I loose focus in the profound moments.
Have you ever done that?
It's easier to just become passive and watch the world do it's work.
Sure, people, the world, will give you opportunities,
But you just sit on your porch, in the rocking chair
sipping coffee from your mother's mug.
"Leave me alone" you'll say when you are begged to move.
No, you'll just ignore the signs and omens,
And watch the days pass in front of you.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
New Love
How exciting new love is,
To flirt and giggle with a receptive partner.
To hold and be held, to cuddle all night.
To give part of yourself to the other;
A gift of great worth.
Love me, and never let go.
To flirt and giggle with a receptive partner.
To hold and be held, to cuddle all night.
To give part of yourself to the other;
A gift of great worth.
Love me, and never let go.
Friday, November 2, 2012
3-in-1
I am slave to the electronics: computer, cell phone,
Printed and published words I care not to read.
Most of the world is digital and wi-fi compatible anyway,
who cares about the antiques anymore?
What can interpersonal skills do for a reputation when all people want are short brief instant message and text convos?
Why go on when the world is about to whimper it’s waning existence?
Does anyone listen to the voice of reason or conscience anymore?
We no longer pay attention to one another, only our screens which destroy our beautiful gift of sight slowly.
No actual conversations, just short digital words.
Our society is so fucked up,
What nation would allow it’s citizens to fall into apathy and never rise again?
Our leaders must want us as docile as jawless zombies, chained on a leash and forced to follow and obey.
I cry when I think about my future, and the amount of work I must accomplish.
I just don’t care anymore.
I hate this place and what it’s done to me. I want to leave and never return.
Just abandon it; it’s all you know.
Monday, October 29, 2012
My Influences
Edgar Allen Poe
Franz Kafka
William Faulkner
David Kirby
William Shakespeare
John Keats
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Ralph Waldo Emerson
T.S. Eliot
And others, I'm impressionable.
Franz Kafka
William Faulkner
David Kirby
William Shakespeare
John Keats
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Ralph Waldo Emerson
T.S. Eliot
And others, I'm impressionable.
Breakdown
I am the failure.
The words of the wise once said to break the depression, you must kill the apathy with action.
I try to do. Is that my downfall? Try?
My horrible hands stained with the filth of failure;
A constant reminder of my inability.
I have nothing to show,
Nothing to leave but dirt covered relations.
How did I turn into this sappy looser?
What did I do? What didn't I do?
I feel I know the answer, but I don't wish to say.
The words of the wise once said to break the depression, you must kill the apathy with action.
I try to do. Is that my downfall? Try?
My horrible hands stained with the filth of failure;
A constant reminder of my inability.
I have nothing to show,
Nothing to leave but dirt covered relations.
How did I turn into this sappy looser?
What did I do? What didn't I do?
I feel I know the answer, but I don't wish to say.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Mong-ewish Wedding
A half Mongol and half Jewish wedding is the most interesting and exciting,
Except no single women at all.
Makes sense, all the cute and hot Jewish women are chosen first and quickly.
And no Mongolians to show off my language skills to
Other than the bewildered and confused bride.
Weddings are exhausting to all involved-- planning, catering, traveling, driving, eating, dancing, all of the above for some.
The finale of the disco-tech dance circle makes us the popular among the middle aged woman,
and the jealous, control freak boyfriend of the drunk girl who just wants to dance.
It's one of the few cards I was given by the God above,
One of my heavenly gifts--awkward dancing.
Use what you got, and see what you catch.
Dream big though; no low expectations.
Except no single women at all.
Makes sense, all the cute and hot Jewish women are chosen first and quickly.
And no Mongolians to show off my language skills to
Other than the bewildered and confused bride.
Weddings are exhausting to all involved-- planning, catering, traveling, driving, eating, dancing, all of the above for some.
The finale of the disco-tech dance circle makes us the popular among the middle aged woman,
and the jealous, control freak boyfriend of the drunk girl who just wants to dance.
It's one of the few cards I was given by the God above,
One of my heavenly gifts--awkward dancing.
Use what you got, and see what you catch.
Dream big though; no low expectations.
Poem on Oct. 20th
How to create an enlightened society
is one of those subjects that you don't expect the correct answer.
As the mind fuck film genre's finale, so is the path to enlightenment.
What more can I write when I am not versed in the subject,
All because I received a BA in BS.
I must say something, even if if makes my intelectual appearance seem
Uneducated and dumb. (Don't blame me, it's how I was raised).
Poetry is one of those subjects that I am not well versed in.
Sure, I read and write once every Blue Moon,
But that makes me no poet, not a creator (although my creations wonder why they exist, as the creature of the lady Shelly did).
The time of self loathing is upon us.
It's the way the river of style and culture flow.
And rivers don't lie.
They are harshly truthful and seriously critical.
How would one survive? The current just pulls you away.
Adios.
is one of those subjects that you don't expect the correct answer.
As the mind fuck film genre's finale, so is the path to enlightenment.
What more can I write when I am not versed in the subject,
All because I received a BA in BS.
I must say something, even if if makes my intelectual appearance seem
Uneducated and dumb. (Don't blame me, it's how I was raised).
Poetry is one of those subjects that I am not well versed in.
