a moment in time..
published in chaos theory volume 3 issue 13
so I slept with over 26 people from the internet and my tongue was all white. Have you ever had your life flash before your eyes? Have you ever stared at yourself in the mirror for so long your eyes start to hurt and you see colors you didn’t know existed? Have you ever thought you looked like death when you aren’t even sure what death looks like?
So I waited in the walk in clinic for 6 hours. And I paid one hundred dollars for the doctor to tell me I had a cold. The results came back and they told me I was ok…I wasn’t going to die…
I will never forget that moment. I will never wait 6 hours in a clinic again either.
published in chaos theory volume 3 issue 10
-everyone clearing the dance floor when my favorite song comes on.
-seeing a re-run of the Golden Girls that I haven’t seen 6000 times already.
-getting a waitress with dirt under her nails that is so nice it doesn’t matter that she has dirt under her nails.
-buying a great CD and NOT having my favorite song be released to the radio.
-having sex with someone and wanting them to still lay next to me after it is over.
-ripping a nice juicy fart and rolling up the windows in the car.
-going to a drag show and realizing I could be a lot more dysfunctional then I am already.
-my mom realizing she made some mistakes bringing me up.
-someone reading this and saying “hey I once felt like that too…”
a day that changed my life
published in chaos theory volume 3 issue 6
I went crazy when I lived in Atlanta. I had moved from Buffalo to Atlanta, and while I had a lot of friends in Buffalo, I made very few in Atlanta. I did all this because I sing…chasing a dream always.
I am a co-dependent person. I get obsessive sometimes. While in Atlanta, I met this kid Will, who I guess you could say I fell in love with. I was fixated on him. I would page him over and over…and yearn for his attention. Eventually this scared him away…and the more distance he made the more I pushed and pushed for him to notice me.
Eventually I snapped. I flipped out one night and smashed a mirror and engaged in self-destructive behavior. I knew if I didn’t make a change fast, I was going to run myself into the ground.
My friend Shauna was coming to visit me from New York, and I knew returning to New York was an option. So I sat in my empty room…confused…what should I do?
I have always been a big Stevie Nicks fan. To me Stevie is very punkrock. Well I was laying in bed listening to her OTHER SIDE OF THE MIRROR cd and the song “Juliet” came on. Now this was never one of my favorite songs…but suddenly the words jumped out at me: “get some ribbons and some bows…GET BACK OUT ON THE ROAD”!
and then I knew my answer. I knew I had to leave Atlanta if I was to regain my sanity. So I gave away most of my possessions, took my guitar, and went on a road trip back to New York. I thought about my life a lot along this trip…how I had always depended on another guy to find happiness. I knew it was time for me to start searching within myself… I listened to “Juliet” over and over and over the whole trip.
“Let the crisis become a bridge
And cross that bridge tommorrow
And in the time that goes between baby
We’ll let it let go of the sorrow
‘The sky is not crying’
He said ‘the sky is blue'”- S.L. Nicks
it would be so strange to be
involved with a monogamy
a set up hard to understand
things didn’t happen as i planned
at the younger age of my thirteen
a boy whose thoughts were mostly clean
when hopes and dreams and fairy tales
obscured the view of darker trails.
commitment was the the single choice
when speaking in a teenaged voice
in cuddled beds and streetlamp eyes
dreams and mists, 4 a.m. sighs
those dreams of sleep and laying steady
killed by bodies quick and sweaty
you’ve lost it kid, it’s all a joke
the dreams you had no more than smoke.
o’er the river and 26
the woods watch as the boy turns tricks
You try and fail so what to do
But be like those who shit on you.
And still he waits…and waits some more
There’s unknown trails yet to explore
A million orgasms he’d trade to be
The boy who dreamed monogramy.
published in chaos theory
that’s the kind of soul my mother is
carries the weight of half a century
beneath her painted eyelids
and still confused
is anything worth it?
even at 51 she doesn’t know.
but if there’s anything i know to be true
my spirit has come from you…
published in chaos theory
the hissing sewer pipes wash away
all the bad stuff at least
most of it…
he hates to know he’ll probably
masturbate in front of the computer
but isn’t it better than the 8 different
people from last month
he never saw this month?
gravity has a stong pull
and so do addictions…
but at least gravity allows you
saddened that his finest moments are
courtesy of his fist…
5 seconds of pleasure.
the air conditioner hums emptiness
and the dark walk up the stairs.
it’s five am. the sprinklers.
up too late again.
my least favorite part of my body
published in This Megazine
some people have wobbly knees
and some are full of zits
all that wouldn’t bother me
if i had smaller tits.
you see i’m supposedly male
meaning my chest should be flat
then the boobies started growing
i wondered what is up with that?
i am not a transvestite
nor do i inject hormones
i hate the little bumpies
where there should be skin and bones
maybe chemical imbalance
or that fact I hang with queers
a target for the redneck boys
too tiny for brassiers
in conclusion focus on the fungus
alive in my arm pits
yes, my ass is cellulitic
but i’d rather trade my tits.
published in This Megazine
It was a dark and stormy night as I lay in my twin post bed. The wind outside was especially wild this night… and I would not have been surprised if the window caved in. I couldn’t sleep. Family problems. Tests. The job. Funerals. It was a heavy month for me…November 1994 was.
