casper

Justin Pierce, the actor who played Casper in Kids, later hung himself in a Las Vegas hotel room. Sorry bud.  I hope that worked out for you.

“…I’m Casper, the friendly ghost / the dopest ghost in town / all the bitches love me ’cause I’m fuckin’ Casper / the dopest ghost around…”

a Daniel Jonhston song

in the quiet after all

i kept getting asked at work
are you okay? of course i
said well it’s just that you
are sighing a lot they told me
oh i said then a manager saw
my cv and asked what i was
doing working at a coffee shop
and if i still spoke languages
and i thought of everything
i had lost when someone
asked why i don’t drink
and i said substance abuse
cost me my only friend
and a house and a kitten
in east africa but even then
i knew it was only a symptom
not a cause i can’t remember
ever truly being happy
except with her and that
was over before it ended
in madness i wouldn’t let go
until it soured and we died
utterly exhaling as i poured
a woman’s coffee and asking
if she needed space i wanted
to die then i think and i sighed
and it was raining outside
and a lone drop went running
down a leaf by the window
falling perfect to the pavement
to explode as all the pressure
was suddenly unbearable
i breathed it in and held it
there behind the coffee counter
looking out the window hoping
this storm would slow and pass
and in the quiet after all
that helpless pain a sunset
would hug the evening sky.

on waking up to barren trees

so it’s been feeling a bit
out here in the woods
like some kind of pact
was enacted in secret
against me for reasons
i was never informed

not so much a conspiracy
really more like a carelessness
in common everyone forgot
to tell me they didn’t care
anymore because they didn’t

but what if it was a mistake
and suddenly it’s all
oh shit!  you’re that guy!
where have you been hiding?
here’s your money let’s go
get coffee and find arts let’s go
to shows and eat brunch and
fuck and be friends these times
are cyclical you survived
it you’re back!
welcome back!

well anyways
i’ll make my arts
and hug them tight
when it gets cold again
out here in the woods
i tell them everything
my arts my little lies
my little friends.

alternating sips

i will be cold
as a village housewife
who knows winter
who knows what to do
when her bitch has babies
i will stuff my memories
of us in a sack and drown
them like too many mouths
to feed i will drown them
myself in pussy and alcohol
alternating sips
i will be cold
cold as winter
cold as a village housewife.

even gentlemen have a heart

what makes that thing swing
to and fro up there?
_____the wind, that’s all
but what is it, hanging there?
an officer, a gentleman,
a doctor, a lawyer,
a professor, an engineer?
and why did he do it?
_____it’s our fault, all our fault
we humbled him
belittled him
we…
_____MADE HIM UNDERSTAND
that he was just a man
like us
like them
like you
like me!
but how’d ya do it, mister? hey mister!
how’d ya get up on
that flagpole there?
with a ladder?
through ambition?
or was it a bank loan
that got you there?
no, you’re wrong
_____it was love
even gentlemen have a heart.

lyrics from Poem Strip,

a graphic novel by Dino Buzzati

my people are full of light

when at last it starts to break
you my people the cracks
make it easy to find you
my people my broken things
i think you are not my people
because you are broken i think
you are broken because you are
my people because you saw
what a life could be because
people are always failing
you my people the breaking
makes it easy to find you
fading finally as the night
takes you in its smooth arms
leaving only the colors
in your widening pattern of cracks.

a capital letter and a period

when you first summed up
all your past relationships
in single sentences
i cocked an eyebrow
that better never be me
i said don’t you dare
do that to me i am more
complex i said we are more
complicated than a single
sentence and a period
but of course you did
and of course i am
and i know it’s because
of the great bad thing
in your long ago i know
it’s survival summing up
to box away and put behind
the only way you can face
the present by boxing away
the past neatly in a sentence
a capital letter and a period
then putting it behind you
and i cocked an eyebrow
and i said that better never
be me but of course you have
a new guy and i’m boxed
away to forget and i wonder
if he cocks a brow at that
and i wonder what it was
you told people i wonder
what my sentence was
and i wonder if it’s different
when i slip off my period
escape my box in your bed
late at night when i wonder
if you know it’s a fiction.

