on home life and decades:

we did the dishes today.

goodbye, two thousand and nine

and goodbye ots.

father's day

minneapolis, minnesota

2009

no wonder the world hates christians

"hey, i'm a christian so

let me give you the finger

in this picture that will

undoubtedly end up posted

all over the internet and please

by all means

allow me to curse you up a wall

around all sorts of other people

and there is obviously

no reason you should bat

an eye when i drink myself

into a filthy drunken stupor

and end up sick

with my face an inch from the

piss ridden vomit toilet water

where i retreat from the

buxom brunette whose breasts

i've assaulted and groped repeatedly

with my adulterous fornicating eyes

because this is obviously

how Jesus Christ would want

His blood bought children to act."

is what you're saying with your lives

and no one cares about what you say

with your feeble, empty words

when you live the life you think belongs to you

like that.

xld hxxse dxxsxxs

june 2007

north branch minnesota

haiku 01

hunter s. thompson

shot himself in the kitchen.

he must have been sad.

we do not start coups.

we just listen to godspeed

you! black emperor.

old women inhale

light smokes in gold cars. why not?

dead soon anyway.

i like not missing

you because that means you are

probably near me.

minnesota is

cold this time of year. you all

would probably die.

on the future:

i don't think that
this is going to take
as much time...

...as we thought.

ca-faces

blinds

prehistoric nuggets

wyoming, minnesota 2006

western civ: draft six

everything closed at nine or ten, even the hundred year old diner that had been open for twenty-four hours back when Teddy Roosevelt was president. we didn't like that much but we made the best of it, hunkering down on a concrete ledge behind a strip mall. we set our coffee and books down on the ground followed by our cigarettes after we slightly lessened the burden borne by the four flimsy cardboard walls surrounding them. we shared a matchbook between the two of us and kept our guns inside our shoulder bags.
our faces washed out in a thin orange haze that came from the lights above the shipping and receiving doors along the walls and the dust and dirt floating around the air. we almost looked sick with jondis. Western Civilization, however, looked no different.
academic pursuits wore out their welcome as cups of coffee became lukewarm, then cold. lighted cigarettes had been a constant all the while. cramming this way had become something of a tradition on nights before exam days.
"hey Chuck, what are you going to do when all this is over and done with?" i asked, breaking our waning concentration.
Chuck lit a match and held it to another cigarette. "i don't know. i was thinking about maybe getting my masters in linguistics, moving to Russia or Israel...something like that."
i leaned against the wall, blinked a few times. smoke stings my eyes.
"yeah?" i asked.
"yeah, i'll need to get out of here by then."
"if you're still alive." i laughed a little after saying that. chuck did too.
"if any of us are still alive by then."
"yeah." i agreed, almost inaudibly.
he started flipping through his textbook and stopped at the map of America right in the center of the book, the one that took up two whole pages.
"how long do you think we can pull this off, keep things going the way they are?"
Chuck pressed the burning ashen end of his cigarette against the page, right on Los Angeles.
"i have no idea." he answered, exhausted.
"yeah, me neither." i said, flicking my cigarette butt away.
“i mean, as long as we don’t get careless…or sloppy –”
“we might be alright.” i finished for him.
“but i can’t keep this up for much longer.” he confessed.
“yeah. i know.”
Chuck closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. i struck another match.

he let the page burn.

gang's all here tonight

lust

we have sunken eyes.
we all have sunken eyes.
we'll bury your treasures
in our sunken eyes.

sons and daughters of no one

we are the sons and daughters of no one
let us loose on your lovelorn town.
we'll set this place on fire before we're done.

teenage years quiet like a cut out tongue,
no flowers for the danse, no formal gown
we are the sons and daughters of no one.

disconnected, we're bastards of the young -
we woke up one morning, fell further down
we'll set this place on fire before we're done.

living by the pen, living by the gun,
ever lonely, we won't make a sound
we are the sons and daughters of no one.

