There's a Fountain Growing

Love grates like wet feta
on my ears retaliate
dredge to bedrock
the irrigation sprinting flat out of site
is running dry

cliched and overplayed shitty pretty
mass marketed sterility sold and soiled
done toaster over crusty
prostitute it O breadth of death

spy through the glass
watching life beat by
ecstacy trance hospital
proclaim it O antiphon of depth

for i was so loved that
hand thought home
down tall waterfall rocketing deep
Reign drown

coffee shop diary #6

(written as my first entry in the writing community: allpoetry.com for their haloween new member writing contest.)

ugly
bitter
black as the darkest depths of the deepest hole
it was beautiful...half stale

i found it in a room with blood red walls and a yellow ceiling
people everywhere
some at tables, some wandering
i looked up and noticed something strange

these were no ordinary people
they were murmuring mumbles from centuries long dead
wearing tattered clothing
blood all over their undead carcasses

a screechily shriek came over the loudspeakers
the dark valkerie of hades had made her
appearance in the form of the evil vapor ringing in my ears
i couldn't take it

the place was filled with smoke
deadly, toxic smoke
addictive and unfriendly
i wanted to die

as i sat
drinking black coffee
smoking
in my little indie coffee shop

coffee shop diary #1

(origionally on typewriter)

There he sat..alone, content, and insane. It had been just two days since the fight. He lit up. Small house for here. Glass ashtray, glass coffee, glass relationship. Some might call it "people watching" but we do like to think of it as Sociological research. That sounds ways less stalkerish. Hung-over, debating weather or not to roll something more substantial than a cigarette he thought, "Tom Waits sounds way better on analog," which is true.

Jane doesn't love you but that's alright. She loves another but don't fret, he is better than you.

Things will work out with Jane if they are supposed to, and if she's not the best one out there for me...then I don't need anyone. But I don't believe that shit.

Who is this asshole anyway? Probably someone from skelletones..those guys are all pricks. I never knew why she liked it there. Complete failure. How could anyone end up with someone so different?

She doesn't even get along with those guys who are like brothers to me...how could I be so stupid? An idea is a powerful thing. When great minds come togather, who knows what you can accomplish...

But I can't do anything without her.

What the hell are you talking about?? She listened to pop radio!

And I was sleeping with two other girls...

coffee shop diary #2

they sat togather. they looked at each other. but they barely even knew each other. noticing things like no refill as it would mess up her perfectly precarious cream balance, and the shape of the cigarettes he rolled, they sat. they'd been seeing each other for quite some time but couldn't say that they knew each other. yet. or perhaps never. all that would be decided tonight.

and so they sat. thinking, dreaming, drinking, smoking...the barista had long since noticed that he needn't be flakey-friendly to win his tip. at the table, he was concocting plans while she simply existed. perhaps she was worrying, perhaps flirting w/out moving, perhaps bored. but he was too proud to ask. to break the silence would be to loose the game. and neither of them were going to loose.

their relationship was simply sexual...not solely sexual but simple. they didn't talk much. they knew that this would either last forever or not last long, and that pleased them both to no end. he thought he could read her by her posture; she thought she could read him by his eyes. but they were both wrong.

neither knew what lay before them, but we know that it was better this way. had they known what was to come they never would have sat togather that night. but it was that night which made all the difference.

coffee shop diary #3

he walked into a zoo. a complete and total mess in which he hadn't wanted to be a part of. it might have been less accentuated if those two girls hadn't been engaged in a cat fight throughout the entire course of his visit, but later he would look back and thank the girls. he never would have seen what was really going on in here tonight without the elevated stress level eletric through the air.

palpable. palpable worry and stress as if some dark demon from another day was manifest in the hazy smoke which always filled the place. as soon as he got there he wanted to leave. not leave, but run, flee, scurry under some floorboard. the nemesis he'd never seen was here tonight...and he couldn't even put a face with a name or a name with reality.

to any normal first-timer the coffee shop was fine. it was usual. but to him it was so completely alien he couldn't stand it. after that he noticed the squabble by the girls in the corner. was it the lonely chess genius brooding? was it the gorgeous goth who had worn fishnets to increase her self esteem for awhile? was it the guy behind the counter selecting all the exactly wrong music? no. it was deeper. it was as if some slimy filth had dripped in from the apartment upstairs. what was going on up there? no one would ever know, and no one would ever care.

something was happening and this something was horrible and it was driving our man insane and that night he left town for good.

