i wonder what it is about storms... or just snow... that makes the sky burn late at night. looking through the windowpanes the last few nights have shown a chemical burn glow to the clouds. a deep red like a city's radioactive smog or a dusty old radioflyer wagon. perhaps the moon is bleeding behind the swollen sky or there is a lake of blood shining and reflecting on every silver lining like a morbid call for a strange batman. contrast to that, the streetlamp is a dirty orange. a dirty dirty mosquito carcass crusted dead pumpkin orange. however, the ugliness stops at the lens. the light glances off the glacial yard and drive in spots... never as a whole... and blinds you. its gorgeous. so are roads that are called 'ribbons' by helicopter pilots. and fields that end up as exspansive mirrors for the sun and the moon, glassed over by snow, ice, and frozen rain put through the deep freeze kiln at night. tonight, however, is dark. i can see a star from where im sitting. snows over then... time for the earth to melt and life to begin again. the canadians take of their jackets. the rocks bite through the ice vengefully. the volvo unblanketed. polar bear club for the grass.

sky isnt burning tonight... guess the snow will be gone soon

shibbydelic13: are we going to school this week?
foosballoser: haha
foosballoser: well i hope we go tomorrow, but i want a two hour delay
foosballoser: what i don't want is to have to make up more days
shibbydelic13: umm wednesday is cancelled babe
shibbydelic13: im thinking friday we go back
foosballoser: tomorrow=thrusday
foosballoser: thursday*
shibbydelic13: except that its tuesday
foosballoser: i know
foosballoser: i meant thurs
shibbydelic13: yes
shibbydelic13: and its still tues
foosballoser: yes
foosballoser: i didn't learn my days of the week in kindergarten
shibbydelic13: oh right
foosballoser: i also didn't learn my left from my right
shibbydelic13: apparently

foosballoser: you know sometimes i want to be a guy
foosballoser: all the guys i know have really comfy clothes
shibbydelic13: you know sometimes i want to be a girl
shibbydelic13: i wear tight stuff anyway haha
foosballoser: why do you want to be a girl?
shibbydelic13: but i cant see the guy appeal... girls are so nice to be with
foosballoser: that's exactly the thing i have with guys, they're just so much easier to get along with
foosballoser: i don't think it works if you're the same sex
shibbydelic13: but we are all big and nasty and hard
shibbydelic13: i dont get it
foosballoser: girls are really catty and exclusionary
shibbydelic13: its like loving something you found in the woods
shibbydelic13: girls are like flowers... you see
foosballoser: your friend one minute and the next they don't care about you
foosballoser: i love lumberjacks
foosballoser: they never play games with you
shibbydelic13: hmm
shibbydelic13: i would make for a skinny lumberjack
foosballoser: you'd be skinnier than all the trees you chopped down
shibbydelic13: breasts sound like fun
shibbydelic13: but annoying when youre trying to do stuff
foosballoser: occasionally they're fun
shibbydelic13: cause ive seen women's soccer... and it cant be fun with them bouncing around all over the damn place
foosballoser: but they get in the way of things like running, especially if yours are big
shibbydelic13: yeah thats what i mean
foosballoser: balls just seem like they hurt
shibbydelic13: they do a lot
shibbydelic13: but they dont get in the way as much
foosballoser: i guess they don't bounce so much cuz they're smaller
foosballoser: how could they not get in the way, they're right between your legs?
shibbydelic13: well... it was meant to be there
shibbydelic13: so its natural
shibbydelic13: breasts arent... protected in any way
foosballoser: um no. it really hurts if someone hits you there
shibbydelic13: but you dont get hit there all that often
foosballoser: and when you get old its horrible, they're all saggy
shibbydelic13: wait, are we talking about breasts or balls?
foosballoser: like tennis balls at then end of a sock. i think my grandmothers have to be down to her waist.
foosballoser: breasts
shibbydelic13: ok
foosballoser: unless that applies to men as well
shibbydelic13: hey its all worthwhile in the end though
foosballoser: i don't know about that, you guys get to have good sex and then we have to deal with the resulting munchkins
foosballoser: it can't be comfortable to be pregnant
shibbydelic13: yeah...

foosballoser: i got to drive a ferrari 575m maranello today!
shibbydelic13: hey you know the guy in psycho with the knife

internal monologue is skipping... damn, wish i had esp.

