Glass

I thought about a man I met in Santa Fe

He encouraged me to be strong and sturdy and I became that for a while

Was able to walk many miles up hill for hours and never want to smoke a cigarette.



We came to talk about family one day and I was hoping and thinking all of this,

all of this work was going to have its big payday.
I was finally what they wanted: Trimmed hair.

Strong belly. Clear mind.


Meeting the cohorts and gemmed ladies, and feminine men...we sat in a room...
Watching the picture show, bore through with holes, melted circular browning spaces.
I could start to feel that day the chiseled space he manualy dug into my side.

They are angry because all I have left to say happy is...

8 hours of of snowfall, picture windows, certain yogic positions. And the legacy of weaving.

I know the tonality of his voice, I remember the day, I opened up my purple box on that high shelf next to my tiny refrigerator that had dust on it: My cave lit with fluroescence, the heater broken before I ever owned a cell phone. The expense of long distance...AT&T.

On the other end of that phone line someone, he, telling me my months were wrong, my body was confused and my heart works right in some other universe.

Thats when I started buying fragile objects at thrift stores. Old glass tea cups, brown and blue. Plates, ceramic cups...trash really. SMASH, CRASH! I liked to hear the sound of it on the stone floors. -- When you break glass you can never be sure if you get all the pieces. Sometimes they end up lodged in your bare foot weeks or months later; some memory or knowledge of that phone call stuck into my skin, covering the ground I walked on..

5-5-08

Rung after rung the bars slides under my hands, it pinches and grips tight as I face the top, pulling myself up
my minature sysiphian task
ending with hot oven metal scorching my thighs and calves.
my expression has not changed much since those days
there is no point to the hot iron burn and dirt stands under my nails
and the holes in my clothes, the paint stains in my hair.

stuff and numb with piss colored beverages, and quick filter light brand smokes
when i think like this
tonight every movement works it way down, the hair on my head soft clean
my hand reaches toward my neck, traces the minerals tied to it, and some image
floats inward...

deepest physical pain i know, strikes me repeatedly like bastard lightning.
i close my eyes and say aloud forget, forget.
the next sight: the funny colored image box, laughing tapes, and places i never visited.

untitled

I showered last night, this morning
Soaked and wet, my skin reveals
hand prints and movements circular and wide
recalling these flashes that beam inside my internal picture show.

your eyes dilate wide right in front of me
slivers of blue around dark black infinite circles

my mouth reaches for salty tastes the lines and marks on your skin

Hearing your stories you remark as boring, and I dive inside each one: seeing you
walking at twelve on a dirt road, buzzing sounds of insects and tall grasses
you maybe smiling or just looking off in the distant making the long haul
easier for your mind

Words fall so short in time.
they are useless for what my eyes and hands could tell you.
as they have started tatooing
movements and rhythms...
eyes and mouths making the syllables more clear
you have authored in this poem.

Out on the mesatop you can see for miles in everday direction
the descent of blue to light and gold the clouds painted out of some french masterpiece.
the rain soars down to the earth and the smell of sage fills me up like an icy cold glass of water from some stint wandering around looking at the twisted gnarled juniper trees.
i heard that they were 300 hundred years most of them
older than the railroad whistles that i heard shaking my bedroom windows.

Note on the bottom

You are discovering all the truths too late.

Walking aimlessly in your self absorbed haze.

I am seeing the marks being made and the ways that I was not meant for certain oatmeal cookie diagrams.

Phone calls are meaningless and voice mails echo long distant paths unrelentlenting whispers.

I am marking a specific day to revel in my own spirit...pointing at the faces of those unlucky few that step through fate's door onto this porch.

The sheer wind cutting through my body, the effortless cascade of flesh into slumber. And the searchlights.

Note in the bottom says, "emancipated from the terror."

