sense memory

There i was, sprawled out on my twin bed looking up at the posters consuming every inch of my room. A beat blue comforter draped across my body.
I heard the jingling of his dogtags as he swaggered his way toward me.
Patches leaped up onto the bed, giving it a good shake and then plopped his heavy body up against mine, curling up and nuzzling his mouth up against my beard.
I pressed my fingers against him and felt static electricity at my fingertips as I ran them through his coarse black and white hair.
He looked at me and let his tongue drop, I got lost in his grey eyes, those old age cataracts that stole his sight.

I awake in a run down bed, the broken wooden planks that support the mattress are swords in my back and the irritable buzz of an alarm clock forces me into reality.
I brush my teeth to wash away the taste of yesterday and shake the nostalgic feel that is trapped in the back of my skull.
I am fascinated with the soon to pass imagery of my old life in my old house with my old dead dog.
I tried to picture him and couldnt, but my brain had completely restructured him in dream state, he was in perfect form, I actually felt him, it was as real as it ever had been.

sense memory: interaction of the senses and the memory, and the ways in which certain sensory stimuli can trigger memories.

how strange, I can not remember many chapters in my life and yet I can remember the the oddest of things. there are certain feelings that stuck with me from memory.
the taste of blood in my mouth, the iron and that strange texture similar to thick water, the burning sensation of liquor coming out your nose, the pressure and shock of taking a fist to the face, the step by step pain route of bearing a boot to your testicles and the final stage; stomach sick and eager to curl up into a ball.

At the sight of a red hot steak, I salivate and can taste the sultry liquids flowing my down tongue, feel that texture of carcass in my teeth being mashed up and then dragged down my mouth as I swallow it.

the smoky dust filled smell of my great grandmothers house, the smell of death. the warmth of a body next to you in bed, and the smell of woman. the smell of burning incense and Indian food from when I was two, being baby sat by a Pakistan family, the cold steel of handcuffs against my wrists, the nausea in my stomach from being taxied in a cop car

all things I've been deprived of for long periods of time and yet I can remember them perfectly.

the pasty taste of cocaine in the back of my throat and the anxious jitters that shoot like electricity through my spine, like the electric shock I felt sticking a key into a light socket when I was a kid, learning not to ever do it again, like the first time I burned myself on boiling water, trying to grab at noodles.

yet I cant remember my teachers names, or my friends names for that sake, can't remember anything from high school.

old friends always ask me, "remember when we did this/ when you said that to him/her / remember back in the day when...."

no I don't....much of my adolescence is lost, and yet I remember the taste of the lipstick of first girl I kissed

so strange, this...senseless memory.

i spit the toothpaste into the sink and give myself a good look, i ask myself, "Who the fuck are you and where did you come from you ugly bastard?"

we all end up at the hospital, waiting to go

As a frequent viewer of Transit TV, not by choice but by circumstance, I noticed an ad for an essay contest. There was a 500 dollar reward for the best essay that described a positive experience on the metro. Thought it would be entertaining to submit a satirical essay for them. Wrote something very fast on the bus and didnt bother to do any editing or rewriting. Submitted it this morning, here it is in it's rough one draft entirety.

Transit TV Essay Writing Contest

unwillingly aborted only inches after last call, i was alone with nothing but the stale air of early morning los angeles and the fermented juices trapped in my bowels eagerly itching to make an escape,
i had no friends but phone booths and vagabonds, who shared nothing in common other than the need for quarters my suit pockets no longer housed,
i wandered in the dark until i saw a light at the end of the tunnel,
my heavy feet and beat eyes couldn't be more fortunate to catch sight of my armored stead, my savior,
the bus stopped before me and i crawled up the mountainous entrance, remembering my fond appreciation for hand rails, balancing my self sane enough to see straight,
the drivers kindness was stomach settling in retort to my twisted explanation of me being lost and empty pocketed.
he let out a chuckle of charity and closed the doors behind me, he had a beautiful smile beneath that musky ethnic Christmas tree mustache,
it wasn't until i reached the back of the nearly desolate bus that i came to realize i was headed in the wrong direction
i felt passive as i curled up and smelt the solidarity of expired urine and fast food wrappers,
the passing of city lights brought reminiscent feelings of meteor shower picnics and smoking grass in college dorm rooms to the viewing of 2001 space odyssey,
i cursed the name of every saint and patron of christian chemistry for my misfortune before comfortably falling into slumber on the arm of the metro link

ugly

ugly people
use ugly words.
rather grotesque;
recirculating dirty blood
with ugly children.
through use of ugly sex.
incapable of advance, it continues to go round,
building monuments of mud,
that keep us underground.
ulgy remains and i wish it were a lie,
Nigger, faggot, kyke,
all these words cease to die.

