Thursday, 26 August 2010

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



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


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?

Thursday, 19 August 2010

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
and thought
that you
are such
a big part
of it,
and I smiled

Wednesday, 18 August 2010


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

Tuesday, 17 August 2010

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

Sunday, 15 August 2010


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
taxi stand
under the
side of the


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

I can't finish

but it's always the
why oh you

Friday, 13 August 2010

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




and this is
a crack for
the light to
come through

so that this may be true

Friday, 6 August 2010

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

thought CANNOT be stopped
THOUGHT cannot be stopped
thought cannot be STOPPED
cannot THOught StoppEd
canNOT thought stopped
nOt tHose

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

Thursday, 5 August 2010

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
and I decided
because I'm rushing to
the end
and eager to find that
cambridge context
cantabrigian smudges
undermining my train of thought with shit songs
good company
demanding nothing but asking

for me to accept

Tuesday, 3 August 2010

The Wales Sequence

I want to be here in this
rain-proof pod
singing rain-proof
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

I don't know why you took me here
by the sea, and the cliffs, with the rocks and
but I love it, and it almost seems too much right
and the sand and the messages and
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
as it is

There is no fire, but just
a dull, unofficial and repeating
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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm sitting, and waiting
and for now I'm someone else
it's still me, but a different form
formed from concepts of
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
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
so I sit
and wait
in another mans clothes
and someone else might come to
and hi
and I might draw your gaze

Sunday, 1 August 2010

one of the wales sequence

I thought I could see you
but maybe just a hanging pair of
without your voice, or eyes, or smile
so not worth all of this
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