everything in this room is covered in spiders
and every thing is screaming at me
where have you been
and why didn't you tell us
you would be gone so long
and i did not realize
i was being so rude
and that pages have a song
that pages can sing
and that they have all
become me.
Friday, September 20, 2013
Some people
they call me a liar
because i don't take as many pictures
as the person in front
of the window shop
becoming a display herself
i wonder maybe
what picture means to them
the ones that call me a liar.
when strings leave my eyes
and puzzle pieces begin to fit
from blood
and stars from my mouth
begin to explode
and i get a little sweaty
and everything gets quiet
no body
exists
that's when i take
pictures.
Friday, May 31, 2013
old prose goes and goes
From spring 2011
About to see Emerald calculating the best way to tell her that i know she's been selling herself for drugs. I'm sitting on the floor of the greyhound buss station excited yet mourning the innocence in falling in love in yet another misguided friendship i had with her. Can't invest again, like her men and unlike them because actually do love her, that foolish dirty olive skinned jewel.
Emerald keep your smile wide and your sanity as loose as it was with me, but in this free yourself of obstructing nature and what it gave you unless you're fooling everyone and you really love what you've done.
Some people feel
Nothing at all.
Some people feel
With things more like sea tentacles.
Some people feel
That feelings are just one big fucking joke
Like all the coke we did last night
And the million times we had to stop
So you could check your pockets
And make sure
That anything you might say on accident
Was buried with the change you got
From the corner store bottle
shelf price sticker
That said
2.25
Out the door,
Looking all
Distracted.
Some people feel
That I’m a whore
Some people feel
That they’re not even different
Some people feel
That their parents are to blame
That everything is ordinary
That ordinary is everything.
Everything ordinary
Is ok with me.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
The Sun, It Settles
*
My sanity failed me completely that night and I felt, at least on this particular occasion, that the world was sending me a message that it just doesn't care for people like me, that in these instances karma actually does exist despite my efforts to ignore it while doing drugs in my mother's home by myself on my broken bed, and that this night was the night to define my mental capacity for the rest of my life. I was sick and irreversibly miserable and hadn't slept for three days. Ava was waiting for me in the rain, probably with her legs out, exposed to the wind and the dregs of the winter past at the bus stop so we could jet up to the city to buy her mother a cheap crap gift before we headed towards San Jose, a humorous "Hollywood" souvenir and perhaps a quickly snapped picture of Robin Williams' star, as her mother was a big fan of his in the 70's, something I liked about her mother because that's when he was most fucked up. Well maybe. But I copped without her with money that my grandmother gave "us" for food along the way, because Berto said he'd be passing around my neighborhood and I said "might as well make a round to my place if you are near." And he did and now I am terribly late with no ounce of guilt. And I thought to myself... why should I be guilty ever? I am alone in this world without a woman's fuck, which is a transient thing, which could possibly be one of the cheapest institutions in our nation today, that is, the "love" of a woman, and if Ava and I had not grown up with each other, and she had not had some attachment to her father directly through these experiences we had growing up and through me presently, she probably would have left me by now for some big dick business man or even worse a pimp... And in these thoughts on my baby blue covered bed with the broken leg, I suddenly feel like a complete fucking ass hole.
The phone rang, I jumped, and all ready I could hear Ava's sweet wet voice like the angel she is soothing the line despite the storm outside... I pick up and say nothing.
"Christian? Chris!.."
Still I say nothing and she hears me shuffle.. I can hear the rain behind her back growing as large as a phantom by the second.
"God dammit Chris I am fucking soaked..."
Thunder
" there are a lot of creeps out.. "
Wind. The arms of the phantom reach right through the phone line and begin to choke me..
"I think Berto was trying to get a hold of my phone"
My heart drops. She's on to me.
"..but my screen broke this morning so I couldn't catch the call but I copped off some house keeping woman by the inn right here"
"Does this mean you are on to me?" I whisper accidentally without realizing it and she says "What's that? What?"