this will do: i can only go where they'll take me

when you're left with all you've got left, you find yourself with nothing but yourself, a dead beat with cracked lips and heavy feet, an empty apartment with boxes of x rays of dead dogs and old coke straws,

club higgins

within one day of being a resident of my new home, the man of the house told me i was "reckless" and "needed to slow down on my drinking", then told me stories of his old dead friends, fuck it, come over and party

three years

life rafts were only built for so much weight, and the accumulated baggage amounts to the fucking titanic, so someones got to be the bigger man and fall into the arctic slumber, we will both freeze in the end, and im nothing but a boy, i never wanted to listen when you always said this would happen, am i just that predictable, well are you fucking happy? i fell into the trap, im too choked up to even argue my defeat, not man enough to pull the chute, you had it right from the start, i thought i would be different, but my skin has warped from sun light and ive turned into the nocturnal creature you've always known of and feared, didnt think i'd end up putting scratches on your armor, i always thought i'd be your medic, but even a sheep can awake a wolf, im going straight to hell, and its from my own sin, i wish you could curse my name and nail me to wood, but you're too gentle, let me assure you that those remorseful eyes do the trick just fine, securing the pain inflicted by yours truly, i do my best to swallow my tongue and avoid those beat brown shiners, its hard enough to even see my own reflection, you always said this would happen, you knew it from the start, there no apologies that can pierce that acknowledgement, so i carry a sinking ship of shame down to the bottom of my own hole, my desolate ocean floor, im so feeble and weak, pity me, an empty bed occupied by two bodies, on their way to being smelly cadavers, its my instinct to reach for sunlight when im buried underground, burdened with compassion, but we both know thats not fair, its beating a deadhorse, begging it to come back to life, its hard to put down your best friend, but it might be time for the shotgun shells, the disease is taking over and we're trying to map a route around a city of landmines, you always said this would happen, you knew it from the start, i never thought you'd be right, i actually thought i could prove you wrong, it hurts me so bad, i drink until i cant talk, oh how i crave your hate, it would sooth my heart enough to maintain a regulated breathing habit, why must you lend so much credit to me, give me more than i deserve. i feel the scalding of a disappointed parent when all i want is to punished, was it all worth it, i think so, im glad i took the journey, i just dont look forward to the future, cause im convinced theres nothing good, just new kinds of alone, my worst fear; does it always turn to shit? is this what the future has in store for us, will i go through the years hacking and slaughtering beautiful people into pieces and wind up alone and terrified, god how it scares me, is it always the same? is it human nature, does that mean im better off stayin cause its always going to end up the same? is it worth experiencing others, well, you were a hell of a journey despite the destination, we both deserve to have more, im a shell of a man and you're Guinevere, when i think about what ive become i want to be underground, but im no good for you sweetheart, the way i treat you makes me sick, how can you still love me? im half the man i used to be and im still a boy, if i was a man id have the strength to explain but those beat brown shiners are too much for me, you always said this would happen, best friends tend to know you well, of course you were right, you always said this would happen, you always said this would happen, satisfied?

well jesus and his second coming done came.and i tell you its a god damn shame.that second time around.he found himself done drown.as a latex condom fillin.so don't go bickering and blaming.brick built clinics for killing.cause its a good waste of stones.and my belly can't help but moan.at the devotion to these psalms.and the archaic sentiment of the holding together of palms.i dont get it-i dont get it-i say fuck it-and forget it. well I tell you men just wont last.i litter and i burn up gas.cause there's just nothing left of grass. just wood, brick and concrete.and so i shit and piss on the street.where men in hardhats cut down trees.for whoever pays.so we can have shopping malls.and big fancy highways.i dont get it-i dont get it-i say fuck it-and forget it



so...fucking...tired

holiday: an adult's excuse to get overly loaded

Any intelligent fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent. It takes a touch of genius - and a lot of courage - to move in the opposite direction." -E. F. Schumacher

