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Category Archives: Poetry

That album was a revelation for me, by the way.

At any rate, this is about a dream I had early this morning. She was simply everything a heart could ever want, and she wanted me unashamedly.

Loved me.

I was about to tell her the things I learned, and show in the process that I was ready to love her as much and as deeply as she did me. We fit like we were machined by watchmakers. Effortless, free, intertwined, one heart, one life.

And then I woke up to an empty bed, an empty heart. She was every woman who loved me, and I let down. Because I didn’t get it.

Now I do of course, and it’s too late. But I do love you all unreservedly and infinitely.

Who are you?
Who were you?
You were a thousand different women.
Every one I have ever loved, ever known.

You were beautiful.
You loved me
Without question,
Without recrimination–
Without me leading you on to my heart
By subterfuge or goading.

You listened. You cared.
You wanted me. You really tried.

How did I lose you,
Who were willing to leap
For the brass ring, heart of gold?

I was blind, I was a fool.
I was distracted by the horizon, lust,
Or the next girl’s door.

You used to come back,
I always had another chance.
But the lesson remained unlearned.

I was too much pain, too much hassle
for too little return.
Too late the hero. Game over.

And at the end there is nothing here
But the dawn over marble head.
Enlightened, free and ready,
But you took to your heels
And headed for the hills.
As you should have
As anyone would.
Love is not to be wasted, after all.

I am sorry it took so long.
I am sorry for holding you,
Guilting you into place.

I just wish I could try one last time
And prove myself worthy. Finally.

I am awake now. I understand.

Too late the hero. The dream is over.

(This is one of the early pieces from when I started writing. The date is at the bottom from the paper itself. As the lyrics imply, this is a relic of another time. But it came up in conversation today, so I unearthed it, transcribed it tappity-tap, and here it is. I dropped it on the Basement Tapes blog as well (need to get back to that…). It’s here because, well, this one was right here handy. Love to you all madly.

P.S.: Yes, I did actually spell it Blooz. )

Don’t want me no Shakespeare,

Don’t want to do Hemingway,
Just gimme a six-pack of beer,
Watch the Sox at Fenway!

Oh yeah, my mind is strained and so confused.
No matter what topic I choose
I lose!
I got those Research Paper Blooz!

I got cigarette burns on my keyboard,
Stretch marks in my mind.
That paper’s due tomorrow lord,
I got three more sources to find!

Oh yeah!
Write it bit by bit.
Oh Lord,
Twenty pages of bullshit!
I got those Research Paper Blooz!

Aw man gimme that White Out!
(Instrumental…)
Gimme that good paper baby,
None of that funky onion skin…
(More Instrumental…)
Pica and double-space baby,
Use up a whole page that way!

Gotta check my MLA,
Study Strunk & White.
Paper’s due yesterday,
Gonna start the work tonight!

Oh yeah,
Fill it up with quotes,
Oh God
Gimme my Cliff’s Notes!
‘Cause I got the Research Paper Blooz!

(03/28/1988)

Reading this recipe, I realize I will never cook this again. Too damn hot. I ran across it while searching this and that on my computer. I know I made a version of this, and it wasn’t bad. My chili has evolved since, but here is a snapshot from the end of 2000, complete with the cocky claim at the top. Love to you all.

Attempting to codify this chili is like trying to describe jazz to a deaf person.

2 lbs of ground beef
3 cans of beans, one of each kind (black, red, kidney)
1-2 cups of chili powder (add throughout the process)
1/2 cup cayenne pepper (add throughout the process)
16 oz bottle Jack Daniels (you’re not going to need the whole thing)
3 bottles brown ale (you probably won’t need all of it)
3 jalapeno peppers, fresh (not canned)
1 onion
1 bottle minced garlic (add most throughout process. Don’t need it all)
1 cup honey (add throughout)
A liberal amount of Tabasco sauce
4 cans tomato sauce, no salt.
2 cans tomato paste, no salt.
Some grape tomatoes
1 small can cranberry sauce, jellied.

If there is anything resembling a “secret” to this chili, it’s in how and when you do things. Here is the basic order of events:

– Cook down the meat
– Prep the peppers and other vegetables
– Add the beans, tomato sauce and veggies.
– Cook it for a bit…
– Serve.

I’ll try to break it down further.

Cook down the meat

This is really best done in the pot you’re cooking the chili in, for obvious reasons (why dirty more than you have to? Also, it allows you to evolve the recipe, adding things as you go).

