Scribble

Scribble

NYC #12

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There are many forms

Of education/s

Lying aching on a lumpy couch

After clearing tables and washing dishes

For strangers’ celebrations

Wanting to thrust a juvenile twitching brain

Into the consuming oblivion of excess libations

Slowly shedding these snake skins

Of a spoiled, debaucherous adolescence and petty adulations

Sticky film of sweat, berating voices, lacerating films

Of the past and a banal existence mixing with jackhammer

Invasions and pulsing temptations pernicious persuasions

Go jack off and eat dollar pizza you privileged red-headed caucasian

Succumb to the easy evasions oh you think you’re patient?

An undiagnosed patient? You think anyone cares you’re alone here in fear

Craving and raging? Or about your ruminations and frustrations and

Fulminations? The doubts and dead ends of your scribbling and wandering

Vocation? This couch is a lazy contracting contagion and spiritual stagnation

Get up you withering, bitter bastard before you

 

Now I’m lying in an empty park at midnight before a graduation

And the grass is cool, breeze from the river refreshing, and I’m weeping and I

Tell myself to try and let myself enjoy this brief sensation

This small step forward, a steady gradation, towards a vision of creation

Years and frontiers to go but breathe in this rising elation

Before I get up and go home and tomorrow morning

Receive a piece of paper that looks like a PowerPoint slide

Made in five minutes for academic accreditation.

 


 

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Insomnia #15

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There are lifetimes

Contained in breaths

Cycles and seasons

Of birth and death

Can these mortal passing thoughts

Be merely electrical signals caught?

Briefly, instantaneously

Between the scattered synapses

Billions of electrical field gradients

Shining as varied patterns bent

As magnetic resonance images

Are anxiety and hope only the blinking battery messages?

Joy and despair chemical scrimmages?

Limitless combinations of reflective cinemas

How can these electric mazes be

Conscious of the game and change the game maybe they only

Tame or frame categorize reality to maintain, stay sane?

I should close the curtain because I’m certain

I won’t be able to sleep with the neighbor’s light

Another labored electrical device

Affecting my fading sight

I might just close my eyes tight

That’s right all right don’t fight just listen to the

Sounds of the night.

 
 
 
 
 

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Pro-(Re)cess Vs. Res-(Ad)ults

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You can only celebrate

And dance for so long

On the summit

Of the Mt. you long

To reach.

So you might as well

Learn to savor

The taste of dirt

And the texture of rocks

For all the times you

Face plant

On the way

Up.

 
 


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Paris #2

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Canal Saint-Martin

 

Wisps of fading smoke

Above crowded and noisy tables

Of an outdoor café

 

Dusty streaks of fading sunlight

Through the avenues’ trees

Laughter and shouts

Philosophical banter and drunken bouts

 

As night takes the day

 


 

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(C)rap Battle #6

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All’s use do iz

Spit nursery rhymes

Go out wit friends and nurse coronas wit limes

Talkin bout the good ol’ crimes

You committed with hats that were fitted

Bats + trumpet taps for the afflicted, pope’s-a-joke + hope-for-dope addicted

Made sure you didn’t choke and the teacher’s apple was pitted

Look widget kid with a tidbit what’s widdit?

I told you: always wear ya hand-knitted mittens

When it’s cold n you quit the band n you playin quidditch

Hermione’s a dime

(Not by the dozen cuzin I wasn’t fuzzin or buzzin)

Taking all the classes grasping hourglasses going back in time

She in it

Now it’s time to quit it

When you holdin the snitch but you snitchin

Ditch ya LIT class with the bathroom pass

They wonderin if you shittin or splittin







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Buddhism Caveat #21

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“If not

Now…

When?”

-Zen Kōan

 

In a week when I receive

My shitty paycheck from my shitty job

Which I took out of desperation

Because I have five children to feed

Because my religion doesn’t believe

In contraception and I thought my

Neighbor was pretty

When I was young and reckless so we

Had sex many times because that is what humans like to

Do and love and now the babies are crying

Because they’re hungry and my boss is going to fire me

Because I don’t sleep

And I’m not productive enough at the office

And my life is hell.

 


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Paris #5

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(For the English Translation, See below. Special thanks to Bertrand Hauger-Enard for the editorial suggestions.)

 

La beau, le célébré, l’aimé

Le riche, le confortable, le puissant,

L’artiste, Le talentueux,

Le génie qui se pend

Au milieu de la nuit

 

L’obscur, le solitaire, le moche,

Le pauvre, la malade,

Une âme qui trouve un moyen de se réveiller

Le matin, riant et allant au travail

 

Chacun a des attentes différentes de ce que leur vie devrait être.

Et chacun a ses propres façons/moments/parties de sa personnalité et de

Son experience qui les aident à avancer.

 

C’est peut-être

Miex

D’être bon dans la vie

Que

D’avoir une bonne vie

 

 


 

 

The beautiful, celebrated, loved

Rich, comfortable, powerful,

Artistic, Talented

Genius who hangs themself

In the middle of the night.

 

The obscure, lonely

Ugly, poor, sick

Soul who somehow finds a way to wake up

In the morning, laugh, and go to work.

 

Everyone has different expectations of what their life should be.

And everyone has different ways/moments/parts of their

Personality and experience which help them get through.

