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

Idiot

Trying to screw around with the page.... deleted the counter by accident. =( Sad, sad day in River Man land.

Edit: Put in a new one. Lets see if it works. I removed the anchor and all so it might not. Hrm...


Edit(2):Haha! Got my old counter back. Right digits too. =)

Manatees of May

'Ello all. Today I am in quite the happy mood. Not entirely sure why, but there's no point in spoiling it with questions! It is a beautiful day outside; I cannot fully justify why I'm still sitting inside plastered to this computer screen, other than I felt compelled to post. Currently in a summertime revamp phase.
"River man, oh River man, what is a summertime revamp?" you ask.
That's the glorious time of the year when I make all my plans for the upcoming year. New years’ are far too cold and busy for me to ponder such important topics, so I save it for this wonderful time of year when my spirits are lifted by the warming weather. Let me tell ya, I am out doing myself with plans. Hell, if I accomplished half of the stuff I put into motion it'd be a good haul. Really though, what is the point in only planning things you can definitely get done? Live alittle! On my list for the upcoming year: Go skydiving. Realistic chance: .0001% Do I care? Not particularly. If it is done, fucking awesome.

I want to start writing again. Prose, I mean. I used to write short stories constantly. Mostly falling into the fantasy realm, I harbored half-assed dreams of getting a novel published. The book didn't have to do well - I would love if it did - but just to see my name on that cover. To know that locked within those pages was a world born only of my mind and the various sources of inspiration I called upon. That someone besides myself could see all the twisted tales I weave in my head all day long and perhaps even enjoy one. Fucking awesome. However, I swerved away from all that when I went back to school. No time for imaginary worlds when I'm trying to learn the scientific intricacies of the one I inhabit. That's another thing on my list though: write my ass off this year.
In truth, I am a man of such little discipline that these aspirations are virtually self-defeating. The more I want to accomplish something, the further from my reach it is. On my list: Stick to my guns. Say it. Do it. Repeat.
Plenty of other junk on the list, but there is plenty of time to elaborate. For now, I want to go onward to today’s piece.

Grinning in the Face of Fate

Don’t worry, little fellow…
Picking at the cherry tree
Love will find you before you go
He is on his way I’m sure –
He is rarely late, you know.
For what he carries on his back,
I assure is worth the wait.

I have just the one in mind…
There is this little lady
Laying beside the river bank
She appears the lonely type
Tired of the lying boys
Lying –Hidden- in the bushes,
Waiting for their chance to pounce.

Her lovely gaze is skyward,
Mind lost somewhere in the clouds-
I’d bet she’s waiting on love too.
Love and his tired wings to
Swallow her whole and take her
Far away, so damn far away
She forgets every detail
of her lonely river side.

And knows only love and its
Intricacies. It’s ugly
And corroded intricacies.
Perhaps you’re her stainless knight
Aberrant little fellow
Listlessly plucking leaves from that
Cherry tree in tune with the

Song of your feeble breathing
Waiting to find a surprise
Amongst all the monotony
Perhaps, my friend, she is your
Sweet Summertime Butterfly
Destined to set your life abloom
And release you from this tree

This aging and exposed tree
How long has it served your need?
Assisted your escape from thought?
Not much longer now, dear lad
Love is surely on his way
Carrying your future in a
Quiver on his back. Ready
To uplift you life with the
Gentle strumming of his bow.

Brewed In Holland

Nothing caps a shitty day quite like an ice cold Heineken. Yep... today was a winner. The past couple weeks have been pretty shatty overall. Had to quit one of the jobs... it was turning out to be too much. Atleast I made it to the end of the semester. My entire 'get out by may 08' plan was shot to shit by some renovations at the lab, meaning a class I need will not be offered this summer. Now, it seems my foolish ass will be a student an extra year. Whooo Hooo. My cousin wanted me to go up to Buffalo this upcoming weekend, but I have plans. That isn't such a bad thing... I think I'm going to enjoy the plans. And I could always go up there the week after.
How rude of me! How are you, dear readers? Hopefully your last two weeks (Has it even been that long? Longer?!) have found you in good spirit and health. For my fellow students - how were finals? Good I hope. I had a disappointing semester, I suspect. I'll let you know when the grades come in.
Well, I've found heavy inspiration as of late. I suspect its the sudden release of brain activity ~ the rebirth of the precollege mind of the River Man. When I had nothing better to do with my time than drink and write! Those were the days. Well... life is in the future... not the past. Got to keep reminding myself these days.
I thought of an interesting idea... but wasn't going to run it by you fine individuals because I figured it'd fail. Fuck it. Here's the deal. You suggest topics, and I'll try and write a piece about them. It may not be the greatest, but it'll be something mildly metrically sound. Hows that? Tempted? I know I might get some silly topics, or perhaps none at all. But, I figured I'd give it a shot. There ya go. Respond freely and give me your ideas! I dare ya.
On to tonights piece. More unedited. This site has caused me to abandon the editing process. I'm too amped to post. Quite backwards. It has no title... some I'm making something up right now. ...
Thinking...
Thinking...
Thinking...
Got it.