I say "Honey baby what do you mean you broke the screen"
"What? I mean it broke so I can't see calls.. That's what I mean by it"
"Ava, honey, why are you a mess with your phones all the time? Why do you have to be so clumsy baby?" And she says I'm just as bad and to meet her in less than half an hour or else she'll hop in some Jon's sports car convertible and make her way out to Los Angeles by her own means, and I no longer feel like an ass hole, and surprised, when I drop the line in the egg basket, I wonder how I ever did feeling as fucked up and marvelous as I do now.
That was a year ago, when Ava was still on my team. My then whimsical four person team,mechanically in place no matter which town I was in. Ava, me, the man, the drug. Now a days I am lucky if I can even get Angelo to not yell at me.
Ava has seven names.
She told me so when I was 16 and hungry and she was 14 and about to ruin her life, haphazardly, over vanilla shakes at Millie's. I thought she must be shitting me.
"You've got to be fucking shitting me!"
"Do you always have to be so vulgar?" She had no idea.
"Just say it again."
Marylin Ava Maria Atlantis Lee Ann Reyes.
The aroma of every moment I would have sliding around the smoke of her teenage illusions and pink, scraped up knee caps swept over me. I felt above each word painting every letter with my tongue, feet above me chained to hell in reverse with the heavens buried deep below us and the the biblical wrath past our ceilings and the clouds.
"Say it slowly though.."
Her lips made me ache and I watched her words slither out of her throat in chords and music through teeth I had just realized were massive in her skull.
"Marylin...Ava... Maria.. Atlantis...Lee... Ann... Reyes."
Marylin Ava Maria Atlantis Lee Ann Reyes.
Friday, April 12, 2013
Post
My eyesight is getting worse. It makes for fuzzier hallucinations like when the metro bus near the Cypress Hills cemetery started to float above the wave of humidity, turned into smoggy dragons, and the advertisement banner on the side was out of focus, something about insurance and smiling heads.
My nose started projectile bleeding when I caught site of the cemetery in Brooklyn. It was very alarming. It came out in bursts running down and dripped two drops on my brand new dress in places that suited it well on rose flowers, so well that you couldn't even notice that it was blood. I imagine the the blood inside of me was literally boiling out of me since I hadn't been in such intense heat since summer of last year. In fear that someone might think I needed help and called an ambulance or worse, for my back pack, the police, I took a couple quick pictures and turned the other way back towards the J line at Alabama Avenue. It was the worst one I have ever had.
My foresight needs fine tuning. It's too bad I never went to fine art school said a recent demon, with its stomach exposed and fears attached to him, feather like in a headdress emanating feverishly from his brain and probably a deeper part of him no one understands, fragile, easily broken. It's too bad it took so long for said figure to turn his insides out, hold his guts in his stomach, and stare directly into the shit he fed himself.
My moneys running out because I keep buying disposables and giving myself fake assignments for every one of them labeling each one like "of people touching their hair", "of people i don't know frowning at me", "of people I do know frowning at me", "of things that remind me of the flavor of bubble gum". I don't even know how, but I will, and when I can I will get these developed I'll remind my self that before I didn't know how I would.
Like it even matters.
My instincts told me to find a high mountain and I did so before leaving.
My mother was denied the insurance for lasik surgery today. She took me to breakfast in San Mateo. She talked of how she used to see ghosts on her way back from los bailes in San Francisco walking towards her Hillsborough in-law where her and her mother lived to nanny and clean. The women behind me were complaining about how one of their sons didn't make valedictorian at his school. I was dreaming aloud about how I want to go back. We read our horoscopes and mine said something about taking the middle road so I told my mom how it took me two days to find the Buddhist temple I frequented in 2009 in Chinatown in New York and when I got there everyone was cleaning up and the doors were to close in five minutes. I made my donations, clasped my hands, bowed, and lit an incense, and when I was finished I asked if I could please take a picture. One man said smiling, "yes" and the other, sternly and with his voice raised, "no!" I stood silent for the remainder of the two minutes staring at the golden Buddha surrounded by fresh fruit, jewels, and flowers, and then walked out saying nothing now in search of tights to cover my bare legs, and it started to storm, lighting, thunder, and warm rain on my last night in New York.