coffee shop diary #4

the difference between coming here for himself and coming here for nicotine was beyond pronounced, it was real. tonight he was here for a smoke. he felt like he was cheating if he came in and asked some person for one, so he obviously had to buy a drink. small house for here. even though he didn't want to stay he had to. it might have been the fact that coffee this good shouldn't be drank from a paper cup, that would be like drinking wine from a martini glass, or it might have been the fact that this was the only place in the world he could really be at home...but it's never home when you came needy. it's never home when your brain can't tell your body anything except gimmie gimmie gimmie. it's never home when you feel like you have to buy a drink just to bum a cigarette and you have to stay and be late for your engagement because you really need it.

it wasn't home tonight.

he tried to make it so, he found a book, he even challenged the genius to a chess match and played it through and played it well. but it was all for a cigarette. all for a fucking stick of cancer that once you start thinking about you can't let go ever without complete and total personal failure. if you can't find a cigarette you'll never have a shot at finding yourself...but he couldn't find either tonight.

coffee shop diary #5

he sat there simply tired. nothing more, nothing less. just tired. he wanted a smoke and a small house but he only had 15 cents. but today he had gotten a job with the fucking cirus so he was glad. who gets a job in the circus? that's like...old school...or something.

the walls were red and yellow. a lot. and he liked it that way. he wondered if the walls used to be white and how much yellow juice his lungs had contributed to this community project. he thought about his typewriter...so he opened the case and started. poetry flowed from his fingers like wet juicy grapefuit smashed with a hammer.

bull shit you say? you could smell it.

surrender

i really like elliot smith
and i really like laura
but sex is breaking me
i'm giving up on all of it
except elliot
because i like him like cigarettes

here and now i surrender
white flag and all
i give it to you and put it down at your feet
you can have it and you can have me and you can have elliot's poor soul
you can have all of my writing...it is for you

really means

call me indie if you want
but i don't care
it's not that i really don't care
because i really do care
about hating you and everything you stand for

i really do care about fucking america between its big fat titties
hold them together for me baby so i can cum all over your pretty face
make it look like shit

so fuck you and me too you fucking assholes in this nation
go buy a fucking hammer and pay a fucking fortune
to fill your tanks with the blood of everyone

oil for blood, blood for coke, coke for a dollar, a dollar for a day
what the hell is going on here

wake up you pretty boy
wake up you ana
there's a fight coming
and i'm running away from it

i don't want a fight
i don't want a job
i don't want a call or anything else from You

all i want to do is my own thing and i'm just like everyone else so you can't tell me that you are nobler or wiser or better

because we're all fuckers

there's nothing that we ever can ever do here
nothing

you're an ass hole and total depravity means total fuckdom
total fuckdom shithead
i do and really do hate you
and i call you reader

hey reader, go fuck yourself
i'm trying to get into your head and jump off this fucking DELL screen
fuck DELL by the way

go out and buy some nice clothes so that i'll like you more
starve yourself to death so i'll have sex with you
i'd break you in half by the way
i'm that big

talk about your penis size and get a boob job
both
be a real american and have a FUCKING PICKET FENCE
i'll picket your fence by the way

i really don't like you and i really don't like what i'm writing write now
but that's ok
because you like it, and you like me, because you still don't understand

that YOU ARE A WORTHLESS SHIT HOLE
and i mean that

there's only one thing that can save you and it's not a fucking ranch in crawford
it's not a fucking nice body or a big boyfriend or a quarter pound of green
it's not beer and it's not a cigar and it's not a paint brush
it's not a guitar and it's not an Satanic Uberpopular Vehicle, and it's not a A
it's definately not a A...fucker

go find it for yourself because i'm too fucking stupid to explain it right anyway
For Help, press F1

the place of the in-betweens

this is the place of the in-betweens
typing is fast and friendly
writing is beautiful and expressive
type-writing is slow and thoughtful
and i'm in the in-betweens

between weed and dinner
between jack and coke
between class and homework
between acid and jazz
between driving and filling
between making up and making out
between naked and condomed
between dinner and cigarette
between coffee and cigarette
between life and cigarette
between fall and redemption
between christ and the ghost
between pork and sheets
between permissable and beneficial
between laptop and desktop
between sam's and what's next
between this and life
between men and women
between right and left
between gills and wings
between heart and hands
between chance and choice
between wine and white
between part time and full time
between dave and jake and mike jones

for this is the place of the in=betweens

concerning the morning of september twenty-fourth

what the hell?

i'm not sure how anyone can be so confusing
love is a crazy game in which i often feel lost and losing
saying i love you or the contrary
good byes or the lack thereof
highs spiraling down to obliterate with peace treaty negotiations
cyclical but random
painful but addictive
frustrating and stressful

i need solidarity
i need communication
i need sanity
i need something...

all i have to do is treat her with love and respect?
what about when she won't talk to me...won't come to me when i cry..won't try to understand me
what about when she won't tell You and me that she loves?

what then lord?