Friday, December 26, 2008


There was a blizzard this night on the way from Boston to NYC on the Chinatown bus and I was lost in my own silence looking out the window as the trees, lights, mile-markers and landscape passed us by. I looked up the sky with a longing of some sort that I always feel when I look up to the big vast openness that seems to be this life I lead. The heat was pouring out of the overhead vents and I was listening to music on the way down. I was thinking how I hadn’t been to the city in about 14 years or so. The last time I was there I was about 10 years old or so and I remember that so well. My parents brought me down there to experience the city and there were pigeons everywhere. 

We did a lot of the touristy things like went to the statue of liberty, central park, the empire state building. I saw the Guinness book of world records museums inside of the empire. I had read that book so many times and loved it and always wondered why people set such odd goals and ambitions. Seems so silly to have the longest fingernails, the longest hair, the fastest motorcycle rider but I guess you can do anything with your life and if that’s what you come up with then so be it. I remember the cabs and the buses and the business of it all. Long gray overcoats, homeless people, small carts that sold hot dogs and hamburgers and other essentials of junk food. I remember how cold it was as well but one thing I remember the most that I am just realizing now is that night when we arrived back to our home in a small town called Ware, Mass I saw a shooting star fall right in front of my eyes, literally. It shot very fast in front of me and my parents even saw it so it wasn’t just some figment of my imagination which I have been known to wander off with. 

It was a real live one and it burnt all the way up in front of me and it's funny now to look back at that and remember that because now after living in the city for over four years or so now it makes a lot of sense that without my having known it at the time, that must have been my wish fulfilled. I don’t remember wishing for anything, I just remember following the road, following that spaciness that everyone in school used to say I was, always the kid with a dream, always the kid lost in space, always somewhere else. Some people think that it is some sort of escapism, or magical trick to not deal with reality, the artist in me. But then I read into that a bit more and wonder if that is really true. Is it true that if you have a dream and someone doesn’t, are you the one lost in space or is that dream very real. I don’t doubt that the dream is real; I have so many experiences to show for all of my thoughts and feelings. Things I can’t even begin to tell you in this small paragraph about something different. 

This is going back in time to see where we are now and I don’t even know where I am now, never mind trying to figure out what everything meant then. The frame of mind I had then and the frame of mind now is totally different and I can feel it and see it. I can see the walls building up around me as I keep smashing them down, I keep smashing my own down and then people around me keep telling me to put them back up, people all around me keep telling me who I am, what I am supposed to believe in and I just don’t buy any of it anymore. 

There's nothing left to believe in, there never was in the first place, it was all useless things to scatter the mind with, to keep it busy, and to keep it going into a different place that doesn’t even exist. I have traveled in many places inside and outside myself. If you are reading this, then I know you know you have been with me whether it was for a short time or a medium time or a long time or you are still here with me. You have seen me at my worst, my most mediocre, my best, you have seen me fly really high and smash down to the ground, you have seen me want to completely destroy myself and then build myself back up and up and up and then you have seen me docile, meek and eager, searching for something, searching for nothing, not giving a fuck about anything, caring too much about everything, I have yelled and screamed at you, I have cried with you, I have laughed with you, I have done mischievous things with you, I have gotten drunk with you, I have gotten stoned out of my mind with you and talked endlessly about the span of time, about the life we live, about the death that is always around the corner, I, I, I, I, and I have even gone from I to we, we have had sex together for hours on end, for minutes of futile passions, we have fucked in all kinds of places, in bathrooms, in other people’s homes, in our apartment together, in your apartment alone, with other people laying next to us, we have kissed passionately to the point of complete ecstasy, we have gotten drunk off of love, so drunk that the world never existed anywhere else but in that moment, we have left our body, we have left our mind, we have left our own lives and acted out these otherworldly roles that we could never live up to, we have made so many promises to each other, we have let things happen, we have forced things to happen, we have even told each other to fuck off and never seen each other ever again, we have done so many things that I could keep going on and on and on about it. We have made each other realize a lot, we have pissed each other off a lot, we have projected our hopes and dreams, we have projected our futures and our pasts and the he said, she said conversation topic that never goes anywhere, we have hurt, and we have healed. 

Now the page is turning and this all reminds me of what Rudyard Kipling wrote in his poem called "if" He said that after it is all, you will be a man my son. I can feel those last lines of the poem. For once I can even see it. So much selfishness and selfless acts that have happened between us, millions of us, so many of us together that I can’t even keep count anymore and there's not one time I regret. I know this is turning out to be some long regarded sentiment and I usually don’t like to write sappy little things but at this point, I do not give a fuck about trying to write something that will appease to you. I am writing this because right now it is coming out, I don’t even know the next thought, I don’t even know the next comma or right use of punctuation, I don’t care anymore, it’s not my job to make sure that I copy someone else’s style so you can be familiar, it’s not my job to make sure I write non-run-on sentences, if my thought comes out this way then fuck it, this is the moment, this is what we definitely have, I don’t want to impress you or lead on into thinking that I am some extraordinary person full of magical talents that are going to make you like me anymore or any less than you already do. I can keep writing this same sentence over and over and over again in three hundred and seventy-five different ways. 

I realize I am not your savior, I am not even my own savior, there is nothing to save, we have everything we ever wanted, and it’s always been in front of us if we are willing to see it. It’s deep in the black void in the body, in the soul, in the cellular memory of the heart. We remember everything just not all at once. It is impossible to remember it all at once and even if we did we would go mad, we would go crazy and even when we do remember it, there’s the possibility that what we remember might not even be accurate, it might just be a figment of our imagination, we may stretch it all out to see what we want to see or we may be that little boy in the painting that Caravaggio did in the late 1600's, David and Goliath and the sword of truth severing the head of the arrogant warrior full of pride. Humiliation kills pride. Pride is a dead scene, it’s defeated itself, humiliation is nothing to, just another way to make one feel bad about themselves and what’s the point? There is no point. And you can argue endlessly about anything and everything that I say and I say that it doesn’t matter to me anymore. I am not responsible for your decisions in life, I am not responsible for your decisions and you can say even that this is a very unloving way of me and I can so oh really, is that true and you can look me in the eye and we can see who we really are. 

