Wednesday, August 31, 2005

what the fcuk are you talking about, cracker?

Current mood: high

it's about fcuking time I post another blog
another log into my twisted mind
twisted rhymes
another chance at romance
another chance to unleash,
and love
what heaven on earth
and dreams are made of

and of course I diverge
begging, pleading
on the brink of the verge
hoping while choosing a future synonomous

one more line
surreptitious acts of original sin
burying it till the dawn of a pale moonlight's
sexy rhythms
satisfactions balancing on the tip of a pin

pumping, pounding
gliding and riding
in spite of a virign's pleas
sexual plights
perversions made self evident
in the shadows of a winter's night
tempting to distract
sneaking and peaking,
gyrating to a natural beat
one more time "Love"
naked bodies pulsing, thrusting
sacred dances, lost
in heat

Monday, August 29, 2005

only god can judge me now.

and another beer goes down the hatch, numbing the fact that tomorrow will come whether I like it or not, whether I'm smoked enough weed and simply forgot that I've responsibilites, people calling my name, leaving messages and red flashing lights, 20 grand invested, thriving corporate life

little more than a game...of politics and power struggles, of crushing the little guy, depending on the graduating youth to produce and provide, endless hours and endless weeks, american superpowers (nike) subjugating the weak, a brand new pair of sneakers for a hundred twenty five, boardrooms cheering, advertising success, let's wipe out another species, fcuk the world, it's already a delapidated mess.. hoard as much as we can, find our saviour, search within, attone for decadence, deabuchery and sin....nevermind the truth, redemption awaits, fixated on the firmament, home of the saints....Louisiana is in for a hell of a ride in less than five hours, people subject to the majestic terror of nature's absolute power, proof that the world was not made for man....and I take another swig of my beer, from the comforts of my loft, my thoughts are sincere, but my aim is way off.

"revolution is the opiate of intellectuals." -anonymous

Thursday, August 25, 2005

comment-allez vous?

i smell like a french whore....booze, cigarettes, and sex emmanate from my clothing....my pores wreak of sexy perfume and yet I'm alone. Scores was the setting for the decadence and debauchery of tonight's festivities, a night of fun amongst four friends: Scott, Kevin, Andy and I. Andy had broken up with his girl, young fun, and the goal was to take his mind off her. Young fun is an 18 year old with a 4 year old baby, an ex-husband in jail for raping another girl at knife-point, and a hell of a coke habit. She and Andy broke up due to complications that could not be resolved through intense discussion and makeup sex. The short end of the story is that she cheated on him with two guys in one weekend. He's still tore up about it. Go figure. I've been there. Regardless of the girl's morals, it's difficult to call it quits, whether or not it's for the right reasons. Distress, depression, and confusion is so much more acceptable than being cut off cold turkey from lovin. And yet I hoped that the gentlemen's club and comraderie would provide enough of a distraction to deter him from focusing his solidarity onto her.
Sadly, I discovered, through the detective work of an otherwise dopey and high minx named Veronika (stage name), that Andy frequented the club. No wonder why he's nearly 30 years old and can barely afford a condo in Oakbrook. For the past year I've teased him time and time again for dating a girl 10 years his junior. She's more than trouble for any man, she's a disaster. More power to any man that can handle a single mother, but any single mother that cheats on a man willing to "put up with" her progeny, deserves to be cut off.
I am the child of a single mother. I am a 25 year old man wandering the earth, trying to discover and uncover myself. I know what it's like to be raised by a man who isn't my biological father. Looking back, I'm lucky to have had anyone accept both my mother and I as part of the relationship. My mom was lucky, many aren't.
I learned from strong women in my family the values and morals with which I am to live my young life. Granted, I don't follow them as often as I should, but the respect with which I treat women is all too often confused as that of a gay man trying to associate with the sex with which he feels a close connection. What ever happened to good old fashioned respect? What ever happened to feeling a need to protect the woman who trusts you with all her heart and a piece of her soul? Why is cheating so ubiquitous in the year 2005? Has it always been this way and I'm just a naieve young man raised in a sheltered youth by an anomoly of a family? I doubt this much is true.

