I need t cook some corn chips.

and the weeks, have turned to months,
the normal excuses bombard
too hot
too cold
too much rain
not enough rain

and I succumb to the fantasy that something else really matters
and I feel day by day my core becoming a blob a mass of flesh rotting
or at the very least waiting to rot - off my bones as I turn into nothingness

Despair and Depression are the only thing that is real,
house a mess
kitchen full of dishes
lawn needs cut
car awfully dirty
but at least I took a shower today.

it is those little accomplishments that keep me going
a shower today, so today people will not wince at my stench
today I can walk knowing as I pass by people they are not talking about the cloud of odor that follows me.
today I don't have thoughts so full of death and despair
today I feel good enough to give my dog a pat on the head, for which he is ever so grateful.
today I see the sun is shining
because today is a successful day, I set a goal; to take a shower. And I did.

so that is the first hour of the day and it was good.


The start of the second hour of the day I make it out of the house not seeing the dirty dishes in the sink, the carpet that has not been vacuumed in 8 months, the ashtray overflowing and spilling on to the coffee table and on to the floor.

I made it out of the house and saw the sunshine and it felt good against my now clean skin.
Knowing the mess my car is both inside and out, I decide to walk to the bus stop to go to the store. The graffitti and grim and bums and homeless at the bus stop is a much happier place than the inside of my car.

On the bus and someone actually sits next to me, and begins conversation. .... light, casual, meaningless dribble that people do when they sit next to strangers and the stranger does not stink so bad they fear puking.

at the start of the third hour
I leave the bus and go to the store, I know the food in my house is old and moldy or freezer burned and horrible tasting, so I take my few dollars and a shopping cart and in that big clean, brightly lit, well air-conditioned super market, and I wander, looking at the cereal, and the ice cream and the bakery section, the ethnic food section, and I pick up items look at the price closely and say - it may spoil on the way back home- and put the item down.

I only have a few dollars for groceries, and seeing those around me with shopping carts filled to the brim and overflowing, I wonder what that must feel like to have a grocery cart full of food that you will take home and eat..... To eat it you must cook, to cook you must clean, and I,... I have pots and pans and plates all of which are in the kitchen sink smelly, slimy, moldy.

Why don't they have a kitchen sink full of mold, I wonder to myself, and then I remember the item on top of the pile of dishes in my sink is a frying pan, that gives me the clue of what I need to buy.

Corn chips in the bag cost almost 6 dollars, but corn tortillas cost 2 and oil cost 2, of which I can make bags and bags of corn chips because I already have the salt.

At the start of the fourth hour of the day, I get on the bus with my tripple bagged groceries, the $15 spent fits very nicely in one bag-- actually it takes up less than half the bag but I asked the store clerk to put the plastic bag in another plastic bag, and that double-bagged bundle into a third - I did not want to take any chances.

There was a homeless teen on the bus, you know them, raggy clothes, snot dripping from their nose, scars on their arms - they hate their life and try to run away from it, but you are always stuck with yourself where ever you are.

At the start of the fifth hour of the day I walk into my house and think, I really should:
wash the dishes
vacuum the floor
clean the bathrooms
clean the dogpoop from the yard
wash my car
clean the inside of it out
wash some clothes
empty that ashtray.

Overwhelmed I go to my clothes strewn room, slip into the sheets which were recently washed 3 months ago, and pet my dog. The room is dark so I can't see the mess I am, and my dog likes me, so I must be OK. I fall asleep.

At the start of the 16th hour of the day I awaken ready to change my life, I get out of my room go into the kitchen and wash the frying pan, a bowl, a knife, a spoon and the cutting board -- all that I need to fry some corn chips for dinner, with a side of cottage cheese.

Today was a good day I washed five items, but somehow my sink is still piled high with dirty dishes and I have nothing clean.

He pinched me

Even though he is almost 10 he is still small and helpless
and during this early-morning family outing to get coffee and scones
he has fallen asleep next to you on the couch.

your work responsibility causes the need to leave.

so lift him carefully to your shoulder to protect his innocence.
and to the car, the family walks.

his arms cling to your neck
the protective strength you feel
feeling his warmth and total trust in you
his legs flopping with each step you take
so you slow to protect his slumber state


the older brother, almost 15 yrs old trailing behind on the way to the car,
pinches the sleeping child hard
hard enough to startle
hard enough to welt
hard enough to cause uncontrollable sobbing

As the father you scold the 15 yr old.
"that was not funny"
"why did you do that?"
"what were you thinking?"
"I'm really disappointed in you" this last statement directed at the soul of the 15 yr old.

