to the land of the pines

one fourth of a C
living 25 years
IV in a baby’s body
elephantine crocodile tears
and art museum fights/disillusionment
freakout
space
time
coffee
sleep.

headingdownnorth:

i was at a red point walking
from my car to the apartment door
and at the first cement step came raindrops
and they continued
the clouds were moving red to blue
their sounds going sharp like police sirens

inside the grey wind was like a fox through
small openings in drafty windows
i felt teeth, i had been feeling them
for some time—
weeks maybe? something yellow

flew, the winds were heroic and
didn’t discriminate they were heroic

and my thoughts evil
and soon black as i
had broken the prism

i’ll take anonymity and obscurity over the alternative 8 days a week, and not just because i happen to be listening to early Beatles at the moment…

I haven’t slept for two days
I’ve bathed in nothing but sweat
And I’ve made hallways scenes for things to regret.
My friends they come.
And the lines they go by;

Tonight I’m gonna rest my chemistry.
Tonight I’m gonna rest my chemistry.

I live my life in cocaine;
Just a rage and three kinds of yes.
And I’ve made stairways
Such scenes for things that I regret.
Oh, those days in the sun
They bring a tear to my eye.

Tonight I’m gonna rest my chemistry.
Tonight I’m gonna rest my chemistry.

But you’re so young,
You’re so young,
You look in my eyes.
You’re so young, so sweet, so surprised.

I saw a sign says “OK”
Gotta take a ride, just recline in the faraway.
Got to take some time to realize
That my friends they come,
And the lines they go by.

Tonight I’m gonna rest my chemistry.
Tonight I’m gonna rest my chemistry.

But you’re so young,
You’re so young,
You look in my eyes.
So young, so sweet, so surprised..
You look so young, like a daisy in my lazy eyes.

Tonight I’m gonna rest my chemistry.
Tonight I’m gonna rest my chemistry.
Tonight I’m gonna rest my chemistry.
Tonight I’m gonna rest my chemistry.

-“Rest My Chemistry” - Interpol

it is easy to call yourself confused,
insane

and to babble on about the beauty
of silence,
nature,
absurdity

to truly feel so is difficult.

to express it even moreso.

accomplishing the task of
putting the wordless into words
is to
die
and
to be
resurrected.

suicide doesn’t mean you’re depressed

it just means
you’re done
with the mess

(and what a mess it is)

the mess that proves to be
so beautiful
that you literally

can’t live through it.

shit’s like a magnet,
keeps attracting me,
pulling me closer.

being wasted probably contributed, though, i guess…

i liberated myself from the reputation that bogged me down
when i set my course for pa—
there’s that small period of time
when you start to frequent a new place,
before they know your name and drink (before you’re a regular)
when nobody knows your story, or really
even has a clue.

i cut my ties with my alter ego
after i was done heading down north and back
to the land of the pines;
the writing was becoming predictable and
that—
that is dangerous.

so, no longer a marionette,
i got off work and headed to get some beers and write what i am
now writing—
talked with an acquaintance about beer,
talked with my taste buds about beer;
i’m a regular here but
in this place,
that doesn’t mean the same as it does in other locales.

cutting ties,
far better than cutting skin i’ve come to understand,
is perhaps the best way to rejuvenate and rediscover.
but you have to go all the way with it.
if the scissors don’t go all the way through the thread,
you’re better off
with the status quo.