The Wall

everything will be okay
the wall seemed to whisper
with its solid, imposing permanence
a thing made by man, but outlasting
many years sheltering lost men from the rain
I tried to tell myself I wasn't lost
just wandering
but it turns out this is the sort of place
you can only find when you're not looking
a place that smiles and warms
like the old gods from stories
who'd take pity on their pilgrims
I feel like the last man on earth
leaning my pillow against the stone
the last one to witness the wonders
of this wall, all alone
if the wall had a heart
I'd hold it close to mine
because it takes a certain kind of man
to break the hearts he holds
but more to leave them intact
if the sun rises, I'll be on my way
and maybe someday that wall
will be right about me

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You know what to do. -Dukluss

Ambien Dreams

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Ambien Dreams

Breathe so heavy that the blanket breathes with me

watching the smoke detector so closely it'll never get the chance

to bolt out the window like I know it's thinking

because I'm so goddamn real that I can see its thoughts when I close my

eyes of precious stones and bodies of straight gravel they 

pound for pound are the strongest spirit animals I've spoken with

raccoons and foxes traded soft for hard and jagged and

even the owls don't seem to mind they're too heavy to fly again

so they oversee production on a road must be somewhere important

laying down the furs and pelts they've traded for 

and I can feel eyes like there are four or five of us

but the bodies mirage when I try too hard to focus

if I'm in a cave it has a mouth

if I'm not there's a whale nearby

and they're both trying to swallow me whole

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There you have it, post number twenty-seven. I love that number.(approach with trepidation)

Thanks

I don't usually get into the holiday spirit much. Don't get me wrong, I like to give and I like to receive, I like to dress up and be with family and be thankful. I especially like to get drunk and dance in the snow to chime in a new year. Maybe it's the whole "good will towards men" thing that I'm not in tune with. Either way, as Thanksgiving passed, I did take a moment to reflect on what I'm thankful for, so I wrote about it. I very recently received my 2000th hit, and that's a big deal to me. So I would like to extend my thanks to you, dear reader. My words might as well be so much ash without someone to read them. So cheers, and tell your friends.

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Thanks

I'm thankful for insomnia
or mostly just the cause
like people who can sleep at night
don't have any thoughts worth keeping them up

Also leather, cats, the ocean, bones
trees, stars, feathers and words
and the way I can wield them

Magic and Tigers and Girls and Ghosts
but mostly the way I don't need to say that
because some things I'll always
be thankful for

And for my state of mind
and that I have the courage to say it
without worrying
about it dissolving
from beneath me
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There you have it, post number twenty-six. (approach with trepidation)

Fears and Hospitals

I've been developing a fascination with words used to describe harm or violence, often used out of that context. This poem is about a kind of loss, which I am simultaneously clueless about and quite familiar with. I can't really explain it, and judging from what I've written here, I hope I don't have to experience any time soon, because I'm clearly ill prepared for it. Also, please forgive my chaotic punctuation, I've never really gotten the hang of properly punctuating poetry. I'll work on that.

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Fears and Hospitals

All these afflictions

from a list, laundry-like

expressed clinically

and dispassionate

Dry

like my eyes

in stark contrast to yours

But my sleep's been stretched

thin, full of holes

or artificial and stupor-like

the product of sleep aids and alcohol

in stark contrast to yours

comatose

until moments ago

Now I know what fountain

this feeling springs from

that twists tendrils

round my ankles and shoots

chills charging past my shins

fills my throat with water

I can breathe but I can't swallow

like your swollen and tender

will not allow

your chest and it's broken

ragged breaths

and how you shake from the

searing and shooting

to draw them

I'll never see again

thesameform thesamegrace thesameshape

never curl myself around those

shattered clavicles

serpentine 

ohgod

what if I wake

all twisted in dreams

and can't bear to leave my bed

and you're not there to temper me?

ohgodohgod

Our eyes are 

temporarily the same

when they talk about 

just how so very long

they expect before you'll walk again

and I have to leave the room

ohgodohgodohgod

And all I can think of is

how I need a drink 'cause

I can't deal with this

and where are my meds

and I'm not all here

and if bones are your problem

you can have mine I don't need them

cut bits of my ribs or my shins or my spine

my fingers take my fingers

I'll hold the scissors

ohgodohgodohgodohgod

I'm just bits

and parts and pieces

connected by tissues

and tendons

and creases

and without you that's all I can be

I don't need the sum of my parts

I need you, goddamnit

But all this wild-eyed fear

I plant beneath the surface

because the last thing you need

is my typical breathless

wandering chaotic

thought trains and panics

I'll summon strength for you

if I can manage

and squeeze your sweet fingers

undamaged

and say

"Baby, can I get you a sandwich?"

