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I'm a goddamn misfit - mismatched, but never missed much [entries|friends|calendar]
N. S.

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[24 Jan 2010|03:36pm]
Life is above and beyond what we choose to make of it.  The meaning of life is passion, the pinnacle of resonant feeling projecting outward like a piercing beam of light; love as an active force spilling outwards and enriching the world around us.  Every infinite speck of dust and every star and every feeling that's ever been felt is life incarnate, glinting like obsidian in the sun.
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[02 Sep 2009|05:07pm]
She was a kick start, not engaging, puttering back to silence and ground gears
He was a batter's box, choking up on his bat, covered in pine tar.
She was crashing through stained glass windows, into the pews, bleeding.
He was striking out the names of the women he used to need.
She was a well oiled machine, purring made him swing foul
Friction wearing away buildup from years of stagnant oil.
He had thrown out his reservations, thrown out the last of the old letters
he was thrown out at home, having been caught stealing his father's car.
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[25 May 2009|10:13pm]
"Bird-Understander"
Craig Arnold

Of many reasons I love you here is one

the way you write me from the gate at the airport
so I can tell you everything will be alright

so you can tell me there is a bird
trapped in the terminal all the people
ignoring it because they do not know
what do with it except to leave it alone
until it scares itself to death

it makes you terribly terribly sad

You wish you could take the bird outside
and set it free or (failing that)
call a bird-understander
to come help the bird

All you can do is notice the bird
and feel for the bird and write
to tell me how language feels
impossibly useless

but you are wrong

You are a bird-understander
better than I could ever be
who make so many noises
and call them song

These are your own words
your way of noticing
and saying plainly
of not turning away
from hurt

you have offered them
to me I am only
giving them back

if only I could show you
how very useless
they are not
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[25 May 2009|10:00pm]
"Gestalt Prayer"
Fritz Perls

I do my thing and you do your thing
I am not in this world to
live up to your expectations,
and you are not in this world to
live up to mine.
You are you
and I am I
and if by chance we find each other,
it's beautiful.
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[20 Apr 2009|06:32pm]
http://www.tampabay.com/features/humaninterest/article750838.ece

It's a newspaper article.  It won the Pulitzer for journalism.  I'd heard the story reported, but I never knew much of the details.  It's heartbreaking, but an amazing read, and fills you with hope at the end.
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[27 Mar 2009|01:43am]
"The Crickets Have Arthritis"
Shane Koyczan

It doesn't matter why I was there, where the air is sterile and the sheets sting. It doesn't matter that I was hooked up to this thing that buzzed and beeped every time my heart leaped like a man who's faith tells him God's hands are big enough to catch an airplane, or a world. It doesn't matter that I was curled up like a fist protesting death, or that every breath was either hard labour or hard time, or that I'm either always too hot or too cold. Doesn't matter because my hospital roommate wears star wars pajamas, and he's 9 years old. His name is Louis, and I don't have to ask what he's got. The bald head with the skin and bones frame speaks volumes. The gameboy and the feather pillow booms like they're trying to make him feel at home because he's going to be here awhile.

I manage a smile the first time I see him and it feels like the biggest lie I have ever told, so I hold my breath cos I'm thinking any minute now he's going to call me on it. I hold my breath because I'm scared of a 57 pound boy hooked up to a machine because he's been watching me and maybe I've got him pegged all wrong, like maybe he's bionic or some shit. So I look away like just I made eye contact with a gang member who's got a rap sheet the length of a lecture on dumb mistakes politicians have made. I look away like he's going to give me my life back the moment I've got something to trade. I damn near pull out my pack and say, "Cigarette?"

But my fear subsides in the moment I realize Louis is all show and tell. He's got everything from a shotgun shell to a crow's foot and he can put them all in context. Like, "See, this is from a shooting range", and "See, this is from a weird girl". I watch his hands curl around a cuff-link and a tie-tack and realize that every nick-nack is a treasure and every treasure has a story, and every time I think I can't handle more he hits me with another story. He says, "See, this is from my father" "See, this is from my brother" "See, this is from that weird girl" "See, this is from my mother". Took me about two days to figure out that weird girl is his sister, it took him about two hours today after she left for him to figure out he missed her. And they visit every day, and stay well past visiting hours because for them that term doesn't apply. But when they do leave, Louis and I are left alone. And he says, "The worst part about being sick is that you get all the free ice cream you ask for." And he says, "The worst part about that is realizing there is nothing more they can do for you." He says, "Ice cream can't make everything okay."

