Slight Allowance of Silence

i lie

2011-02-24T13:32:00.001-08:00

alone

i lie

as though seeking rebirth in my mindless meditation

eyes staring into the ceiling

as though trying to fertilize the heavens for personal revival

futile

it appears

i've been to this place before

invisible to my best attempts to see me

daft to what i know is wise

entertaining enlightenment

long enough to notice it vanish

i looked in the mirror

for hours this morning

naked like a shadow

forgotten to my wandering eyes

hidden like energies that bleed life

behind the skin

and yet they allow me to rise

for these moments

and only these moments

what is it that allows fire to burn in those too blind to prevent soot and ash?

careful i am and careful i die

while i remain trapped

seeking meaning in a world

relentlessly random

as though the thoughts that bounce off my bedroom walls

will return to me as reflections

and allow me to discover what i seek in mirrors

2010-07-29T08:35:00.000-07:00

i'm sorry
but you know how when you look into the
clouds
and you search for things
and your mind begins to form objects
for example,
that looks like a winged warrior
riding a large saddled rabbit
and then in your temporary and self-amusing madness
you create more things
but everything looks like the rabbit
or the warrior
or perhaps other things related to your evolving narrative
you can't see anything else
in fact, depending on how committed you are
these images haunt you when observing new clouds
but only as traces
like it's the eyes
you see in everything
and no matter the images you invent
to surround those eyes
all you see are those eyes
as though they've become a part
of some unknown part of you
and you suddenly feel vulnerable
and exposed
in the presence of an unforgiving sun
eyes piercing your skin’s best defense against hostile rays
i bet you've experienced this when you were young too
at bedtime
those intimidating nights when a t-shirt
hanging off a chair
becomes a kid-eating monster
the glare off the wood its menacing smile
that same glare glistening off its top to form
those eyes
and you move the shirt
and tear down this monster
but its burned in your mind's eye
and buried in some unknown part of you
and the only path to peace
is refusing to look at that chair again
at night or otherwise
because no matter its current form
its those eyes
and how you saw it
how you see it
if i concentrate now
i can recall several monumental images like these
things like memories
i've created throughout my life
and now i'm creating more
as the remains of us begin to settle like ash
and once innocuous objects begin to haunt me
and i'm left only with
your eyes

FACEBOOK USERS OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES AND ALLOW LIGHT INTO YOUR DARKENED SKULLS!

2010-05-06T19:49:00.000-07:00

Facebook is probably the predominant media force around. It is how hundreds of millions of people interact and communicate. Because of the impact FB has on the social landscape, it also has the power to shape the way people think – which is especially alarming when THINKING among the masses is at such a minimum these days. Thus, it is my goal to show how the (un)thinking promoted throughout Facebook (and beyond) threatens to destroy us all. Seriously! No hyperbole!

For example, I've noticed a lot of these political "cut and paste into your status if you agree" messages appearing at an increased frequency. First, what gets me is the fact that now dumb people don’t even participate politically by repeating a jargonistic phrase or slogan, which the thoughtful among us will acknowledge is parasitic groupthink at best and oppressive anti-democracy at worst. But no, we've reached to such pathetic lows that we cut and paste and send it along without a thought about what it says and means. We don’t even have to process the words enough to let it escape our own mouths and/or come from our own fingers. Below is one that I’ve come across recently:

“You pass the North Korean border illegally you get 12 yrs. hard labor, you pass the Afghan border illegally you get shot, you pass the American border illegally you get a job, driver’s license, allowance for a place to live, health care, education, billions of dollars spent so you can read a document. We carry passports in other countries or face jail time. Repost this if you agree.”

Most of these are blatant lies, and the others are oversimplifications that demonstrate a complete lack of understanding of the issue. 1) Undocumented workers only get a job because some greedy corporation wants to take advantage of them, so who is at fault here? 2) No one can get a driver’s license without a birth certificate, which is odd since people will repost this knowing the process they had to go through to get THEIRS. 3) THEY DON’T GET FUCKING WELFARE. 4) THEY DON’T GET HEALTH CARE – shit I DON’T and I’ve been a full-blown citizen for 30 years (my entire lifespan). Ok, the emergency rooms, but that is a different issue entirely and something the reform bill was trying to fix, and if you think we should turn away people who are dying or severely injured, then you’re beyond a piece of shit! 5) Yes, immigrants can attend school but under some of the worst conditions – I should know I’ve taught in them. Also, to all you anti-tax pricks: you want to spend more money to create new bureaucracies to PREVENT these kids from going to school. Not to mention that we’d have an even more uneducated group of people on our hands, and that usually has far-reaching consequences with crime and property value and all kinds of shit. So, until you can mindfully offer better alternatives, shut the fuck up! 6) WHAT? Bullshit! 7) Okay, I have no idea what you’re even saying.

Aside from the bullshit factor, do people not realize that PEOPLE AREN’T saying these things? This is likely something some asshole in a corporate ivory tower wrote to poison the discourse so he and his fellow pricks can benefit from having a retarded electorate. For example, some oil lobby wants to get Republicans in office because they know Republicans provide them oral sex and favorable policy – this because they pay to get these assholes elected. Well, Corporate America are experts in the art of distractive politics, so they have a board meeting and decide that because liberals and democrats are eroding their influence and power, they have to do something about it. So, they think about what has worked in the past. They spread their bullshit lies to the masses through underground marketing – things like FB stati these days – and inform the Republicans to use the same talking points. In 2004 Republicans used Gay Marriage as an issue to stir up the fascist moronic masses, urging them to ignore Bush’s Armageddon-esque approach to running things. Also, anyone remember the Swift Boaters? Now it is immigration. These issues aren’t real. They are invented by the powered elite to get us pissed off at a group that has nothing to do with anything – this so we don’t notice how they’re fucking us. If you know your history you know both fascist Germany and authoritarian Russia did this. This is BASIC political strategy people. Stupefy the masses and you can accomplish any narrowed issue you want – even if it fucks the people! And all you have to do is cut and paste these fabricated messages to spread this disease. Brilliant!