Fevers

The slight side of my body aches and burns in the
sweat drenched sheets
my mind goes back and forth between
thoughts of the gym: the forever treadmill
thoughts of the blue eyed sycophant

i keep bending over and grabing my stomach
empty and pulsing from the shock of symptoms

my eyes shut and i begin an almost immediate dreamstate
where and what can i see?
the great monuements the tall steep cliffs
the red rocks and the double rainbows all surround me
comforting me in this state

i see you far away stranded on the apex of mountains.
you wave and notice the shine from the glint of your watch in the bright
desert soon.
i wish my arms were wrapped around seepinging inside you
my legs locked and twisted into yours as breathe reaches inside our mouths
our eyes are closed dreaming novels together.

my momentary fever ridden love poem.

never known

right up the steep climb, deep and hard to reach
the slow trickling stream
the hard high rocks.
the placid marsh lake surrounded by cirque.
the place where it ballooned and swelled and burst a thousand times.

thickened molasses sung songs.
the vibrancy of voice
a slow pace and boyish demeanor.
secrets inside the thoughts.

masks, rows of clowns walking in circles.
the chariot ride toward the carnival shows.
the thud and crash of streetcars
and the sounds of pouring rain
under and through we dance

you have no questions for angels, just directions.
the absence startles the minks in their boarded cages.
its quiet though
so the suttle hiss and throb of the spider
never reach to our ears.

we have become blackened
gropin our ways in synetic circumstances.

Unimportant

The generalities you say.
We all know that, we all experience that.
When he doesnt ask if you are ok, after you have cut your self and screamed out about it.

When every time you meet you quietly sit and listen to the myriad of stories and opinions they are allowed to hold.
When the gas pedal is always far to the front.
Its like you are unimportant and sometimes nonexistant
you could just be some voice mail device for the self absorbed.

Every story is interrupted.
Its like your job no longer exist, your essense your personality
ignored, unimportant.
Its quite humbling actually when you look forwad to buying the cigarettes so that the clerk at the gas station smiles and tells you to have nice day.
You genuinely wish it back though the message was soully her perfunctory act.
Its like finding love in candy wrapper jokes or unsettling fortune cookies.

When you realize its time to let go of people who cant see beyond their smoky mirror in front of their face..
They gigle and laugh and tell stories about them selves to the delighted mirror head.

I have started to grow a tree branch out of my head.
The mirrorfaces cant even see it...
Sometimes its covered in nest and debris.
they are still....neglecting seeing anything outside their round orbs.

Unimportant tree head.

The future of the planet is in turmoil.
HAHAHA.
tell that to the medievel preacher...he would tell you it fills his pockets with money...

the fundamentlist...do you remember Jim Baker and the christian themed fun park?
God does not babysit us...and provided wet and wild rides...he doesnt forgive sins...or open up pearly gates...or send us to firey peril. Its malarky.

yeah. wasting energy and consuming is not good. "the more you consume the less you live."
the students havent quite yet learned that...though they are the worst at it. easily trained...god fearing hypocrites...that mimic in doll like fashion. their parents movements.

ridiculous.chant. Freedom forever except for everyone butbrown people.
I dont agree with you. see thats why there is no fence to sit on. RACISM is hatred.
and policies of it. SUCK.

If we let eighth graders rule the world...you would see the pretty, the powerful and the pseduosmart would reign.
knowledge would be doctrinated. and consumed. fabricated for manipulation and control.
and the slaves would eat moldy fruit and work together in small close quarters and given ripe fruit as reward for obedience.
sound familiar.

i was never met for the 9 to five life.
lover i am. politics. are different people hating and ignoring other people.
its sick. and they would rather take a big turd on a prestine old growth forest and turn it into a disney world..roller coaster...than leave it alone and let some place not be dominated or destroyed by humans.
infestations.

i dont want to eradicate such a curious creative beast. just most of its leaders and their dynasties of greed. teach responsibility. learn love. then they would have to listen to the REAL jesus.
how ridiculous you all look. love love love..and you say not to you. you were born wrong. you were the wrong country the wrong color the wrong religion.
now when did jesus say that? we dont know.
just because he forgives you doesnt mean you can mercilessly commit sins all over the place.

who cares really...

boring. boring. boring.
violin screetching.

Ani difranco screams. simon and garfunkel howl...at ginsberg...
alice walker protests...toni morrison laughs...and then we just sulk.
at our neo Warholian duplicities.

ugh.

anger ramble

You simply could not pay enough attention to that singular detail could you?

I think you would pry it and pick and let it scab over and then begin your investigative process of foul habits.