Sure, I read and write once every Blue Moon,
But that makes me no poet, not a creator (although my creations wonder why they exist, as the creature of the lady Shelly did).
The time of self loathing is upon us.
It's the way the river of style and culture flow.
And rivers don't lie.
They are harshly truthful and seriously critical.
How would one survive? The current just pulls you away.
Adios.
On Traveling: Road Trips with Ger 13
You're exhausted always, even before you leave the starting point.
Making inside jokes to remember why or how you began the friendships with the others,
And stoping to pee at abandoned fuel stations.
Look up at the sky while you pee, it makes the experience much more rewarding.
Nervously clenching the wheel, fiddling with the cruise control;
Why not just drive in the middle to increase the nervousness of others.
"I'm fine" you say to calm others as well as yourself, but they know just as well as you.
Nothing wrong about those thoughts, that's why we have Grand Theft Auto.
Sleeping is more difficult than trying to stay awake during your driving shift
(At least Bob knows to stop when he can't go anymore).
Do you rest your head on the window, straining your neck while your head
Keeps slipping into the crevice between the seat and window
With a thud and bruise to follow each time the car swerves.
Or perhaps curl up into a human ball on the seat
By removing your belt and risking your neck.
The next 12 hours are brutal and damaging to the body and psyche,
As well as your sense of humor.
Making inside jokes to remember why or how you began the friendships with the others,
And stoping to pee at abandoned fuel stations.
Look up at the sky while you pee, it makes the experience much more rewarding.
Nervously clenching the wheel, fiddling with the cruise control;
Why not just drive in the middle to increase the nervousness of others.
"I'm fine" you say to calm others as well as yourself, but they know just as well as you.
Nothing wrong about those thoughts, that's why we have Grand Theft Auto.
Sleeping is more difficult than trying to stay awake during your driving shift
(At least Bob knows to stop when he can't go anymore).
Do you rest your head on the window, straining your neck while your head
Keeps slipping into the crevice between the seat and window
With a thud and bruise to follow each time the car swerves.
Or perhaps curl up into a human ball on the seat
By removing your belt and risking your neck.
The next 12 hours are brutal and damaging to the body and psyche,
As well as your sense of humor.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Thoughts of the Grandfather
One of the last things he said to me was,
"I can feel the reaping a coming".
I knew the end was nigh.
He would never be the same, hasn't for two decades,
Always changing.
But since he's been empty, other than blue feelings,
he's been gone. The Green Eyes to him must feel like
Using a pencil after a long gap of ink pen substitutes to me.
Well, all I've been able to do is say wrong words
and host poor timing. Seems as though I have much to learn still.
"I can feel the reaping a coming".
I knew the end was nigh.
He would never be the same, hasn't for two decades,
Always changing.
But since he's been empty, other than blue feelings,
he's been gone. The Green Eyes to him must feel like
Using a pencil after a long gap of ink pen substitutes to me.
Well, all I've been able to do is say wrong words
and host poor timing. Seems as though I have much to learn still.
Limerick
Tick tock, tick tock
goes the Grandfather clock.
The pendulum swings,
my mind sings,
about my emotional lock.
goes the Grandfather clock.
The pendulum swings,
my mind sings,
about my emotional lock.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Poem for Oct. 12, 2012
The longer I go without achieving a goal, the more apathetic my soul becomes,
and the deeper I fall into the abyss of my childhood's rearing home.
The words of my favorite dead grandfather ring through my ears only when I
turn my thoughts to him, (the rest of the day is filled with quiet rooms and empty thoughts).
Maybe someone will injure them self at the ole watering hole so I might be able to use my
skills of healing. Can you hold my head granddad? my neck is tired.
There is very little for me here, yet I continue to stay and involuntarily wane my bank account;
I don't even have my own home or automobile to help with that. It still occurs,
so does the trip to the plateau of old country friends and giants; that will cause financial depreciation.
I've used up my whore usages, over drafted actually, by two. Frankly, one is too many times and should be punished by shunning. What happens after two? Death or grave secrete? I've
learnt to be more open book since returned, but maybe others don't want or need to know.
The girl who I adore, and left abruptly with a possible promise of a future, drifts in and out of my mind, as waves to the shore. The biggest waves are the most damaging. I broke something of hers
and I don't know how to mend it. I've never been a skilled craftsman, or couth, or timely with the female side of this world (I was told there is no gender in heaven).
Maybe she resent me, or others like me,
Maybe she's going through her own depression,
Or maybe I'm alone.
I may be poor in many aspects, but at least I look good in a new suit (shallow me).
and the deeper I fall into the abyss of my childhood's rearing home.
The words of my favorite dead grandfather ring through my ears only when I
turn my thoughts to him, (the rest of the day is filled with quiet rooms and empty thoughts).
Maybe someone will injure them self at the ole watering hole so I might be able to use my
skills of healing. Can you hold my head granddad? my neck is tired.
There is very little for me here, yet I continue to stay and involuntarily wane my bank account;
I don't even have my own home or automobile to help with that. It still occurs,
so does the trip to the plateau of old country friends and giants; that will cause financial depreciation.
I've used up my whore usages, over drafted actually, by two. Frankly, one is too many times and should be punished by shunning. What happens after two? Death or grave secrete? I've
learnt to be more open book since returned, but maybe others don't want or need to know.