(shallow/hollow)ween, streets piss scotch, dull memory into clouds of something dark but gentle, slurs on trolleys and pedicabs

Parades of freaks; the boys are the gals, the gals are the boys, oh boy, these gals,
Elbow to elbow in disorderly fashion and swagger, high heels and hand guns,
Armies of wigs, wands, wardens and wanderers, wonderful,
Short and trim, as if it had a purpose, and they serve it right, my eyes are on them,
Take something playful, youthful, make it dirty, sinful, it's that season, no complaints, my eyes are lost,
Saint Diego, my love is with you, for near bare beauties and proud cheers of proud queers,
Clowns and kings share drinks, the lack of light in the bar makes me warm,
Revolving circles of gibberish, passing smoke like topics,
We clink glass and celebrate,
Bathroom walls, numbers and names, 'Mandy' illuminated in effulgent purple, broken tile, unapologetic mirrors,
Ached for air, staggered out, instead got urine, trash, alley cats, it goes black, i smile bearing winter petticoats of numbness,
Waves of existence carve at my bone like vultures to lunch, eyes fight to rip the seams,
Cold bricks and cool street, I love you,
Up again, crawl from the gutter, parade aint far, for it's everywhere
And, back to it, glitter and face paint shimmering shades of sunset,
Parades of freaks; the grown are all kids and the kids are all grown,
Streets crawling with lust and wild hearts cheering to youth, now so seemingly lost,
We struggle with the weight of our insides in attempt to distinguish the landmark of it's end,
But for now, we wage war in costume to dab our fingertips on the surface of it, reliving it in disguise,
An ethnic smile and a chuckle he passes me, whispers under his breath, blistered by my primal talk and drowning algorithmic, exchanging papers for bottles of something heavy, registers slam and doors ring as my shoes manufacture an exit,
Monsters and masquerade victims, chariots devour the streets, I flag and am awarded a servant,
Wind scratches cross my scalpel, lugged through the dark, pedicabs peculiar,
I sit in my throne, full on a sensation of royalty, I piss words like cheap production value to uninterested passerbys and mr. taxi horse,
End of the road, ramble and give him cash, and the lights take me from there,
Dorothys and witches share drinks, the lack of light in the bar makes me warm,
Making conversation with busted brassieres and eyes from brown bouncers,
Laugh up smoke, choke, tight clothes on loose women,
Oh, eight ball, how I've missed you, scratch, I toss my loss to the victor, taking sticks back to their prisons,
We clink glass and celebrate,
Morning meal exits my doorway, subtle but in mourning, alley way of filth, detestable to the tongue, chunky soup sidewalk,
Rest for awhile, cold brick against the skull, face becomes center of gravity,
Up again, linger past the dumpster and back to the riot, my fond farewell to the friendship of alley critters and stomach acid stains,
They chant and dance, I follow, free from vehicle codes, traffic laws, lights are left alone to play out one role, vision for our match, fireworks crackle in the moonlight,
I blink and my balance beam is arctic, steel, my fingers make love around it; handrail, I love you.
Air picks a fist fight against my mugshot with cruel intention but fails with a vitalizing result, trolley cars and trolley tracks,
Nervous laughter of my possible fates from strangers digging their fingernails into my shoulder, my saviors from the rouge colors of fall,
Found myself where dogs and cats share drinks, the lack of light in the bar makes me warm,
Gravity once again, misplaced itself, I've become a regular to toilet seat covers and porcelain princesses,
Misused words misconstrued, large arms leave large bruises, feet dragged behind me, i feel alive again with the taste of floor,
Flames consume the street, fueled by gas cans of insanity and heart, and I stride amongst animals, back to what I know, all fours,
Discovered ease for one last time in the company of cold bricks and narrow streets, no use in conflicting with my bodies petition to curl up, it goes black again,
Up again, this time it's warm, heads got the blues, liver aint too happy to see me, towers of dirty blankets, pillows, I love you,
Vision comes to, worst of morning, how it registers again with every break of sunlight, the craving of eyes and the well kept lawn of empty sheets I wake up to,

Currently Listening To: The Stooges