once we held promise - now there is none
lost for decades, instead of being found
we'll set this place on fire before we're done.

we are an empty room. we have not won.
we are like this because you weren't around.
we are the sons and daughters of no one.
we'll set this place on fire before we're done.

the new year: part two
january 1, 2009 3:52 am
forest lake, minnesota

convergence

i like to stand in the front line.
 tonight i'm back. it's staggered some.
the front line is where it's the worst.
 some kid next to me gets hit bad.
you cannot hear anything now.
 they drag his limp form to the back,
shine flashlights into his white eyes.
 knuckles up, boys. it's coming soon.
wait another couple seconds,
 you'll be lucky if you can breathe.

honey is a terrible name for a dog: parts one and two
june 2007
north branch, minnesota

last night (friday)

a man with bloodshot
eyes
who never smiled
or yelled
on the/
in the
streets told me he
was the son of God
the lion
of Judah
the author and
perfector of
everything

and he told me
if i ever accused him
of misreading or
altering the old
testament (which he
did) he would "reach down
my throat
and

tear out
my tongue"

and i was
honestly

a little terrified.

quatrains

tour, july - august two thousand and nine

i drove the last some odd hours through

paradise and ypsilanti.

no cruise control, old after two

hours - en route to motor city.

eli and nate and chris and luke - 

asleep since we left milwaukee.

detroit welcomed us like a spook

living in an empty factory. 

guards greeted me with their flashlights.

day started to break and when salt

from sweat fared well to the last night

i fell asleep on the asphalt.

wendy lady in mordor

september 2009

somewhere in burnt out california

wake up, i'll swallow your teeth

wake up absinthe girl

the boulevard's in shambles

around your ankles

the hockey players, wanting, 

while the pole vaulters

are wasting away

come closer to me

i'll keep you safe

i'll swallow your teeth.

this post is for lauren and is entitled "between the bars."

affections and miniscule arrangements

of hearts desires or even 

larger-big-picture-wants

can be acted upon so 

horribly frivolously 

and selfishly

and wickedly sometimes.

yet at other times

they can be the backbone

of work done in the name of 

God 

Almighty.

you choose this day

whom you will 

serve

and do so with your 

affections and desires

not changing (unless

your affections and desires

are in fact wicked)

because you cannot change

your affections.

alter not your 

desires of 

things un-evil.

things okay.

things normal.

like wants.

(because wants

are not

inherently selfish or sin-

ridden.

every man 

has wants.)

alter your heart.

western civilization

everything closed at nine or ten, even the hundred year old diner that had been open twenty-four hours back when teddy roosevelt was president. 

we didn't like that much but we made the best of it, hunkering down on a concrete ledge behind a strip mall. we set our coffee and books down on the ground followed by our cigarettes after we slightly lessened the burden borne by the four flimsy cardboard walls surrounding them.

our faces were washed out in a thin orange haze that came from the lights above the shipping and receiving doors along the wall and the dust and dirt floating around the air.  we looked ghastly in a strange, sick way. western civilization, however, looked no different. 

our academic pursuits wore out their welcome as cups of coffee became lukewarm, then cold. lighted cigarettes were a constant all the while. 

"hey chuck, what are you going to do with this is all over and done with?" i asked. 

chuck struck a match and lit another cigarette. "i don't know. i was thinking about maybe getting my masters in linguistics, moving to russia or israel...something like that."

i nodded and leaned against the wall. blinked a few times. smoke stings my eyes. 

"yeah?" i asked.

"yeah, i'll need to get out of here by then."

"if you're still alive." i laughed a little after saying that. chuck did too. 

"if any of us are still alive by then."

"yeah." i agreed. 

he started flipping through his textbook lit dimly by the light overhead and stopped at the map of america right in the center of the book, the one that took up two whole pages.

"how long do you think we can pull this off, keep things going the way they are?"

chuck pressed the burning ashen end of his cigarette against the page, right on los angeles.

