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December 7th, 2005
05:33 pm - Getting in touch with my roots
Today I hopped a train and played harmonica on it. I stay up late at night drawing squidelephants. I even studied for my final several days in advance so I don't have to pull an all nighter. The radio is once again something worth listening to (pandora.com). I'm steering my future more on my own terms than I ever have before. I've never felt better about life.
Here's to tighter science.
Current Music: bongo joe - galactic, courtesy of www.pandora.com
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October 14th, 2005
10:49 am - Life is Terrific
Evan Rosen's Top Things, In No Particular Order (Except For The First)
1. Lauren Shera Levine. Oh, the meltyness.
2. Making sandwiches/burritos. Food is the highest form of art.
3. The poetry scene in Santa Cruz.
4. Music 80C: History of Electronic Music
5. My amazing, ridiculous, effervesent Santa Cruz friends. And friends everywhere.
6. Family. I got hella blessed.
7. My bike, Petunia.
8. The wonderful house full of wonderfilled housemates.
9. The Talking Heads
Current Music: Pull up the Roote
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September 14th, 2005
11:20 pm - http://www.brokentoys.org/?p=6849
In other news, HOLY SHITBALLS I'M MOVING TO SANTA CRUZ TOMORROW. I'M SO EXCITED!
Current Music: Subtle - the new white
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August 4th, 2005
04:17 pm - i got blisters on my fingers, baby
It's true. First every guitar blisters. After fooling around, even dating on and off for the last seven years, I'm finally falling in love with this instrument. The way I see it, the blister (which just happens to be on my right ring finger) is a symbol of commitment. 5 years ago, when my parents were paying for weekly guitar lessons, practicing my scales was only slightly less abhorent than math homework. With a few exceptions, you basically had to put a gun to my head to get me to practice my theory. Now you have to put a gun to my head to get me to stop.
I'm also still massively in love with harmonica, dijiridoo and Lornie. Me and beatboxing have been a little rocky lately. It's kinda awkward, but I think it's just something that will pass.
The Itinerary:
Sunday: Santa Barbara
Monday: LA
Tuesday: LA/ABQ/Santa Fe
Wednesday to Saturday: National Poetry Slam in ABQ!
This is where the beat drops
and you put your hands in the air
dont just stand there
like three bewildered panda bears
-busdriver
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July 12th, 2005
10:44 pm - i did some writing
tonight at dinner, i felt like curling into myself. somewhere between my fetal knees and clavicle, i'd suck my head into a portal in my torso. then my knees would flow through along my back, my arms last so as to help shove my ass through, until all that was left of my body was a halo of skin, slowly twisting into nothing. inside it would be purple and nothing would have distinct boundaries. the inner world is made entirely of aurora borealis material. days and nights would pass as washes of color, warmth, pressure. i'd deal with problems by evaporating. i'd stretch out my essence so thin, then roll it into a tight ball again. pass my soul through my two front teeth and pocket it behind my upper lip, then back through my teeth, as though it were a wad of phlegm. somehow, this repeated attenuation would squeeze out the impurities, until i was fit to be soap, or a ribbon. and when im ready, when my breath fills my lungs to echoing and opens up my conscience like a watchmaker's diagram, then i'll crawl out of someone's mouth while they're in the shower, conditioning, (they won't see my because their eyes will be closed) shimmy down the towel and under the door. pop my body back into it's shape like a cardboard box. once i take up space again, then people will believe me. you have no credibility when you're sub-dimensional. i'd wear simple clothes from then on, walk everywhere and keep sand in my pockets, as a reminder that boulders get deconstructed too.
Current Music: Hideki Naganuma - Humming the Baseline
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June 29th, 2005
02:17 am
Life is pretty fucking good now. Tomorrow I leave for the High Sierra Music Festival, where I'll be playing (harmonica) with the phenomenal singer/songwriter/girlfriend, Lauren Shera. I play harmonica on 6 of her songs or so live, 1 on her CD. Speaking of which, y'all should get her new CD, because it's amazing. 10 songs for 10 bucks. Here, listen to a rough mix of a track from it. She made a hundred hand packaged CDs, and might have some left when we get back from High Sierra on the 3rd. Then there will be mass produced ones after that.