And you can start crying about it and I can start crying because you trigger something so deep in me, that beast of compassion that melts the iceberg around the heart in the middle of the winter. Then we can start again and we can move like a locomotive, I think I can, I think I can and we can move up that big hill in the pouring rain, all alone, alone with the alone, with everyone around us and no one. and I can keep using black and white terminology but then I will always realize that there is color and there is so much color that it blinds us, it puts us in a frenzy, it takes us away and some people will call us crazy, they will say we have gone mad and that we need therapy and maybe that is so, but then we can always say that maybe it’s not all meant to be taken too seriously. 

Maybe god is a fucking comedian and he’s a fucking hilarious bastard son up on the pulpit letting us all know that the sermon is actually a big joke and we keep falling for it every time but we keep falling asleep in the pews and yawning through the whole experience looking for something more interesting, looking for someone to tell us something, anything, anything we haven’t heard before, something that will wake us up, something that will give us something we never felt before, something that I can’t even describe to you and even look at it, I started out telling you all about NYC and memories and how this happened and that happened and the next thing you know I have opened up this giant heart of mine and it's pouring out and if you have read this far then you either think one thing or another about me or your reading along because you also feel this way and you read beyond the words and the typography and the design of the sentence which even isn’t real, and I can say things that don’t make any sense at all but you understand, you understand it all without even understanding it and I could keep writing this forever and forever and forever and you would keep on reading it, looking for something, anything. and you will say, just say something to me that I can hear or that I can feel or that and I will just let you know that now I am at a loss for words and I am even writing it down so you can know where I am coming from. 

I can tell you that I am still walking alone with the alone and I don’t know where I am going but I have a map and a compass that doesn’t say anything, it’s all blank now, the flashlight it dead I can see in the dark, I have whiskers like a cat, I have the intuition of a mother, the clairvoyance of a psychic, the ability to speak with the universe and see it is conscious of my existence and that I am conscious of its existence and if you took me out of this place there would be a small little spot that not one person could fill that is me but I am so ordinary, and then you could think that I am only writing about myself because you can’t see beyond yourself but this story is about you, and you, and you, and you, and me and me and me, and about no one at all. 

I will write to you more about my dreams, travels, experiences if you would please write to me and tell me that you are still here and remember what we have done together, alone, it doesn’t matter, let's write it all down for the world to read. See look at that, I started out with a fucking blizzard and ended up with the same thing in words worth.

Thursday, December 25, 2008


So I was somewhere I had never been before in this physical life, it was some white house and there were people everywhere who I did not know. I was in the crowd with the rest of them. We were all wearing the same kind of clothing and it was kind of cold outside. There were many windows inside of the buildings all around us, they were house like. A gun man came to a window and I felt his presence looking for me. Once he saw me he started shooting everyone there to get to me. I kept running through the crowd, he could not shoot me. So he decided to shoot everyone. The more people he shot the more open space there was for me not to be able to hide behind. Then the man shot someone right in front of me and I grabbed onto the person as they fell into me and used them to dodge the bullets but one hit me in the head immediately as it shot through the body. I dropped the body and became very weak and wobbled into a door and went into a house and the people were like holy shit you have been shot but I could not respond, I knew this was it, it was my time to go and I laid down in a collapsing manner and went to the final sleep. My sould left the body very gracefully and then I woke up in my mother's living room and she was standing there and I told her all about it. It's funny they call it a living room but I always feel like I am dying in it.


Blue moon diner with Ziggy talking about the time that has passed since we first met and all of the crazy things we have been through together in this city. All the failed attempts at love, music, celebration, creation all due to the fight between the split inside of us. It all seems like such a waste of time but at the same time, it has brought us through this to show us something bigger than ourselves and to compare any time, any person and any one is a waste of time and is not fair to anything. Useless to regret the way everything happened when you weren't sure what was going on and how you contributed to it all. Avoidance of the more negative qualities of life just perpetuated them even more. 

Now the shackles and the chains we have imposed on ourselves have fallen off and we grow wings to fly out of the inner depths of the hell that almost seemed real for a time. I get up to use the bathroom and as I walk back there I think about how lucky we really are to be alive still, to be here, to be in this moment sharing these thoughts. Yes, life has moments of a certain sentimentality that not many people want to admit. I walk back to the bathroom and there is a man with a sullen look drinking a beer in a cup and he is staring down at the floor looking very sad and he tells me that the door is open so I walk past him to use it. I start pissing out all of the digested coffee and this thought comes to me that this man once I walk out of the bathroom is going to start a conversation with me, now I didn't know what he was going to say but I just knew this for some reason, there was a deep feeling that spoke to me. 

So I walk out and lo and behold he starts speaking to me. He tells me he is very lonely and how the night before he had gotten jumped by a thief, blacked out and woke up in Beth Israel Hospital and didn't remember how he got there, why, or anything. His life has been a constant struggle with no possibility for anything else other than that. I just listened to him speak because that is what he needed. To be heard. He said he was hungry so I reached into my wallet and gave him the last five dollars that I had on me and after I did this he started to cry uncontrollably and gave me the biggest hug ever. He told me he loved me and that no one has ever stopped and listened to what he wanted to say and that no one has ever let him hug them. He also said that he doesn't care about the money it was the point that I took the time out of my life to share the moment with him when he really needed it. I said it was no big deal to me, it all lined up on its own, we aren't alone here. 

I also was thinking about the past six months and how I had gone into a very big depression and gone right to the very bottom of everything so I know what it is like. So many people have shown me so much support in all moments of this life and I wanted to share that same wisdom, compassion to anyone that shows up. I am able to help so why not, what it is a moment of my time if it helps push someone in a direction or even opens up a small sliver of awareness. It warmed my heart that all this happened. It's like what I said to a man on the train once; We are humanity! We are all in this together whether we like it or not. 

While all of this was taking place my seat in the diner got filled by an old lady who was passing by Ziggy, she thought he was a famous movie star or a famous something or other. They spoke of art, theatre, and other such performances. The universe threw people at us this day, these people needed to speak, so we listened. 

These relics of NYC history and experience spoke to us and reciprocated the conversation of our lives. 

We love you all.


Ziggy and I are sitting on the N train downtown, southbound to Canal St from Union Square and we are talking about the pictures that we are planning on taking that afternoon with an octopus and a naked woman and there's this family across from us from Puerto Rico, that is at least what appears to be true to me. There is a mother, a young daughter, a young son, a father and a daughter who is probably about seventeen years old. She keeps staring at me and smiling and for some reason its funny to me so I start to laugh. She continues to stare and smile and I continue to laugh. I see nothing wrong with it, this kind of thing happens on the train between young people, old people, middle-aged people every day. 

