Wednesday, December 31, 2008

I have died too many times while she danced with strangers in nightclubs

"I don't drink often,"
she explains,
"I'm not supposed to
anymore,
anyway.
I've been distressed
recently.
Another, please,"
she requests.

"Oh,"
he responds with
almost
no concern,
as he pours her
another drink.
I've heard it before,
he tells her
with his
careless
eyes.


"I mean, I have
these problems,
you see."
She continues to tell
her story
to the only person
who'll listen.
"And that's why I'm drinking
tonight."

His back turns, as he
helps
pour drinks
for others.

I don't even want to drink,
she tells herself.
"I don't even want to drink,"
she exclaims.
"Well, I'm going to stop
after this
one,
anyway.
One more, please --
for my troubles,"
she tells him.

"It's just that,
I have reasons, you know.
I have them,"
she
explains.
I have reasons.

"Just one more, please."

Her Logic by Calvin

It is much more pleasant to hear your name whispered in the dark.

In the dimly lit room
I had a brief glimpse of bliss:
sight of your naked body
like a god reclining.
That was all.

Quite unaware
you got up to get your clothes
just naturally
while I shuddered
like the earth split open by lightning.
Vision of your Body by Daisy Zamora

Sunday, December 28, 2008

When it pours I'd much rather get wet than to shelter my thoughts from the rain

i think that your wings would go well with my tail.
so don't ask me what's keeping me warm.
just remind me
this ain't the time
for falling in
love.

yours is the song that's engraved in my head
whenever i think out of tune.
so won't you remind me
this ain't the time
for falling in
love.

now i've left my teeth marks all over your neck.
it's a habit i can't seem to break.
for your eyes they once asked me
could this be the time
for falling in
love.
Phantom Of My Organ by Slowblow

I know I have lost.

not much chance,
completely cut loose from
purpose,
he was a young man
riding a bus
through North Carolina
on the way to somewhere
and it began to snow
and the bus stopped
at a little cafe
in the hills
and the passengers
entered.
he sat at the counter
with the others,
he ordered and the
food arrived.
the meal was
particularly
good
and the
coffee.
the waitress was
unlike the women
he had
known.
she was unaffected,
there was a natural
humor which came
from her.
the fry cook said
crazy things.
the dishwasher.
in back,
laughed, a good
clean
pleasant
laugh.
the young man watched
the snow through the
windows.
he wanted to stay
in that cafe
forever.
the curious feeling
swam through him
that everything
was
beautiful
there,
that it would always
stay beautiful
there.
then the bus driver
told the passengers
that it was time
to board.
the young man
thought, I'll just sit
here, I'll just stay
here.
but then
he rose and followed
the others into the
bus.
he found his seat
and looked at the cafe
through the bus
window.
then the bus moved
off, down a curve,
downward, out of
the hills.
the young man
looked straight
forward.
he heard the other
passengers
speaking
of other things,
or they were
reading
or
attempting to
sleep.
they had not
noticed
the
magic.
the young man
put his head to
one side,
closed his
eyes,
pretended to
sleep.
there was nothing
else to do-
just to listen to the
sound of the
engine,
the sound of the
tires
in the
snow.
Nirvana by Charles Bukowski

Saturday, December 27, 2008

A VICTIM OF THE MODERN AGE

Alice sighed wearily. "I think you might do something better with the time," she said, "than wasting it in asking riddles that have no answers."

Where are my friends?
Where am I for them?
I am at the end of the fact:
Nothing lasts forever, again.
The Dead Salesmen

I wish to weep but sorrow is stupid. I wish to believe but belief is a graveyard. Mockingbird wish me luck.

I met a genius on the train
today
about 6 years old,
he sat beside me
and as the train
ran down along the coast
we came to the ocean
and we both looked out the window
at the ocean
and then he looked at me
and said,
"It's not pretty."

it was the first time I'd
realized
that.
I Met A Genius by Charles Bukowski
all theories
like clich├ęs
shot to hell,
all these small faces
looking up
beautiful and believing;
I wish to weep
but sorrow is
stupid.
I wish to believe
but belief is a
graveyard.
we have narrowed it down to
the butcherknife and the
mockingbird.
wish us
luck.
No title by Charles Bukowski

Thursday, December 25, 2008

I watch the horses run by and it seems meaningless.

Security is an illusion,
a manifestation of ego.
And what, exactly,
are you attempting
to secure yourself against,
old age, sickness, death?
Better to face the truth now:
It's hopeless, dear one,
completely hopeless.
Security by Littlebear

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

The Master said, He who sets to work on a different strand destroys the whole fabric

there are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
and most often
when you do
it's too late
and there's nothing worse
than
too late.
Oh Yes by Charles Bukowski

So rested he by the Tumtum tree, and stood awhile in thought.

Happy holidays, everyone, and be safe!

In the room I had seen a possible life.


things that shake in the shadows

I hope it's the first of many (Happy Valentines Day)

During the darkest hours of the day
(the loneliest of my moments),
I sit at the edge of
my bed
and stare at my locked chest.

Sometimes I sit there
as time passes by
just waiting for
a sign.

