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The world in rose colored glass [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]

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Make it interesting [Mar. 18th, 2014|09:47 pm]
Simply insecure
or possibly immature
Far flung from a grown up
I don’t do what they do
And exactly who
Are these people paying their bills
Juggling debt
Telling themselves this will be the last cigarette
oh that alluding appeal
of that carcinogen fog

Yet occasionally I too swallow the flame
Forever fleeting, chasing the dragon
how long will it last, continually it will wane
oh the sophistication
a curling strand of smoke can project, quite debonair
lining my veins with nicotine
waiting for some information to intervene
blame the media manipulation
something else always garners my attention

Left to their own devices
people will eventually off themselves
contributing their part for population control
living on borrowed time
why one glass, down the whole bottle of wine
Meeting the morning with a mimosa
who wants to be eighty anyway
romantic alcoholic rhetoric
leaves an empty ringing in my ear
posing questions to the mirror

I’m guilty of rambling on about nothing
what is derivative
what can be chalked up to futility
my enemy, stream of consciousness
or my sometimes lover
scribbling out to me
you’re not interesting without some deviance
Finding eloquence in a drunken stutter
examining gravity through rings of smoke
snickering at an inappropriate joke
gazing endlessly at those glowing rectangles
my goodness are you boring
get out there and come back
with a story to tell
(and write it well)
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a haiku for a friend [Aug. 14th, 2013|10:27 pm]
Please get mad at me
It would make so much more sense
Than quiet whispers
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this one came out quickly [Jul. 26th, 2013|03:16 pm]
Honesty honesty honesty
say it enough
and maybe it will stick
the way I feel
perhaps I can’t take a hint
sometimes I can be really thick
taking for granted
far too many things
one day our eyes will close
the big nothing
I can only look forward to it
what else is there
I’ve thought I’ve thought
what is lovely what is not
I confess to much
when I’m half shot
oblivion sweetness
envelope me envelope me
I just don’t understand
I can pretend with the best of them
Or at least I pretend to
perhaps we’re all reading lines from a script
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This is something that has been revised and renamed [Mar. 2nd, 2013|09:33 pm]
The daily swirl

The silence that does nothing
To me has been loving
It fills the air without reproach
It echoes without error or ache
Only the wind and rain
Slithering down the windowpane
Can be absorbed or ignored
Today feels just the same

The silent pressure I can’t measure
Fluctuates and levels off
At a familiar plateau
My only solution is to draw another breathe
To figure out what I have left
to do and to forget
The hours that circle my eyes
Always approach me in a lovely disguise
And I, the endless greeter,
have never gotten wise

I’ve stared at the popcorn ceiling
and seen shapes formed for a second
Never to reappear again
I attempt to trace the forms with my finger
To entice the floating color lines to linger
My eyes cross and separate
And fail to manipulate
The disappearing shapes
That may not be there at all

The abundance of reluctance
Attributes to my failure to act
My various theories don’t really work
If they have to be exact
Only the swirl of tea
Makes any sense to me
As the puddles steadily expand outside
Small circles form on their surface
and disappear and reappear at random
Countless collisions
Occurring without notice
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(no subject) [Feb. 10th, 2013|01:33 pm]
[music |sneaker pimps - 6 underground]

Push down and turn
four syllables
easy to learn
mechanical impulses
direct themselves
with necessity
quite happily

These rattles
slowly empty
cutting up the day
into thirds

wasting words
too spaced out to speak
the audience
with no interest
looks through a haze
a prescribed veil
of unconcern

The phrase filter
lovely honesty
bitter sour
oh the truth
hard to devour

Push down and turn
remember to let it burn
surpass the melting point
the ritual
is rewarding
in itself

the days dissolve
can’t be recalled
unwavering appetite
once overlooked
no longer can be

sprawled out
in sweet defeat
stopping by
to say hello
but there's
no one to greet
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(no subject) [Jan. 24th, 2013|11:34 pm]
Clichés have their place
they can sum up your life
in a turn of a phrase
turning all those days
into a figure
that can be correctly accounted for
dismantled quickly
decorated with a label
symmetrically stacked
put away neatly
and given little credit for any originality