Summertime Downpour

Scattered about the mess I'm calling home
Pretending home is nothing more than a hole
filled with empty feelings
Imagining just how close I am
Scared I'll never be this close again
To feeling that I belong
Guess I'll never belong so long as
I paint paradise in watercolors.
Praying the rain passes me by

If I could never move again
I guess I'd be happy with
soft sheets and a firm pillow
Label the bed "the best it gets" and
let the rest fade around me
Made an art of settling,
aren't I creative?
Finely mastered servitude,
How's that for thinking outside the box?

100% Unrecycled Paper Bits

Greetings people. It's may day. To be perfectly honest, I have never quite understood what the hell may day is. And you may say 'River man... really... you're on the internet... do some research man!' but I don't feel like it. I don't care that much about may day.
So, you've noticed I'm babbling aye? Alot of work lately... this really should be my time to be enjoying the company of my pillow, but I missed you people. I've almost reached the 200 level... I gotta get the page swarming!! Tell your friends, tell your neighbors, tell anyone! Lie! Say I update so often you can't keep up with me! Say I live the most amazing life you could ever imagine. ... What the hell am I doing? If you can't make up a lie to draw the attention of the masses (or at the very least your immediate social group) I don't know how the hell you got this far in life.
Ok... now the babbling is bothering me! I'm off. I'll be back soon. Yes, I always say that... I gotta keep you wanting more. I will be back though... with truckloads of stuff to talk about (lie)... check in every now and then. And comment damnit!

Waving in the Freezing Breeze

Gypsy Pete is green
And perspiring
While all the devil’s men scream
‘You are nothing more than
less than what you could have been –
And him… cursed by the River…
Can never be half of what you are.’
Their words become the better of them
And perhaps we’re better for it
‘Cause there is little worse than a wasted breath.
Isn’t that our reason for howling at the crowd
In fevered attempts to enlighten?
Enlighten?
Enshroud would be the better term
We weave our verse into blanket and noose
To comfort the listeners as we hang before them
A twisted vestige of what could have been
If now was then
And then was just a dreamland
Colored random shades of yellow
All this talk has me
So sleepy…
So very fucking sleepy…
Would you mind if I just
closed my eyes for the minutest moment.
The shortest second of rest is all I need
I will be back to pick up where I left off
And onward we will stride down the path we’ve begun
Until we find its end and finish it.
I give you my word!
My friend…
If a wordsmith’s word is worth nothing
What is the wordsmith worth?

Thinking into the B[o]x

It is a beautiful night here. I have risen from my funk like the mighty phoenix. Well, perhaps a tad bit less graceful. Like a mighty pigeon, I'd say. This night is certainly aiding in the lifting of my spirits. City life is something else. During the winter, the city is alive. Certainly, it is more active than rural/suburban areas, but you don't truly notice the life until the weather makes that warm shift. My block is as filled as it would be at 2 in the afternoon. I wonder how I will make it outside the concrete confines of this world I've known. I'll have to find out one day - I refuse to be here until my bucket tips.
I am tired. Exhausted! Which brings to mind all those celebrities who pass out, or cancel work because of exhaustion. If they only knew real work! I can't afford to claim exhaustion and call out from my duties. Can't afford it in regards to finance or sanity. What is this nonsense of sanity, you say? Well... I'm a workaholic. Have to be, because I'm also shamelessly lethargic.
Perhaps lethargy is an incorrect title. I'm just... easily disinterested. If I don't dedicate myself to something 100%... whatever percentage that has been put towards it will slowly diminish until I don't care for it at all. Ergo, if I weren't a workaholic, I probably wouldn't work. I've been trying to work (love the appearance of that word now, though it isn't even remotely humorous - I got a laugh)on getting over that mentality... but I often find that this old dog has a VERY hard time learning new tricks.