Put the ground beef into the pot, turning up the heat to, say, 8 (of 10). Add some ale, some Jack Daniels, some chili powder, some cayenne. Let it cook, stir constantly. At this point, add the grape tomatoes. I crush them into the mix, handful at a time, stirring them as I go.

Prep the peppers

Cut up the peppers, onion, and whatever else you want in there. You can simmer them in a mix of honey and Jack Daniels (70-30 blend of JD and honey), or marinate them in same if you’ve got all day. Once you’ve got your veggies ready, put them into the mix at whatever point you feel is appropriate. I try putting them in throughout the process, so that the taste builds in the mix.

Add the beans…

This one is probably the most optional of the recipe. Reason being, not everyone likes beans. I don’t mind them myself, and they extend the chili nicely. The tomato sauce and paste also extend and thicken the sauce up. Of course, you have to compensate for the enormous amount of tomato and bean in the mix. This is also why I use canned beans. First, prepping the beans from a dry state is a pain in the ass. Also, the bean taste makes it too “planty”. Anyway, that’s my thing. You do what you wish.

Cook it for a bit

That one ought to be obvious… In any case, let it simmer for at least a half-hour under medium heat. Longer under lower heat is better…

Serve

I serve it as an open-face chili dog, well, because I want to. Chicken or turkey franks, of course. Not like it matters, given what they put in hot dogs, but whatever. I read about this cheese mix in a GQ article, a mix of feta and monterey jack. It’s good, and works with the sweet taste this chili has. But cheddar works too, of course…

(I remember moving in and out of fevered sleep. May 1991. Unemployed, broke, failed. Finally sick and alone, too weak to move, adrift on a foam rubber pad. Take this as what he thought about before entropy finally kicked in…)

The boy knew. A thousand years ago in another life, he knew.

Grow up. Make a name for yourself. Become a man. Make your mark in the world. Let ‘em know you were there kiddo!

Yes, young Ozymandias. Go and do that. Trouble and toil, bubble and bubble. Fret your sweat-soaked soul upon the stage for your hour.

Then what? The hook, of course. Grim Reaper as stage manager. Nice try kid, NEXT!

Fuck this. Fuck that. Fuck all that. Go and build a mighty empire in the desert, spend your years getting it just right, and then what, die under its meticulously planned shade?

The boy knew. A thousand years ago in another life, he knew. It’s all pointless! Nothing you do. Not a single one of your accomplishments, brags, passions or scorns matters a whit. Not a fucking bit. A patch of industrial ruin, a nifty bit of faded Americana by the roadside. Someone’s life and love and trouble now a hubble of rubble. A hunk of junk. A bit of shit.

The boy-as-man went ahead and walked the path anyway. For a while. Just to see. To see him be the lover that spurns capricious and is himself spurned in the end. The answer-man who fixes everything but can’t fix himself. The Buddhist with the slippery ego. The drugged-out carcass, the stupe simmering in the jail cell. Walk the path son. But not too hard. Why make this more than what it really is? The boy saw the end for what it was. Why dwell on infinite insubstantials day in day out till your pump seizes up? Who’s gonna care that you did when you’re gone? You exist as object-in-space in another’s context anyway, as they do to you. You know you’re real, everyone else might be too. This might be all someone’s fevered dream for all we know. It might be yours.

The boy knew. A thousand years ago in another life, he knew. And dreamed it anyway one fevered day, dying sick and alone in the desert heat. Making all this up as he lay there, piecing random things into a chain, a path of what-ifs into oblivion.

I’m hard to kill
I know, I’ve tried
Once, twice,
Five times or so,
Not in a row though.

Is it the committment I lack?
Or have I not the weapons to attack
The silly starry-eyed hope
Glowing dully in my core?

This is not me being morose,
Nor a piteous wail to be held close.
This is me trying to decide
Why the end should be suicide
On the installment plan?
Living the lie each new sunrise
With a cliffhanger end each bedtime night.

(I have posted this before, and I will again no doubt. This is how I imagine the whole thing in the cave went down, after Jesus hung out for a bit… It’s in my Adventures in Ordinary Time. In any case, a heartwarming tale for the coming holiday, I thank you…)

The first thing was the pain.

Well, before that was nothing, but like one follows zero, here, there, everywhere, was the pain.

Oh, and so very much of it. Everywhere! Hands and wrists and arms and head. And legs and feet too!

He wasn’t sure if it was dark or that he could not see through swollen eyelids, but it was still. He wasn’t sure if the pain was mocking him in his nakedness or if it was cold too.

He tried to speak but all that came was a creak.

