The best thing about life, Is knowing you put it together

"They look like big strong hands... don't they?"

Water rolls down the skin like tiny beads..
Eyes close so that they might see.
Illum tangendo (touching him)
This sun is a star in someone else's sky
Illum tangendo (touching him)
This moon is making someone cry...
Illum tangendo (touching him)

Captain PirateFace say's "Ahoy!"

Captain PirateFace say's "Ahoy!"
Updated by, Captain PirateFace

The Captain

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This is not an Exit

Never Say Die!!!





























"the tigers have found me
and I do not care."

Charles Bukowski

there is no fear here

there is no fear here
there is a fear here

Sunday, January 21, 2007

He bangs his fists against the posts, but still insists he sees the ghost's

Loneliness

Loneliness is like a rain.
It raises from the sea towards the evenings;
from plains that are far and remote,
it goes to heaven, that always has it.
And only from the skies does it fall on the city.

Pours down in the twilight hours,
when all streets turn towards morning
and all bodies, which have found nothing,
leave each other, sad and let down;
and when people who hate each other,
have to sleep together in one bed:

then loneliness goes with the rivers…


R.M. Rilke,
21st September 1902, Paris


She said to me...
"You bring out the worst in me..."
__________________________________________________________


Had a rough weekend of manic breakdowns... (My poor wife got the brunt of it... she is a saint to deal with me.) Lots of anxiety and anger... always finishing up with severe depression. I made a weird statement today and I think it may be an entire truth, During one of my "rants" I told Gina I cannot write in the daytime. It sounds odd but I think it may be true. I carry around a notebook and rarely inspiration will hit during daylight hours. An inspired sentence may escape my thoughts but that is usually it. But, come nightfall my mind erupts like a diseased volcano. My "mean" moods have subsided for now, though now I am left with a deep depression. And, it's very hard to ask the woman you love to hold you and comfort you after you have been a bastard. So... I remain the lonely prick I deserve to be.

Here is some recommended listening for tonight...

1. Nine Inch Nails - the mark has been made
2. The Arcade Fire - Black Wave / Bad Vibrations
3. Bright Eyes - Theme to Pinata
4. explosions in the sky - six days at the bottom of the ocean
5. Gus Gus - Is Jesus your pal?
6. Tool - Sober
7. Tv on the radio - wolf like me
8. trust obey - a murder of crows
9. R.E.M. - night swimming
10. Bad Astronaut - the 13th step

on with the whiny whaa whaa's.
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The rabid thief that died for your sins

When I was a young man.
I troubled the world.
The blood still embedded in the skin on my hands.
The wicked violence and the uncontrolled lust.
I broke the hearts…
the souls…
the jaws…
the hymens.
Nightmares still visit me in the form of ruthless flashbacks.
I can’t kill my past or the devil I had become.
I drank fire and abused my body with white powders.
Even now, the good deeds done daily…
cannot kill that bad karma that will haunt me until the end of time.


The thought process

Sometimes I sit for hours in front of this machine.
I sit and tremble.
Sometimes I get sidetracked.
Laughing at things.
Looking for porn.
Sometimes I write…
yeah, it’s been known to happen.
Sometimes I erase all I have written that night.
And, sometimes I should have.
Every once in a while… almost nightly…
I cry.
This six foot three, two hundred ninety five pound man…
slumps over in his plastic chair and sobs.
Even with the mood I am in now I can’t help but laugh at that last line.
Sometimes I die a little with what I give.
Sometimes I hope certain people will read certain things…
fall more in love with me, hate me, laugh, cry…
and sometimes I will never know how it affected them, if at all.
Sometimes I want to give up.
Writing.
Life.
Marriage.
but never being a dad.
I hope this is entertaining someone…
Because when I take a second to look back on it, it just makes me sad.
And I hope it is worth something to somebody.


a phone call

the voice reach’s through the line and chokes my throat.
the voice calls forth tears and sobbing and begging.
the line goes dead.
and I already begin to forget how she sounds.
the way she would sound in a whisper.
the line is silent but for a faint echo of my own voice.
I hang up the phone.
I silently pray that I will never get a phone call again.


how to go coma

We repeat the mistakes we have blindly stumbled through once before.
like begging her to say my name one last time,
again and again…
I remember transforming from boy-coward to vicious bloodthirsty bastard to man-coward.
I would lure in the victim and show them.
I had nine lives and spent all but one and the one I have is almost a laugh.
No midnight, doom button pushing.
No chasing the shadows and fighting the darkness as strangers looked on in nervous panic.
I am now a seething, sneering man-weapon.
With… no trigger in sight.


late night and empty photo albums

I think of all the moments I have yet to lie about.
Parts of my past that don’t yet exist.
People that will have loved me…
People that have died for me…
That have never existed.
Rainstorms that have never shed a raindrop.
Lies I am all too willing to craft.
So often…
I cannot recall what was real anymore.

She used to hold my hand.

They say things change.
I never thought that would apply to her.
Then again so have I.
The change in me has brought about the change in her.
My awkward and troubled spirit…
has broken hers.
She used to hold my hand.
She used to say she loved me.
She used to look me in the eyes and respond with a smile.
I have ruined her.
An unforgivable offense.
I have tore the wings from an angel…
and caged her inside these walls with a madman.
I know that we will at least suffer well,
together.


Sleep

I almost can’t sleep anymore.
almost.
I fall asleep fully dressed on those nights I need to and want to stay awake.
But most nights are dedicated to wide eyed empty time.
And the clock counts down hour by hour to the time I have to wake up.
When will I grow the hell up?

the weighed down

The days always begins with a long shower in the pitch black.
Sitting on the floor, hot water a makeshift blanket.
Urging me back to sleep and inevitably…
late for work.
The day follows with criticism and harassment…
the biting of the lip until the pain is just too much.
And this new term of “To live, one must suffer through work”, becomes a new life motto.
The day ends with a pitiless welcome home and more criticism and harassment.
The day ends into night and all is well, alone and at peace for the few hours until we set alarms to do it all again…
I can see the future,
and the morning looks like shit.




Goodnight...

Captain PirateFace

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How can you save me when you can't save yourself?

"nothing can save
you
except
writing.
it keeps the walls
from
failing."

Charles Bukowski