It sickens me the way people get so self absorbed and fester and fight and bore holes into people who smile, and give and cook and assist.

I wish there was a version of the an underground group like PETA...that went around torturing abusive husband, boyfriends, and fathers. I know that sounds harsh...and Im the first one to turn the other cheek but I want to defend these people. I dont want them to walk around and hate themselves because other people hate them.

Im tired of that sickness. I lived with it long enough...and anyone close enough to me knows exactly what I am speaking of...One of my close friends tells me to act as though I am a prince and deserve the best treatment. Its hard when I find it difficult not to be humble to any other living thing. I often resort to those feelings of self loathing and depreciation because thats what I was told and how I was treated...and then I go on courting men in my life that have done the same. Same down casting tone, same sarcastic bitterness, same brutal blows.

Im not a cowboy when it comes to morality. I mess up, but I try really hard to put my desires behind others. I know that sounds like some stupid monk's line. Or at least ridiculous...because we are selfish but if we realize that helping others brings joy...then its a little bit more justified. Im not talking codependence here but real giving.

Anyway. maybe thats the revolution. every stuck up arrogant asshole would get a slap across their face. and told very sternly by Oprah that they suck. They truly suck as a human being and need to turn their lives around and pay attention to there friends, lovers, dogs, and children.
Stop worrying about their hair and their nails...and realize that the self obsessing wont attract more men but just annoy the fuck out of someone else.

Ill tell you Im pretty fucking pissed off right now. And Ill kick your dumb ass hide in what you deem as selfish, or you are working on your own shit right now...its no excuse for emotional irresponsibility..


Peace.

list things to do.

TO DO:
Change Oil
GO shopping
Go to the gym , ok this is boring...ummm lets go for long term like in the next five-seven years:
Get into a good MFA program
learn more about Ceramics and buy a wheel and kiln
Buy a loom
Graduate from an MFA program
Climb a really high mountain.
Quit smoking
Fall in love again and again.
Return to Europe...summer in Italy..
Hmmm...buy a house and work on it.
Learn italian in italy...while im taking classes on ceramics and traveling and immersing myself in culture....(any amazing cultural center can be replaced with Italy)
Hmmm. keep visiting New York...
Retreat...for three months in Nova Scotia...
Travel to Asia for a trip...cambodia, japan, thailand, china...mongolia...pick one and do it.
or australia...for a long time...maybe i should study there.
Buy a small place or land in NewMexico for future visits and maybe retirement or good investment.
ok..well i wont accomplish all of it but it seems possible
but then again...in the past five years i finished two degrees, lived in the desert, cemented my knowledge of spanish, and traveled and study in spain, and england...
lived in Paraguay, tried the peace corps...
traveled to almost every state of the country..
in love twice...wait three times..now
and climbed several mountains.
ok wait maybe last seven years...thats a lucky number anyway..

hmmm i like my list...
i know this is the happy...grab life by the horns part of me..
but that part is what gets thing done.

i think i wont avoid
debt
disappointment
sadness
pain
doubt
regret
or any other emotion.
especially a broken heart. i love that one so much.

off i go...im planning a trip to idaho...
a class where i learn how to use photoshop..well
and of course..new mexico...
with a quick jaunt..to Arches..Moab...Utah...the stuff of good memories.

today i am happy. i will slurp vegetarian.
sweat in a sweathouse, and movie in a movie house.

its friday. the day i have been waiting...
im happy because i got a bigger room to teach in next year.
they do listen.

Regardless of what happens...dont ever stop trying.
I didnt visit italy...and i havent found a boyfriend...
i still havent sky dived, visited africa
or bungee jumped, and i cant speak japanese.
but life is a long time
sometimes it seem short and you wake up and your only 37.

fear is just a nother little hill to walk up.

it took me 200 bowls to create one that wouldnt bust in a kiln.
i wanted to be patient...but i had to keep doing...to get there

peace out.
this one i have to read on the days i feel so dead.

