little green book

draft7 publishiiiiiiing  a year late, I know

unedited freestyle song called tranquil spaces for the future album: Utilitarian Hankerchiefs

I love you, man.  But don’t worry about that. My insecurities and need for disbelief goes so deep it’s pretty devastating sometimes, isn’t it? And that I could just sway between knowing and deciding to bury my head in the sand must be pretty frustrating. But all of this is also frustrating for me. And you know that, too, don’t you. I wonder sometimes the foundations of things I see. I also wonder why I question it. It is a comforting thing to just disbelieve? I think so. Because, in disbelieving it were so, you cannot be made a fool of if you went gung ho and were wrong. And I think that really is the foundation of that being better. Why do I find myself always here. What I want is a simple hello. Hi. This is my name. this is me. Would you tread along the steps I have taken, Leaving footprints fresh in the snow, Where the depth of them has already been made, And It may even be a bit quiet in your gait. Come to me in the quick of night, Silent love until daybreaks, When the snow is carried by the wind, Softening the marks you made, Before they are melted by the midday sun. I wonder about these things that I create and the ambiguity of them. That, on the one hand I want to believe my inhibitions, And on the other I want to be rooted in reason. Should I lower my expectations and live here in the moment? Yes What does that mean, really? I know that it won’t matter much to you. It shouldnt I wonder if you listened. I wanted you to, but how can I really know? I would like you to show me more. I can sit and wonder all day about you. I wonder. I wonder about loving you. What are the consequences of that? What could you lose, What also would I? Oh, but we would have each other, right But when if you’re too like me. . .You know what I mean. I could be better for you. . .Or are those words empty? I hope not. Ive been there before. I can be there again. My heart sings for you. It’s tight. It’s warm. Like there isn’t enough space between my ribs for its beating. Cascading into my lungs, Taking up space, there. Down into my stomach, And up again. It yearns. It's dreaming. Crescendos of a love awoken. Conduction, Combustion, Explosion. I owe you for this, To kiss you with cinders on my chin, And ashes on my lips. I’m thinking about you. Pondering. Wondering if you’re alive. I think that I might cry if it were true that you were not. Wondering if that impossibility had been for this whole time? To what would that mean. . .To feel like so and have be not. Oh, I wonder. Shadows In my mind, And if I tried to see it would we even have the time. Could so, Would go, Simply clandestine. Locomotion incantations, Creepy and sublime, Archaic in the lines, Irony flowing free. Situations sought to see, And know what ought to be. Living thoughtfully. This could be black tragedy. There is no blue, There is no white, Only grey. Ambiguity. Look at us. Doing this. Our pining for one another. Driving our decisions, Ripe with superstition, But we love it. Right? Tonight. Could I feel you one more time? I might, Just sigh away the night. The sight, Your mind, On mine, Divine. Predictable that we will come to this, And perhaps there will not be one last goodnight. I could open my legs to the ghost of you, But the coldness there is no comfort. And a strange longing. No, I would not turn you away, You wake me up with your desire. The words don’t flow the way they should and that’s okay for a little while, But I would care to love you. And try despite the blockages, Build me up with strong foundations, From the razed, the raped, the indignations. (not enough room)

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Several months of entries made into one long piece that is wandering, and only sometimes keeping to a cadence. 

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most of my diary is handwritten, but the copy/paste feature of computer writings is nice. How neurotic will we get about the other poems?  hopefully not at all You know what I want I want you to be gentle. I want you to be the first I want you to make me feel vulnerable And safe At the same time I may be romanticizing it I might not even like it Might not be my cup of tea Oh, but I want you to try Do I Maybe some A little Gently, like I said Merciful Knowing when to sex with vigor And when to pause Forehead to forehead, I want to close my eyes from all the sweat I want I want to sit lightly in your lap, Scantily clad and in heels donned only for this occasion Grazing your skin Tracing your jawline with my breast Clutching the sides of your head Fingers ruffled hair Sharpness of breath I like that you said, can we get started and I shut you up with a kiss ferocious and passionate riding you a bit and I balk at writing the rest. I detest the idea that this is all for nothing It stops me from writing to the fullest, because, yes, I would like to describe it But I’ve become embarrassed Frozen with the cold idea that this is all futile in the end And yes, artistic expression is beautiful but I do feel somewhat a fool.

Old epic crap.

The epic series, among other things.

More of this epic series. This is old. 

Mostly an epic. The other is Drake. Yes, Drake.

Glory part five Canyon sex scene song: Heavy Hearted by: The Jungle Giants 

Interview plus some singing. Bon Iver and Andrew Bird

Glory part four

Time in a fuzzy closet

Interviews with a fellow artist

Glory part three

A valentines day letter that became a poem instead. Written in pen, with one correction.  I like it like that.

Glory part two

Glory part one

Dreams ripe for the tasting could be sweet. 

Interrogation room part 1

Interrogation room part 2

Interrogation room part three

Interrogation room part four

Interrogation room part five

Interrogation room part six

Dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun  dun  

Introspection and limerence:  a nutshell of me. 

Three poems in a  sequence.  Everything I have ever written ever is Limerence. Look it up.  Anyway, technical difficulties. Anyway, this is totally out of sequential order now and my OCD is going nuts but whatever go and listen to my angst if you want. 

I am one hilarious son of a bitch.  I should just leave everything at this last post

A number of recent writings.

The tragic version of my play

Comedic end to the play.

If you're not lying, it's not two timing.

You will cry.  Act four.

No title. I never got that far.  So sorry about the dull and uninteresting bit.

It's a long story and I don't want to get into it.  

A retort.

Ho ho oh, holy shit.

Titled: Raise your Anchors

Titled: Blathering On Early October 2020

Ambiguous in subject, but I'll throw it in the epic series anyway.

Inspired by an emotional song on an emotional playlist. For The Asking by John R. Burr 

Tears? Tears anybody? Anybody for some tears tonight?

Titled: Ego Love