3 Verbs (new edit)

a well dressed mess, I am but a man with

 a sinister past, seeking redemption.

bitching, venting, & ranting
three verbs which bring peace 

& temporary relief to a mind bound in chains.

with flaws like these they're a necessity for sanity.
an addiction to words mixed with use of these verbs,

writing is now my outlet,

my craved for extrication,

even my superlative release
 in the pursuit of an escape from a reality 
which once was capable of compelling 
my lips to crease into a smile, but now
only fills my chest with the tension of a
thousand cold-sweat soaked nightmares.

incessant writing grants my mind lucidity 
as I constantly seek my return to actuality, 
and clears room for the necessary occupation of 
thought required to keep these demons composed of 
crushed, lined up pills and
empty liquor bottles at bay.

I feel the genius today.

I love every letter, word, & line 
my pen has scribbled on this paper.
The feeling will soon be fleeting, though.

tomorrow I'll think this shit is worthless 
as I consider deleting it all.
Yet I can't part with it. 

like my utter inability to forget 
& let go of this hastily fading

 amatory connection
 whose love once gave me hope, 
as well as sex that left scars,

both cerebral and somatic.

I loved her so fucking much,
and honestly always fucking will.

as a parting favor, 

I insist you not confound the penchant 
of my words with apathy and despair;

 they're made to sting off the tip of the tongue,

yet they come from a place that's sincere

and filled with more than mere goodwill.

these words are deeply rooted in a
contrite & crestfallen perspective.
but this, too, will

pass with time.
or so they say.

saccharine nostalgia

you’re only one 

ripple in the lake,
and there’s a thousand
separate paths to take.

a single misstep
in this marathon
they call life
and we would
never have been.

a stroke of luck

brought us together 

before mistakes 

tore us apart. 

but love like this can't

just come and go,
it sticks to the heart 

& puts stains on the soul.
so no matter what happens
and wherever you go,

you'll know someone loves you.

and sometimes that’s

all you need to

go on living

one more

day.

understanding an addict

if you've ever known someone addicted to drugs & alcohol and wanted to help them, but found that they continued using and lying no matter what you did in an attempt to help them quit… read this.

Here you find yourself sitting dumbfounded, praying fervently for solutions to rescue this person from the dark and tragic life they have created in their drug addiction. No threat or enforcement of consequence or ultimatum has stopped the reoccurring relapses or the lies that surround them, so your patience has probably worn razor thin and forgiveness is growing progressively harder to grant them. Maybe you're not quite to that point with them. Maybe they're still lying to themselves about what they've been doing, what they've become.

asphalt paradise

1st edit written 

Summer 2012 

in Nashville, TN

only 4 days since relapse yet I'm already out of drugs.
this reoccurring moment is a perpetual astonishment

 and bitter inconvenience that I've never quite accepted.

I dumped the last bits on the table and smoked it myself,
but still I raise an eyebrow & tilt my head in disbelief

as I raise up and glare into the now empty plastic bag.

a 2 mile walk to my dealer and I feel refreshed.
standing inside my front door frame, I pull out
the crumpled bag, load a sheet, and smoke it down.
squinting hard, I shoot a glance around the room

and tap my foot as I wait for the aches to disappear.

now nice and buzzed, I sit down in my old recliner.

reaching across the newly stained coffee table,

I crack open a bottle of pills & swallow 4 of them.

a creeping feeling crawls the base of my spine,

then ascends each vertebrae to the top where

it slings over my shoulder & plants into my chest.

 I shiver as drug induced thoughts begin to flow.

clenched fists, I brace for the oncoming shame.
I can't cease the shaking of my head in disgust.

this familiar repulsion is because I fucked up
and succumbed to an altered state yet again.

I'm helpless to stop these God-damned demons 

as they chisel down at my very will to live.

I've spent the last four years getting 

stoned, drunk, and all kinds of high 

every hour of every God-forsaken day.

now I can hardly manage (if at all)

to function as a student or a son, 

let alone a significant other.

I've lost control of my reality 

and have misplaced my identity.

I can't even get close enough to

anyone to vent or process these 

thoughts and feelings which is
the most unsettling thing of all.

food junkie, pill junkie,
brand junkie, real junkie-

entire cities full of junkies

wearing twisted, smiling masks

to hide the sick, dark obsessions

that we all can't help but have.

perfectly oval tablets slip
then slither down my throat.

I need them more than ever 

now to numb my mind and soul.

I took too many lefts and just 

fell short of making rights-

now the clock tics slow &
 I sit deep in this asphalt paradise.

barely trust 'em, they're all puppets, love is nothing, scared of success

They pull and play with the puppet strings on our 

backs to have us cheer with an antagonizing tone
as men tear themselves and each other apart by highlighting and exaggerating all of our differences
as well as the issues that stem from them...

