Oneironaut

Restless dreaming, summer heat
There was you, your figure
Growing smaller and smaller
As the car drove away, carrying me
Farther and farther away,
Trembling for your presence.
And now, now days feel longer and I,
An empty station, when trains are parked, asleep.
But to you my dear, I make a promise.
This will be the last of days waiting, no smoke
Looking for a home and drifting into us,
Choking our hearts. No silhouettes will dissolve
No eyelids will flutter into the empty distance.
Even though I'm miles away from where you are,
Distance ain't got nothin on us, babe.
I'm the blood in your veins, and so I go along
With you, I float along, whispering,
"Love, we're going home now"
And like summer we will arrive
on our honeysuckle feet, back in our bedroom.

I only wish I could stay

The secret glue that holds
All things together
Path of wild abandon
Stay with me forever?
Share absolutely everything
Being so new, you
Angel of the blueness
Went missing
When did things change?
There, the days last rays
Cruising like sharks
Across the horizon
Then, a gap in things
You clench your fists
Crushing the daisies
I left by your bed
Drug-dry irisis
Shaking
Trembling
And then it came
Pounding fists
Against the shower walls
Your screams
Your pleas
For more
There needs to be more
My coffee shudders
Hush now, don't you worry
I'm not trying to wreck your life
I'm only trying to make mine better

It's Simply Ridiculous

That I should have to pay an aeon to fight for me. What an arrogant bastard (Final Fantasy X reference. Yojimbo. Anyone get it? Anybody?)



It's okay. I'm still a cool person. Promise.

Older, Newer

I go to sleep when the birds wake up.
Mornings are so hard on me.
Better to skip through it, playing
Musical chairs with time and place.
Who knows where I'll end up?

You tolerate the chainsaw-snoring,
Night-terrors in the afternoon.
The mild earthquakes of emotion.
We love each other for different reasons
But the outcome is still the same.



I dreamt of chickens.
Chickens pecking at my hair
Chickens walking on my chest
Chickens flying around the room
Chickens resting on my head.
And when I awoke the next morning,
I found chicken eggs laying on my bed.


Oh, hai. I'm a year older. This means I can go to bars and buy alcohol. What's next?

Feeling Strange (Like Cereal or Wet Toast)

My mom finally sold the house. We will be moving to North Carolina at the end of the month.

It's all coming so fast.

I wish time would slow down, that I could savor the few weeks left I have in Ridgewood more than I should have prior to the closing. However, it doesn't quite work like that I suppose. So, as I throw things into boxes that my mom insists I should sell, I wonder where the 20 years of my life spent in Jersey went.

I've been reading a lot of Sylvia Plath lately. I think this poem by her is fitting for the mood of this post:

A Life

Touch it: it won't shrink like an eyeball,
This egg-shaped bailiwick, clear as a tear.
Here's yesterday, last year ---
Palm-spear and lily distinct as flora in the vast
Windless threadwork of a tapestry.

Flick the glass with your fingernail:
It will ping like a Chinese chime in the slightest air stir
Though nobody in there looks up or bothers to answer.
The inhabitants are light as cork,
Every one of them permanently busy.

At their feet, the sea waves bow in single file.
Never trespassing in bad temper:
Stalling in midair,
Short-reined, pawing like paradeground horses.
Overhead, the clouds sit tasseled and fancy

As Victorian cushions. This family
Of valentine faces might please a collector:
They ring true, like good china.

Elsewhere the landscape is more frank.
The light falls without letup, blindingly.

A woman is dragging her shadow in a circle
About a bald hospital saucer.
It resembles the moon, or a sheet of blank paper
And appears to have suffered a sort of private blitzkrieg.
She lives quietly

With no attachments, like a foetus in a bottle,
The obsolete house, the sea, flattened to a picture
She has one too many dimensions to enter.
Grief and anger, exorcised,
Leave her alone now.

The future is a grey seagull
Tattling in its cat-voice of departure.
Age and terror, like nurses, attend her,
And a drowned man, complaining of the great cold,
Crawls up out of the sea.

Another Sleepless Night

It's official. I've thoroughly fucked up my sleeping schedule. Even after I rest, I feel exhausted. It's a trap, see. If I don't sleep, it's unhealthy (insomnia ain't no good for my mood). If I do sleep, I'm still feeling drained after 12 hours of weird-zombie-apocalyptic-dreams and scenarios I'm terrified will transpire. All I can do is listen to slow and steady Okkervil River songs to coax me to bed in hopes waking won't feel as bad as when I collapsed. I for one think Will Sheff is a brilliant singer/songwriter. His lyrics are quite powerful and leave a mark on your thoughts after you finish listening. Recently, I've been listening to "Love to a monster". I myself haven't had experience with nasty breakups (I've been in love and have had my heart broken, but not quite the way Sheff is describing it in the song). I really love the song not because of how emotional it is, but because the lyrics are just so beautiful. Sheff has such a way with words (it's like poetry, the kind I wish I could write). So, here's to you Will Sheff. Now, if only I could sleep...