Sunday, December 7, 2008

i hit the streets

in this city which used to be
a workers' paradise
one of the many
where hunger was said to be banished
forever

'forever' can be very a short time
sometimes

two old men with their salty faces
would testify to that
as they rummaged the garbage
to find something to eat

they were somebody's son
somebody's brother, husband, lover
once

now they shared their
hunger over a piece of baked potato
(mostly skin)
and a half eaten sandwich
(mostly bread)
in a bus stop

people who have nothing
knew the value of sharing the most
it seemed

then
a moral semaphore spoke to me
in his tom waits voice
pointing to them
"no matter how bad things get
you will not be like them"

then again
neither my better angels
nor my worst daemons
can't predict for shit

i finished my sandwich in a hurry

Saturday, December 6, 2008

it is strange that
a beautiful melody can bring one
down to his knees so easily

a journey into dark night's shadows
with bits of that wonderful melody
snuck within my ear

and whatever the irreversible damage of time is
as i grow older to become what i become
bits and pieces i rescue from
what is unlikely
feed my engine within

but the dark is strewn with
fake plastic people
fake plastic smiles
fake plastic...

my fingers in my ears
trying desperately keep that melody in my head
repeating to myself
"i know who i am
i know who i am..."
less convincing each time
becoming more and more
a fake plastic version of myself

Flashback: October 6, 2002

i have seen

hate can sometimes be like a fresh
loaf of bread one breaks among
many many daemons one harbors
in one's head, heart and groin

some are worse than the others
some just hungrier

then i have lived

drunkenness can be the softest pillow
for a restless and uneasy heart
just as well being drugged
can carry a damn bad mood
to a plain tasteless flat
just to realize
there is no magic to the world
nor is there someone looking
over my shoulders to see if i did okay

and i ain't no atlas
this shit ain't easy!

on this vast plain of nothingness
there is no rhyme or reason
for none of the good or bad
ever committed

just senseless random collisions
of human bodies

even the language i shamelessly
employ to do my artificial and
none-the-less conceited deed
is devised to lubricate this
process of dying, eating, fucking

anything and everything human
rooted in dirt and manure
yet dreaming impossible skies
with wings made out of wax

no!
no escape!
no hope!

Flashback: October 26, 1998

in desolation

comes a time in every life one uses
or rather grinds one's mind on one had

when everything mockingly fails
and one morbidly entails
the cheap riddles and the fairy tales
those one has heard lying cursed
in unmeaningfuly bored
yet deliriously mad
beds of intercourses of meditated heads

and much after when one was dying
or remembering and loathing
every spec of existence one has spared
from revengeful nightmares
of fearful legs and slippery breasts

so

when floating scorn ripped open one's glaze
in the ivory tower of an abandoned blaze
and by the way also a sick fucking craze
was it an angelic smile on an idiotic face
bleeding cold and cultivatedly dazed
with dirty rhymes that everyone detestedly
amazed?

ha ha ha!