"i have no idea." he answered.

"yeah, me neither." i said, flicking my cigarette butt away.

chuck closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. i struck another match.

he let the page burn.

brotherly love

july 2007

wyoming, minnesota

on waiting:

1 year and 6 months

today.

    

honesty is so unbecoming

your back snaps like machine gun fire when i wrap my arms around you first time in a year and some months and you didn't even cry i'm impressed holding onto your frail frame was like keeping a living breathing beautiful sigh of relief in my arms for a minute dark outside i know you can't stay but things need to change i should probably tell you i'm staying right here so i can wrap my tentacles around you some other time if you finally admit that you love me again

sanctuary

it's good to have options

right now

i want to lie down

on an unmade bed 

and laugh

and look up at

you, holding my head

up with a hand also holding

a cigarette in the

two fingers that aren't bracing

my cheek 

and the windows will be open

and there will be a breeze

that will ruffle up papers

on the 

floor

and 

the curtains

made out of white.

you'll smile back 

at me

and i won't even have to

say anything more

because you know

you know

you

you know you 

know what i'm thinking. 

because 

that

is just how it is. 

then we'll talk about things

that Jesus said and we'll talk 

about things that spurgeon said

and probably some things

that aaron said

and then you'll 

lay down

beside me

and we'll just stay there

all day.

interested in the trees

july 2008

minneapolis, minnesota

well this is different

me and my chaff men

i don't know why You don't strike me down.

i've made my bed with the devil's hounds.

i've cast my lot and defaced your fame

but still you beckon, calling my name. 

when the counsel of wicked harkened my way

i said "make haste, waste not the day

for there is debauchery and evil to be done."

under the watchful eye of the begotten Son.

we tore through cities, burnt country sides,

reflections of ourselves in our vilest eyes.

the trail we left was all broken and dead

but onward my scoffers and chaff-men i led.

until we reached the banks of a river all grey

and my followers said "we're swimming today."

but i replied, "we've gone far enough."

they disagreed and the currents swallowed them up. 

now all that's left is me and Your voice

directing its way through the waves crashing noise. 

my crimes against You beat loud as a drum

but still You reach out and say to me, "come."

good morning parking lot

july 2009

milwaukee, wisconsin

won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away? won't you go away?

you won't. 

don't go.

long day

i wish

hearts

didn't burn.

                andrea

kitchen

pierrot

agape

she let me take her picture.

greg, station four

july, 2009

saint paul, minnesota

on the time being:

back from tour. every day saw

bad religion

bouncing souls

P.O.S

(...and the best show i've seen in a long, long time)

gallows

     

franklin and third (part one)

     i slept on the couch, in the living room. i forgot my gym shorts in the car so i just slept in boxer-briefs. i didn't think she'd care. i had a blanket anyway. "this one's lighter." she said. so i took that one (because nights in the cities are warm in july and people leave their windows facing the streets open sometimes). 

     i was woken up around eight by creaky footsteps taken on the old wood floor followed by the sound of the front door shutting. i was momentarily slightly extremely concerned for three reasons. 

     the first being i thought i may have missed my alarm somehow and overslept and the sound of the door closing had been the result of her leaving for work. she was scheduled at eleven (at the bank). i was scheduled at ten (at the warehouse). if the door closing was her leaving, i was late. 

     the second being if she had in fact left for the day, i was now the only other person in her apartment apart from her roommate, her cousin, who i didn't know all that well. awkward time maybe. 

     the third being if i had in fact overslept and she had rushed out the door in a hurry, possibly running late herself, i had missed my opportunity to say "i hope you have a good day." with the by now expected embrace (not to mention "good morning"). 

     i groggily sat up and stretched forward to grab my almost dead phone off the end table near my feet. the digital display read "8:12 am." relief. (not late). exhaustion. (six hours of sleep). 

     i sat on the couch just waking up, not moving much. after a few minutes of that i headed to the bathroom. the bedroom door (next to the bathroom door) was open. she was sleeping still, laid out peacefully under several covers. freeze baby. 

