Have you been inspired?

A few weeks ago I was talking to a friend of mine who told me that he was feeling pressured to modify is behavior. In particular, his use of profanity was called into question. He went on to tell me that his superiors consider particular words and phrases to be offensive.

So, he was asked, and then ordered, to suppress his usage of the following words: fuck, motherfucker, cocksucker, cunt, prick, bastard, jackass, asshole, shit, damn, fuck-head, and ass-fuck, and phrases such as: shut the fuck up fuck-wit, fuck you, motherfucking ass licking jerk off, ass wipe fuck puppet, shit for brains, no good motherfucking son-of-a-bitch cocksucker.

He tried to plead his case to his superiors. My friend expressed his concern to them that without such words and phrases his intentions would be misinterpreted. He explained that he would be hard pressed to find alternative ways to express himself. The integrity of his emotions and his true feelings could not be completely or properly expressed without such words and phrases.

He refused restraint.

His superiors told him “Tough shit.” And that is why he called me. So I gave him this piece of advice, I told him “Why the fuck do you care what they fucking think? If they find what you say to be offensive tell them to fucking ignore you.”

My friend quietly contemplated my advice and then said “Fuck yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do.”

He has since lost his job, but he sure is a happy little motherfucker!



p.s. I agree repetition may be in order.

Blind Man's Bluff

Collared Green

I will not be drawn
By your lead.
While you push, push, push
Your finger into my chest,
Bruising your insolence into my collarbone.
Blue radiating to my shoulder, and then arm to hand
Where the green takes hold.
Eating away at my flesh
Working in tandem with the air
To fuel disintegration
Until my fingers fall off.
Until my eyes fill and follow
The trail of digits, divided
Along the cement, among the shoulders.
Go on about your day now.
Take a deep breath of air
Feel it pull, pull, pull
My pestilence into your mouth
Burning your disdain down your throat.
Blue radiating to your lungs, and then heart and soul
Until your eyes turn green.
Until you can no longer see
I lick my wounds down to the knuckle
And I will wax without device.





p.s. beneath an ocean.

It's not so much the burn, but the stench.

I am so sleep deprived these days
that I am beginning to hallucinate in real time.
Did you see that? (I didn’t think so)
Everyone in the fucking room can hear me
talking to myself, out loud, to you. I am beginning
to think that they hear you also.
Or wait, was that me? It was
me...(don’t be too sure) could have been
all the words are running one into the other.
The whisper soothes, the other screams, and yet
another tells a tale in 250 words or less.
I am privileged to speak in more than one tongue,
last count...Three, “oh lucky me.”
Each purpose served with validity
and temperance, but how fucking loud
must I scream before you down it all?
And that ringing, what is ringing in your ears
when a friend, of a friend, of a girl
who trades innuendo for immortality
to the devil mentions me?
Truth (not even close). It’s not cheap.
And there’s not enough to go around these days.
And I keep all of those trades
in my pocket (thought I was the devil, did ya?).





p.s. and to this day it clings to the words both to and from and the memories.

On any given day.

You are all seen.

I am here. Not always present, but I am here. I feel each of you even as I move about my world. I presume we have this in common.

This space is mine in confidence, without interruption, without interception, and without edit.

I carry a bit of debt to you that I have not shared. You have reached me in ways you will never know.

You have helped.




p.s. thank you.

Scratch the surface.

Walking by your side
My head down, shoulders rounded, heavy
It occurred to me that I should stop,
Check the time, and commit
An endless unraveling of pulled wool thread
Weaved into promises of expository resemblance.
The comparisons are never ending and seldom unfit.
“You wear it for a while.”
I will begin again tomorrow with the same start, at the same seat
With the same saucer, spoon,
And without sacrifice
“I will wear it.”
Then again, I could be
Somewhere else completely.








p.s. it is more than an itch, it is a rhythm, a pattern that forms in my head, then through my fingers…tap, tap, tap. Did you hear it? There is no mistaking the origin, is there?



He is aware of the seepage
Bleeding under the bandage
Yet he can’t quite fight the flow
And who the hell will know
About broken bones
And your superimposed overtones
They will all inspect the damage
Because the charts report more to me
Than you will ever see
But oh, how well you see








(Who rearranged the furniture?)

A Moment to Leave by.

pants around my ankles
twisted in the sheets
legs pulled
up high
I am reaching for a moment
and I can barely remember why
then soft skin
legs twisted in the sheets
“Yes”
that is why
you’re back, Your back
warm against my chest
and we haven’t moved
not since death.

p.s. I have to watch my timing a day or two later and well, you know.

Out of context.

I smile when I am nervous. It is an uncontrollable reflex. The fight-or-flight response or my somatic nervous system responding to what I deem invasive. I try to cover up this tic, but by looking away that smirk rats me out. My reply discredited. I can be sold out in a twitch.

A friend suggested that the reason I am often misunderstood could be found in my aloof manner. The way I seem to pay closer attention to a hangnail or dry cuticles than expeditious lips or explicative eyes. It could be presumed that I am not listening. I explained to my friend that this distraction is the reason I can hear.

The corrective measures we employ to keep the world at bay often betray us. We all have our quirks or sharp edges. Our mechanical walls shield us from intrusion, but we are still left feeling the stick, hopeful that the slip remains undetected. And you are right; there is always more to it than the bright lights and poor judgment...set the dial to allow just enough to filter past to maintain focus. Does this mean we are blind? No, but sometimes we are caught off guard. And I do not presume this of anyone…other than myself, of course.

Ghost, thank you.


p.s. the wrong falsehood has been assumed although either way it was a good start.

When was the last time...

Recess.

Blaze a trail of peel-outs and back seat fucks
Into permanence, slammed beyond the thick
much too fast. Recall the whistle's urgent
cry to return from the field too soon and
pulling warm hands back, while whispering in the ears of those
confident to hold their tongues. Now it is late night
debates and those whispers are ignored.
Spinning out, into the ditch,
wheels in motion without regard for direction
full speed ahead arriving at a permanent reprieve
from the creaking knees
and loose bowels of reproach.
It comes without warning, incredible is its speed,
and it will tempt even the most
guileless to race. The truck arrives hooked to pull
the twisted spokes and reveals the fuel stain
seeped into the cracks and crevices.
Smothering the gravitational pull of the earth’s core
and even then you will float, pulled by a chain.



p.s. you felt like that?