Then what happens is these messages get repeated over and over and over and over. And, because people don’t think, truth = repetition. Meaning, you hear it enough and don’t think about it you start to believe it. If I said that shit tastes like watermelon enough times, and people posted that over and over on Facebook, and politicians and corporate elites were talking about watermelon-flavored shit, you’d be at your local Wal-Mart in a millisecond BEGGING to get your fill of shit! Oh, but not you. You’re smart and don’t let these forces manipulate you. Bullshit! We’re all subject to these forces because we’re only one person and can’t know everything – we have to believe others the same way we have to believe our mothers that touching a glowing-red stove will burn us. If we’re not informed we have to rely on others to help us understand that which we don’t understand. That and our focus is on basic survival and not knowledge because we don’t have our basic needs met – this is another cog in the machine that allows our masters to own us, but I will have to leave this discussion for a later time. However, the difference among morons and thoughtful people is that thoughtful people won’t repost this and will THINK about what is said before they agree with it. We’re all cogs in the machine, but I know it and do all I can to speak out against it. Morons are convinced being a cog benefits them.

So I fucking beg you to STOP IT! Define your own values and beliefs. Think before you speak/ post things on Facebook. This is important because the consequences of acting on this misinformation is 1) innocent people get scapegoated and fucked, and 2) nothing gets resolved. Fascist politics means that once we’re done bitching about immigrants it will be something else. It doesn’t matter. So long as we’re not bitching about U.S. trade policies written by U.S. corporations that economically fuck Mexico and urge Mexicans to come here to survive. The real problem is our exploitation of the country and Mexico’s participating elite. You think Mexicans really want to come here to pick lettuce and be paid shit and be treated like shit by a bunch of asshole fascist gringos? They do it to survive, and any one of you pasty white assholes would do the same in the similar situation. And you know it! Even if you’re too dumb to acknowledge it. You know it!

Furthermore, this affects us because we watch our role and power erode with every election cycle. The bailouts show that our needs and concerns don’t matter. There is still NO JOB growth, yet corporate America is making record profits. This can’t sustain. Eventually the system will collapse because the greedy elites will have sucked everything dry. To use a metaphor, the pigs will eat everything in sight and we will all starve. And while they eat we fight amongst ourselves and ignore the real problem: Greedy pig assholes.

So stop being a fucking tool. Think for yourself. I know what I said will not get through to the people who would most benefit from reading this rant. This is 1,444 words after all, and they don’t read because to do so involves thinking. And that is the real sad part. So in the end I am preaching only to the interested choir, which sadly is very small in numbers. But to you I say this: CHALLENGE THESE MORONS AT EVERY TURN! This is getting ugly, and we will all suffer from this ignorance. ¡Necesitamos Una Revolución de la Mente y Alma! We Need a Revolution of the Mind and Soul!

And DON’T copy and paste this if you agree. Write your own! Think! Challenge this parasitic bullshit that threatens to destroy us all. Please.

The Silly Symbolism of Snow

2010-03-19T20:07:00.000-07:00

Once the snow begins to fall I feel like I am under siege from some apocalyptic force out to personally destroy me and everything I stand for. Why me? WHY?!?! Obviously weather operates to affect people individually. Kind of like when Old Man Winter gets all political and snows in Washington D.C.—in February. Obviously it doesn’t snow as a result of occurrences in a complex ecosystem; rather, it snows to prove to Sean Hannity, Glen Beck and Rush Limbaugh that [insert creepy music] LIBERALS are WRONG. About what? It doesn’t matter they just are. Screw you Al Gore! My bad. I digress. But why is it that I (and I am guessing others) react so strongly to things like weather? Why do the little things that fade into the background of our consciousness affect us so greatly? And to even see these little things we have to excavate the most cavernous parts of ourselves!

I’ve always hated snow and cold weather. Anything below 60 degrees Fahrenheit borders on personal misery, and falling snow may as well be a hungry swarm of tiny frozen locusts – THE END IS HERE! THE END IS HERE! For example, I write this as Winter rudely storms me and my hometown of Denver. It is the last day of Winter and it is releasing its vengeance on us (ME). Probably because it was 70 degrees the past two days and Winter feasts on our (my) misery and is a jealous mistress (or mistER). Probably because it wants to remind us (me) that we’re (I’m) not safe in the cozy clutches of the soon-to-be Spring. IT is not bound by a calendar or even a season. IT will return. Oh yes, IT will return. On a once-warm May evening when a storm blows through unannounced and uninvited, and many other times in-between. Yes, IT can snow in May in Denver. Much to my chagrin.

Even as a kid when others were playing in the snow, I would retreat as soon as my socks got wet and my toes iced over – which obviously didn’t take long. This sucked, but even small things about Winter frosted my hide. I always hated wearing jackets because I loathe all that added shit on me, but more so I hated the rustling noise of nylon rubbing against itself. Yuk. It was (is) my personal nails-on-a-chalkboard. That and the squeaky/crunchy sound of walking on nearly frozen snow. You know AFTER it had been shoveled and there is still a slight layer of snow pack. Oddly it has a sound very similar to rubbing nylon. Yuk. Also on my pet-peeve-shit-list: when your gloves got wet and froze themselves to themselves, and I’d realize this as I used this fabric iceball to wipe my nose, only to find out it wasn’t liquid snot that filled my nose – NO it was a painful series of frozen snotcicles forming on the tiny hairs in my nose. So I learned early on that the cold and snow are like heartless invaders penetrating each warm part of you. Feasting on body heat until it is no longer. No retreat. No surrender. Coats. Mittens. Beanies. All delayed the inevitable: you WILL be cold soon. You WILL not go outside and defeat cold on its own turf. Muwhahaha!

