berenstain_bear

berenstain_bear @ 2006-08-08T02:25:00

2006-08-08T06:32:15Z

Red Lines

And time and time again
the glass looks at me
with two eyes
soft and cunning
like the gloating fox
cross-hared
in red lines.

And my anger doesn't show
and my fear dissipates
And I'm just me
And you're just lost.

Like I'm see-through
Like all I've ever known is this page,
this pen,
this shaky hand
that learns and forget-me-nots.

Like the lines that verse
and reverse
towering tales
and
crashing seas.

Like balance.

And my future's never been as clear to me
as it is now
And my dreams have never been lighter.

Off the cusp of fading forgoten
yours and mines,
I'll sit down
on
this page,
this pen,
this shaky hand,
and see the world
in red lines.

berenstain_bear @ 2006-07-12T08:47:00

2006-07-12T12:48:07Z

sometimes i wonder
if i moved on
or
ran away.

please talk to me.

Untitled

2006-07-01T21:02:06Z

Untitled

Patterns of light and dark

Cross and criss

And Criss-cross,

Coalesce,

Converge

Into

Mirages, mires, multiplxes

Sight.

Layer of layer of layer

Fits the puzzle

This three-dimensional castle

That I could never build.

I’d lay each out

Piece by piece

And flatten them and straighten the edges.

Then I’d count them

One by one

One by,

Two.

I’d match corner to corner

Side to side.

This castle would be great.

This castle would be grand.

But it’s just a puzzle.

Just a box from Mattel or

Something or other.

Just a cardboard reminiscence

Of Parker Bros. or something

Or other.

My castle would be bland

My castle would be paper

No ornate purpled carpets.

No rugs from Persia.

No feasts with purpled people.

No murals on walls.

No family crests.

No suits of armor, no goblets in hand.

No Great fires in great halls

Across stony steps up towering turrets

To virgin bed-chambers through wooden doors.

No shackles and bolts. No shackles and bolts.

No wars. No swords. No Knights.

No dragons.

My castle would be paper.

So I’d open the box.

I’d count and I’d straighten.

I’d straighten and I’d count.

And counting is as counting does.

I’d lay my pieces side to side

And close my eyes.

Deep breath in

And then –

I’d rip and tear the puzzled pieces

For what know I of criss-crossed worlds

Of layer on layer

And when can I stop counting.

Ashes of Flames

2006-06-14T04:00:16Z

Ashes of Flames

Thoughts,

thoughts float thru my head

so fast and I

can’t catch them

I can’t even read them.

Like little moths, they are.

Like little moths.

Ashes of flames and all

That stuff

Ashes of flames and all

That hullabaloo.

Hullabaloo—what a funny word.

I wonder what it tastes like.

I wonder what it feels like.

I wonder---I wonder if---if

Maybe if—

You, you hold it up to the light—

I wonder if it breaks into

Shafts. I wonder—I wonder

If it breaks a rainbow.

Pinks, blues, reds, browns aside.

Oranges, blacks, whites astride.

And I wonder—I wonder

If you shift it in your

Palm—just a little

Bit here, just a little

Bit there – I wonder

Does it change?

Do eyes change from blue to green?

Do they ever change back?

I wonder—I wonder if—if

Maybe if—

Does it glow in the dark?

Showering in its neon blue light—

Or is it pale orange

Like ashes of flames?

Hullabaloo—I want to grind it

In my teeth—

I want to taste it.

I want to chew

And chew

And not swallow.

I want to spit

And

Not care.

I just want that feeling again.

That emptiness.

Like sucking on ash.

Fuck DARE

Fuck Truth

If you haven’t smoked

You haven’t lived

Because what’s living

Besides finding something better?

So I’ll kiss Sophocles.

Here’s to fist-fucking Merriam-Webster

Thanks again, Jeeves

- P.S. I miss you.

Mr. D. Lama, I’ll bring up Osama.

Lexis-Nexis to the T-rexes

And Tucker Carlson, go fuck yourself.

And that bowtie, too.

But it’s just random Hullabaloo

These thoughts that I catch

These things that I do

It’s hard to play catch

When it’s just so hard to remember.

So here’s the ball back,

I hope you have fun.

You can try again

But I’m going to sleep.

Spin around.

See all the colors you want.

But you’ll forget.

It’s like sucking on ash.

Walking Circles

2006-06-13T12:21:04Z

Walking Circles

Everyone’s so paranoid today.

Move it along

And no one stops to look anymore

No one stops to look, and think

And laugh and play and stare

Anymore.

No one gazes anymore.

No one’s inspired

by the night anymore.

No one. No one. Not a one.

But I am.

I cut through

The clouds like Night Fox.

I corner

The galaxies and

Tip the stars.

I drain the moon

And drink

The Milky Way.

I get lost

On Jupiter.

I get stuck

In Mars.

But—

Move along.

I must be drunk.

I must be stoned.

I’m wobbling. I’m wobbling.

And I’m looking up.

You can't even see my face

I'm looking up.

I’m up from down

I’m side to side.

I must be ‘special’.

I must be stupid.

But move along move along.

I can’t wait

For it

to come

me.

have to go

it.

I’ve got to be moving

And

Keep moving.

Moving.

Keep Moving.

Walk. Green. Walk.

Move Along.

And watch.

Me..

Swipe.

Away

Word is Nothing

2006-06-11T04:37:13Z

Word is Nothing

So Why this sinking feeling?
Why this false hip?
What am I to eye?
What am eye to eye, anyway?
I see this, this blindness,
This ominous looming,
These scuttling clouds,
These brazen fields.

I feel the sharks
And I hear the screams

Of silence.
Of destitude.
Of exhaust vents
Of car alarms.

I hear it, I hear it
And
I write it all down, I write it all down.
I mark it back up.
I mark it back up.

So what’s need then?
What’s need I publish?
What’s need I paid?
What’s need I trade Art for action?
Trade word for deed.

The pen is mightier, isn’t it?
Isn’t it?

No action-no matter how spurred,
No matter how instinctual – is
Without word, is without name.

Yet word without meaning is trite.

Word is confusing.
Word is confused.
Word is as blasé as the sunset
Word is as soft as a raindrop.
Word is word is word is word.
Word is word is word is word.

Word is nothing.

Herein Lies Your Salvation

2006-06-11T04:23:02Z

A song is like a group of poems.
It’s allusions to the same theme.
An opera is like a book of sonnets.
An opera is like a movement change.
Like ‘Quicksand’ feeling like 6 different songs.
And yet they all tie together. They all make sense.
And wouldn’t make sense except as one.
Except as a compendium,
except as a collection.

Like words.
Separately as nothing.
But together,
and in the right order,
as everything.
As nonsensical
as the word
abcdefg…
as magical
as the word
antidisestablishmentarianism.

Lost Phone

2006-06-11T04:15:25Z

Lost phone
Prank calls
Voicemails
Confusion
Drunkenness
Marijuana
Hookah
My phone
Answering
Confusion
Closing
My phone
Answering
Confusion
Confusion
Closing
My phone
Answering
Joking
Confusion
Closing
My phone
Answering
Lost phone
Closing
Lost phone
Throwing
Dumping
Running
Bus
Smoking
Writing
Sleeping
.

delusions of grandeur.

2006-06-08T15:01:33Z

Alright, new journal.
Hopefully I won't be as intimidated to write in this one.
And what that means is
that illusion that
this isn't being read/ridiculed
by ignorant jackasses.

but i guess that remains to be seen.