She then makes a hand signal like she is very bored being on the train with her family, she makes a gun with her finger and her thumb and shoots herself in the head. This makes me laugh hysterically because of the irony of the bored faces sitting next to her on the train. I can understand how one would feel in this moment. Everything in life can be very funny given the right circumstances and moment. It's all about the delivery of the joke but her father didn't see it this way. He interpreted it in a whole other way that was not meant to be interpreted it. I feel it was a big assumption on his part and you know what they say about assumptions when you assume something you make an ass out of you and me. He started to yell at me about staring at his daughter and I told him I can stare wherever I want and I can laugh wherever I want. This pissed him off and he was about to stand up to fight me over this and I invited him but the mother also had a different understanding of the situation so she stood up and got between us. 

She told him to sit down and to cut it out. I let him know that there was no problem to begin with he was only creating a problem. There is a difference between something that is definitely happening in reality and the thought that something is happening, the difference is that one thing you can definitely see and the other is only a projection of what you are thinking of at the time. So seeing how he had some issue with me staring at her, I started to stare at him instead to even things out and to let him know that what was going on was not what he insinuated. I smiled and remained in a good mood, I wasn't going to let anyone tell me who I am and what my intentions are unless there is a definitive thing that I am choosing to show and/or do. This continued awkwardly for the rest of the 5 minutes moving from 8th street to canal street. 

As I walked off of the train I told him to have a good day and he told me that he always has a good day. I said apparently. I also said that he shouldn't assume things of people that aren't true that is where all problems occur. He said that he would assume whatever he wants so I said well then you, at least, know when you are causing a problem that doesn't exist. The train doors closed and it closed the chapter of that moment between us forever.

*one thing I will mention about myself and this story is this, I am no worse or better than anyone else in this world. But if someone in this world is going to try and attempt to tell me who I am, what I am doing then I am going to let that person know just who I am and what I am doing. What you are thinking is happening in reality and what is true to happening, in reality, are two different things.

Sunday, December 21, 2008


It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Wait, scratch that, who hasn’t heard that one before. Too cliché, too obvious. What a waste of time starting a story out about the inevitable things. Everyone goes through good times and bad times. After all, this is the city of hope, broken dreams and repair shops. Plus we can’t just start out with some narration that gives the whole meaning of the story away, it's too soon, it's trivial. Too expected. We have to give them something more to work towards. Surprise them. Something less revealing. Something with a little more pizazz. I just used to word pizazz. That’s something someone would say selling real estate. Why should we give them anything at all? I sure as hell don’t want to listen to some guy talk in the first thirty seconds of the story about the fucking story. I want to read something else. This is garbage. I want to read anything at this point. Something with fewer words. Yeah, that’s it, fewer words. That would be perfect.


First off we see a clock on the wall. It's ticking. We see ten seconds go by. Then we see an office environment. A man waits in a chair. A secretary opens a window and starts to speak.

Ok, Mr. Mr?


Yes, Magdalene. The doctor will see you now.

Inside the Doctors Office, we see a scale, another clock, jars of things, a desk, charts, books. We see outside a window where there is a windmill and a pond. On the wall is that same windmill and pond with a young man fishing.

So, I’m fine.

Fit as a fiddle.

So, I’m not going to die?

I can't predict that I am only a Doctor.

But, I’m healthy as a horse.


No tumors?

No tumors.

Hearts good?

Hearts good.

Brains good?

Brains good.
The only thing I would say is that you should learn to relax.

How do I do that?

Find something that you enjoy.

Where do I start?

Try going for a walk.

Go for a walk?

Hey, it’s a start, I can’t give you all the answers.

Doc c’mon I need something.

No, you don’t. Your perfectly fine. There's nothing wrong with you.

C’mon the anxiety has been getting to me.

That'll do it every time but all you have to do is breathe.

But I am so scared of tomorrow and the day after that and the…

That’s pretty normal.

C’mon just something for the pain, something to make it all go away?

I just want to know.
I want to know so bad.

Whats there to know?

How will I die?

How will you live? Try that one first.

But I want to know now.

How do you know what's going to happen before it has happened? No one knows this. As people, we spend so much time logistically planning out our lives. Writing down on our calendars when this is going to happen and when that is going to happen. Then we wonder why we find so much disappointment when nothing goes according to plan. Stop me if you have heard this all before already.

I don’t even know what to say to that.

There's nothing to really say. Life happens while you plan it. It's always been this way. It'll always be this way.

I don’t know if I am far ahead with that type of thinking.

That’s the thing. There is no thinking involved, you let it happen. You participate in the happening. Here's a question: where are you headed after this?

Well, I am going to stop at the store for a pack of smokes and then head home and think about all this stuff we just talked about.

So you are going home.

How are you getting there?

The car.

So you are driving there.

That’s what cars do these days right?

I didn’t know cars drove themselves.

I’m going to drive it.



It only makes sense, you are the driver at the wheel.
How do you know you are going to make it?

I am going to take the BQE to the Metropolitan exit.

No, I am saying how do you know you're going to make it home?

I don’t really know. I guess we will see what happens, right?

Well, all I know is all you have been the road in front of you, so if that’s true then all you have to do is drive. 

So, just drive, when you get home, give me a call.


Honey, you have to be courageous. To be fierce, it takes balls. It takes and individual. It takes challenging yourself. We are the individuals of this city. We make it all happen, honey. We are the creators of this place. We are the dreamers of the dream.

I was thinking about this the other day. This is so funny that we bump into each other to have this conversation.

Honey, you're open to it. When you keep yourself open to it everything lines up and you meet the people you are meant to meet.

Is simplicity the new complexity?

That’s for sure honey. Here’s a prime example. {points to a man in the window who is eating a very large steak and eggs dinner at midnight in a greasy diner.} That man over there will never know what it is like to be an individual. My guess would be that he does the same thing every single night. Eats and eats and eats. Reads that newspaper filled with the most useless stories of tragedy making his life all that more tragic. The same articles of how fat you're getting, how bald you're getting, how poor you're getting. Yet, he’s still here every night doing the same thing.