you can have another

i don’t know what i became
but every day it felt the same
and every time my legs went lame
the only voice i heard was blame

shame had got me leaning over
puking out my guts a boulder
at my back to push it up a lonely hill
sisyphus don’t make a fist
just push it to the top and spill
my drink upon the burning bush
then drag my boy aloft to kill

 a sacrifice to vengeful gods
or angry priests at heads of mobs
and in the corner jesus sobs,
“lob your stones in my direction”
none believe since his rejection
of the fiction of human condition
wishing in one hand and shitting
in the other jesus, brother

i’ll sit down compose and grieve
wipe your nose upon my sleeve
and you can have another

jesus christ you best believe
that you can have another

the path above the stars

(ask the elders do the math
none return along the path)

land laid fallow moving on
to the brink and then beyond

pack your bags desert the base
set a hard line ‘cross your face

pass the oceans skip the earth
leave the land that lent you birth

walk the path above the stars
slip yourself between the bars

maybe there for all your talk
you’ll lose the track of what you stalk

and drift in darkness lost for good
reaping what you sowed and should

or maybe in that distant place
you’ll chance upon a lonely grace

and come triumphant from those lands
with something cupped between your hands.

venus once had a climate

it didn’t work out because
venus once had a climate
like ours because the sun
is dying and all will tend
to an isolated heat death
because we all die alone
and afraid in the end
because we got too heavy
into drugs because a bottle
by the bed and a bump
for breakfast meant sober
days waiting and fighting
because freak weather
events are occurring now
with increasing regularity
because cells that divide
too often will eventually
mutate and consume
us all in the end because
you didn’t love me enough
to be unhappy anymore.

be kind, and i will tell you

Drunk as shit on rotgut whiskey on my rooftop in Taipei.  Drunk as shit and heartbroken and unable to cry.  Mired in dark things, doing dark things, being a bad person because I could, because it was available to me, hurting people who didn’t deserve it just to see how it felt.  Crying would’ve been such a relief.  Instead I recorded poems.

be kind, and i will tell you

to make a morning

the little demons dance
their writhing orgiastic bodies
beating dark insistent drums
they rub their little bellies
sway suggestive little hips
faces red and ruddy in the flame

i made a flame

the wisps drifting tendrils
floating black and airy
light and airy banshees ever
screaming nightgowns
trailing skin of plaster
mouths a rictus screaming
screaming silent screaming

i made a scream

the fire is enormous
built of bone and love
and hope and fear
and death and pain
and lung and heart
and love and love
they exhort me, “jump”
they chant and, “jump”
they cry and, “jump”

it is my chant i made
a chant i smear the paint
i raise my spear i set my mouth
inhale and face my fear inhale
and i am brave and i am brave i run
and run i run and run and leap
lifting trailing streamers
clearing barely clearing flame
licking at my legs and landing
heaving burnt and smoking
still the other side alive

i made a hurt

and in silence then they wait
they wait for me to tend my burns
they wait for me to wrap my cuts
they wait in patience as i feed
the fire banking it still higher
until the smallest demon starts
again i see him mouthing,

“jump,”

he mouths and
“jump,” they say and
“jump,” i catch my breath
they beat the drums i roar
the fire roars my blisters

burn i am not ready
i try my little rituals
again i paint my face
slap my chest i try
and yet this time
it isn’t in me
and i just
stop

and look
it is no longer
night a warming light
has crept across the horizon
looking down i feel the grass
soft beneath bare feet

i wiggle my toes

i put down my spear
and a big demon comes
with a bucket of water i wash
the war paint slowly
deliberately
from my beaten body

and scarred and hardened
strong and melted somehow
inside i turn to the wisps
who silent grin at me
and the demons
they part for me to pass
and the fire of my 20s
settles into smoking ash
sending tendrils drifting
curling up into a pink
and orange morning

i made a morning

i am 30 and today
i will be sober.