But usually, I am overwhelmed
and I (willingly)
open this locked secret of mine.
Stacks of piles
of memories tease me,
laugh (and
cry), and tear me apart. But something
below
(something deep)
inspires me
to keep on digging through my childhood
(this misery, that heartache,
my demons).
And in one particular pile
(of a stack),
I come across
your heart.

My body hastens (my pulse
roars, my breath beckons, my muscles
tighten), and I
open your heart.

I am reminded that, at one time,
I truly was
loved.

I close your heart,
lock my chest,
and breathe deeply
now knowing
the remains of my day
will exist
with a smile.
Opening Your Heart by Calvin

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Stones from my enemies


And it's hard to want to stay awake
when everyone you meet
they all seem to be asleep
and you wonder if you're missing your dream.
Bixby Canyon Bridge by Death Cab For Cutie

You move awfully quiet now and I still feel you everywhere. You told me this has always been worth living, but what's really worth living anymore?

Sunday, December 21, 2008

The audacity of her sleep

She will stop and stand still when the train
passes by. She will listen to the wheels turn
and grind on their tracks. She will be wearing
a raincoat, dirty and used, although she is
well aware of it's physical state. Her hair is
frizzy and damp, but tied carefully in a bun.
And she hesitates when the rain taps her
shoulders; they will be more gentle than any
touch she's ever felt. As I come into view in my
brightly-lit cabin, I will look. Our eyes will
gather images of each other, and I will pass.
She will say to herself, "If I could afford that
train, I would, as well, pass by."
She Will Stop and Stand Still by Calvin

[response to comments: thanks, forgot to write my name]

I know that starting over is not what life's about, but my thoughts were so loud I couldn't hear my mouth.


find more at Katuwapitiya.

Saturday, December 20, 2008

All I wanted to do is exist in your world. Just one person, would take time to actually see me. Help me find a way out.

It's about time
for some more
Bukowski.

I don't know how many bottles of beer
I have consumed while waiting for things
to get better
I don't know how much wine and whiskey
and beer
mostly beer
I have consumed after
splits with women-
waiting for the phone to ring
waiting for the sound of footsteps,
and the phone to ring
waiting for the sounds of footsteps,
and the phone never rings
until much later
and the footsteps never arrive
until much later
when my stomach is coming up
out of my mouth
they arrive as fresh as spring flowers:
"what the hell have you done to yourself?"

the female is durable
she lives seven and one half years longer
than the male, and she drinks very little beer
because she knows its bad for the figure.

while we are going mad
they are out
dancing and laughing
with horny cowboys.

well, there's beer
sacks and sacks of empty beer bottles
and when you pick one up
the bottle fall through the wet bottom
of the paper sack
rolling
clanking
spilling gray wet ash
and stale beer,
or the sacks fall over at 4 a.m.
in the morning
making the only sound in your life.

beer
rivers and seas of beer
the radio singing love songs
as the phone remains silent
and the walls stand
straight up and down
and beer is all there is.

Beer by Charles Bukowski.
what are you doing with all those paper
napkins in your car?
we don't have napkins like
that
how come your car radio is
always turned to some
rock and roll station?
do you drive around with
some
young thing?

you're
dripping tangerine
juice on the floor.
whenever you go into
the kitchen
this towel gets
wet and dirty,
why is that?

when you let my
bathwater run
you never
clean the
tub first.

why don't you
put your toothbrush
back
in the rack?

you should always
dry your razor

sometimes
I think
you hate
my cat.

Martha says
you were
downstairs
sitting with her
and you
had your
pants off.

you shouldn't wear
those
$100 shoes in
the garden

and you don't keep
track
of what you
plant out there

that's
dumb

you must always
set the cat's bowl back
in
the same place.

don't
bake fish
in a frying
pan...

I never saw
anybody
harder on the
brakes of their
car
than you.

let's go
to a
movie.

listen what's
wrong with you?
you act
depressed.

She Said by Charles Bukowski.

Monday, December 15, 2008

I half smiled, but I was sure she could still see the sadness behind my eyes.


If you board the wrong train, it is no use running along the corridor in the other direction.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Sunday, December 14, 2008

The first thing in the human personality that dissolves in alcohol is dignity.

At days end, is anybody happier because you passed their way?
Does anyone remember that you spoke to them today?
The day is almost over, and its toiling time is through;
Is there anyone with a kindly word of you?

Can you say tonight, in parting with the day that's slipping fast,
That you helped a single person of the many that you passed?
Is a single heart rejoicing over what you did or said;
Does the man whose hopes were fading - now with courage - look ahead?

Did you waste the day, or lose it? Was it well or poorly spent?
Did you leave a trail of kindness, or a scar of discontent?
As you close your eyes in slumber, can you look back and say,
"I have earned one more tomorrow by the work I did today"?
Author unknown

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

le temps passe, et chaque fois qu’il y a du temps passe, il y a quelque chose qui s’efface

Forget them, Wendy. Forget them all. Come with me where you'll never, never have to worry about grown up things again.

Peter Pan

Thursday, December 4, 2008

When I was little, I used to feel bad for the sock I didn't put on first, so I would tell it nice things.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!
Do not stand at my grave and weep by Mary Frye