Off of that for a moment... I feel the need to comment briefly on the state of the world. This Virginia tech shooting was absolutely shocking... but not in the way you'd expect. What shocked me most was my initial lack of shock. It seemed nothing. A guy goes crazy and kills 32 people? And...? Where's the new and surprising kick? This train of thought was quite disturbing and begged my attention at a rather late hour of the night. Upon pondering it, I realized how large my tolerance for human behavior is. I suppose being psychologically 'different' myself (heh... how very politically correct of me. I want to say ' being a fucking nutjob myself') has exposed my mind to some disturbing extremes, but nevertheless... shouldn't I have been saddened? I found the need to look up personal pages of some of the victims on facebook and myspace to put personalities to the faces I saw in the news paper. That was when I was truly hit. My deepest sympathies go out to the families affected. I apologize for my fellow primates... we often have trouble seeing beyond ourselves. I do feel sorry for Mr. Cho. Whatever twisted his mind into the shattered mess it was before he spread it across the 2nd floor of that building must have been a terrible event. I believe that, for the most part, we are the sum of our experiences. Genetic disposition may play a small role, but life experience holds the heaviest sway. Whenever I see someone whom I would write off as 'disturbed' I always take a moment to wonder what brought them to that point. In a sense, I pray for them as well. I prey that then can forget those horrible memories or perhaps, if nothing else, use the memories to strengthen their resolve. I pray about as much as an agnostic atheist can pray to whatever it is I pray to. This world is a mess. But, as I traverse this tired path - beaten by countless feet before mine - I can't help but appreciate the mess. In a realm of such lows, the highs are quite euphoric.

Blue Eyes and Low Lids

If I promised to love you,
would you let me stay the night?
We could do that dance again
That tired trot again.
I've memorized the steps
and perfected every sway.
In the morning
I'd be on the floor and you...
You'd be on your back
Wishing me away
Wishing to wake up somewhere far from us.
Sweetheart, this waltz was old when we began it
and now...
It's beginning to rot.

Apple Flavored Oranges

Hello one and all. I know, I know. You're thinking 'Jeez, this guy never fucking writes.' You'd be damn near right. I rarely do these days, and I am losing my own interest in my older shat. Meanwhile, being reminded of how shitty Bipolar Disorder is. I talk alot of garbage about being able to handle it, but only because it seems almost unreal when its not in your face. I had a manic burst about a week ago- spanned about a week at that- and I was afraid of when I came crashing. I have, and it fucking sucks. I forgot just how much it fucking sucks. I'm manic far more often, and while that is far from great I find it to be more manageable. Perhaps because I'm more accustom to it. I don't mind the irritability because I don't have to deal directly with it. The anger it causes isn't that bad because I'm used to anger. Anger was the center of my existence when I was younger. The fast-paced and irrelevant thinking processes are fine because my thoughts are usually pointless anyway, if I have more, but cycle through them faster I'm getting the better of the deal. The weird obsession with death is... weird. But, I'm used to that also.
Depression, on the other hand, fucking sucks. I'm sure some of the people reading this have experienced depression, maybe a few of you are even BP's. It is no fun, eh? I literally feel the urge not to exist, just to talk a break from the whole process of being. Not suicidal, mind you. I find that to be cowardly, and if there is anything in this world I refuse to be labeled, its a coward. I'd rather die a fool. Foolish, I know. I don't know why that is... ask my subconscious.
Anyway, I could write for ages.... but really... I don't fucking want to. This piece is new. Unedited. No desire to edit it. Read it damnit.

Written Nonsense

Listlessly listening to the sounds of my breathing
Watching the pens shadow dancing on the wall...
I want a cigarette.
I want a vacation from reality
but I can't afford my dreams
-the sleep would be the end of me.
So, instead I sit and wonder
'My soul will return one day, won't it?'
If not, I haven't much use for this husk - want it?
All the world is grey and slowly fading
My meters a muddled mess
and I nothing more than a dog who
howls like a wolf.
Oh how I want nothing more than a vacation from reality
but I can't afford my dreams
-the sleep would be the end of me.

Wake up

March is on its way out the door and the chilly weather seems to be going with it. Of course, I've probably just damned my east coast brethren to another month of freakishly cold weather. Sorry.
I've been out of it lately. I guess its just the extra time to breath I have, thanks to the momentary break from that hardcore schedule. It definitely shows in what I've been writing lately - can't help but put it all on paper. Either way, fuck your worries people and onward we stride!
How's everyone else doing? Got something like 160 different people that have visited the page. Hopefully, a few are coming back. I'll try to keep you here. Todays piece:

Mr. Hatiko's Despair

He awakens
Glare of the morning sun
A blinding reminder that yesterday is no more
and today is just a yesterday waiting to expose its rosy cheeks
The Bronx bleeds its symphony through the cracks in his window frame
Subway cars and a forgotten Major fuse as they traverse the cigarette stained air
On a path to his ear
There’s no place like home
No place quite worthy of the lovely, hateful mess of feelings attached to it
Like this towering concrete prison
Its captives unlearned and over-experienced
Finding love for sale in the hands of children -
Children finding love in the loins of children -
Creating children in the loins of children.
And he is nothing more than a child
Wearing the mask of an adult and flexing his voice as one
His glare is that of a lone wolf in the forest of his mind
He finds he likes his time alone and he worries
If he can move beyond the blood and spit stained path
Carved by those before him,
Can he walk a golden road?
Will his legs carry him beyond his grungy walls of insecurity
To the oft visited dreamlands of his mind?
Or is this urban seer merely unfortunate enough to have been born with eyes
Fine focused enough to witness his own demise and see that
Today is just a yesterday waiting to show her gleaming browns
Will he let them raise him up or keep him down?

