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ears · open
boots on concrete
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Like me, this room is infected with smoke. It's black shawl of a mouth whispers white tendrils from between it's teeth. My clothes stink of this cloying, clinging, sticking promise. My life is four rooms, hardwood and carpet, doorframes at strange angles. I fill it with weak breaths of nicotine, expulsions of hacking laughter, whiskey-fueled tirades, and rare intimate moments of soft skin. I have become agoraphobic, the sky pressing at the windows, strange branch-shapes casting shadows across the sheets. Soon, I think, the concrete will wear down where I pace outside, biting my filters, whispering into the night. The night. The night has a closer sky, now sodden with winter, it happily beats at my door with windy assertions. If i exhale enough smoke, can I lose myself in it? Will I create an impenetrable fog, a London soup, thick enough that I could hold still and never be found? Autumn, loved and loathed in equal measure, has become the season of our discontent. Without moving an inch, I can feel the weight of thousands of miles stretching in every direction. The summer burned us all, clear and hot and terrible. Our skin blistered under it, peeling away to reveal, what? The same flesh we'd always had, no more, no less. We didn't scar. Every scar is a lesson learned and our flesh was the creamy ivory it had been when we screamed our way into the light. Naked, it seemed as though we'd learned nothing. |
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I've spent the last hour poring over drunken epiphanies. Yes, those drunken epiphanies. Re-learning my history, checking my facts, getting my stories straight. I see where this started now, I see where the footholds were carved and how long I've been sinking. I was always fighting to change, to be something (ANYTHING) different and now suddenly I am and I can't stand the sight of myself? Oh, I (WE) were fucked from the start and maybe if we'd never collided I'd be something better off, but I still believe I would have killed myself by college. Now, only now, do I see what you've been reporting for years, the welcome darkness and quiet hate. Yes, I should have disappeared but there'll never be another one like... There's nothing at all like. |
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spilled mandarin oranges on the sidewalk chemical taste in my throat where is my life? i don't know. god. i don't know. i miss you. |
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When does all of this stop? |
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Some days, you take your first drink before noon. |
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now fear this: all further inquiries should be directed to
www.livejournal.com/~thenew_scum message ends. |
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scratch last entry. moment of madness. it passed. |
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i don't think about high places anymore. i dream of putting a bullet in my brain. |
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These days, I think in poetry. These days, pain comes to me in polite lines of symmetrical imagery and universal rhyme scheme I'm wanting more than ever the new and the better. Unfettered I know my ever present lack of mind presence time and time again my lips open for words better buried cause these days, i think in poetry. - the creak of a rusty swingset chain
i found you
i lost you
the city slipping past us
bookstores and coffee
tangerine nights
i found you
i lost you
songs on some dusty stage
singing me to sleep
sing me to sleep
you found me
you found me
the light through pink curtains
certain of the moment to moment
i lost you - The way your smile just beams,
(looking up at me, all dreams and green eyes, smiling and)
The way you sing off key,
(humming under your breath, my hands in yours and my feet)
The way you haunt my dreams,
(shuffling clumsily, now i know what it meant i finally)
No they can't take that away from me
(understand.) - my open ears tell me
my open ears tell me of a
billion purple paper cranes
flapping uselessly burning
down at the foundation of some
monument built to exposed ribs and
miscarried dreams
my open ears tell me
my open ears tell me of children with
blue eyes and their
mothers voice twisting into nothing
fields of sewn disappointment
and my jittering laugh like
pulling needles in the dark - lines of poem set in the
stone of emotion a
reminder of what's passed
has a lasting
bastard son of
poems
prayers
and promises |
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i got two arms open wide for the swallowing city i see concrete behind my squinted eyelids and hear the rat-tat rhythm of the windy cross streets i'm movin' on in the snowfall a grey harbor and gull calls scream to me about open wounds and finding some kind of veteran lost light urban air will kill you all on its own but it tastes better in the mouth of these wasted days are draggin' further on me cutting furrows in my broad backed brow if this child can't find the skyscraper canyons he knows he's lost he knows he's lost everything to infidelity and the open country he'll never see am i afraid? motherfucker i am terrified terrified to be left behind nothing in memory but dodged responsibility and this hypocritical nobility no more at ease than days spent crying names of ways i left my own heart crossed twice but fuck it i got two eyes wide open to survive seeing just fine twenty twenty visions of living on in sudden standards i'm calling out shots to lift my life to the asphalt no more caught between reasonings some deadly thing in me for your leaving; but you're gone and i'm rememberin' what two feet below me can be like like words spitting in perfect succession the success of this last depression fear is all i have to fear itself. |
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by a lonely harbor wall I watched the last star fall. so that's it. that's as far as we go. there was more i wanted to show and do and tell and say but we reached the end of the road and i reached out over and over but my words came out pleading whimpers and my hands were shaking claws on her smooth skin. once again i drowned a thousand second chances. will i change? will the city burn me down to something worth loving? will she love me? what have i done? so that's it. the street her house is on. the corner where i kissed her, feeling like a man maybe for the first time. coffee in the snow. kewpie dolls fighting in dust slanted sun. her fingers on my awkward limbs. movies. incense. pit bull tug of war. it's greyscale. it's as far as we go. and now i have no poetry, no cardboard cup between knotted fingers in the wind, no memories worth touching. i am love-empty. i am soul-empty. i have forgotten what air tastes like. i have forgotten what good ground under good shoes sounds like. i have forgotten. i have forgotten. repeat myself. i see bridges and high places and wonder if i would scream. i wonder if the wind whistling by my ears would numb them, and if i would notice. i wonder if i would go to hell. i wonder if i would survive by some miracle to wake up in a wheelchair because i haven't learned my lesson yet.