 

Perhaps

It is better

To be good at life

Than

To have a good life

 


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Paris #7

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English Translation Below

Thanks to Bertrand Hauger-enard / Riddley Walker

 

Hier, au petit-déjeuner

J’ai bu un expresso, mangé un pain au chocolat puis

 J’ai pris un train SNCF, un bien joli train.

 

Malgré l’achat d’un billet,

Je me suis assis sur le sol,

Car il ne restait plus de places.

 

Après la quiche pour le déjenuer

J’ai manqué mon train

Mais j’ai pris le suivant sans billet

Et je n’ai pas été dérangé et j’ai pris un siege.

 

J’ai parlé avec un Haïtien étudiant

En économie à la Sorbonne.

Nous avons convenu que Paris est trés jolie.

 

Dans le metro, pendant que je mange une baquette

Et que je bois mon quatrième expresso

Un sans-abri au visage en décomposition me saisit par l’épaule

Et dit: DONNE MOI ÇA, JE SUIS COMME TOI !

 

Plus tard, j’ai lu de la poésie pour la première fois à La Recyclerie

Situé à côté d’un KFC. C’était sympa. J’ai commondé un whisky coca,

Mail il n’y avait pas de coca, je l’ai donc bu avec du soda au gingembre.

Beaucoup de gens fumaient à l’extérieur et il y avait des cabines privées.

 

Dans le RER du retour, j’ai vu un homme ivre crier après une femme :

TU EST JOLI ! La femme a ri : Tu est gentil

Puis l’homme m’a donné un coup de coude au visage en disant :

Désolé, aide-moi, ourvre la fenêtre.

J’ai ouvert la fenêtre pour qu’il puisse fumer.

 

En rentrant à la maison, j’ai écouté Orelsan au casque puis j’ai dormi 12 heures.

 

Au matin, on a frappa à ma porte. Un homme en uniforme m’a tendu une carte et a dit :

Nous vous surveillons, vous et votre de vie, depuis un peu moins de 5 mois.

Voici votre carte de citoyenneté.

Bienvenue en France.

 


 

Yesterday, during breakfast

I drank an expresso and eat a pain au chocolat

Then I took the SNCF train, a nice train.

 

Despite buying a ticket

I sat on the floor

Because there were no more seats left.

 

After quiche for lunch

I missed my train

But I took the next one without a ticket

And I wasn’t bothered. I had a seat.

 

During the ride I talked with a Haitian student

Who was studying economics at The Sorbonne.

We agreed that Paris is a very pretty city.

 

At the metro, while I eat a baguette and drank my 4th expresso,

A homeless man with a decaying face grabbed my shoulder and yelled:

GIVE ME THAT! I AM JUST LIKE YOU!

 

Later, I read my poetry for the first time at La Recyclerie,

Which is next to a K.F.C.

It was nice.

I ordered a whiskey and coke, but they didn’t have coke,

So I had a whiskey and ginger ale instead.

There were lots of people smoking outside and there were private booths.

 

On the RER train back home I saw a drunk man yell at a woman,

“YOU ARE PRETTY.” She laughed and replied, “You are kind.”

Then the man elbowed me in the face and said,

“Sorry, help me, open the window.”

I opened the window so he could smoke.

 

Walking home, I listened to Orelsan on my headphones then slept 12 hours.

 

In the morning there was a knock on my door.

A man in a uniform handed me a card.

“We have been watching you and your lifestyle for just under 5 months.

Here is your citizen card.

Welcome to France.”

 


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NYC #13

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I’ve thought about writing this poem for months.

I don’t know why. It’s only a split second

When I’m on my bed

On Staten Island

Sweaty and tired

With the window open

She passes me her cigarette

And as I take it

We make eye contact and her

Face in the shadows, a slight frown

Eyes bleary, teary? Don’t know, should know

Her mouth open a little

She’s a bartender near where I work

But she also lives on the island

Was born and raised like shit

By a schizophrenic mother

On the island, she left home at 16

Her younger brother only dates MILFs

She enjoys her job

She has raw intelligence and reads long books

We had some adventures together

Walks in parks, gritty bars, mediocre museums, late-night drives

But in this moment I know it is

The end and I think she does too

And I know I will pay for this in one way or another

And I think I’m still paying

But after this moment I look out the window

And I hear the shower turn on and

Five minutes later

Before she’s finished

I’m asleep.

 


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Just Another Stranger #7

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He is sitting across from me

On the stalled subway

Sunday morning: 1:45am

Unshaven, bulging cheeks

Bags beneath the dark eyes

Age 35-45

Black pants with food stains

Black shoes worn apart

Peeling leather, frayed laces

A Shake Shack baseball cap

A Williamstown Theatre Festival

Sweatshirt (W.T.F.)

A dirty blue backpack at his feet

His hands are clasped together, firmly

And his dark eyes are looking down

With a distant, contemplative stare

And I imagine him as

A hopeful actor

Dreaming of Broadway

Or Hollywood

Of shining lights and leading roles

For years through cramped apartments

Menial jobs, constricting poverty

Tumultuous and poisonous relationships

Forgotten sacrifices,

But he’s flipping burgers

For now

And waiting for that acting role

That will break him away

From burgers and late-night shifts

And stalled subway rides

Smelling like grease and sweat

But for now

He tells himself

Hold on

My time will come

Be patient

Hold on

I will wake up tomorrow

And keep going

Hold on

 


 

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