And Still My Emerald Heart Beats

Happy St. Patrick's Day, all! Yes, I am Irish -and Puerto Rican- and bleed green like the best of them. St. Patrick's day has always been a happy day for me. When I was younger, no matter her condition at the time, my mother would always make corn beef and cabbage ("More Yank than Irish" says a friend of mine) on Saint Patty's. I never did enjoy it, but there was something about having that one tradition in the otherwise tradition-less house --It was the only real 'holiday' we 'celebrated'. As I got older, it shifted to a reason to drink and be merry... simultaneously of course. I would gather my friends, be them Irish or not, and get absolutely wasted. Eventually, even that became old. Now I just get a smile on my face upon waking, don a green shirt, have a couple drinks and let my emerald heart beat.
So, in honor of this day, the next pint is on me! Enjoy the day, everyone, because its not only about the Irish -- it's about the underdog. It's about raising up past all that stands in your way, and lending a hand to someone who is having trouble with their own obstacles. A celebration of humanity and our bond with one another.

Enough preaching! You've got drinking to do!

Silencing the Banshee

When all the world raises
to meet me in war or just in jest
I do not fear a moment,
thank the Shamrock in my chest.
When all the darkness sets in
and light cannot be seen,
I know that all around me
I've got the mighty green.
When the ground twists and bulges
to block my steadfast stride,
I rise above on Emerald wings
and soar on Irish Pride.

Come and Take Them

Busy week for the ol' River Man. Saw Reno 911, The Number 23 and 300 (note: it has just dawned on me that they all have numbers involved in the titles somehow). For the most part, Reno was funny. Although, I found myself desiring some wit, instead of the relentless bombardment of stupidity that has dominated comedies as of late. 23 was great. The ending felt a bit forced - some connective tissue was definitely missing. Overall though it was an amazing movie, as well as another example of Jim Carey's abilities as a serious actor. If you haven't seen The Majestic or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, you are seriously missing out... especially with the latter. 300 was incredible. This is a movie more driven by honor than The Last Samurai (running into a hail of bullets for your beliefs) or Braveheart (entering a suspected trap for the possibility of obtaining freedom). If you know the story of Thermopylae, then you can assume how it ends. Nevertheless, it makes you want to purge the world of fire arms and return warfare to it honorable beginnings -- face to face, sword to sword.
Enough with the movie critic role! I am (if I were to leave this very moment) an hour late for work. Tardiness is becoming more frequent; Perhaps my subconscious is aiming for my release from one of these positions. On the other hand, maybe I'm just damned lazy. Either way, onward with the verse.

Peccavi

Please allow me to introduce myself
I'm a man of poverty and disgrace
Silently simmering love in a tablespoon in my bedroom
Blanking out to the sweet sounds of Dylan.
God, forgive me
but I've lost my faith in you.
In me a muted fire burns its final log to ash and I tire
of trying to fit my technicolor mind
into the world of gray you've placed before me. Why try?
Death seeks out the joyous
So I've made it my mission to smile the widest
Still the reaper avoids me
Maybe he knows my plan
Maybe Lachesis has extended her rod and
Atropos has cast an idle eye to their garden flowers
in hopes my begrimed thread will rot itself away.
-Heartless wretches, the lot of the sentient world-
I refuse to be part of it
Found all the love I need in darkness and needle points
I have no need for the living
With their shamed looks and whispers
The judgment of one guilty man
cast from the lips of another
is nothing but a mockery of honor and sense.
Wanton behavior at best and
I won't have any of it.
Now if you will,
Please allow me to excuse myself
as a man of poverty and disgrace
Been around a long, long year
Sold my soul
and
Burnt my faith.

Long Winded Wont

Greetings all. Hopefully everyone is in good spirits. I'm drained. Another overworked bastard only managing to make ends meet. Same old story, different voice spitting it. However, I've set out to make more time for writing. I think I really need to write more these days. Ol' insanity is a sneaking back up on me. That's no good, my friends.
On the subject of writing, had a Tenacious D moment today. I know, I know, you're saying 'River Man, oh River man... whats a Tenacious D moment??" Well, TD is a band who performed the greatest song in the world, forgot it, and wrote a song about the whole experience. I thought the most amazing poem today. Just went free in the mind, and it was flowing like water. Made plans to write it down, but they didn't exactly work out. So, I sat down tonight to try something else, but that also died down. I have hope for the latter... if I complete it I'll throw it up here.
I can't lie... I'm terribly disappointed in this blog. I had such plans. Such hopes. I feel as if I have fallen horribly short. Perhaps my public display was premature. In fact, I have very little doubt it was. But, it is what it is, as that is all it can be. So onward we trek, towards my new goal of righteousness. Not the biblical sort though. The righteousness that arises when you visit a blog, read some of its content and say "Whoa. This is righteous." Others might use awesome, cool, amazing, kick ass, poppin', pimpin', fly, off the chain, off the hook, off the rack, dope, radical, unbelievable, indescribable, godly, super, superb, wonderful, mind-blowingly orgasmic, etc. I prefer righteous.
Anyway, onward with tonights piece. It seems unfinished. But, I almost don't mind. Almost.