And I notice this happening everywhere.

Most people don’t want to break out of the shell, it's too scary. There is too much investment in routine.

Well, look at what he is reading and what everyone else is reading. It’s a wonder why. How can we ever see anything change if we don’t do anything differently.

Honey, that’s what this life is all about. Asking how we can. How can we live the beautiful life? Ask yourself that.

How can we live the beautiful life?


My mind has way too many ideas going back and fourth. Bouncing from one idea to the next to the next. Never being able to focus on just one thing at a time. That’s been my whole life. One thing, to the next to the next. Never being able to completely focus on just one thing at a time.

Or have you just led yourself to believe that?


Well, how else do we figure it out?

We could let it come to us

I need to write it down and see it so I can re-read it and figure out what it means to me.

Hows that going for you?

Well, I am still just as confused as I was when I started out.

Do you feel like you have made any progress at all?

Sure, now I can walk down the street without wondering if something horrible is going to happen around every corner.

So then what confuses you?

What confuses me is this: What are we doing here? I see a whole world filled with poor people, rich people, powerless people, powerful people, corrupt people, religious people, people who don’t believe in anything, big houses, small houses, no houses at all. I see people heavy as brick walls, people light as feathers, people in between these states, People on the outside looking in, people on the inside looking out. This all feels like a strange dream and I keep pinching myself to see if I am going to wake up. I want to get up and get out of this place. I do my best to make everyone feel welcome. I am open to everything that happens but I don’t want to be a part of most of the things that do happen. I don’t even know what you can do to help me anymore, I don’t even know what I can do to help myself anymore as well. I know if I ask you, you will just give me a textbook remedy but that is not going to help me. It makes me sick to hear all of this, to see myself speak this, to see myself write all these things down. To see all this come out of this head of mine, but at the same time, I feel a big breakthrough coming on. I will keep writing and writing and writing and still I will feel like I haven't come any closer to seeing anything.




Whats wrong with me?

What do you mean?

Whats wrong with me, that’s what I mean; that’s exactly what I mean.

Does there always have to be something wrong?

Look at the world around you?

What does the world around you have to do with you?

Friday, November 14, 2008


Where the fuck are we going, cried the driver to the passenger

I have no clue, you said you knew where we were going and you were so sure of it and all this other stuff.

Yeah, but I relied on you cried the driver, you're the one with the map, I have to pay attention to the road and make sure we get there safely.

That's why I assumed that you knew where you were going, you appeared to be in control. then you started driving really fast down the highway and I was like shit, he knows where he's going if he's going to be driving that fast

So you just assumed, why didn't you ask me while we were moving?

Because you were so involved in your driving. I felt like you didn't even know I was here.

Fuck, now we are stuck in the middle of nowhere, with no gas, no food, no clue where we are.

You know this really sucks, we could have told each other what was going on and avoided the whole thing

Do you really believe that it was fucking inevitable? you said, lets drive, let's keep going, let's never stop and now look at us, in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Hey, why don't you keep reminding me, just in case I forget.

I will, you got us lost, idiot.

No, you fucked up by not telling me what was going on.

I can't read your fucking mind.

You have the attention span of a fucking stop light. you focus for a moment and then boom you're off again, to who knows where.

Well, look at you, you are so quiet, you don't speak. you just sit there doing nothing, waiting for something to happen and then what do you know, nothing happens. that's a big surprise.

(another man in the back seat wakes up.)

Can't anyone get some fucking rest around here. why do you guys keep fighting over nothing?

You stay out of it

I can't believe you can just sleep through all of this.

There was nothing else to do, I was bored with the same scenery.

Are you kidding, it's gorgeous out here.

No it's a wasteland, look at us now in the middle of it.

Thursday, November 13, 2008


Fist off we don't own anything on this earth or in this galaxy. We temporarily claim that everything is ours and that we have control over it all but none of this is true. We are born, we learn through life, through our experiences, through our pains, through our turmoils, through our happiness, through the realization that life is fucked up and beautiful at the same exact moment. So, don't be too sick of the antics, the tongue-tied romantics, the clueless procrastinators, the two faced systematics. 

It takes all of these things for the process and the balance to see it all. Only if you have a true desire to want to. The universe and everything in it is everything that life is. It's every waking hour, every breath, every sunset spent alone, every sunrise spent with some stranger laying naked next to you. 

Our lives are but one pigment of the colors on the color wheel. Take one pigment out and you won't be able to make tertiary colors anymore. There will be no black and white. Everything will be a great big mess. But these are all the foots steps that took us here. You can see the bricks and the apartments and the places where we have all been.

Some questions you may want to ask yourself is who are you? what do you stand for? are you here just to fill a space, a time and a void? are you afraid to be alone?

In my experiences you can do what you want, can take advantage of every possibility and every opportunity that life has to offer. You got the road never traveled filled with weeds, rocks, overgrown with grass or you got the paved road with the guard rails. 

You can drive slowly on one or fast on the other. You either drive straight or straight through the guard rail hoping there's another road to connect to.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008


Listen, first of all, fuck you. Fuck you and all your elaborate buildings and patterns and plans, all your fucking books and movies and talk about all kinds of shit I haven't even said. Blasphemous as it may seem I don't care anymore. I've been following and listening to you for some time and now I am stuck in a big black fucking void and your supposed to be the all knowing, all powerful, above and below being that all your stupid books talk about yet you show me nothing to dig myself out of this hole that I am stuck in. I have been loyal to you. I have done many great things in your name and still I can't feel anything but spite in this moment. 

I want to put you back on the cross and hammer those nine inch nails right back into your wrists but I know that I am just a coward, I know that much. I am sick of calling your name, I am sick of your tricks and your trades of sacrifice for a tiny piece of rice that disintegrates in my hand the moment that I touch it, and most of all I am so fucking sick of having to complain about how much your fucking pissing me off. I have been down so many of your tortured roads. I have left burned down roads from the flames of this fury inside of me. The fire still burns I can't seem to put it out and am ready to put myself out. I am ready to throw water on myself and dig a hole and bury myself right in it. I am sick of your fucking buildings, your money, your power and prestige, your proof, your science, your art, your philosophy. 