Thus, victory came in the form of patience and seasonal cycles. I’d long for spring days when fragrant flowers bloom on bushes. I was told they weren’t actually lilacs, but they were purple and just as sweet. I’d pick them, smell all the smell out of them and give them to my mom. If she wanted that sweet scent she had to go get her own. Moreover, the first buds on a tree reminded me of a million immaculate pregnancies. Not sure how or why it happened, but I was sure god had something to do with it. People outside. Dogs chasing Frisbees. People chasing dogs. People chasing people. Oo La La! Spring to me, as it is to many, is about life. Things coming back from a long death. No longer were you effectually grounded by the elements. It was like turning 18 and knowing that your parents’ rules no longer applied. It was freedom. \m/ In fact, is it any coincidence that Memorial and Labor Day, and the Fourth of July all happen in the “life” months? And Easter? It celebrates rebirth, and for Christians resurrection! And you may want to say “what about Christmas”? But most archeological scholars say Jesus (if he existed) was born sometime in April. No escaping it. Winter is death.

So as you can see, my entire life I’ve subconsciously (and consciously) subscribed to the symbolism of the seasons. And outside of the symbolism there is something real to how seasons affect people. Vitamin D (which you can get with sunshine) has a very positive effect on your mood and health. Indeed, there is plenty of science that shows sunshine and warm temps = good and cold and grey and snow = bad. However, let me expand on the power of what spring and summer means and how it reinforces what I want it to be – and, conversely, what winter and fall means.

Much of what I mention is my mind’s creation. A myth I create in my head and reinforce to define who I am and the world around me. To illustrate let me introduce you to my mother and grandmother. My grandmother was originally from Minnesota and is of Norwegian descent. I can’t imagine a cooler origin than that combination. My mother stems from this lineage as well, but she, like me, grew up here in Denver. One of my earliest snow-hating memories comes from when my grandmother came to visit once for the Holidays. See, she had it right a long time ago and moved to Southern California when I was still a babe. Why? Well, this Norwegian-Minnesotan-turned-Coloradan HATED the cold weather. So she moved, and I didn’t see her that often growing up. That is except when she would visit. Or I would visit Los Angeles, where she lived.

My grandmother’s visits were always like Christmas and she was St.-fucking-Nick – ironic since we weren’t religious and hated the cold and X-mas. I was the first born, so of course she spoiled me. When she was in town, my mom and dad chilled out and relaxed some of the rules (bedtime, chores, etc). Also, coming from a very poor working-class background my folks couldn’t buy me junk. Sure, my folks were awesome and hooked it up on occasion, but lack of money and overall not wanting to spoil me (thanks mom and dad because I would hate to be a materialistic prick) urged a tight wallet. But when grandma was in town she always spoiled me – spoiled me “rotten,” as she would often say. Not so much in junk, but with attention and going out. Often she would take me (and ONLY me) out to lunch. During these moments she slathered me in decadent treats like chocolate malt shakes – something my mother and father couldn’t afford and/or simply didn’t want me to have. Oh yeah, and grams totally hooked it up with the junk – toys and shit. It was awesome. Needless to say I was very fond of my grandmother and looked forward to her visits over anything else.

But back to this Christmas visit. It so happened that for this rare December visit it snowed like hell. I am not exactly sure about how much, and I have no interest in looking it up, but it had to be a couple feet. If I remember correctly the snow affected her flight and I think she was late, and because the roads were bad she didn’t visit us as often this trip. Usually when she came to Denver she would stay at her brother’s place because he still lived here, and she would make trips to our place in Edgewater (a small suburb bordering the West Side of Denver). So snow cut into my grandma time. And she wasn’t exactly her awesome self. Most of the time she was complaining about the snow and drinking Whisky. And also because the roads sucked, there were no special vince-grandma adventures and chocolate malts. We just hung out. Inside. Bitching about the snow. Granted, it was still great to spend time with my grandmother, but after that moment I never respected or tolerated the snow and cold weather again. It became a symbol of interference. Something that not only mocked the sun and killed our good mood, but interfered with a rare grandma visit.

My mother is definitely my grandmother’s child. She always complained about snow and made many of the same arguments and complaints I have so far. Coincidence? While it seems to me redundant to offer anecdotes of my mother’s winter unrest, her climatic rant is perhaps the most telling. She had just hooked up with who would become my step father. He was from Pueblo, and (after the divorce with my father) my mom had finally found someone. They had recently come back from a trip to Las Vegas (no they didn’t marry yet; they were just trying to get away from the shitty weather) and we were all visiting my grandfather for some X-mas get-together. It snowed. It snowed. It snowed. We were driving back and all I remember was my mom freaking out about not seeing but six inches ahead of us. About the slick roads. About simply seeing these frozen water molecules hovering and attacking like a swarm of killer bees (yeah, I decided I didn’t want to use the locust metaphor again). All I remember her saying was “god damn it. I’ve had enough. I’m getting the fuck out of here.” Jim, her new cuddle kitten and a quiet tempered man, agreed with similar ferocity, though through slight nods and muted “uhh huhs.” In a few months they were gone. Living in Las Vegas, and to this day my mother teases me about Colorado weather and reminds me of how beautiful it is in Arizona (they moved there a few years after living in the City of Sin).

At this point I can read your mind as you read a part of mine. “Why the hell are you in Denver then”? “Why don’t you leave”? “Why am I reading this god damned story”? Well, I can address the first two and assert that if you’re reading this on the web it is likely out of boredom and/or procrastinating from work or some other responsibility. For me, writing this satisfies the latter. But I am in Denver because I am afraid of risk and uncertainly. After the divorce I lived with my father and we had it really rough, often living in our car and, when fortunate, in motel rooms. We lived on welfare and often didn’t know how we would achieve supper. All this said, let me abandon this story because it is only relevant to the notion of why I am here still. Against my own self interest of happiness. If this weren’t the case I would be in California because that is who I am. And I mean no disrespect to transgendered/transsexual people in this comparison because I know they have it much worse, but I feel like a Californian trapped in a Colorado apartment.

My Californian obsession came from, you guessed it, my grandmother. My earliest memories come from being at the beach. In the sun. Going to places like Universal Studios and Knots Berry Farm. Venice Beach. Santa Monica. My Mother and Father and I lived there when I was very young (2-4 years old or so) and when my father was in the middle of his short-lived military career (short-lived because of an injury he sustained jumping out of a helicopter). I believe my grandmother had just moved out there too, so we were all essentially there. Sculpting the first building blocks of who I would become. But somewhere along the line and for some reason we moved back to Denver. Probably because of a job. Probably familiarity. My dad is a Denver lifer and will probably never feel comfortable being anywhere else. So we returned. (Side note: I think I got a wee bit of hometowndenveritis from my dad, even though it conflicts with my hatred of cold weather. I do love my hometown).

