Posts Tagged ‘Advice’

damn, this coffee and this cigarette taste like ten years ago

10 Feb



glitch in the abyss

i’m tired of this
back and forth –
you’ve noticed
i’ve been busy
thinking about
not thinking about you
– so what do you want?

and just, you know
to be polite
how are you?
are you alright?
well, that’s good
i guess
and, me, well…
it doesn’t matter
it’s been a tough two years, year and a half
the prez, the singer dying, and you
it kind of broke me
for a bit

yeah, i’m better now
and maybe the breaking was the goal, actually
i’m working now, constantly, too much maybe   
and writing, as you see
a field of heather that regenerates after a wildfire
something like that, fuck, whatever, i don’t know
don’t listen to me – i’m stoned and tired
in need of some sleep, abyssal
anyway, what do you want?
it’s you that wound up at my door

The Pressure of Patience

26 Apr



jokes with a mirror (exercises of the demiurge)

most decent writers
in their artistic nascency
attempt a stab at a
love story
striving to make it fatal
striving to make it metal
then they live a little
and a few stabs have been attempted at them
a few slabs of being have been excised  
they might become better writers
they might get hoarse, creatively,
spiritually, whathaveyou
but they never
take a stab at a
love story


04 Feb



untitled (we are a country of dangerous people)


We are a country of dangerous people.

There are so very few, a small penultimate, near-endlessly thinning minority, of individuals, leaders who participate in the world without pride, without indulgence, without ego – or at least without utilizing these cankerous facets of their humanity as the engine animating their flesh; instead they know that they are meant to serve as a benevolent affect on the world instead of simply being an affectation of this act. We are the net positive flicker of existence, meant to fade, and we are rarely encountered, rarely announced.

We are a few.

We are a country of dangerous people.

A politically undereducated populace. Making mistakes unmaliciously.  

Then there’s the Joker voters. And the sociopaths. And the psychos. And my ex-girlfriend. A manically designed mixture of entitlement and apathy. Those that didn’t vote at all.

Elected officials, power hungry and money hungry, unambitious to make history beyond a reelection.


How far can you see?

At least turn around and see who you’re leading.

Who you’re leaving behind.

Turn around before you’re fully blind.

We are a country of dangerous people.  


what the fuck is this – commentary?!

10 Aug



for the aristocratic drifters


sitting at the park
planning rush limbaugh’s assassination
hands up, don’t shoot
white wine, cold on a hot day
this used to be my park
but then it moved
the fountain used to be over there
i was on this bench with you
but even then
smurfs were held sacred
smurf lives saved in this political nightmare
endangered predators in this poverty abattoir
sovereignty for the soul, but the flesh gets patted down
hands, batons and bullets
for every body
another american miracle succumbs
sitting at the park
we laugh
and drink
and watch this
something we can’t change
try to sell itself to us
and just like that
it’s time to move

Enter title here (all goes into Oblivion)

27 Apr



inside the stardust stew
coffee on the leader’s face
the newspaper spills the story
the police are on their way

we’ve had a time of it for sure
this flying territory,
an incorporeal place of abject subjugation, landing only
to dispense cruelty, made romantic
by the distance at which we see it
after taking off again
(the earth is always fine when one is in the air)

this is history
if only we could forget it
start over
realize that regardless of how
infinite in truth and truly beautiful
inside the cavity of false hindsight
the past may be
– we no longer need it, not anymore

(for ch)


20 Mar




sitting around, getting fat like a clef note
an ego in the front room
crossing through the ante
i become the cloudy piss of my poetry
and there’s resentment
then resentments
a reenactment
a play made up of the same silent scene
the progression of the panhandler
that becomes the guy that sells celestial subscriptions door-to-door
twenty years too late
like changing the world
like fatherhood and all
potential, fictional, alive
like passing down
that true wisdom causes isolation
like naming him Augustus, nicknaming him August for short
smiling when the little girls tap his shoulder
call him “Auggie”
the result of an anxious calendar staying up
and then we thin it out
the dreaming that is
son, try not to do it
because there’s more of them than madhouses that room escape
trust me, i’ve worn the robes
but in the whispers sprouting up in the air like will-o’-the-wisps
you know
it’s clearer in the eventide
it has to be
the world is laying quiet


25 Nov



pick up
if we were to meet today as strangers
and I tried to pick you up with a line conjured on the spot,
“if life is but a lonely dream for those like us
we might as well just go to bed together”,
do you think you would come home with me?