I do know that I'm drunk, that my mother would not be proud, that I paid for a dance this evening, that I'm typing my life away in the cold comfort of the soft glow of an oversized monitor on an early August Thursday morning in Chicago, contemplating the meaning of being tout seule while allowing my mind to drift away to the sounds of the Rolling Stones.

Fifty bucks poorer and chillling. T minus seven hours until the workday.


Tuesday, August 23, 2005

i need to vent

A letter which i'll send to no one.

I don't fucking understand how they do it? The ants, the worker bees, the drones that focus their minds on monotonous tasks day in and day out, week after week, month after month, year after year, looking forward to a paycheck and a few free hours on the weekend that they're not spending in traffic or responding to requests with efficiency and swiftness. "Chase the American Dream, people!" "Drive the economy." "Work, work, work, prove your self worth, wear your success badge proudly on your sleeve, letting all the world see the level of ostentation you've achieved."

I know why I have such a cynical view of the America in which I reside, because I don't chase my passion. Instead I drug myself to calm my nerves and my growing disdain for the boring, the mundane, the lucrative career of designing retention ponds. I've a friend who's chasing his lifelong dream to become a Veterinarian. He doesn't work at least 45 every week, becoming overstressed by pissed off primates also known as contractors demanding their answers NOW, NOW, NOW! He wakes up in the morning and works tirelessly. He remains focused on that which he loves: saving animals, treating and helping creatures of the Earth because he can, because he's capable, because it drives him to never give up.

I've given up and given in. I've grown tired, I've began to fall into the traps of conforming to the 9 to 5. Year in and year out hoping for a vacation to take off the proverbial razor sharp edge, smiling as I accept a bonus for a job well done, denying the fact that I was miserable 80% of the time I was performing mental gymnastics to determine how to develop 70 acres worth of God's green Earth to drain correctly, to not flood the client's buildings, to prevent insurance claims and buildings floating down the Fox River. I pout and I whine. I want to do something else. I want to be somewhere else. I don't care how much money I make. I have too many bills and owe too many people. I want to thrive, incessantly impassioned and inspired to progress my life's work. I need, I hope, I want, and I do nothing, absolutely nothing. I can't find the way out because I'm blind to the bars on the cage. Where are they? Which way is out? How does one escape? If I continue on this path I will either be fired for typing this nonsensical lyrical verbosity when I'm supposed to be saving my bosses ass again, or I will go insane. This much is true.

Friday, August 19, 2005

i feel lighter...enlightened almost.

a friend in need
Did I tell you that I freaked out on him this past weekend? It
was horrible. I was yelling and crying and told him that I wanted him
out of my life.

a jobe in deed.
Stuff happens...people get overburdened, say things they don't mean whilst being mean and allowing pent up emotion to escape...and then the kettle cools and the water no longer boils in raging confusion of molecules pushed to their limits of phase transitions....and we can see clearly, the water is calm, reconciliation is possible, love flourishes, flowers blossom and birds sing...like I said, stuff happens.


i write depressing prose.

I’ve been numb for 5 years and yet I’ve allowed distraction to penetrate my vision of my very own future
A pane of glass that could shatter into a million indistinguishable shards of mental terror in an instant, destroyed.
And yet I’ll continue to write about nothing
And do nothing
And grow little
And fear and hurt and love every second of it because as inevitable as change may be, change is too uncomfortable.
I couldn’t possible imagine a world in which I could go an entire month without falling back into a self woven womb of despair
Comforted by the cold heat of misfiring neurons
Comforted by the distance between me and the world
Between my concept of self and my misunderstanding of salvation
There isn’t any gold and there isn’t any rainbow.
I’m not
I’ll never
It couldn’t ever
Only if
Only when
Just wait, and then.

And then what?
Who am I kidding.
Are my eyes no longer blind to the fact that a happy life exists?

The time has come to stand tall and proud on two feet that might not ever truly find a path,
Unless of course I believe
Unless of course I dig deep
Past all layers of despair, with every ounce of hope
Unless of course I accept the burdens and rise above with the power of faith in action.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005


Write while the heat is in you.... The writer who postpones the recording of his thoughts uses an iron which has cooled to burn a hole with. He cannot inflame the minds of his audience.

