tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-238982672024-03-13T12:25:10.666-07:00Speaking Without AudienceR.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.comBlogger283125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-46088560742731944682020-04-16T00:48:00.001-07:002020-04-16T00:48:08.297-07:00Safer at HomeA sickness has laid bare<div>
the emptiness of passion</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Hunkered down we are nothing but machines</div>
<div>
that eat and drink and wait</div>
<div>
for our old lives to return.</div>
<div>
And people are dying every day</div>
<div>
but we don't know them, so it feels distant</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Remember when we were kids</div>
<div>
and the ground was hot lava</div>
<div>
again as adults, the streets and doors and debit card keypads</div>
<div>
are hot lava</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We wish we had all the things we took for granted</div>
<div>
but I was wasting my life</div>
<div>
well before it was stripped from me</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I read a message today </div>
<div>
from ten years ago</div>
<div>
from I girl I thought I was in love with</div>
<div>
about how I thought things were finally changing for me</div>
<div>
My whole life felt like an opportunity</div>
<div>
and when I closed the chat window</div>
<div>
I felt embarrassed</div>
<div>
and empty</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was a mess</div>
<div>
a sad, awkward mess</div>
<div>
that nobody could get close to</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The universe is accelerating apart and every moment we get further from each other </div>
<div>
faster than the speed of causality</div>
<div>
soon we won't see each other</div>
<div>
as our light shifts red and out of existence </div>
<div>
permanently</div>
R.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-39583073646344951522017-08-08T15:21:00.000-07:002017-08-08T15:21:00.486-07:00Grabbing someones arm you thought was your mother'sWhen i see the king and his men<br />
step into the room with a bland podium<br />
and they look into the camera<br />
they smile like a cat that broke into the bird cage<br />
broad, black iris knowing that it doesn't matter if they get caught<br />
because they already drew the blood<br />
<br />
When i see them defending<br />
the shutting of the door<br />
pretending to not say that they hate me<br />
and my mom<br />
and my dad<br />
and my grandfather<br />
and my grandmother<br />
and my aunts and uncles<br />
the ones who lived and died on this land<br />
and slightly further south<br />
the ones i never met<br />
and did<br />
not one of them ever did anything<br />
that was unforgiveable in the eyes of the law<br />
except live<br />
<br />
They say, its about safety<br />
and they look like wild coyotes<br />
laughing louder at 3:30 in the morning<br />
startling me awake, and my wife<br />
and we worry about who they got<br />
<br />
I never thought about myself in that way<br />
But now I really do wonder<br />
if all of those smiling faces i've encoutered in my life<br />
were lying to me all along<br />
and I feel as helpless as<br />
I was when I was lost as a child<br />
in a cavernous grocery store<br />
when i accidentally held<br />
the hand of a woman<br />
I thought was my mom<br />
and I felt embarassed<br />
and not wanted R.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-13443478659968397122016-08-23T11:28:00.003-07:002016-08-23T11:31:06.962-07:00The imperfect vessel of your loveIt is difficult to keep myself from constantly questioning a permanent choice<br />
like love<br />
To say, this is how I feel and will always feel<br />
when every week I change<br />
and think different thoughts<br />
and have different interests<br />
like diving link by link<br />
through a late night on Wikipedia<br />
<br />
My eyes turn so red from the lack of sleep<br />
the clock working against my desire<br />
to know something well<br />
and to have another thought to consider<br />
where there had been none<br />
<br />
I used to wonder if I could mold you into<br />
what I had previously thought of as an ideal partner<br />
but increasingly<br />
I see that it is impossible<br />
and unethical<br />
and wrong<br />
<br />
You don't care about things that are less than immediate<br />
to a fault<br />
you see the world like an endless reel of images<br />
instead of a static wall<br />
every instance is current and in need of being addressed or avoided<br />
then and now<br />
<br />
It is like we live on two different planes of existence sometimes<br />
I don't ever want to talk about my day at work<br />
and you seemingly only want to<br />
I want to aspire to a new reality<br />
and you want to set dates for likely plans<br />
<br />
There are things you can never be<br />
the limitation of any person<br />
but now I think that is ok<br />
It is not always exciting<br />
but when you reach a certain age<br />
so few things are<br />
<br />
Do people talk about music anymore<br />
song to song<br />
now that every musician is known<br />
and accessible instantly<br />
will the collective memory cease<br />
to feel music?<br />
<br />
Will absorbing lyrics be only a running commentary on reality<br />
a non-fiction story<br />
that needs to be "important" or it is functionless?<br />
<br />
Will two young people be able to speak to each other in<br />
the way I used to, with the few bright lights<br />
I stumbled onto along the way<br />
<br />
Now i realize that I am the most imperfect vessel for your love<br />
a restless, impractical monolith<br />
who strived when there was a future<br />
but struggles when there is only the present<br />
<br />
I am not a comforter or empathic in an obvious way<br />
I am unemotional about my own life<br />
in nearly every aspect<br />
<br />
But some times I do feel overwhelemed<br />