Vermillion Lies, the band I'm in, will be headlining shows on July 8th and 9th at The Attic in Santa Cruz and The Henry Miller LIbrary in Big Sur, respectively. It's totally rad and not like any acoustic music you've ever heard. There's mp3s on the website of the sisters vermillion before the rest of the band joined (Lauren on banjo and vocals and some percussion, me on harmonica and some percussion and Ryan on drums. All of us play found objects too.)
So essentially my life is full of making music with people I love. This is exactly where I want to be right now. There's a third project, involving bears and booty-shaking beats, but it's top secret. Poetry has unfortunately taken a back seat. I haven't written anything in a frighteningly long time, nor have I gone to any slams aside from the one I help run in SC. But this is just an interlude. I'm sure poetry will come roaring back into my life very soon, and it'll find some kind of homeostasis with mthe music. If I only had a job, this summer would be set.
Speaking of which, I am exquisitely employable at the following things: graphic design (particularly posters/flyers, business cards, logos), teaching people to use macs and mac software, custom screenprinted clothes, stencil art of any scale, block printing, slam poetry, beatboxing, dijiridooing, and drinking coconuts. As well as teaching people to do any of those things. So if you know of anyone who needs someone to do any of those things, point them my way.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I still think about Paul every day. I think it's important. Here's something Paul would be stoked on: the trailer for the new King Kong not only has Jack Black, but it has dinosaurs. Fucking dinosaurs. There's a fight between King Kong and a Tyrranosaurus Rex. Does it get any more epic? There was also a giant fortress filled with orcish-looking savages. But hey, if anybody knows how to do giant fortresses and orcish hordes and all things epic right, it's Peter Jackson. I have high hopes for this.
Current Music: beck running through my head
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June 7th, 2005
09:47 pm - R.I.P. Paul Josiah Jones Bancroft
Goddamn I'm gonna miss you. I fucking love you.
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June 2nd, 2005
05:42 pm - sc slam last night
was freaking amazing. i was really hoping that we could fill such a big venue as the attic, and you know what? we packed the fucker. that's right, we ran out of chairs, shit was SRO. I counted about 140 people in there at one point.
feature went great. we rocked a lot of stuff off mic, despite the bass booming from the bar downstairs. lotsa good poetry in the competition too. more to say about it later, perhaps. that's all for now.
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May 29th, 2005
09:38 pm - First Downtown Santa Cruz Slam on Weds!!!
Current Music: Cut Chemist - Live at the Future Primitive Soundsystem
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May 13th, 2005
04:38 am - this is what life is all about for me right now
Jason and I just went bike riding across santa cruzs' 4am coma. that's the shit that makes me really happy.
we stoped by the bixby house around 1ish, cuz they said we could come by any time. talked with them a lot about what it's like to live there, and the future at that place looks bright indeed,
i'm so so pumped for summer.
I'm so pumped for right now.
I'm so pumped for my beatbox show on Saturday.
Hey Everyone! I'm playing my first live gig ever on Saturday. 15 minutes of synchroballistically atavistic ultra funky beatbox at B.O.M.B. UCSC, starting at 1:40 in the Quarry Ampitheatre (UCSC campus). And then I'm performing with the slam team at 5, same place.
possible summer income:
-working the coconut booth at farmer's market (ultra-sweet)
-graphic design (moderately tubular, plus mega-bank)
-silkscreen t-shirts (also ultra sweet, but may be hard to find customers
-maybe a barrista gig somewhere? cafe serendipity?
to fund traveling to:
-National Poetry Slam
-High Sierra Music Festival (Lauren is playing there)
-train trip to Eugene
-many San Francisco junkets, possible SoCal action as well
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April 28th, 2005
11:52 pm - COACHELLA
is where I'll be tomorrow night. Well, actually at Larua's condo in Palm Springs, probably engaged in a mega-spoon involving an all-star cast of homies past and present. And the next day? Well, it'll probably involve:
M83
UNKLE
Boom Bip
Immortal Technique
Bloc Party
Coldplay
Bauhaus
Weezer
Sage Francis
Four Tet
MF Doom
The Chemical Brothers
And if I manage not to explode with glee, then the next day will most likely consist of
M.I.A.
