Dream: March 28, 2006

I dreampt I was with one of our school's athletic teams. We were in competition for some unnamed event. It was being held at south high school, and me being a goofy klutz ended up in the wrong locker room or some how ended up in one of south's locker rooms, unbeknown how. I would like to say that each school of at least four schools was divided into two teams. Well, while I was in south's locker room I noticed the unmerciful killing of half their team. It was sort of reminiscent of the 1972 Olympics where all those Jews got killed, but I dare say Jews didn't get killed and it wasn't at the hands of the Muslims either. It was sort of set up in a Russian looking bath house, but instead of large pieces of granite, limestone, and aging marble, it was the look of Sullivan County Institutionalized Green, the sorry color scheme put in place in the 50s by SCDE to unify, or beautify, or something, but it looks sort of like baby shit green. Well to get back to my dreams, I would like to state that while at this great event in Kingsport, we all carried our Econ/Gov books from class. It seemed kind of odd seeing as how my mind labeled this as an athletic event. Back to the story, after I witnessed the unnamed killing of about 6 or so persons, I started to recall a past dream I had, or maybe it wasn't a dream, but it was as if the Metal door in the corner of the locker room, wasn't linked to a boiler room, but to a series of dusty and corroded catacombs, in which thousands upon thousands of countless souls were being enslaved into time. After escaping the killing unnoticed I sneaked out to tell my friends and anyone who could help, I told a few people and then, it seemed more like we were in a Russian Gulag, so I an and hid in an abandoned wing of the lockers, which opened up to a big large area within the lockers, which most surly isn't actually there. So I ran in there and hid to escape detection from a guard who was sitting atop a large ladder chair, similar to that of a life guard at the Bristol YMCA, the one that usually sits in the transom from pool to pool in that small unused area. Anyhow, I stole away, until the other groups started to dismiss, then I ran into Caleb and started talking to him, I wasn't caught and we neared toward a pool, maybe one in the fashion of the YMCA. Shortly after this I woke up.

I would like to add the reasoning for me posting these dreams.

1- It has come to my attention that some feel I am not right, i.e. crazy, mean, sadistic, loony, schizophrenic, sociopaths, etc.

2- I have begun to question and second-guess nearly every action or reaction cast be anyone. Whether it be a friend, family, or loved one, I take every action into consideration and weigh whether it might play into a larger scheme of things.

3- I am thinking of a career in Mental Heath, be it on myself, or me professing it to other.

4- I try and justify all of my actions into my mindset for the day, like for example I am currently working on setting up a regiment to help me get in better standings with life, and the living.

5- I was bored, and decided this would be something fun to do, regardless if someone reads them or not.

I would also like to note what I had for dinner that night, as it is commonly said an odd amount of food, or an odd food will sometimes set off unusual dreams.

I had:

2 or three regular helpings of homemade spaghetti, spread out over a 3 hour or so time frame. I added an immense amount of cheese, both cheddar and mozzarella, to this dish. Some of it I warmed up, and some of it I ate cold.

I had three glasses of Sam's Club Sweet Tea, and one 20 Blue Gatorade.

I ate a bowl of Coffee Ice Cream, mixed with a Bowl of French Vanilla Ice Cream, both Breyer's brand.

I hate two pieces of garlic bread; with the first helping of spaghetti I ate.