well, it’s still good to see your face

it’s been over a year now
and i’ve had many lovers
since then that all together
can’t quite still the resonance
the severed synapses firing
memories blindly into blank
brain space echoes i thought
i was free but it came again
towards morning last night
it simply appeared
like the most natural thing
on a train in transit rushing
of course rushing but we found
time it was us we made time
to lean against each other
and though rushing as ever
we had time just to feel
our heads touching
so tender so sad you anxious
feeling trapped we understood
that it should not be here
anymore in my dreams

and like that
you were gone.

the last belief

It was nearly a decade ago at Bobwundaye, in its old location in Taipei, in the middle of a typhoon.  Katrina Ku dragged me up there, got up on a chair, and yelled at everyone to shut up and listen.  Then she offered me a shot, which I had to refuse because I was about to throw up.  When it was over I believed, if only for the night, that I was an artist.  Whatever bridge I end up under, whatever bottle I drown in, I’ll be forever grateful to her for that.

The packed bar was silent, the typhoon raged outside.  Everyone looked at me.  I said this:

the cure

He pulled his little skiff up on the shore and shipped the oars.  It was a small island like all the others, but in the middle there was a little forest.  He walked up from the beach and found himself in a beautiful grotto.  Soft, filtered sunlight trickled through the leaves and a brook gurgled crisp and clear beneath his feet.  In the middle of the clearing there was a large rock, and seated cross-legged upon this rock was a wrinkled old man.

“Hey!” he said to the man.

“Hello,” the old man said.

“…Hey!” he said again.  The man raised a bushy white eyebrow.  “Are there any peacocks on this island?”

“Yes,” the old man said, “there’s one over there.”  He followed the man’s gaze and indeed, there was a sleek green peacock drinking from the stream across the clearing.  He strode over to the creature and gripped it by the head.

“Don’t do it,” the old man offered.  He looked at the man, then the bird, which was now looking at him.  Then the man again, then the bird.  He took out his knife.  “I’m telling you,” the old man offered again, “don’t do it.”  He cut its throat.

The peacock gurgled and went slack beneath his hand.  He pulled its slit neck to his mouth and drank as much of the gushing blood as he could, pausing for breaths.  Then he stopped and looked at the old man.  He was covered in blood.

“I don’t feel anything.”

“Of course not.”

“Are there any more peacocks?”

“That was the last one.”

“How do you know?”

“I killed the others.”

“Oh.”  He looked down and let the dead peacock fall to the grass.  “Well I need more blood, that’s the cure.”

“Who told you that?”

He scratched the back of his neck with the tip of his knife.  “You know?  I can’t remember.”

“What’s the cure for?”

“I… don’t actually know.”  He hazarded a quick glance at the dead bird.  His mouth went flat and he let go a little sigh.  “This is a dream, isn’t it.”

“What do you think?”

“Well then who am I?”

“That’s the first intelligent question you’ve asked.

“Yeah, but who am I, really?  I have to know.”

“Have you learned anything?”

“No, to be honest, I’m very confused.  All of this is very confusing.  What’s wrong with me?  Why do I need a cure?  Why did I think it was blood?”

The old man raised a bushy eyebrow, stroked his chin, and nodded.

“No, wait, please—“

He woke up and there she was.  He watched her chest rise and fall evenly in her sleep.  Outside their little house, the rising winds of a great storm blew trash across the yard.  He eased himself out of bed and looked down at her.  He saw her then as he had first seen her all those years ago, laughing, dancing, smiling—smiling at him.  Choosing him.  He should never have killed that bird.

Somewhere inside him a crack split his ball of anger. First one, then many, until spidering in all directions they covered the whole hardened mass.  Then it broke. He laid his anger down in pieces and in its place found only sadness — she was his best friend.  He reached down and brushed the hair from her eyes.  Outside it began to pour.

Who was he?  What was wrong with him?  He didn’t know.  There was work to be done, and he resolved to do it in kindness.  He stepped out into the storm.  As he walked, lightning struck the ground all around him.  Trees ripped from the earth and went flying.  He was terrified.  He stopped and looked back at the house.  He was absolutely terrified.

from mud, dandelions rise towards the sun

i once saw a little kid running
down the road with a saxophone
it was little, little kid sized
what a wonderful thing i thought
and i smoked as he ran on by
later i heard a little girl reading
a poem i wrote and it too
was little, little kid sized
what a wonderful thing i thought
and i drank as her little voice lilted
born pure up out of this world.