The Arcade Fire
Roots Manuva
The Dreseden Dolls
Aesop Rock
Pinback
Roni Size
and the triple ice cream sundae for my soul,
NINE INCH NAILS
THE FAINT
BRIGHT EYES
Plus kicking it all day with Lauren, (the love of my life), Rye Bread (my best friend), Zoe (my clone), REESE (THE REESE), Tessie, Laura, Hoffman, 2oe, and Kevin. Lots of people I love, lots of music I love, I'm gonna be straight blissed out.
Current Music: Planetarium - Lauren Shera ()
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April 27th, 2005
12:30 am - a fuckload of poems
I'm in the porter quad and
1:14 AM just orgasmed
so hard
patches of dark blue
rippled everywhere
and the world is absolutely glowing:
the cobblepebble plaza
is soaked and satisfied;
laying out exhausted and solid
moreso than ever before.
distantly, cigarettes are being smoked.
the rain almost floating
it falls with so much grace
the cold so unaggressive
it's downright charismatic.
and the streetlamps
each is shining like
it's the only floodlight
on a pitchmoonless mars night.
there are constellations
of red giants,
blue and white dwarfs
in rows and clusters
the world is glowing
knows it's perfect
that it will only last a moment
inhales depth
exhales stillness
when the night is so
obviously in love
it's hard to feel cold
or at least
hard blame the night
for being so
haiku
white noise manifests
in vegetable form, as lawns.
i am lulled to sleep
wispy clouds make me
think the world is just a big
bowl of egg drop soup
it's ridiculous
that we smoke cigs and plant lawns
in a red forest
Conviction
There's a plateau in the desert
on the edge of the sea
and it is called Masada.
A fortress has stood there for thousands of years;
but these days it's mostly dust
so there's no telling
if the dirt on a tourists' boot
was once a brick or a lung or a foot
was once a roman spear or a baby's tooth
This is a true story
It's 72AD
The Romans have enslaved or murdered
nearly every Jew in their empire
Jerusalem has fallen to the invaders
and once again we are slaves.
Masada is the last outpost of resistance.
Outside it's gates,
the Roman Tenth Legion is gathered
Slavemasters clot the dust with Semitic blood
whipping the backs of their jewish slaves
-
forcing them to build a ramp to the gates of Masada
so that my ten thousand ancestors living there
can be murdered and enslaved
instead of just starved to death
Stuck between a war they couldn't win
and a faith they couldn't deny,
my people refuse to compromise
they refuse to pretend that a life
without God was even a life at all
they would rather die
then face an assimilated tomorrow
So they decided on mass suicide
my grandfathers drew straws like
God drawing ribs in reverse
to determine who would be the ones
to return ten thousand souls.
Solemnly ending the lives of
their wives,
children
friends
and finally each other
And so the first roman general to walk through
that broken down gate
sheathed his sword
defeated by the silence
of ten thousand dust coated feet looking to the sky
past invading eyes
who see that they will take no slaves today.
because my ancestors believed
to their end
that you bow before no one but God
and i am trembling
at the thought that that
courage might rest in my bones.
that my kneecaps would sooner
give up their devotion to my femur and shin
than taste the dust beneath another's sword
I feel I must live up to my heritage
live with righteousness and ferocity
so there is no doubt in my mind
even if it never comes to blows
that I would sooner die on my feet
than live on my knees
But I don't know if I can
I am trembling
because i really don't know if there's anything i do believe in
not the way they did
not with the conviction that courses as blood
I hope that my grandfathers aren't angry
that I was born into assimilation
and that my faith has scattered
like dust
purging
On particularly shitty days
I want to draw in all the angst from every corner of my body
into one giant zit on my chest
my anti heart
would cling heavy between my arms
a white tomato filled to bursting
with the fluids of stagnation
a reservoir for stale rancor
And rip out the quivering mass with my fist
and being thorough
I'd scrape out each speck of coagulated hate
making sure to purge completely every scrap
of off-white meat
from the crater that would be left
squeeze it between my two palms
until the nectar ran clear as blood
in torrents down my stomach
Inhaling,
rushing raw air against exposed viscera
I'd be clean.