I ate a white crme cake, and half of a homemade coconut

Dream: Monday, March 27, 2006

I was lying in a bed, not my bed, not her bed, but in a bed. This bed was beside an identical bed, having a size of a king or queen size bed, but matching another bed to the left of identical characteristics with a blue bed spread on both of them. I had two broke legs, and a broke arm, and I was lying with a girl, who appeared to be Paula M.G. as if we were about to have sex. Her "father" was lying in the bed beside of us, who appeared to be James G. In a later event, I think we may have had sex, but when asked by various people of whom I don't remember, I simply said I don't know, I feel like I have just been asleep all this time. There was some time lapse, or at least enough for her "father" to get out of bed and walk out of the room. Then in walk two people I don't know, but know of. One is the new kid who sits at the far senior table in lunch, the other was a person who my friend Tommy has to keep telling me who he is, and with doing so as soon as the kid walks in I ask who he is, and suddenly Tommy is to my left as I still lay in the bed with Paula and he yells at me once again about me not knowing the guys name. After a while more and more people come into the room. I look out the window and it seems to be an aerial view of Fort Myers, but it's different. There are automobiles everywhere, in yards, on sidewalks, in parking spaces, in the roads, all around. These are not typical cars; these are junk cars as if we are in a junkyard. About this time Aaron walks in and tells me why we have not been in contact. He tells me that him and all of his crew, and their girlfriends went out, and their simply wasn't enough room for me, and not that I was forgotten. Also, he had to go pick up Troy in his Camaro or Trans-Am depending on which view of the dream I remember correctly. Aaron then goes to tell me the story of the past evening's trip to the mall. We are leaning against the window above the bed, and it is cracked in an odd pattern. It has like the word McKenzie cracked in it. While he is telling me the story, which I don't recall due to the noise and music, Nick Moore leans over like to tell me something listening to his Ipod Shuffle and I lean him away from us, and Aaron lets out a sigh. Some time passes and I begin to leave. I don't know if I am with anyone or even in an automobile, but I am moving past all the junk cars in which there are a lot of Ford F-150s and I think of snatching my dad a new or newer tailgate for his truck as it is actually badly damaged in real life. I come to a stop light and look and see a dog to my right. It is standing next to an old building. I go past the building and on to stop at stoplight. This stop light was just like the one across from the Fort Myers bridge, but as soon as I cross in under it, it become the one in front of the Bluff City Bridge, but just as I cross onto the bridge I realize it is not the current bridge but the trestle bridge from years earlier. At about this time my memory starts to wane, and I don't recall the rest of the dream, except I am crossing the bridge and I look back and see the junk trucks on the side walk and median, and then I woke up

Notes: I could have actually been in a hospital, which would account for the high story view, the matching beds, regardless of size, and the cheapness of the windows, which I failed to note earlier.

I think that all of this connects in one way or another but due to the fact of giving away too much info on people who were just in my dreams, I will choose not to describe the full connections.

New Poems

I added some untitled poems that I recently titled, I also added some newly written poems. Enjoy.

/ Corkboard Sunrise

when the dead can't smile

past the killing, and even longer so the death
one more man is put past his test

a tired and bothersome load
the test passes on past this humble abode

but on tired old occasions
the pardon is not granted

and so fourth the damaged move forward
forever keeping this myth slanted

when the ferns and lilies grow
so does the sickness like a cold in the snow

and the damaged move toward the dead
much as a robin casts it perch near the shed

for one who does not wonder
this mystery is never too much

like sharp knives kept in the cupboard
so many a sow's underbelly is torn asunder

changing our mood swings to by the times
stealing our honey from the grasshopper
instead of the bee's hive.

from where the sun now stands

/ Take One From the Top

I don’t want to force you out

Like a cold country stream

Let you flow about

Spilling from the pens lofty ink cartridge

Filled for only the short time

To write down this bliss

When captured in a room with

Subject like him

Each his own idea leaks out at each other’s whim

Tears melt through paper

Like acid through a steel girder

Or as lead’s dust shapes the ages

/ Honey Wagon

jumping from pool to puddle
island hopping around
carrying religion on
your shirt sleeve
like so many Sunday ladies
working at needle point


for charity you feed
on the soft underbelly
of our fair town
selling knives
at burger king, at 10:30


working to clean
the uniforms..
to clothe the workers
who conform to the cleansing
of their rebellion, from 9-5


waiting to get poked
by that sentimental message
in the sky the angel form
in the clouds that comforts
you like then

/ For the Peaks

with data hidden
and the meaning foretold
so we -- scratch that
rainbows

forcing out depression as
we stalk the night and
lay false claims to her
soul burning bri.....

clearly now the effort
is lost and the paint
chips off leaving only
the stones

such consumption of
power and the waste of
food feeds a hundred
starving natives and
the life no good.

want not what you have
but to lie so grander

smoke another one my
dear friends and trim
off of you

colored rocks in the
Forrest tell only half
truths as the water
sparkles brightly and
the seasons perpetuate
a new.