And there is no easy way of asking, and I know what he's going to say but maybe he just needs to say it, so I ask him anyway. "Are you scared?" Louis doesn't even lower his voice when he says, "Fuck yeah." I listen to a 9 year old boy say the word fuck like he was a 30 year old man with a nose-bleed being lowered into a shark tank, he's got a right to it. And if it takes this kid a curse word to help him get through it, then I want to teach him to swear like the devil's sitting there taking notes with a pen and a pad. But before I can forget that Louis is 9 years old he says, "Please don't tell my dad."

He asks me if I believe in angels. And before I realize I don't have the heart to tell him, I tell him, "Not lately." and I just lay there waiting for him to hate me. But he doesn't know how to, so he never does. Louis loves like a man who lived in a time before God gave religion to men and left it to them to figure out what hate was. He never greets me with silence, only smiles and a patience I've never seen in someone who knows they're dying. And I'm trying so hard not to remind him I'll be out of here in a couple days, smoking cigarettes and taking my life for granted. And he'll still be planted in this bed like a flower that refuses to grow. I've been with him for 5 days and all I really know is that Louis loves to pull feathers out of his pillow, and watch them float to the ground. Almost as if he's the philosopher inside of the scientist ready to say, "It's gravity that's been getting us down."

The truth is: there's not enough miracles to go around, kid. And there's too many people petitioning God for the winning lotto ticket. And for every answered prayer, there's a cricket with arthritis. And the only reason we can't find answers is because the search party didn't invite us, and Louis, right now the crickets have arthritis. So there is no music, no symphony of nature swelling to crescendos, as if ripping halos into melodies that can keep a rhythm with the way our hearts beat. So we must meet silence with the same level of noise that the parents of dying 9 year old boys make when they take liberties in talking with heaven. We must shout until we shatter in our own vibrations, then let our lives echo and grow, echo and grow, grow distant. Grow distant enough to know that as far as our efforts go, we don't always get a reply.

But I swear to whatever God I can find in the time I have left, I'm going to remember you kid. I'm going to tell your story as often as every story you told me. And every time I tell it I'll say, "See, there's bravery in this world. There's 6.5 billion people curled up like fists protesting death, but every breath we breathe has to be given back. A 9 year old boy taught me that." So hold your breath, the same way you'd hold a pen when writing Thank You letters on your skin to every tree that gave you that breath to hold. And then let it go, as if you understand something about getting old and having to give back. Let it go like a laugh attack in the middle of really good sex, the black eye will be worth it. Because what is your night worth without a story to tell? And why wield a word like worth if you've got nothing to sell?

People drop pennies down a wishing well, so the cost of a desire is equal to that of a thought. But if you've got expectations, expect others have bought your exact same dream for the price of a 'hard work, hang in, hold on' mentality. Like, I accept any challenge so challenge me. Like, I brought a knife to this gun fight, but the other night I mugged a mountain so bring that shit, I've had practise. Louis and I cracked this world wide open and found that the prize inside is we never lied to ourselves. Never told ourselves that we'd be easy or undemanding. So we sing in our own vibration, and dare angels to eavesdrop and stop midflight to pluck feathers from their wings and write demands that God's hands take the time to catch you. So, even if God doesn't, it wasn't because we didn't try.

I don't often believe in angels, but on the day I left Louis pulled a feather from his pillow and said, "This is for you." I half expected him to say, "See, this is the first one I grew."
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[21 Mar 2009|09:44pm]
"For Eli"
Andrea Gibson

