get out

great escape window
so hard to open
look outside
see street people
lift with legs

crack with screeching
open window wider
painful exit
warmth into cold
breeze skin knees

last breath raising pane
effort plus control
no more inside
window go outside
scream silence
loud relief

Funeral

I spend more time in envy than I do in greatness. Hearing music. Seeing art. Enjoying comedy. Watching stirring film or television. Reading something great. Amazed by conceptual design. They live and breath it. I breath settling dust.

What I do is great. What I can do is greater. I am and always have been a force to be reckoned with even though in my head I am currently a pea under a thousand mattresses.

What I have will BAM! and splatter like a quarter stick of dynamite sparked by one solitary moment of ignition. Or maybe like cum on a celestial thigh. I don't know. At least that's the way I picture it will be while still melancholy in mourning the person I used to be, growing into the person I would be if I weren't the person I used to be.

I've got faith. I know I'm a great idea God had a while ago. There are a lot of bad ideas out there, like wearing white after Labor Day or eating a 2AM chicken burrito from Erick's. But this one. This one is good. I know I'm not here to sit around and punch numbers into a machine or mope around because I've given up. I'm not a pussy.

I'm 17. I'm an anarchist. I am a feminist. I am a ball buster. I am a dreamer. I am a fighter. I am someone who doesn't know what the real world is like yet. I'm a style monger. I'm a truster. I'm an ambivalent omnivore. I don't know what to say unless I'm around people who know what to say. I'm an energy generator. I'm a photographer. I'm a writer. I'm a good cook. I openly hate my parents. I'm a nature lover. I'm a spiritual searcher. I attract weirdos. I dye my hair every color and pierce myself. I get all my clothes at the thrift store. I carry a lunchbox. I write on my shoes. I get crushes on bassists and drummers. I drag my best friend around to awesome local shows; eh, most times by myself. I carry a journal with me everywhere I go. I'm a serial obsesser. My first love. Oh, my first love. I break in to the church house to make out. I want to disappear with razors and will kill myself, then I stand on dangerous cliffs and will live forever. I will tell you everything and not even know I'm doing it. I'm fresh out of the gate, smart as hell and I've got a future like an avalanche.

Listen to what happened in between that and this during the eulogy. I'm so tired of this funeral. It just goes on and on and on. If you need me, I'll be in the back telling everyone they don't have to go home but they can't stay here.

Spilling Over

In the bustle of city life constantly in close proximity to at least 20 people at at any given moment I sometimes suddenly get sensitive to the human condition. In moments of medicated thinking I look at people around me on trains, in lines, in public places and I start first sentences of stories. That old man fought in the Korean war. This woman fled Mexican slums with her blind son. That man is a convicted arsonist on probation. This woman's mother was Miss America 1980. Some are less elaborate. More about what she ate for breakfast or if he flosses. Usually a melodramatic story involving all of us ensues. The perfect song will come from my headphones and it gets even more intense because now there is a soundtrack. Then I spill coffee on myself and it's gone.

Genetics

Some physicists say all life on Earth is comprised of how the elements of the universe have settled or are settling and changing over time. Understanding and explaining how all that works is a huge responsibility. The task is first being out-to-lunch enough to come up with something like gravity or relativity or a multiverse - unlocking some mystery long since unsolved by any other explanation. And then telling everybody about it. What a messy job. Part of it automatically includes admitting you could be wrong. There has got to be a chromosome linked to some fancy hormonal neurotransmitter that blocks the anxiety of admitting a mistake. I do not have these genetics.