2C-I
the bridge above me is more a collection of people's
beliefs about strength and width and void than it is a
collection of bolts and girders and geometry.
our biggest mistake was to assume that things exist
unto themselves.
Liquid
sitting here
slumped on a stairwell landing
a river of limbs flash frozen
and i am too exhausted to swim upstream anymore
she's babbling to me
about the poem she was supposed to live
before the easing flow of thick water
washed her away
her banks have been eroded
her wilderness is slowly dying
lugging her up this hill
and in my exhaustion i get lost
briefly envisioning that the track marks
as where seeds were planted and new life will soon spring
my inversion running wild
she slips from my grasp.
Solid
sitting here,
on the cold aloof tiles of the communal bathroom floor
someone walks in
and i make sure not to catch his eye
so he wont feel pressured into saying anything
she moans blood bubbles and fights invisibly
to dislodge the cherry pits she imagines are in her throat
he walks into the far stall,
i can hear him pee,
and he looks straight forward while doing so
she's skating the thin border between the letters O and D
having not yet decided whether the complete the crossing
he emphatically spits a wad of phlegm into the toilet
twin red slugs wash the crushed smashed dust from her nose hairs
as all her sins are wiped away.
Gas
sitting here
same girl
in the dark corner of a different bright room
she heaped on me
like the forgotten overcoat on the couch
speaking with the slightest head movements
indicating so vaguely what the weather is like in her head
that her nods might just be the way her face gets blown in the storm
she's so lost in.
when I rub her back,
her exhale is a little less halted
and I am amazed at how beautiful the gift of communication is
Current Music: Boards of Canada - Sixtyten
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April 22nd, 2005
01:45 pm
sometimes i am alive because with
me her alert treelike body sleeps
which i will feel slowly sharpening
becoming distinct with love slowly,
who in my shoulder sinks sweetly teeth
until we shall attain the Springsmelling
intense large togethercoloured instant
the moment pleasantly frightful
when, her mouth suddenly rising, wholly
begins with mine fiercely to fool
(and from my thighs which shrug and pant
a murdering rain leapingly reaches
the upward singular deepest flower which she
carries in a gesture of her hips)
-edward estin cummings
Current Music: Gorrilaz - Demon Days
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April 13th, 2005
11:59 pm - I'm not going to Disneyland, because they now fingerprint everyone upon entry.
My head is just starting to coagulate after being in a thousand different places over the last few days. Why? I was with my amazing slam team at the Colege Unions Poetry Slam Invitational (CUPSI), aka College Nationals.
And we won
We took first place out of 20 teams from around the country.
Color me amazed. And honored. And so full of gratitude towards my team, coaches, everyone else who helped make it happen. Of course, many pictures and lengthy anecdotes would be needed to tell the story in full. But that's what real life is for, right? Just wanted to let all you lj folk know
this is the beginning.
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March 12th, 2005
03:02 am - Hooker Potluck
that's right, b.y.o.h. style
Current Music: beck - black tambourine
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February 2nd, 2005
07:24 pm - old poem given a lung transplant
There's a poem in you.