when I see somebody else<br />
in existential anguish<br />
but I don't know what this means<br />
or why it happens<br />
<br />
I don't know when I lost my emotions<br />
and replaced them with constant, quiet<br />
coldness<br />
<br />
It's comical how emotionally intelligent you are<br />
speaking about eveything and understanding everything in those terms<br />
and I am like<br />
the stupid stuffed animal on the bed<br />
a slight smile always on my face<br />
but nothing but fluff underneath<br />
<br />R.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-27552902165910472692016-01-28T11:25:00.001-08:002016-01-28T11:25:14.247-08:00Quiet conversationWe spoke to each other last night<br />
with tired voices<br />
and I closed my eyes because the lights were off<br />
<br />
You were weary when I came home<br />
feeling the weight of another week<br />
and I hoped you could slough off some of the burden<br />
by this point in the year but you just<br />
piled it all on<br />
<br />
I made a joke<br />
and you teared up<br />
trying not to cry<br />
remember when you claimed you never cry<br />
and then spent the next five years becoming emotional<br />
seemingly at every little thing<br />
while I could only watch<br />
like a cat watches nothing<br />
sitting on the windowsill<br />
understanding nothing<br />
<br />
It wasn't an argument<br />
just an acknowledgement that I knew something was up<br />
that somehow fear and despair<br />
had taken hold of your life<br />
causing you to lose feeling in your fingers<br />
and your feel for sunshine<br />
on your cold hands<br />
<br />
It scares me<br />
to think that you may not recover<br />
the way you struggle to cope<br />
with simple things now<br />
it isolates me<br />
from you and from other people<br />
a silent struggle<br />
<br />
You started crying again after we talked<br />
and I felt sure that I had found a way out<br />
saying the obvious<br />
that you needed to understand yourself<br />
and find what your life is all about<br />
and that I was encouraging<br />
and would be there for whatever changes or goals you needed or had<br />
<br />
But you lobbed it up on top<br />
of the comical tower of worry that you<br />
carry with you<br />
and I heard your shoulder joints crack again<br />
under the weightR.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-85696796202941622282016-01-25T14:55:00.002-08:002016-01-25T15:05:04.935-08:00Occupy thirtyWhen I think back on the past 12 years<br />
to 18 when I felt compelled<br />
to finally express<br />
myself<br />
<br />
I feel unfamiliarity<br />
with the young kid<br />
lying on the bed of a dorm room in<br />
Wichita Falls<br />
where my government appointed roommate and his friends<br />
played rap music and left the lights on<br />
as I sat there writing<br />
furiously<br />
into some letterhead with the Air Force insignia<br />
that I purchased during basic training<br />
to write to people<br />
only to use it primarily to write to myself <br />
exactly what I felt<br />
<br />
What I felt about the girl who was at home<br />
not waiting for me<br />
because I never said anything to her<br />
because I just couldn't speak<br />
<br />
All i could do was feel that she wasn't there anymore and maybe wouldn't be<br />
ever<br />
and true to form when I returned home, my feelings were the only thing left<br />
of whatever the last few months of high school with her had been<br />
<br />
And the mire that I waded through for years afterward<br />
trying to find myself in myself<br />
working it out in private<br />
working it out in silent public<br />
jumping from one bright flame to another<br />
<br />
I grew up, but lazily, I let time and opportunity<br />
pass<br />
afraid of what I wasn't<br />
and what I looked like<br />
or how I sounded<br />
hoping and crushing and being crushed and losing hope<br />
and still<br />
trying to find myself as I approach another round number<br />
while my friends say to each other "we're so old"<br />
but I roll my eyes<br />
because I don't agree with them<br />
Its just something people say to help them cope with the loss<br />
of whatever their dream was, I think<br />
<br />
But I also wonder if it's because I'm bad at being an adult<br />
and they're normal<br />
or that I'm selfish - and I am -<br />
and they aren't<br />
or that normal things like houses<br />
and savings and vacations to Cancun<br />
not only sound impossible but in some ways<br />
undesirable to me<br />
<br />
I wonder if I'm just kidding myself<br />
and rather accept my situation<br />
I'm conducting my own pointless protest<br />
like the militia in Oregon<br />
basing my primary argument on<br />
half truths and uninformed opinions<br />
and my love of myself<br />
and my friends all see me as one of those Bundy patriots<br />
wearing a weird mix of camouflage, fake gas station bought Oakley sunglasses, cowboy hats<br />
and NASCAR apparel.<br />
A ridiculous caricature of the person I thought I wanted to be. <br />
<br />
I run every other night around a dark path<br />
and come home sweating<br />
but I'm no better for itR.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-16450525908897391782015-05-12T22:09:00.001-07:002015-05-12T22:11:31.557-07:00Planning out the rest of your life<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Zc_HU9qUqq5RQycsFZHA9TBudONBgMteF1hoT3LMW7jt-VN6c7eWzcVkgrxSsjvh7NIXDtszXHuEmum7lyEr1HDa2tFp2tfchXisdH7yOIIRJnlDTeJoVpJKD1zldTlRTORE/s1600/IMG_0817.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Zc_HU9qUqq5RQycsFZHA9TBudONBgMteF1hoT3LMW7jt-VN6c7eWzcVkgrxSsjvh7NIXDtszXHuEmum7lyEr1HDa2tFp2tfchXisdH7yOIIRJnlDTeJoVpJKD1zldTlRTORE/s320/IMG_0817.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Trying to put into words how I feel about you<br />
shouldn't be so hard<br />
but they don't flow<br />
onto the floor<br />
like glass<br />
shattering randomly<br />
like they used to<br />
<br />
We met<br />
and left<br />