Henry David Thoreau

To burn always with this hard, gemlike flame, to maintain this ecstasy, is success in life.

Walter Pater

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

a breath of fresh air, warm summer wind tossing about golden blonde hair.....

I'm taking the easy route out again....partially because I'm busy and not truly moved to write anything of substance and partially because I know no one is reading this, other than I. But if other eyes do fall upon this site from time to time, maybe they'll be moved by the quotes of great minds, as I am, in my search for truth and understanding.

If you wish to know the Divine, feel the wind on your face and the warm sun on your hand. –Buddha.

Monday, August 15, 2005

from the book Spiritual Literacy.....

Picasso was right when he said that we do not know what a tree or a window really is. All things are very mysterious and strange (like Picasso’s paintings), and we overlook their strangeness and their mystery only because we are so used to them. Only dimly do we understand the nature of things. What are things? They are God’s love become things.
God also communicates with us by way of all things. They are messages of love. When I read a book, God is speaking to me through this book. I raise my eyes to look at the countryside: God created this for me to see. The picture I look at today was inspired by God in the painter, for me to see. Everything I enjoy was given lovingly by God for me to enjoy, and even my pain is God’s loving gift.

Ernesto Cardenal
in Abide in Love

Sunday, August 14, 2005

every journey begins with the first step.

i must let go of that which I fear the most
my past, present and future realigning
in the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost


Friday, August 12, 2005

celebrity gossip, billboards, and liqour.

corporate advertising continues to corrupt young minds

hot coffee spills, careless thrills, the time of your life for a dollar 99

subliminally overt, progressively perverse half naked nymph's marketing

society's desperate needs needing a break to brake, cleanse and unwind.

Thursday, August 11, 2005

and from these words we gain understanding and meaning?

No passion so effectually robs the mind of all its powers of acting and reasoning as fear.

ATTRIBUTION: Edmund Burke (1729–1797), Irish philosopher, statesman. The Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful, pt. 2, ch. 2 (1756).

Wednesday, August 10, 2005


"The code says, 'Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife'- and the result? Reluctant chastity, adultery, jealousy, bitter family fights, blows and sometimes murder, broken homes and twisted children...and furtive, dirty little passes at country club dances and the like, degrading both man and woman whether consummated or not."

Robert A. Heinlan
Stranger in a Strange Land

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

this seems to be the common thread

I don’t care
About writing
Whether or not it is my calling
I’m avoiding every ounce of sweat and work
That could resuscitate me from wallowing in despair
From repeating myself over and over
Passing through the dayz
Progress a verb that long lay dormant in a diminishing vocabulary
One that’s not been stoked by the fires of inspiration for all too long
As all to long I long for answers which are directly in front of my eyes
Conceiving and believing lies
He knows that I avoid his knowledge
That I fear redemption
That I believe in His power
For no apparent reason
My method
Tearing up and trying to avoid work
Working towards a solution
Solutions to my life’s problems

None of this makes cents

When it could

And it should

For the time being

Closing my eyes

And hardly seeing.

Asleep and Aware.

Afraid of accepting the dare

Daring to change as circumstances rearrange.

3/6/05 6:11PM

Monday, August 08, 2005

fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you.....

"Let me tell you something out of the lessons for the Sixth, Ben. We humans have something that my former people don't even dream of. They can't. And I can tell you how precious it is, how especially precious I know it to be because I have known what it is not to have it. The blessing of being Male and Female. Man and Woman created He them. The greatest treasure We Who Are God ever invented."

Robert A. Heinlan
Stranger in a Strange Land

"I've been saved, by a woman." ray lamontagne

From the inside cover of Ray LaMontagne’s CD:

“And you, liar, teller of tall tales: you trample all the Lord’s commandments underfoot, you murder, steal, commit adultery, and afterward break into tears, beat your breast, take down your guitar and turn the sin into a song. Shrewd devil, you know very well that God pardons singers no matter what they do because he can simply die for a song.”

from The Last Temptation of Christ by Nikos Kaztantzakis

Friday, August 05, 2005

...of the "wonderful" things she does

Of course I don’t want life to be this way, h! I don’t want to sit at my desk day in and day out and ponder the would haves, the whys and the why nots. It’s maddening to think of how fcuked up our relationship was. What could have been the picture perfect summer (and in many ways, was) turned into a wave of conflicting emotions and devotions towards medicine which ignited rage and jealousy and intense anxiety. You were an angel and a devil, you were my salvation and my down fall, your words brought me to my knees and your lies tore through my heart like a lion’s claws, shredding any hope at reconciliation or finding a path towards serenity and love. You were, I was, we won’t ever, because, because, because.

press pause.