somewhere back in time im thumping bass. i think someday i will learn every instrument so i can record songs all by myself. except i might get lonely. so i would call in the orangelatan to kick some mad beats for me. yeah, thats what ill do... ive got a feelin, a feelin i cant hide oh yeah. oh yeah!! no im just kidding, ill hide it all night long, go me. i need some ::meow:: music. my eye hurts. i wonder if its cause its black. yeah. oh well, damn, its what you get for playing sports. yeah thats what i say. i need a bass. and a strat. a fat one. a fat bastard strat. yeah. i want to talk to some new people. ones i will never meet. ones out of state and out of mind. someone i can dump and not notice... unless i get to be friends with them which is cool too. most friends are cool... and some friends suck. i dont understand it either, guess that makes me gay.

fog is cool. i was driving through a big fog bank a couple days ago. by that i mean this morning. i bet the guy who came up with the word 'materialize' was standing in a fog bank. its what things do. lights appear out of nowhere. suddenly these lights appear fifty feet off the ground. flying toward me, this car. suddenly, ground materializes and slowly rises up to meet the car at the top of the hill in front of us. definitely sweet. ive got to go go underground. i think it would be nice to be able to dance. to be a white guy dancer man. do they make pills for that? they should. i say they should anyway. its industrial. an industrial pill to make white boys dance. hell yes. im going to make billions off this idea. so dont steal it yall. i wonder if things were really black and white in 1950. when i dream of myself in the old days its in black and white. then again, i also dream that kids tell me they just bought a new honda minivan (with leather, bucket seats, and cd) when they really just arent honda people. figures. and i beat up tiny kids on a whim and feel marginaly bad about it. yes and thats not half of it. i think i had love figured out in a dream once then woke up and forgot it. yes thats my life. im definitely straight.

green wall:gold wall
!$#*&%@me
dont die not now not ever im here
dont think not safe oh please its clear
dont care is wrong morning shows empty
dont look not now nyc is growing down
dont see its me as this im not
dont run hide in plain sight for me
dont go want not me to be gone
dont sit pretend youre me swimming
dont walk its far go away you wont
dont doubt love me my love everything
dont be mean me no reason give you
dont cry dear you a song from me
dont sleep im coming you here im there
dont hear no lies post bail for me
dont say you will you know you wont
#%$&@)(me
gold wall:green wall


man comes along, claims to be son of god, dazzles crowd, starts new beliefs everywhere basing it on himself. cult or christianity? dammit boy gave your life to jesus christ cause you were told to. someone dies, they dont go to heaven, they sit in the ground till they are told to go to heaven so quit consoling yourself bitch. im hanging on to it. body's dead in the glow of the screen but fielding a winning team is too difficult. youre hanging on. twiddle me fingers mayteeee. arg. alice appears very much like a medieval dagger stuck in the poor modern lining of the couch. her neck a black blade, her tuning gears pearl handled stabbness. theres a cat on the wall. it slides because its two dimensional. good morning. someone left the subject out of this painting of the ocean. the matting is bigger than the picture. damn failure painter, should have gotten saved when you had a chance. it sucks to grow up yall. i cant stand it much more. summer needs me. im getting too caucasion man. dammit boy. downrigggaaa!!! cheers to people living west of the great short appalachia. email me. i wont bite. fight it son fight it. im sorry. your lack of honesty has shown me the door. goodbye.