The girl who I adore, and left abruptly with a possible promise of a future, drifts in and out of my mind, as waves to the shore. The biggest waves are the most damaging. I broke something of hers
and I don't know how to mend it. I've never been a skilled craftsman, or couth, or timely with the female side of this world (I was told there is no gender in heaven).
Maybe she resent me, or others like me,
Maybe she's going through her own depression,
Or maybe I'm alone.
I may be poor in many aspects, but at least I look good in a new suit (shallow me).
Friday, July 20, 2012
Currently
I don't read anymore, no more inspiration.
I don't write anymore, no more creations.
I don't think anymore, no more independent thoughts.
All I do is sit infront of the idiot box and let both my biological eyes and its electric eyes burn out,
This makes me die a little bit each day.
I begin to fret about my future, anxiety takes control and I pase up and down, inside and outside, north and south,
Nothing here is helping me,
Where is the aid located?
I don't write anymore, no more creations.
I don't think anymore, no more independent thoughts.
All I do is sit infront of the idiot box and let both my biological eyes and its electric eyes burn out,
This makes me die a little bit each day.
I begin to fret about my future, anxiety takes control and I pase up and down, inside and outside, north and south,
Nothing here is helping me,
Where is the aid located?
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Things I've Learned in Peace Corps Mongolia
- A new language
- Mongolian cultural habits
- How to download movies and TV shows
- Making fire
- Chopping wood
- Cooking- omelets, french toast, pancakes, fried rice, tsuvan, hosher, chili, stew,
- Cooking over a fire
- How to live without running water and/or indoor plumbing
- How to survive without electricity
- How to live without regular internet access
- Project Development: How to move from idea to reality (more development on this skill)
- Writing a project proposal and requesting grant money.
- A higher tolerance for Vodka
- How to eat all parts of an animal (guts, head, etc.)
- What Depression is (or S.A.D.)
- What COLD is (what -40 feels like)
- What Cabin fever is
- How to avoid annoying drunks
- What an annoying drunk really is
- Not having much privacy is normal
- Using an outhouse
- How to cut an animal carcass
- How to slaughter animals
- Beard grooming
- Entertaining myself for long amounts of time
- How to wear 2-3 pairs of pants at once
- Washing my clothes by hand
- Bathing without running water
- Mending clothes (stitching up holes)
- How to haggle
- Patience
- What Ambiguity is
- Teaching methods for TEFL
- Classroom management
- Basketball
- Volleyball
- Mongolians’ views on the Chinese and the Russians
- How to say family members in Russian
- Many words in Russian are the same in English (some examples: telephone, calculator, ).
- How to walk in snow & ice while keeping eggs from breaking
- How to cross a busy street in the city
- Mongolian women are gorgeous
- Famous countries for study abroad (Great Britain, Germany, Korea, Czech Republic, America,)
- Able to name the 21 aimags of Mongolia from memory
- Mongolian time is different than regular time
- How to swim in a river with a strong current
- How to fight angry territorial birds
- How to get high scores (95-100) on Karaoke machines
- Drinking at school or work is completely normal
- Planning parties and celebrations last minute
- Spending too much time on preparation for parties and celebrations
- How to co-lead a seminar
- How to make salt and pepper shakers out of hot sauce bottles (reusing/recycling)
- How to preform improv
- Pico’s cigarette strategy (for picking up women)
- How to live without proper working electronics or appliances
- How to survive a flood in a ger
- How to steal your friend’s blind date
- How to cool off during the summer (watch Community in your underwear)
- Blues music on harmonica
- How to (unintentionally) sexually harass a Mongolian co-worker
- What Inner Mongolia is
- How to unfreeze a water pump
- How to burn coal
- -40C = -40F
- Able to sing most parts of a few Mongolian songs
- formatting a flash drive doesn’t kill the virus that’s on it.
- how to inspect coal for burning
- How to use a french press
- How to use a swiss army knife's can opener properly
- How to break someone's heart.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Where Has My Wit Gone?
Where has my wit gone to?
Lost in the digital world.
Too much searching for 10 minute love causes my mind to melt.
Digital desire is not true desire, I know and recognize that, but I still log on every nite!
Maybe it has affected you too. (I only say that in hopes I don’t sink on the ship alone).
electronic stalking is all I need to satisfy the beast within. But when will it end? only with growth can I see a conclusion, followed by a prison cell or restraining order.
Where has my wit gone to?
Did I drop it in lake after an awkward conversation with a woman thinking my cuteness and shyness would be sufficient?
Perverts, voyers, and grimy pornography-
This is what you get when my mind is examined by professionals.
I feel frisky and desire to touch another person,
Physical contact is the thing I love the most.
But usually I just search for the five minute slut,
One who can stand my perverted desires and virginal sex talk:
Let's get naked, play with each other, make me feel good.
There is a tail side to this coin:
The closer I get physically, the more frightened I become.
This is what you get when my mind is examined by professionals.
I feel frisky and desire to touch another person,
Physical contact is the thing I love the most.
But usually I just search for the five minute slut,
One who can stand my perverted desires and virginal sex talk:
Let's get naked, play with each other, make me feel good.
There is a tail side to this coin:
The closer I get physically, the more frightened I become.