Also, I spent a few summers visiting my grandmother in California. As usual, I OD’d on “rotten” spoiling and fun. Beach nearly every day. Baseball games. Little road trips throughout the coast side. Arcades on Santa Monica pier. Los Angeles is a very cool place. Especially when you don’t live there and you can romanticize the sights and fun places. But my time in California— as contrasted with my time in Colorado – became a place of fun and opportunity. The coast and the beach, for example, represent youth – even for the old. Playing in the sand. Finding wonder in everything that washes up from the waves. The ocean itself is endless. It is like looking into the eyes of god and finding everything and nothing at the same time. So much in the ocean is uncharted and wondrous. There is no limit to it. It is undefined. In evolutionary terms, we came from the ocean. We are 60-plus percent water. Our minds and our origin and existence are uncharted and complex – like the ocean. We are ocean.

I believe it is my fascination and love with the ocean that has fueled much of my curiosities, and I believe it has a lot to do with defining who I am and how I see the world. For example, I believe people who love the mountains see them as a challenge. Something to overcome. Think about the metaphors we use like “climbing that mountain,” and “reaching that mountain top.” These aren’t metaphors we made on accident and use for no reason; they say something about how we view the mountains symbolically. I would contend that people who love mountains (and through connection Colorado) love challenges. Adventures that push you to a limit where there is some tangible accomplishment – i.e. the mountain’s top. Whereas, I view myself (the ocean) as someone (something) who (that) is much more abstract. I find wonder in the unknown. The ungraspable. Like the ocean. You can grab onto it only to watch it slip through your fingers. You can chart the sea but it is unlikely you’ll ever conquer it or understand it like you can a mountain. Someone like me can look at the mountains and feel nothing. It is a big rock. I can see it. Touch it. Define it. Great. The ocean, however, I cannot. So in addition to it being cold here in my hometown, I am landlocked and lost. I’m too far from my source of wonderment and feel painfully displaced. And I wholeheartedly believe I am this way because of the mythology I made for myself growing up. The mythology my mother and my grandmother helped cultivate.

Moreover, while I create this in my mind, it is simultaneously based on actual events and ideas and thoughts I’ve encountered. They reinforce each other. My experiences and my grandmother and mother helped me define what cold weather is. What snow is. What, conversely, the coast and sun-drenched Southern California is. For some people California is a huge dirty shithole. The beaches are packed and dirty. The people are pricks. Some associate snow and cold with hot chocolate, warm hugs and Christmas gifts. Maybe snowboarding and skiing. Somewhere along the line they developed their own mythology that defines how they see these things. And even though Colorado and the Front Range have grown, they view this area as an untainted natural and recreational heaven. To them snow is something exciting and wondrous and endless. Something to play in. Something beautiful to look at driving home. To me I would rather have god shit on me from the clouds than deal with snow, and the mountains are simply boring.

My final point is how identity plays a part in all this. Because this is the mythology I subscribe to in regards to weather and natural things like oceans v. mountains, I invent myself in my daily life. When it snows, I am miserable because that misery helps define who I am. I am not offended that frozen water crystals actually prevent me from doing something; I am offended because I tell myself they do, and because I want them to. And ocean isn’t inherently abstract and endless, but it is to me, and I feel an affinity to ocean because it reflects me because I make it my reflection. These myths are like my children and I nurture them. I see myself in them.

I feel sorry for those close to me because I react so extremely to weather, and I talk about how much I hate Colorado. Many of these people are also from here and get slightly offended because much of their mythology and identify are centered in their Denver/Colorado origin. So is mine – I can talk shit about Denver but you can’t! Some of them love the snow (fucking sickos). I also feel sorry for these folks because hearing someone complain all the time – especially about something they perceive as silly like weather – can be annoying and a drag. Thus, I suppose I wrote this to explain something to you, my readers and friends, and to myself. There are things that define us in ways that are profound and beyond our own comprehension. They define every thought we have and every action we take. This is my attempt to touch the surface of my own thinking, and perhaps inspire someone else to look deeper at how the unnoticed defines her. Or him. And, in all honesty, I wrote this to avoid grading papers and to reconnect with something I love dearly and don’t spend nearly enough time with: writing.

Now that’s something I can write about next.

2010-02-09T22:00:00.000-08:00

i speak to the end of time
from the outside of my own mind
recognizing this self
forcing me to be kind
wait
start overOOOOOrewind
i speak to the end of time
knowing what matters is raw energy
knowing what matters is raw energy
mimicing matterOOOOOas a matter of fact
like symbols in a work of fine art
enriched soil where a mind starts
defying all thought through its heart

rewind
i speak to the end of time
staring at the sun
and challenging god to a game of creation
while seeing what stains the lenses of my mind
i can seeOOOOOrewind
i can seeOOOOOrewind
all this chaos is kind
kiss me on the cheek
see you laterOOOOOgoodbye
are you out of your mind
our you out of our mind
feel the light pinch
and burn nerves on the shadowiest parts of skin
let it start at the end and end to begin
like self imposed rug burns
reaching the heights of clouds and setting it all afire
providing a colorful ceremony at day's rest
while you awakeOOOOOin awe of it all
awesome like the subtle shift of seasons
from springtime to fall
from listener to call
calling to all
call to the wildOOOOOaloneOOOOOin awe
call to the end of time and leave a message at the tone
rewind
though know there's no 1 available to return your call
I’m too busy living
and wondering why you're not
how did you forgot
too busy convincing matter to shift
like icicles turning hot
and still it remains
a symbol of your own reluctance
stop

rewind

rewind to another time
and beg nostalgia to provide meaning in the old
because with dark comes the cold
and the blankets you own are soiled and spotted with holes
and you've reached all you can know
and want it
all
to
slow

down

just so you still know

call
call
call to those speaking to the end of time
and tell them they're out of their mind
the sun has set
now sleep
the sun has set
now sleepOOOOOdear children
scholars
artists
we have the rest of our life to forget
and nothing to regret

