don't let dreams deferred dry up

the story of Delcan Jean Jone

how confused the stars are
when your telescope is not pointed at them.
your little boy eyes
collide them together- for this instance
to break
the continuum of star upon star
burning out.

your eyes close
by shutter speeds
and your eyelashes flash

the sky is almost done with night

in photographic mind
nothing lasts more than seconds
of a life
of a dimming star.

the moon will crater
the sun will end

but you were once there.
looking up to there-
with your little boy eyes
alternating turns
in the frame of a
telescope lens

three hours

when the caffeine is to the point where it is almost done
with you-
the bottom of the cardboard cup
is an etchy sketch.

a play thing
for a tired girl
of
a
three hour of sleep night

the things we play as children-

sleep deprivation,
a fun game,
so well
complimenting to
not eating.

when
i skipped dinner
you said i was going to die.

i don't mind that you said
it.

i am just bothered that there are not enough
coffee grains
at the bottom of this cup to
tally up
the number of nights
i have not slept.

sunflower fields are a never with you.

the other night there was a guitar by the window-
it played
like it had loved someone once.

if only it could play like it loved someone
now.

it was as if all its cries where stuck in its throat

morning times

in morning fogs
the devils ring doorbells

and the half-awake
answer the demonic calls
only to be met
by
morning fog of
industrial left-over

so the half-awake
make it back to bed
only stopping once for a piss

then back to bed
..only to wake the half-asleep.

but with a forehead kiss
it's back to dead slumber
with
morning fog
about the bedroom.

Cyrano de Bergerac

"What if she turns out to be a prude--or an intellectual? I wouldn't dare speak to her, I don't have the brains. The way people speak and write nowadays makes my head hurt. I'm just an honest, simple, terrified soldier."

- Edmond Rostand, Cyrano de Bergerac, Act 1

dark hours

She tells her love while half asleep,
In the dark hours,
With half words whispered low;
As earth stirs in her winter sleep
And puts out grass and flowers
Despite the snow,
Despite the falling snow.

Robert Graves

fire fourth floor.

it's been less than a month @ my new place and my building, more specifically my floor, has already caught on fire.
no it wasn't my fault, that day i wasn't making popcorn
{i've almost burnt down my college dorm room last year with microwave smoke from five attempts at making popcorn}
we were all outside for a while watching the firefighters fuss around the smoke and fire
i had just been out buying ice cream, my ice cream melted in the wait.
the fire,
it was contained, it only damaged the apartment where the fire originated in
point is
i am glad my apartment has not caught fire.

{pic: Nothing is New}

Good then Gone

i'm good, i'm gone

The Lykke Li
video i really wanted to post was {with the members of the shout out louds} was disabled from embedding so here's the link instead.
MUSIC VIDEO

moon landing

"Here men from the planet Earth first set foot upon the Moon. July 1969 AD. We came in peace for all mankind"

40 years ago
man landed on the MOON.
on a summer day of july 2oth.
























{Neil Armstrong}

the country life {part 1}

los dias de mi padre

Father
He was a child once.
A kid baseball player of bone and dirt.
Grown to be satisfied with a meal a day.
It was the country; a village of no electricity, no running water to
clean sweat.
But a river ran through for the folk-story-believing mothers to hand wash;
a river there to entertain the poverty.

Being born to the 1954 of such a place is a reality of few.

Father
didn't stand a chance;
the oldest of the boys in family of nine
means the first male born is crowned a man
by default.
It breaks you hard but makes you, as day by day, you
realize that it's another day of reckless youth.
Those family things keep you awake;
those ties to your blood
are the promises that kept you awake from dream;
Fighting your way through makes the Darwinism philosophy.

One of the most over-told memory;
spoken of at the dining table, over wine with my Father,
is that of academics.
Drinking to seventeen percent alcohol at present day tables,
it takes cheap Trader Joe's wine then,
Father's
confessions begin;

Father
never made it past sixth grade
after a few years of tries,
attempts to pass,
he was done.
failure is sour in a mouth of a man carrying our last name.

Grandmother tried to fix the "mess",
as ordered by Grandfather.
Bribery the best tool of a country woman.
Morning came she made it to the school house;
with a chicken from Grandfather's brick and cement barn.
It was a clucking poultry for diploma offer.
The Professor's answer is a mystery of memory.
Father to this day, does not know if he even got his sixth grade diploma.

stress-free is lie

stress

down and out

"It is a feeling of relief, almost of pleasure, at knowing yourself at last genuinely down and out. You have talked so often of going to the dogs - and well, here are the dogs, and you have reached them, and you can stand it. It takes off a lot of anxiety."

{George Orwell}

i don't want to.

i don't want to get over you.