     her roommate had left earlier. i realized that, still waking up, and was relieved. 

     i put on an old blue stripedy t-shirt and went to the kitchen, found the folgers, and began the not at all difficult nor complicated process of brewing a pot of coffee. 

     poking around the still unfamiliar cupboards for a few clanky seconds led me to a pair of coffee mugs. one purple, one army olive green. she was getting the purple one i decided. 

    after a couple minutes, the pot was more or less full, full enough anyway. i went back to the bedroom across that old floor so mercilessly creaky. still sleeping. i left the purple mug on her night stand on top of a book called the Bible next to her clock and went back to the couch. 

    

i wish you luck, hebrew vandal

july 2009

saint paul, minnesota

you make me want to not go on sinning anymore

and that's not how it should be

because you're not Jesus and you're not me.

so take me to your window and let me either jump

or fly off into a future you're not in

with a bunch of stained photos and poems you wrote me

that i'll either throw away or keep in a silver box

under the headboard of my bed

in case that i have nightmares i can throw those away too

and they can stay with memories in that silver box,

those terrible terrible dreams

living comfortably with recollections of you. 

scurvs

july 2009

minneapolis, minnesota

israel tele-

                    phones me

and 

        i have not

the 

      hand

               to answer.

fourth of july

eight o'clock isn't so bad. 

we usually start at eight

on saturdays anyway.

a.j. (the other seasonal guy) stumbled 

in a few (eleven) minutes late still drunk,

not even hung-over yet.

the kid was miserable. i almost

felt bad.

...(almost).

three or four hours in

we all went outside the 

warehouse and sat around

a few small grills while stevie cooked 

brats and a large can of bush's baked beans

right there on the grill. they tasted smokey 

and i liked that. 

we looked like some scene out of a 

modern-day norman rockwell painting, sitting around in our 

ripped jeans and ratty wolf t-shirts or old flannel

button-ups with blue collars, company jackets and carhartt hooded

sweatshirts draped over the dry old wood picnic tables. dirty leather gloves

scattered around the table tops.

we sat for a while passing the ketchup or plastic forks and

enjoying freedom, the outdoors, charcoal-readied cuisine 

of the lower middle to middle middle to upper middle class,

and the breeze.

we finished early-ish, around six. 

a.j. was still hurting being that he was now 

hung-over 

but the food from the grills helped i think. 

we all left and some of us went to fireworks while 

some of us just went home. some of us went away

and some of us passed out. some of us stayed up all night and

some of us threw up. some of us danced the night away

and some of us did not. 

a/l/k

come here, let me take your picture

and we'll frame it on the wall

of the house we never live in.

on the time being:

the trunk of my car is now

a. my closet

b. my pantry

c. my tool chest

d. all of the above

the man from the cable channel show

i loaded a truck for a 

little asian man

today. he was wearing a

golf club company

baseball cap.

i don't think

he played golf.

he bought a whole mess of

fruits and vegetables to sell at

the saint

paul farmer's market (a place 

where actual farmers go to sell things

they actually grew) and he was all excited

because "the man 

from the cable channel show" was 

going to be there

trying out various

obviously

homegrown produce.

"you know the man

from the cable channel show?"

"...uhh, no. i don't really

watch television."

"he go all over the world

and try food on his 

show."

"ohh."

he was further

very excited

because he had managed 

to purchase from us

a pallet of

mango-nectarines

which we received by mistake and

i am almost positive had some amount

of genetic alterations performed

on them

to bring them to the 

current, dual-fruit status they

were in

since God, in all His 

goodness and wisdom

decided not to give us

mango-nectarines 

at the get go.

