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You're Helping Me: January 2010

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Sunday, January 3, 2010. You're sad and you don't even know it. You're an illiterate typist, a blind glassblower. You're the spoke that catches the hamster. You're a metaphor constantly using wheels. I have to write words like this. In order to feel like someone else. It used to be that I'd just change. My hair or my clothes and that would be all. I'm too old for that bullshit now. I'm too old to not recognize how awful I am. I judge people. I'm not that funny. People think I treat women terribly. On acc...

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You're Helping Me: August 2009

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Sunday, August 30, 2009. I watched North by Northwest. I'm going to eat a cookie. Everyone is looking at me. No one has anything to say. It's all in your head. My head feels like a bowling ball. Thursday, August 27, 2009. Showing your teeth is a sign of weakness. In the animal kingdom. A woman. Bites her lower lip; Every time I fall. For one I kick myself in the ass. Labels: that thing when girls bite their lips. I'm murderous, unheard of it. I put it in her uterus. Now she's gonna have my baby. The Inte...

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You're Helping Me: Flawless Victory

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Friday, December 4, 2009. So there was this writing gala at Ball State University, and the first three places won some nice books. So I read some stuff. So did Jeremy Bauer. I won these books:. Jeremy and Shaun won some books too. Here's the stuff that I read:. 8221; She glances into her beer and then at the television during the few moments I’m not exasperating. I breathe, and keep going:. Annie and I take our longest gulps of the night. Tulane is down by three points. 8220;Do you want another beer?

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You're Helping Me: July 2009

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Thursday, July 2, 2009. Writing is hard and dumb. And sometimes I hate it. So I took a vacation. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Muncie, Indiana, United States. View my complete profile.

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You're Helping Me: It's too fucking early sonnet

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Sunday, January 3, 2010. It's too fucking early sonnet. I've been in love three times already. Each time felt like dancing in a fire. With the girl holding a bucket of water. Over her head, and laughing, and doing nothing. Two of them got married. One two months after I graduated high school. The other one is having a baby with her husband. I'm twenty-one years old. I shouldn't have to deal with shit like that yet. And my family is starting to fall apart too. The third one won't return my calls.

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You're Helping Me: Controlled Sonnet

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Thursday, December 31, 2009. I wrote series of facts and information. In numerically based grids to satisfy. A psychological urge only to realize. That things are often squares, and so am I,. And I create nothing but squares, squares. In my home and where my parents live. I was raised on the square! On the glowing rectangular frontier! But the planet is a sphere. Gravity. Rained knives on each side of my square,. Collapsing the edges, ripping, tearing. It into nameless, shapeless entities.

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You're Helping Me: January 2009

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Wednesday, January 28, 2009. Clipped roses float from the crowd and drop at his feet. The ladies in velvet seats are weeping,. A lump between each lung from. A glass shattering high B-flat that. Reaches them like a butcher would. Claw for a sharpened blade. He remembers the milk-bath; his mother's breath,. The last woman to clutch the nape of his neck;. Blood bubbles from the empty wound. Curdling in orange at his throat. Collide and separate; applause. A thousand crying eyes, in pairs. Channel twenty-fo...

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You're Helping Me: February 2009

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Friday, February 20, 2009. How to Give Great High Fives. Inside, where muscles. Are, the place amino acids. Dissolve, how reflexes. Happen, verbs of action. Or something like sleeping. At each other with their. Eyes and their mouths. Are showing rows of. Not moving eyes or lids,. It happens, the clean. Noise, a tree cracking,. Or axes landing straight blows. Although it usually ends. Like a rubber chicken clapping. When their palms fail. To meet and then, strike. Friday, February 13, 2009. Form of &#8216...

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You're Helping Me: May 2009

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Saturday, May 23, 2009. Why not this blog more? Why not the last three slices? Why so excited to see some, and not others? Why not another drink? 160;  *    *    *    *    *    *. Here is a poem about bridges. it's called "the trouble with bridges":. There are bridges everywhere. Gaps have to be breached. Rivers must be crossed. Point a to b. San francisco to brooklyn. We're going places, america! And bridges are, well,. The bridges to the future. The metaphor is solid. The metaphor is sturdy, like oak.

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You're Helping Me: December 2009

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Thursday, December 31, 2009. I wrote series of facts and information. In numerically based grids to satisfy. A psychological urge only to realize. That things are often squares, and so am I,. And I create nothing but squares, squares. In my home and where my parents live. I was raised on the square! On the glowing rectangular frontier! But the planet is a sphere. Gravity. Rained knives on each side of my square,. Collapsing the edges, ripping, tearing. It into nameless, shapeless entities. Bouncing off m...