Archive for Friendship

rumblings of a planck physics misfit…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Funny Morning Stories, Ha Ha Funny, Hysterical Romance, Laughter, Learning About Life, Poetry with tags , , , , , on November 18, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

rumblings of a plank physics misfit

& i’m not sure breathing out
is as much of a solution
as it used to be. trying to keep
sane enough to listen to the music
i’m pumping into the room.
existential questions about bits,
hawking radition, information.
it’s not what the music is about,
it’s about what the music is.
sanity slips away in the strangest
of ways.

all i can offer is comparison by
analogy; without notice, tiny changes.
no two maps converge anywhere
relative to the land. confusion
reigns; reading lands the faithful in
trouble with various laws of universal
application. entropy will ensue,
in time, so we wait. didn’t mother
ever tell you how impossible
it really is? this must be why
they dance.

it’s all geography & sound.
amplitude variance is the same
as the rest of existence, another
place to put misanthropic trust;
same as faith except less preconceived.

the comfort of knowing it’s always
something encapsulates the air
& whatever is left of my ability to
reason out potential sensory data.
the whole thing reeks of ‘later’
& so do i.

exhale.

——————————————-

Perhaps overly complicated. Such things happen all the time lately. Should have stopped for BBQ; live & learn, apparently all while hungry off & on.

fighting for air…

Posted in Ha Ha Funny, Laughter, Learning About Life, Loveable Losers, Poetry, Reader Requests with tags , , , , , , , on September 26, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

scratch of razor-claw on a concrete wall

i gave up waiting for the
temperature to melt through
my steel belt & sprinted off
into the densiflora instead.
long live pedicularis the ranger;
he holds the antidote to
purple evenings shaded blood red
where hooks & sharpened metal bits
play the part of judge & executioner
without a second thought. i
never sat on the suicide bed myself,
but i’ve heard strange rumblings
that the world is going to end.
i don’t buy it.

the bears may hold the
reign of temporary control;
i’ll give it time knowing
there is every chance the next
knock on the door will bring
a strange face with bonafide
ideas mated to the red-hot end
of blunted stick. i’ll probably get
the point sometime after it ends;
exit stage left.

i touched the razor-wire to see what
it felt like. not
sure if there’s an explanation for
such repetitious experimentation.

————————————–

(authors note)

It takes so little to refill my faith in the great microphone of indeterministic decency. Tangible evidence was the only thing that could save the moment. Thank you. You’ll never know what it’s worth to me. Next refill is on me.

marisol dreams & i dream too…

Posted in Cigarette, Friendship, Hysterical Romance, Late Night Silence, Laughter, love n' luck, Marisol, Poetry with tags , , , , , , on August 30, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

intensity under marisols constellation

without a need for explanation,
i could already identify a
strange certainty that we’d already
traveled deeper into this dream-
laden evening than the clock would
say or the calendar could prove.
pasting 150 nights to the ceiling
only strengthens my desire
to paste 151 on the same
canvas. marisol simultaneously
shines & reflects her dreams;
i hold on to my front row seat
with no intention of ever
letting go.

assigning numbers to such evening hours
would only distract from
the dreamer & dream. her deep
respirations rhythmically assure
me of a dream i come closest
to fulfilling only when awakened
amidst her light of day with our
familiar moment of recognition.

not even the shaking ground
beneath our feet under threat
of worsening wind & rain,
there is a quiet heartbeat
reminder of a dream, a face,
a voice.

marisol perfects her smile
sleeping off the after-effects of
accidental indifference to
sensational connection. it
keeps us breathing each others air
until we light mismatched cigarettes,
admiring the reddish glow reflected
in each others eyes under our post-
sunset skyscape.

————————————-

Sometimes I dream of you when I’m awake. We’ve been a long time coming darling & you are everything I imagined you to be.

holy shit that’s an ugly hooker…

Posted in Friendship, Ha Ha Funny, Hysterical Romance, JL Stories, Laughter, Opinion, Poetry, TWTC with tags , , , , , , , , on August 29, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

i was gonna ask but didn’t

didn’t take much day-dreaming
to arrive at a suitable explanation
of such sudden desire;
those types are bad credit risks
& walk around with bruised knuckles
without ever knowing why.

still playing a game learned
at the foot of the mountain
under watchful gaze & rotten luck.
i’d say it was sad, but it almost
never is. regardless of the correlations
staring back from a coincidental lion
racing to cash in his meal ticket
by ripping out the throat of
weaker prey, everyone needs a
hobby & we all gotta eat.

back on earth relaxed movements of
momentary possibility surround
copernican predictions about
situational reality. patterns like
this would make mandelbrot blush.
i guess after you see the pin
pulled enough times, you stop asking
why & just get to running.

unfair to blame soft shell turtles
for failing to invent mirrors. at least
naked mole rats have sense enough
to stay blind. then again,
there’s always more under
than over.