He gave us mangos

and 

He gave us necatarines.

we had to get

all curious and somehow

put them together

apparently.

anyway

the little asian man (who laughed

rabidly after any and everything

he said -

"you close the 

door? hahahaha"

"you have bill? i have so

many bill. hahahaha"

"man 

from cable channel

show coming. hahahaha"

"we stack this pallet on

here. hahahaha"

was all jazzed up 

about these

mango-nectarines.

he said he was going to

make

"big sign!" and maybe

the man 

from the cable channel show

would try them (as if they were

something hand-grown here, 

in the ever tropical midwest)

and he would be on television.

how. exciting. 

well, i finished loading his

hobbit hole of a truck (crouching

down every time i 

drove in with a pallet) and

the little guy drove off, 

cackling like a hyena

no doubt. 

i thought to myself

that the man

from the cable channel show 

would probably never get

anywhere near

my easily amused

client.

poor guy. 

oh, and

i hate saint paul. 

unicorn dream attack

punkrockprom 2009

forest lake, minnesota

on society:

chivalry is dead. 

and women killed it. 

wendy lady drives the lost boys to hollywood

april 2009

the 101, lost angeles

we wait

every day moves us closer now. two weeks. three

weeks. who keeps track anymore?

i don't. 

every day closer. every day nearer.

the world waits. shreds of newly cut hair 

on the dirty tile floor mean very little, or 

nothing, in fact. 

but people still ask. they still want to

know: "did you have a reason?"

i tell them no. we're still waiting. people

pass from life to the absence of life in

this room. 

empty metaphors confuse the damned

and those who pen them. trains and

bells bring us places we 

never dreamed we'd go

with a girl in a white skirt riding

up stairs on a donkey

or smiling from the balcony. 

we wait. 

while we wait, he talks of coney island

and the people there

who loved so much.

(they used to sleep on the beach.)

the days have passed and still pass in a 

never-ending transfusion of hurting and

hurrying.

crazies yell from soapboxes while we wait. 

presidents leave office while we wait. 

thousands die of aids while we wait. 

incoherence is written in the lines above and before

while

we

wait. 

and this doesn't mean anything while we wait. 

faces attached to torsos by necks

man, woman, and machine

it's tuesday evening and i'm
sitting outside
the only local corporate
bastard of a coffee shop
still alive in this forgotten,
ruined
small town
i call home,
smoking
cigarettes i lit with a
match
because the lighter fluid
is gone
like hemingway (to my left)
is gone.

there is a middle aged
man and a
middle aged woman near
me, at another table.
the man is a motorcyclist
and his beautiful
machine is
three feet to my
right.

he is showing the woman
pictures of his adventures
all over the heres and theres
of God's green earth
and this blessed patch
of land called
the midwest, a place
that has God on its
side
according to the man
with the
raspy
          voice.

this man and woman,
i think they are on something
of a rendesvous or perhaps
a date even.
and i think they are
late,

(smoke in my eyes burns.)

late in life.
ring fingers are naked and
eyes bear a hint more
eye shadow than a
casual night out warrants.

conversation is of
the machines and seems
to be common ground.
and they are late,
they are late and alone
in this gauntlet of a life
we are all given.

(eyes water a bit.)

and they are looking
i
think.
i
think
that they are looking.

(blink, and blink again)

the sun retreats to the
treeline and perhaps
these two have begun
to find what
they are looking
for.
and i hope they find it
soon, i truly do;
for soon and swiftly they
will be gone
like the smoke
that i breathe.

and now they leave
on the machine.
i wish them well
and pray for their
safety.

the smoke that they are i
hope does not blow
away with the wind
tonight.

the new year

january 1, 2009. 3:37 am

forest lake, minnesota

this is a cold hour

you didn't tell him

that you held your cheek

against my cheek

in the quiet

in the dark

of your garage

because you wanted to see

how

it

felt

(in june of

last summer

after i spent three days

in a car)

or

that you didn't 

want

me

to

leave at all

or

that we talked for

four hours (twelve thirty 

to four thirty) the night

before 

your greek

final this semester

and you were all smiles

all the while

or

that we talked 

three times yet again

that following week

for

several

hours

at

a

time

or

that you texted me

after that even

a couple

or

few

times

or 

that you quote

me and

the things i write

all

the time.