/ Written on the Back of Hitch

to you my lost star
quietly waining in the
winter moon

light hurts my eyes after
a night of hard drinking

blending together the
sorrows of years past

Angst and sodomy combines
for a sweet taste

hearing and wanting; listen
to their needs

as the automobiles rust
and decay is commonplace

so the waste of your society
waits on the children's shore

needles and spoons litter
the earth but no one
leaves space for the
stockings to hang

nevermore does the quiet
ring so true

as when I wait outside
your window longing to
feel -- the dew.

/ Notes at Capitalism Hell

epitaph

1. writing to you from New Orleans
I found some nice earrings but
I forgot to send them. I sent
a postcard, but it was lost in
the mail. 12 Hours away you didn't
care to play a round
with someone you cared for.

2. I'll never say what I need
to, and you'll never listen
anyhow. Fixing things & stealing
time. oh how the memory fades
when one is thought of everything

dull knives make the worst scars
tearing through our lives to mend
wounds reversed

As nature shields its course
I walk against the grain
casting lots for the dead
and breaking the ties
chains rattle like clouds in
the rain as the sprawl
is wiped clean. Sin and Shame
mixed in for good measure only
turns me rearward.

letting go is a hard thing to do
counting smells unto the colors
i hear.

bending bones past their
breaking point. Rhyme with that!

Tuesdays with laura, never let
the truth be told. shoveling the
memories into the culvert, a
drainage tile ebbs the tide.

What could anyone find there.
that Tuesday with laura

she never existed, a figment
created to fill the void in this
algorithm we make ourselves live
when the tree say:

The Wind Blows Cold
the iris petals fall
a tell is told.

The skin creases
forms that fit
and the eyes wonder

/ Body Moon (400 Years too Late)

Looking upward, better than

Being cast downward

The light shines through the smog and

The dew sets the same, sticky mess

It was salty then like now, and the

Body moon rises all the same

To see it in it's glory,

No one around, some dead

Some alive, ones to cast the living

It's been like that for some time now

But for miles on end in all directions

We didn't see it coming, born 400 years

Too late

It's all the same to us

Hotels and strip malls line the shores

But when was it once a feat to see

The ships a hauling in the stains of

Time

And to oxidize the nation, with one

Fell swoop we see it

Sand mixed still and just as we pass

Bauxite litters the scene

It's not our fault, we'll clean it up

But this hear, this transcript, not

Not even my native tongue

It captures all, and still yet we are free

The mind wanders too and fro

And although it seems free

Its fun riding along the tracks

For if we were free, derail we shall

And turn the sources outward

Running and hiding like children in the wood

We didn't see it coming, we knew it all

All along

The end that follows, is of our hand

Never bite the one that feeds you

But burn your own

And as you travel that great sun bleached

Strip

Remember and turn, when glass beads

Bought land, you weren't even a thought

And still yet the snow falls

So much cold, ain't seen the sun in ages

We sit and think reading the books of time

Long since passed, but it's all we know

Born 400 years too late, the aftermath

The time has stopped, the clocks don't run

We don’t need them; we have this, and the reminder

Of a remainder of 1,000 years too late

But in starring at the crayons like someone

From a world of water I see

And think

In a pretty picture, what if we just let them

Keep their own land?