Why did you leave me there, he thought to himself. Such humiliation, such PAIN! My god, my god, why did you abandon me?

I did everything you asked of me. Every single thing. You told me to lead and to spread the word, and I did those things. You told me to challenge the people and to fight the powers that push our faces into the dirt. I did those things. And more.

I brought your message of subversion through love and they tore my hide from me like the lamb being prepared for the ritual meal.

Oh, and they laughed! The guards and the priests and the governor too. He could still recall that man’s smirk as he washed his hands and listlessly flung the drying towel into his slave’s face, clearly enjoying himself.

And my followers, such men as these! They scattered like scalded dogs. Only the women remained to weep at the front of the crowd. The vision of it was like a fevered dream for him, thick with humiliation.

No man should die so bloodied and spat upon and naked before his mother and his wife! Oh! Better to die only among the soldiers, giving one bloodied cheek yet again to the one beating you so he will remember that he had to work to kill a man that day.

But they failed.

Oh, it almost worked, oh yes the Romans are thorough. But the nails and the hanging too? To set an example, apparently. Don’t mess with the temple. Don’t get between the priests and their money. Don’t mess with business!

Kill the lamb, skewer the corpse and roast it up for dinner after the audience leaves. But serve with bitter herbs of course! They are Pharisees and must show their leadership and piety with proper food choice, yes?

Ohhh, the pain. And what it does to one’s mind. And the pictures it paints! Those filthy Romans with their costumes and legions. Oh, to see them all weeping like women and kneeling before the beaten man on the cross. To lie prostrate before me and beg forgiveness for the greatest sin of all!

Oh! And the priests in the temple and all the “chosen people” who heard the message again and again. How many times must I tell you? How much more clearly can I convey the message?

A pox on you all! To the hundredth generation nothing but scorn and shame and terror. Wander the earth like the lord never gave you your promised land. I told you, the lord gives and the lord takes away! Oh you Judea, you will finally listen and know!

Yes, obsess over what you’ve all done for generations to come!

Ohhh, such righteous anger makes the pain a little blunt, yes? Makes the heart beat again strongly!

Rest first. Find out where you are, Yeshua. Then find that rock-headed Simon and the rest of those fools! Put a scare into their idiot souls and send them into the world with the fear of GOD!

Just seeing me walk in the room will do that, I think. Yes, you asses, “he is risen.” What did I tell you would happen?

Now I have a real plan. A real vision! A story that will chill the soul and shake the foundations. And executed right it will most certainly topple the powers of the world!

Yes, rest first. Lie still. We have nothing but time….

Alone
In an empty bed
I dread
Passing minutes
Like this
In darkness…

No one to hold
Except myself
Against the cold,
The endless
Darkness
Wears as thin
As this blanket does.

And the minutes pass,
Relentless, regardless
Of the small outpost of pain
Lying alone once again
Wishing for oblivion:
To close my eyes
And never open them
Alone once more.

Head hanging off the bed,
Hanging by a thread,
She grinds he thrusts,
She strains, she must
Reach her zenith
Holy summit while beneath
A lover of average skill
But tumescent girth
Who gives it all he’s worth,
But his rhythm isn’t with him.
Though his heart’s in the right place,
She lets her hips make the pace.
He loses himself in her embrace
As she takes her place
At olympus’ summit,
And he explodes within her from it.
Slick and hot but cooling slowly,
The rush the hum, love for her only
She’s out the door after a nap and cuddle.
Friends with bens, huh? Just dumb luck.
All you were to her was fun to fuck.

Lightning and distant thunder underpin this night.
Slowly the world collapses from our sight….

Alone in bed but in bed together,
She in her frumpy comfies,
Me in my altogether
Never able to rest,
Her back against my chest
My hands a-wandering
onto and into and beside–

Untied and pushed aside
So she may sit astride me
And ride boldly ride
To the edge of the abyss
And fall into an ocean of bliss
While I lay as willing captive
Audience participating
Waiting
For the rain to fall
Upon me warm and slick
From her sacred secret within–

A gasp, a clench and she falls
Into my waiting arms.
It’s hard but it’s softening
and all too often it’s
Not enough never enough
To have you like this,
Alone together in an ocean of bliss…

This morning
Was dominated by imposing shapes
And great vistas
Molded from pre-dawn clouds.
The great bulwark of heaven
Glowed to my right
Underlit by the sun.

Water vapor
In specific gravity over denser air
Looks like the basement ceiling of God’s house.
So says rational being
Wrapped round dreaming scheming child.

Idle thought amuses the muse this morning.

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