colic walrus

Enter into the world
a new life
small
walrus

you can't tell
but that baby
walrus
is crying

inconsolable

poor thing

not knowing what
it wants
needs

sit there with gleeful
smiles
painted on
plastic faces

unaware
of the pain
discomfort
etc.

on the inside
this young
walrus
is dying

faces plastered to
plexiglass windows
hands making smudges
fingerprints
oil

smile
laugh
at this anomaly
baby walrus
with colic

(Colic: Colic (also known as infant colic, three month colic, and Infantile colic) is a condition in which an otherwise healthy baby cries or screams frequently and for extended periods without any discernible reason [Wikipedia])

The state of the blog.

So, i've been trying to write, but i have been dissatisfied with everything i have created so far. I've written a couple essays, half a poem, and tried to continue the short story i started earlier. All of those are languishing in the drafts section of my posts. Unfinished. Poor things.

I've been trying to learn a song on the piano, but what i really want to do is make some of my own music. Until i get my own laptop, i'm going to have to rely on a friend (who can never make time D:<), but i'm planning on making some awesome with him. Right? RIGHT? (he should be reading this, and i hope he feels horrible right about now)

So, i'll keep trying. But until i get anything meaningful, you won't be seeing anything.

Cheers!

Oh dear. This makes no sense.

Once upon a time
in a place
he began to hyperventilate
because of this
in time
he started to titillate
and tried to hide
this fact
pain starting to stimulate
tries so hard
so hard
trying to emulate
moving all day
different ways
hands begin to lacerate
slowly leaving
disappearing
define his mind: enervate
eyes moving
wildly
trying to intimate
feelings to others
nothing else works
finds it hard to articulate
his feelings
on the matter
he starts to matriculate
those feelings
that make him feel
like an ingrate
and exile
what
is left

Dreaming, each others lives.

dream
i dreamt
dreaming about you
hanging out
doing what we used to do
when you were alive
when we would spend 12 hours straight
beating an entire game in one night
playing Magic The Gathering

all i could see was your face
smiling
that smile you have

all i could think
was
how are you alive

and why

why are you here

i guess it might have been a symbol
telling me you are happy
wherever you are
happy
i'm happy
happy that i could remember your face
so clearly
could talk about you
so firmly
could remember you
without crying
thanks

Aftermath

when it's over
all said and done
you'll look at yourself
i'll look at myself
backwards
at what i was
when it was
i'll ask myself
was it worth it
was the right decision made
why the fuck didn't you know any better

why weren't you more mature
why couldn't you be more of a man
less of a
boy

and i'll answer
because
i am only 18
i still hate capitalizing
anything
ever
i hate using the word
ever
as i don't believe there is
'ever'
it doesn't exist, this
ever, forever, never
sever

i am still a boy
i cannot see what i have
when i have it
why
i am lucky
how kitsch
and cliche
my writings are
i don't care
i just need to exhale
my soul needs to exhale
my heart needs to exhale
i've been holding my breath for
7 months
and loving every minute of it
now
conclusion seeking
hopefully finding

ambivalence

When has an easy decision ever been
easy
easy?
never easy

heart vs. mind
brain vs. soul
indecision hits you from behind
takes it's toll

wearing you down
wearing
down
welcome
to stress mountain
the sign says near the town
leaning near the fountain

no one caring enough to straighten it
decrepit
man, you know he's fakin' it.
creases on his face echo it

always there, subconscious
or conscious
back of the mind
front of the mind
you can't escape it
distraction can't
do away with it

surety
too high a price
clarity
roll of the dice
purity
passed it long ago

happiness
which is more important
priorities a mess
yours, mine, ours, i can't
decide

yours;
lose myself to us
facade of being
happy, on the surface.

mine;
all i can do is apologize
self loathing
becomes embedded inside

ours;
improbable
nigh impossible
i am not able

i am the source of the indecision
it is i who has to make the decision
say the words, make the incision
slip aside, avoid the collision

i don't know....

help
me
please

small holes

small holes
in a symmetrical pattern
not asymmetrical
a [space] symmetrical
pattern
connect the dots
if you wanted
to create anything
simple, easy, effortless
holes
through aluminum
(i think)
aluminum forms a bowl
type thing
maybe crater would
describe it better
probably not
crater is more evocative
bowl is a better description
of this thing
which is a colander
hanging on the kitchen
wall

Once more, repeat, rehash. (short story) part 1.

I wake in the middle of the night. Breathless. I can hear nothing. As my breath slowly returns to me, inhaling and exhaling sound as loud as trains to my sleep accustomed ears. Silence. The room around me is completely dark, not a single light coming through the window. I can see nothing. Gradually, i start to see little lights, tiny little lights, floating, static, in the air around me. Either my eyes adjusted, or they decided to turn themselves on. Although they are little lights, they shed no light. The light they give off does not permeate the incredible blackness that fills the room.

I panic.

Did i go blind? I feel around me, my bed, the familiarity of it is somewhat disconcerting, as I can see nothing familiar. As I feel around me frantically, waving my hands around in the air in front of my face trying to make something out in this gloom. Nothing. Now something, but not the hands that are waving in front of me; a body begins to be outlined by the lights which had been moving slowly towards a point in front of me, but I had been too panicked to realize. A body. A man. His silhouette begins to take shape, slowly taking the form of a bent old man, leaning on a wooden cane. As more lights congregate towards him, he gets facial features. Small lips, bald head, squinty eyes, small nose.