i wonder these things.
then i close my eyes and turn away and think.
pussy.
and tell myself next time i'll find out. now i am so desperate. so needy.
i thought she was just busy.
i couldn't help thinking about her.
i couldn't help remembering the time before.
so i called.
and called.
and called.
until it was habit. i didn't expect a return till can't you take a hint. i don't blame her. i can't take a hint.
i thought she was just busy. but i don't know how to be a friend. things to learn:
1. how to be a friend. things to remember:
1. stop calling. muzak at work. all love songs. all break up songs. all interchanging between memories and realizations. billy joel. the beatles. stevie wonder. pianos and guitars scratch my heart. words words words. i come home and listen to punk rock. punk rock all the time. 1000 memories. story of my life. ball and chain. sinister rouge. it becomes a wall. there's always been music in my head. it plays on a loop. it's crisp and clear. but it comes out of my mouth jumbled. off key. off center. bad. bad. bad. nothing smells like her anymore. her touch is gone from my house. from my life. i sleep next to the pink minnie ears my dad got her in disneyworld. i dream about her every night. this is the worst.
the dreams.
i dream of her face. her lines. her soft movements and her voice. i dream of her family and her home. i dream of warm places. i dream of being alone with her. i dream of riding in cars with her. i dream of her loving me. she does not love me. things to remember:
1. stop calling.
2. maia does not love you. things to learn:
1. how to be a friend.
2. how to remember that maia does not love you. i don't have the attention span for television. or video games. or anything. my heart beats too fast. i breath too fast. i sit still too much. i sit still and i want to kill myself. there are things i want. things to remember:
1. stop calling.
2. maia does not love you.
3. there are things you want. get them. i am a writer. a poet.
i can write.
i can write.
i can write. this is imperative:
i am not useless. i am a writer. i am a poet. i am a boxer. i am a karateka. i am a punk. i am a lover of literature. things to learn:
fuck the rest.
1. how to stop sitting in front of this computer so much. work in the morning.
alone.
with the music. good night. |
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The fact that I'm writing this, here, means that really, nothing's the same.
I broke it all down. I got my wish and became hard and sharp. I smoothed over. And cracked.
Out of me flowed the good things. Out of me flowed what mattered.
And now it's all burned. Useless ash. Almost intangible, it's so frail. I wanted change.
I took the wrong kind and I'm paying so dear. Too dear. I don't want to live with this.
There must be change, oh yes. There must be reckoning and penance, oh yes.
There must be ink on my body that trickles through to my soul, oh yes.
There must be promises kept. Oh yes.
I miss her. Oh. Yes.
Layer Cake and what should have been a simple goodnight haunt haunt haunt me.
Her eyes changing in mine, turning downward and then closing. Losing something.
Something I took, oh yes.
Her friend on the street, telling me the truth. What I am. What I deserve.
There must be change, oh yes.
Not hard and sharp, no never again. Better. Just.
Better.
Poems and a comic are coming soon. A job starts today. Ink and a buzzing needle soon.
God I hope she comes. To see.
It's for her.
And me.
It's change, a beginning. Oh yes.
I miss her.
I miss her.
Oh yes. |
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It's doubtful anyone will see this. If they do, they'll smirk at Nate Boggess for writing in his Livejournal. I don't care, though. The words are tearing out of me. I come home from Disneyworld tomorrow. I spent a week in paradise where there's no caring and I became a child again. Correction. Where I realized I have been a child for quite some time. Satisfaction has left me soft. My fists are loose and the scars have faded. I don't look where I'm going. I don't look for exits, don't look people up and down considering what threat they would pose. I don't write or draw or THINK. Too much sitting and staring and weakness and I'm SOFT. I want to feel six-guns in my fingers and cannons in my eyes. I want to be hard granite edges and rough leather. I want to be the Boston Harbor after dark, Central Park in nineteen eighty seven. I'm soft now but I'm seeing it and too much satisfaction won't stand anymore. City strees are screaming to me, I've been dreaming of concrete. I want glass that stretches upward and the feel of rock beneath my feet. I want an orange glow to wipe out the sky and I want to walk through it all and know it's where I belong. I cried at fireworks because I wanted to be a CHILD again I wanted to be held in arms and lifted off the ground and be SAFE again but I'm just SOFT again and it won't fucking stand. This has to be the end of that. I could slide too far. I'm below where I started but there's rage all'a sudden, rage nothing like impotent swinging blindness of prepubescent past. Rage like a consuming sterilizing fire, wiping away what was clouding me. I can see clearly now because I've seen fire and I've seen rain but I'm in a New York state a'mind. I've been away. I've been far away. I've been a little lost, but there's a burning trail home and I'm sprinting alongside it. There's no more turned backs. There's no more SOFT. |
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i think that the ultimate musical anthem to one's pimphood would be a song written by chris carabba (dashboard confessional) about one openly stealing his girlfriend and him being sad about it. i think i could die satisfied with all things in life if that happened to me. god damn, i hate emo kids. this will be all for the next six months or so. hope you enjoyed it. |
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But it's a copout. Here. just thought that was pretty cool.