2010-02-09T21:52:00.000-08:00

de alguna manera
nos hemos convertido en un cuerpo unificado
juntos como un lenguaje
precario
capaz de organizar
la expresión
y aún así indefinidos

de alguna manera
me doy cuenta de ésto ahora
y sin ti
me rehúso a existir
me rehúso a adquirir
una forma conciente
en mi propia mente
como cuando sabes que podes pestañear
sorprendido
de las finas funciones motoras
que escapan a tu control
como cuando una canción
invade la parte más profunda
de un recuerdo
y de repente
define todo
lo que eres
lo que fuiste
y lo que nunca supiste
que podías ser

de alguna manera, en tu
ausencia, me he vuelto
más completo
como en ese momento
cuando el miedo te ayuda a darte cuenta
de tu propia fragilidad
de alguna manera siempre he sabido esto
porque
quiero conocerte
pero no quiero que estes ahi
porque
con mi torpeza
te destruire a ti
y me perdere a mi

2009-12-30T20:12:00.000-08:00

midnight accepts my presence
i have a plan
and belong here
away in a mirrorless cabinet
until someone imagines my purpose
births and raises me
as if i were their poem
a collection of metaphors
and something implied
a holy text for the blind
patient and self described
but not tonight
because i am what cannot be said
in literal language
and i'm not alone
i'm only a momentary stream of light
from a far away star
among others who set the night ablaze
because it is in meditation and closed eyes
that we become self-appointed gods
willing the structures of language to bend
in imagination
letting go of what confines words
and defines our hesitation
we exist as new meaning
free of any sen—tence
or pre—tense
existing in all forms:
past, present and future tense
all now
finally fit to ex—ist
and be not—iced

2009-05-22T20:24:00.000-07:00

I seek guidance in moonshine
making love to blissful moments
too fleeting for definition

"who would like to join me,"
I ask myself in solitude
knowing deafening silence awaits

2009-05-18T17:24:00.000-07:00

i'm stunned at the ways
an ironic evening can define
the night
one that's yet to come

and we notice in slumber
those summer moments
when newly minted
leaves chime
to the memory of something that has
yet to occur

and i
like you
concur

i
like you
unaware
like awakening to
new foliage shading
a living room window
and
appreciating its
presence

like remaining an innocent bystander
to your most difficult
breaths
knowing it's not only
air that fills your
lungs

knowing
rather feeling
the effects of energy
waiting for the
time when everything's
captured in song
in poetry

knowing
rather feeling
that the cooling effects
of your favorite
breeze
often tickles your
senses
and fades
before
you notice it

2009-05-05T21:58:00.000-07:00

somehow
we've become a unified body
together like language
in raw forms
able to organize
utterance
yet still undefined

somehow
i realize this now
and without you
i refuse to exist
refuse to take
a conscious form
in my own mind
like knowing you can blink
in awe
of the fine motor functions
outside your control
like when a song
invades the deepest
part of memory
and suddenly
defines everything
you are
and were
and never knew
you could be

somehow in your
absence i've become
more complete
like that moment
when fear helps you realize
your own frailty
somehow i've known this all along
because
i want to know you
but don't want to know you're there
because
in my clumsiness
i will destroy you
and lose me

2009-04-21T20:36:00.000-07:00

resistance
is an eye
traced in bright color
afterwaves
seeking a host
open enough
to
accept ambient pulses
of blindness--
the ability to let
soundwaves
carry ambition
to undisclosed places
to no where

though it's lonely
it's a place
of
absence
like midnight alleyways
and all you want to
do is avoid home
at all costs
and find yourself alone
screaming
finally free of
predetermined
thoughts
finally able to
resist
and find comfort in
consequence

2009-04-17T23:38:00.000-07:00

he needs a moment of inspiration
to feather down from a partly cloudy sky
until it is somewhat in reach and able to be seen and understood

that is when he will realize that
like cognitive dissonance
routine isn't something immeditately visible and assured

rather it is something meant to trouble the mind like wildfires clearing the way for new growth

rather something meant to be be seen in invisible silence

Something Resembling an Introduction

2009-02-26T16:44:00.000-08:00

Greetings:

This blog is part of a new project that I hope can do two things: keep me sane and urge me to write more. As any writer knows you need an audience and purpose to fuel your writing -- that is assuming you intend your writing to know eyes beyond yours.

I've noticed that a lot of my writing mentions silence. Not sure why, but when I first noticed I became frustrated with myself because I kept seeing too many of the same images and thoughts reexpressed. My first urge is to bury those poems like well-intentioned gold fish and feature only ones that are vastly different than the others. But that brings more frustration because then when you're writing you become obsessed with finding new words and images, and that prevents you from writing all together. At least me anyway.

So I've decided to let it go a bit because I've noticed that most people don't notice (or care), and because often there's a reason. The most likely reason is you're still in that creative space and haven't exhausted that feeling or idea. If something hasn't completely expressed itself, then let it be is my new philosophy. Besides, over time your writing will evolve. Patience is indeed a virtue, especially when centered in the creative process.

So what I've done with this blog is post writing that seems connected to this notion of silence. My concept hasn't matured past that, though it might -- or might not! Over time, I plan to sequence and create a paper published version (most likely a zine) for anyone who cares to read it while crapping. Obviously, a sequence is tough here because posts order when posted and some come later than others and some of these are poems that I've written a while back. But I will see what I can do. I might decide sequence doesn't matter because I embrace the beauty of the random.

I also plan on posting an earlier sequence called Valencia (on valenciapoem.blogspot.com). I will create as many sequences as blogger allows, and I will network them all together for interested readers, which I don't imagine are many at this point.

Moreover, I won't speak much about myself or anything like that because I don't want vanity to get in the way of what I am trying to say in the writing. However, having said that I recognize that statement itself is an exercise in vanity, so is most everything else we do citing vanity or trying to escape it. So fuck it!

I hope you like what you read, and I would love feedback. I don't plan on editing comments or anything unless people abuse basic respect principles -- the most basic being don't be a mindless asshole.

