jesse's favorite poem

old poem, like the others

You cannot allow the mind to stop, it has to go somewhere

And whereever it goes is whenever you are going to know

As if as if you could

You can’t you can’t know the kind mind and iit’s infinite misspelled it’ses

And everything is a brilliant different color of the same thing

We are muck and grime and beautiful flowers and flames that open and

Close

Off

And stop for seconds but don’t stop for more than a few

And if I was stupid enough

I’d probably be smart

But I don’t just don’t just can’t just get it together and I

Just

Do it to myself

And I am a collection of random things and that collection of random things

Is sometimes stoned and really usually all of the time high

At least in this state of mind, that one this one that you are reading and sometimes seeing

And I talk in absolutes

And I am absolutely positively uncertain of absolutely maybe everything

But all I can think about is nothing

But then nothing becomes the realization of everything

And my mind cli i i i icks

And sometimes I say clikZ and I’m cool

But most of the time I’m not

Did you see when it snowed last winter,

And while I was walking home I thought I might’ve been in massachusettes

And my ID would probably already be horizontal, and I wouldn’t know you like I do now

And what if this is a rant or just a few letters that might

Sound good if I use all of the stupid extra unreal extra-terrestrial and by that I mean other than the structureofthewordsoftheneverendingsentencess

The mind hits a block and you worry if you’ve fallen over. Are you there typing? Am I here reading this? Is the page mine or yours, or mine? Have we fallen together and maybe I am the page. And maybe all the and maybes in the world won’t stop us from eventually crashing together in an under-lying theme of absurdity.

What if I’m stuck here, on this page, getting better, simpler. But is each of those a breath?

Do you want to know me when I’m older? I don’t. I want to know you for the rest of your life, and I also wish that I’d known you when I was younger, and you were younger. But I don’t want to know me when I’m older. I don’t trust my mind to age with grace. It feels frayed enough, and I’ve heard that sanity is best built on a solid foundation. But I want you to know me when I’m older, so that I can know you when you’re older too.

And I can think so much of myself, but most of the time I’m thinking of you.

And is this a love letter? Can a letter be in love?

Can I be in love with you? Still? Or is it too early? Or what if it is beautiful, love? And why has that become a question?

written on a bus, between putney and brixton

when I was

walking and

saw the set-

ting sun

and the purples

and pinks

slid across

a silent sky

I couldn't see

the sun but

in my mind i

saw your face

and your

eyes, green and

black and

white and

fixed like

crystalline bolts

and I thought

of all the

beauty

and thought

that you

are such

a big part

of it,

and I smiled

eh

I sit and watch as fractal trees breed

fractal thoughts like fractal bees

and the mind splits

and becomes the

m m i i n n d d

and maybe that's just

the chemicals in my

that leave blank lines where

thought should be

or where thought should be should be

or could thought be

on this page or in

another mind and will we see

fractal trees

and recognize them

when we are older

will we look through windows and see fractal bees

will we dream of these fractal beings

will we see these fractal things

w w i i l l l l w w w e e e

moment of weakness (not current)

what if when it all falls apart you're not there

and the cracks get too big and the apes get too scared

and the silence is damning and the ringing has stopped

and there's nothing

not meter

or foot

or kilometer

and the ground that we walk on it shakes and it peters

and Paul died too early

and I saw it from too far away

so in case it all falls apart

please stay

status

status is upgraded by thought

flowing but repetitive line drawn spells put many mistakes

to rest

I wonder if wandering like I do

will make that same sense

that you do

you make sense and fill thought

and therefore are

sandpapered

to

a

taxi stand

under the

side of the

road

we are roasting in our own sadness and you are you and

I can't finish

but it's always the

why oh you

written on a bus, between Bristol and London

this word is no longer in the darkness

it is red but not

it is lit by lamp and sun and fire

this word is out of shadows

and doesn't expect another delivery anytime soon

this word doesn't exist without all the others, but it is still this word

it is abstract and attacked

from different eras of

statistical listing and

instances of jumped

thought

and

assumed

silence

and this is

a crack for

the light to

come through

so that this may be true

deconstructionist word games?

the page MUST be arbitrary

the page must be ARBITRARY

the PAGE must be arbitrary

the page must BE arbitrary

must ARbitrary pagE be

muST arbitrARY page be

must arbitrary pAGe bE

ARe sTary age

are staRy AGE

ArT ragE

Ate

a

thought CANNOT be stopped

THOUGHT cannot be stopped

thought cannot be STOPPED

cannot THOught StoppEd

canNOT thought stopped

nOt tHose

oh

basic but NOT all alone

basic but not all ALONE

basic but not ALL alone

BASIC but not all alone

noT ALONe all basic

not alone All basic

noT Alone all Basic

talON a tab

talon A Tab

on At

a

my new (old) context

Is this context the one I want?

is this the context of cambridge?

