How About That

Going a little crazy today, ain't I? Looking a bit like the ol' Gypsy. Those short ones are older. I had them on some other blog and sort of rediscovered them. I'm feeling alright at the moment. Still feeling distant... but now its being covered with indifference. Knowing my moods, it'll swing again.
Separate, scientific note: I'm mildly interested in virology. Herpes intrigues me. Is that weird? It would be great to find a vaccine. Pipe dreams, dear readers, pipe dreams. I haven't the will (at the moment) to invest that amount of time on that road.
One day, I s'pose.
I've been bitten (or perhaps visited in a friendly manner?) by a muse. With research, I have located the name of my admirer. Aoide. She is indeed the butterfly upon my shoulder, singing inspirational sweetness. I'll write about her soon, I think.

Mr. LyDale's Demise

What is it?
Why do you bother me so?
Did I cross your path
Somewhere along the way and wrong you?
I assure
I can't recall your face
And your name doesn't bring
To mind
anyone I've ever known.
Still,
you knock upon my door
Too soft for me
to truly be angry and
Too loud for me to ignore.
Won't you tell me your purpose?
Or is your pleasure born of my discomfort?
That's it!
You vile wretch,
Thieving my air
from my lungs-
I feel you!
Stealing my life
Stealing my life!
How dare you?
Who sent you?
Why are you here?
Now?
No.
Not now!
Any time but now.
Any when but this when.
This life is mine!
I've paid heavily for this whore!
The tears, blood and friends I've lost.
The blood, friends and love I've lost.
I've lost...
I'm lost, so lost...
I see.
I'm yours.
Take me.

Turtle Trance

Is breathing a tool of the living?
If so, you'll be the death of me.
You always steal my breath
Dancing Muse
Your moves sooth my desire
My thoughts are consumed with you.
At best I've become a slave to this passion.
You are as sweet as moonlight.
and my heart beats in reverance of your
shine.
I beg...
Bathe me in your glow.

[In]Organic Angel

Woman with a thousand faces
Bound by experience
She waits.
Waits for word from her soul
saying she can go in peace.
She waits on lies.
Inside and out, empty.
But her eyes are glazed with life
darkened by the past,
She paints her present bright
Looking to sculpt her future perfect.

Dear Troubled Soul

Silence was the first to go
But the last to leave this place
As I took an lonely ocean ride
Tied with ribbon and shoelace
Bound with bubble gum and magic tape
I carried words but could not record their meaning
A mist of angels spit
and devils admiration
sealed tight inside a snapple bottle

I found the shore much lonelier than the sea.

Grape

I hope the world remembers your
starlike form
When the moon comes calling for
your smile.

All the things I've done...

Greetin's readers. How fair thee in these ending days of June? I feel somewhere outside myself, my consciousness is a kite following my body out of tethered obligation. If possible, I wouldn't mind going blank for a while- some sort of living autopilot. I think I need a vacation. A real vacation. Well, to be honest, I really think I just need to move. As of late I've been listening to my classic 'get out of here'
play list, which is topped by 'Summerland' by Everclear. Great song; So good in fact that despite knowing next to nothing about Summerland, California, I still want to move there. If only for a short period of time. Check the song out, if you haven't heard it.
I'm just about to get ready for work. I think I'll post again later. I got nothing I really feel page worthy, but... its a long day and I've had the single line muse on my shoulder. She whispers amazing lines - single lines. I just can't seem to go anywhere with them.
"But River Man, a single line can be poetry."
Yeah... But these feel unfinished to me. Not meant to be one liners. Maybe I'll post a short piece with little/no babbling. We shall see.

Waste

He rose,
Not with vigor or intent
instead with an indolent
air that left a bitter taste.
His cant was
slow as if the thoughts had to
travel an unheard expanse
to exit his blistered lips.
His disgusting, swollen lips
dripping saliva like a
dog. His voice the cackle of
A hyena
This man had long abandoned
humanity and staggered
Lumbered
Floundered
into the decay of death
living. An empty husk
a crust
a hull
with addiction where his mind
once was and a heart pumping
despair. Awaiting his train
To hell.
And I...
I sell him the tickets
and pray he catches his ride.

Run! Pigs afoot!

Hello all. This weekend was uncommonly busy. It started heavy with an unexpected (and honestly undesired) Friday night fight. On Saturday I took a trip downtown to Union Square with Gypsy Pete. I love the city. Running into craziness is nearly inevitable. We encountered a (self-claimed) 6'7" Jew who gave me a painting, a group of dare-bound college girls looking for a cheek to kiss and a strange Brooklynite with a sign offering free hugs. Sunday I went fishing for about 9 hours and didn't catch a goddamned thing. My consolation was a reinforced distaste for seafood.
I'm oversimplifying, of course, but you get the idea. I don't particularly feel like posting anything long winded tonight - I feel a bit out of it. The past few nights I've been catching sleep on and off. It's been more like a series of naps than an actually good nights rest.
Hopefully the next time I close my eyes tonight, I don't open them until sunlight is staining the sky.

Final Harvest

Mr. Jenson addressed
His class
the day before
their freedom

Keeping his concerns beneath
his collar
and wearing
confidence
on his brow
He spoke

"Life is hard
-Forget you've known this
already
and hear me out-
Life is hard
and dying is the easy part.
But the ease
in death
can never overcome
the forfeiture involved.

Likewise
When faced with
A path
Of a thousand
Footprints
or
Rolling hills of
Fresh grass
Ignore the sign
Reminding
to mind the reaching blades
and blaze your own trail.