You made me in your image and I keep looking everywhere and yes I have found things. I have found what its like to love another and I have found what its like to feel so much love inside. I have seen what its like for the opposite of that. I have witnessed everything in your fucking books, that I know of so far. I don't know anymore about anything. I don't know what the point of all this is. I don't know why I am here. I don't know why I chose this hell. I don't know why I am bitter. I don't know why my humor has left me. If you are the great and powerful all seeing one then please put on your list that I am the next one to take out of here because I can't take this pain and suffering anymore. I have spent 6 months now, wallowing, trying to find the words to say to you. Nothing. I shut my eyes and see nothing. I feel nothing. I keep hitting your walls that you built around me. You humble me and humiliate me and my pride leaves then I have no confidence anymore in anything and I sit here waiting, waiting, waiting and then I tire of waiting so I try and do something and still nothing happens. 

I am not your dog, you are not my dog. I am not pavlov, so please stop showing me food and ringing that fucking bell so that I can sit in front and drool all over the place because I am ready to bite your fucking hand off. I am starving. I am poor. You have reduced me to nothing and you just sit there in your big fancy fucking chair with all the jewels on it and you want me to make you laugh but the fucked up thing is you already are, your laughing at how pathetic I am, at how fucking pathetic even this long winded paragraph is. You'll send people to read this long paragraph and they will say how fucked up I am or how I am lost or all these other things I need to do. Last time I checked though we are human beings, not human doings. 

Even this catharsis is killing me, I keep letting it out and out and it just keeps biting me in the ass. You keep telling me how beautiful the world is but your stupid little newspapers keep telling me of all these promises about how everything will change, how everything will pass, how this is going to happen and how that is going to happen and you know what we are still in the same fucking place we have always been. Your history is proof of that. I have read so much of your literature, your history, your holy wars, your sciences and have spent much time with many people in all areas of your field and all I can say is that I have seen much disappointment. I have failed. I am weaker than you. I keep showing you that and then I snap out of it and I find it again, I find that footing for a moment and it feels great and then you throw me down again to the ground and you punch and kick me while I am down and I cry and I scream because I can't take it anymore, then I am a victim, then I am a crook because I still work for you without pay, I still clean up all your messes. That is how much of a fucking fool I am, I never give up but this time I am. 

Fuck you god, you can have your fucking nest back and all your eggs and everything and if you actually want to show your face this time and have a conversation with me that might amount to something then I welcome you with open arms and open ears. 

So if you want to stop fucking with me and actually show me what you are trying to show me then fine, otherwise this is it. I am done. Finished, but if this is all just the opposite of what I am feeling right now and saying then please prove to me I am wrong.

I am done proving myself to you and taking the beating and backlash.

with love or without.

Thursday, November 6, 2008


Flying down the Garden State Turnpike doing roughly seventy miles per hour with no room to breathe. We were on a mission to eradicate all the boredoms and tragedies of life. Every crazy bastard was behind the wheels of these thunderous machines while clouds rolled off the back windows and disappeared with every inch that we approached that island of lonely people. The one window that did go down well, it was down. The purr of this eight-cylinder machine of hell was nothing of a straight shot at the president with a hunting rifle. Pure adrenaline at the helm. Swerving in and out of the mile-markers, the fast lanes with the slow people in them. It felt like there was an end to the world and we were trying to get as close to the edge of it as possible. 

Then danger ahead. Traffic jams. Gridlocked ironies. Car exhaustion. Makeshift transitions over to the edge of the road and straight on through to evening, hopefully. That's all we had, Hope. Until some bastard in this gas guzzling, American destroying SUV felt the need to cut us off. To discontinue our run to the edges of freedom from the breakdown lane, but we only thought about this for a second and immediately took the situation into our own hands. 

We were driving a fucking ship. The titanic iceberg. This was the kind of car you didn't fuck with at the beginning or the end of each day. Alvaro Uribe Velez and Edgar Allen Poe in the grips of the ship. We went right around without a moments hesitation because we knew that if we didn't it could be years from now to regain this bizarre opportunity of dumb luck. 

We speed past all these slow demons and right past a tractor-trailer truck that had toppled over. There was blood all over the road and a sense that death was here. This wasn't just a coincidence that we were seeing the deathbed of someone we may never know. This was a true crime at hand and we all knew the fine police dept. would take care of everything. If that wasn't bad enough of a break, we pulled up to the tollbooth of the Lincoln Tunnel where for six dollars you can go under the fantastic river of the Hudson and end up on the other side in the land of the vulturous. We entered the tollbooth with caution as the air hadn't really cleared yet and it was just another one of life's treats. 

This lady vulture creaked her salt wound neck over to collect our money but even after collecting it she was still not satisfied. I realized then and there that a Colombian man and a caucasian man should never be traveling together in a giant ice berg floating to knock everything out of the way. She had this assumed look in her eyes like we had some ties in with drugs and sex-crazed women, she looked at us like she thought we were people that can't travel anywhere and be trusted that they are going to follow all of the rules and make no mistakes along the way. She seemed to assume then that we were going to attack her, that was the exaggeration of the situation. I immediately felt nausea and slumped into my seat but then immediately went right into it. 

I looked at the woman and told her exactly what was going on. I pointed my index finger of death at her and I said; there is no problem here, we are passing through and you are not going to get in our way. She let us pass through and I knew she had felt it. Deep in the womb. We flew as fast as possible under great depths of seas where pirates and sailors have given their lives for the development of thousands of high rises, so gods could sit in the sky and know they have it all. 

I still see nothing in this safe haven of land slanderers and the homeless makers of the forgotten way.

{BACKWARDS 11-12-05}

The grip has got a hold of me again and it's the battle versus the elements of the past, the present, and the future all rolled up into one theme. In these crazy and fast times I can't even tell who's at the wheel of this speeding machine, with an engine fueled by the fires of hell and the fuel sponsored by the devil himself. In times like these, there is no room for needing more space and all that hopping around that seems so fictitious that it can't keep me in the loop as to what it is that is going on. 

I only hope that this isn't the last resting place for yours truly. I am hoping that there are horizons ahead of us that we will have to walk to and I am thinking hopefully by the grace of that unknown god. We have finally reached a point where I am not sure of anything anymore It's gotten to that point where the fucking cars are speeding down the roads like lepers running away from each other with open arms. With their eyes closed. To make it completely legit. We would put coins over their eyes and call it a night. 