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There you have it, post number twenty-five. (approach with trepidation)

Blues

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Blues

Girl's got bruises on her heart
you can see from across the room
When we got to talking
I could tell that they were new

freshly black and green
purple and blue
but despite all the damage
She's so goddamn cute

and my skin's grown thick enough at last
that when she bites it doesn't sting
and the rattle of prescription bottles from her pocket
is no longer frightening

so I took her to a seedy bar
where they turn the lights down low
I poured out her beer
and she poured out her woes

I went to the jukebox
and put on the blues
because I knew that's what she had
but not sure that she knew

I put one hand on her waist, 
the other around her hand
her eyes went wide, she stammered and blushed
opened her mouth to protest, but found herself hushed

I started swaying to and fro
and told her to shut the fuck up
with no ill will in mind
she managed to shake off the shakeup

and she smiled
real quick
and real quiet
in secret

and we danced.
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There you have it, post number twenty-four. (approach with trepidation, such trepidation)

Conflict!

(oh goodness, dear readers, it appears our host has been at the hooch. Take this as you will, we're only trying to help, really)

Gandhi famously said "Be the change you want to see in the world." Well, I have a T-shirt that says "Be the trouble you want to see in the world." I agree with that more than Gandhi. I want to trouble the world. I want the world to look at me and say "Here is a problem, one that requires our attention." Only then will change be affected.

The world only changes when they are scared of something. We (the USA, where I live) only went to the moon because we were afraid the communists would get there first. We only discovered the ability to generate power because we first decided to fuck up someone's day by splitting the atom. Lasers have recently taken a huge stride forward because they can be used to defend ourselves from intercontinental ballistic missiles. Now, for $300, I can buy a laser with the power to permanently blind someone and set things on fire. (imagine the possibilities!)

Comedian Louis CK (whom I adore) said in a stand up gig that "Boys fuck things up; Girls are fucked up." Well, maybe the world needs men (or boys who've grown into men) to fuck things up because conflict drives change. Just a few days ago, I was preaching love as a means to further the space program, and today I'm advocating conflict because it drives things forwards. To paraphrase agent Kay from Men In Black: "Imagine what [I'll be preaching] tomorrow."

This is why I'm not a world leader, and why people consider me disturbed at best, and stark-raving mad at worst. Like the Verve (in "Bittersweet Symphony", of course) said: "I'm a million different people from one day to the next." And for my last horrendous quote, Truman Burbank (from "The Truman Show"): "Good morning, [readers.] And, in case I don't see you, Good afternoon, Good evening, and Goodnight."

(I stopped him from quoting Fight Club, the poor dear. You should thank me)

There you have it, post number twenty-three. (approach with trepidation)

Dead Astronauts Part 3

Neil Armstrong is dead. That brings the already small number of our species who have walked on another world down even lower. There have been 12, now there are 8 left. One day in the not-too-distant future our children might look at the moon like some kind of fairy tale, a pipe dream from an antiquated and unrealistic past. Like the opulent cars of the 1930's, when certain economic events rendered them laughable, bizarre artifacts of a world that no longer exists. Children will look up at the moon and say "There were men up there once." (I already do this)

It's because we're too busy dealing with the dirt-centric problems in our world to look up anymore. Not even the important issues like how we can generate the energy (nuclear, damn you) required by our numbers and technology and yearning for discovery. Not how we can make ourselves last longer (transhumanism, damn you) so that we aren't lost to our mortality at the pinnacle of our knowledge. No, petty things. We worry about if someone will point a gun at us and take what we have, so maybe we'd better make sure we have a bigger gun first. We worry about which member of our respective nations (damn you) will get to wear the shiny hat and tell us all what to do for the next period of time. We bury ourselves in little made-up worlds that are small enough to keep us from feeling insignificant. (I'm guilty too, I know, stop looking at me like that)

I read a quote from Charles Bukowski the other day. He's most well known for being an accomplished poet and a jerk (See Bukowski by Modest Mouse). He said "We're all going to die. All of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing." He's right, you know. 

Very recently a man named Felix Baumgartner rode a helium balloon to the top of our world. He opened the door, looked around, and jumped back down to the ground. It took him three hours to get up and four minutes to fall back down. He broke the sound barrier on his way. He travelled up to 833 miles per hour. He travelled 24 miles, one way. That man is a hero to me, not because of his world records, but because for the first time in a while, he gave us a reason to look up again. (His small step actually was a giant leap)

An energy drink company put a man in space during a time when the most powerful nations on earth believe that pursuit to no longer be worth paying for, and they did it just so he could jump back down. Maybe they figured we've been wandering around and staring at and fighting over the same rock for as long as we've existed, maybe it's time we started walking around the block. Or maybe they wanted to be rich and famous, I don't know. The truth is if we could just love each other a little bit, then we could all be astronauts, and save them from extinction.

We're all so broken down here, give me a way to rise. Please.

There you have it, post number twenty-two. (approach with trepidation)

I'm gonna go see Deftones play now. Have a good night.