Tests and absorbtion

sI feel like Im taking tests all over the place.
I watch the students anxiety over six days of testing. Yes six days of testing.
The reason for this: to realize how bad the public schools are in South Carolina.
I will tell you this I doubt its much worse anywhere else. This is the bottom of the barrell.
I retain the same anxiety from the test and it manifests eout in loud barks. Those days when they are forced to be scholarly, eh hem, schooly again they resist like oil marks and watercolor. I mainly make vague notions about work and just ensure their safety those days. It is all I can do. There is about seventy five reasons why taking tests in the warm spring time is ludicrous and only one reason why they actually do it. Linear thinking, retention. The students will and most definitely forget the majority of what they learned because despite all the efforts to retain a more relevant curriculum all these test have basically create a very communist system. Memorize facts and regurgitate. Not relevant if you are headed toward a life of crime or a job landscaping or flipping burgers. Maybe if you want to go to a technical school and become a veterinary assistant. It might help you but I doubt it. I went to private school because I knew my parents could afford it and I was bored and unchallenged. I had one good teacher in public school the first ear of highschool, thats right ONE out of six. Pathetic. At least I believe there is a lot of successful teachers here and only a few that show videos and sit back and relax and let it all play out.
But you really arent interested in hearing my theories on contemporary education in America. They are bleak and sad. Despite all of that I have fun. I love my students and know them all. I also love art. Its perfect anywhere I go its not gonna be hard to find job satisfaction. Now, It doesnt mean Ill stay there for more than a school year.

I have also seemed to be testing myself: my limitations emotionally physically and mentally. You see I was born with a lobsided heart literally and figuiratively. And despite my efforts to maintain a equitable and fair demeanor towards others, I falter. I try to be just and kind daily. I apologize for anger outbursts, and befriend those people most difficult to befriend. I often times find myself surrounded by beautiful people but they are from the island of lost and forgotten toys. I suppose I might be one of them but I am not looking for an owner or the dream of becoming a dentist. But alas Ill admit I might be broken but not lost or forgotten quite the contrary. So how broken can I become and how much pain can I endure with this lobsided heart. I have reached capacity between all the people that demand my attention, affection and love, I have to make some changes. I have realized that my reserves are depleting rapidly and that if I dont cut my shit out soon Im gonna end up in the loony bin, and I am sure the toys there are truly lost and forgotten.

So off the sauce, in the gym and hit the road. Idaho. I think its one of my favorite words but its complete nonsense. A congress men lied to the US senate and told them it was a Shoshone word that meant gem of the mountains. A total fabrication but it stuck. They bought it and now it seems to mean remote, and beautiful and sometimes freighteningly conservative militias live here. Well not to me, its a song I sing to myself daily. "Pack my bags and I want to go...Idaho."
I know silly romantic rambling around the countryside hiking. I hope I meet some interesting folk on my journey this summer.

I see my absorbtion...as a way for avoiding test. Test of time and test of love intertwining. I think its to avoid the holes...and get out the anxiety that fills my soul. Quest unfullfilled for seasons and years maybe. But I know I have given out morelove in thrity years than most can in a lifetime. And before I start tearing at my flesh and loosing my teeth I have to answer all the questions and give it back to my instructor before the end of the school day. So here goes: The capital of Wyoming, hmmm Cheyenne? The highest peak in South Carolina, Sassafrass Mountain. Favorite apple, Gala. Okay you get the point. The absorbed alcoholic refuses to answer these simple questions, and walks away and points and laughs. he cries to and listens to the sad somber stories of others wallowing, unmovable and stretched before their graves. Its time to stop mourning and pretending Im dying for the time being. Ill die in your minds the sad indian brave who lost his son. Ill die as shadow overtakes your soul and you mute your own tartness. But soon she will set herself free, I will take a wild ride. And he may be on the island again the one I found him on...

Tests and absorbtion.
Pushed, delayed and untimed
Painted, delicate layers.



