March 26, 2013
so what!
So, I haven’t posted in a while… So What?
I have no skin, but a basketful of protections from the sun and I am waiting for the coffee to brew at 4:43 pm. What I have in my cup is cold and coffee isn’t meant to be enjoyed cold – no matter what you or your fancy coffee iced lattes think. For coffee to be anygood cold it has to be brewed with a double batch of grounds and served over ice – even then I cannot stand it but normal coffee ice cold is no good, damn you and your alternate opinions. This is where the advantage goes to tea – I pour a hot cup of tea and drink some, forgetting about it for awhile and when I return to it it has become cold as forgotten things do – but I can drink it regardless of this as tea can be served hot or cold at the same strength.
advantage: Tea – but I enjoy coffee more and it is why I smoke now – to further enhance the coffee experience out in my garage where there is no organization but an ashtray and my motorcycle. Also a BB Gun to shoot raccoons in the ass when they get too friendly.
I just finished a Novel where one of the secondary characters suffers the same mental aberration as I and as where I can normally identify with my characters like this I found this character to be a reflection of popular symptoms and not reality – or his mental depravity was too close to home and I divorced my mental aspect from his. In the end the book wasn’t very good and failed to live up to the promise that the authors previous work had made. Now I am rereading “Dream Songs” by the one and only, John Berryman. This is never a let down no matter how many times I read them.
coffee, cigarettes and waiting
I am staring at this black piece of paper
with four poems waiting to be written;
drinking coffee but
wonting for something else entirely.
my ears are dirty with grime
and later I’ll shower.
right now I am not adjacent to godliness
but God doesn’t drink coffee
or smoke endless cigarettes turning on the next line.
my poetry isn’t in vogue at present
and I cannot support what is.
Bukowski imitators.
and I am going gray;
easily depressed by these rejections,
waiting for more coffee to brew
so I can kill myself
with these several cigarettes
or maybe a gun.
– Hoc Scripsi
February 12, 2013
Sylvia – parts 1 and 2
Sylvia part 1
I listen to your voice,
late November,
reliving a moment long
worn away by time’s
passing
and memory.
did you mean to see it out,
taste of poison
fruits? or come
back.
all questions lingering
and a scar,
a very real scar,
traces round our heart,
I’ll show you if you come to see.
no charge,
no heart beats like ours
out of the ash, we sift
and sift, but find
no more
no phoenix burning
the midnight air.
Suicide – Sylvia part two
February, 11 2013
you are gone today
fifty years gone
left,
without a word
after
a lifetime of words
each neatly arranged
each carefully reviewed
a life meticulously considered
but
you no longer suffer
and
your pain ended
I wonder what your last words were
who they were to
a goodbye and kissing your children
perhaps
a goodbye and that is all
how are we to mourn
each passing hour
is a passing day
and this just another
poem
about your death
which you couldn’t write
anymore
you staggered
and saw it out
confessional until the last
asleep
on a pillow
the sun rising to meet its
worshiper.
– Hoc Scripsi
July 29, 2010
Sunflowers
Van Gogh, 120 years dead by his own quarrel with life lost.
Recently I was at the Chicago Art Institute and stood in front of The Bedroom – breaking tears as he is the only painter that can make me weep with a stroke from his brush. His genius and madness is evident on every square centimeter of canvass.
I have never seen his final painting, Wheat Field with Crows, and wish to stand long in sight of it, I am convinced that I will understand when it the presence of this masterwork. A good reason to visit Amsterdam.
it’s Thursday
woke up this morning and it was pouring rain, welcoming spring I slept in
late late. I had dreams that although I was married with a boy and my age,
I was naked in High School, but in dream I really didn’t care.
My older brother hit me in the head with a golf club,
while I was six, according to my mother,
broke open my skull,
according to the golf club.
Now I blame him for everything. like the instability.
– Hoc Scripsi
April 17, 2010
This morning
Spending the morning listening to vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionplot by Sparklehorse, which was Mark Linkous, who shot himself through his heart earlier this year. See this post for more about that. But this morning I am listening and saddened that he was in so much pain that it came to that.
Most people I admire have committed suicide or lived so dangerously/recklessly that their death might as well been considered a suicide. This makes me worry unnecessarily for the people I admire that are still alive, but there are not many I admire and saying all are suicides is misstating the truth. Some have died as old men/women though not many.
The poem was written for my son.
the sun hides
for Jackson
the sun hides
behind clouds &
cold wind
but
wishes
to
shine down on
my garden
for the flowers
– Hoc Scrips
Horribly tired today. Jackson got me up before six to play and look up information on Box Jellyfish – which I have learned I should be referring to them as Box Sea Jellies now as they are not fish and this was what J really wanted to know.
the platitudes of willful resemblance 