Friday, May 11, 2012
Journal Entry #357
I've learnt that I'm broken.
I've been pushed too far to the end, and I've fallen hard.
My mentality is warped, my souls feels like a rape victim,
My body is broken and weary.
I want out.
I want to go home.
I've forgotten what I came here to run away from.
Just as it always does, apathy interrupted my normality (I've actually forgotten what normalcy is).
I don't have proper conversations, I just want to be around someone who makes me laugh.
I'm usually not the talker, or the inventer.
I'm the follower, the listener.
Blinded by apathy, all I want is ignorant contempt.
But there are times I yearn for intelligence;
In me, a reader and researcher is buried deep down.
Now, where are the instructions for excavation?
I have not been faithful to the God I grew up with (the God who was with us in childhood).
I did seem a bit happier when I talked with him.
Where have I cast the shepherd of my soul?
Winter is depression,
Spring is bi-polar,
Summer is manic, anger or rage,
but Fall,
Well, Fall is happiness and contentment.
I've been pushed too far to the end, and I've fallen hard.
My mentality is warped, my souls feels like a rape victim,
My body is broken and weary.
I want out.
I want to go home.
I've forgotten what I came here to run away from.
Just as it always does, apathy interrupted my normality (I've actually forgotten what normalcy is).
I don't have proper conversations, I just want to be around someone who makes me laugh.
I'm usually not the talker, or the inventer.
I'm the follower, the listener.
Blinded by apathy, all I want is ignorant contempt.
But there are times I yearn for intelligence;
In me, a reader and researcher is buried deep down.
Now, where are the instructions for excavation?
I have not been faithful to the God I grew up with (the God who was with us in childhood).
I did seem a bit happier when I talked with him.
Where have I cast the shepherd of my soul?
Winter is depression,
Spring is bi-polar,
Summer is manic, anger or rage,
but Fall,
Well, Fall is happiness and contentment.
Current Status
I've traveled to dark places in recent times.
No, I haven't just scraped the tip of the ice burg,
But collided with the 90% underwater.
The Mongol winter has raped my spirits and emotions hard.
Most days I am an empty vessel made of meat-
A drone possibly-moving with no heart.
I passively request aid since I'm too shy to blurt out my feelings.
I was not trained for this, coping with a depressed doppelganger.
I know this is not my true twin. Where is he?
And where does this road end?
It's as ambiguous as the unpaved roads in
Chinggis's hometown.
Be I mad or scared?
I have intervals of both, a swinging pendulum.
Crossing over is as diving into the deep end of a pool.
But what happens to the individual when it stays on the bottom side too long?
No, I haven't just scraped the tip of the ice burg,
But collided with the 90% underwater.
The Mongol winter has raped my spirits and emotions hard.
Most days I am an empty vessel made of meat-
A drone possibly-moving with no heart.
I passively request aid since I'm too shy to blurt out my feelings.
I was not trained for this, coping with a depressed doppelganger.
I know this is not my true twin. Where is he?
And where does this road end?
It's as ambiguous as the unpaved roads in
Chinggis's hometown.
Be I mad or scared?
I have intervals of both, a swinging pendulum.
Crossing over is as diving into the deep end of a pool.
But what happens to the individual when it stays on the bottom side too long?
Living & Working In a Foreign Land
The foreigner never sees himself/herself as an outsider, but as part of the whole.
The creativity doesn't flow as the raging white water of strong rivers.
No, it's a sitting stagnant creek only muddy and damp.
A true lifeless mundane low.
The eyes always watching my every move
Fill my mind with intimidation.
I suddenly have the desire to better myself.
But other times, when they call me buffoon
Behind my back, all progress wanes.
I forget my placement at times,
Thinking it's safe to be my personal self
With my personal habits.
That's how to become an outcast.
While I sit waiting for the answer,
The answer life moves past.
I feel I do nothing of importance, just bitch to my peers and coworkers;
Not fixing anything, but destroying it.
Crippling my newly formed relationships seems to be my forte
The creativity doesn't flow as the raging white water of strong rivers.
No, it's a sitting stagnant creek only muddy and damp.
A true lifeless mundane low.
The eyes always watching my every move
Fill my mind with intimidation.
I suddenly have the desire to better myself.
But other times, when they call me buffoon
Behind my back, all progress wanes.
I forget my placement at times,
Thinking it's safe to be my personal self
With my personal habits.
That's how to become an outcast.
While I sit waiting for the answer,
The answer life moves past.
I feel I do nothing of importance, just bitch to my peers and coworkers;
Not fixing anything, but destroying it.
Crippling my newly formed relationships seems to be my forte
Untitled
(From before I went to Mongolia)
My mind and body don't work together.
Cooperation has never been my forte.
I am individualistic.
Hypnotic hills of the ancient horse land,
I beg you to expel your knowledge and secretes.
Push me into the gleaming love
Given in abundant proportions.
The truth is out there, and I attempt to find it by being thrown into the wolfs.
(Wouldn't it suck if the sublime I am so desperately looking for is behind the sofa?)
My mind and body don't work together.
Cooperation has never been my forte.
I am individualistic.
Hypnotic hills of the ancient horse land,
I beg you to expel your knowledge and secretes.
Push me into the gleaming love
Given in abundant proportions.