and met again<br />
and left<br />
and then stayed<br />
together<br />
<br />
Never left again<br />
You are everything now<br />
but i am an empty vessel<br />
walking through life<br />
like in a haze<br />
as a countdown<br />
marks away each day<br />
<br />
each day is the same<br />
each week is the same<br />
<br />
I used to hate that<br />
now I don't feel any way about that<br />
<br />
I used to want so much more<br />
and now I have more than that<br />
<br />
I used to feel anxious to live<br />
feeling like a molting<br />
adolescent bird<br />
trapped in a nest on the highest tree<br />
<br />
But growing my feathers<br />
I find that I mostly live on the ground<br />
not able to reach the nest<br />
or wing high enough to start my own<br />
<br />
You soothe me<br />
like the harp did to Saul<br />
<br />
But like his darkness<br />
the soothing only masks a temporary sanity<br />
waiting to burst out<br />
daily it seems<br />
<br />
I feel strength from you<br />
but in that there is inability<br />
<br />
we are in love<br />
but I don't trust myself<br />
<br />
to be the thing you expect of me<br />
<br />
When i look back on my life<br />
I was so affected by the opposite sex<br />
so wanting<br />
so influenced<br />
<br />
and now I have myself<br />
and somehow I have you<br />
but ahead of me<br />
<br />
is blankness<br />
maybe that is okay<br />
<br />
You are afraid of everything<br />
and I am afraid of myself<br />
But we survive<br />
in inadequacy<br />
in love<br />
in uncertainty<br />
<br />
<br />R.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-36855713276070388992015-03-26T22:27:00.002-07:002015-03-26T22:27:56.911-07:00Constantly trying to connectThe world is full of people trying to connect<br />
and all their behavior<br />
connected to that<br />
<br />
Their hate and their shame<br />
their denial of those things<br />
their compliments<br />
and cries for help<br />
<br />
Through comment threads<br />
and self righteous posts<br />
through social networks<br />
and @ mentions<br />
and meaningless words<br />
<br />
We were designed to connect<br />
<br />
When we walk in each others paths<br />
at a grocery store<br />
and say excuse me<br />
and apologize<br />
for mutual incidental<br />
obstruction<br />
<br />
The internet is constantly trying to connect<br />
even when walls go up<br />
and demands for justice<br />
and demands for freedom<br />
and arbitrary rules and philosophies<br />
splinter<br />
<br />
it is a form of connection<br />
like a modem<br />
like a USB cable<br />
like a magsafe connector<br />
pulled from it's socket<br />
<br />
Even the fringes of society<br />
feel this pull<br />
<br />
Its what pulls lost souls to a fight<br />
in across the world<br />
or drives jets into mountains<br />
<br />
Its what causes men to kill other men<br />
to fit in<br />
to feel a cause<br />
to feel connected<br />
<br />
We are not all killers<br />
most of us anyway<br />
<br />
I watched the explosions<br />
at the marathon again and again<br />
and saw the old man stumble<br />
and white smoke rise into the air<br />
like steam from a subway vent<br />
<br />
I watched each person's expression<br />
I watched some people run<br />
and two others walk quietly<br />
<br />
I saw the pain and surprise<br />
and the need to connect<br />
<br />
The two brothers with each other<br />
connecting with an idea<br />
the one brother following the older one<br />
now standing trial alone<br />
<br />
Next to a group of jurors<br />
a television camera<br />
connected to a satellite truck<br />
<br />
Does the current move us<br />
or do we disturb the water<br />
<br />
Could we endure a standing puddle<br />
if it meant not moving at all<br />
toward each other<br />
away from others<br />
to a concept<br />
an idea<br />
of escape from loneliness<br />
<br />
<br />R.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-38788028325616438922015-03-16T22:22:00.001-07:002015-03-16T22:25:22.213-07:00Incipit via novaHere begins the new life<br />
the super nova that begins<br />
this universe<br />
of realization<br />
where every word matters<br />
<br />
Where the trees blow with a hot breeze<br />
and flags whip at the violence<br />
whip with violence<br />
fearful of old<br />
<br />
Dancing in the water at the beach<br />
skipping over white caps<br />
in the bay like<br />
a stone propelled<br />
by an unseen force<br />
<br />
This is the change in the season<br />
where spring has become summer<br />
before winter had a chance to sprinkle<br />
white dust on brown branches<br />
<br />
this is mostly nonsense<br />
but sometimes a bloody nose<br />
feels good<br />
the deep red that lets you know<br />
there are operations under the skin<br />
and synapses firing<br />
with pain<br />
I am alive<br />
they say<br />
<br />
A man ran down the bridge with a middle finger<br />
toward all of us sitting in traffic<br />
all because of a red light<br />
hes not wrong<br />
we are<br />
we<br />
are<br />
stuck<br />
and he is free<br />
<br />
free to be angry<br />
and to love<br />
and feel the pain I am isolated from in the car<br />
<br />
A pinch is freedom<br />
a cut is ecstasy<br />
a gash is like an orgasm<br />
of Life<br />
<br />
But without a mind<br />
these things are meaningless<br />
without a sense of self<br />
these things happen to no one<br />
<br />
so we remove ourselves from it<br />
and concentrate on the immediate<br />
but sometimes the scar<br />
is more satisfying<br />
than the blood<br />
<br />
Scraped knees are called a raspberry when you are six<br />
how many times did i have scabbed knees<br />
so much that my skin is bleached white<br />
in sections<br />
where new growth took place<br />
<br />
I took a step into the inferno<br />
and walked amongst the fel saints<br />
who chose nothing to something<br />
but it wasnt who I was<br />
<br />
In that way my shortcomings<br />
as a person<br />