——————————————-

Ever seen something & laughed? If not, you should try it. Really soothes the ego & builds confidence.

average fella…

Posted in Friendship, Funny Morning Stories, Ha Ha Funny, JL Stories, Laughter, Music, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , , , , , on July 14, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

semolina from the heartland

what could be wind or just
6 billion voices condensed
into a breeze swept into
town this morning along with
the sun barely making any effort
to warm the planet on a string.
poets croon about dead trees,
forgetting it’s still summer,
time of growth. i can’t blame
them; they like the metaphor
too much ever to say no. (i
feel much the same about Semolina’s
close cousin.)

i had a minute or two free to
pick off almost healed-scabs
from when i had to prove
a razor was sharp as needed.
now i can breathe into this
morning & see wheat waving
to nobody in particular.

the penny arcade summer made to
last longer in these parts.
thorton & keen at the local joint
telling jokes & singing songs for
the price of a nickel steak,
little white pedro & his friends
on the radio playing games,
typical summer fare. the durum
seeds were planted way back &
we’re two months from harvest.
all of our worries boil down to
phosphorous deficiency. easy
solution to that.

——————————————

You’re welcome Doc. Not that it makes a difference (with nothing lost & all) but I have a really good excuse for disappearing. Damn. I forgot it; I got a mind for shite lately.

we ain’t the good guys…

Posted in Fear, Friendship, History, Insomnia, Learning About Life, Never Been, Poetry, thoughtful trips, travelogue with tags , , , , , , on July 13, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

rumor, perception & reaction

must be something ’bout
the kind of folk collecting as
whispers tolls under bridges
& the plans of outlaws running from
trumped-up charges accruing at
a daily rate. the music is okay,
even with their judgment for shite;
all the guts to follow the
story spilling out on floorboards
shot with holes that usually let
light-beams from stars through
since the ceiling fell in.

not much time to wonder when
bullets are flying over
telephone lines until i
strap on kevlar just so i can
let it ring. might-have-been
tourniquet solutions superate
between feasibility studies passed
along to unseen eyes. so rarely
a study in beauty,
the questions never asked,
another fuckin’ street-side
proposition.

safe path is to agree that bore-hole
flooring below the flaming telephone
lines & a joke gone wrong are no
place to hide. the sensorialists
will have a field day with the real-
life research; the possibilities are
endless.

————————————–

For those situations that spiral rapidly out of control due to over-reaction. As always, there is a reason it’s called a ‘passion play.’ Quo vadis?

poetry in richmond…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Friendship, Hysterical Romance, JL Stories, Learning About Life, love n' luck, Lyrics, Marisol, Poetry, travelogue, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , , , on July 11, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

poetry in richmond

if what’s being said is true,
luck don’t mean a damn thing &
we can all go home & kiss our
girls. background singers cross
into frame for a few bars
then disappear as the kettle drum
leads us all to desired wisdom.

i can’t help but follow along;
there’s nothing to drink but
the mob knows thirst better than
anything at all.

synthetics are taking a beating
across the board. everyone is
screaming for the real deal &
pulling in three different
directions. i lost my bead on
the kettle drummer so i follow
the crowd. by the time i’ve
reached a dead end, it’s too
late to appreciate anything
but ‘classical gas’ coming
through the speakers &
the beautiful girl learning to
daydream once more in my bed.

looking down at my own claw
marks, i can only wonder about
marisol. deep scratches
taken during the bear
rush, there wasn’t any time
to think. the “i love you’s”
were spoken in the dark before
collapse. dreamed we were
closer than ever; saw myself
through her eyes.