Eli came back from Iraq
and tattooed a teddy bear onto the inside of his wrist
above that a medic with an IV bag
above that an angel
but Eli says the teddy bear won't live
and I know I don't know but I say, "I know"
cause Eli's only twenty-four and I've never seen eyes
further away from childhood than his
eyes old with a wisdom
he knows I'd rather not have
Eli's mother traces a teddy bear onto the inside of my arm
and says, "not all casualties come home in body bags"
and I swear
I'd spend the rest of my life writing nothing
but the word light at the end of this tunnel
if I could find the fucking tunnel
I'd write nothing but white flags
somebody pray for the soldiers
somebody pray for what's lost
somebody pray for the mailbox
that holds the official letters
to the mothers,
--------------fathers,
--------------------sisters,
and little brothers
of Micheal 19... Steven 21... John 33
how ironic that their deaths sound like bible verses
the hearse is parked in the halls of the high school
recruiting black, brown and poor
while anti-war activists
outside walter reed army hospital scream
100, 000 slain
as an amputee on the third floor
breathes forget-me-nots onto the window pain
but how can we forget what we never knew
our sky is so perfectly blue it's repulsive
somebody tell me where god lives
cause if god is truth god doesn't live here
our lies have seared the sun too hot to live by
there are ghosts of kids who are still alive
touting M16s with trembling hands
while we dream ourselves stars on Survivor
another missile sets fire to the face in the locket
of a mother who's son needed money for college
and she swears she can feel his photograph burn
how many wars will it take us to learn
that only the dead return
the rest remain forever caught between worlds of
shrapnel shatters body of three year old girl
to
welcome to McDonalds can I take your order?
the mortar of sanity crumbling
stumbling back home to a home that will never be home again
Eli doesn't know if he can ever write a poem again
one third of the homeless men in this country are veterans
and we have the nerve to Support Our Troops
with pretty yellow ribbons
while giving nothing but dirty looks to their outstretched hands
tell me what land of the free
sets free its eighteen-year-old kids into greedy war zones
hones them like missiles
then returns their bones in the middle of the night
so no one can see
each death swept beneath the carpet and hidden like dirt
each life a promise we never kept
Jeff Lucey came back from Iraq
and hung himself in his parents basement with a garden hose
the night before he died he spent forty five minutes on his fathers lap
rocking like a baby
rocking like daddy, save me
and don't think for a minute he too isn't collateral damage
in the mansions of washington they are watching them burn
and hoarding the water
no senators' sons are being sent out to slaughter
no presidents' daughters are licking ashes from their lips
or dreaming up ropes to wrap around their necks
in case they ever make it home alive
our eyes are closed
america
there are souls in
the boots of the soldiers
america
fuck your yellow ribbon
you wanna support our troops
bring them home
and hold them tight when they get here
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[16 Mar 2009|01:40am]
He always loved riding in the back of trucks.This is how it should be, he thought.  Gazing backward moving forward, dirty from the day, the wind playing with his hair as he thought back on his youth.
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[20 Feb 2009|02:44pm]
 She was dis - covered on January 7th, '76, or years before by savage animals,
in the darkness of these barbarous cannibals
the darkened red devils with such horrible nature
of killing with out thought - it is from them that we should take her
liberate her emancipate her - but look at how her weight shifts
she is pregnant! Swollen now belly ripe for the harvest
off the branch they thrust inside her
the heathen devils went and plied her
to their will, dark like their skin
the only white their wicked grins

We'll kill them off and free our Mary
in the woods our adversaries
burden her with weight to carry
on her pregnant back.  
She's crying now, she's crying out
we're flying now to ease her pain
her captors scatter - machine gun chatter
the voice of wrath our God has lain.

She's lying there, our maiden
no longer virginal or sacred
it was their child in her laden
she's crying out as water's breaking
now push angel, you're nearly there
we pray for passage free from pain
not of these child, but of yourself
your spacious skies and waves of grain!

Do we kill the child, born of sin?
Do we cast him out, or take him in?
Her contractions now more frequent
Decide now, before we meet it
this rotten fruit born from seeds of rape
 cannot live in a world we create
Look!  Her breath has stopped,
someone quickly go revive her!
Not me, I'm busy with other things
like how to kill the thing inside her
A darkened smudge shall never prosper-
Oh God, the blood it's black as pitch
spews forth from every orifice
I can no longer recognize
the amber pools that were her eyes
the autumn red that was her hair
the small freckles adorned on skin so fair-
that demon took her! It's he I blame
Our lady will not die in vain
Quick, nurse, remove the tumor
from her belly, it consumed her
well I'm ready, that child dies
the moment he has left to womb
we'll be done with it and start anew

Nurse!  Why do you retreat? 
Come back, you do not have to flee!
It's just a child, a little clump of meat!
I suppose It now falls upon me -
Why, the baby's here! You're done!
You did your job and yet you run!

I thought her silly then, and turned
and in an instant understood her fright
For the sun came out, illuminating
a newborn girl with skin of white.