you didn't tell him that

did you?

no,

eric

is

always

the

bad

guy,

the

instigator,

your

scapegoat.

you say

you tell

him

everything

and we both know

                                that you don't.

collab

we made this together.

ett/mkk

i want to show you

i want to show

you all these 

places, all these

things. 

i want to 

show you the lakes

and the streams, 

the firs and 

the geese,

waddling around 

all confused.

i want to 

show you the 

streets i used

to watch over 

and walk as a 

boy with my brothers

and two 

closest friends.

i want to show 

you the room where 

i sometimes sleep or

stay up til all

hours

of the night reading

or writing my

mind away to

a typewriter, wordless 

book or computer

screen.

i want to show you everything.

highway

sixty-one and the place

where i crashed the

three-wheeler when i was 

twelve and the nook

where my grandmother's shop

once was and the cliffs by the 

river

in saint croix and the colors 

and the leaves and the 

people

and my home. 

now i write on 

the back of a yellow 

sheet of notebook paper, a makeshift

schedule for the

warehouse job

i just got 

where i'll be

working ridiculous

hour

and

becoming exhausted

as the days drag on.

i want to show 

you all these things.

please, let me. 

living in this disconnect

on this update:

back in MN

back home.

books are unpacked.

slept in a real bed last night.

slept soundly. 

church plant meeting tonight.

work on portfolio will begin soon. 

reading spurgeon's "lectures to my students" will begin soon. 

doing the daily crossword in the paper will begin soon.

fixing my car will begin soon.

working will begin soon (Lord willing).

so many things will begin soon. 

on that note, you'll figure things out. (soon?)

borne into frustration as the sparks fly upward

monday morning

this road leads to a place where you're uncomfortable around people with half arms and broken legs i find my pens on the ground so when i write it's never lost it's found these limbs leak blood onto parchment and tell tales

sunday night

weeping ruins evenings take this face off you take this face off me we don't deserve the rods we've driven through the other worse worse you take me home listen to the crack of dawn and the breaking of the age and remember me

postal worker drunk

struggles reek of undecided sentiment bitter me bitter you bitter world around the two burn the books in the ground i beg of you cast them down tear the sheets and rend the shirts and feed them to the flames wipe my face off everything and please forget my name please forget my name

the way she said panopticon

i came halfway across the world to get away and you wouldn't think the middle east would be a safe place car wrecks take more sons than car bombs and when everything is gone hate holds the town and i'm safe here next to russians and jews and arabs who want to kill me you're here you're here please leave me be and fall asleep tonight wretched sick pictures flood your mind and mine and i can't sleep at night

this is a death trap

when you close your eyes and birth your tears that's us dancing in the rain with jails and broken vases under our feet and we're in pain give us wings LORD and we'll fly away and bleed all over this city when we leave wax seeps from feathers and we fall towards some spear-like church steeple only to be impaled by each other turned to stone then gargoyle

tell 'em howard hughes said so

silence takes her toll and gets the best of these withered hands and tones reflect ills of society rust covered countenances glare at me and all the searching and the yearning causes you to see the same room isn't the same room anymore the same room isn't the same room anymore the same room isn't the same room anymore please leave

an anthology of celebrity suicides

river boats and rats become the norm see them swim through the murky swells of severence and discontent passive parishes engulfed in silver flames contend for the sympathies and rescue work of angry men all the while anchors drag and bosuns scream and yell at the devil's crew who possibly escaped from hell hopes and dreams are buried with antiquities borrowed burdens play the fool and test my shaking knees

untitled

we were architects.

we were kings.

we were many, many things.

but we grew old,

the stories say.

and one by one,

we passed away.

knives

we leave by the dawn

with miserable tones our

backbone.

