Category Archives: Writing

Organizing The Steady Stream of Voices in My Head

Chapter One: Manhattan.

I see a bridge in black and white
A voice saying something about New York
Enough Woodie!
This doesn’t interest me anymore.

There’s a black woman
I know her name but I won’t tell you
She’s my last connection to a world full of rudeness,
at least that’s how she remembers it.
A world of shoes I didn’t like,
full of good people too afraid to be bad.
This world wasn’t made for you my friend.
You’ll never live up to the expectations
you are decent and that’s your sin.
She came in and out of that world wanting a piece of it,
She finally got it.
She’s dead now but still breathing.

The guru says, stop thinking.
But it won’t stop.
Get out of your head, is the master’s advice
But I’ve got no place else to go.
It’s the curse of the outsider,
you get to witness but you don’t get to join.

There’s something broken inside my chest.
It hurts when its unjust.

I see a man with a hat and dying skin,
with a scarf and this space for rent.
A poet and his friend plays the violin.
Two girls, they look-alike.
They love him and his friend owes me.
It hurts.

Organizing thoughts is no easy task.
Playing for no reward would be nice,
but I already see the room and the microphone and the tongues sliding across my neck.

Someone is bound to pity
the pretty boy who could not understand.

Jack’s World

Jack had a secret, something he had never told anyone. Ever since he could remember he fantasized about killing anyone he met. As a child he had assumed everyone was spending their time plotting means for the extermination of their fellow human beings. The planning started out very simple, a brick over the head, a knife in the back, but over time it became more and more complex and the culprit always remained undetected.

When Jack was old enough to realize others didn’t share his inclinations toward premeditated murder he did all he could to modify his way of thinking. As a young boy, he established what he aptly named ‘a course of purification’ through a series of mental exercises that ultimately proved futile. The more he tried and the more gruesome were the fates of his victims. Unable to eradicate the evil, he learned to coexist with his mental habit vowing to never let another soul discover it.

A few schoolyard confrontations had proven to him beyond a doubt that he was a coward. After getting past the initial shame he welcomed this discovery that would most likely prevent him from ever acting upon his secret impulses. From then on he busied himself in becoming the man his cowardly ancestors would have wanted him to be, an invisible man.

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Hello World

“It pours out of you like a torrent.”
“What does?”
“The work!”

Michael moves up to the window. The fog crept slowly over the hills leaving the trees exposed to the last remaining sunlight.

“Do you see that?”

John turns his face away.

“You’ll never see it if you don’t look.”
“There’s nothing to see.”
“Yes there is.”
“The world! The whole wide world is out there.”

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