On Freedom: An Historical Manifesto

______The old order was feudalism, a political and economic system of hereditary aristocracy that derived power from the king and ruled absolutely.  The compact with the serfs held that for their fealty and taxes, the peasantry would be protected and could work their land, the king’s land, on high interest loan.  The reality was that they were property.  But little barons and dukes and princes were raised at the feet of tutors who spoke of a divine responsibility to govern justly those beneath them.  At least there was that.  The roles were set at birth, there was next to no social mobility outside of the church or a king’s blessing, and more often than not, the words of the tutors went unheeded and the lords of men were cruel and vicious people.  But there were a few, here and there, who listened, and who took seriously the responsibility they had to care for the lives entrusted to them.

______Today we have a new government and a new economic system.  We removed the hereditary aristocracy and landed bondage of the serfs, and replaced it with the dream of a free market and a society of free actors, each in control of their own destiny, with the power to trade rags for riches in a single generation.  We demolished the old system, and the beautiful ideas of the Enlightenment came to fruition for the first time with the founding of the American republic.  Thomas Jefferson saw a new country arising on a new continent with a startling lack of wealth disparity and an equality of opportunity un-imaginable in the dynastic monarchies of Europe.  The new continent was so vast and so full of wealth that the prospect of becoming a landed citizen existed for anyone willing to go west.  In his innocence he labored under the delusion that these conditions would hold; that the old tyranny would not evolve here.  Here where slavery reigned.

______We are now lurching drunkenly through the final, farcical act of that republic, the longest lasting constitutional democracy the world has ever known.  When the bonds of feudalism were smashed and finally, when King George III had to remove his boot from the backs of his American subjects, a new and novel victory was won.  An incredible document was forged, creating a government of checks and balances, of bi-cameral legislative houses, of federal and state bodies to represent local and national interests, an impartial judiciary to set down a new legal precedent, and a built-in capacity to change and evolve over time.  Acknowledging the human instinct to primacy, it was built to create a balance between the inevitable factions.  It was one of the most beautiful, audacious moments in human history.  Sovereignty now rested in the people.  And in the muck that was this new and still unsettled political order, the lords of capital flourished.

______The free market is the finest method we have ever devised for efficiently allocating goods and services.  It is a system that looks unflinching into the eye of humanity and is built around our most predominant core trait, the manner in which we are most predictable:  Selfishness.  When the tyranny of the monarchy was removed, when men became suddenly free to govern themselves, a new tyranny arose to fit this new freedom.  People pushed and shoved against the as yet undiscovered boundaries of this new order, seeking a manner in which to claw themselves upwards, as ever, over the cries of those they shoved down.  The surest vehicle to power in this void was the market.  Those among us with the willingness to kill and enslave, those who saw opportunity in others’ misery and misfortune, those who made a cold profit at any cost, were rewarded with the role of barons in this new world.  The most effective cut-throats of humanity, rewarded by greed as the engine of growth, were raised to prominence over us all.

______And they ensconced themselves there.  The market is no longer free.  A government regulating monopolies, preventing collusion and keeping competition alive is required for a free market, and there’s no profit in that.  The dream of rags to riches is a fallacy afforded the masses as an opiate to supplement the old religions.  They bought out the legislature and they created a new hereditary aristocracy to pass it down to their progeny, who never had even the tiny check of tutors telling them they were born to rule, and as such had a responsibility to those they ruled.  This new breed of self-congratulatory, back-patting barons told themselves success is due to merit and gumption and naught else.  There is no compassion in any of it, no tutor to whisper as he tucks in his young charge, “rule well, little one, be a wise and gentle king.”  Ruling is simply the by-product of power; the means to more power.

______There is nothing good, nothing positive, nothing to believe in, in the people who have come to rule us.  They rule for themselves, the children of our codified system of selfish incentives.  They who devoured their siblings, they who rose  to top the market then colluded to force out competition, they who used their monopolistic positions to infiltrate the halls of power, to influence the laws, to slide members of their caste into the judiciary, they who have now have declared money as speech.