The mom is oblivious
to busy in her own reality
busy texting
busy face booking
busy farmville -ing
busy twitter - ing
busy google - ing
busy hiding
she did not want to come at all
she lives in her own world
distant and isolated

She does not see life as other mom's
although plenty of food
her kids go to school without breakfast
although plenty of clothes
her kids go to school dirty

her defense: "she does not sleep well, and can't get up in the morning to be with them."

but she sees not the cause is her awakening at 3:am nightly.

for her husband 3am
is believable lies told by her
"I just needed some water"
"I hoped to read myself to sleep"
"I have an upset stomach"
"I heard a noise in the boy's room and was checking on them"

for her 3:am
is selfishness and power
it is adrenaline and control
it is for secrets
"he doesn't know what I'm doing, he's asleep"
"if he didn't like it he would tell me"
for her it is justifications
"tonight I'll just look and not touch"
"tonight I'll Just touch, only with my hand"
"oh, tonight I went too far, tomorrow I won't do anything"
"next time I won't li
"next time I won't
"next time
"next time
"next time
and
"next time,.....


for the almost 15 year old
3am is
feeling confused and scared
... hopeless ....
feeling alone and helpless
... dirty ....
feeling powerless
feeling betrayed by his mother
feeling guilty for hating his mother so,
feeling betrayed by his dad, cause he doesn't see what is going on.
betrayed by himself for NOT telling her to stop IT.
betrayed by his body that responded to something that feels so horribly wrong
he feels tortured.
. he feels numb mixed with bouts of horror unimaginable,....


And in the daylight the almost 15 yr old now trailing behind the family on the way to the car, after the impromptu family outing, was re-living the previous 3:am.


if one could rate the horror scale,... last night,
last night would have been the worst,

because the outrageous evil of his body almost caused him to cum at the lips of his abuser.


he sees his little brother
innocent
helpless

and he thinks back to the first 3:am,...
and realizes that his little brother is as old now as he was then.

a thought causing crashing waves of concern, confusion and overwhelming helplessness,..
"Has she started doing it to him?"



the older brother, almost 15, pinches the sleeping child hard
hard enough to startle
hard enough to welt
hard enough to cause uncontrollable sobbing

he knew his father would scold.
"what were you thinking"
"you should be ashamed of yourself"
"I'm really disappointed in you" this last statement directed at the soul of the 15 yr old.

And the almost 15 yr old inhaled the disappointment, like he had been underwater for 5 minutes and needed air.

The shame of self-inflicted guilt of hurting his little brother was like his intestines turned inside out and his mouth filled with the taste of shit and bile..


And breathing in the dad's disappointment, and tasting the shit and bile,
at this moment,
is easier to live with than his thought that,..

even though, 15 years old, he can't protect his little brother from their mother.


***

the name

"gross" is what my dad called it,
my mom was totally disgusted
his dad just sighed at us as if that was enough to change things.
his mom left years ago, on his 11th birthday so we couldn't freak her out even if we wanted to.

We have a garage band this summer and we are sounding great. We even had one of the "popular ones" ask us to play at a party he was having, actually his parents paying for, out in the sticks.

Some covers, but a lot of our own guts and sweat.

Other kids are just stupid.
Parents-for that matter-all adults, -- not much better, except when you need a ride or some cash for shopping, then the parents are the best.

our music is real
its about the love of our life,
the unjustness of being grounded,
the bully that no one likes
that really queer kid - you know the one that think he's straight when he is obviously Soooo, gay.
the homeless ones.
the hungry.
the addicted.

So many songs have that stupid predictable repeat yourself, repeat yourself, repeat yourself, repeat yourself, repeat yourself, ............ everyone play your instruments Loud - then END-song.

Some of the songs our parents liked, how disappointing it was for us when they asked us to "please play that one song of yours that starts and ends with a guitar solo."

It took real pain to create the one my parents liked so much. no formula, no copying, no "influenced by", just me being me.

Then you have that cherub-faced kid that sang a Lady Gaga song and now has a new record label funded by Ellen.

Life is so unfair.

I wonder if its worth the fight, or should we just be like everyone else??

So that's where our name came from we were looking for something different, a little bit meaningless, not real, memorable, and- how did my dad put it,.... "gross"

We need to be us, you'll know our sound when you hear it

and you will remember our name

Thank to Michael,

you'll remember our name.




"Carbonated Afterbirth"

looking for some relief

I am lost there is something deep inside not willing to show itself
I stay stuck and in pain waiting for it to show

but relief is nowhere near
the forced tears, the therapist said to try is not working for me this time.
the porn is boring
the thought of drugs does not excite me either.
I am looking for the words to give me relief from the stress and pain of life.
but no magic to be found on-line.

No food can fill the void.

I call a friend but she is not home, so I feel so alone.

I rock like an autistic idiot and hope for relief, distraction or death

But none will come, the past is too strong and it pulls me into depression.

The past needs to come out, but I am afraid
afraid of the pain
afraid of the truth
afraid if my new-found friends shun me.

the music can't get loud enough
the pictures dark enough
the stories sad enough

I am still stuck with me.

Exercise can't sweat it out
Can't fall a sleep to let sleep hide it from me.
the hot line just put me on hold.

no one to talk to
nothing to stop me this time

my knife collection so large, I leave it to my son's
my car, paid in full, I leave to my daughter
the insurance will take care of the house for the wife.

not much else to do,


except of course,...



to stop living.