my lack of success or common sense<br />
has saved me<br />
<br />
I spent four years with bruised forearms in high school<br />
and soon it became who I was<br />
intrinsically<br />
and felt good<br />
<br />R.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-1671805637286565382015-03-15T21:30:00.001-07:002015-03-15T21:30:16.908-07:00The Long Beach block partyFar from vaulted ceilings and matrimony<br />
and white walls and white balloons<br />
and untouchable society<br />
exists a dry<br />
hot heat<br />
<br />
Take away the boring conversations about<br />
privilege<br />
or right or wrong<br />
<br />
and go to the beach on a sunday<br />
where the water is mixed with grime<br />
from the ships parked off shore<br />
<br />
Long Beach like an industrial monolith<br />
colored green and red cargo<br />
containers stacked high<br />
like a cathedral<br />
to the economy<br />
<br />
in the distance a fake waterfall<br />
covers op an oil rig<br />
<br />
the smell of pot and cigarettes<br />
the sound of hip hop<br />
and Mexican music<br />
<br />
of people having a good time<br />
<br />
(ghetto ass beach) a kid says as i walk past<br />
<br />
Black and brown, some white<br />
<br />
and me<br />
<br />
I can pass through this scene<br />
relatively unnoticed though<br />
that is the power of<br />
being some sort of minority<br />
<br />
though in reality im only tangibly welcome<br />
but also<br />
I realize that in some strange way I do belong here<br />
<br />
And that no matter what I do,<br />
I am just like those little chubby kids<br />
wearing T-shirts in the water<br />
<br />
The other day I ate with my fiance<br />
amongst old people, Mexicans, black people<br />
the same group I see at the beach<br />
<br />
and the funny thing is<br />
I remember being a little kid here<br />
and not in a fancy building with beautiful people<br />
or in dingy nighttime art venues<br />
or healthy fancy, delicious home grown restaurants<br />
<br />
I remember the smoking section at Spires<br />
and my grandpa disappearing after we ate<br />
and coming back smelling like cigarettes<br />
<br />
or my uncles backyard parties<br />
on 90 degree summer nights<br />
that smelled like cheap beer<br />
<br />
I remember running through a lawn sprinkler<br />
<br />
<br />
I may not be like them,<br />
but I cant ignore that<br />
I am less out of place there<br />
than most places.<br />
<br />
R.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-61534173565281043802015-01-30T15:12:00.000-08:002015-01-30T15:12:07.761-08:00A Ralphs Among Whole FoodsWhen I catch my reflection in a dirty mirror<br />
and see that I am not the same<br />
as them<br />
I get sick<br />
and break out into a cold sweat<br />
harassed by the noise<br />
by the image of the guy who is talking<br />
<br />
He has straight, combed hair<br />
he had a new orleans themed wedding<br />
<br />
I miss hear what he says to me<br />
and I blurt out Anaheim<br />
and say it again<br />
<br />
And then I understand my mistake<br />
<br />
But the whole while<br />
I think how we aren't really all that alike<br />
<br />
He looks like a normal, clean<br />
healthy man<br />
and I am sweaty<br />
and balding<br />
<br />
and my hair is frizzy and curly and thin<br />
and my face is bloated and red and dirty<br />
My blood is confused<br />
and lost<br />
<br />
I look around the table<br />
and I don't belong<br />
I look around the bar<br />
and I realize that I don't belong<br />
<br />
I avoid looking at myself in the mirror<br />
I avoid looking at all the people who are not like me<br />
though<br />
<br />
I want to be clear that they are not wrong<br />
and that I am<br />
<br />
Though in my head I know<br />
that they are closer to what i'd want to be than I care to admit<br />
<br />
We drive home and talk<br />
and I think about my reflection in the mirror<br />
I feel shaky<br />
and sick still and I miss the onramp<br />
<br />
I think about my reflection<br />
<br />
I think about buying a package of Kraft Singles from a Ralphs around the corner from my house<br />
and wonder if whole foods is secretly a subsidiary of Kraft Foods<br />
marketing to the healthy sect<br />
of society<br />
<br />
From head on, i don't hate myself<br />
From the side I nearly die<br />
<br />
The time is coming when I will have to become my best self<br />
to give up the Kraft Singles<br />
and beer<br />
and Lays Vinegar and Sea Salt potato chips<br />
<br />
and eat a plain salad<br />
and go to the gym<br />
and get a haircut<br />
<br />
But even with all these changes<br />
I will still be an alien<br />
masquerading as a normal human male<br />
<br />
This was a better night than most<br />
though<br />
<br />
There is a video of Sufjan Stevens playing a banjo on a fence on what looks like a farm<br />
and in my heart<br />
I wish it was meR.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-64543522188602132392015-01-08T23:08:00.002-08:002015-01-08T23:08:21.904-08:00Breaking the silencewhen you sit alone<br />
smoking a cigarette<br />
knowing that these things can't go on forever<br />
and the helicopter flies over<br />
shining its light<br />
<br />
and two police cars speed up behind you<br />
or pull up to look at my face<br />
when i'm running around the block<br />
<br />
when these things happen<br />
you know that change is coming<br />
<br />
that it must come<br />
<br />
When the world is full of hate<br />
and it seems like nobody knows<br />
what to do<br />
<br />
when God is watching<br />
everyone play god<br />
and the people who have no god<br />
are playing god<br />
<br />
and the people with guns are speaking for god<br />
and the people with pens are mocking the idea of god<br />
and the people with pens<br />
are writing legislation for god<br />
<br />
and the people who don't participate are watching it all<br />
happen on TV<br />
or reading it on reddit<br />
<br />
when these things happen<br />