"I know, I just don't understand J., I love you so much it hurts and
you treat me as if I'm worthless." Inside she's screaming, hateful of
the way she's treated. She wants to cry the tears of a thousand fears.
She wants to disappear and rematerialize in a world much like this one,
only in which he wasn’t didn't lose his sanity, a world in which
making love to him was a joint operation, where every moment he was inside of
her if paused and looped on repeat till the end of time would be her
definition of paradise.

Mexican poet

The poetic experience, like the religious one, is a mortal leap: a change of nature that is also a return to our original nature. Hidden by the profane or prosaic life, our being suddenly remembers its lost identity; and then that “other” that we are appears, emerges. Poetry and religion are a revelation. But the poetic word dispenses with divine authority. The image is sustained by itself, without the need to appeal to rational demon stration or to the protection of a supernatural power: it is the revelation of himself that man makes to himself. The religious word, on the contrary, aims to reveal a mystery that is, by definition, alien to us.

Octavio Paz

deux mots

When written in Chinese the word crisis is composed of two characters. One represents danger and the other represents opportunity.

John Fitzgerald Kennedy (1917–1963), U.S. president. Speech, April 12, 1959, Indianapolis.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

autopilot override

I'm driven by fear, compelled to worry, incessantly, from the moment I rise to the moment I lay down my head and pass into a dreamstate saturated with subconscious intuitions leading me towards the understanding that the only thing I have to fear is innate fear, itself.

I was either born with chemical deficiencies, or the deficiencies which are a product on being comfortable with pain and hurt and worry, emotions which filled the countless days and hours of my youth and originated when my father kidnapped me from my mothers loving arms.

Medicine is either a tool with which to gain insight or a crutch on which I'm doomed to lean.

The vicious circle with either continue to be circumscribed, centripetal forces pulling me towards desperation, or it will be broken, converging in a path towards infinity, an eternity of bliss bathed in self-awareness, conscious steps towards choosing everlasting life.

WHOISJOBE?, Seeker.In.Training

-- "revolution is the opiate of intellectuals." -anonymous

Wednesday, August 03, 2005


If a man can write a better book, preach a better sermon, or make a better mouse-trap, than his neighbor, though he build his house in the woods, the world will make a beaten path to his door.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

good morning USA.

I want it, badly, to satisfy the ache, that animalistic urge, our god given right to progress the fabric of society onwards and upwards toward the inevitable:

Monday mornings, higher taxes, longer hours, diminishing social security benefits, mortgage payments, credit card debt, plasma screen televisions, Thursday Prime Time on NBC with America’s “Friends”, Honda minivans, soccer practice, overpaid athletes setting the precedence for decadence and false hopes instilled in the proletariat, passing the night with the world series glaring from rear projection screen electronic boxes in dimly lit dives saturated with second hand cancer inducing carcinogens surrounded by cosmetically enhanced pseudo-freaks one cup size away from...

beoming prey for the sexual vampires who perpetuate the procreation of our society by satisfying an innate hunger which pumps through their veins, senses on full alert searching for signals, signs, physical cues as to the direction towards divine pleasure, “out of this world”, she blew my mind, toes curl, heads thrown back towards the heavens, lost in eachother, no beginning, no end to the passion which drives us to pursue…

the American Dream, perpetually in search of happiness until happiness lies…

and cuts deep, torquing the rhythm the heart, straining the lungs, brief gasps for air, sending the mind into a lost forest of despair, and deceit, on a path of malicious intent…

which way do I go?...

le pense du jour

"To be what we are, and to become what we are capable of becoming, is the old end of life"
-Robert Louis Stevenson

easier said than done?