/ Sands o. Time

Wouldn't you rather have it this way

As the earth folds forward

Cast backward we are

A new day

Missiles that keep the peace

Creep up on us

And surpass the place of disease

Who's in a writing mood these days

Thank ole Eli Lilly

And starring upward, one could see

Time before hand

And the sun, it's hotter now

So much safer 50 years ago,

How do you know?

Born in '77

All of this C14 dates you well

And to a bead of glass we will become

From the sand and dust before

Caskets keep us from returning,

But you know the end will come soon

As the blood moon rises overhead

The timeless chant resounds

"Aren’t the Russians our friends now?"

But it wasn't like that centuries ago

For we felt what we feel now

And the blankets kept them warm

Only to wake up itching

Back from the Beach

I am now back from the beach with some other writings underhand. Some of these are comical, as in the case for Turbo-Negro, but some are meaningful.... The Body Moon.

hope you look forward to it

Info

These was some new/old poems that I had in an unorganized category.

/ Black Dog

What have you gone and done again?

Why the change of pace, why this and the end?

Old Friend

I will miss you most

I will miss your sloppy kiss, and your bouncy boast

Old Friend

Why have you gone the way of the wind?

Why have you went and left me with this sin?

Old Friend, I will miss you so.

Old Friend, I hate to see you go.

/ For the Love of Metal

The lead coats the floor.

Mechanized destruction.

old gears worn by the work of ages.

quietly the steel pierces the stone

and the machinery walk alone

clanking and screeching their way onward,

walking with no friends

smiles light their way

beats of burden they are called

without a soul they are formed

years pass when steel outsells gold

still we progress and see the holes

bullets rain down as if gifts from heaven

machines walk no more

rats like people scavenge the ruins

walk along the skulls and shells

/ Purple Feathers

A Purple feather in the trees

Through the window pane

And out into the breeze

Insert it here?

In utero?

Or beneath the knees?

take humor in this

if you liked banana pudding too

then I would like you

like you liked it too

To all of those who didn’t think I could

To all of you who didn’t think I would

Waiting here, longing here, always hungry and such

Hanging, dangling, swing above the much

Wanting and wasting my broken luck

As the scars of the monsters creep up my body

Living no much longer

flame is just a bother

It’s Alright Riding around in the breeze

It’s Alright standing at the mouth of hell

/ U, U 2

Been sniffing alcohol

Writing poems to pass the times

“There’s a hole in daddy’s arm where all the money goes”

Trees covered with snow in mid April

But why then did I write late?

Weather patterns got me thrown

All out of whack

The sound feels good, against a weather soul

And as it moves, the ripples of the ring

Underneath my glass move also

To the rhythm of the rain

Being poured out so that we continue

The soul of a lifeless liver, traveling from

Town to town. Never seeing the same stall

Twice. And still I set, with beer and ashes

That surround. Writing.

Where’s my keys.

Returing home at this hour. Sometimes they will just

Pull you off the road in sheer boredom.

Ticket after ticket they write,

And they accuse me of stealing this. After

I infact searched for days trying to find

Something similar. Many days, like 90.

/ Death as it Rhymes

Gun to my neck

Knife to my throat

Save me now

Only for the cyanide

Kept in my coat

/ if i ever wrote one, it would be this

the things i regret most

having glasses that never fit my face
never being able to remember the important stuff in life
seeing things from the view point that no one else sees
the immorality of society,
the way she twists and turns at the every whim of the masses
anger; damage

i hate most

pompous people
everyone is the same, but no on believes
peace is for sell, but no one purchases
anger; damage

other things, indifferent in nature

never knowing the full potential
having tact, and not having tact
illnesses, and their fake cousins
anger; damage

you know, i feel like i just wasted my day
hundreds of dollars spent on souls
that one day will lay wasted like the rest of the earth.