the only truly right thing to do is<br />
stay still<br />
and silent<br />
<br />
and sit alone<br />
and watch the helicopter and cars pass you by<br />
while you smoke a cigarette<br />
knowing that this all cannot last<br />
<br />
like thisR.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-55883937591959347212014-05-29T12:46:00.000-07:002014-05-29T12:46:34.745-07:00Finger fall off, wagging emptyThe chorus<br />
screams for blood<br />
every single day<br />
emptying out their hollow vessels<br />
in shallow tears<br />
shallow emotions<br />
<br />
Genuine hardship<br />
genuine regret<br />
purchased for someone else<br />
prostituting themselves<br />
out for causes that disappear in just a few days<br />
<br />
Like a child crying<br />
the chorus knows there is a problem<br />
even if they can't articulate it<br />
so they scream<br />
and turn red<br />
and try desperately to be heard<br />
<br />
Finger wagging<br />
falling off<br />
empty anger<br />
this is the legacy of the chorus<br />
<br />
Who enjoys tragedy<br />
because it feels so good to be right<br />
<br />
There is blood on all of our hands<br />
but the fingers still point<br />
while plasma beads and flows to the tip<br />
of our finger nails<br />
<br />
We just buried a body<br />
time to bury another one<br />
<br />
Don't think about it<br />
don't ever think about it<br />
lest you be buried too<br />
<br />
Don't think anymore<br />
it isn't worth it<br />
<br />R.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-53630945038295358152014-03-10T17:04:00.000-07:002014-03-11T17:00:49.001-07:00Used to be one of the rotten onesThinking back to cold nights<br />
learning how to smoke a cigarette<br />
crushing so hard<br />
confusing cool friends<br />
for potential saviors<br />
<br />
It's hard to regret even a second of it though<br />
freezing air seeping in my jeans<br />
and nervously adjusting and readjusting<br />
to hide the whole time<br />
<br />
Everything from then smelled like ash<br />
But it was sweeter to me<br />
when I was young<br />
<br />
Reading magazines furiously<br />
forming in my mind<br />
the things I wanted to be<br />
And mostly missing the mark<br />
<br />
But I wasn't sitting on my hands<br />
at home<br />
<br />
Remember blogs?<br />
When somebody cool told you about one<br />
and they seemed so amazing<br />
to a suburban boy<br />
<br />
And now they're all gone<br />
or something might call itself one<br />
but for anyone who remembers that short time<br />
it just isn't the same<br />
<br />
I remember driving when I shouldn't have<br />
where I shouldn't have<br />
sleeping on couches<br />
and having the privilege of seeing the peak of a<br />
time and place<br />
and person<br />
<br />
Those girls<br />
those cool girls<br />
They were my teachers<br />
<br />
I remember them now<br />
differently than I did then<br />
<br />
Just the same way that smoke is more annoying<br />
and headache inducing these days<br />
It has to end<br />
<br />
I only hope to make something as bright and good as that againR.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-74836854781071589642014-03-09T23:40:00.002-07:002014-03-09T23:46:55.054-07:00Navel gazersAt once all the wars seemed to blend<br />
together screaming<br />
out at each other like a bloody antelope<br />
coming to grips<br />
with the lion's jaws around its neck.<br />
<br />
The world was falling apart<br />
in a constant stream of terrible tragedy<br />
and bad becoming good<br />
and good becoming bad<br />
With the weak an downtrodden<br />
now crushing a new minority<br />
and somehow not remembering what it was<br />
like to be crushed.<br />
<br />
Yet still with all this noise<br />
flooding my ears<br />
I can't help but wonder if it has always been this way.<br />
<br />
Is there a tipping point of no return<br />
or a circular, repeating saw<br />
with each sharpened tooth eventually making a cut<br />
while on the opposite end<br />
another blade wonders if it will ever have its turn.<br />
<br />
Is it like watching a sunset and saying to ourselves<br />
that it was the greatest sunset of all time<br />
because of how we felt<br />
in that moment<br />
from that perch<br />
ignoring the fact that<br />
even on a cloudy, rainy day<br />
that same sun still displays its splendor<br />
out of our unfortunately limited view.<br />
<br />
Does an ant know what is happening on the other side of a grassy field<br />
or have concept of creatures under<br />
the water in a pond?<br />
<br />
Does it matter?<br />
<br />
Is our attempt to connect all corners of the globe<br />
and right all wrongs<br />
and feel all pain<br />
from the west to the east<br />
and north to south<br />
not just in vain<br />
but vanity itself?<br />
<br />
An animal might gather food for a<br />
cold season<br />
because it is necessary<br />
and even in our own complex world<br />
we must ask ourselves<br />
what is really necessary?R.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-2453461374956324482014-03-04T11:00:00.002-08:002014-03-04T11:00:17.018-08:00The ugly hazeThe morality of the crowd<br />
is a yellow smog<br />
that creeps under doors<br />
and around fences<br />
into our souls<br />
<br />
It is strengthened by hate<br />
by ambiguity<br />
made powerful by it's numbers<br />
<br />
There was a man who blew smoke<br />
in a woman's face as he walked by her<br />
on the lake bridge<br />
and he didn't care<br />
because the haze is uncaring<br />
inhuman<br />
but a product of human nature<br />
<br />
The frenzy of self righteousness<br />
is inhaled<br />
like a noxious drug<br />
it feels like the high ground<br />
but it obscures itself<br />
in itself<br />
and deceives those who believe in it<br />
<br />
The morality of the crowd is like religion<br />
with no rules<br />
a god<br />
whose only rule is to stay out of the way<br />
<br />
preaching happiness<br />
we find that<br />
nobody is happy anymore<br />