Cheers and enjoy
~vince

2009-02-25T11:01:00.000-08:00

Now he believes

humankind's most divine creation

He's listening

Americans want willfully ineffective government

WAR OF WORDS

the nector of immortality

symbolically cleansed by the flames
the most favorable time for ritual bathing

SCORCHING SUN casts long shadows
Rift escarpments in the distance, now heavily eroded, once adjoined

Four drops of amrit fell to the earth,
making four sacred places.

2009-02-14T20:11:00.000-08:00

i silently seek you
like song at the bed of inspiration

gazing out my apartment window I stare into a maturing midnight,
my half reflection and many more things undefined

i passively watch light fill the city streets like thin yellow razors
and absorb into the scenery

in what's become a ritual,
i sit here slightly isolated
looking up at a full moon centered against a starless sky

through small cracks in the window pane
i hear the winter wind whisper like traffic,
and i wonder over my final physical form
because these moments have usually been kind
and i'm renewed at my flirtation with self pity

i'm alone
and it's been years since i've known your presence
i can hardly remember what it feels like

but in small traces i can recapture you
like in the clouding sky and light snow that begins to accumulate on rooftops
we never liked the cold but we have to admit it carries our history
and nothing can take that away from me
even when remaining light retreats like a recovering wave
and we're left to accept this
and escape into our blurred serenity
assured
complicated
unsettled

2009-02-14T20:10:00.000-08:00

let me form new memories
from mundane moments
as usual
unaware
spiraling like foam in a warming beer
as my eyes fixate on still objects while life swirls colorfully at the margins
a moment alone
stale like the taste of nostalgia
and i pondering imaginary movement
still reflection
street lights glistening off wet pavements
cigarette smoke winding up cold air
something i relive in isolation
nights bashful and impartial

i sit alone among voices
muted conversations oblivious to my curious ear
as though i'm the center of attention in my own mind
and nothing realizes my presence
and the only kind thought is that i'll never
see us here again
or that i've transformed into the cool breeze
i've longed to escape

i apologize for all of this
we're both victor and victim to its magnificence
both prisoners to forces that long existed
and plagued the bedsheets of lovers and wayward hearts
since god suggested sex and lust
and called it something else
since we learned to play games that implied rules

we die like all things
and lament circumstance
like a comfortable morning sky regrets the sun
the milky skies of burning red renewal
an epiphany that in death
arrives and begins anew

i promise i'll fade like this morning fog
because it is the last time we'll be at this moment
together
it is the last time our words will carry weight
because we've moved on
to a place where words die like vapor
and good intensions burn like promises we knew we'd break

2008-11-15T16:21:00.000-08:00

i've been here many times
looking out at my hometown
city lights penetrating the purpling sky like sex
one that willfully violates my renewing innocence
everything like burning embers in a fire pit

somehow i'm connected and aware
in the presence of all things absent
thought feeling spirit
all of everything combined
the pulsing lights and piercing city streets
veins to my newly defined vision

i can't help but dream of the last time
i killed myself and didn't seek rebirth
but here i am infantile and wise
absorbed into the brisk air
fading into a small, slight allowance of silence
floating like darkness in a mirror

2008-09-27T21:07:00.000-07:00

somehow i convince myself this
is the same sun that circles my reality
then
the patterns of fall repeat again
like un-trusty clockwork
like a sex moment with myself
and i return here
at the moment of personal revolution
when the leaves sit loosely on
branches, ... standing by
like me
waiting
reflecting on a change that's yet
to define me ... and ... fuck it
i want to know something
just one thing
i want to prepare
like the almost yellow leaves
aren't i a part of the cycle too?
somehow enslaved to forces that urge me
free?
but the more i think
the less i want to understand
or care about knowing anything
forgive me i am drunk and don't care to write well
i use poetry like wind uses a storm front
and i am unable to understand or
control either ... and i don't fucking care
my mind sinks
like an ignored earthquake
in some foreign place
defeated
and i succumb to the images in my head
replaying like an invisible montage
something like a bad 1980s movie
that celebrates a sudden growth or accomplishment ... fucking lame
one i purposely forget yet it sculpts how i view things
a collage of thoughts and feelings
i thought made me who i used to be
but i realize ... well nothing ... fuck it ... this is the last thing i'll write about
but i remember
and piece together a blurry mess
of images and feeling
adding to the soundscape
of the city's inspiration
a collection of jazz sounds and rock and roll moments
all not happening now
dead moments and a brutal and ceaseless nostalgia
fuck you
no really fuck you
the one-way traffic outside
my apartment window
like a brick wall yet able to allow fragments of the events
outside its contain
in here
the sounds of life
the progression of death
in us all
lies and drug use
pleads for change
in both senses of the word
sense like vision but unlike sound
shoes on concrete
walking
pit pat pit pat pit pat pit pat pit pat pit pat
cris crunch cris crunch cris crunch cris crunch cris crunch cris cruch
greeting concrete like i greet myself at a bathroom mirror
bam
smash
crash
fuck you
again
everyday
attempts to find something
i might recognize
fuck you
in a place where i can misplace the essentials of my face
defining moments happening then and now
in something i create with my borrowed eyes
i know the sun circles and connects us
or at least i've heard rumors and subscribe to the idea
thanks for the insight ... really it fucking helps
god is truely divine and a provider of maps
but i wonder if those around me bother to wonder as i do
bother to masterbate on lonely nights
ummmm
or whether they're similarly alone
with themselves
wonder whether you also become overcome with fragments of something
seriously what the fuck am i writing
saying
you can't possibly understand or
give a shit about ...
amid the life we create and the life we
well ...
divine first words during divine last moments
i wonder if you're as alone as i

:-#

2008-09-23T17:50:00.000-07:00

dear you,

will you speak with me?

i speak in emoticons
and was
born in nineteen-eighty

played with decepticons
and reject war rationale
and war songs
war profiteers and war cons

it is now i stand
it is now i speak
because i too am from a broken generation

am i in part to blame?

