Passive Insurrection?

How many generations since the dinosaurs? Just count the shining logos on dirty trucks riding the vascular system of these states United by the pulsing need for consumerism.
The smoke will curl around your fingers like greedy hands around a throat, embers floating near your shoulder, smoldering in your eyes, waiting for the chance to ambush. You log the hours your heart is beating, seal your impulses in searing candle wax, and that’s how you want to make your fortune: fluid and fast, soon growing cold to be observed for however long forever is today.
You don’t need to see to hear his vertebrae knocking together as he dances, desperately trying to please you. The battle was over before it started, but on some level he needed to feel that bite and twist of cold metal before he gave in.
You’ll stare at the ground, and keep your questions quiet for fear of somehow cheapening the mystery for all the true believers. Don’t look up until the constant flow ebbs, and you can lie on the freeway and reacquaint yourself with the stars.

I'm trying. Really.

I watched him watch the sky hopefully,
And the shadows of the menacing clouds almost fit the crossword.
Tails scissored against the green sky, and
Only for the eye will the storm never come.

I watched you leave the cello on the park bench in the rain,
Watched running water swerve to fill it, watched you return to drink it dry.
You smiled to yourself and carved your crucifix into the cherry
As one hundred black cats paced across your sidewalk.

Eggs are frying in the street, regardless of the ants swimming in the yolks.
Children’s pupils burst and deflate, and they walk through life flat-stared,
Light bouncing off retinas, images drowning in running iris.
The cold snap comes, and the roses bloom, red against the stark edge.

“Is it enough to say, ‘hysteria’?” Anathema asked.

Happy Valentine's Day

“Regret” – 2/14/05
You let the cigarette drop from your lip
And my smile lasted as long as it took
For the sand to burn away.
You shook the seaweed from your corpse
And the gulls fought, raining avian warmth
In their wake, during yours.
You hurled a shriek from your dry tongue,
Hoping to send the salt sting from your skin.
The memory seared.
You tore the sinew binding rhythm
In a vain search for your heart
The color drained from your eyes.
You splashed through the puddle at your feet,
Recalling the dim memory of fluid life.
Swallow, and it drains away.
You filled the void with a silent echo,
Wishes stacking until they showed the rainbow.
Fall to your knees, and worship regret.

What now?

"Shh. Don't do anything else to piss us off tonight."
All I have to say is, "What the fuck?"
Wish I had the will to say that to you.

We all have our yous, don't we? Understood.

Of Rogues.

I went to see Bartley today. And I had to admit, rather grudgingly, that not all of middle school sucked.
Is it sad that one of the hardest A's I've ever made was art class?

A...thing...I wrote during/after Rogue readings at Shades of Brown today. There are parts of it constructed from bits of the conversation. It was weird:

This is a thing –
Wait. Shut up.
Stop serving up death.
This is a thing I need to say.
And can’t.
Too weak, too fog-suffused,
Ambulance-chased,
Mirrored in the setting sun
That I can see behind your eyes.
Black and white lines,
Each word a color picture
With your soul bound in the background.
The holes where the nails rattled out were filled with your tears
Which are only now beginning to evaporate.
Transparent shrouds devour your perspective,
But you’re jumping through hoops,
Seeing through rings of care,
Shiny baubles bought or seized
That you can
Mix and match.
Slip on and off.
Melt down,
To fashion the weapons you’ll use against the next unlucky winner.
Wings flitter hopelessly,
In agony that is not quick, only twisting.
And it’s absurd how fast passion transmutes.

The New One

Yesterday, Matt thoroughly welcomed our new English teacher by being an absolute pain in the ass. She moved him three times, and his was the only name she learned all hour.
Deena moved the chair normally reserved for "talkers" from the middle of the room, isolated, moved it next to me, and sat in it all hour, where we talked. The look on the new teacher's face was great when she was listening to our conversations. Deena was telling me about her latest conquest (darkroom) and the next one she planned (the navy blue-haired, lip-ringed girl I went to kindergarten with), while keeping a running debate with Ryan about who was the hottest girl in school. The teacher jumped when she heard the word "lesbian". She nearly kicked Brandon out of class for cussing loudly three times, and yelling at Noel about his ex-girlfriend. I can't stand Brandon.
I have high hopes for this teacher. I've heard Easter giving her advice...and she seems to be taking it.