It was all very beautiful.
4-12-13
My nose started projectile bleeding when I caught site of the cemetery in Brooklyn. It was very alarming. It came out in bursts running down and dripped two drops on my brand new dress in places that suited it well on rose flowers, so well that you couldn't even notice that it was blood. I imagine the the blood inside of me was literally boiling out of me since I hadn't been in such intense heat since summer of last year. In fear that someone might think I needed help and called an ambulance or worse, for my back pack, the police, I took a couple quick pictures and turned the other way back towards the J line at Alabama Avenue. It was the worst one I have ever had.
My foresight needs fine tuning. It's too bad I never went to fine art school said a recent demon, with its stomach exposed and fears attached to him, feather like in a headdress emanating feverishly from his brain and probably a deeper part of him no one understands, fragile, easily broken. It's too bad it took so long for said figure to turn his insides out, hold his guts in his stomach, and stare directly into the shit he fed himself.
My moneys running out because I keep buying disposables and giving myself fake assignments for every one of them labeling each one like "of people touching their hair", "of people i don't know frowning at me", "of people I do know frowning at me", "of things that remind me of the flavor of bubble gum". I don't even know how, but I will, and when I can I will get these developed I'll remind my self that before I didn't know how I would.
Like it even matters.
My instincts told me to find a high mountain and I did so before leaving.
My mother was denied the insurance for lasik surgery today. She took me to breakfast in San Mateo. She talked of how she used to see ghosts on her way back from los bailes in San Francisco walking towards her Hillsborough in-law where her and her mother lived to nanny and clean. The women behind me were complaining about how one of their sons didn't make valedictorian at his school. I was dreaming aloud about how I want to go back. We read our horoscopes and mine said something about taking the middle road so I told my mom how it took me two days to find the Buddhist temple I frequented in 2009 in Chinatown in New York and when I got there everyone was cleaning up and the doors were to close in five minutes. I made my donations, clasped my hands, bowed, and lit an incense, and when I was finished I asked if I could please take a picture. One man said smiling, "yes" and the other, sternly and with his voice raised, "no!" I stood silent for the remainder of the two minutes staring at the golden Buddha surrounded by fresh fruit, jewels, and flowers, and then walked out saying nothing now in search of tights to cover my bare legs, and it started to storm, lighting, thunder, and warm rain on my last night in New York.
It was all very beautiful.
4-12-13
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
on violence
The pressure from the tabloids is too intense for me to sleep right now.
Not..
The two vicodins I ate are making for bold outbursts like this.
This is what I call an outburst... Going online and writing some personal shit on some simple site about psychedelia and violence.
I am reminded often that immediacy of communication is an overpowering and often physically disabling habit that people are growing or currently are accustomed to.
I don't know how many people have seen this video that is being sent around of me getting choked out and sucker punched but it's been pretty tough getting hold of the footage. I am extremely interested in reviewing what happened and wondering how many times I said "hella stupid" during the fight.
Violence has a bunch of different forms.
I violently splattered paint all over the Flowershop one night recently and am pretty convinced that my roommates feel that I have "lost it".
I've drank a violent amount to damage my own health on a few occasions.
Drumming is violent when you're playing pissed off.
Violence as a physical hobby that includes other people and isn't consensually sexual (i.e. spanking, whipping, etc..).. that's a different game. I've never been into it but have legitimately been forced into it when getting attacked by drunk/drugged out chicks. At one end it's fairly elementary and can probably be solved by redoing kindergarten and at the other it can be extreme; it's political or occurs in huge numbers.
Violence gives you a bloody nose and some shit to talk about for a day or two. That and a killer back ache. I guess that's what this fight I got into over the weekend accomplished. Something to talk about the next day for myself and whoever got a hold of that video and maybe for a couple days.. getting a phone call like "oh there's this video of you getting choked out and bleeding all over the place"
The thing with being psychedelic is that every possibility is well.. possible. There is no definite answer because you're all ready settled with that in your brain, that the world is infinitely undefinable, that you can't predict people, and that you as a human are capable of many colors.. purples for bruises, reds and oranges for blood, greens and yellows when healing and a constant peach and pink that never leaves. Technology is catching up to all that. It's fucking creepy. I go from a bar where there is a straight 10 minute silence amongst a decent sized group of interesting enough people (7 8 maybe 9) all hunched lopsided hurdling their attention forward leaning into their iphones staring at pretty much each other but in a tiny moving box to getting my hair pulled and watching my blood explode from my face all over some chicks apartment to a phone call about how I can hold this rectangular object in front of me and watch all of this go down.