That kind of goodnight that says nothing more than the people around us still speak of. Like its all about to end and it never does. Drunken hybrid whales fall silently down the sidewalks. Pummeling straight down the stairs. No return flight pattern. Trying to get ahold of my footing. Trying to let myself know that everything is going to be alright. The idle time that our idle hands keep watching slowly tick away. I forgot where I left my fucking watch. The bridges are collapsing on false ironies and I am drunk as all hell. One road has ended and somewhere down there on those points of perception is a new beginning and a new place. History is written by animals and re-interpreted by the insane beast like mammals flapping like fish out of the water. Can't breathe. 

Every exhales is one less inhale and there's no way to catch up.

{MISSING 11-13-05}

Why do we keep missing each other? I see you walking away every moment and I don't know if it was you or if it was me that tore this all apart, but baby things got out of hand on the grandest of scales and I don't know which way to go, I just don't know.


The cold finally swept up it's wings and took over these spaces that I didn't know it would and at a rate alarming that thunderstorms filled the sky on a morning where everything was once familiar. The queen settled into the hive as yours truly slept into three or four hours that I could. The deprivation is catching up so much to the point that even if I slept the next life away it still wouldn't be enough. 

The hive was the quietest it had been for some time now due to me being the worker bee who has put much effort into everything and ended up with a small gap between so many lines and borders. Kings and Queens no more in this hive. This is the freelancers union now with no benefits but a sense of satisfaction that everything that has happened up to this point was the demons dancing and partying for the end of a new beginning. 

I haven't seen any of the other workers for some time but the Queen had her last ride with me and it seemed for the purposes of moving on but I am still unsure because she seems to be the one who brings order to all the disorder. 

The centrifuge of my life in these fast times of the exceedingly deranged lunatics.


It's a cruel world, that it is especially when you see an elderly woman crying in the street screaming, "help me". I didn't know what to do at the time, what could I do, I had nothing to offer. I am having a hard enough time trying to keep it all together and I am sure of it one day she will pull herself out or she will die cold hearted in the streets. 

Or else maybe that is a prediction of where I am headed. Well luckily the weather has been an odd seventy-two degrees in November which is usually opposite, it should be cold. There was Clint, Dennis and I can't remember his name but he's a good guy I know that much. They were all down on Ludlow Street the time I was going for a walk to settle the disappointments and the last class of actions that had been going on in the past 2 years. 

The winter's here have been very cold and grey but nothing comparable to the cold winter's of Boston walking in the windy ice rain blowing off my face. Sanding my skin down to a smooth feel. 

The abrasiveness has shown me so many truths and I feel I am well versed in these thoughts and phrases but never can seem to write about anything except for the life that I see out there through the looking glass and at every street corner and subway stop seems to be new days and new adjustments.


Well, just another fuck-horse of a night. I think it's about that time where my cerebellum splits off from the rest of my head and does its own thing. I got the F train blues down here on 42nd street and there's not much hope for some of these eyes around me right now. Another funny thing I just noticed was the crusted dried semen stuck to my pen. 

There's quite a possibility my pen was in the wrong place at the wrong time while I was doing that deed that we do to keep us wanting to fuck everything we see. At this point, there is nothing I can really do about it due to my absence of emotion and those feelings of attachment to anything other than the environment that is all around me. It just goes without saying that we must ride these waves out and see where they take us, where we end up in the middle of the ocean. 

Then everything is a new perspective, there's new light in the tunnels I have been traveling in and it's nice to know that no matter what happens I am going to be alright and this is me saying this high as a kite, alcohol pumping through my veins, so it's gotta be somewhat true. It comes from the depths.


I think that maybe I have changed my mind on this NYC place. This place is fucking disgusting. There's trash everywhere at every corner. Everyone that moves here can't seem to handle it due to it being such an insane place to be. 

With all its insane people and every last one is crazy even me. I feel the fear and the frenzy every few weeks with a little break in the middle just so I don't go completely over the edge but I come really close walking on razor wire. I just saw some sparks fly from underneath. I am on the train while I write this. 

I don't even know who any of these fucking people are staring at me from the opposing side of the subway platform. I have no clue but they look at me at times like we had been here before. 

That this had already been done a long time ago and some of us are remembering and taking notes and making sure we are reminding other people that these things are real.


The bicycle riders out here are a bit crazier than the ones in Manhattan. When you least expect it one flies out of the shadows with a butcher knife and chases you down the street like a chicken getting ready to get its head cut off. Not more than two seconds later there's a lady and a man battling at it in the streets like a wild rhinoceros and a giraffe with a shorter neck than most. Just witnessing these events on the mass grand scale is enough to drive one to the nuthouse. Every second seems like a movie moment on a mass scale grandeur. 

Tender broiled thighs walk down the street and I just don't understand what people see in fat people and I mean no harm in saying this because I do know a few fat bastards out there in the world who have the biggest hearts that any man or woman would want. That kind of heart that melts brain receptors and drives you into a mad frenzy so that when finally all things go wrong and not one moment that has passed by has gone well. 

You know you just got yourself into some real deep trauma from all past experiences. It's just a really bad movie played over and over again. Each time its set up with a new set of circumstances and new character developments that you would never have expected. That is why I am faced with the decision to leave all these yellow cabs and red street lights and seek refuge in a new place and time where new experiences will let me know if this is just another place to stay or another place to leave.

I take a look-down Flushing Ave. and the horizon down there in the southernmost part of Brooklyn. I see nothing more. Time is just one of those things you can't cash in on no matter what you have done to span those stretches apart or close together. I am not even sure at points if the things I wrote down are really worth anything to anyone anyways. Why would anyone want to read about things that they have nothing to do with or authors they will never know or anyone else but themselves for all that matters. 

When I finally cash in all my winnings from whatever happens from the big gambles that are about to take place I will only hope that some sort of difference was made. That there was some impact in someone's life so that they could feel the happiness on an authentic level. So they could look out windows and not be scared of the outside world or the people in this place because some of these people are pretty wretched but some are truly free.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008


were the most important ones I had ever witnessed in myself writing to her and to think that I never knew how they would go or if I would ever find them, but I wore them proudly like a scar and let them all shine brightly though something still felt missing. 

I reached and reached and grabbed onto them tightly and they said this to myself: This year has been very magical. The universe spoke to me almost every single day in almost every way but I feel that here my time is done. I set out to learn as much as I could about myself and I feel that has happened. It brought me deeply into a place I had never been before. 