Verbal Still Life

Ankles crossed
Mouth ajar
He sits in disbelief
It's happened again
That swirling mass of nothingness has
swallowed him whole
without the decency to chew
Used
Hand rests on paper
Pen tip just moments away
from an inky disaster
to be forgotten in the tired
corners of a book
against penguins.
Eyes burn, cause blinking is overrated
and underdone
Stomach rumbles, another cold dinner
sliding down.
What's the point?
All the worlds in black and white
and he's a pastel mess.
It's happened again
He's settled for nothing more than nothing he wants
and he can't find the exit.

EndThoughts

Morning Bus Ride thoughts
My mind is full of endthoughts. What's an endthought, you ask? Well, they are thoughts that force the mind into an 'intellectual corner' in which instict urges you to just end the thoughts. Death, or perhaps what follows it, is an endthought. My religious readers will try to argue this, I'm sure. Try this: step back from your views for one second and try to imagine the nothingness that could follow. The end of you. Darkness. Well, not even darkness. Darkness is an absence of light - this is an absence of everything. An absence of an absence.
That's not the endthought on my mind though. The mind is. The concious mind. Not mine, but others. All around me are concious minds who are all 'I' in regards to themselves. To them, I'm a strange guy in the corner furiously scribbling away in what they would probably call a journal. They look at the world from different heights, different levels of sight, from behind the veil of different experiences. They each have their own lists of things in themselves and this world they are unhappy with. All the lists are different. Some points are shared but if we listed the worlds gripes unrepeating, I haven't a doubt it would exhaust the paper supplies and still not be done.
I suppose the endthought aspect of this is its vastness. My mind struggles to imagine sharing sight with one other person, let alone a bus load. A cities worth. All the worlds citizens.
... Lost my thought, or perhaps my mind abandoned it for some higher sake. Vindication mayhaps.

Lithium and Heart Shaped Scars

Be Still
Just Breath
We can still be all we've dreamed of
The world's an open book
and your mind's the pencil
Keep it sharp
The brightest star's the first seen at night
Wishing is a waste of time
Yours and mine
You and I
We make misery marvelous
a colorful mess to combat
shadows we cast.
Here it goes again
The end, that is
The end of the start
and the beginning of the rest...
Rest assured
the trip is best enjoyed
From the drivers seat
No question
in this ratrace of Mice and Men
I'd rather be a wolf
...Here Kitty, kitty...
My bark is worse than my bite
as long as I'm well fed.
No worries lovely lady,
Your loving keeps the belly full.
Autumn Angel,
Seems the secrets free
We can still be all we've dreamed of
All we wanted
Just breath
Be Still.

Queen of Clubs and Hearts and Spades

And guess what.. He's alive!!
I know, I know... I went MIA 2 weeks. Miss me? During my time adrift, I aged a year, enjoyed a day of love and wrote a couple things here and there. Still plagued by writers block. Nevertheless, even the strongest foe will bow to an iron will. I see that during my time away I've managed to get a couple fans, or one big one. Either way, thanks for your comments! I know I've said it before -but I love the praise. It warms the chest cavity. Damn... It seems to have very little to say tonight. My mind is well beyond overworked. Perhaps I will have more to babble about tomorrow. Until then, read on.

Sinners Sanctuary

An old man stands atop a weary, turbid stone
Howling

-It is not the sun that sets
but the earth that turns away...
still I stand here, cursing the skies,
pleading the darkness for one more moments light.
Are we all that different?
The sun and I?-

His questions make me wonder and I ask...

Have I not been the moon?
Hiding in the shadows until
I can shine the brightest?
Only showing part
when you crave it all
At times staying hidden to avoid your affection
The topic of hearsay
They say I control the tides of hearts abound
And drive the sane berserk when my face is shone
Still I beam
and gleam and glimmer in this time of warring twins
Are my evils more than shadows misconstrued?
Am I any better for the error?

That depends...
Are you the judge or am I?

