St. Baldrick's 2013

also posted on the St Baldrick's website as my "personal message" for my participation.



My girlfriend is one of the most beautiful people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting; both inside and out. I never knew of St Baldrick's until I was introduced to it through her, explaining why she had extremely short hair. Swearing up and down that she wasn't a lesbian (something that happens more often than you'd even think it would when her hair is short). Not that it mattered too much to me, but she had a great reason.

The cause is an amazing one, a cause that I think pretty much every single person can confidently get behind without too much examination. It's heartbreaking to think of the pain and the hardship most of these kids go through on a weekly/daily/hourly basis... but it's also so emotionally powerful and compelling to see so many normal people donating their hard-earned money, time, and hair, to do whatever they can to help. It's hard for you to not constantly be teary-eyed, your heart surging with hope and positive vibes. Yeah, I'm not usually "this guy."

But this year I'll be taking a seat in the barber's chair and letting them take my hair away again. Last year, her and I managed to raise over $2k between the two of us. But really, I'm not taking any credit at all because it's all her. What type of woman does it take to have her head *completely shaved* for ANYTHING, let alone a charity? Do you know what it's like for a woman, a normal grown woman, to have a completely shaved head in today's appearance-obsessed and perfection-obsessed society? I sure as f*ck don't, but I can damn well imagine that it cannot. be. easy. And 2013 will be the 5th year she's done this. What type of man would I be if I didn't follow suit, knowing full well that men walk around with shaved heads every day and she's the one that would *really* be taking a huge leap (once again). She can do this, and I'm just going to sit back and applaud from afar? No thanks.

Some types of heroics are so outright inspiring that you don't even have a damn choice. (even if my girlfriend looks like Sinead O'Connor for a few months.)

So yeah, I'm not taking any credit or looking for any appreciation, I'm just "following suit" as it may be. Please donate towards mine or Carlee Resh's goals, and read more about this brilliant charity. Because kids are innocent and full of love, and dreams, and hope, and absolutely NOTHING should be allowed to stop them from carrying these out. This is for your future kids, and our future kids. And thank you for reading this.

a dance.

these words that slip out of my mouth
they do nothing for either of us

either I have trouble with how utterly small I have become
or I need to prove myself
or

sky scraping.

how high is the passage that ends in your image
mentaphysical
we distanced planets in order to escape the thought of you
yet still
like the remains of the day collapsing inward with the sundrowning,
it comes crawling
back

hallucination
please me to no end
a lucid nation
to live in again
I'm free because of you

there's an anchor in my chest, the sea's in disarray
your flickering image has circulation
a beating heart
I bet in three more years I won't be able to remember your face
I bet
yeah, three more years
keep it coming
keep it coming
charge me with desertion, oh it's coming

this, one.

I shouldn't see stars when I stand up
only when I stand up
or lift my arms above my head, or walk to another room
stars, little light specks flickering past my vision
miniscule comets
and as I trade in my remains of the day
thieving those around me
sinking to new lows
I wonder if this is redemption for all those I have wronged
while chasing that which will surely
end me

it's been raining for months.

I found this on my old livejournal, written Sept 5th 2006 at 12:30am.  I liked its commentary on what it's like to work retail, so I figured I'd post it again here.  enjoy.


_



 you find yourself in a strange mall, in a strange town, in a state far away from your own. somehow, you are behind the counter in a retail store, fielding endless requests from an endless sea of hungry consumers. you are sick, weak, tired and hungry. they are fueled by objectives and impatience. round 241 begins.

their only goal: to get in and out as fast as possible with all of their boxes checked.

your only goal: to get through the day in one piece.

in every direction around you, a person is standing, their eyes stuck to you. they are waiting until you make eye contact with them so they can stab you with words. nevermind that you are doing 3 things at once, while helping another. nevermind that you are blowing your nose, or taking a sip of the bottled water you are running out of because you've been working 6 hours by yourself. dodge verbal bullets, dying ninja. jump when we tell you to. your beads of sweat are the points we are keeping track of. one of us will win, and will get to pillage your corpse. we will drive the wrong way on the other side of the road. we will demolish your home to make way for our convenience machines.

drive home for years.

arrive, and get assaulted by the Nonsense Entity who faults you for that which is not yours, and puts you on the list for future disposal.

Close your eyes, daytripper.
You must be the cheetah.

the night.

night comes

night comes exhaled in
casually flourishing in the expanse as if we acquiesced to its maturation
planting its flag among the corpses of our plans for the day, unaccomplished
and the cold
glacial, numbing wind searing across flesh and foliage
 air in your lungs like an icestorm
liquid nitrogen eventide

the night is isolation
abandonment and abated breath
a brilliant abattoir of allegiances meant only to separate us and conquer hearts
colonize your capillaries with Cimmerian shade
circumventing circulation

I poured out a little of my drink for her, it froze instantly as it hit the permafrost
exhaled into slow smoke, dancing in the lantern light
frustrated that something so inanimate could take on such life
such alluring life in this ruination and gloom
I miss you
god, I miss you
the way your teeth always backdrop for your smile
the way we interlock perfectly before dreams take us
the way you shuddershake when you climax

you left me

and I go unaccompanied into the night
with this drink and these thoughts
and this lantern
and this love

anamnesis.

as a general rule, I outline their bodies on my bed before we get at it
impersonation and transference
you never had a chance baby, she's taken up residence in my cells
like celestial shorelines and my decaying, elliptical orbit washing you up on the sand
you smell like saltwater and solace
my arms around you,
it feels like abated atom bombs
like we just stopped the world from ending and apocalypse is in purgatory,
The Devil is in bullet-time,
and we just wanna make love.
not monomania, just my heart and yours.
I told myself I don't have to get high to write
I just have to let myself get captivated once more
like pushing myself off a never-ending staircase
I just keep falling,
my perspective is ruined,
if only I wasn't one huge nerve ending.

I'm convinced my entire career in the arts of affection has been an extreme case of somnambulism.

a declaration.

there are
words for this
words, tumbling in my gut like clothing in a dryer
words
meant for 
best man speeches and war cries
there are words for this
what I'm feeling right now, aching core and all
meant for morale-boosting shouts between gunfire
lyrics to a song
sung passionately with entire lungfuls of air, exhumed
oh there are words for this
like every single atom of your body wants to scream them once you find them
my twisting gut, wrapping into itself 
consuming itself like a fire 
there are
words

eulogies

conversations about the meaning of life
congratulatory statements
proposals

there are words for this,
there are.

dancing on anthills.

Debaser Of the Elements, we forgive you we forgive you
corrosion and corruption impatience and disruption
every muscle fiber, every sinew and bone in your body. every sympathetic nerve reaction
aftershocks in my nameaftershocks aftershocks in my name

what drives you to make such mistakes?
in what god's name do you pray to such falsities?
fall prey to such woe?
he makes a soap box with his bare hands, just for you to stand on it and slit your wrists?

dancing on anthills
you know not what you do
who says you should be forgiven for anything?
who says?
yet we forgive you, don't we.
Us.
the choir of integrity,
the army of rectitude,
standing fast against the onslaught of that which breaks our hearts with such voracity that one can't help but feel as though there is nothing left but this moment here now, these mere seconds where we find out who is made out of concrete and who is made out of copper.

.

.
Are our secrets alive?
.
Does the pulse of their heartbeat echo inside your head, loud as recurring atom bombs?
.