now you dont wonder anymore

I Looovvve Youu: SWEET
I Looovvve Youu: tall enough

im having trouble coming up for air. so ive got things to say to yall. we are all alone. every single one of you reading this is alone. theres nothing you can do about it. go in a dark room, ball up in the corner and admit it to yourself. youre alone. its a solitary life so get used to it. relationships dont last, no matter what your friend says. hell, life doesnt last. sometimes it seems more than worth your while to move the fuck on instead of dealing with all the paperwork ahead. some people say that from birth we start dying. i dont know how true that is but i think that after some events, we are scarred for life. maybe not even scarred... it feels more like cancer sometimes. that from that point on out its going to eat away at you until theres nothing left. eats a hole (and the carnage continues). in case you hadnt noticed, there comes a point, or a person, where emotional stability goes out the window. where one word can change everything. yeah you know its true. someone turned on your lightbulb and then shot spring back into winter. youre alone again... for the night anyway. along with the loss of emotional stability comes the loss of ability to make emotion last. the next morning you will be fine. i hate this. if im sad i at least want to enjoy it for a couple days. being over things in the morning make them seem so much less important when they really are. bitterness is a hard pill to swallow but it can be justifyably deserved by people that go to sleep to early. just try and prove me wrong. when you look inside yourself its dark. youre skin's too thick to let any light in but just thin enough to feel the knife in your back... yeah you know its true. and somehow all the worthwhile effort is wasted. all the good loving is never received and im thinking twice. if only life were rational there wouldnt be so many damn lonely fools out there. loss could be melted down to its intrinsic worth and then realized that it wasnt actually loss at all. this is the life i long to live, if only the emotion would stay the hell out. so get used to being lonely because being lonely isnt necessarily being alone, its just the signal that your cancer is malignant. and so begins the grieving process. it only lasts a short while, compared to a life of it anyway. when you die, you die with everything you came into life with. no material possessions and alone. the grave will get aweful cold after a while. get used to the idea because its fate. where there once was love there exists nothing. no anger, no loss, no hate, no hurt, no baggage, no regrets. then you know youve made it.

Sonnet for You (my dear)

It caught me unawares tonight
how easily things slip away.
Something broke my tunnel's light
and sent me back the other way.

It's not as if I didnt try
but some things just arent meant to be.
I'm not sure why I didn't cry
or why there's nothing hurting me.

And with this final goodnight's glow
I hit the road in search of more.
With hope that someday I will know
all that I did wrong before.

I never prayed to take this fall,
odd, but God heard me after all...

i was just at the canes game a while ago and i have a proposition: i say the canes change their slogan from "this is hockey" to "this isnt quite hockey and you know? we really suck"
or to the more terse version "this is SUCK"...


quotes of the game:

(big whiffa whiffs the puck)
"hey, they suck too!"'

(near the end)
"hey! pull their goalie!!"

its a villanelle yall...

your eyes

i never thought id let you go like this
i used to pray to make these things work out
your cold hard eyes are ones i love to miss

bent low by poison in your sour kiss
god never meant to leave me with dark doubt
i never thought id let you go like this

stop standing there in my own hell's fake bliss
you lie to say you know all im about
your cold hard eyes are ones i love to miss

your work has left you as my life's abscess
burned in my eyelids your infernal pout
i never thought id let you go like this

the candle light reflects on your bare fists
no worries; neighbors know by heart your shout
your cold hard eyes are ones i love to miss

damn wasted hours watching you cut my wrist
its odd to pack your bags and put you out
i never thought id let you go like this
your cold hard eyes are ones i love to miss

ive found that late nights partially alone are wonderfully productive... so i wrote a couple of poems based on actual experiences... enjoy.

freeverse on jay

jay occupies the wonderful time
between the conception and maturity of night.
jay allows for most weekdays (and saturday)
to birth into a linen of pink, blue, and purple
such as would have been washed with tie-dye socks.
i admit the backdrop is frightningly loose in coloration
but the contrast button is lame beyond its years
and there remains no toggle to adjust the magnitude
of jay's nose; it is worthy of sherpas.

as for the thicket of dark hair
degrees north of his forehead-
if he were balding, it would be an island;
however, it mystifies me why he keeps it around.
perhaps it promotes a critical balance
for his superfluous mandible because without it,
his lopsided face would cleave down the nose.
certainly would be a feature for the local news:
television celebrity closes show with more
cleavage than the previous guest (who fainted).

and to conan- i feel guilty for my smile
but your jokes, though trite, are abnormal.
(and keep doing the arnold... it kills)



{untitled}

comtemplating the ventrilisolo
inviting gloominess of the room
sherpas climbing cross my back
most amiable way to greet doom
a photo flashes in my mind
random product of the night
demons planted narcotics there
soul's needle pins the sight

a scene in southern france
champaigne and ocean breath
girl emerges from the fog
as a reaper bearing death
i ponder ways to spark a life
for, true, life was what she bore
past ties and future they contained
disentigrated in the moor

the countryside made jealous
by the purity of that night
she cared not of my open sores
but shed the faintest light
and though corrosive she was then
her nicotine numbed my pain
the utter disease of open eyes
reminds me bliss is acid rain

*original poetry- not that you would... but dont distribute without permission. thanks yall