we dry our lives and our wallets

of excess because of the

love for what we have 

here, how we feel here,

who we have to love in 

this mess.

a tire flattens and you

yell at your brother, whether 

by flesh

or by blood or 

by fraternity of the art.

dollars fall through the cracks of 

dedication as impressionable

ears fall deaf and eyes 

are blinded by 

us.

leave your plastic cities and

screen prints you white-washed 

tombs.

pop culture enthralls and surrounds

not only the least of these

but the just

and the 

unjust.

whimper away to corners with

your and my pride and 

misunderstandings of this 

hidden society.

we have no place for

arrogance.

we have no place for

you.

on april 19:

i had that same joyful conversation.

i. am. alive.

we. are. alive.

there's a house in the woods

august 2006

bozeman, montana

it comes in waves

oh come on.

not this

again. seriously.

these waves are getting old.

waters are midnight

drives to canyon country

and kisses on the mouth.

we are growing younger and 

more estranged, but we aren't.

no.

we are growing more lost. 

more frustrated.

more shiny silvery sparks on

the other. more alive more 

alive

more dead.

on the here and now:

this was old a long time ago. 

how long, Lord? 

how long?

april thirteen

looking in

a mirror,

i saw

you in 

the greyest

corners

of my 

shoulders and

knees.

"go away."

you told

me, 

watching

and

whispering

with no

ill intent in

your eye.

then we shook

ourselves up

at 

the realization

of how

terrible

we once

were. near

the staircase

all 

alone.

we loathed

our 

recollections;

yearning only 

to 

rejoice

at the

death of

a 

perfect

man.

and in

a sea of

gaping

mouths and eager

ears,

we took

our uncertainties

out on

the other, 

painfully wading

through the

mire that

is the 

faults 

of our fragile

beginnings

in order to

reach the blessed

present.

now 

it 

hurts me just

to write

these things

as 

i 

cannot

forget

the

pain

we

caused

our

God.

and it 

makes so

little

sense to me

that He's

okay with

us.

though that

is

the case,

i'm okay

with

you.

excerpt 001

There were reminders everywhere. Whimsical tired melodies, insufficiently illuminated parking lots, vinyl purchased when together, broken sentences and ballpoint pens, overheard misgivings of Bradbury and Bukowski, and the air we breathe constantly lurked around various everyday corners. All passively destructive (in the grander scheme of things) and equally as unforgiving, they occupied dreams, half forgotten, and graced the foggy reflections of storefront windows casually strolled by and glanced into, occasionally claiming such bold things as "the sky is not really falling."

nous allons, ensemble, vous et moi

you'll cast bells/ i'll paint icons

june 2007

forest lake, minnesota

le château dans le quartier

oak manor

our living room is a mess.

the kitchen isn't bad.

eyes are tired.

air is dry.

the hum of the dishwasher

and laundry machine weaves

through the air.

and everything is back to that

odd, unwanted

state of temporary normalcy.

la jeune fille de monterey

on people (person) who read(s) blog(s):

i see you.

danse à moroder

the man behind the matterhorn

may 2007

forest lake, minnesota

si nous embrasser?

chap stick

two and a half hours north

of monterey, 

exit.

stop.

gas station.

coffee.

okay. i'm awake now.

oh yeah, chap stick.

good 

call.

"didn't these used to be

just a dollar?" - lady at

the register

"they still are, 

actually" - me

*laughter for some

reason unbeknownst to

me* - lady at the 

register

*brief, semi-agreeable chuckle

in order 

not to be rude

or angry 

or irritable

after three days

on the road* - me

yes. two dollars

and sixty-nine 

cents for a stick of chap

stick is about

a dollar and sixty-nine

cents too much.

but what if when

i get there 

we 

kiss?

okay,

it's not too much

anymore.

dieu a une grande gomme

on the future of intercontinental ballistic missiles:

"well when we killed each other and asked 

forgiveness on the grapevine in a song, 

God said 'i forgive you, but this is gonna 

take some time. you need to grow.'