Fruit Flavored Life Savers

Well, as you may have figured, the opportunity did not arise yesterday. To be honest with ya, the only chance I really had to sit down at a computer was wasted on an hour or so of online game stumbling. These things happen damn it. I want to thank those (three) that have commented directly or through the guestbook. I appreciate the recognition (actually I enjoy few things more). Sorry I didn't thank earlier, forgot my manners and all I suppose. For those of you waiting for me to spiffify my page up before you grace it with your written presence, you will be waiting a bit longer. I have plans, but I have to find time to make them reality. Until then, you're stuck with the humdrum minima snazzed only by my choice in pigmentation and lettering. How unfortunate it is to be you, huh? Meanwhile, I got out of work a bit early today. Mondays and Wednesdays are my TA days. Perhaps I should clear that up, because despite knowing what that stands for even my mind went to the typical perversions. Mon and Wed, I am a Teaching Assistant. Occasionally on Sundays also. Mainly for various aspects of college biology. In fact strictly so. Tuesdays and Thursdays, I tutor various math and bio courses during the day. Saturday, Sundays and whatever weekdays need attention I am a Lab Tech. Needless to say... I am hellishly tired often. All in the pursuit of my goal, that would seem to be teaching right now.

Okay, okay I know you want me to shut up and get to the writers block ridden verse already. Saying to yourself "where's this 'strictly performance piece' you spoke of yesterday? On to it, man, on to it!"
Can't argue with that...

Strawberries in the Morning

You seem a lovely mystery

Casting a glance from the corner of your eye

cause you know I'm looking and

I think you like it.

Hell, I think you love it

knowing I want you like I do

Want to know everything about you

Want to fall in love with you

Not just the sight of you

The very thought of you

I want to fall in love with the feeling of your name on my lips

And the sound of your voice in the air...

Forget making love

I want us to invent love

I want envy amongst the bonded masses

cause their love is nothing like our love.

Knowing nothing of the sweet taste of

strawberry kisses in the waking hours.

I want to live a dream

and never sleep again

never risk never seeing you again

I want to grow old with you

then spin back the hands of the clock so I can

Want to grow old with you once more

and be with you forever on.

But damn...

First...

I just want to know your name.

And so I will...

So I will post something born of this current writers block to show just how deep I am in it. However, as I said yesterday, it is easing. I haven't even gotten the chance to sit down with the book today... an event becoming more common. I suppose when this block lifts I will be as consumed with writing as usual. That's the typical progression of this. In the mean time... I'm trying to decide between something that is strictly performance, and something that will work on paper (screen). The choice should be obvious, but I am a goddamned performer... so I happen to prefer the former. However, I'll post the latter and if the opportunity arises tomorrow, I'll throw the other on here.

Silver Sight

I can't help but wonder...
Did we discover
something better than heaven?
Sure as hell felt that way
in that silent supernove
Swear I heard the stars gasp
when I found the other half of me
Did you hear the cheers that followed?
Did you know how right that wrong was?
I hadn't any doubts, still don't, still won't
have your steel resolve.
It doesn't change a thing.
What's meant to be, will be
What isn't, will not.

Wolf Cubs and Mental Math

And the shitty mood continues, although significantly less shitty. Birthday's 'round the bend, hopefully I'm in better spirits by then. I plan on heading out to see that new flick Blood and Chocolate, simply because it in some way involves wolves. .. Yes, I must admit it. Have to come out of the furry, howling closet. I am a wolf freak. Haven't quite gotten the handle on why, though I've heard enough ideas to choke a horse -- or bring it down in a methodical and sophisticated manner. Feel free to share your theories... maybe one will draw that long sought 'oh shit... that makes a lot of sense.'
Separate, unrelated note: it just dawned on me that I had laid a wet shirt across my computer chair. Seems it took this long to soak the one I am currently wearing I guess. I'm not compelled to move whatsoever, though. Complacency is a wonderful thing. That's something forgotten far too often; or at the very least it seems that way. I work with a girl who has that 'must please/best everyone' attitude and it is bloody irritating. Besides that, though, it's a fountain of discontent. If you like something, you can be damn sure she likes it too. You did something? She's done it twice before. Liked that movie? She loved it and read the book. Whatever you bring up --no matter how exotic and remote-- she knows exactly what you're talking about. Almost as if she is afraid of being out of the loop. Not in the 'in crowd'. That is an unfortunate M.O. to have. You may be saying at this point 'well, it's no worse then the asshole who observes it all, lets it piss him off and then blog-bitches about it'. You'd be right. But fuck you, I like me goddamnit and that's what it is all about: complacency.

Onto tonight’s piece, which is --you guessed it-- another old one. Writers block is in the process of lifting. Maybe tomorrow I'll throw on some WB ridden piece I scribbled this afternoon. With any luck, my monstrous ego will be so annoyed that I put something it considered sub-par online that it will immediately beat my subconscious from this funk. Or... it won't. Any bets?