The truth is out there, and I attempt to find it by being thrown into the wolfs.
(Wouldn't it suck if the sublime I am so desperately looking for is behind the sofa?)
Floating On a Log Called Apathy
I took a walk on a sun filled day, preparing to visit my sweet and lovely gal.
On the way, through a lightly shaded path, a young man did play:
Floating in a pool, legs extended, arms stretching from too much sleep,
And the most bland yet pleasure-filled face a man could mask.
I softly walked as to not disturb the man from his much unneeded rest,
But while crossing the thin dry spat of land in a line (for I did not wish to muddy up my shoes and pant legs), I took the one archetypal wrong step and gently slipped (and possibly even glided)
down into the shallow pool, ending in a light splash.
Wet I was, and reacted typically in my mind, yet my body did not respond.
I need to get up! I thought.
That is my typical reaction: to get up, to dry off, and re-shower to remove the dirt.
But that did not enter my mind.
My new desire was to sit and stay in the coolness of the pool-
it calmed and shielded my body from the harsh sun.
Quiet. Nice. Peaceful. The words roamed through my mind randomly.
And lovely, quite lovely, did the feel of the water on my limbs,
I was seduced by the pool; it was much needed from the sun's rays.
I sat myself up at the shore of the pool.
I saw the blue hue and immediately feel into it's treacherous trance-
that hypnotic color entered my eyes.
I dipped my feet in first, ever so gently.
Inch by inch I fell into total emersion.
At first it felt wrong and I fought it.
Then the man whom I saw earlier, floating down stream belly up turned his head to acknowledge me.
"Just relax. If you fight it, you'll just ware yourself out. Let go and flow calmly with the creatures below. Become one with the water."
I was frightened to do so, to let go of the small amount of control I had,
but the man's short fragments made since somehow.
I decided to lay close to the shore, holding a small branched root.
I will chill here for a bit so I might be fully rested and ready for the
Remainder of the day.
How very wrong I was in my thinking. My poor lonely bride would be awaiting for my arrive for ages.
I slipped down into the hypnotic blue and gently flowing current
Falling deeper and deeper into the trance.
On the way, through a lightly shaded path, a young man did play:
Floating in a pool, legs extended, arms stretching from too much sleep,
And the most bland yet pleasure-filled face a man could mask.
I softly walked as to not disturb the man from his much unneeded rest,
But while crossing the thin dry spat of land in a line (for I did not wish to muddy up my shoes and pant legs), I took the one archetypal wrong step and gently slipped (and possibly even glided)
down into the shallow pool, ending in a light splash.
Wet I was, and reacted typically in my mind, yet my body did not respond.
I need to get up! I thought.
That is my typical reaction: to get up, to dry off, and re-shower to remove the dirt.
But that did not enter my mind.
My new desire was to sit and stay in the coolness of the pool-
it calmed and shielded my body from the harsh sun.
Quiet. Nice. Peaceful. The words roamed through my mind randomly.
And lovely, quite lovely, did the feel of the water on my limbs,
I was seduced by the pool; it was much needed from the sun's rays.
I sat myself up at the shore of the pool.
I saw the blue hue and immediately feel into it's treacherous trance-
that hypnotic color entered my eyes.
I dipped my feet in first, ever so gently.
Inch by inch I fell into total emersion.
At first it felt wrong and I fought it.
Then the man whom I saw earlier, floating down stream belly up turned his head to acknowledge me.
"Just relax. If you fight it, you'll just ware yourself out. Let go and flow calmly with the creatures below. Become one with the water."
I was frightened to do so, to let go of the small amount of control I had,
but the man's short fragments made since somehow.
I decided to lay close to the shore, holding a small branched root.
I will chill here for a bit so I might be fully rested and ready for the
Remainder of the day.
How very wrong I was in my thinking. My poor lonely bride would be awaiting for my arrive for ages.
I slipped down into the hypnotic blue and gently flowing current
Falling deeper and deeper into the trance.
To My Sweet Lady
You are as the rose,
Kind to the eyes and
A friend to the nose.
I wish not to pluck you forcefully,
as does the child and leave you to wilt in the heat.
But to gently grasp your stem and,
With care, remove as many roots as possible
So I may put you in my own flowering pot.
Keep you inside, place you on the windowsill,
And give you the attention you crave.
Kind to the eyes and
A friend to the nose.
I wish not to pluck you forcefully,
as does the child and leave you to wilt in the heat.
But to gently grasp your stem and,
With care, remove as many roots as possible
So I may put you in my own flowering pot.
Keep you inside, place you on the windowsill,
And give you the attention you crave.
Thoughts On a River Bank
My mind is a dry river bed,
White webbed shit covers the rocks' smooth surface.
No living water or rushing inspiration to be found.
The few trees around are withered and dead.
Birds don't even use them for their nests.
Nothing but domesticated shit and the smell of decay
Surround my barren head.
The Hollow Men told me this would be the way the world ends.
I didn't believe it at first,
But I see it more with each passing day.
The death of the minds is the worst death of all
Or possibly the death of the spirit, but
Cannot a dead spirit rise for revenge?
What does a dead mind rise for?
White webbed shit covers the rocks' smooth surface.
No living water or rushing inspiration to be found.
The few trees around are withered and dead.
Birds don't even use them for their nests.