I know this because I've got the same poem in me
and when you speak your truth,
I recognize it as a verbatim quote of my soul
and you recognize it too
you read that first poem when you close your eyes
and look inward
and see what we all have written
in the Braille of the capillaries in our retinas
you hear this poem all the time
in that killer line of a favorite song
-when you're rocking out to "Bohemian Rhapsody"
so hard that you actually are Freddy Mercury
or when you are so blessed
as to write that line in your own words
an automatic rifle
loaded with goosebump bullets
I can hear it in the brimming of my blood vessels
I can see it written
I know this poem is in me somewhere
so I'm spilling my guts onto paper
and trying to read my own entrails
so that i can write that same poem
that same poem as
the cavemen were trying to write
when they filled their mouths with pigment
and spat a mist of verse over their hands and onto cave walls
leaving a handprint that still speaks to us
The same poem the beats were trying to get out
when they were sober enough to type
but drunk enough to forget the world wasn't ready to hear it
The poem that the oppressed have banged out
in the Morse code of shackled footsteps still marching towards freedom
it's the poem that goes,
"yes, i see it too. the world is full of beauty, no matter how fucked up it is"
and i refuse to let that sense of wonder die
i refuse to let my sense of wonder die
so long as poems can still give me goosebumps
i refuse to let my sense of wonder die
so long as music can still make me shake my ass
i refuse to let my sense of wonder die
i refuse to live a life that can be measured
in inches our ounces or dollars or years
i refuse to live a life that can be measured
except perhaps in the number of times
i have been left breathless with amazement
i refuse to let my sense of wonder die,
and i invite you to join me
because how can we live mediocre lives
i want every new morning
to inflame my sense of wonder
in a way normally reserved for childbirth and car crashes
I'm talking about the capacity to feel love
like a landmine in your chest
I'm talking about a poem that makes you feel
that makes you feel something so undeniable
you will carry it in your heart's chamber for the rest of your life
if these words are making you feel anything at all,
then please, plagiarize them
because you wouldn't want to take these words on as your own
unless you felt them resonate in your bones,
and realized they were in you all along
know that those words are only on loan from you to me
and therefore are yours to take back
We must not forget that all this is inside of us.
And by living with love, we are writing this poem
as our history
And I just want to do my part.
Let these words I'm speaking be the ones on the back cover of that great poem
that convinces you to open yourself up,
and read a bit closer
live that poem every day
when you shout at the jaded cities
"I refuse to let my sense of wonder die"
Current Music: George Michael vs. Missy Elliot - Get Ur Faith On
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January 18th, 2005
12:39 pm - to myself
i'm still just nine years old
looking out a car window
at clouds
so happy to just be
watching the sky realize itself
like I probably will soon
we leave our imprints on everything
as soon as we wake up and start burning and flowing
we are parts of a greater whole
we are water drops in a rainstorm
or lightbulbs in vegas.
we are the puddles that make up the ocean
we are the candles that together look like the sun
and constantly plunging into ourselves
the sun over the ocean
turning the whole rippling crackling glass
into a fearful mirror
that burns with furious incandescence
and i can only look at the edge of the reflection
because the middle is not meant for my frail eyes
i trust the sun
because there is no denying it
i trust the ocean
and you people are the light that
bounces around in my water drop body
giving me butterflys in my stomach whenever I walk outside
i trust the ocean
because it does not lie when it reflects the sun
taking up a wider path on the glass savannah
than just a dot in the sky
the sun is not just a spot in my vision
no wider than my thumbnail
it is the heat still pressing my skin
even as the autumn wind snaps my illusions
it is not just a spot in the sky
it is the green of the grass
and the crunch of the dirt
and the simmer of tan skin, even indoors
the sun is not just a circle
you are not just your body
you are not just the smile burning on my horizon
you are the happiness reflected in my face
and i'm grinning wider than lattitude