because nobody cares anymore<br />
<br />
Just like that man on the bridge<br />
<br />R.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-59951965656754856892014-01-16T11:59:00.000-08:002014-01-16T11:59:27.264-08:00Burning the trailSmoke between your ears<br />
you judge<br />
and protect yourself from judgement<br />
but like an approaching fire<br />
the heat will eventually<br />
inevitably march on<br />
<br />
Burning your skin<br />
singing your brow<br />
until the little beads of sweat<br />
start to boil<br />
and bubble<br />
cooking your skin<br />
red faced<br />
<br />
You hide from reality<br />
too easily<br />
you hide behind made up words<br />
and supposedly deep philosophical<br />
garble<br />
that come out of your mouth as awkwardly as<br />
gravel<br />
<br />
The worst part<br />
is anyone who really loves you<br />
can see how far the fire has come<br />
charring your heart<br />
of its former green<br />
life<br />
<br />
You lose yourself daily and hate<br />
hate hate hate<br />
hate<br />
everyone who doesn't love<br />
<br />
and in that hate<br />
you find shelter<br />
<br />
Like a crustacean taking a warm bath<br />
in a boiling potR.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-42324762032314499712012-10-05T15:52:00.000-07:002012-10-05T15:52:20.498-07:00An expected failure or forkAm I really such a loveable loser<br />
that my flaws disappear<br />
in the glow from my heart?<br />
<br />
And these things are always on my mind<br />
moreso every day they become more real<br />
when future plans become procrastinations<br />
<br />Like my future is school paper<br />
that I should have started weeks ago<br />
and it's due at midnight<br />
Will I even have anything to turn in<br />
<br />
Or to show for it<br />
<br />
And you<br />
so willing to allow yourself<br />
to be carried along by me<br />
convinced that someday<br />
I could lead you<br />
to a place uncommon<br />
a better place<br />
<br />
And I admit<br />
feeling that myself<br />
But it was easier<br />
when failing to do so<br />
would have resulted in<br />
lost potential<br />
<br />
But with you<br />
it is so different isn't it?<br />
And you willfully ignore it<br />
or brush it off<br />
don't you?<br />
<br />
I guess sometimes the future is either too hard to predict<br />
or too scary to look at?<br />
<br />
Is it really so hard to know the destination<br />
when my feet are set in this path?<br />
Or should I have faith<br />
that somewhere<br />
a ways down<br />
there might be a fork<br />
I never could have<br />
expected?<br />
<br />
We are two explorers<br />
in an increasingly dense wood<br />
looking for a clearing<br />
but you are just<br />
looking at me. R.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-81292648772851545162012-09-24T01:22:00.002-07:002012-09-24T01:25:24.522-07:00The special ability in youthWhen my mind races<br />
At what feels like 1000 times<br />
Faster than it should<br />
Time seems to slow down<br />
And it's hard to concentrate<br />
<br />
It used to happen all the time when<br />
I was young<br />
Like a special gift<br />
I was given and had no<br />
Control over<br />
<br />
But I know that things like that<br />
Have left me since getting older<br />
Like being able to<br />
See many colored dots before I fell asleep<br />
<br />
Or knowing that wasted time was<br />
Mostly time for self exploration<br />
Like the electric swirls I learned to control<br />
Or the anxious dread I can<br />
Force my body into on command<br />
<br />
And it all shaped me into<br />
A very tightly controlled<br />
Defensive machine<br />
Where all my attributes became defense mechanisms<br />
And my tastes became closely guarded secrets<br />
<br />
Putting others around me into the<br />
Position of being threats to my<br />
No longer special traits<br />
And instead imprisoned<br />
My mind in paranoia<br />
<br />
Of a nuclear submarine out to sea for months<br />
Pinging the ocean<br />
And mistaking schools of fish<br />
For foes<br />
<br />
Not a part of the sea but a<br />
Drowning island within it<br />
Like Atlantis<br />
Or the colossus at Rhodes<br />
<br />
And since my mind continues to<br />
Lose touch with the freedom I<br />
Once had no control over in youth<br />
I've become trapped<br />
In a system of my own invention<br />
<br />
Unable to love freely<br />
Unable to think earnestly<br />
<br />
Just a torpedo barreling<br />
Toward a blind but plotted<br />
End<br />
<br />R.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-42993537142043872342012-09-10T21:23:00.000-07:002012-09-10T21:23:09.798-07:00The thunderstorm and the clock and a Beach House songTime to me<br />
is like a sad melody<br />
putting us in a place we could not reach otherwise<br />
a fleeting imprint of emotion<br />
that will<br />
end<br />
<br />
The song is precious<br />
like a gold dust in its impermanent perfection<br />
raising the spirit like a natural act<br />
<br />
Yesterday i watched the splendor<br />
of God in a thunderstorm cloud<br />
in the darkness<br />
lightning flash after another<br />
incredible pure energy<br />
caused by the most natural process<br />
on our earth<br />
<br />
Just warm air rising<br />
<br />
I watched the time on my watch<br />
rotate and felt stagnant<br />
and immutable<br />
<br />
Unable to fathom another day like this<br />
a day where I did nothing<br />
and was no better for it at the end<br />
than when I first awoke<br />
a natural process<br />
a rhythm that a needle drags accross<br />
until my melody is over<br />
<br />
and I want so bad<br />
for it to be something great<br />
and not a metronome<br />
<br />
To see the seemingly chaotic<br />
blasts of light<br />
in my own life<br />
from nothing but warm air<br />
exhaling in<br />
and out<br />
<br />
like the inaudible tick<br />
of my watch<br />
rounding out another day<br />
<br />
One that begins in pain<br />
and ends in addiction<br />