——————————————-

Something a little different this new morning. “Classical Gas” is a reference to the song by Mason Williams, so please don’t sue me Mr. Williams. It’s like they say… volatile, but kind. Love you everyone. Just do.

sometimes the crows they come…

Posted in bumper sticker stories, Fear, Friendship, Hysterical Romance, Late Night Silence, Laughter, Learning About Life, Peter Singer, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , , , , , on July 7, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

first timer

up until now, i never
kicked the last breath
out of a hand-wrap to feel
the night close around me,
etc., fade to black. blowing
balloons in the oxygen
spiked air of a late evening
in springfield without rationale;
i wanna fuck my fiance while
she works tagging photographs
with biographical information.

my eyes are tired
but i can still laugh when
the meaning of this quiet
evening spills out of the
sky like spaghetti & present
something less than expected
& more than desired.

life with dark hair falling
across eyes colored to the tune
of the day played on a wind
instrument tied inside the case.
there are no expectations to
abuse as she moves a finger
across the screen. the last title
is omphaloskepsis & the picture
came out perfect.

——————————

For someone special. You have no idea what you mean to me.

little syd’s v & o is still on sale!.!.!.

Posted in Cigarette, Friendship, Ha Ha Funny, History, Poetry, travelogue with tags , , , on May 13, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

party for one

it’s fair because i ain’t
gonna know what happened
when i wake up tomorrow morn.
playing stakes high tits-up
eyes closed always goes
about the same; drink until
lil’ syd gets me warm & pass
the shaver. there’s work
to be done & a lot to get
through. i can take this
one down myself.

i don’t have to play pretend.
all my flags are whipping
in high winds as day rotates
into night, as always. first
lick of the inner warmth of
orange malt keeps me coming
back for more,
just like it used to be. even
the cigars taste like wine. coming
& going’s of the rest of the
world keep fooling the fool;
of course it’s a shock when
truth comes clean.
i’ll get over it.

half drunk for the first time since
last time is only coming home
again if you live in a shit-pile.
i just drive mine under the speed
-limit in the left lane. do whatever
you think you can. i’ve got
physics on my side & going through
me will never work.

music too loud & i’m too drunk
to care. whatever else i was
chasing with orange drank is
forgotten in the clouds of
lemon-smoke descending across
the apartment. last i heard,
everything will be all right
tomorrow: that’s less than a half
hour away. i feel i can make
it then die laughing at myself
trying to live up to a
self-administered nickname.

————————————-

I was so excited to see that big orange bottle staring me down that I barely noticed the price had quadrupled since HS. Amazing what 15 years will do. A toast to the man of the hour; he will ALWAYS be a better man than I, & I look up to him now more than ever. That he can’t be here to reminisce doesn’t mean any of those days are forgotten. Between the good man and the wise man, it really doesn’t leave nearly the mystery you’d think my existence would represent.

happy holidays y’all…

Posted in Admin Announcements, Early Morning Silence, Friendship, Funny Morning Stories, Laughter, Learning About Life, Poetry, travel, TWTC with tags , , , , , , , on April 20, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

a general good morning

i’m not here to compete
with anyone over anything.
why bother? i’d rather be
playing swing-set games
past my expiration date
whenever it’s time to grow
up or find something else
to do for kicks.

one too many early hour slap-
dash pinners seeking a kind
effect; pulling a knife & spiking
my own punchbowl with bad
luck & proclivities for soft
baked pretzels knotted into
unpretzel shapes already
smoldering in the oven.

aces flick-a-trick brings a
little light into the room. temper-
ate zone behavior because
everything is different when
i can see it all laid out in
front of me; a toy map to
practice on where i can
fuck it all up without any
repercussion. my eyes are
half-open & i can kinda see.

plungers already done yeoman
work pushing the night past
another day. since i’m not
wearing black until damn good
& ready, i can pretend master
peri-sensibility like i had class,
like i was going to rick’s to
drink with sasha, dreaming of
a future whose most notable
quality is recognizability to
the past. everyone lives here
now-a-days…

we don’t always throw
bricks at windows &
each other; ya
gotta save something
for special occasions.

——————————–

Inspired by my poet friends. I’d list out y’all but there are too many, and besides, who inspired what line matters only to the rail-thin set of razor’s darlings. We, not being they, do not concern ourselves with such things. I’ve been missing in action for a while, for which I apologize to anyone who has read this poetry blog & deserves a visit back. I’d make a claim of irresponsibility, but you knew that already.

Special thanks to the 10th Muse (way better of a poet than #’s 9 or 11) for my first opportunity to read live (in public no less) Friday, April 22nd in Richmond. Go read her kick ass poetry @ Arspoetica and if you find yourself in Richmond, VA this Friday, look it up. I guess I should get new earrings.