I guess I don't have the patience

to guess

I guess I don't have the context

to know

the flashing lights are

a

hint

and I decided

to

jump

because I'm rushing to

the end

and eager to find that

cambridge context

cantabrigian smudges

undermining my train of thought with shit songs

and

good company

demanding nothing but asking

for me to accept

this

context

The Wales Sequence

1.

I want to be here in this

rain-proof pod

singing rain-proof

songs

with two philosophers and

a master of discourse

who I'd love to talk to but

I'm stuck

on the page

in this pod

in the rain

and I'm stuck in this loop

in this pod

in the rain

with two others and one more

the same

stuck on this page

in this pod

in the rain

and one of them has something written

on her hand

in this pod

in the rain

and I'm happy and here

in this pod

in the rain

2.

I don't know why you took me here

by the sea, and the cliffs, with the rocks and

you

but I love it, and it almost seems too much right

now

and the sand and the messages and

love

that you write

would be

almost all

of everything

to me

and this moment hurts because I know it will end

and I can be so cynical so often but I'm honest right now

why did you bring me, and why can't I just let it be as

perfect

as it is

3.

There is no fire, but just

a dull, unofficial and repeating

smolder

and let me explain

I keep trying to light it but I've run out of gas

from idly flicking and

burning my fingers

I don't have anything left but the case and the case is colder than a flame but

it still hurts to touch

eventually I'll have to give up

and I think I'll be ready soon

4.

Just promise me that when I

have something to say again you'll listen with kind ears.

I've got nothing now, but I'll try, I'll try

until I can't try again.

I'm not sure

I'm not sure

I'm not sure

I'm not sure

I'm just repetition

5.

We're sitting at the social club with not a hint of metaphor about us

and Mr. Makoto is dancing back

and forth with his silent fingers and

heavy hands

he does not tickle or mingle but he does

kill us where we stand

so I'm glad I'm sitting

and when he pauses and his feel leave the ground

you can hear japan travel through his sounds

and the pint is bitter

but the bassist is sweet

and pudge on the trumpet,

well he was just cool, man

6.

She and he are figuring out the comings and goings of complex courtship, but they ain't dancing.

it's song and rigid practice so that they might just flow

I can hear through floors and was once there

and her voice with such b-

but something even more, that might need a new word

the accented warbles finish my thoughts like colors

and colors that I can't describe

but she could sing it

and he could drive it along with her on the hood

more desirable than a Cadillac shield

more slick than a mermaid

more soul than all heaven and hell combined

and hell, I ain't going to heaven,

but they sure as heck should

7.

dots

d o t s

d o t s

d o t s

d o t s

arrows to the end and

we point at patterns that hold

nothing for us

can you hear my voice?

do you remember my name?

I am he who raised a bastard child that would become

king in our dreams

and the dots that lead you to me

were placed there by him

or maybe it's all rubbish, and

I'm losing my way

but as long as you can see them

it's all going to be OK

8.

I thought I could see you walking

but maybe just a hanging pair of legs

without your voice, or eyes, or smile

so not worth all of this thought

right

now

and I could babble like a tower of old

and I would write every word with care

but you wouldn't be there

just some hanging clothes, tricking my eager eye

9.

I'm sitting, and waiting

and for now I'm someone else

it's still me, but a different form

form

formed from concepts of

normality

and

peace

and I'm peaceful and waiting

in another man's shoes

taking up space where another

man should be

and scrawling quickly from

side to

side

and my form is calculated to

draw your gaze

not for vanity but for a wish

of another life

a form in which I make more

sense

so I sit

and wait

in another mans clothes

and someone else might come to

say

hello

and hi

and I might draw your gaze

one of the wales sequence

I thought I could see you

walking

but maybe just a hanging pair of

legs

without your voice, or eyes, or smile

so not worth all of this

thought

right now

and I could babble like a tower of old

and I would write every word with care

but you wouldn't be there

just some hanging clothes,

tricking my eager eye