Why is blood red? makes me smile and cringe at the
same time

never having the satisfaction of getting what I want
never, the women, never the fun
being bigger...being smaller, never any luck
never any gratitude

i never wanted anything, i never complained
why not this one thing?

one thing I ask, I did not receive
a smart child you say, obedient, never seen someone
with as good a head on their shoulders as me

but they are the captain of their ship
mind what they say, and do as they ask

i never hit anyone with an umbrella,
she blew a whistle in your ear and I told her what I thought about it

and like last year, words for flatulence
a disruption in order, come on?

other things i forgot to mention

the ones i loved, knew it, for i told them so
sorry if this is a selfish act, but damn
there is a song for this, can't get no
but you know how that goes, and you seem to not care
reading was more fun.

walking back to, there were dirt roads, gravel, and some loose cement
i remember the bus ride there, with my clown shoes
a tooth paste fight and the like
but it was what i said, the fact that you know
i really did sum it up, and you laughed
we could have been good, but you know, you have your bf
and I had my science fiction or whatever sad pass time owned me

i say, i told you, and made up a lie i told more than once
there was horses there, and the name of a prominent family all around
we didn't seem to care, except for the rules that some broke, and I had to keep
except for the lies we were told on more than one occasion

you weren't the first, and certainly not the last
so much so, your name is not even in this, my last
i just wanted to give a synopsis, something saying
i can't cope, my best ideas were a t-shirt, and some arson
why was she like that. she could have been cordial, she could
have just said, sir please no, but nah... she prefers the other
the other method, let's get the stick and stir some too.

i was told once, by several wise me, several things
but i never really listened to any of them, i had a fear of
a fear of making someone from up north right, even if they never
knew. i was afraid that i might realize the truth. so i followed
the advice of a man that was not wise, probably not even smart

i realized, i sat, i grew farther from the truth i knew what was happening


When you are seven, and asked about your future you say something neat like
fireman, or astronaut, or baseball player.

(because of society,
and the way that professions are portayed at an
early age to the youth, probably because we actually like child labor)

well, my major flaw was that i was no where near this
at first
i said i probably wouldn't ever see a career
not because people in my past didn't have good ones but because i could see
i wasn't built to carry on

then i decided that hitman was a noble profession and no one found it necessary to
tell me that this was not noble

that, vision problems, the south and others made me, me.

i tried to write a conclusion, but this is long enough, i should have put
chocolate syrup on it or something, it tastes bad like this
and it ain't like i am gonna have to clean it again.





and at some point

it's not like i want to be whiney
and it's not like i want to complain
i know the kids in afrika or whatever suffer
but i cant take much more
tapping beer bottles at a soft pace will eventually
break them

just keep putting it off, and let them deal with it
deal with it

/ The Reprise of Saturday, Deux

What is this? Bright Lights and Whirling Wind.
the strokes backward and
the paint returns to the tube and to the store
and the truck drives backwards to a factory shed of
its pigments, and I.

sit, here alone with nothing to do
trapped between the oak trees by the
road that leads up to a rustic house
and barn that I can never reach

trapped in the distance by glass, another pane
that enshrouds the splendor of my land
hanging, on the wall

since saturday is gone, I can no longer
travel back
my being is forced here, and I might
as well make the most of it.
leaves perpetually twirling, still, and I.
with time will begin to slump. my
presence in the shadow.

subtle blues come through, and
in the shadows I'm caught.
I don't belong here the leaves become angry

And the tree turns its branches to shield
me, my soul, from being seen.

but as a fire burns blue I am set free
In the smoke of the smoldering oil paint
my spirit runs

and no more can I be trapped behind glass
unless I chose to

Lingo

For all poems, in the title i will denote that it is a poem by placing a forward slash by its name, and for every idea i will place a backwards slash, and for all other posts i plan on leaving the symbol blank.

Poems!

I'd like to let everyone know that I am going to start putting poems up on here, and ideas and peeves if i have the energy to write all that.

Test

Testing the format for the blog, to see if I like and shit.