Nothing but domesticated shit and the smell of decay
Surround my barren head.
The Hollow Men told me this would be the way the world ends.
I didn't believe it at first,
But I see it more with each passing day.
The death of the minds is the worst death of all
Or possibly the death of the spirit, but
Cannot a dead spirit rise for revenge?
What does a dead mind rise for?
Ode to Mongolian Winters
You break the spirits and do not rebuild them.
You are as a harsh tongue to virgin ears.
You kill by cold,
Leaving no evidence of your murder,
Letting the snow and ice cover up all the green and good.
You must surely dislike heat, since you freeze all you touch (the curse of Midas).
You destroy even the strongest wills.
How do you have such influence,
Such a connection to depression and apathy?
The world bows to you, and begs to let it live.
Do you laugh at the cries, the pleas for help?
Must you fill my heart with ice,
Stain my hands with soot?
This is the path to pain.
You have broken me, chilled my hands and toes,
Then kicked me while I was down.
I curse you heavily,
But it makes no difference, you ignore my tongue
And frost me with depressed thoughts
You strong winter are the death to us all.
You are the nightmare of the soul,
You are silent with death in your touch.
You, bastard, are my enemy.
Enemy of my spirit and will.
You crush the joy I once embraced
You force me to the indoors,
To huddle next to fires of wood, coal, and trash,
As the dirty bum I've become.
Why do you harm the meek? Why do you kill the small?
What have we done to deserve your icy fists around our necks?
You are as a harsh tongue to virgin ears.
You kill by cold,
Leaving no evidence of your murder,
Letting the snow and ice cover up all the green and good.
You must surely dislike heat, since you freeze all you touch (the curse of Midas).
You destroy even the strongest wills.
How do you have such influence,
Such a connection to depression and apathy?
The world bows to you, and begs to let it live.
Do you laugh at the cries, the pleas for help?
Must you fill my heart with ice,
Stain my hands with soot?
This is the path to pain.
You have broken me, chilled my hands and toes,
Then kicked me while I was down.
I curse you heavily,
But it makes no difference, you ignore my tongue
And frost me with depressed thoughts
You strong winter are the death to us all.
You are the nightmare of the soul,
You are silent with death in your touch.
You, bastard, are my enemy.
Enemy of my spirit and will.
You crush the joy I once embraced
You force me to the indoors,
To huddle next to fires of wood, coal, and trash,
As the dirty bum I've become.
Why do you harm the meek? Why do you kill the small?
What have we done to deserve your icy fists around our necks?
Thoughts On the Train
Mountains high enough to touch the God,
to reach the numinous.
Impart your wisdom onto me- make me
the wiser.
Dark cold nights cloud the judgement of men
as the sunlight is shrouded from us.
Now I walk blindly with a dying torch;
Only memory of the layout can help you now.
Moon shining high in the sky,
God of tides and water,
guide me as you do the waves
so I may find my way home
To see the next sunrise.
Mental Illness
Doctor. Come warm your bones by the fire,
wash your thick greasy brown hair,
wash the dust and coal off your jeans, only to find they are black and faded.
Your feet must be freezing, your fingers numb.
Isn’t your body exhausted? Why can’t you rest accurately?
Speak truthfully on how you feel, please.
I’m hear to give you shelter;
Don’t you know how to accept help?
Patient. The back of my eyes are burning.
Last time I felt nothing but cold.
I fear some part of me is collaborating with the external forces.
My guts, perpetually sick. My mind, warped.
I’m out of answers and self-medications
(perhaps I didn’t originate with any).
Please give me some sort of sign,
An answer. Where do I sign for your help?
Lawyer. How do we know your testimony isn’t false?
What proof of sincerity do you have?
Patient. Look at the bags under my eyes.
Why are they so dark? Put some water on them,
Grab the cloth. If it be coal or soot, would it not wash off?
And yet these black curved lines, as if liner of a goth,
will not leave so easily.
And look at my emotions, see anything?
How could you? They’ve all been frozen away by winter,
Leaving a numb fleshy container with no heart or spirit.
You speak of wanting truth of my pain, of my suffering.
Isn’t it obvious to your eyes? Are you truly that blind
Or do I hide it so well, fortified behind my bones?
Now my physician, what is your answer--that I may follow it blindly.
Doctor. Judging from your appearance, your head has suffered the most damage.
You did not care for your mental health wisely.
I wish to keep you away from your
assigned environment for several days,
To thaw out your emotions and rest your troubled soul.
Eat a nice meal, find a warm bed, read a good book
Just rest your warn body.
Lawyer. But only stay as long as you need,
Not a minute more. You think this place has large pockets?
Doc, you know we have small finances,
Must you always be so sympathetic to all who enter?
Use your good judgement,
I know you have it.
I beg you to reconsider. We must use our resources
On those who truly require it.
Not this sappy poet laureate.
His words may be false.
Doctor. And his words may be true.
You say I don’t use my good judgement,
but that is the mistake. I am trained in the ways
To extract bullshit from our employees.
I can read false from truth on faces and eyes
As words on the page of a book.
You think I be sympathetic, well I do care for all our creatures,
But perhaps you are not empathetic enough.
For all you care is the current financial state of this place,
Or perhaps just your own.