everything is derivative of everything else
what can be done
it’s hard to forget all those lyrics
that have already been sung
it’s easy to obsess over
odd odes to self-indulgence
that lack purpose or restraint
and leave trace amounts
of them there clichés
that are sweet to embrace
enveloped in oblivion
but it can be difficult to face
playing an ordinary role
that can be easily pegged
in a prepackaged sentence
oh those careless syllables
of presumptuous appeal
giving effort to ignore
how they make you feel
clichés certainly have their place
and some have a yummy taste
easy to swallow and accept
to be oblivious isn’t hard to perfect

so I am guilty of indifference
succumb to the identical storylines
and predictable outcomes
of the personal stories
that seem the same
and what do I do?
I complain
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(no subject) [Dec. 6th, 2012|01:40 am]
These fragmented sentences
fail to foretell
the distance of our proximity
forgotten for a spell

just a few syllables
sum up so much
replies to replies
stay in touch

Taking comfort in your perspective
something stable, unwavering
in an environment of chaos
nonsense has its pull
enticing words inspire folly
to be examined and explained

can’t help but to gravitate toward
these glittering phrases
that lose their luster
leaving thoughts
swirling in the gutter

Inaudible responses
often do you mutter
in time I’m sure you’ll learn
to take another lover
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under lock and key [Aug. 2nd, 2012|02:46 pm]
Those words were not to be repeated
they belong in a lockbox
in a basement of a bank
hidden from the collective eyes
of those who may misjudge the size
contorting motives out of proportion
and giving full credit to
fragmented sentences
just flashes of the full story
that didn’t want to be told in the first place
told to a concealed imposter
I thought that confession would haunt me
when I was alone, it would creep
out of the corner of the room, from shadow
and soon hold me captive
chill me with guilt
chide me with clarity
I lost all my discipline
given it all up
I retire to the afternoon naps
that hide my eyes from the sunlight
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(no subject) [Jun. 26th, 2012|10:38 pm]
[music |Radiohead-lotus flower]

Here is a Rubik’s cube
If you match this side’s colors”
and stare long enough
you will see your children
not yet born, but be quiet and
you’ll hear yourself tell others
how they’ve grown up too fast
or are in need of an attitude change
hoping that they won’t easily follow
that they’ll be creative and strange

on the other side you’ll see your spouse
watch the ghosts of lovers past
haunt their eyes after an argument
divorce papers printed out, but unsigned
discovered in a box years later
left there and not mentioned again
or perhaps you took that step out the door
made a call to the lawyer
your car trunk left open
just enough room to fit another trash bag
of dirty laundry, bagged up in a hurry

on the opposite side of the color cube
shows a solitary life
one where your hands are the only hands
that answer the whistling of a kettle
the constant glow of some sports game
shouting out the score, or recent trade
no one telling you how to behave
Incense that swirls in semicircles
fades away in the shaft of sunlight
other than you there’s no one there
to breathe in the sweetness of the air

no this Rubik’s cube is no crystal ball
it isn’t even transparent and
bares little resemblance to a sphere
my fictional children that I have yet to correct
my imaginary spouse who was once perfect
exists only for a few moments
that I take to conjure them up
in thin air, behind a strained stare
examining the color wheel
inspired by the thought
of the American dream
which isn’t as lucid as it was before
romanticized and disparaged
just another sentence
destined for folklore
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I went for a walk today [Jun. 25th, 2012|06:41 pm]
I've been asked to join a writing group. I said 'sure why not', but in the back of my head I thought how I wasn't going to take it seriously. That's probably because I expect the group to say that my writing is somewhat sub-par or something like that. Plus I've never taken part in something like this. I rarely share my work with anyone a part from a few people and this blog that I really don't tell anyone I have. My best friend Mark is going to be a part of it, and him and I have attempted certain screen plays that are unfinished. The guy who asked me to join actually is trying to start his own film company. He has had success, but he plans to do more. This Sunday I believe we're going to meet up. I'm not sure who else is in the group. Does seem interesting though.

I know of one cafe the antique sandwich that has poetry reading on Thursdays, and I think Open mic on Mondays. I used to go to that open mic like every week when I was 17. Performed once, didn't go well.

I was thinking of writing something just for the meeting something somewhat silly. Also I plan to bring a poem about a cat who was hanging outside a house that appeared to have the tenants evicted
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