My students,
I've tasted
the spring of
Leadership
and subservience
and have found
The former
to quench a thirst
I hadn't known
I had.

Followed my green hills
Until
I found
Your eyes
Ears
and minds
I made them mine
But now they're yours
Again
With hopes that you
See clearer
Listen closer
and think
to
Rethink
That thought
You thought
You were sure of.

You have all come
so far
in the years
Since we've met
and I have become
A relic
In your world
...Nothing more than
A friendly reminder
of what
Once was.

... What will be ...
That,
My friends
I leave to you."

Crossing the I's and Dotting the T's

Shocked? I'm back after just two days. How is this possible? Well, what better to do with the aforementioned boredom then enrich this phenomenal page of mine? How was your Tuesday, dear reader? Mine was uneventful. Wake, work, sleep, and repeat.
Gypsy Pete paid me a visit and we wove mile-long plans again. We would take over the world if we weren't so goddamned lethargic. We envisioned our own publishing company. Now to snatch it out of the thought bubble and slap it into reality! Eventually.
Random rant: I am growing tired of people disagreeing with me when I tell them of my bipolarity. The classic image of some bug-eyed individual flipping from happy to sad is NOT the standard. That’s pretty damn crazy, actually. Your dear River Man suffers from BP II.
"River Man, oh River Man, what is BP II??"
Well, dear reader, BP II (Bipolar II Disorder) is a variant of BP lacking the manic states. To clear things up -

Mania: People having a manic episode of mood can be elated, euphoric, irritated and/or suspicious. There will be an increase in physical and mental rate and quality. Increased energy and over-activity is common; speech can become racing. The need for sleep is reduced. Attention span is low and easily distracted.

Usually, we do not suffer from manic episodes.
"But River Man, how can you have Manic Depression if you don't suffer from Mania?!"
Well, I do suffer from Mania - a form of Mania called Hypomania.

Hypomania: During hypomanic episodes, patients may become more productive or noticeably goal driven, but their ability to function well in their normal daily activities is not impaired. Hypomania is generally a less destructive state than mania, and people in the hypomanic phase generally experience less of the symptoms of mania than those in a full-blown manic episode. The duration is usually also shorter than in mania. This is often a very 'artistic' state of the disorder, where there is a flight of ideas, extremely clever thinking, and an increase in energy.

Well, ain't that something! So, this image of the wo/man rapidly flipping between and smile and a frown is NOT the true representation of Manic Depression. At the very least not as a whole. Like those it afflicts, this disorder varies. Episodes can last a number of days, and at times the individual may not be strongly depressed or manic, but rather a strange sort of indifferent. So please, if someone tells you they are manic-depressive DO NOT DISAGREE. Unless of course you happen to be a psychologist with extensive experience with Bipolars, in which case say what you will.
That is all I have to say on that topic. Onward! Today’s piece was -you guessed it- written today and unedited. Haven't edited shat lately. This one was scribbled on the bus to work. It was the second of three written on that ride and the one I like the best at this very moment. I will call it

Countess

She peers about
Eyes I imagine an angel
Somewhere regrets parting with.
I'm lost somewhere
in thought
when her view falls to me. Breathe
A silent reminder to myself as I return
Her hazy gaze
as if to say

"Me!
Bearer of the sweetest eyes,
It is I that you crave
to look at
For the rest of your time!"

Prolonged breath finally
Exiting my excited lungs
She dons a pair of
Ruby sunglasses
And takes her leave
As if to say

"No."

Flaming Flasks Afoot

Greetings, my allegiant readers. It has been about a month since my last post.
-Momentary 'inside the River Man's mind': The stereotypical AA introduction ("...a month since my last drink...") flooded my mind when I typed that. I laughed. That, my friends, is how low my wit has sunk.-
How has your June been thus far? Mine has been hellishly busy. I'm working Monday through Friday, about 7 hours a day. I'm sure I have a few 9-to-5ers laughing at my dismay. To you I say: Fuck off.
"Hey River Man" You may say at this point. "Aren't you supposed to be working?"
Of course I am! However, the joys of being a teachers assistant mean I have an immeasurable amount of free time, ultimately equating to a dangerous roller-coaster ride with boredom. Judging from the slight unease and rumbling in my fingertips, I’d say also with starvation. It would appear that the older I get, the less I can deal with hunger. As a child, malnourishment was a staple of my household; ironic that now I can't deal with even the slightest lapse in sustenance. So tell me, dear readers, why is it you return? Does my verse really draw your interest, or is it my occasional ramblings of the drudgery of life? If you're new... well... then obviously that question doesn't apply to you. Damn you.
Anyhow... Onward to today’s piece! I wrote it about an hour ago... and I like it damn it. You will also.

Broken Glass Symphony

Gazing down the barrel of a smoking .45
Waiting for the impact. Patiently
Eagerly anticipating the sweet sex
Of metal and flesh. Wondering
How long it’s been since it begun
And the abrupt interruption -
Those words
They burn the throat like vomit

Such a long, lonely road we walk
Together
My dear - such a long, lonely road
Headed everywhere we’ve already been
Or haven’t any interest in visiting.
Silly, isn’t it?
Writhing the way we do with
Time cascading around us
And pooling at our feet
Resembling a thousand missed opportunities.

“Life is in the future”

Repeat until you believe it,
They say,
Repeat until you believe it - my dear.
And amid the confusion forget
Tomorrow is yesterday disguised
Wearing ambiguity and hope like a prom dress
Destined to be shed
And tumble headlong into ill repute.
Such a scarlet past, isn’t it?
If only the truth could be conquered with such ease