Dharavi

and the bright blues and reds of the pictures of the small portion of a town are very appealing and beautiful. the high gloss of the National Geographic photographs legendary; 

does paint the town in a pretty light. pictures of the adults working kids playing a girl in a dress the occasional close up of an old person's weathered, life spent, face you know the one I'm talking of, a man that looks to be 110 years old, 

wearing non-American headgear (towel-head, you might say). a man that has been through life and has kids, grandkids and great-grandkids to his credit. he has seen it all and his face shows the pains, and each hardship cut into the deep cracks in his cheeks.

 the look that half says "whats the big deal I'm just me" and half says "I have lived through more horror than you can imagine" There are plenty of words to go with the pictures, but nobody really reads when there are pictures - whats the point? 

 Dharavi - a slum, full of poor who wash their clothes in sewer water. aerial shot of the cardboard shacks inches apart. dirty people in a dirty part of a city as if this is the only city with its shame contained to a few square blocks. kind of easy to view the pictures in the magazine and talk of the sadness in distant countries while drinking a latte looking out the window of the coffee shop. but not easy to see those children sitting in the grass while a homeless woman, their mother, stands in the middle of the road with a sign pleading to be pitied, helped, and most of all acknowledge.

dead dog

my dog is still alive.
a disappointment,..

sort of.

I was hoping for some break in my otherwise mediocre life.
a little bit of fear
a little bit of adrenaline


is he breathing?
what do I tell the kids?
how do I lift the lifeless body?
That feeling of what once was life now heavy in my hands, .....
where would I carry him to?


but no, he met me at the door, all happy to be.

I wish I was.

decision

The world around me happens
Death of a plant
Death of an insect
Death of a squirrel
Death of a person

and it all feels the same
"oh thats nice" i say to the stranger sitting next to me at the bar where the news is on the tele.

I don't mean what i say, but he started the conversaion
so given the choice to punch him in the head or say "oh that's nice"
I chose to speak.

but then he goes on talking about how bad the world is now,
and when he was a kid, He remembered, blah, blah, blah

I think i should have punched him.

But if I did that now there would be a good reason, to make him shut is mouth!
I imagine the patrons around me would applaud for putting an end to his now constant whining.

So I can't, I can't be the hero that shuts him up, too predictable.

and he drones on about a failed marriage, the news, the horrors of the world.
And the bar is too noisy to really hear him, but you can tell by the pathetic look and bags under his eyes how he can only talk of misery and grief.

so I take relief in a a moment of non existence, as the noise of the bar drowns out my very thoughts.

There is this wonderful moment just at the peak of emotion where being overwhelmed transitions to anger, but before everything turns red and I start throwing chairs at people.

It is the only moment in life when I know I'm alive. This moment of pure adrenaline not hampered by the tunnel vision of anger, not encumbered by social norms.

It is this moment that I have a split second to tell the idiot next to me to shut the fuck up, or smash his face in,

... both of which have their rewards.

I stopped

Like that first true love that breaks your heart
grief so overwhelming
overwhelming my mind
overwhelming my body
overwhelming my soul

the years of being numb
all of the tears suppressed

All coming out at the same time, so intense the emotion, ... I look for escape

escape, I must,....

but nothing works;
torturing animals
mindless television
hours of self inflicted pain

the emotion is still there
a monster that cant be itself
killing the host body

this time there may be no way out

except Dea....

I did it

I did it
with all my fighting
with the years of holding on, I have finally let go.

Death will come slowly, but I will not feel it.
People won't notice my decay, because they have done it already.

The only ones left not doing it are very old, but who listens to them.

I am the last in my family, the one who held on.
Held on that the only truth in life is our perception of life, and I must NOT do it, otherwise I loose perception.

I argued that I must not do it, because, I must stay different and prove that difference, when called upon to do so.
But my family and friends have shown me the Way,

and if I am the only one that knows the truth regardless of its reality, no one will believe, even if I have proof.

I once showed to someone, that scientist believed there was 'advanced life' on the planet Mars, the document cited the latest evidence. The year it was printed 1930.

He just laughed and said, "idiot we know that's not true now"

Explaining to him would be just like telling my family and friends, they would not understand that something printed does not change, history can't be re-written if you have a book on your shelf. Even if I never read that book it is an unchanging perception of the time.

And so I did it:

I got rid of all my books, the new house is just too small and the fight too great.


So I succumb to be told what to think, by relying on news and the source of all information Wikipedia.


The price I fear will be:
Forgotten oil spills (Persian Gulf 1991),
Forgotten impact of introducing pet rabbits in Austrailia (1859),
What are two of the formula's used in waiting line theory?
was there love or hate in the Republic of Bosnia-Herzegovina(1993),
and what is an 8-track, what did it do right?
what is the proper position to sit when you transcribe dictation?
and what was a fagot used for again?

life in 30 seconds

as I sit and wish for the magic stone to make life happily every after i scream at the television "fuck you for your lies"
life is not solved in 30 minutes
life is not happily ever after
life sucks
but there are moments of comedy
then life sucks
but there are moments of loving smiles
then life sucks

but there is beauty
and hope
and plants to water
and pets to feed
and kids to raise
and people to help
and times to ask for help
and cars that need repaired

there is survival
then comes accomplishment
then comes the pride
and acceptance

then you can look back and see
see life
see the love
see happiness
see the inner beauty
and

see


really see clearly




that life sucks.