______If money is freedom to speak, then a tiny handful of us have drastically louder voices than the rest.  No longer do local elections revolve around local issues.  No longer do representatives from your  area represent your interests in congress.  They get their money to run their campaigns and thus their mandate to action from other sources.  As much lip service as they pay, as many babies as they kiss, the faucet of their funds, the means to their power, is very much in the hands of a global commercial interest.  That is not representative democracy, that is oligarchy; that is a cabal of corporations running a country.  And corporations have their own morality, a morality that has nothing to do with the morals of man: profit is good, loss is evil.  That’s it.  Growth must be maintained.  And that morality now governs our country, with all the might and flex of the American military straining its leash to be used.  And what can be done?

______Revolution is out.  We have modernized and militarized our nation to such an extreme that a public uprising would be laughable, if anyone survived the bloodbath long enough to laugh.  The efficiency with which the revolution would be put down, a revolution Jefferson encouraged, would be bone-chilling.  Those who seize power for the sake of power do not give it up, ever, without resorting to the violence at their disposal.  And the violent capacity of the modern American military is unmatched in the history of humanity.  So that leaves a military coup as the only possible uprising that could unseat the government.  And thus would end the republic.  The Caesar to our Cato.  And how often has the leader of a coup had even the minor graces of a Caesar?  I have no hope for another Washington to arise, seize the government, then voluntarily step down to show he is merely a citizen among equals.  That was a unique moment in human history.  So what can be done?

______We live under the protection of the bill of rights, the fruits of the enlightenment; we are the children of the constitution, the souls who have been deemed self-evidently equal.  Some things have changed, yes, and for the better.  We can speak, though it be a whisper.  We can aim for a slow and gradual change, the only option open to us, each aching, dragging step a struggle.  We can live lives of beauty, and honesty, and kindness in the meantime.  We can redefine success and we can refuse to accept a system re-written by the worst of us to further their own carnal, short-sighted, commercial dreams.  I admit it is not much.  The history of humanity is one of overwhelming cruelty, bondage, and violence, where the tyrannical instinct to dominate is so fierce as to rise to the top of any system we set before it.  At this stage in our evolution, utopia is a pipe dream — it’s simply not in the human animal.

______And yet, here we are.  However hijacked it is, we live in a republican democracy, the finest dream of checks and balances, popular sovereignty, and personal freedom to ever grace this earth.  The crafters of this dream got so much right, so much that is worth salvaging.  What they missed was the explosion of global capitalism, the incredible extent to which that wealth would be concentrated, and the political nature of the power that brought.  Make no mistake: We are not represented, we are ruled.  We pulled down the kings and the merchants took their thrones.  So what can be done?

______We can publicly fund our campaigns.  All of them.

By stripping private money and paid lobbyists from politics we can re-introduce the concept of civil servants.  When private money appears, we can condemn it for the bribery that it is.  This raises immediate questions of course, such as how much money is to be allotted each candidate?  How many candidates can run? What, if any, are the qualifications?  These are complicated, but not impossible questions.  Answering them will be the first step towards prying corporate morality off the head of our democracy before it devours its host.

______You shake your head, you say that even were such laws written to our satisfaction, the only people who could enact them are the very people they are designed to disenfranchise.  I agree.  It’s an impossible task.  But as my mother once told me, when faced with an impossible task, there is only one thing to do:

Begin.

dream a sweet dream

living is a dream state dying
is waking in one awesome gasp
to that old endless place
of nothing and nothingness
forever but fuck it forget that
just remember that once
you knew it keep it hidden keep it
secret somewhere safe let it live
somewhere in you as the truth
we believe is the foundation
we tie ourselves to as we toss
in the stormclouds the line
that stretches back way back
all the way back to the truth
we believe in the bedrock
and up there freedom is slack
in the line and trouble is when
it goes taut but know that it snaps
if you’re not careful with the truth
we believe the foundation let it live
inside you for without it we’re lost
to reality lost in the end to the storm
to ourselves to what matters but hush
now forget it forget it i’m sorry go back
to sleep go to sleep go to sleep
and dream a sweet dream.

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