Salty Song

I've cut myself to pieces
Trying to add up to more than I am
To be enough for you.
But I keep coming up short.
White tie on a black suit
Worn by a white man with a Technicolor mind
Has a red stain where he cut his soul free...
Or tried to, only to find it was
Empty.
Who'da thought those cloudy years
Would catch up with this sunshine.
Who'da thought I'd hate the past
So much in this dismal future.
Upside down, but still alright
Inside.
It's a shame, they say
And I can't help but agree
I guess we never get the chance
Maybe for the better.
Light a candle for each missed opportunity
And we'd scorch the world.
Ugh.
Stomach aches again.
Head is spinning again
And it's all in monochrome.
Bite your tongue and hand it here
(Will you?) I need the relief
I feel so hindered (you know)
And the days are so long.
I can't land the falls I could before
My knees are getting weak.
I can't seem to read the words...
My eyes are getting old
And damn, this voice is so damned
Tired.

Sounds Like a Hushed Thought

Ugh. Ugh in all its melancholic glory. I'm feeling out of it today. Can't seem to pinpoint why; it's strange considering things are going pretty damn well for me. So good that I've hit a bloody writers block. It's fucking horrible... being as writing is like breathing, I'm suffocating in this drought. Random thought: what if this is some bizarre way for my subconscious to achieve its desired goal of writing by putting me in this funk -- Counterintuitive, yes, but that’s how I like it damn it. Or it could just be normal depression of the ol' Bipolar II (though in my mind I like to call it manic-depression... the sequel!), damned ups and downs, ya know... but wouldn't the former be fucking poetic in it self?
On the topic of poetry, tonight’s piece is a little old and bizarre in itself but that’s why I like it. It has so many things going on and yet that's what makes it work. It's jumbled in all the right ways, or so I hope. Read it aloud! It’s a performance piece as most of 'em are. Go crazy with it and Enjoy.

There and Gone Again

When I was your age
-Pluto was a planet
Dancing with the ferryman
By the banks of Styx
The under over world
Filled with inverted company screaming
“Loneliness is pot marked.
That is to say,
Loneliness is pot marked.
That’s all there is to say”
Inkwells feed the hungry
Stars in heaping spoonfuls
And my sanity is north of nowhere
I implore
Dance devil men, dance!
Lest mortals choose your fate
And damn your tapping toes

… I cough for you
And choke on the smoke that was your glory
Care to spend a score?
Don’t get homesick.
When you’re here your sick of home.
We’re never happy, are we?
I asked that before, didn’t I?
I often lose my thoughts to time
In bets of tens and twenty
Cupful of coffee iced to chilled perfection
Can’t freeze the heat of memories
That refuse to die
-All I do is lie-
All my life’s a lie
And I a fallacy
A stray daydream of some godlike figure
-Sad with yesterday.

Can you turn off that light?
It burns my eyes, you see
I’m not like the others
Lone wolves howl the loudest
And humans can’t at all
Can’t you see I don’t belong?
Half moon and a stolen song
Wallowing in a December moan
Sounding something like the tale of a prophet.
Care to take a listen
Can you’re folds contain this knowledge
So knowledgeable
so goddamn knowledgeable
Though I know less than the breeze
Still… can’t forget
When I was your age
Pluto was a planet.
And he danced – so content with his loneliness
So happy in exile
So joyous for border life
And then he was gone.
Don’t you feel lucky?
Don’t you feel lucky?
Feel lucky
So… lucky.
So Lucky
So So
Lucky.
So. Mother. Fucking. Lucky.

Roadside Whim

Went on a road trip to a tiny, remote town in Northwestern New York to visit some relatives and while on the ride we passed a random church. Now, under normal circumstances I can't stand small town churches because it often seems they take the difference of their size when compared to their inner-city counterparts and flip it to become that much more ignorant in their views. Instantly I picture Reverend Shaw Moore from Footloose inside preaching the muted anarchist view on the evils of our world and its need for destruction. This time though, I was far too consumed with that little message board that sits outside to be consumed with Rev. Shaw and his hate of Rock 'n' Roll. "The Lord Helps the Humble". It was that simple. Nothing new; anyone familiar with the Christian/Catholic ways will know that eventually 'the meek shall inherit the earth', or something along those lines. Yeah Yeah... that’s wonderful, whatever floats your boat -- But it just ain't poetic. This, however, was a mysterious beacon shining from a higher place (I believe many call it the sun). So, I scribbled down the quote to work on later.

Interesting little 'Behind the Poetry' tidbit: This church wasn't in Sulivan county. We didn't pass Sulivan county for another hour and a half or so. But once I saw the Sulivan sign, I knew I had my title.