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[20 Feb 2009|02:30pm]
 The hair does not grow everywhere like it always used to do
the herd is thinning daily, be it from the aging or the scar tissue
and it's not the thought of dying in so much that I take issue with
as it's the thought of losing youth that sends me into these angry fits
as it's the thought of losing you that makes these tears fall from my eyes at night
at least I'm feeling something though 'cause that's a step into the right
direction, a resurrection that will not take place upon a cross
unlike him it takes longer than three days to make these stains come off
and unlike him who loved his bondsmen and the world that shown him scorn
I scorn the lovers, not for insult, but for their role that I have never worn
It is not animosity, but envy lust and greed that feed the furnace
and in earnest, it's for my health that I scream out to thee
I don't want to die, but right now I do not know how to live
or how to cope with setbacks and all the shit that I now wallow in
I swallow it and beat it back with charm and funny anecdotes
that I pawn off as true to make you think I'm more than words I've wrote
and if I lie to you enough will you see me as something true
something you throw out like spoiled meat upon which mold has grew
into the trash with other garbage like "hope", "potential", and "just a phase"
Either let me be at peace in hell or help me get out of this place.
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[20 Feb 2009|02:24pm]
 She spread the love
or at least her legs

giving gratification for the quick sensation
physical realization with each ejaculation
giving others that elation hoping for manifestation
of the Lord my God inside her for she was sacred in his eyes
the only man who ever loved her
had a lance plunged in his side
"My god hath thou forsaken me"
the quote gave her such thoughts of doubt
when nature found of protestation
her smile widened and spoke aloud
the Ginsburg lines when said in time
made her one with the design

"I made love to myself
in the mirror, kissing my own lips,
saying 'I love myself,
I love you more than anybody.'"
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[20 Feb 2009|02:15pm]
Cambie

 The cross one bears
on one's bare back
the cause for care
is the size of the stack
and when the dice are good
it's the return of the mack
and when the dice fall wrong
you go from the palace to the shack
to the shed to the ditch
next to the addict an the witch
which is funny for a bit, as they remind you of your friends
a little worn, a little broken, but still a means to an end
you'll feel wanted by the glimmer girls
as long as you provide the pearls
the necklaces and rings of gold look good next to my jheri curl
as long as the money's good, and as long as the cowboys show
you should have won, but double aces tell you all that you will never know
now no glitz, no women, no more strangers callin you their "bro"
fake friends leave as true ones weep, so you give your cross a treat
pass the bag the spoon and lighter, gaze vacant as I start to tire
lying on the sheets with no shirt on sweating skin on fire
needles bins and barbs of wire feel deserved for a light blown out
smoke rises from the wick
the smoke is all that's left.
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[20 Feb 2009|02:14pm]
 

"Bedecked"
Victoria Redel

Tell me it’s wrong the scarlet nails my son sports or the toy
store rings he clusters four jewels to each finger.

He’s bedecked. I see the other mothers looking at the star
choker, the rhinestone strand he fastens over a sock.
Sometimes I help him find sparkle clip-ons when he says
sticker earrings look too fake.

Tell me I should teach him it’s wrong to love the glitter that a
boy’s only a boy who’d love a truck with a remote that revs,
battery slamming into corners or Hot Wheels loop-de-looping
off tracks into the tub.

Then tell me it’s fine - really - maybe even a good thing - a boy
who’s got some girl to him,
and I’m right for the days he wears a pink shirt on the seesaw in
the park.

Tell me what you need to tell me but keep far away from my son
who still loves a beautiful thing not for what it means -
this way or that - but for the way facets set off prisms and
prisms spin up everywhere
and from his own jeweled body he’s cast rainbows - made every
shining true color.

Now try to tell me - man or woman - your heart was ever once
that brave.


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[26 Jan 2009|03:20pm]
"How To Watch Your Brother Die"
Michael Lassell

For Carl Morse

When the call comes, be calm.
Say to your wife, "My brother is dying. I have to fly
to California."
try not to be shocked that he already looks like
a cadaver.
Say to the young man sitting by your brother's side,
"I'm his brother."
Try not to be shocked when the young man says,
"I'm his lover. Thanks for coming."

Listen to the doctor with a steel face on.
Sign the necessary forms.
Tell the doctor you will take care of everything.
Wonder why doctors are so remote.

Watch the lover's eyes as they stare into
your brother's eyes as they stare into
space.
Wonder what they see there.
Remember the time he was jealous and
opened your eyebrow with a sharp stick.
Forgive him out loud
even if he can't
understand you.
Realize the scar will be
all that's left of him.

Over coffee in the hospital cafeteria
say to the lover, "You're an extremely good-looking
young man."
Hear him say,
"I never thought I was good enough looking to
deserve your brother."

Watch the tears well up in his eyes. Say,
"I'm sorry. I don't know what it means to be
the lover of another man."
Hear him say,
"Its just like a wife, only the commitment is
deeper because the odds against you are so much
greater."
Say nothing, but
take his hand like a brother's.