more than hollow words and promises

set to tunes played skillfully on the lyre.

something real, something sincere like 

tattoos of broken english on our arms.

i once saw a sign that said 'God

has a big eraser.' maybe he can help you and i

and wipe away all the murder, adultery, 

and fornication that we rung up

and if that's something i believe in, 

bigger things have bereaved me

like you. 

like you."

new song in the works. 

and i actually like this one. 

odd.

candide candide

you humor me today

june 2007

minneapolis, minnesota

j'ai fait ce à partir de z

untitled 002 (tentatively)

bring me your

poor your naked

and weary

your dead and 

alive and undead

now aside

we'll take them

back and surrender

the same

to walls of white

danger and

hammer away

but the day 

isn't long

as the night

now is short

while we're all 

drowning now

not waving anymore

you sneer and

you snap while

we break and

we crack

with vases and

jails broken

under our feet

this wisp of desire

moves us to

the river where

we came down to

pray and capsized 

in the wake

of progress 

they call it

and we're swept away.

i reiterate. i do not know french.

drive edward scissorhandsville, monday

talking sex and

relationships

from the back seat

of a volvo

our ears deaf and 

a-okay with

misgivings and hearts

on tattered sleeves

for the world to

see or at least

the three inside

the dark chassis

lit only by

the gas gauge and

odometer

and the dashboard

we tread on near

trampled roads at

the bottom of

the black end sky

and then went home

better off for

being honest

and being saved.

ville ville ville

first night in lost angeles

august 2006

los angeles, california

first tag - three years ago

height of teen angst // anger with God

underground fighting in newhall

we drew blood.

- dead

sur le dossier

on time:

this day last year

was a moving//strange//significant day. 

ascète? peut-être

until they wither and die

one day i want to

walk to a field some

where

where i will bring

everything i do not need

in order to live.

and in this field i will

dig a hole

and i will bury 

all the unnecessary things in my life.

all the vhs tapes

the lps 

the dress shoes

and boots of spanish leather

the pictures of owls

and airplanes

purchased at thrift stores

over the years

the books

the action figures

from my childhood

ponda baba and dash rendar

the nicks 

the knacks

the typewriters

the newspapers

and so on.

every last trophy of selfishness 

every monument to material

all the wants 

in place of the needs

i will cover everything with soil

pack it tight

rake it

and i will sow the seeds

to plant a garden

on top of the cache

and in weeks 

or months

up will grow queen annes lace

from between american werewolf in london

and the empire strikes back

lift your skinny fists like antennas to heaven

will yield white daisies

morning glories will lay down

their roots beside

bookends and bridge over troubled water

franny and zooey 

or hot water music

will produce ladies slippers

or chrysanthemums

and they will flourish.

children will come to the garden

with their mothers

and they will dance and play

atop the relics of my selfish past

between the petals and stalks

of the beautiful present

they will laugh and smile 

amid my materialism

and self-centeredness.

they will pick the dandelions

whose roots lay in a twelve inch

darth vader doll's chest

and they will give them to their 

mothers who will take them home

and treasure them

putting them in vases

or on windowsills or

dining room tables

until they wither and die.

oh - to part with the things of this world

in such a way

the earthly possessions 

that so often posses us

the things that capture 

our attention our

time our money.

just to be free

in such a way.

oh to be free.

bas

if you need a murderer

june 2007

minneapolis, minnesota

quintessence

so glam, eli john

june 2006

wyoming, minnesota

messie

messiah complex

i know this

man who has

this complex

this 

complex where he

always

has to have someone in

his life he would

save if a 

disaster were

to occur

at any given time

he needs

someone in his life

that would need

rescuing should the

worst happen

he 

needs 

someone 

to 

save.

it's not a God 

complex so much

as it is a 

messiah complex

i suppose

or maybe a 

savior complex

something

like that.

hello march

self portrait 002

september 2008

jericho, israel (west bank)