I may have been there when I was a little boy. If we would call it anything we would call it the remembering. Thank you very much for all your kind words, they mean the world to me. I hope you know that and all of the experiences we have shared now hold a deeper meaning to me that was not at that time understood. So in any moments of your quiet desperation that you may experience someday in this life or any other life. 

As we know it all seems to come like a sickness. Just know that somewhere out there you are still with me. All of those words we built together have grown into the soil and have rooted into the big tree that I am. You are truly blessed. Enjoy this life to the fullest. Live each day like it was your last day here. This is all I have to say now. 

Remember to take a few moments every now and again to thank yourself, you went through hell so you could find your heaven.


Tomorrow is yesterday's today. So what would three days from now be? These are the kind of things you think about when you have nothing much to do. You can be sitting anywhere in the USA and these little anecdotes pop into your head. 

It's 12 o'clock somewhere in the world but where? You can think about a million things at once. There are too many options and they overwhelm you. If you built a time machine and wanted to go to specific coordinates in time you'd still be missing out on the present but then you could travel to the present after it has already gone by. 

After you traveled to the past and the future and saw your fate. You could just go back to the present. You could just live in the present for the rest of your life and it would change your future. All of the predictions you saw of the future would stay somewhere locked in space and time. 

They wouldn't exist. It would be like a house abandoned in the middle of the world. 

The house of one thousand windows and no door. No way to get in and no way to get out.


Everyone needs a fucking savior. They need some iron-clad figure standing before them to clean up the murder scene of life. It's not just any savior, though, our savior needs to be marketable. Our savior needs to be mysterious, almost to the ways of a ghost. Our savior needs a history, a book complete with sequels that coincide with each other that are hypocritical. We can't just market our hero without a little drama, without a little garbage on the side. Who wants to pay homage to a saint? Our savior needs to be beautiful. No rough, unshaven need apply. Perfect cheekbones, blue eyes, and a widened smile is what we need.


The clerk in the waiting room now looked at me with disgust and handed the letter back to me. I already had my number in hand and I was tired of waiting. It had already been an hour since number twelve had gone in to do her audition and it made me wonder just what the hell was going on in there. I just wanted to get my chance to shine and not only prove to them I am worth something but to prove it to myself too.

I couldn't help but look at the clock on the wall and watch its tiny arms slowly advance another minute and then another. I could hear the second hands tick so loudly that it gave me a headache and it didn't help that the lady at the desk was staring me down but what was I supposed to do? Did she not know that this was the rehearsal for the big scene in the movie called: the secretary at the meat market. I let her read my monolog so that I could see if something was missing. I wanted to do my best. I wanted to be as authentic as possible but I couldn't help but feel as if she thought I was mocking her. Really I was just trying to understand her.


The door was opening to the audition room. Why the hell did it sound like it was locked? It took a few more extra seconds for the door to open and when it did I caught a glimpse of that young woman fixing her dress and the auditioning man playing with his belt. 

The temperature in the room dropped and the blood rushed to my head. What kind of audition was this? The young woman strutted her stuff and gave me the kind of glare that said to me: your not getting the part. I gave back a stare that said: at least I don't have to suck people's dicks to be in a movie, I have something called talent. 

The secretary then said, good luck, you will need it.


Even when you were on top of the world, the view didn't do much justice because you were so isolated from the smallest details you could barely even see them. You were just an actor, just another face in the crowd playing your part and trying to outdo the rest with your phony tears and phony faces of the always victims put in their place. 

How fair it wasn't to the countless others and you yourself now knew. You didn't get the part. Your not the right one. You're not very convincing of the real thing. Little did you know that the real thing exists out there, somewhere living the part that you play. Oh, what a hell it is to be trapped here with you making a mockery of those who truly exist amongst the delusional and fearful ones. I call them my brother, sisters, sons, daughters, fathers, mothers.

So instead, we are building an army and it's not just one-sided. There's no buffoon committee sitting at a tall desk with a gavel and hairpiece. Shouting obscenities and declarations that he's seen it all and we should be very afraid. We should be so afraid that we must pay our taxes on time or else, and start families as a new kind of commerce. The business of the flesh parade. Organic blood for nothing at no cost to you. No one is real, don't worry, no one will hurt you. 
This is all just a fun game that everyone plays. There's no one behind that curtain, that really is the great and powerful Oz. He's your friend. That meat hammer is just a prop. It keeps the bad man away. 

Just stand over there, take a number and have a seat. Someone will be with you in a moment.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008


We were somewhere above the clouds and down below it looked like it was raining. We jumped off the edge of the world and gravitated towards the heavens. You couldn't see it all from the view way down there on the ground, and between the pollution and the hazy weather, it was impossible to even get a grip of what it was all really about. 

Even the oceans ripple below us was pushing at some slow pace just trying to get on top of it, even to see it for one second. The problem though was the noise and the pollution. The other was the population that was out of control. Idiot savages giving birth to more idiot savages. 

A whole tribe of pig fuckers and selfish pseudo-livers. 

The kind of wild beasts that just sit there in the clouds and wait to never see that true ray of golden sunshine.



The complainer
The critic
The judge
The defendant
The plaintiff
The jury
The sadist
The masochist
The overachiever
The underdog
The loather
The narcissist
The iliad
The odyssey
The thinker
The doer
The awakener


Curiosity never killed the cat, it was the idea that the cat died from curiosity that killed it.


It always seems like yesterday when these things arise. One minute you are on top of the world. You feel as if nothing can stop you. As the world turns, your heart burns for a better tomorrow day, not too far away. 

You can see these days all around you like they are crowding, but the only day you know is the day known as today. 

If today was a day you could turn it all around what would you do? what would you say? 

Would it even matter?

Saturday, November 1, 2008


I wake up in a house that is not mine, I remember. The house feels borrowed. It feels like a place that I have never been to before. I wake up in a place that looks like the den. There're all these wooden things on the wall. Wooden furniture, televisions, even the clock is made of wood. I get up off of the couch and walk towards another room that I am not familiar with. It's the kitchen, with all its elaborate paisley looking things. Doilies, hand towels and cute little salt and pepper shakers. It's a woman's kitchen, you can tell by the colors. I'm not sure if much cooking takes place in this kitchen because it is immaculate. Every possible place that there would be dirt and grime is spotless. Not one crumb from the toaster oven. Not a splash of eggs on the stove or milk spots on the counter from a careless poured bowl of cereal. I walk into the next room and its a very nice garage with an old car in it. A refrigerator with beer inside is stacked to the brim. There is a pool table with balls looking like they were in mid game.