Drive to Mexico for unproven drugs that might
help him live longer.
Explain what they are to the border guard.
Fill with rage when he informs you,
"You can't bring those across."
Begin to grow loud.
Feel the lover's hand on your arm
restraining you. See in the guard's eye
how much a man can hate another man.
Say to the lover, "How can you stand it?"
Hear him say, "You get used to it."
Think of one of your children getting used to
another man's hatred.

Call your wife on the telephone. Tell her,
"He hasn't much time.
I'll be home soon." Before you hang up say,
"How could anyone's commitment be deeper than
a husband and a wife?" Hear her say,
"Please. I don't want to know all the details."

When he slips into an irrevocable coma,
hold his lover in your arms while he sobs,
no longer strong. Wonder how much longer
you will be able to be strong.
Feel how it feels to hold a man in your arms
whose arms are used to holding men.
Offer God anything to bring your brother back.
Know you have nothing God could possible want.
Curse God, but do not
abandon Him.

Stare at the face of the funeral director
when he tells you he will not
embalm the body for fear of
contamination. Let him see in your eyes
how much a man can hate another man.

Stand beside a casket covered in flowers,
white flowers. Say,
"thank you for coming," to each of seven hundred men
who file past in tears, some of them
holding hands. Know that your brother's life
was not what you imagined. Overhear two
mourners say, "I wonder who'll be next?" and
"I don't care anymore,
as long as it isn't you."

Arrange to take an early flight home.
His lover will drive you to the airport.
When your flight is announced say,
awkwardly, "If I can do anything, please
let me know." Do not flinch when he says,
"Forgive yourself for not wanting to know him
after he told you. He did."
Stop and let it soak in. Say,
"He forgave me, or he knew himself?"
"Both," the lover will say, not knowing what else
to do. Hold him like a brother while he
kisses you on the cheek. Think that
you haven't been kissed by a man since
your father died. Think,
"This is no moment to be strong."

Fly first class and drink Scotch. Stroke
your split eyebrow with a finger and
think of your brother alive. Smile
at the memory and think
how your children will feel in your arms
warm and friendly and without challenge.
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[23 Jan 2009|02:09am]
Untitled

I am sick and tired of being sick and tired.
Everyday I wake up and I feel without worth
Everyday I wake up and i love myself
Everyday I wake up only to stay in bed all day
Everyday I wake up and I want to save the world
But every day I wake, which is more than enough sometimes
For if I can somehow make the tough sublime
the rough subside without the crutch of time
I need the "now", not the "somedays" or the "ifs"
My life is asphalt-sidewalk definite, concrete
and its not stopping to let anything get off
I'm barreling through small businesses storefront windows
and watch - bums artists cop cars students dilettantes collide
buckle up and smile there's an endless blink to ride
and when eyes open I am hoping for a piece of mind
"poetry"  was written without much  aim or purpose
simply conveys emotions that are liable to surface
when im nervous in this circus where I endlessly perform
It's my profession and obsession as I parade with the procession
hoping for that smith& Wesson to make the pounding lessen
but not really - I'm not that trite. Although I might
give in to fright on every night that ends with "-day"
and I'd give an inch or take a mile depending on a certain way
a chain of being, once receding, is back with message to relay
It's not when or where or what but why and how that make you stay
amongst the ranks of good and gracious, cast out the angry and salacious
with darkness so pervasive you might swear that you could taste it
but it's bittersweet so spit it out and pray to God you slay
the devil that lives inside your soul so you can finally wake up

Wake up.  No cause for your alarm today. Kiss your lover on the arm
pack your bags and out the door no time to waste Wake up Wake up Wake up
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[23 Jan 2009|01:39am]

"Slow Children at Play"
Cecilia Woloch

All the quick children have gone inside, called
by their mothers to hurry-up-wash-your-hands
honey-dinner’s-getting-cold, just-wait-till-your-father-gets-home-

and only the slow children out on the lawns, marking off
paths between fireflies, making soft little sounds with their mouths, ohs,
that glow and go out and glow. And their slow mothers flickering,
pale in the dusk, watching them turn in the gentle air, watching them
twirling, their arms spread wide, thinking, These are my children, thinking,
Where is their dinner? Where has their father gone?

