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.

tous les chemins mènent à rome

tutte strade

i met an old italian man once

in jerusalem

outside of the east wall

of the old city

across from the mount of olives

atop some moslem graves

he asked me

where damascus gate was

so i told him

pointed

and joked around a bit

telling him

"it's on the left"

(which is a joke because 

it could only have been

...on the left)

he laughed

i laughed

we talked a little

telling each other where we were from

our conversation tapered off

and before we parted

never to see each other

ever again

he looked at me

and told me

"all roads lead to rome."

with a smile

and smile induced squinty eyes

and i smiled too.

saint valentin

valentine's day 

i'm out of cigarettes.

it's not very cold here

but jackets are alright anyway.

some people think you can't have fun

if you stop drinking when you're seventeen.

the photocopier's broken

and i just patched my jeans again. 

j'ai conduit une fois à travers l'amérique

this one time

this one time

i drove across 

america.

not the band.

they suck. 

i hate america.

the band.

no really, they aren't

very good at all.

moving on.

i drove across

america.

and i saw a lot 

of things.

in america.

i saw nebraska

and the lights

of a nebraska 

highway patrolman

as he pulled me over

(this also happened

in reno

and iowa.)

i saw the inside of my car

every night 

as i fell asleep

in the backseat 

of my 1991 four-door

lebaron

except for one 

night in jackson

hole where i stayed

in a friends room.

his name was trey.

it still is.

i saw the plains, 

trains,

and the tetons - 

at two in the morning

in driving rain

with one windshield

wiper gone

awake purely 

on or off caffeine.

i saw the

the redwoods and

the ocean. the 

peninsula and the bay.

monterey.

i saw some hippies

and some friends

with meatloaf

and a crate of my LPs.

i saw a semi 

on its side on the 

freeway in

the middle of

wyoming.

which is a terribly

windy state. 

i saw many things

this one time

i drove across america

alone. 

but the only 

person or thing

really worth

seeing, the only 

real reason for my going

was to see you.

éveillé

awake

this says we can't

be together.

it's yelling at us.

(and)

they follow suit

and say we can't

be together.

loudly.

but what have

we done?

other than 

beat our sweaty open

palms against

the other's bare skin

againstmeagainstyou

in hopes of 

finding ourselves,

coming to

our place

together.

pulling at and unwinding 

every last moral thread

in our clothes and bodies.

every bit of sensible 

marrow within our

wicked bones and 

sinew from our 

very legs. 

we were a couple

of regular

outlaws me and you.

and now i'm

losing sleep

(night after night

on end)

and 

you won't 

leave me be.

and now this is

all i write of

BECAUSEYOU

AREALLTHAT

ISONMY

MINDANDYOU

WILLNOT

GOAWAY.

i've tried. 

dear Lord, i've tried

over and over

and over and

over and over

again. 

i've tried to 

get rid of you,

the ghost of 

thanksgiving past

and me, 

the ghost of a 

kid who once 

used you to 

further his 

narcissism, his pride,

his lustful thoughts

and intentions. 

fortunately for all of us 

the Holy Ghost strung that

miscreant up

on a cold old west

morning and

his decomposing

body body 

still hangs from 

the lowest limb

of that thorny 

Godsend.

thelatterisgone

and

thatisbesidethepoint.

but you're still 

here haunting every abandoned

corner i slip away to

for alone time

or solitude or

intercession.

this says we can't

be together. 

it really does. 

here in the lines 

and spaces.

they agree. 

but fortunately

(for me)

this is a liar.

and they couldn't 

be more wrong.

à l'intérieur

inside

this is a poem

about a film called

"inside."

"inside" is a horror movie

made by some frenchmen

who i believe to be

completely devoid of values.

it's damn near a perfectly

made horror film.

shot well. scored well.

story is riveting.

ending is perfect.

effects are flawless.

but it's probably

the most realistically 

twisted film

i've ever seen.

i'd rather watch

"cannibal holocaust"

three dozen times

than watch "inside"

once more.

and i am hardly

joking.

if i could give you

one piece of advice

for you to consider 

throughout the rest of 

your earthly life,

it very well might be:

never watch "inside."

la lame

the blade

she's always there

haunting me

i'm strapped

to a table

and she's the blade

on a pendulum 

getting ever closer

by the heartbeat

and it's only 

terrifying because

i don't know 

if she's going to 

cut me in half

or sever the bonds

and set me free

surprise surprise

surprise surprise

i was unpacking 

some boxes

and bins

i had stored in

a friend's garage

for a while

and i came across 

a little box

i had hidden

and left for myself

almost a year

ago.

alas, the box

was a pack

of spirits.

wellwellwell

i'm a clever bastard

leaving a pack

of cigarettes

for myself 

to find like that.

(ha)

two or three were

gone,

apparently burnt away;

spent months ago

in some 

abandoned rundown 

carport

off of the 

main drag of that

college town

while loathing life

itself and my

inability to do 

anything right.

anyway, 

i'll slink away 

and find some 

quality time with 

my seventeen

or eighteen 

cylindrical, slim,

additive-free

friends. 

and now there's some-

one in front of me

twirling a pen around

and it's mesmerizing. 

dormir dans la journée

sleeping during the day

i came 

halfway across the world

to get away from you. 

to give you all the space you need.

all the time you need.

and now i have a

hard time

sleeping at night

sometimes. 

so i end up

sleeping during the day

which comforts me a little,

knowing that i'm sleeping

at the same time you are.

nouvelle année

the new year

so this is the new year

and ben gibbard 

doesn't feel any different.

but all the kids at

the motel six or 

in their parents' 

shag rug covered basements 

certainly are going to 

in a little while.

and when they're hungover, 

sleeping it off,

the rest of the world will 

wake up,

maybe a little later 

than usual,

and we'll greet this

beast of a year

with fiery enthusiasm

knowing full and well

we are one year closer

to armageddon.

pièces de monnaie de poche

pocket change

i'll admit it.

i looked pretty ridiculous - 

sitting there on my bed

counting out coins

with forty or fifty bucks in quarters and dimes

sectioned off in little quartets or groups of ten

(which are not dectets)

in lines on the comforter in front of me.

it wasn't much.

not even a full tank of gas

at the time.

my dad came in, 

chuckled

and asked with a bit of a smile:

"you realize what you're doing, right?"

"yeah."

i realized what i was doing.

i was counting out pocket change

and using it for gas to drive across the country -

that

is what i was doing.

and it looked ridiculous 

because it was.

but that's not enough

to stop me, dear.