-ncb |
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I'm in a very... odd place right now. It's a gorgeous night, absolutely perfect. All I want to do is pull on my leather jacket and wander Ithaca till dawn, just watching the moon and pretending to be Jack Kerouac. Driving home from a relatively successful rehearsal, all the windows down, cold wind pressing on my farmer sunburn and carrying a heavy load of spring smells into the car, listening to Bob Dylan's reedy poetry at serious volume and my dad singing along... I just wanted to drive for hours, to pick up a couple of close friends and tear off west till we hit water. To camp out every night on the way there, making do with what we have, sharing sleeping bags and tents and secrets... I want to rough it in good company, to be held reeking of woodsmoke and feel love dwarfed by redwoods. I want to see the Rockies again, to see thunder on the mountains, walk through Crested Butte again. I want to go. I want all the ones I love with me. I want to go. my apologies. bob dylan always does this to me.
Current Mood: |
 indescribable |
Current Music: |
shelter from the storm - bob dylan | |
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I have been sitting in front of this computer since about six o'clock, and I've barely noticed the two and half hours that just slipped by. Agh, I despise this machine. I s'pose I should say something about the whole Aurora situation... But since EVERYONE apparently already knows more than I do... Ah, what the hell. So, Sylvie and I broke up. Yeah, it was sad, but I think it was time. There was a lot of... strangeness in that relationship. A lack of a starting friendship, maybe. ANYWAY, now I'm all but dating Aurora. Who makes me happy. In fact, most of the people in my life make me pretty fucking happy right about now. I wish I got to see Kayla more... or ever... but still, I'm doing allright with the friends. The musical is in like a week. I'm a little scared, but I know we'll pull it off. I'll lay down my mad theater sk33lz, and it'll all be fine. Yeah, so everyone who reads this whose not in the play, come see it. Next friday, saturday, and sunday. Or I'll never speak to you again. And I'll shellack you. Without speaking to you. In other news, I really need someone to either write a comic I can draw for, or draw a comic I can write, but I've decided I can't bloody do both. I have too many ideas and too high expectations bouncing around in me headpiece to handle it. I also need a new bloody playlist. There. AAH! fucking copy protection. Yeah, I thnk this is about done. I'll start updating again. At least after the show. -ncb
Current Mood: |
 hopeful |
Current Music: |
geisha dreams - rollergirl | |
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"It is like a finger pointing to the moon... ...Do not concentrate on the finger...
or you will miss all that heavenly glory."
-Bruce Lee I'm ready.
Current Mood: |
 determined |
Current Music: |
Queen - We are the champions | |
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First update in awhile. My apologies on that one. I've been extremely busy. I got a GPA I choose not to share, but trust me, it was pitifully low. So I've been buckling in school, which takes up more time than I had expected. But it's worth it. Feels worth it. I need to start writing again, it's been over a month since I've written anything. I've been listening to a lot of the Who recently, they're capable of healing anything, I think. I got pretty angry with Mikie yesterday at the play. Whatever, it wasn't that big a deal, but I ended up punching a road sign and kind of messing up my hand. Two days before a karate tournament. Well bloody done, Boggess. Yeah, as much as I'm looking forward to the tournament... I'm worried about it. I feel like I'm a little slower, a little sloppier every time I go to karate. I don't think that's how it's supposed to work. I'm in deep need of inspiration. I'm hoping that seeing sensei this weekend will bring karate to the forefront in my mind again. Well, I have to go to school, but there's more to say... I'll probably do a friends entry later. -ncb whatever to the values of humanity?
Current Mood: |
 calm |
Current Music: |
Hikari - Utada Hikaru | |
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The best part of today is going to be second period. Cos it's free, and that means greasespoon diner food. I'm extremely...disappointed in a lot of things, but what are you gonna do. hey, so, i need a name for my comic. it's about, i dunno, teenagers and life and deadbeat fathers. something. who knows, but if any of you just happen to have any catchy titles on the brain, let me know. also.
ask me three questions. any three, then ask others to do the same. i want everyone who reads to do this.
(stolen from kayla rae) -ncb
Current Mood: |
 contemplative |
Current Music: |
Took the words - Meatloaf | |
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battousairegret's journal