Will there be more hunchbacks in our near future?
Biology books in the future may have some seriously disturbing figures of how technology has changed peoples postures or hands maybe. Darwin is in purgatory only currently and hell will be when people are streaming mass from the vatican to a seven year old's nintendo DS. (that's what the new thing is for kids right? or do they all just have ipads now?)
It's not like I'm some fucking relic keeping monocles around and using lanterns and candles to light my way around my room I'm just bad with technology and genuinely creeped out by how attached to phones people are these days.
but thats how it is.
I want to flash frame images of the blood splattering around. That's what I'm really interested in. Not so much the girls who did it to me since violence is probably their stronger characteristic and the rest must be pretty boring.
But the explosions of it from my face. I wonder if it takes shape like fireworks would from the smallest central point, being hurled outward maybe in webs or if the blood came out more like in strings and wires or if all the limbs flailing about and against me made the blood splash like paint being thrown around.
If someone offered to show what you look like dead or pregnant or getting hit by a truck you'd take it right? Why not?
actors have to do that all the time.. watch themselves depicted as an agent of violence and death.
pretty neat stuff.
Not..
The two vicodins I ate are making for bold outbursts like this.
This is what I call an outburst... Going online and writing some personal shit on some simple site about psychedelia and violence.
I am reminded often that immediacy of communication is an overpowering and often physically disabling habit that people are growing or currently are accustomed to.
I don't know how many people have seen this video that is being sent around of me getting choked out and sucker punched but it's been pretty tough getting hold of the footage. I am extremely interested in reviewing what happened and wondering how many times I said "hella stupid" during the fight.
Violence has a bunch of different forms.
I violently splattered paint all over the Flowershop one night recently and am pretty convinced that my roommates feel that I have "lost it".
I've drank a violent amount to damage my own health on a few occasions.
Drumming is violent when you're playing pissed off.
Violence as a physical hobby that includes other people and isn't consensually sexual (i.e. spanking, whipping, etc..).. that's a different game. I've never been into it but have legitimately been forced into it when getting attacked by drunk/drugged out chicks. At one end it's fairly elementary and can probably be solved by redoing kindergarten and at the other it can be extreme; it's political or occurs in huge numbers.
Violence gives you a bloody nose and some shit to talk about for a day or two. That and a killer back ache. I guess that's what this fight I got into over the weekend accomplished. Something to talk about the next day for myself and whoever got a hold of that video and maybe for a couple days.. getting a phone call like "oh there's this video of you getting choked out and bleeding all over the place"
The thing with being psychedelic is that every possibility is well.. possible. There is no definite answer because you're all ready settled with that in your brain, that the world is infinitely undefinable, that you can't predict people, and that you as a human are capable of many colors.. purples for bruises, reds and oranges for blood, greens and yellows when healing and a constant peach and pink that never leaves. Technology is catching up to all that. It's fucking creepy. I go from a bar where there is a straight 10 minute silence amongst a decent sized group of interesting enough people (7 8 maybe 9) all hunched lopsided hurdling their attention forward leaning into their iphones staring at pretty much each other but in a tiny moving box to getting my hair pulled and watching my blood explode from my face all over some chicks apartment to a phone call about how I can hold this rectangular object in front of me and watch all of this go down.
Will there be more hunchbacks in our near future?
Biology books in the future may have some seriously disturbing figures of how technology has changed peoples postures or hands maybe. Darwin is in purgatory only currently and hell will be when people are streaming mass from the vatican to a seven year old's nintendo DS. (that's what the new thing is for kids right? or do they all just have ipads now?)
