Happiness Kills

repost from blastedgoat

I was playing around with a few lines I found in an otherwise blank document. I was taking notes on a conversation I had with a poet friend of mine named David. All I typed was “poets listen to long playing records of words” and “happiness kills creativity.” Enjoy and look for some edits more than likely… I must like you all, you are seeing my first draft!

“Happiness kills creativity,” he claimed.
I never got the point of using said
when one wishes to be more specific,
be more specific.

Don’t get long-winded,
forgetting your point
in the first place.
Poets listen to long playing records
filled solely with words,
no notes, except
the long pauses.

Slithering s’s complement
that constant cadence
of c’s and k’s.
To say nothing of the nuance
of n’s softening her hard consonants.

She never said a word after that.
When you want to be more specific,
be more specific

She doesn’t utter a word,
but they flow from her clicking fingers, tonight.

based on a conversation quite a long time ago with DRC.

Waiting

I’m sitting at the drug store again trying to score drugs again.

Can’t say right when it began, only I can…

The date is meaningless, the occasion trivial

like the way it gets hot in a parked car.

The way he won’t answer even when I somehow know the answer.

Please pick me up, Indian Summer, way too hot for October!

Imagine haunted houses sweltering in this early autumn heat.

Can’t wait for things to cool down, burn my own tongue sometimes…

Get so anxious, wonder how close I am to the edge.

Maybe this is out of line. Maybe it’s all your fault.

Coming As We Were

You’re soaked in bleach for a trend,
acid burning holes through jeans.
You flaunt faded tie-dye tees that
used to be more vibrant.
It stings your eyes to hide
that now forgotten shade of brown.

Insides burned like an exploding sun,
a boy’s haircut on a nine year old girl!
Curls chopped to the ears… Please,
turn away to laugh at that last line.
Some memories fade much faster than scars
from canning on our old dining room table.

Impossiblities

Parking lots. Lockers. A million high schools blurred into one.
A twisted hallway, a tiny dark classroom.

Chalkboards containing unfamiliar names, dates, words…
I’m failing to understand the dream,
begin noticing people from reality.

A missing tooth in a red plastic treasure chest.
I must put these ideas and more to rest.

Amusement parks complete with Ferris wheels, and
dizzy rides spring up allowing me a place to hide.

We drive on highways or down gravel roads,
across giant bridges but every time we swerve.

I fly through windshields. I wake, raking air
into breaking lungs.

Impossible details,
imprints of my sleeping life
interpreted in waking life…

It goes on like that until I click
the light pulling on a grimy white string
ending up in various versions of my bedroom
with all the lost antique furniture.

I get so lost. Confused. Then my mind turns to you.
Blank. Smiling in a sleepy state, demons set to rest
until I wake.

How Many Times?

Aside

3 in the morning and I miss her. Been over a month since I heard her say a word, more like a purr. I turn over only after knowing the ghost has gone… Memories vibrate out of  buzzing ears. “Is she dead or alive? How many times did I dream of her tonight?”

Maybe Strange

It’s so strange how
you pound in my head
when you’re not around.

Wish I could see you,
do you think more of me?

Just wait, think and wait.
Patience, I will sit and wait.

Every time I think it’s over
I come over and end up all over…

Laughing, touching, all that’s required is here,
in your face, smiling and unafraid.

Maybe this time.
Maybe this time.
Maybe this time.

Maybe this time

I’m ready this time…

All we are, moments tangled in time,

I only think of you.

Can’t get us off my mind,
how strange…

Making Your Dreams

I said ‘goodnight’ after you took my mind for a ride,

but you always run when I’m what you find.

Shaking next to me, just a boy and girl on a floor,

Finally kissing, and not for the first time.

I can never know “what if,”

only guess while I drive home.

Here’s hoping I’m still in your head,

making your dreams tonight.

Listening to ♪ None But the Lonely Hearts ♪

My little Ginger is lost! How will I go on and on?

This beautiful music empties itself in my gut now she’s gone.

I hold her paw in my hand, hearing her purr in my head.

Green eyes forever frozen open or endlessly blinking in photographs.

Ears that listened to her last sigh hear all things more faintly now.

Red eyes see sunshine, try not to be completely consumed by it,

or stung suddenly with overwhelming grief!

This song can stay on repeat!

Perfect Girl

You’re on stage screaming not like when we’re talking tables away. Can you guess? Yes, I still feel the same, age might never change that. I’m waiting here for you to finish, to find the things that without, you couldn’t go on. Having a perfect girl, a perfect world. Perfect world. Perfect girl. We’re not living in that world, yet. Before it’s done I think we both deserve a goodbye kiss. I’m screaming, screaming again for no reason. Sun at my back, helicopter leaves trailing, I’ve left my scent, not much more but I’ll be back, I always am, for more… more… screaming… of your… perfect world… perfect girl…

Time to Start

This post gets a lot of hits, well compared to the rest on this arm of my tree-blog. I haven’t done much with this monochromejadethoughtsdreamwrathfully, and it is such a cool name for a blog if I do say so myself but, I won’t because even though I have been blogging since age 13 (I am now 24) I still think they are lame and no one wants to read them, except me!

Now, before you go yelling about me blasting blogs while I ramble on my own and accuse me of being a hypocrite you should know that the above observation only holds true for MY blogs.

It is true I talked ENDLESSLY about whatever guy I had a crush on or what movies I wanted to see or what I did that day in general. These serve as a permanent reminder of how nerdy I was but I don’t wish them any ill will, they have also served as a way for me to learn from myself.

Long before WordPress and YouTube, FaceBook or Myspace there were free site builders, yahoo pages, and a million cliques, webrings and even the first blogs.

Before the “like” button someone had to code HTML or someone had to sign up for a free Angelfire account to make their voice heard… or at least read.

I love reading blogs and now they seem more useful than ever. You can find a blog about anything and by judging the response in the comments and using your own common sense you can pick through this information and even run across brilliant writers and like-minded people in the process.

I don’t claim to have the best writing skills (that is funny, considering I majored in English) but I like to think each person has their own way of communicating and no one way is right or wrong. You could correct a person’s spelling or syntax but until you care more about the ideas behind the words and sentences you still won’t understand a thing.

I titled this as such because it was the first entry… (I think) of monochromejadethoughtsdreamwrathfully and I really do want to start something new…

a tree in my yard, pretty pink flowers...