The Lord Helps the Humble in Sulivan County

On a static highway drive
Through the desolate fields of my mind
And I think I've found Christ
Jesus is a friend of mine.
Born of a virgin broad with a penchant for fucking angels
Or at least she claims their angels
I'm beginning to question her convictions
Convicted of divinities seen on the backs of turtles
Nestled in the feathers of desert birds
Consumed with life
They find themselves consumed in death
By the mouths of children created in their loins
It's the 'Circle of life'
We live to die while dying to live that life portrayed on the high definition screens of our minds
My pictures getting blurry
Dreams painted on billboards lining that road of life, promising
"All you've ever wanted -- 3 miles."
Too bad it takes a year to take a step
Need a black beauty to make the world fly by
And get to the
Crown jewel of my estate...
Can't seem to find the key to your case
Loneliness is such a waste of your charm.
Sweet and sappy social butterfly
Have you found the plight of the lone wolf who howls in half-hearted bursts towards the moon?
Have you found it out too soon?
Did you hope to get trapped in a dream world named desire?
With me as your brave knight and you as my lady?
Maybe is just a polite No.
Let's skip the pleasantries.
It's a bit late for apologies
... Is I'm sorry enough?
Infected with that Griffin virus
I can't help but vanish
And fade away in the vestige of what was once
A very charming man
Cursed by the flow of the river.
Oh that river.
That motherfucking river.
How it's calling.
Carving through the desolate fields of my mind
Jesus is soaked to his knees.
He's sick of miracles that go unheard.
Tired of his sacrifice.
Jesus is a friend of mine.
And he says he hates you all.

nice and short today...

Its cold. Very very cold. I had gotten far too used to the El Nino/global warming one-two punch to be left in this chilly mess. Eh well. Life goes on.

He[r] P[e]as Were Gol[d]en in a Time of Rust

There’s a demon in my belly

And how frighteningly enlightening

It is to watch him nibble on my naughty bits

He walks on one leg

Surely it’s more of a hop of sorts

A tired ramble through the deeper side of nowhere

How shallow I’ve become

Seat locked in an upright position

While I’m slouched and relaxed

Cuddling my seething hellion

My telltale heart is a trembling hand

And all the finest ale’s.

Bed bugs and dust mites deter the weary

For the rest I resort to wit

If I find failure in that

I am left no choice but to flutter by with the butterflies

And the effects are spectacular.

And so it began...

After a grand deal of hesitation, mixed lightly with just enough deep thought, I have finally begun this blog. It had been an intention of mine for quite some time, first to randomly chronicle my seemingly mundane everyday experience. Soon though, its purpose would see sundry topics. My inner thoughts, short stories, random rants. A slew of objectives arose, but in the end, I settled on my truest written love: Poetry. Where better to spread my accumulating wealth of original journeys in verse then my very own blog? I certainly haven't any idea.
With that said, I have to put great thought into my 'ice breaker' piece. I want something relatively metrically pleasing (as I have been dipping into the chagrin as of late, trying something pseudo-revolutionary) and well rounded. Something to introduce you to... I actually forgot what I chose my blogspot pseudonym to be. You'll soon find I do that quite often -- forget things. Aha! And it comes to me. River Man. Yes. A heap of meanings are tied into that one... for now we will define it as 'He who resides besides the Hudson'. Nice ring to that.
During all this blathering, I somehow managed to decide the icebreaker. It's one of my rare poems in which the title can be obviously attached to the piece. Normally you would have to understand the twisted workings of my mind to understand the origins; even then, a great deal of sleuthing is necessary.

Iron Angel and Fifty Murderous Rounds

She cowers
Clutching at her cobblestone soul
Beneath the sliver of what was once the moon
She calls it home now.
Knows this moist stone as the home she always had but never wanted
Watches the geese fly by in V like formation
Surely it’s short for freedom
Surely if she hoped hard enough wings would sprout and she could take off
Into the sunset I can’t help but talk shit about.
She labeled me the devil
Cast a thought in retrospect
She’d said I’m so angelic
Said none had ever known love to have love like the love she had for me
But there she cowers
Glancing at the street lights peeking through the trees
Reminding me she had a fire in her eyes I had never seen before.
Passion for the living from this queen of the dead
I wonder if it’s extinguished
Wonder if all the tears to drown a proud man’s heart
Could put that fire out.
It overflowed the levees and overran the garden.
I don’t doubt its power.
She cowers
Clutching at her cobblestone soul
An iron angel in a crust of rust
River flowers growing to taunt her loses.
I watch
And I cower
Spooning these patchwork wings
I fashioned from flaps of virgins flesh
And parts of hearts I’ve collected along the way.
Fifty murderous shots fly freely and a voice shouts
“The Devil Is Dead!!”
And I am.
Lying in the bed I made myself with a sly smile and that River man’s curse.
Bloodied and bleeding away all the trouble within me.
“You’re so angelic.”
Her voice carries as
She cowers
Beneath the sliver of what was once the moon.