It's not like I'm some fucking relic keeping monocles around and using lanterns and candles to light my way around my room I'm just bad with technology and genuinely creeped out by how attached to phones people are these days.
but thats how it is.
I want to flash frame images of the blood splattering around. That's what I'm really interested in. Not so much the girls who did it to me since violence is probably their stronger characteristic and the rest must be pretty boring.
But the explosions of it from my face. I wonder if it takes shape like fireworks would from the smallest central point, being hurled outward maybe in webs or if the blood came out more like in strings and wires or if all the limbs flailing about and against me made the blood splash like paint being thrown around.
If someone offered to show what you look like dead or pregnant or getting hit by a truck you'd take it right? Why not?
actors have to do that all the time.. watch themselves depicted as an agent of violence and death.
pretty neat stuff.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Hindsight
Hindsight. (2013)
******
It's 20/20.
It's something that will ruin your tattoos for the rest of your life and in return might change that very concept, put it in reverse, and yell right back in your face that there's still a chance that it was worth it.
It's that scar you got when you were wasted and risking your life on top of some roof top by the woods in the middle of the night, wreaking of your own poisons, all in a very irrational but irresistible attempt to show a city that yes indeed, "I am here."
You woke up in need of stitches still drunk and fumbling questions out of numb lips and aching limbs looking for whatever you could to stop the bleeding from your leg, stole a skateboard and dipped to the drug store to buy alcohol and band aids and tend to your wounds and the whole time wondering what the fuck could have happened, it was only your birthday.
It's that immense feeling that moments are as small as the whole history of your life will be once you are gone but still larger than the 10,000 influences that are estimated to be had in an average day.
That one-thousand-dollars I'll have to give to the court system to erase my name from not only their books and mine but the 22 bus on 16th street that one night I was bored with myself, others around me, and the mountain i escaped from that broke my spirit and enlightened it at the same time.
Hindsight is that bitch you brought to your bed earlier in the year that turned into a bug when you woke up in the morning and realized she didn't have money and you had to buy her breakfast and tell her I'm sorry I'm not what you were looking for and I never will be.
It's what will get you from the lowest of low, discouragement, and will give your mind and your middle finger the power to curl back up again with that little imaginary wind up, you clever fucking dog, you, and with shouts to anyone paying any attention they if they don't like what they hear they can go fuck themselves rightly cause you're not going anywhere and you all ready knew it.
******
It's 20/20.
It's something that will ruin your tattoos for the rest of your life and in return might change that very concept, put it in reverse, and yell right back in your face that there's still a chance that it was worth it.
It's that scar you got when you were wasted and risking your life on top of some roof top by the woods in the middle of the night, wreaking of your own poisons, all in a very irrational but irresistible attempt to show a city that yes indeed, "I am here."
You woke up in need of stitches still drunk and fumbling questions out of numb lips and aching limbs looking for whatever you could to stop the bleeding from your leg, stole a skateboard and dipped to the drug store to buy alcohol and band aids and tend to your wounds and the whole time wondering what the fuck could have happened, it was only your birthday.
It's that immense feeling that moments are as small as the whole history of your life will be once you are gone but still larger than the 10,000 influences that are estimated to be had in an average day.
That one-thousand-dollars I'll have to give to the court system to erase my name from not only their books and mine but the 22 bus on 16th street that one night I was bored with myself, others around me, and the mountain i escaped from that broke my spirit and enlightened it at the same time.
Hindsight is that bitch you brought to your bed earlier in the year that turned into a bug when you woke up in the morning and realized she didn't have money and you had to buy her breakfast and tell her I'm sorry I'm not what you were looking for and I never will be.
It's what will get you from the lowest of low, discouragement, and will give your mind and your middle finger the power to curl back up again with that little imaginary wind up, you clever fucking dog, you, and with shouts to anyone paying any attention they if they don't like what they hear they can go fuck themselves rightly cause you're not going anywhere and you all ready knew it.
hind·sight (h
nd
st
)
n.
1. Perception of the significance and nature of events after they have occurred.
2. The rear sight of a firearm.
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