You wring out every dollar you can of others,
Including me. Caring for taxes is no different as a shark attack in open seas.
You are bitten and dragged, the weight of the guilt from the harm,
Perhaps the killing, of those who need aid so desperately
Can pull you down into deep red water
As you struggle for freedom and breath for your lungs.
How can you do what you do?
Lawyer. You claim I dislike loving and caring for other.
I can read people as well,
But high doses of sympathy and love are just as lethal.
Others’ greed can grow when you give free handouts.
Wouldn’t having people walk on you be equally painful?
Or are you too naive to notice because your emotion of care
Blocks your judgement?
How does giving aid to people work if they continue their dependent habit of taking from you?
Doctor. Oh ye of little faith. I believe,
Sooner or later, said people
Will become aware of their dependence,
Just as the drug addict when he falls to the bottom,
They will see their err.
From here, they grow and evolve and know
The proper time to request help,
And that is one shall give true aid.
You give them a taste,
then dependance,
then realization,
then evolution,
then reception of aid.
Lawyer. But what of those who never kick their malnutritious habits?
Those who always beg for help from others,
And show now attempt to change or realize their error?
They are the parasites attaching themselves to people like you,
Who freely give and give (and don’t you see that too much giving is wrong?).
These parasites will sick you, and those like you, dry
Taking and taking, then you have nothing more to give and they are still uncured.
You must cut them off before they take your good character or anything else of value.
You must recognize the behavior,
As soon as humanly possible.
For it shouldn’t be too impossible to notice these actions and traits they wear.
Wouldn’t you agree?
How how does the great Giving Tree treat them?
Doctor. Are you so blind to believe people wont change?
We are designed to change:
physically,
mentally,
and emotionally.
We strive for more meaning in our lives,
From those with meaningless existences,
To those who live life the the fullest.
We can see others, then admit we want more;
we want what they have. A want to improve
It’s one of the great human traits we all embody.
But I see you , and those like you,
Only wanting to increase profits and figures,
Financial gain. Looking for other lives
To bring to ruins. But one day,
You shall see yourself as I do,
And have a grand desire to change yourself
And your ways of destruction; to expel your greed
Into the sewers.
Sooner or later, you will have the sight
Patience.
Now, please leave tax man,
For I wish no longer to debate with you.
I grow tired.
As for you my child of illness, what say you?
Patient. I am just as divided as when I entered.
Perhaps the whole world is in the same boat. Always,
Two different views of the same topic,
Two different means to act. How does
One know the truth, the correct way, when
People are created so diversely. Is there even a
Distinct right and wrong with every situation?
More importantly, how does one live in a world
Drowned in ambiguity?
The entire earth is painted morally gray and
Argues perpetually about the different truths and
Lies. There is nothing purely factual , nothing truly
Paved with correctness,
As long as there are conscious beings present.
The truth my friends, maybe it is out there,
In the farthest reaches of the universe.
Or perhaps said truth is exactly as confused as we.
Moving from day to day, trying to get by;
Learning about us (as we it)
thinking, moving, pacing,
But not sitting still.
wash your thick greasy brown hair,
wash the dust and coal off your jeans, only to find they are black and faded.
Your feet must be freezing, your fingers numb.
Isn’t your body exhausted? Why can’t you rest accurately?
Speak truthfully on how you feel, please.
I’m hear to give you shelter;
Don’t you know how to accept help?
Patient. The back of my eyes are burning.
Last time I felt nothing but cold.
I fear some part of me is collaborating with the external forces.
My guts, perpetually sick. My mind, warped.
I’m out of answers and self-medications
(perhaps I didn’t originate with any).
Please give me some sort of sign,
An answer. Where do I sign for your help?
Lawyer. How do we know your testimony isn’t false?
What proof of sincerity do you have?
Patient. Look at the bags under my eyes.
Why are they so dark? Put some water on them,
Grab the cloth. If it be coal or soot, would it not wash off?
And yet these black curved lines, as if liner of a goth,
will not leave so easily.
And look at my emotions, see anything?
How could you? They’ve all been frozen away by winter,
Leaving a numb fleshy container with no heart or spirit.
You speak of wanting truth of my pain, of my suffering.
Isn’t it obvious to your eyes? Are you truly that blind
Or do I hide it so well, fortified behind my bones?
Now my physician, what is your answer--that I may follow it blindly.
Doctor. Judging from your appearance, your head has suffered the most damage.
You did not care for your mental health wisely.
I wish to keep you away from your
assigned environment for several days,
To thaw out your emotions and rest your troubled soul.
Eat a nice meal, find a warm bed, read a good book
Just rest your warn body.
Lawyer. But only stay as long as you need,
Not a minute more. You think this place has large pockets?
Doc, you know we have small finances,
Must you always be so sympathetic to all who enter?
Use your good judgement,
I know you have it.
I beg you to reconsider. We must use our resources
On those who truly require it.
Not this sappy poet laureate.
His words may be false.
Doctor. And his words may be true.
You say I don’t use my good judgement,
but that is the mistake. I am trained in the ways
To extract bullshit from our employees.
I can read false from truth on faces and eyes
As words on the page of a book.
You think I be sympathetic, well I do care for all our creatures,
But perhaps you are not empathetic enough.
