptiness reflecting an emptiness that each gear did their best to ignore. Elsewhere, eight new desks would be new homes to activity and a hope for a future of stability, unaware that the hammer that gave them their new hope could just as easily take it away.

through a child's eyes #6

"Again!" cried the old man, and without thinking, Michael swung his sword with perfect form, slicing the air before him.
The man grunted in acceptance and signaled to another student, who in turn looked down the shaft of a cocked arrow, which was aimed at Michael.
Two arrows flew past Michael in succession, passing only inches from his head, but he didn't blink once.
Without expression, the man commanded, "Strike!"
It was only a split-second later that an arrow, on a path to pierce Michael's skull, was intercepted by his blade, splitting the arrow's tip, and shattering it across its length. Michael's eyes were firmly focused on his blade as the cloud of wooden dust flew past him.
Another grunt emanated from the man before he made his declaration. "You are now ready to face him."

At recess, all the children huddled around a circle that was vacant but for Michael and Jason. Normally, deadly weapons weren't allowed at school, but both boys had notes from their parents.
The fingertips of Jason's right hand rested on his father's pistol, which was thrust halfway into his pants' pocket, which today, he called his holster.
Michael eyed his opponent fiercely, and drew his sword.
"What the fuck is this?!" Jason asked. "I thought you wanted to have a duel!"
"That's right, Jason. I'm going to slice you down the middl..."
"A sword?! I told you that swords are for pussies!"
Michael squinted. "You won't be saying that for much longe..."
"God damnit, Michael - I thought I was finally going to get to use this thing!"
"Swords are awesome, and to prove it, I'm going to..."
Suddenly, with a pistol already drawn, Charlie emerged from the crowd, running toward Jason and firing.
Instinctively, Jason rolled out of the path of bullets, exposing Jenny to their wrath. Only one of her wounds was fatal, but one was enough.

Charlie was too startled by the crowd's screaming to notice Jason sneaking up on him. Suddenly feeling the pistol's barrel pressed forcefully into his ribs, Charlie froze.
Jason leaned in close to Charlie's ear, "Never draw against a professional, bitch!" He then pulled the trigger.
Some say that Charlie died an excruciating death hours later, others say that he was expelled because he didn't have a note to justify the use of firearms at school. Either way, he was never seen again.
While Charlie was writhing on the ground, clutching his gushing wound, Jason cackled and fired a shot into the air.
The crowd rushed in to congratulate the victor, while Michael swung his sword around unnoticed. Tears welled up in Michael's eyes as he screamed, "Validate me!"

baby pics

Yes, even serial rapists look cute when they're young.

through a child's eyes #5

Before the days of guns and silencers, would-be close-range snipers threw rocks.

Young Jesus of Nazareth approached the other boys. "What are you guys doing?"
Michael answered, "You see that big rock over there? If you hit it with one of these small rocks, you get a point."
Jason added, "We're practicing our skills!"
Knowing that Jason throws rocks at people when they say things that sound stupid, Jesus was careful with his words. "Why's my cousin, John, sleeping by the big rock?"
Jason answered, "He was over there looking for bugs to eat. He said you can live off that shit, so I sniped him."
Jesus gasped in horror.
"Oh shit," said Jason, "I should tell you - if you accidentally hit him when you're aiming for the big rock, you lose two points."
Jesus couldn't believe that they were just leaving him out there like that. "I'm going to tell you guys a story."
Michael nodded at Jesus, while Jason continued sniping the big rock.

Jesus began, "Alright... say there's some guy who's hurt pretty bad, and needs help..."
"Wait... why's he hurt?" Jason interrupted.
"Uhh... let's say that he was talking about eating bugs, so you threw a rock at him."
"Okay.. that makes sense." Jason went back to his target practice.
Jesus went on, "So this guy's hurt, and a priest walks by him, not even thinking to help him. Then a Levite walks by, and doesn't want to help him either."
Michael said, "Okay."
Knowing that they were listening, Jesus smiled and continued, "And then this Samaritan comes by, sees him, and decides to help..." A rock struck Jesus in the arm. "Owww!!! Why'd you do that?!"
Jason answered, "Samaritans are half-Jews... they wouldn't help that guy!"
Jesus rubbed his arm and said, "Yeah, I know.. that's the point... he was better than the Jews who left the guy in the street; he was a 'good' Samaritan." A rock whizzed by Jesus' ear, barely missing him.
"A good Samaritan?! You fucking moron!" Jason laughed with glee, preparing another rock, hoping that Jesus would say something to earn the snipe.
"Quit doing that, Jason!! It makes me really mad when I get mad!"
Michael giggled, knowing that Jesus' utterance deserved a snipe, and laughed out loud when the rock ended up hitting him square in the stomach.
Jesus wept.
Jason said in between laughs, "Stop talking, Jesus... my arm's getting tired."
Jesus silently stormed off. His repressed anger caused him to have a tantrum in the temple later that day, overthrowing the tables of some money-changers; it made quite a mess.

Years later, when Jesus' cult was growing in number, a woman was brought into the street to be stoned for adultery.
Jesus spread his arms out and yelled to the crowd, "Let he who is free of sin throw the first stone!"
The woman was touched by Jesus' sympathy, but was also shamed by her actions. "No Jesus, let them kill me... I deserve to die." A rock struck her in the side of the head.
"Jason!!! You're not free of sin... why did you throw that rock?!?!?" Jesus looked like he was about to throw another tantrum.
Jason replied, "Huh? Oh..... no.. I sniped that dumbass because you were trying to save her, and she said that she should die... stupidest thing I've ever heard. Totally separate issue, I swear."
Jesus shook a fist at Jason. "I swear to God, Jason... one of these days, I'm going to have your dad killed right before he takes you for ice cream!" A rock struck Jesus in the leg.
"What the hell is 'ice cream', you weirdo?" Jason shook his head, and let out a smiling sigh. That Jesus.. he'll never learn.

poetry submission

write myself into these pages
    and commit it all to change
  lower into a new form of emptiness,
    where desires attune themselves to the deeper one
      where I am molded closer to me
  shifting-
    sent through and away...
      and this tomorrow is as unknown as the former
        one truth to another,
        a path retraced;
        one heart to itself,
        a page turned and lost.