I have become absorbed most recently

my mind chants inward

Review the last few movements,
adjust the length and raise it up to a level of perfection.
Now swallow vinegar every morning to clear the cords.
begin the dance again.

the swarming bees flit and fuss around the long garden walkway
the air is sinister with invisible demons to launch attacks deep down.

sword swallower, light this torch on fire and show me how its done.
take it slowly in so i can read the flesh marks behind your teeth.
clench it with your skull and let the blue flames become your breath outwards.

my marks are all easily washed downward. spiraling in silly limericks
of post marked poems lathered in varnish; potent carcinogens for its arrival.
expose, snort and release.

taking in the toxins of her stomach flu, of his addiction and her longing.
i walk back up the lofty loud staircase. begin the deluge and the ungrounding.
my raft is useless and my scuba gear has molded away in the attic.

all i have are these limbs that are burning into my sides and smacking myself in the face.
they are useless to me as my torso slides and my face flattens from the constant hammering.

my sheets are torn and covered sanguine.
the bed place is no place for lovers. but nothing more than an iron maiden. a chance for scraping flecks of flesh and devouring chunks of my skeleton.

i havent visited anyone yet. not, after this beating. the dullards have no clue as to the point that i have reached. im Zachary in the desert. and some bastard Judas' son.

the day brings the forest of clouds over the skyward areas I can view from the porch.
my mind chants inward: rain, rain, rain.

Naming introduction

I absorbed an amazing story once on my many travels across the country traversing I-40 from Albuquerque to Charleston.
In one such trip after listening to A Barbara Kingslover novel that was amazing and beautiful, Prodigal Summer, I started with an obscure book of which I have never found again. This book was story of an aboriginal Australian child. I listened to the layering of spirituality, landscape and person and became transfixed by one idea in particular. The idea of choosing and selecting a name either on your own or for someone else.
And the name becomes revealed to us through our experiences with the world around us.

I have taken this concept and loosely been adapting the name Coal. The purpose of this is playful and also meaningful. (This is how I create meaning, wink.) The idea that people walk around and say ridiculous things like, she does not look like a Courtney. Or he is definitely not a Jim, is some kind of latent desire to create these architypes...or positions of life. by regarding a name with purpose and meaning instead of perhaps the one in which we are given we are selecting a new path, a new way of the world and others perceiving them.

I know how can new experiences and perceptions of the world be created by a simple slight adjustment of your name?
Well I know people who call me by my full given name. They do that because I used it completly to introduce myself to them; others have shortened it to a nickname and thus for reasons of endearment intimacy or control have changed their perceptions of who I am. You see we are universes unto ourselves but each one of us houses complete and totally separate universes of understanding about who and what each other are. By creating names and developing that name with people whom you are experiencing the world, we will come to start navigating through each other in ways thought impossible. Seeing and admiring reflections of stars through are blue and brown and green lights...
Or maybe just to make each other roll on the floor laughing...
The name will have refernces personal, historical...meanings that change and shift and even holds the possibilties to alter and change the name in the future.
Its almost like a new outfit, a new suit...you can try on and walk around in, seersucker or polka-dot.
Its also revealing to see yourself outside and all its complexities...Am I really a George?

Laugh...I do. I am gonna go burn some sage..and whisper my hidden name in the mirror...See if I pay attention...

My name is Coal . Now.
Tomorrow it may not be.

For the hidden

I have this friend who at times because I found him to be more than who he thinks he is has left me completely to ponder whether or not he exists. Sometimes I actually think that I made him up in my brain. Like I am some kind of schizophrenic and the hours that I have spent in front of this damn computer writing poems about him and reading poems he writes and other words he write; it is a discinct possibility. My friends are all sick of his existence. They think if he does exist that he is crazy and that he has treated me unfairly and manipulatively. I say to them ok. Maybe. I do not know. I say he is afraid of me, as he is afraid of everyone else. Suppositions, observations or assumptions. Who really cares? We are talking about my emotions. I think if he does exist he should most likely be afraid of me. I have a terminal illness that while everyone seems to coat with cherry flavored cupcakes is a social stigma and psychological source of frustration. It is as one would call it my own freaking demon. I do not need anyone's advice at this point so keep your ten cents to your self. Im a fully functioning self aware, independent thinker who has needs just like any other dumb fuck on the planet. I on the other hand have complicated my life. I have chosen a path of self reflection, emotional responsibility, and love to be a major part of how I approach the world and make my way in it. Yeah with all that humility comes the psychological tortures. Its egomanical to believe that I am some kind of peaceful artist who wants to embue the healing powers of creativity and love onto others. So, in the spirit of Shiva...I also destroy it. I dream about suicide and torture. I revel in sadness and fall for people who in for all intesive purposes are some of the most selfish and self loathing people I encounter. I defy them with my persistence and punish myself with there inability to give anything. Anyway with all that being said. I have released that this paragraph of thought is just some selfish psychological masturbatory practice to understand and calm myself better. I have recently pretended to be an alcoholic for a few weeks. Im bored with that. It effected nothing : work, friends, or future. Alcohol has little power over me. Anyway. I think you are real: Whether in my mind or hidden in these words. And if its the parts of me that are hidden and then reflected through you. Then i pat myself on the back and say Im glad I learned to love myself so well.