when bush was elected
my age group
neglected
to stand
to march
to stop complaining to a mouse clicking for a myspace account

brb

i've promised many
including myself
that i'd be an agent
have faith in the working class
the ghetto
the disenfranchised
the figuratively raped
and the spirit of reason who tells me to be patient

"we can't let this go on forever"
"eight years is enough"

though it's forty years too late
and the grip on our throats has
been there before our memories

existed

and
lifted our eyes

know surprise

it's not gonna pass
can distort our best intentions
and it's coming fast

beware and aware

so forgive us!
for it's hard to remember!

change has crossed the lips of great men and women before

only to be silenced at the tear of gun fire
only to watch hope reduced to a glimmer

rather beaten by power
the greedy the seedy and the selfish like a resistant whore

or an image conscious generation told it needs to be thinner

what have we done?
where have we been?
broken generation
what are we fucking doing?

we've never known
a life without hyper consumerism
false needs and corporate control

the hyper real
and the watered down
choices of the every four-year-Super-Election-Bowl

grab your popcorn
strap in and watch them
fool you into participation
with a process that prefers your complete submission
like gang rape in a five dollar porn

mcdonalds seduced us with cartoons
carbon footprints
plastic toys
and colorfully packaged obesity

we've been breast fed by fat cats and the morally dead
who’ve supplied our every need
and valued us as profit margins
only!

and if we're poor we're valued as soldiers
dodging bullets till one strikes our head

and we fight for you?

and i'm a criminal if i smoke weed?
if i run a red light?
if i speed?

i’m a criminal if i protest
a system that
had i any sense
i would passionately detest?

if that's the standard i passionately resist

is this seriously the best we can fucking do?
seriously?

if so i am through
through letting my words
and my art
speak from the margins

i refuse to let you victimize
me
convince me MY values are garbage

because i'm a progressive
a god damn left-leaning revolutionary

so fuck your god
because he's my oppressor

fuck your police sanctioned pepper spray, batons and horse
that breaks up my voice
on the sixteenth street mall
during the dnc
because i say fuck the system
with desire and force

because in a "representative" government
i have NO fucking choice

i’m broken but i can regenerate
and not fear
but survive and use my hate

because it breeds action

i'm post republican
post conservative
and post racial
and while a figure of the system
i support barack obama
because he symbolizes hope even if he can't be it
for a broken generation

he's my lone candidate
because of what he can make me be:
a grassroots voice from the top

and after eight years of this,
an unelected leader who never
won the office let alone had a mandate,
we can be change

so fuck the unpresident
of the divided states of america
and the mindless fear mongering he represents

and fuck his clone jeorge mcsame
and his god damn alaskan slave
-- she actually supported the bridge to nowhere
and is hell bent on leading all of us there!

we're broken
disenfranchised
bloodstained
but without the blood on our hands
from an unjust war executed by a truly evil man

and as for his clone,
it is self-evident that we can't let him be president
and we can't defeat him alone

broken
we are
but
like shattered glass
our lack of unity
makes us a threat
and sharp
to an exposed
naked
and self assured
plump and pompous ass

i'm no democrat
but a bleeding heart liberal
beating the shit
out of our recent and shameful past

and like the cutters of my generation
who killed themselves
as victims of an unprovoked sense of hopelessness
we are the razors to the wrists of injustice
of ignorance

of you fucking assholes

i'm a human first and american
LAST

when something's destroyed people
for political gains
it can go to the hell it fictionalizes
and kiss my "loony" ass

country first?
what about ethics, love and compassion?
those are the values of my generation

broken as we may be
but a reflection
of a yet-to-be moment in
history
when we finally started to resist

closed our hands when told to salute
and instead clenched our fingers
for a FUCK YOU fist

you don't speak for me
you don't represent me
but i resent you

i stand with the silenced and the defiant
the humble
the forgotten
and the community reliant

not communist
but dutifully committed
to the ideals of a proud socialist

i stand against your ideology
against your spiritual and mental monopoly
over the minds of the wise
and broken
kind and never spoken

my regeneration

indeed
my soldiers of the spring
my multicultural
my gay and lesbian friends
and straight aligned
my male and female sisters and brothers
real lovers, fathers and mothers
we have had enough

but those words hold no relevance
when reduced to counter culture blogs
and complaints at poetry slams

god damn i'm through
god damn i'm through
letting my words and art not matter

my precious values floating aimlessly in the margins
like the last few o's
in a cereal bowl

god damn it
i'm a writer and a fighter
detached from the majority
a minority
and a uniter

god damn i'm through
being ignored by the mindless
selfish and the few

i'm an elitist
an intellectual
because being elitely intelligent is what we should all strive for

i'm determined to invade each
red state with reason

with all the love and passion in me
and i pity those who call me their enemy

i’m against the things that make me hate
-- we all have it in us but how we use it determines everyone’s fate.

i’m through being bitter
a hostage of george w bush, the new age hitler
i'm through being a hostile coffee shop liberal
the lightly spoken individual
restrained by the literal to be non committal

to my needs
our needs

as agents of progressive change
our new focus on the internal
external and the communal

i'm through being the broken generation
a degenerate
and product of

a

broken

fucking

nation

will you speak with me?

please!

sincerely, vincent alan adams

written the day after the 7-year anniversary of nine eleven

2008-09-23T17:48:00.001-07:00

i lay at night
this night
exhausted from insomnia
craving a sort of chaos in a still
smoke filled room

were we supposed to make love tonight? or fuck?
or were we destined to walk
and embrace the early morning’s slight moisture
while street lights projected our shadows ahead of us

i'm not sure what to do
but i know this journey toward clarity
only makes my thoughts abstract
as though irony wanted to rain
while a newborn sun prepared to cut
through a reluctant blue sky
-- like suicide

what am i to make of all this
these red eyes lonely, tight and tear stained
my swirly reflection pulsing in a mirror
i will soon never see again

i know once i understand this it makes
me know you less
and it makes me question myself
and reshape an identity i've yet to know

