Tag Archives: time

petals grace your face

time glides to the end of the street,
licensed to the echoes of the feet.
left and right are the ways you’d find
but it looks like you’re leaving me behind

slow it from that pace
her petals grace past your face
of the things you might find
maybe that you’ve left me behind

chance can come and can be lost
wins can be had but at too high a cost
the future is what you’re gonna find
if you must leave me behind

wind swept dancing trees
raindrops will return to the sea
the babes eyes will open
to find you’ve already left me behind

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if only Diderot

I walk down a busy metropolitan street
it’s night and the lights from the shops
are burning on
the night
showing the people the
bars
clubs
restaurants
clothing stores
closed stores
the lights show everyone’s faces
not their real faces but
the faces they want us
to see
to believe

the light lights the night but not as bright
as the sun would
You can’t tell if that man’s suit
is black
or
dark blue
You can’t tell if the woman walking
toward you from 15 feet is
22 or
32 or
42 etc.
the faded women hide their
years
under the part-time bulbs
because they feel
rushed
in
life
and the men realize they are not
ten years younger
twenty years too
late

I see it all the time and say to myself
I
will
soon
be
joining their ranks

why do they do this?
for friends?
for fun?
for love?

if love can be everlasting
hypothetically
can you find it in those
already in
disguise?

the women I’ve gone with
were terrible lovers
terrible companions
terrible fucks
but I don’t go with women
as often as
you
but
I’ve gone with all the women you’ve gone with
I did that as soon as
you
started
bitching
about her
women, this concerns you and your
men too

I
hear it all
see it all
feel it all
all the time

I don’t have to complain about all the
bad dates I’ve gone
on
simply because
you’ve gone
on
all the bad dates
for me

those who believe they’ve found
their soulmate
just haven’t lived long enough to
find a better one

Diderot says,

“oh snap!”

and gives me a
high-five

Of course I believe true love is
possible
but that is a belief that is always
under
fire
but if history has taught us one thing
which
has
never
not applied
it was this,

“if only…”

I continue walking down the half-heartedly lit
street
past all the
bars
clubs
restaurants
clothing stores
closed stores
the lights on everyone’s faces
the faces they want us
to see
to believe

and sullenly wish upon a lightbulb

that all of it could
fool me.

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come back, babycakes

One to two nights. One to two nights a week is reasonable, but every night for the last two weeks; blacking out face down? There’s a problem there, and obviously it’s a cry for help. My brain cells are finite, and my vocabulary has dwindled. I don’t want two hundred and fifty hangovers a year. I don’t want to live so easily. My stress is being taken from me and I can’t create unless I’m stressed. My vocabulary is regressive. What the heck was it that I was doing before that kept me afloat?! I’ve lost plenty of things since the year began, but the most heart-wrenching thing to lose was my mind.

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Fox in the Snow, Lion in the Station Wagon

Cops are required to uphold and enforce the law. Reporters are pretty much required to do the same, except, uphold the truth and enforce the truth. Pop quiz: what do you call a false statement that you promote and fence to others who actively look toward your answers and responses? I’ll let that stew for a moment, and continue with cops and shit. An honest cop is dubbed a hero, dubbed noble, dubbed dependable. As long as they are an honest cop. However, within law enforcement, there aren’t always honest cops. Crooked cops. Corruption, mis-information, tamperings-of-evidence. It happens. Figure out the answer to the pop-quiz question?

It’s called a lie. The difference between a cop, and a reporter, is a reporter is guilty until proven innocent. Why that is the general consensus, I do not know. What I do not know, I will embrace. A crooked cop is crooked when he is caught. Logical? Yeah. A reporter will go great lengths; barbed wire, ugly killer dogs, bad music, jurisdictions, aliases, etc. That’s a reporter, also guilty until proven innocent because the truth itself is widely regarded to dissemble the perpetrators, or dissemble the actuators. The truth is dangerous to both parties and only the reporter has any control over such information. i.e. 24, CIA, FBI, the West Wing, Gilligan’s Island, Arthur, etc.