He looks up, and as his eyes meet mine he is no longer an old man, but a youth. A youthful man, probably in his mid twenties, upright, hair covering his head, but without a doubt the same man who  was before me just a minute ago. He yawns, shakes himself as if to get rid of drowsiness of some sort.
Keeping eye contact, he starts walking towards me with a firm stride. He doesn't move forward, but his legs are moving. Confusion fills my mind, but I brush it aside, I try not to think about the implausibility of what is happening in front of me.

He is in front of me. Smiling. Smiling a smile that exudes devilish charm, and trickery. One arm comes up from his side, and forms the shape of a gun pointing directly at my forehead. As he is now close, I realize i can recognize him from somewhere. I don't remember where from though.

The man winks, slowly, prolonging the act past normal boundaries of acceptable. He leans closer, until his hand-gun is touching my forehead, finished his wink, mouthes the work 'bam', lowers his thumb, and I am gone. Spiraling back into blackness.

I wake in the middle of the night. Breathless. I can hear nothing. As my breath slowly returns to me, inhaling and exhaling sound as loud as trains to my sleep accustomed ears. Silence. The room around me is completely dark, not a single light coming through the window. I can see nothing. Gradually, i start to see little lights, tiny little lights, floating, static, in the air around me. Either my eyes adjusted, or they decided to turn themselves on. Although they are little lights, they shed no light. The light they give off does not permeate the incredible blackness that fills the room.

I contemplate my situation, it's probably just a dream, i say to myself. Although a dream that i had never experienced before. Distractions from my train of thought; the little points of light start to move slowly towards a central location in the room, ahead of me. As they draw closer, come come to a stop before others, and they start to form a shape. A body. A man. His silhouette begins to take shape, slowly taking the form of a bent old man, leaning on a wooden cane. As more lights congregate towards him, he gets facial features. Small lips, bald head, squinty eyes, small nose.

He looks up, and as his eyes meet mine he is no longer an old man, but a youth. A youthful man, probably in his mid twenties, upright, hair covering his head, but without a doubt the same man who  was before me just a minute ago. He yawns, shakes himself as if to get rid of drowsiness of some sort. 

Keeping eye contact, he starts walking towards me with a firm stride. He doesn't move forward, but his legs are moving. Surprisingly, I recognize him. A man from the coffeeshop where I work, a regular. An extreme regular, apparently he had been going there for years before I started working, which was about 10 years ago, after I got out of high school. Now why would he be in a dream? I wonder as he continues walking, without actually going anywhere. 

"Hello" I say into the nothingness, feeling foolish as i do, but he looks up. 

He is in front of me, smiling a devilish grin.

"Hello" he says, and then "It's your turn", as his arm moves up from his side, and he points his fingers at my head, in the vague semblance of a gun. His eyes tighten, his chest starts moving up and down at adrenaline rush speeds, although I can hear no breathing. He says one word "bam" and moves his thumb to match the word. 

I fall backwards into the bed, as everything disappears. 

 I wake in the middle of the night. Breathless. I can hear nothing

To be continued.... (when i have the energy)

I am not a vegetarian.

block of bacon before me
presenting a unique challenge
knife in hand; ready
the gruesome task starts
little bits of fat cling to the knife
and the cutting board
slimy with pork residue
somewhere a pig died so that
some man can have bacon on his salad
or a woman

i slice through the block
bacon ends and bits
it says
on the box
the meat slices fine
but as we all know
bacon is mostly fat
which resists the knife
with a tenacity that should
be reserved for cockroaches

the pig
born, raised, fed.
it's only purpose in life to satisfy our cravings
cravings for meat, carnivorous as we are
the pig
small stature
smaller brains
eats, sleeps, dies

later; two boxes of chicken breasts before me
objective: fajita meat, and salad toppings
i dig my hands in
slime
chicken water
chicken
meat
each two are attached on one side
as if the breasts were sheared whole off of a chicken
leaving them attached in the middle
where the back would have been

one box later:
piles of fat, grossness, ends go in the trash
i tried gloves, but i couldn't grip
hands are greasy greasy greasy
fajita meat is almost done
damn fajitas
i doubt i will ever order one ever again

slicing, slicing, slicing
chicken meat is still slimy as all hell
i think about the chicken
like the pig
small stature
smaller brains
much smaller then the pig
eat, shit, sleep, die.
disgusting creatures
i eat them
and feel no remorse

i am not, without a doubt, a vegetarian.

Lament of a (insert thing here)

Massive feet on massive men
do massive things
all hell breaks loose
the world is peaceful
like an ant
oblivious

oblivion sings to blood red skies
like a whaler - fish or be finished -
landlocked, wed-locked, or just locked;
the world is confined
like a clam
controlled

controlling figures glow with hatred
i hate you, i hate them, i hate that.
the local peasant tries to run a fruit stand
the world is cold
like the arctic
icy

icing on a cake melts with the sun
just like life - so very short -
humans: fragile, like glass.
the world is inhospitable
like mars
red

bright red flowers grow along the roadside
but people are going too fast to notice
look away from their gadgets for one second
the world is beautiful
like a manatee
misunderstood

misunderstanding trumps all
the card to be played in any situation
implying there is something to understand
the world does not understand
like a rock
unknowing, yet all-knowing.

and yet, we carry on.
not knowing when we'll die
eighty years before you're gone
or death could now be nigh.

-SC