you are the wrinkle in my shirt
left after a hug brimming with sincerity
and the press of your warmth
skill on my chest even after you leavea
most of me is not here
i gave a friend a picture and it was left in greece
some rock in the mountains remembers my feet
and the ocean still carries my dreams flowing over shorelines of cracked lips
and the sun knows my soles from when i did barefoot cartwheels
most of me has not existed yet
i can be found in a love letter to a day I haven't lived yet
in which I write:
that dull ache I used to believe passed for feeling alive
is gone forever,
and today my heart pumps lighter fluid
and I breath by opening up my chest to the feral blue above
and letting matches lit by the sun drop into my ribcage
i can feel the pulse of this day
when i look at the snapping cobalt sky
gnashing at me to live
and when i see people smiling and dancing from across the quad
to the beat of the music
b-s-s-s-k-ts-
s-k-b-s-k-ts
that is going in my head
everyone is heavy with realized purpose
I see you written in thick ink outlines
that will soon burst with color
the sun is not just in the sky
the ocean is not just in the seas
that outline is not all of you
i am not contained within me
i am mistrustful of language most of all
words feel used and tarnished
and what good are words when all i use them for
is to say what is already known
to tell you about the parts that make us whole
to tell you
that i can feel the pulse of this day
when i look at the snapping blue of the sky
gnashing at me to live
and when i see people smiling and dancing from across the quad
to the beat of the music
b-s-s-s-k-ts-
s-k-b-s-k-ts
that is going in my head
i want to make sure you see this too
but more often than not words get us preoccupied
sweeping up the living and dead in a whirlwind of connotation
until the funnel cloud of our tunnel vision turns opaque
and the tornado clouds our clarity
when all we were trying to say
was that we could see our own hands in front of us
and more often than not
I'm trying to speak in a language without words
so that it can't be mistranslated
and I wish that when you say what's up
I could say
b-s-s-s-k-ts-s
b- -b-s-s-k-b-s
b-s-s-s-k-ts-s
b-f-b-f-b-k-bf
and you would know what i was talking about
i know that all you can hear is pss-st-st-st-chk
but inside my head i've got a 62 piece hip hop orchestra
playing improvisational hymns to everything I see
and when you speak, all i can hear are your words
but that's all it takes to tell me you've got a whole world inside
that everyone is just dying to see
because we know that a body can not possibly contain you
so keep burning and flowing even more furiously than before
plagiarize someone else if it makes you feel alive
just so that your bones do not forget what it feels like
to tremble as your heart pumps lighter fluid
instead of dust
to keep moving like the ocean
so that this winter does not freeze you
and you don't have to give any more thought to the boxes people put you in
than a cloud gives to state lines as it crosses them
and I'm down there somewhere
still nine years old
looking across an exploding horizon of ocean and clouds
watching the sun realize itself
like I just did
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December 27th, 2004
01:50 pm - So I was
driving into town yesterday, "Killer Queen" came on the radio. Driving home, many hours later, "Under Pressure" was playing. I take this as a very good sign.
Life is good. That which is having the biggest impact on my consciousness would be Media Blitz, the house in SF where Sean, Chad, Carl, Erin and Lucas live. I spent 2 days up there recently, and have never felt more alive. I jammed with Sean and Ryan for pretty much the first time, despite having approximate best friend status for nearly 5 years now. I really want to make music, now more than ever. I never considered myself a musician till this past quarter at UCSC, but now I feel it's something that I always want to be a part of my life.
It's raining (like a banshee) and I am stoked on it. Yesterday we played an epic game of Valley Football, in which I tackled Jon Jonsson, the most gorgeous male model in America. Every major muscle group in my body is sore beyond description. I've taken a liking to headbands, too.
That is all for now.
Current Music: The Faint - How Could I Forget
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December 7th, 2004
12:46 pm - Porter!
note: this was my final project for the Porter Core course. Some colleges had their frosh write a 20 page research paper; Porter has you do a bigass art project in the medium of your choice. I love this place.