law & order

28 Jul



jury nullification


I hear it constantly

obstreperously, all the time

usually from prolix nudniks

free country

this is a free country

well, you show me what you see here free

and I, for my part, will find you a bill


now, on to the next


don’t take the blonde girl out

she’ll be obsolete in a few centuries I hear

the New York Times told me that

and all the rest of you

stop buying empty rooms

paradise is a studio apartment

with the dark-haired girl

chestnut eyes with space inside to fit your madness


now, the only lie between us

the one that I just testified about

is our refusal to acknowledge how lonely we both are

just like the rest of the members of the court

the time it takes to unabstract the motion (or lack thereof)

a kiss, as evidenced eventually,

in the middle of a street losing its own name

outside the safety of our respective neighborhoods

which will allow us to recognize how we accord inside each other

admit how to abate this loyal loneliness previously mentioned

run past it, running to this block

which will become our shared alibi forever


now, on to another freedom

before you hear the gavel banging

before they try to save us

like the rest of the fools condemned

to love

and other such crimes against society


just let me know

22 Jul



just let me know


just let me know

when you think it’s coming

the time when

everyone says

we’re supposed to turn mean

to one another

instead of simply working

with a delightful ardency, if I might add

on turning each other on

and I’ll start practicing

now though let’s just dig this, as it is

some cruelties, I’m sure, are coming

they’ve always found a way to scowl unto the scene before

jocosely causing their pointless chaos

just let me know

when you see them coming, hear them

they stomp real loud when on approach

each boot rude and minatory bombast


as rueful

as calculating and contrite

as a bomb blanketing a child’s bed

yes, they will be our enemies

just let me know when to expect them

ask your girlfriends, if you must

even the plutocratic and plutonian ones, the ones that hate the art in you

or ask your dead daughters when you dream

they serenade you, I’ve seen you listen as you sleep

I’ll take the help of anyone willing to offer it

because you know I am afraid

even nameless things

they need to speak

that’s all I can do, accept them at their word

as for you, when you see those malignities with open ears converging

baby, then, just let me know

I’ll take them all on, fuck it



25 May



just lying about breakfast


I like scrabble

I like sex

I like scotch (although when I can’t afford it I go Kentucky)

the latter discussed benefits from being a necessity

I drink

because I want to believe in something fated

that money is illusory

an irrational concept only worthwhile as a brief intermediary of heat

yet cardboard still works better in an empty drum

the timber my bouncy Brooklyn gentrifiers gather works better yet


I’m drinking bourbon now, it’s true

not written as some delusory device

this isn’t ‘hard man’-tragipoeticism

just ponderance on paper, the attempted penetrance of a literary amoeba

I’m drinking bourbon

watching some Philip Seymour Hoffman pictures I’ve had on an illegal streaming queue

that I’ve been meaning to catch up on

since he died

and I’m thinking

that I need this drink

to keep believing

something fateful blah blah blah

art will save the world

the banks will crumble

like the ancient temple

and I’ll break the glass for it

and just because

and I’ll stare into her eyes

and she’ll know that she’s with a man

that treated his work like a landscape

a supposed hill in Calvary

fiction, fiction, it exists, and let it save the world

the only sin is empty hands

and I drink

and watch this movie

the acting is superb

and I pretend that I’m not just a damaged alcoholic

with some depressive leanings

and various psychological derangements, pretty in asymmetry

who is a tad too prideful

and far too averse of giving up his stubbornness

we play in the realm of immortality

strive to; checkers, backgammon, childish things

they bought the boards though and that’s the problem

but I drink and I pretend

and I need

you more so now, but also my distractions

this bourbon strokes out a few more weeks

I’m getting tired and unsure, a glass needs filling

I need the renewed feeling of being right

all this is true

a grapefruit for the morning

myself, the missing

I walk into the ashtray looking for something, someone there to smoke

and I see her eyes

their feral burning

and the glass breaking

and I get a hint of fatefulness

it smells like booze and empty sheets

the glass is breaking in my head

a grapefruit for the morning

get it ready

and another drink

the pause button doesn’t work

there is no death

and I am smiling


the madness of men

18 May






me and D.B. Cooper used to be close friends

I was the one that always told him

‘Dan, you just got to be polite’

told him that

just like the rest of us

he’ll never get to Mexico

if he romanticizes it too much

it’s the same with everything

take last week for instance

I slept with a young lady

who looked exactly like the one I loved the most

back when we first met

she had just turned a mean nineteen

my alcoholism had just turned legal

this was years ago, of course

we fell in love as these stories often go

but it wasn’t the same this time around

history cannot be mended

refitted or reimagined

the new one opened her mouth

took off her dress

and nothing seemed familiar

just a distasteful attempt at connecting

to something that time corroded long ago

you can no longer find the past inside the present

we’ve stepped out of fiction and are now forced to live in this

so just like I told Dan

simply be polite

keep your shades on when her eyes attempt to keep you

and parachute out any time you see a storm approaching


dashing off a question

12 Feb



new watch


my eyes


past the passerby,

the train conductors scurrying their dogies

into the locomotive

almost as though it was a custodial matter;

they want all of us inside,

but I’m seeking out

the hanging clock

so I can


my time


like conversation wasted

on my kot Esenin

who claims through purring

that time is inconsiderate anyway

the only thing worthwhile buying, free

time is and has always been of no account

only light is eternal

– can’t you see it moving

the practice having just begun

when your eyes first turned into a calendar


Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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