What if the puppeteers of society used their
wealth, influence, and power to bring people together 
 to celebrate the benefits potentially gained
 from the similarities that we all share?
focusing on commonalities instead of arguments
creates an environment where, by default,
people are agreeing more than otherwise;
which leads to collaboration and shared ideas.
which leads to success and positive progress
as well as a healthy collective consciousness.
The opportunity to seek out answers or solutions
to life's greatest questions are all around us
 everyone has their own little piece to the jigsaw.

These new shows won't be so dramatic,
nor anywhere near as unilaterally profitable,
but it will be a step toward a better world filled
with people that look for improvements and solutions
rather than people searching for petty differences
to stand on and use as a self-validating soap-box.
we can't change the ability and desire of
the puppet masters behind the curtain,
but their strings are loose enough for us
to change their show into something that works
better for all of us, or at least many more of us.
From now on, can we agree that a show in which 1%
of the puppets take up over 50% of the performance
should not be considered a success, let alone acceptable?
Everyone should do their part, have their say,
otherwise what the hell will we know?
I'll tell you. only 1% of the things we should.

detestable

11,000+ views @ writerscafe.org

streetlights flash in both eyes

like dimming fireflies in the night.

I’m riding these borderline abandoned

city trains home from my cubed cubicle,

hoping to God I manage to never go back.

ninety-four stops it seems from mine so I

crack my neck first right then left and I

open my leather bound notebook to write:

"Not quite a poet

Not quite in love
Not quite a friend

Not quite a savior

Not quite a catalyst

Not quite a romantic

Not quite capable of a revolution,

even the one I’ll die without.”

grinding metal screams as the train slows;
I turn the page and sarcastically cross out 93
I close my eyes as the doors open, then shut,
rubbing them until movement straightens my back.
I can't shake the feeling of confusion and concern;
something’s different in here, something changed
at that station. It’s brighter all over, beautiful even.
I eye the cab and quickly unravel the answer to why.

it’s the woman sitting down the row, her legs crossed.
she’ll probably catch my stare. I really don’t care.
I wonder if she knows of her own perfection.
the disheartened look she gives says she doesn't.
A man is slumped next to her, he's drunk and asleep.
she attempts to hold his hand but he pulls away.
this asshole doesn't deserve to share a train with her,
let alone conversate & love & make love with her.

I cross out 92, brakes squeal and the train stops again.
I quickly pack my things in disgust and stand up.
sighing loudly and shaking my head dramatically 

I walk past this pathetic, ungrateful shell of a man.
Then I bend down as I smile widely at the woman
so she has no choice but to notice; she smiles back.
I'd rather wait 30 minutes for the next train in this f%#@ing
blizzard than keep biting my tongue at this small tragedy

@rantedtirades

Babylon (rewrite)

  Where has my relationship with God been?

I haven't prayed, haven't read, haven't given

any more than a passing thought or desire

to seeking any kind of a spiritual experience.

I now find myself sitting in a religious university's institute class.
I don’t go to school or church here, but I’m present and listening.
“The flag of Babylon flies on every American street corner,”
says the preacher as he speaks of the evils of the modern
American material & consumer focused society
and the impending consequences that follow.
Turning his back toward us he says that we are
living in the midst of foreseen Babylon,
he warns stay away from the whore
of Babylon or else burn with her.

The preacher has yet to win me over.
 I mean, alright, this is all great,

but do what are probably myths 

and ancient warnings of apocalypse

invite a spiritual experience and an attempt at

a closer contact with your higher power?

these kind of speeches make me start thinking
of death and destruction and fear

over love, hope, and redemption.

these are what led me to resent

church, religion, even God for so many years

honestly these fucking professors can and do talk

and say ridiculous and controversial sentences and

there's no one to keep it in check.

These are the radicals.

Now the preacher is talking about "pre-earth life."

Apparently he has something new to call it,

and it appears to be a really big deal to him.

In fact, the way he’s talking it sounds like

he was responsible for changing the
use of this word in the first place,

which means all I’m hearing is this obscure

self-serving bullshit since he craves validation

for his previously stated stances and beliefs.

He’s wishfully thinking that what he’s saying is going
to be received as ground breaking and insightful;

all he’s gotten is some fucking freshman sitting in front

scribbling his every word in a composition notebook.

I hope that's the best he's gotten, at least.

because he's completely full of shit.

I guess what I'm getting at is fuck this guy.

His God isn't ours; you won't build him a shrine.

His path, his design, and his footsteps to reach the

finality of enlightenment tread separately from mine.

And that's okay, probably even preferable

because my God is still here anyway,

just like always.

  Ever heard of Idumea?

The soul of the the earth,

what keeps it all together.
Look that shit up.