Tuesday, October 26, 2010

"People are always dying.

I've gotten pretty tired of it."

Monday, October 25, 2010

Believe In No Faith

If heaven is a crutch,
the glimmer of hope
at the end of the tunnel,
the pill we gulp
to counter the threats
of grief--

or guilt;
if heaven is our ascendancy
to a city of gold in the clouds--
where each and every soul
on earth goes because we
deserve it, because we were
wonderful people,

I don't think I want to go.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Let all the branches fall
(but they'll never fall)
where are you tonight
when I see you where is
this moment when the
branches never fall
and I am underneath.

Monday, October 11, 2010


So a friend of mine is editing a brand new journal in Pittsburgh. Accepted submissions are awarded a copy of the journal plus an Editor's Choice award of $50-$100 for one prose piece, and $40-$80 for one poetry piece. Also, any authors featured on the website will receive $10.

You don't even have to be from the area to submit. There are tons of writers here, why not give yourself an opportunity, not only to be heard in a new area, but to support local publishing and grassroots interest in writing. It's free!

Check out other submission conditions and general information here.

Thursday, October 7, 2010


Ever sit back
and realize
how often we take

for granted
the fact that we
wake up each morning?

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

changes in season

I catch the bus at 10:23am
each Monday and Wednesday.
61A inbound.

One point three miles away.

67A inbound--10:30am,
Monday morning--
found shot dead
one man,
standing at bus stop,
twenty-six shots fired.
Twenty-six shots fired.

Twenty-six shots fired.

Wednesday morning,
I'll catch the bus
at 10:23am.
61A inbound.


Been spendin too much time
in the classical.
They're coooool and all man

they just don't jive,
Gimme something more my

I'm desperate for some

attention. invention.
detention in suspension.
ascend. transcend. deny retry
fortify tsetse fly.

I digress.

Sunday, October 3, 2010


The silence is what kills you.
It's not that it's the silence,
silence is golden
or whatever

but it's the repression.
Even if I screamed...

no one would hear.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Where have you gone, leaving
the production line,
slinking into the shadows
behind your machine
and out the emergency exit?
Away for a smoke or a joyride,
hopping on the back of some
pinhead's harley.

He wears a leather jacket
but he doesn't know how to
wear it if you catch.
He wants so badly to be who
he never could be on the football
field, or in the honors club.
That's why he tagged you.

The factory is still running.
What are you trying to escape?

Falling gracefully into silence
(mask of serenity)

slipping into

sliding back

what was it I was trying to say?
Oh yes...

I'll be just a moment.

Oh, forget this.

Friday, October 1, 2010


I don't think there's any other way
to go to a museum than by yourself.

My favorite part of any museum is
the makeshift alcoves they set apart
for projectors and film. The way
the black hallway leads you farther
and farther from the light, then
suddenly around the corner into
still more black walls with a lone
bench across infinite floor space
to a projection on the wall.

I saw slideshows of photographs
from the Great Depression, I saw
the dance of the dead, and I saw
the relationship between art and light.

I also saw the blotting out of the sun
and an insatiable desire to fly or float,
but never success.

More importantly, I saw the alienation
of temporary human existence in
hotels and motels and for the first time,
I realized the insane unnaturalness of it all.

Aside from film, I couldn't help but realize
the serenity of the theaters.

There was no one else there.

The museum wasn't crowded, per se, (Thursday
afternoons rarely are) but there were a fair
number of patrons. Oh, people stopped by for
a few moments or so. But when the film didn't
immediately pique their interest, they quickly
shuffled out.
Have we come to that? Paintings are so still,
so passive, that if we don't see something we
like in it right away, we move on. (Is that
right? Should we be so impatient as to assume
that time spent with a still image will garner
no more influence on our souls?1)

As an effect, it seems that films must react
the same way. Hollywood is required to draw
us in, initially with the trailer, and more
importantly, with the attention-grabbing intro.
Unfortunately art doesn't work that way.
Sometimes to get the picture,
you need to watch the piece in its entirety.
Believe it or not, museums are not "quick-fix
thrill parks".
It makes me sad that we are so caught up
in time that we can't take a few extra
minutes and spend it doing what we actually
came here to do.

1No. I spent time today with
Van Gogh and Edvard Munch and Mark Rothko
and Claude Monet and Jackson Pollock
to name a few, and if there's one thing
I realized, its that nothing can evoke
more understanding or emotion in a painting
than spending time with it.