I don't want to get over you.
I guess I could take a sleeping pill and sleep at will
And not have to go through what I go through.
I guess I should take Prozac, right,
And just smile all night at somebody new,
Somebody not too bright but sweet
And kind who would try to get you off my mind.
I could leave this agony behind which is just what I'd do if I wanted to,
But I don't want to get over you cause
I don't want to get over love.
I could listen to my therapist, pretend you don't exist
And not have to dream of what I dream of;

I could listen to all my friends and go out again and pretend it's enough,
Or I could make a career of being blue
I could dress in black and read Camus,
Smoke clove cigarettes and drink vermouth like I was 17 that would be a scream
But I don't want to get over you.



{lyrics: The Magnetic Fields}

we cannot go but let's go there

when the coffee blacks sink

they fall below;

sink down to dark.

far

until i cannot tongue my way to them.

there's no doubt that my lipstick already smeared

but 

coffee is all i need

today.

so i continue to reach

for the coffee blacks

, all sunken below,

in the corners of circles

where the titanic could not go.

duration of a coma

wicked wakes and frights by night,

but it's all in your mind.

sweats of yellow stain gowns, 

but you stay there.

without wind to dry;

and to take away those thoughts-

away, it'd take 

the duration of a coma.

L'Amour de Pierrot

my mind
is off
but it's not my fault
it's the
strong spatial low-pass filtering.

i guess our minds no matter how good they are at adapting and compensating; they make errors.
this just proves how our environment can trick our minds.

or maybe we just want to believe there really is something more.




{1905}

the same thing is getting old

you never know how wretched you've become
until others do the thing you do
so wrong. they ruin the things you once did so well
or shall i say the thing you did so secretly by the examination halls.
but it takes a while to hit you well-
then you realize
that you don't want to be like the ass in 4434
that lights up around his two-year old daughter.




there's a time and place. just never around children; they didn't choose you, but your're in their life so grow up, ass.

romantics of the travelers {what you told me}

i'm not looking to fool no one with these beats
i sure as fuck don't fool you

just know
it ain't the rocks i threw that broke your window-
Na, it was the hot summer heat,
that expanded and broke glass,
but i'll admit my part in it.

i hit rocks up to fly to Chuck Berry
i don't mean him disrespect, i just mean for you to let me in.

i would be different if i had the dimes to buy a cycle,
but i have no grease to be one them oil heads,

listen to this,
we'd dine out real fine.
in highway dinners,
we'll talk of being more refined than corner gas stations
but there's no thing that will keep us from
hot dogs on summer nights.

let those freedom fighters watch us cycle into their -
fireworks.

blow your hair in the winds

the way you wash ketchup stains
off
my sweat smudged shirt
keeps my grin.

you don't know, but
i'd give my pocket knife
just to be two old fools
love-sick over the newspaper collection
at whatever public library
of wherever we find
ourselves
in.

a day in the life of... somebody else.

there are railroad tracks worth exploring
before the flying cars boot Amtrak
out.

Na, it's not worth a hoot, to be howling harmonics
at the moons.
Morning brings those rail machines 'round here.

waking me blind with commotion
conductors they orchestrate
so i'm keeping stutters to the vinyls

make an artificial light shine

the dream came back,
i had misplaced it, i guess.
it always comes back to me.

i wish i could misplace cowardliness.
i tried to misplace nightmares,

every time it happens, my mind no longer stays on the force
of two ton metal.

i scattered glass on the freeway
now
i think and process in scattered scenes;
scattered photographs are just becoming clear as scattered glass and bending metal.

{ffffound}

/i wouldn't love you any less/

<< You've got your saints and your sorrows/ And I've got my ghosts/ And what's killing me now/ Is gonna kill us both/ And if time is a factor/ The only one that we face/ Like lines on a map/ You can try to erase/ But it doesn't change a thing/

No, it just makes a mess>>

{pic: ffffound}

late news

a week back i was reaching for my shot glass and brandy when i cut my finger real deep on glass.
i was dry sober so i remember how
it hurt so bad.

i almost fainted; i guess since then i am only able to drink wine.
i'm sure i'll get over it soon enough, but as insensible as this sounds:
i think this proves i'm only a tequila girl.

i need to get over drinking it is too dramatic for my liking;
it's a good thing i've become afraid of opening my bar cabinet.

in other news
i am reading more about old Mexican folk tales

there's this belief where my parents grew up that witches came by night to suck up baby blood. In order to keep this from happening, the elders would order that there be scissors hanging by the room in which the baby was sleeping. This apparently kept them away.
The logic to this; well these things never follow logic, it's always fear and hope.

she watches from her window with a view

you have a room with a view
of a California palm tree
but the guys next door watch porn, so you close your blinds
on summer nights.

the coffee is bitter of Columbia stink;
so
tally the scratches on the wall
of nights of insomnia

these
firework nights
it don't matter
that we don't know where we go

those people doomed to photographs
don't wine taste like we

its 2am outdoor alcohol
see how
by candlelight we sweat

we sit
salty and shining by the moon.

the suns don't shine
and gods don't smite
tonight only americans explode bombs in our sky.

this is what i've come to trust.

morning after morning.

{ffffound}