my addiction to avoidance<br />
to stagnance<br />
to giving up<br />
<br />
An hour later the lightning had ceased<br />
but i still looked east<br />
to see if it might<br />
strike once more<br />
for me<br />
<br />
A supernatural nod<br />
from nature<br />
to me<br />
letting me know it was ok<br />
<br />
But the storm had passed<br />
and I know some day soon<br />
I will too<br />
<br />
It seems the only things which are eternal<br />
is the rounding of a clock<br />
and my unexplored<br />
potential<br />
<br />R.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-73092590174644716832012-09-07T12:02:00.001-07:002012-09-07T12:02:37.357-07:00Tuning forks and empty wine glassesSaying things to say them<br />
is like getting drunk<br />
to throw up<br />
It's all vomit and mess<br />
and the result of going to far<br />
away from yourself<br />
<br />
Hiding in excess is despicable<br />
its meaningless<br />
like wandering in a circle<br />
hoping to find a new path<br />
<br />
We live in an age full of intelligence<br />
smart beyond our ancestors<br />
arbiters of millenniums<br />
of compounded knowledge<br />
so self aware<br />
so far reaching in our mental scope<br />
<br />
So worthy of praise<br />
so enlightened<br />
<br />
So void of wisdom<br />
because wisdom cannot be learned<br />
through a browser window<br />
or a professor's word<br />
or pastor's for that matter<br />
<br />
Wisdom comes from life<br />
life we seem intent on not living anymroe<br />
because a selfish pursuit<br />
is an empty one<br />
and a crowd of cheering people<br />
is like a row of<br />
empty wine glasses<br />
humming their resonant frequencies<br />
when touched<br />
<br />
And is that all we are?<br />
tuning forks<br />
to whatever randomness abounds<br />
<br />
A sad arrangement<br />
of instruments without a will<br />
who don't even know<br />
how rigid their lives<br />
will be R.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-30467007267432048152012-08-15T09:06:00.002-07:002012-08-15T09:06:18.741-07:00A forgetful goodnessSisters and brothers<div>
come near</div>
<div>
witness the birth of</div>
<div>
the new Right</div>
<div>
the new Good</div>
<div>
the new Morality</div>
<div>
the brightly colored prism</div>
<div>
of a new reality</div>
<div>
a new judgementalism</div>
<div>
fearful of debate</div>
<div>
afraid of</div>
<div>
the disagreeable</div>
<div>
Proclaimers of reason</div>
<div>
doubters of dissidence</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A new society</div>
<div>
formed in ideal looking forward</div>
<div>
forgetting the past</div>
<div>
looking on it with the regret of a long </div>
<div>
night and wobbly morning</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Once again</div>
<div>
drunk on the idea of a new way</div>
<div>
filling up </div>
<div>
chugging and chugging</div>
<div>
the rhetoric of a confused</div>
<div>
pantheistic </div>
<div>
athiestic</div>
<div>
but deeply religious society</div>
<div>
worshipping many more idols</div>
<div>
than the Athenians at Mars Hill</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Philosophers </div>
<div>
Epicureans</div>
<div>
Stoics</div>
<div>
Endlessly streaming consciousness in public forums </div>
<div>
spewing thoughts on each other</div>
<div>
until something sticks</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This new era is perfect in its own way</div>
<div>
moving together as one</div>
<div>
gaining momentum</div>
<div>
like the Facists in the 30's</div>
<div>
we are swept off our feet</div>
<div>
by the inherit <i>rightness</i> of our leaders words</div>
<div>
Impressed by the prosperity of our minds</div>
<div>
blown away by our potential</div>
<div>
always thinking forward</div>
<div>
never dwelling on any moment for </div>
<div>
very long</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This new society has a strong hand</div>
<div>
which sweeps swiftly</div>
<div>
removing the inharmonious chorus</div>
<div>
trimming and pruning</div>
<div>
with impunity</div>
<div>
unsure of what we are creating</div>
<div>
but striving for it</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For the ultimate end</div>
<div>
for that perfect sunset</div>
<div>
for that long night</div>
<div>
for that wobbly morning</div>
<div>
and for the long nap and medicine that follows</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A perfect people</div>
<div>
standing on the imperfect lattice </div>
<div>
of old</div>
<div>
While the vine of a new morality continues to creep</div>
<div>
twisting and branching</div>
<div>
like wild ivy</div>
<div>
unsure of where it started</div>
<div>
covering up </div>
<div>
what doesn't belong.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
R.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-73817796554988617802012-08-06T16:21:00.001-07:002012-08-06T16:21:37.257-07:00Roots to chinaThe tree stump in the desert<div>
has no purpose</div>
<div>
but to turn to stone</div>
<div>
some day</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's life is over</div>
<div>
no longer able to grow</div>
<div>
or hope for something better</div>
<div>
it mearly sits</div>
<div>
decapitated</div>
<div>
while the sun bakes it's heart </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And a sun baked heart</div>
<div>
is the hardest kind</div>
<div>
because</div>
<div>
it feels heat and longs for water</div>
<div>
but cannot see the day</div>
<div>
for which the floods might return</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And just like a dead </div>
<div>
petrifying tree stump</div>
<div>
I have no mobility</div>
<div>
and feel the pressure of </div>
<div>
a life now wasting</div>
<div>
in the sun</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A once promising life</div>
<div>
beaten down</div>
<div>
by God's life giving rays</div>
<div>
because I am not in a position </div>
<div>
to accept them</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