the musings.

reciting lines out of black authors' cookbooks for the soul
im walking in an out of combustible buildings
wanting to give and reach and think

but the purposes are all scattered and completely
fused into my purple case by the door.

the ease of running away
from my hauntings. my deadbeats, my own scissors.
the porches sway in the dusk..

the spanish mosses breezing filled with mites and aromas.
this place brings me closer to the surface of things
and farther from the journey.

im not a seeker. or a peacemaker.
i have chosen meaning maker. and its in those folding
chairs. i sit and snapshot and begin my operas.

wires

the new cold air. from the spring time.
brings and breathes images and voices.forward

my favorite blue lights are still blinking
and moving around.
my hands are reaching for globs of paint and
wire mesh again.

his image is contorting...hair turns to electric wires
and his mouth is bolted...and sewn down.
words swirl around his brain..
and luscious fruit crown his temple.

i walk in and out and up and down the loud staircases.
taking in gulps of beer and aspirin.
my hair is soft and long..and today its curls are like
watermelon vines.

my hand is reaching out through all the
thick mud upward and toward the air.
i can feel ropes grasping and carving burns into my wrists.
the pull me up...and my lungs are filled with
sweet jasmine scents...

walking around with the homeless man.
talking about games and sharks
and players. i start to float upwards and away
as i can see his teeth are rotting from within...
and his stench marks the worn and ugly t-shirt.

my chest is filled with pounding of yesterdays
thoughts and desires.
and my face plasters a smile at tomorrow's impending delicacies.
thank you. and your wired construction.

snake

the round robin games
stop short and fall into open and bleak crevices
stealth and shortness of breath combine
to create heady obtuse riddles.

patiently and ripe with intent
the fruit is set alone in dark corners
to rot and mold and stench
to eradicate its essense and transform

into spores. to flee and multiply
and invade asthmatic breathing tubes

i stop, turn and with a giant hose
destroy the filth.

Slight of voice

The tone of pounding heavy footsteps in solid structures
i repeat these loops in my brain
changing the duration and intensity of each banging.
running men, children. walking, jumping.

it can become the rhthym in the background of songs
echoing, your head in the pillow onthe bed attached to the house
where the thumping began

or the way a heart would pound in a metal box.
tin man. crying out at his first beating.
in hollow empty spaces.

searching for other sounds.
cars movements on causeways.
like paper tearing slowly
wind movements in peaceful weather areas.

i know in albuquerque. negtive ions from pacific gails
twist and maneuver through cracks
down into you and sneak their voices
like a sliver lodged into your spine. preventing sleep
signaling the spring.

dusty...yellow. sagey spring.
when the wind subsided. the flat expanses between mountains filled
with yellows, lavendars, and reds...
brief rainbows quilting brown dingy green expanses.

between the sounds of thumping
and the pierces of ancient gales.
my body is trickling with kinetic
memories that lower me down
into the rich thick mud.

daily commute.

shells of cars, we are the machines.
our brains are our bodies.
we reflect, shine , scratch, and smash our surfaces.
we work in unison and gather at stop lights
and parking lots.

red light, green light. games of letting go and stoping behind each other
ready to pulse forward
and passing in and out of lanes
blink, blink

shells of cars, we are the machines
fuel costing, dashes and white borders to stay in.
separate. lined up. moving like caravans of ants high above

stray and smash.
another dollar bill, another dead brain.
automated, airbagged and electrified our bodies
become flashy and sleek.

brains wired and remote controlled to
telephone poled street lines
and artificial pine forests constrain our movement
and freedom.

shells of cars, we are the machines.