i'm still just nine years old
looking out a car window
at clouds
so happy to just be
watching the sky realize itself
like I probably will soon
we are parts of a greater whole
a drop of water and a lightbulb
the sun over the ocean
turning the whole rippling crackling glass
into a fearful mirror
that burns with furious incandescence
and i can only look at the edge of the reflection
because the middle is not meant for my frail eyes
i trust the ocean
and you people are the light that
bounces around in my water drop body
giving me butterflys in my stomach whenever I walk outside
i trust the sun
because there is no denying it
i trust the ocean
because it does not lie when it reflects the sun
taking up a wider path on the glass savannah
than just a dot in the sky
the sun is not just a spot in my vision
no wider than my thumbnail
it is the heat still pressing my skin
even as the autumn wind snaps my illusions
it is not just a spot in the sky
it is the green of the grass
and the crunch of the dirt
and the simmer of tan skin, even indoors
the sun is not just a circle
you are not just your body
you are not just the smile burning on my horizon
you are the happiness reflected in my face
and i'm grinning wider than lattitude
you are the wrinkle in my shirt
left after a hug brimming with sincerity
and the press of your warmth
skill on my chest even after you leave
we leave our imprints on everything
as soon as we wake up and start burning and flowing
most of me is not here
i gave a friend a picture and it was left in greece
some rock in the mountains remembers my feet
and the ocean still carries my dreams flowing over shorelines of cracked lips
and the sun knows my soles from when i do barefoot cartwheels
most of me has not existed yet
i can be found in a love letter to a day I haven't lived yet
in which I write:
that dull ache I used to believe passed for feeling alive
is gone forever,
and today my heart pumps lighter fluid
and I breath by opening up my chest to the feral blue above
and letting matches lit by the sun drop into my ribcage
i can feel the pulse of this day
when i look at the snapping cobalt sky
gnashing at me to live
and when i see people smiling and dancing from across the quad
to the beat of the music
b-s-s-s-k-ts-
s-k-b-s-k-ts
that is going in my head
everyone is heavy with realized purpose
I see you written in thick ink outlines
that will soon burst with color
if you collected all of me
every fleck of skin left on a hotel bedsheet
every fleeting memory as i crossed the street in someone else's eyes
every note i wrote which someone saved
every change in schedule from when i got on the bus and that meant someone else didn't
every ripple in the air from every word i've said
how could i honestly introduce myself
when all i have is my body and the clothes i am wearing
the sun is not just in the sky
the ocean is not just in the seas
that outline is not all of you
i am not contained within me
i am mistrustful of language most of all
words feel used and tarnished
and what good are words when all i use them for
is to say what is already known
to tell you about the parts that make us whole
to tell you
that i can feel the pulse of this day
when i look at the snapping blue of the sky
gnashing at me to live
and when i see people smiling and dancing from across the quad
to the beat of the music
b-s-s-s-k-ts-
s-k-b-s-k-ts
that is going in my head
i want to make sure you see this too
but more often than not words get us preoccupied
sweeping up the living and dead in a whirlwind of connotation
until the funnel cloud of our tunnel vision turns opaque
and the tornado clouds our clarity
when all we were trying to say
was that we could see our own hands in front of us
and more often than not
I'm trying to speak in a language without words
so that it can't be mistranslated
and I wish that when you say what's up
I could say
b-s-s-s-k-ts-s
b- -b-s-s-k-b-s
b-s-s-s-k-ts-s
b-f-b-f-b-k-bf
and you would know what i was talking about
i know that all you can hear is pss-st-st-st-chk
but inside my head i've got a 62 piece hip hop orchestra
playing hymns to everything I see
and when you speak, all i can hear are your words
but that's all it takes to tell me you've got a whole world inside
that everyone is just dying to see
because we know that a body can not possibly contain you
you can't start a revolution by just showing people life
you have to make people live
as little kids we put on superhero costumes
and later we rocked out in our cars pretending we were freddy mercury
and maybe we'll all be rockstars someday
but until then
keep burning and flowing even more furiously than before
plagiarize someone else if it makes you feel alive
just so that your bones do not forget what it feels like
to tremble as your heart pumps lighter fluid
instead of dust
to keep moving like the ocean
so that this winter does not freeze you
and you don't have to give any more thought to the boxes people put you in
than a cloud gives to state lines as it crosses them
and I'm down there somewhere
still nine years old
looking across an exploding horizon of ocean and clouds
watching the sun realize itself
like I just did
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November 30th, 2004
10:35 am - In celebration of finishing my term paper:
I give you my list of things which I am looking forward to about Winter Break, in no particular order:
My Mom's cooking
Mud Football
Playing music with Dad
Being with Lauren in Monterey
Being near Big Sur, even if I don't go
Fog on the valley floor
Making some $ with graphic design
Kickin it with my rad high school teachers
Hannukah and Latkes
Fires in the fireplace
Reading books for fun
Baking Pies
YAC
Learning to knit (hint, hint)
Slams in the city
Hookah!
Ryan Lotz
Apple Cider
Chateau Von Kleinsorgen and it's inhabitants
My Clone, Zoe
Reese and Paul and Krissy
Gabby
Norah, Waxa, Tessie, JustinandKyle, BrentandHavenandCheer
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