No leaves</div>
<div>
no branches</div>
<div>
no families of birds and bugs </div>
<div>
no rich</div>
<div>
cool</div>
<div>
dark soil</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
the kind you would dig your fingernails into</div>
<div>
when you were a kid</div>
<div>
and you had an idea of what </div>
<div>
life would be like </div>
<div>
and you wrenched your fingers through the dirt</div>
<div>
searching for China</div>
<div>
and worms</div>
<div>
and other things</div>
<div>
that made being a child</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
so much better than now</div>R.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-52149582534666469062012-07-30T22:27:00.001-07:002012-07-30T22:32:08.689-07:00We hug the cold shoulderWe wont know ourselves<br />
until<br />
we reach that crest<br />
where the sun hits our eyes<br />
like an arrow with three halos<br />
piercing in intensity<br />
yellow<br />
<br />
I thought the light would be different<br />
yet<br />
it wasnt that the light was odd<br />
but I could not fathom what it was<br />
<br />
Do you know the feeling<br />
of unknowing?<br />
<br />
Of course you do<br />
we all do<br />
we are humans<br />
and humans<br />
do not know much<br />
<br />
But we are familiar with<br />
uncertainty<br />
the cold shoulder of the void<br />
is like a comforting fire to our<br />
imagination<br />
<br />
We embrace it<br />
not quite like friends<br />
maybe, like a parent<br />
we have a hard time seeing eye to eye<br />
with<br />
<br />
I abhor complacency<br />
and adult sensibility<br />
I think nothing exciting comes from it<br />
<br />
Sensibility never built anything that stood<br />
the test of time<br />
<br />
And yet we fear the illogical<br />
the unreasonable word association<br />
we call it<br />
crazy<br />
schizophrenic<br />
manic<br />
<br />
But my God<br />
what is it that we truly love<br />
that isn't a bit crazy?R.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-15314258828792501302012-07-10T09:28:00.001-07:002012-07-10T09:33:22.396-07:00The wanderer's heartWhat worth is there in love<br />
to be cast aside so easily<br />
disguised in a mire of<br />
personal struggle<br />
<br />
That happiness can be found<br />
in a break is folly<br />
a fool thinks to himself<br />
that his needs should be put above<br />
others<br />
to help them<br />
<br />
Trickle-down familial politics<br />
the worst policy<br />
of an unregulated heart<br />
<br />
Who knows the mind<br />
of a pride-less lion<br />
aimless in it's direction<br />
gaunt and hollow<br />
never able to set down<br />
and claim a place for it's own<br />
<br />
And if you are in the savannah<br />
it's these lions<br />
you must be most careful of<br />
because they are shifty and unpredictable<br />
dangerous because they<br />
abandoned the decor of being<br />
the king of the jungle<br />
<br />
And likewise<br />
a heart without love is unpredictable<br />
and dangerous<br />
hurting <span style="background-color: white;">indiscriminately</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">guilty and hardened in it's obstinacy</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">And so cold</span><br />
likened unto dead<br />
<br />
So again,<br />
What worth is there in love?<br />
when it does not last<br />
when our best intentions are <span style="background-color: white;">superseded</span><br />
by our temporary desires<br />
<br />
When a family is broken apart<br />
as carelessly as the wind changes direction<br />
<br />
The answer is another question<br />
<br />
What worth is there without love?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />R.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23898267.post-30545709869644098232012-06-26T13:09:00.004-07:002012-06-26T13:10:18.934-07:00The oath to mediocrityWhy is my life so inconsequential<br />
that 2000 dollars is the difference between life<br />
altering change<br />
and being stuck<br />
<br />
That something good can be so consistently tainted<br />
by old things<br />
that cling to me<br />
with mechanical will<br />
<br />
Every year the things I wanted<br />
seem dimmer<br />
and further away<br />
frustrating me<br />
with their <span style="background-color: white;">unreachable coyness</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">causing</span><span style="background-color: white;"> my hands to shake</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
I shake<br />
because<br />
I hate what I am forced to be<br />
the most meaningless tooth<br />
in the most meaningless cog<br />
<br />
part of a machine i thought i would latch onto for a while<br />
only to find that i had become stuck<br />
by a shoelace<br />
and now i'm being dragged behind<br />
the choices<br />
which at the time seemed so small<br />
now bound to them<br />
like an oath<br />
to mediocrity<br />
<br />
A pledge to un-success<br />
<br />
I wish i could go back in time<br />
and focus myself<br />
reorient my priorities<br />
<br />
less on relationships<br />
and self deprecation<br />
more on becoming something<br />
<br />
though<br />
those things which caused me to fret<br />
6 years ago<br />
<br />
have hardly left me.<br />
<br />
I see my generation crumbling<br />
under the weight of their dreams<br />
not achieving the lofty ambitions set before us<br />
since we were young<br />
feeling the bleakness<br />
I believe<br />
only a true lost generation can feel<br />
<br />
and trust me<br />
we are a lost generation<br />
never living up to our potential<br />
never making our mark<br />
<br />
Forced to fill in the gaps<br />
caused by recession<br />
and sometimes<br />
slipping through them<br />
<br />
Like a half a cup of water<br />
like a few grains of sand<br />
drawn by gravity<br />
to unremarkable<br />
end<br />
<br />R.Raccoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10594959684783650304noreply@blogger.com0