2008-09-23T17:48:00.000-07:00

you don't have to see this with me
this midnight darkened horizon
but i want you to walk in silence
and hear these muted voices
speak the wind's language
reminding us of memories we've traveled
all this way to forget

i want us to walk this road and let
the cold air move through our dry skin
this way we can rebel against our
need for sight and comfort
and i can remember what inspires
us
and what erases vanity
and what compels men and women to move
toward thunderstorms

at times i forget and trust others
to guide me
and i don't want you to make the same
mistake
because i have and will again
and i need your strength

2008-09-23T17:47:00.000-07:00

let me please light this last cigarette and watch the smoke coil
as i lie back and taste traces of jack daniel evenings
recounting events that define the way my eyes recall imagery
my reflection
telling tales that stretch beyond notions of love
that shatter notions of identity
notions of being whole
complete
let me smoke until the drought of eternity
when all liquids refuse to pass through my body
and i’m a shriveled version of what i used to be and want to be
let me stop smoking until i want to smoke again
and forbid you from passing judgment
forbid you from defining the lights i choose to see and lights i can’t see and lights i don’t want to see
let me seek you at my most vulnerable
those nights when i crave the moist scent of your voice
and simultaneously demand you disappear
let me recall dark lit nights and eyes cold with regret
let my arms feel the memory of circling your body like reluctant halos
i want to remember speaking naked in movement
redefining love to accept our need to feel each other
sex
moments static like a wind that changes only to bring familiar clouds
let me recall imagery that defines my past like wax on my finger tips
like your shadow fluttering behind the candle light after our last time together
let me redream that night staring outside the window
watching the moonlight dress the landscape
realizing love exists as common dreams in arms that lust to keep us warm
i can’t regret you and i can’t regret that you once and will always define me
i can only float in a wind like a withered leaf
and let your energy embody and symbolize me
i can only wisp in your form and let you exist in many faces
i can only float like smoke and let new cycles pass through my body
i can only trust the moment and trust that as one song dies another lives and is reborn
through my body
i can only sway in realms of abstraction hoping to see you once in a while
hoping that you’ll see me too

2008-09-23T17:46:00.000-07:00

2008-09-23T17:44:00.000-07:00

the light pierces
the sun
for the first time—this early spring
when surrounding clouds allow vision
and the trees
with infant budlings
whistle in the wind—naked, eager
without a shred of maturity
without a cause for ego
without the energy to renew distant hopes and dreams
this
man's final call—evaporated
in a distant frosty fog
that…ices everything…that
once-warmed monuments defined—a culture
a small moment with a god—or goddess
who never lived but
pulsed rhythm
in a vast collection of brightly lit chests
bent over
painfully …screaming…reaching out
hoping to one day move clouds—like gods—or goddesses
in ways that encourage the sun
to pulse forgiving light
this time

2008-09-23T17:42:00.000-07:00

sometimes i speak
silently through
a candle’s flame
alone
untainted by artificial moonlight .... and
permitted to touch
some scandalous excursion
through the scales of my skin
or a syntax that moves
a pencil to solve a small
personal paradox—in one night

in one night vast energies
play sacred games in my favor
and demand the colors of life
to cooperate with a daft
man's ambition

when i speak
silently
the eyes of man remain
closed in ignorant slumber
and
as distant as a
nonexistent shadow
or a silhouette
in a dark ocean's tide

in one night i can escape
chains that burden brilliance
and pity those who
conquer frivolous
claiming some encounter with freedom .... in one night

2008-09-23T17:41:00.000-07:00

suffocating in clean water and fresh air hoping new pollutants clear my mind and convince me of my new personal goal to travel on dark red rectangles new enterprises to undefined locations and creative spaces to transform the shit you leave behind new clay to reform shapeless matter into enlightened figurines of humanity i'm a god like jesus who redeems spirits while bodies willingly waste away and in search of fake shit

2008-09-23T17:40:00.000-07:00

on some drunk real like fuck the world kinda shit deconstructing reality with broken drums and distorted guitars assembling something that looks like a reality fitting of the fucking chaos people hide from their fucking skulls finding harmony in black disjointed dissonance and calling it music fuck you

2008-09-23T17:27:00.000-07:00

i meet him at the thought of ritual
where i move to
an incomplete melody

i beg him for the moment when sound
strikes the ear
and my thoughts drift as though
they never occurred
like an invisible sun flare piercing its nearest satellite
and whose energy reaches the
outer limits of atmosphere
and influences the way nature
contemplates movement and change

patience, he tells me
awareness breeds sight and
only blindness allows
a space for sensation

i grab the beads he offers
and i rattle them in my hand
and feel command
as though i hold a hundred
small thunderstorms

i know i do not belong here
and i know i haven't realized
the place i imagined
and i know the goal of journey
but somehow i find peace
in silence -- in holding something i can't touch
and fragments of speech
and languages i can't speak

i find peace in broken words
and poems without focus
purpose

i still see miles of
uncharted sound
i suddenly don't want to touch
but i want to dance to its memory
its energy

i want to fly on a sky made of sand
to remind me of my origin
to remind me he doesn't and can't exist
and that god is only a travel companion
and that peace
drifts on its own terms

2008-09-23T17:25:00.000-07:00

all too often you return in familiar form casting nets like memories ... luring me back as you did the first and last time we touched ... what gets me now is that your power over me not only remains but has strengthened in your absence ... your fingers reach through a fog of time and dampen my skin like beads of rain and i a listless bystander only able to comprehend the irony that pulses through your finger tips ... a current that lives as vibrant as the death that heats its breath

and on these nights when the moon glazes the skyline a milky blue and the city’s silent in reluctant energy ... i speak to you from a place i hope you’ll never hear because if you knew these thoughts you’d reject me again ... turn your back on me again ... but maybe cry this time ... maybe cry again ... i speak from not far away ... within reach yet distant like touch ... within vision though invisible to your unprovoked eye ... hoping you can see the last of my opaque and transparent figure

i want you to know and love me as a fading whisper ... i want you to know that i am well and know that i forgive you and finally forgive myself and that its taken more than i could’ve known to form those words and mean them ... i want to know how you’re doing ... i want you to know that i still wonder about you but i see the last of you and i want your last trace to fade gracefully away ... i want what’s left of you, what’s left of us to die as a memory

in silence

forever