I'm walking across the Golden Gate Bridge and there are three layers of traffic rushing back and forth. It is very windy from where I am as far as the vantage point is concerned. Even the cables of the bridge are moving slowly back and forth as if the bridge is alive. As I walk the feeling that something is wrong takes hold and then after that moment it starts to collapse in three sections. I try and run across it but am in the middle of it. Cars start to fall with the cement. The river is flowing rapidly. 

Then the piece I am walking on falls too. I fall sideways into the river with a velocity so fast and hard. We smash right into it. I start to swim while everything starts to sink. Under the water, I could see everything sinking to the bottom. Pieces of steel, cars with lights on even people all moved closer and closer to the bottom while the rivers current took me away. The next moment after that I am somewhere else; in the middle of the rainforest. I remember something attached to my leg. So I felt it and it felt like a rope. 

I looked at the shore and saw a man trying to pull me in if I let him. I knew if he did pull me in I would be stuck on some island farm toiling day in and day out for nothing that would ever interest me. So I untied the rope and watched him pull it in. The moment the end of it got to him he saw nothing was on it, a very big anger took over him. So he opened a gate in the river and let out tons of giant snakes. They all came straight for me. Once they caught up to me they proceeded to bite me in the pubic bone area. They sank their very large teeth into me. It hurt very much so. I was able to pull them all off in an instance. 

They couldn't do anything to me I realized, they just swallowed their own tails. I got out of the water and checked the wounds. There were many deep teeth marks. I asked the man if any of the snakes were poisonous. This hit me so hard because this was exactly the symbolism I needed to know in this moment. Then the man and I became good friends. He wanted to show me many things he said. So I jumped into a boat he happened to be in. He showed me his great land. There were all these wild animals everywhere. 

There were lions, tigers, bears, lemurs, sloths, and other combinations of animals made into animals. We drive down the river waving to all these exotic animals. The sun is slowly making its last appearance on the horizon, so I know that its time to be heading home; wherever that is. A baby lion runs toward me and jumps from the island and into the boat. I think for one moment that it is going to hurt me then realize that it is there to be playful with me. 

The moment I figure that out it jumps onto me. I teach it tricks and it listens and speaks to me. 

We continue off into the sunset.


And there we were sitting in it. Like some great lethargic kick in the face and time stood still and as tall as any giant would if he had a quarter to give to the guy on the street corner begging for change. The horizon expanding like the polar caps melting and wax candles dripping as sweat. The atmosphere's decent to the sun's rising again. The phoenix in flames out of the ashes. This is just the start of this great journey but for now, stares will just look. Then the first word will be spoken that I have written deep inside this catacomb.


There are things in the sky that I can see. 
They are the smallest details. 

Like the smell of your neck while we are in the middle of making love. Like the wind blows the leaves off of the trees. Like the hue inside the color of the pigment. Like the mess we make. Like the mechanism that makes it all fall apart. 

Why is this the time that I am most in love with you?


Any statements that express or involve discussions with respect to predictions, goals, expectations, beliefs, plans, projections, objectives, assumptions or future events or performance are not statements of historical fact and may be "forward-looking statements". Forward-looking statements are based upon expectations, estimates, and projections, at the time the statements are made that involve a number of risks and uncertainties which could cause actual results or events to differ materially from those presently anticipated. Forward-looking statements in this action may be identified through the use of words such as: "projects", "foresee", "expects", "estimates", "believes", "understands", "will", "anticipates", or that by statements indicating certain actions "may", "could", or "might" occur.

Awake. The hum of the engines on flight 603 startle you just enough to come to. The crackling of your eyelids as you open them feel like you could have been sleeping for days, or years even. Everyone in the cabin is asleep. Outside the window of your window seat is complete blackness. If there were a light on below you, you would be able to see it. The only light on tonight is the moon. It's half quarter phase reminds you of the winking of an eye. Only an eye sees everything and is able to register these transactions into the mind where all the senses push and pull together. Close your eyes. Try and relax so that you may fall asleep. So that maybe you will remember why you got on the plane in the first place. You remember that it was important that you got on this particular flight, but for what? They call this short-term memory loss.

Awake. This time, there is no hum. There is rushing water on all sides. Those people in the cabin that were sleeping are all awake now and they are screaming. Fully functional people all trying to live. Just one more day more. Everyone hates when they are not in control of their own lives. In a perfect world, none of this would have happened. I just look out my window at the rising tide and the deep dark ocean coming in. Coming to be. I realize I am not in control of my life. I am not god. I am not the all powerful being that is in charge of the card catalog of life. The only thing to really do now is to put my head in between my legs and let it all happen.

When you descend into the ocean at 450 miles per hour. 60 ft. per second. You don't have time to be a hero. You don't have time to really accept your life is over. To know, you can never go back and fix all the mistakes. Patch together all the things you wished you had done. The should've, could've, would've. This is the time and it is now. There is no future. There is no past. There is just the present at the moment. All the screaming, the stewardesses, the rushing water up to our necks. The descending plane. It all exists for now. The ocean floor. The unknown. We all die alone. No one dies for us. Debt remains debt. Photographs, photographs. Songs, songs. Books, books, and so on and so fourth. To sleep.

We have now descended to our unoriginal location of arrival. Our skeleton crew just sits latched into their seats. Frozen in space. Frozen in time. The expressions on their faces are just the same as we approached the force of impact. Everyone is still screaming, only there are no sounds coming out. Everyone is still scared, only no one moves a muscle. Everyone is still embraced with each other because they need something to hold onto. 

Something to secure them, that this is not the end. This is just pretend. This is not the way the story goes. This is just a temporary thing. The skeleton crew is still preparing for the disaster and will be as far as forever's time will go. When you are 23 miles below the ocean and in the middle of nowhere who is going to come rescue you? As far as I am concerned my life ended when I was born. I awoke the second I died. The ocean floor goes on forever. 

Whether you look right, left, up, down, forward, backward. I look out the window and it is still pitch black. I don't even see the moons reflection. 

Just nothingness. I am not alone.