Last words of some generation

Car-bomb misfits
Slam
Diamond clad girls,
Fingers caught
In pearls,
Eyes aflame
In lurid quarrels
Gone they are
Now
Forever

I do shed no goddamn tears

East Coast rich kids,
Drugged up,
Sullied,
Strung out, red eyed
Shut down
Bullied freaks,
Suicidal,
Alone, in denial

I do shed no goddamn tears

California Bitches
Partied late
Found in ditches
When madness takes hold
Sins are bold
Let burn them witches
Red faced savages,
And Midnight Africans
Rousing streets
With gunshot beats,
And blood soaked heaps
Mercilessly
They ravage my country

I do shed no goddamn tears

Save that one,
Just that one,
Sprung up, unintended,
From fears
Of them queers
And them hippy clad punks
Can’t you hear their jeering cheers
For our ship that’s sunk?
For they have steered
To our death
At the helm of
What was once my country

Ugh...the worst

When sitting on the sofa, eyes glued to a T.V. screen,
The flickering of some thousand bulbs so not entertaining
I only want to hold you tight and fall into a dream
I wish upon a trillion stars to fall into that dream

And when we are alone together, lethargic in your room,
The silence of two muted souls, the scents of your perfumes,
I only want to bring you close and wrap you in my arms,
I only want to cling to you and cherish all you are

And when you come to me in tears, sprung forth from wicked men,
And limply fall into my arms with wounds for me to mend,
I want to wish upon those stars, but I cannot pretend
For you need me, and I am here, and I am just your friend

Generation Lost

We want to Love—but what is Love?
And to give—can you give too much?
All day we work so our bodies will tear,
And our hearts can truly be touched

And, tearfully, beneath meteor showers,
We wish to be bludgeoned clean!
And low over snow, huffing earthly blow,
In such saddening ecstasy,

We so desperately try to believe
And so frantically pray to be freed
From this frenzied world—
And from ourselves

Hmmmmmm....

I believe in an afterlife. I cannot fathom what it's like, but I know it exists. I know it exists because of love. Love is a connection, a bond between souls—the result of one's heart reaching out and touching another's. And when you lose someone you love, the bond doesn't extinguish. The connection remains intact. Why? Because the spirit of that person still exists. Your heart aches and aches because it can feel the others soul but is frustrated by the physical separation. That's why I know I will be reunited with my father some day: I still love him. The bond of love is not broken because he lives on. Love lives on because we live on.

I'd like an Americano

Mechanical man,

Hurling gun-magnet

Mitts,

Drunk in late-night rants,

Eying gals,

Mouthing politics,

Tits

Wife, dying hair,

Kid, ashen, slit

Wrist,

In the tub,

Dying there,

Alone, bare

Fuck it,

No one cares

And everyone knows

This journey's bull

Shit

Yea, everyone knows,

But only few

Quit--

Those beautiful

Innocent,

Who pay

It

In full

Absorb

Son, sprawled out, torpid on the sofa,

Eyes glazed in gossamer film,

Do you now bemoan your beautiful living?

Do you now despise your excessive pondering?

Have you finally discovered the despairing truth

That humans are not made to feel,

To love, to know too much,

That they are nothing but sponges, soaking up

The chirps of avian lullabies,

The chills of crystalline blue coasts,

The tender touch of a lovers tongue,

Amid some sultry summer reverie?

Can you feel your mind dampening, the swelling,

The beginnings of that terrifying transformation to nightmare?

Do you feel week at the knees

Or heavy in the gut?

Or is the pain closer your eyes,

From which, like leaky faucets,

Drips the splendorous surfeit

Of your now chaotic dream?

Tell me, soul,

Was it worth dying young?

Was it best to drown yourself in youthful infatuations,

Rather than to live long and mediocre,

Tormented gradually by latent lusts?

Something everyone should adhere to.

I don't consider myself a Christian anymore--I am too skeptical at this juncture of my life. Regardless, I still read the New Testament often because of beautiful passages such as this:

¹If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. ²If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. ³If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

⁴Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. ⁵It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. ⁶Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. ⁷It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

⁸Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. ⁹For we know in part and we prophesy in part, ¹⁰but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. ¹¹When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. ¹²Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

¹³And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. --1 Corinthians 13

Hangover musing

Day 142
Originally uploaded by Laura Mazzaro

Consciousness is falling brains from
Ghostly mountains above
And when two lonesome drops collide
And plummet as one, there's love

And if you find no one's by your side
Nor below your toes or on high,
Remember the Sun will soon enough shine—
All good hearts will be one in the sky

the acidic self

Isolated,
And orchestrated--
I, the screech of skidding tires,
You, the golden blurred out street

“Join me; bring your axe!" you say
"A burgeoning mind we must assail
Gather all who are indignant
Let us overwhelm him”

So deep beneath you go
Your bellowing echo,
That silent, “Oh no”
Swallowed whole
By me

I am isolated from,
But in harmony with,
The vibrating world
Blaring my booming bass,
I beat-box boisterous rhythms
For the needy masses

At least, I proclaim such benevolence
While actuality, I undermine humanity,
Smothering up their frequencies
With sonorous sagacity

I’m not contrite about it
No atom of me is distraught
Nor am I regretful
(The world lacks brave thoughts)

I'm no Goliath, I will not be toppled,
But I'm a lone giant, nonetheless—
Time will prove my fate

So lie back
Empty your soul
And shake some spirit free
then I’ll barge in,
Unobserved,
And steal your liberty

For the only sin of genius
Is to let you weak be free
So to is misery
Frail minds must have not liberty

the uncertainty principle

I used to know a God
Until priggish scholars
Instilled their doubts

I then took to praising
Their great and certain universe,
So palpable, so intelligible,

But found this vast, scatter of debris,
Dotted by an ocean of asterisks,
To be in essence me, uncertain and wayward,

And yet, intrepidly bounding forth, expanding,
Desperately searching the outskirts of existence
For something to cling to,
For anything definitive

Rapture

Star beams scattered through

Wedges, spewing out the

Intestines of the sky

Men, don’t be flattered

For all beauty suffers

Such late autumn massacres

The brave minds say, “So what if we sing gurgling blood!"

And, "Who minds that we fancy whims over limbs?

Arduous is the weighty brush of individuality!”

But our impressible society will soon catch on and claim, “All but the hearse!”

And they too will blink in that salty soap of ecstasy—

Which, evidently, blurs all sense of reason

And for this condition we’ll soon enough cave in,

Like the regressive eons hitherto,

Or omnipresent, tripped out junkies

Existing in both therapeutic intimacy and disco space,

Or those transcendent, twinkling wish granters,

So irksomely flaky

Yes, soon enough, All will be praying,

Feverishly and so very secretly,

For their own gruesome, glorious rapture