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[17 Jan 2009|05:43pm]
Israel is breaking my heart.

http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=O3ygm52yKEM&feature=related

http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=PRBISTsfY4E&feature=related

http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=qMGuYjt6CP8&feature=related

http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=qsCJWRvJOG8&feature=related

http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=zIQZ1-RFq6A

http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=74DfOGErKwg&feature=related

http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=IIpvrOJQ0J0

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[19 Nov 2008|01:29am]
"Photograph"
Andrea Gibson

I wish I was a photograph
tucked into the corners of your wallet
I wish I was a photograph
you carried like a future in your back pocket
I wish I was that face you show to strangers
when they ask you where you come from
I wish I was that someone that you come from
every time you get there
and when you get there
I wish I was that someone who got phone calls
and postcards saying
wish you were here
I wish you were here
autumn is the hardest season
the leaves are all falling
and they're falling like they're falling in love with the ground
and the trees are naked and lonely
I keep trying to tell them
new leaves will come around in the spring
but you can't tell trees those things
they're like me they just stand there
and don't listen
I wish you were here
I've been missing you like crazy
I've been hazy eyed
staring at the bottom of my glass again
thinking of that time when it was so full
it was like we were tapping the moon for moonshine
or sticking straws into the center of the sun
and sipping like icarus would forever kiss
the bullets from our guns
I never meant to fire you know
I know you never meant to fire lover
I know we never meant to hurt each other
now the sky clicks from black to blue
and dusk looks like a bruise
I've been wrapping one night stands
around my body like wedding bands
but none of them fit in the morning
they just slip off my fingers and slip out the door
and all that lingers is the scent of you
I once swore if I threw that scent into a wishing well
all the wishes in the world would come true
do you remember
do you remember the night I told you
I've never seen anything more perfect than
than snow falling in the glow of a street light
electricity bowing to nature
mind bowing to heartbeat
this is gonna hurt bowing to I love you
I still love you like moons love the planets they circle around
like children love recess bells
I still hear the sound of you
and think of playgrounds
where outcasts who stutter
beneath braces and bruises and acne
are finally learning that their rich handsome bullies
are never gonna grow up to be happy
I think of happy when I think of you
so wherever you are I hope you're happy
I really do
I hope the stars are kissing your cheeks tonight
I hope you finally found a way to quit smoking
I hope your lungs are open and breathing your life
I hope there's a kite in your hand
that's flying all the way up to orion
and you still got a thousand yards of string to let out
I hope you're smiling
like god is pulling at the corners of your mouth
cause I might be naked and lonely
shaking branches for bones
but I'm still time zones away
from who I was the day before we met
you were the first mile
where my heart broke a sweat
and I wish you were here
I wish you'd never left
but mostly I wish you well
I wish you my very very best
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[15 Nov 2008|06:25pm]

Beaten Over Karaoke Performance

Cops: Wisconsin man battered singer over lousy heavy metal cover

NOVEMBER 12--Meet Kyle Drinkwine. The Wisconsin man, 24, allegedly became so incensed by a lackluster karaoke performance of a heavy metal song that he assaulted the singer and a second man, police charge. According to a River Falls Police Department report, Drinkwine throttled singer James Mischler, 28, and his friend Cyrus Kozub, 29, "over one's ability to sing karaoke." Though cops did not specify which song set Drinkwine off last week, Kozub told TSG that Mischler was performing "Holy Diver," the title cut on Dio's 1983 debut album (the band is fronted by Ronnie James Dio, the former Black Sabbath lead singer). [In a subsequent interview, Mischler told TSG that when Drinkwine and some cronies started heckling him, he responded with a putdown about the "big gaudy crucifix" worn by Drinkwine. "I told him he should find a better vending machine for his jewelry," Mischler recalled, adding that the comment angered the heckler, who himself had earlier performed an Eminem song. Mischler said he was concerned about reports claiming that he did a mocking version of "Holy Diver." "I genuinely love Ronnie James Dio," he said.] Following the assaults, police apprehended Drinkwine after a short foot chase. A subsequent Breathalyzer test recorded his blood alcohol content at .169, more than twice the state limit. Drinkwine was booked into the Pierce County Jail on battery and disorderly conduct counts. He is pictured below in a November 7 mug shot snapped in neighboring St. Croix County, where he was charged with violating probation on a prior case. Though Drinkwine declined to speak with cops following his arrest, an officer overheard him, during a jail phone call, tell a friend he "fucked up" and was arrested for fighting. This is the second time in 15 months that a karaoke singer has been attacked over their song styling. Last August, a Washington man was punched by a female bar patron who thought his cover of "Yellow," a Coldplay song, "really sucked."
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[04 Nov 2008|10:02pm]
Hope.
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