For all you care is the current financial state of this place,
Or perhaps just your own.
You wring out every dollar you can of others,
Including me. Caring for taxes is no different as a shark attack in open seas.
You are bitten and dragged, the weight of the guilt from the harm,
Perhaps the killing, of those who need aid so desperately
Can pull you down into deep red water
As you struggle for freedom and breath for your lungs.
How can you do what you do?
Lawyer. You claim I dislike loving and caring for other.
I can read people as well,
But high doses of sympathy and love are just as lethal.
Others’ greed can grow when you give free handouts.
Wouldn’t having people walk on you be equally painful?
Or are you too naive to notice because your emotion of care
Blocks your judgement?
How does giving aid to people work if they continue their dependent habit of taking from you?
Doctor. Oh ye of little faith. I believe,
Sooner or later, said people
Will become aware of their dependence,
Just as the drug addict when he falls to the bottom,
They will see their err.
From here, they grow and evolve and know
The proper time to request help,
And that is one shall give true aid.
You give them a taste,
then dependance,
then realization,
then evolution,
then reception of aid.
Lawyer. But what of those who never kick their malnutritious habits?
Those who always beg for help from others,
And show now attempt to change or realize their error?
They are the parasites attaching themselves to people like you,
Who freely give and give (and don’t you see that too much giving is wrong?).
These parasites will sick you, and those like you, dry
Taking and taking, then you have nothing more to give and they are still uncured.
You must cut them off before they take your good character or anything else of value.
You must recognize the behavior,
As soon as humanly possible.
For it shouldn’t be too impossible to notice these actions and traits they wear.
Wouldn’t you agree?
How how does the great Giving Tree treat them?
Doctor. Are you so blind to believe people wont change?
We are designed to change:
physically,
mentally,
and emotionally.
We strive for more meaning in our lives,
From those with meaningless existences,
To those who live life the the fullest.
We can see others, then admit we want more;
we want what they have. A want to improve
It’s one of the great human traits we all embody.
But I see you , and those like you,
Only wanting to increase profits and figures,
Financial gain. Looking for other lives
To bring to ruins. But one day,
You shall see yourself as I do,
And have a grand desire to change yourself
And your ways of destruction; to expel your greed
Into the sewers.
Sooner or later, you will have the sight
Patience.
Now, please leave tax man,
For I wish no longer to debate with you.
I grow tired.
As for you my child of illness, what say you?
Patient. I am just as divided as when I entered.
Perhaps the whole world is in the same boat. Always,
Two different views of the same topic,
Two different means to act. How does
One know the truth, the correct way, when
People are created so diversely. Is there even a
Distinct right and wrong with every situation?
More importantly, how does one live in a world
Drowned in ambiguity?
The entire earth is painted morally gray and
Argues perpetually about the different truths and
Lies. There is nothing purely factual , nothing truly
Paved with correctness,
As long as there are conscious beings present.
The truth my friends, maybe it is out there,
In the farthest reaches of the universe.
Or perhaps said truth is exactly as confused as we.
Moving from day to day, trying to get by;
Learning about us (as we it)
thinking, moving, pacing,
But not sitting still.
Untitled
Forcing makes things come out incorrectly or perverted,
All I want is my creativity.
I look for inspiration
Dirty jeans,
All I want is my creativity.
I look for inspiration
Dirty jeans,
television,
twin girls,
alternative music,
All dead ends.
Why do I shove out creativity when my mind is a constipated colon?
Any definite answers from the peanut gallery?
I Am No Monk
There are times when I am desperate,
Lonely, and willing to try anything.
Like shaving off all my hair
And sit in the lotus position to gain enlightenment.
Or lie in bed while staring at the ceiling
Waiting, hoping, for the next plan to drop into my head (as the water drips from the faucet into the bucket).
In the desperate times, I am not my true self.
I am the pathetic fly, buzzing around for 24 hours.
I beg to the Lord to just tell me my purpose,
But all I receive is silence, leading to impatience
And so, I tend to perverse and disfigure myself,
Thinking I will gain insight.
But I am no monk.
Lonely, and willing to try anything.
Like shaving off all my hair
And sit in the lotus position to gain enlightenment.
Or lie in bed while staring at the ceiling
Waiting, hoping, for the next plan to drop into my head (as the water drips from the faucet into the bucket).
In the desperate times, I am not my true self.
I am the pathetic fly, buzzing around for 24 hours.
I beg to the Lord to just tell me my purpose,
But all I receive is silence, leading to impatience
And so, I tend to perverse and disfigure myself,
Thinking I will gain insight.
But I am no monk.
Old Friends
My dear friend Mr. Coleridge, I wish to meet you more.
To converse and interact, to read poetry and ponder over with.
And if you come to this day and age,
There is much I wish to introduce you to.
My lovely poet friend from far away,
I am not able to eulogize you the proper way;
The way your deserve.
My mind wanders too far off the cliff of sanity,
And my mouth is miles behind it.
You deserve The Poet to portraitize you,
To bring the awareness you attempted to show,
And give it freely to the world.
I do not claim to be he,
But my heart and mind yearn to gain
Your intellect and absurdity.
You are brilliant.
I adore and respect thee.
None can obtain your thought or speech,
None shall be able to give you praise,
But those who are lowly can always try.
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