| — | Simon Joyner, Grapefruit (from the album Room Temperature) |
My powdered-wig is all sorts
of strange (truncated) anachronistic
wisdom: something we have
already learned; or, at least,
once needed to never be something,
or anything other than these
selfs. We are all wet now
& waiting on weather for some
kind of mercy we know we made-up.
It’s not coming. It’s really not coming.
It never fucking does.
[Fashionably Out of Touch (The Gee Whiz of Once Was), written by jesse daniel blaine, 05/10/2012]
Two sides
of a single same river,
growing-up different, different & missing.
You, certain sexuality— such is intensity that
can be felt so many hundreds
of never-met miles apart.
And me, lonely boy listening,
just one of many such beasts,
hoping you will come close enough for me to touch.
We’re both one of them:
those who somehow know secrets—
those left knowing the kinds of things no one
should ever really know.
Let us trade them
over slowly-shared stories & the gradual,
intimate understanding of all of each other.
We will anticiwait and soak up ourselves together.
So, for now, how we will both chatter,
feeling our distance, feeling out intentions.
We are a river; cross to both places.
We are a river; each, on either side, the same.
We are a river;
We are. A river, we are.
[I never got to be He-Man., written by jesse daniel blaine, 05/10/2012]
Everything is relevant. IT DOES NOT MATTER. I’m sorry you had to find out this way. It doesn’t matter. EVERYTHING IS RELEVANT. And I am so very sorry you had to find out this way.
Forgive me. There are reasons or rational excuses and I ask that you forgive me. Pleats?
And if the weather comes to Johnson St., we’ll hope we’re there to feel it. Because all of us, we used to be one hug within a Sam’s. Now, we’ve lost that place and we’ve lost touch and we’ve lost so much of what we had, there’s the Deadwood & there’s the Mill & there’s everything we’re after. We can talk ourselves through memories and friendships shaped unnoticed; we can talk together just as if we did when things were once what were they. So, into faded pages from a book we’ll never write, we let Lucas leave for cigarettes and Becca follow Rollin. Fatty fell into himself, perhaps we all already knew this. And Chris was once the best of us, his heart, it chased him home. To all that ever this was and the parts we’ll never see: I hope we find ourselves. I hope we find ourselves. I hope we find. I hope we find ourselves to find a way for us all to find each other and then we find— we find our way back from where we’ve come.
the things we find most cozy
sound simple to the heart
a seperate anger for ourselves
and tomorrow hangs her head
this is now and we are not
without our sin
ugly sunshine behind your breath
medium to taste by nature
apart from a home I have
found myself forgetting
light by light undone
young half-heroines at a glance
(a poem for becca beside me at sam’s, written by jesse daniel blaine, 04/13/05)
Tip Number Fifty:
Tell them how you feel before it’s too late. Also, make sure you don’t tell them how you feel, because you’ll only screw it all up forever.
I’m part of this now.
And it’s whatever anything can ever be.
I’m part of this now.
Here is a place,
where I find myself has become this moment.
So, I’m letting what might was
turn itself on end.
I have found parts of looking not to look.
And I am part this now.
This is always what it is.
Because one or more was waiting,
I sent other things on in.
And I am part of this now.
This part is where I am.
(written by jesse daniel blaine, 03/06/2012)
the trust-fund tenderness
of lust
and compulsion
I am an excuse,
and you ARE an excuse
Excuse us;
we weren’t supposed to muster
up the ideas of anything
or else.
excuse us.
a murdered -nother moment
so, there’s room left somewhere.
then tonight resists itself
for some body’s amusement, or truth.
then we don’t
because answers swim angry
I am excuses;
You know words to use.
the movement must
and in the event that it does,
excuse us.
(sputter-fuck by jesse daniel blaine, 03/03/2012)