“What about white lies?” Some may wonder? I will then counter with; “how can you tell a white lie from the other?” 

How? I was the reporter, and no good was derived. The cunning and equipped (friends/weapons/truths), are dominant. Those of whom can and will crush whenever they please, and that’s just the world we live in, whilst one is powerful, or whilst one’s forced to work tenuously on obtaining a GED. Sometimes, and at most times (due to my freakishly accurate memory), it was infinitely more advantageous to just not fucking say anything. I just had a thing about taking my own advice. Though, I’d never thought, or dreamed of saying this as a final statement; “The truth will not set you free, it will piss the wrong person off, most every time…

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Hollywood Hillz

They say,
even for scum, that
it has potential. Potential
means
nothing
unless you act on it.

A cute puppy has more potential
to become a better
human than I
do.
Sometimes, you can actually feel
it when something is
unbearably idiotic.
As if your
soul
(or lack thereof)
was being tenderized by a
rampant
waste of time.
Nothing hurts a working
mind
more than that.

Working mind, as in,
a mind that constantly
has the need to best another.
That,
in itself,
an addiction. Though, if it
wins consistently,
it makes the rules.
Not unlike history is made in
accordance to those with more
artillery.
Fighting to win,
sadly reaps more benefits
than
fighting for
a cause.

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Slaughterhouse Six

I hope I’m not crazy for being the only one who thinks love has become endangered, borderline extinct. Well, I can’t speak for other cities or states besides LA and California. There was a time when one was lucky to fall in love, a time when we didn’t think one unlucky for being in love. You’ve seen it, and we all know you’ve secretly thought to yourself, “poor bastard.” When they say history repeats itself, it’s precisely this that proves the futility of this hopeful though indignant/indulgent plight. If you kill a man, make sure he doesn’t have any connections. Via heartache or on a literal basis. When they killed Jesus, they didn’t think about who his Dad was did they?

On the subject of history repeating itself, it, inadvertently resembles time-travel, a volition of statistics, and an accurate hypothesis of what happens next etc. What I mean is if you can time-travel, then you can already expect the worst to happen, which means you know a piece of the future and can do something to avoid it, right? However, humans are silly, and we all secretly think we’re the one person in history that can rebuke our fate. If there’s one thing time-traveling can teach you, it’s that your intellect can, at the least, make your love-life bearable. Settle for less, or settle for reaching for the dream. Yes it sounds terrible, but which part of modern love can you think of that isn’t adjective of terrible? (Besides the beginning, because we all know that’s the best part. Ironically it gets you so high, that you can only roll down the hill afterwards.)

(This post brought to you through countless counseling sessions hosted by yours truly. The end result, you can only become a better version of you in order to combat the reality, [which is the current you.])

“Hang in there! You know things are gonna get better before you can do this all over again!”

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a picture is one thing, but picture a picture of a picture

“You’re having one of those days again, aren’t you?” He said to the check-out girl as she broodily scanned the three bottles of wine. She looks up to see the man in his pajamas then the clock on the register, registering the fact that the pacific time zone stated it was still ante meridiem. “Ditto. I’m trying to fight this thing off, what about you?” She said as seraphically as she could.

Sadness before noon is no way to start a day. Some brood, some drink, telltale signs of the infinite abyss being easier to fall into, than to fall upward into the eternal light of blah blah blah. The catch is that it’s contagious, and there are only a handful of people in the world with the immunological prose that can stand or even reverse it. Those few are the real treasures, even angels-on-earth, but they’re better known as friends, or bff’s. Even if most of us are underachievers, we can all afford to try a bit harder.

The man returned that afternoon with a mixed CD to give to the check-out girl. She smiled as if the sun peaked out briefly on a cloudy day, restoring hope on planet earth, even momentarily. Little did she know, the man did not make the CD, in fact it was a gift given to him by another person in hopes of achieving the same gift he just received. The point being, that gesture meant something to someone. The little things in life could end up being the biggest things in death.

There’s no better way to come off uninteresting than by stating you’re interested in everything.

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