I fell asleep for about 47 minutes. I awoke to a silence, but it wasn’t a peaceful silence. It was a very uneasy silence. I awoke to eyes looking at me. It was not the green eyes of my cat I saw. It was not the bloodshot drunken eyes of my roommate either. It was not the eyes of sleep nor the eyes of God. These eyes were alien, in every sense of the word.
I remember being lifted, and the hands were cold. I don’t think at the time the alien’s hands actually felt cold, but memory recalls them that way. The alien hands gave me an undescribable feeling. A mix of terror, comfort, alarm, safety, sickness, health, and about 1000 other words that haven’t been invented to this day.
I was escorted to the area underneath the basement stairway. I had a reading lamp in there, because that’s where I hid when the family fought, back when they still lived with me. I was laid on the cold concrete…my eyes staring at the puke orange plush carpet stapled to the ceiling. 16 eyes stared at me now. How they all fit into this like nook is beyond me. I used to think I understood everything. After November 1994 I was secure in knowing my first and last name, and that’s it.
Naturally, I was probed with a needle. And then 10. And then 1000. 16 eyes and 1000 needles. The aliens spoke in some crazy jibberish…or at least that’s how I recall it now. My memories are stereotypically alien… maybe that’s the only way they would allow me to remember it. I do remember, however, that I was fully clothed. The needles went directly though my clothing…and didn’t make a mark. They didn’t make a rip, tear, or hole.
I wish I had eaten my Wheaties when I was younger, because that’s all I remember now. Daylight broke, and I was still fully clothed, and my window was unscathed by the storm. Sometimes life is remarkable. And sometimes it is mystery. I’m not sure what this all means, but I know I’ll never be the same.
published in NakedPoetry.com
The woman I could never be
Who saunters sexually
The gold of her skin
Sucking boys in
Baring it shamelessly
Vinyl black shiny and sweet
Boys like me cannot compete
Her coveted ass
Is dripping with sass
I’m a trickle because of her treat.
– from Nakedpoetry.com
Years ago, before I was a whore. Before I had more sexual partners a month than a case of beer has cans. When the smell of the air seemed slightly more fresh and new, and when the wind blew, it didn’t rattle my bones, it caressed them. I am not sure exactly how I grabbed it, and I am still not quite sure exactly how I lost it either. But I had it for awhile. I had HIM for awhile.
The seeds of the storm began to form on a hot night in the innocent summer of 1995. I was a street kid in a small town in New York. My eyes were still wide, and my heart pumped blood with fire and passion through my ever-exploring body and ever developing mind. The climate is much colder up there than where I live now, but the fire of life burned much hotter than I could ever imagine it burning now.
He walked into the room. The coffee shop, to be exact. I walked in nearly at the same time, with my motley crew of skateboarder neo-nazi wanna-be friends.
He was dressed in drag following a costume party hosted by the art camp he was studying at. I was dressed in cross-colors and gangster garb, following
an excommunication from my parent’s house. He was high on alcohol and I was high on adventure. He was with two girls. He didn’t like boys.
My friend, Fry, called him a faggot. I think I called him a faggot too. Fry didn’t know that I was a faggot…at the time I don’t think even I knew I was a faggot. Heated words volley-balled back and forth…between the tough skater crew we were…and the sensitive artsy crew him and his friends were.
The summer ended, and I returned to my family home. I recorded some music, I thought about the boy in drag a few times…and I joyously took in the smells of the approaching autumn…inside of the bedroom that I grew up.
A month later the boy in drag was sitting in my room. By way of mutual friends…or fate…or luck…he was in my room. I had shed the gangster image and returned the more boring (or less boring) task of just being me. It was a room full of friends, and him, listening to my new music. It was mid September and the air was getting a bit chilly. The mud puddles rippled all day long in my dirty driveway…as I watched and daydreamed about the boy in drag.
We started calling each other. We started becoming friends. I knew the charcoals burning in my chest were more than the result of friendship…and I knew I had to warn the straight boy who wore drag once that I was falling, plundering, stumbling….over him.
I wrote a letter…one of my crazy letters…one of my twelve page letters…telling him that I felt something ever so wild and dangerous for him…and that it was okay if he ran away. I understood. I understood that when you are a straight boy…it can be uncomfortable for a boy with a wild heart like mine to want to melt into you. I was melting, melting fast.
I remember the most romantic moment in my 26-year life. I was 19. I was sitting in a parking lot of the college campus of my hometown. The moon shined down in a light that was as warm and surreal as the autumn air was brisk and comforting. It was the only kind of light and air that angels can truly let their faces be shown in. I was in the front seat and he was in the back. He was talking about working drive-through at Burger King. I don’t remember if he loved it or hated working that drive-through. All I remember is the chills that crawled down my back, one by one by one, with every single sound that came out of his adorable mouth. I will never forget that moment, or that feeling. The feeling that someone is so fucking amazing talking about handing hamburgers out of a window. I was in love, hard.
Things got rocky again. I was once again kicked out of my house. I was floundering and stumbling around for a week. Sleeping in my car in the cold
cold November nights of approaching Winter. I had to grow up really fucking fast, And I did.
Within a week I had settled into my very first apartment, via a newspaper ad. Here I was, nineteen, full of wonder for the world (still), living with some former marine having an affair with a married woman. In a way, this was hell. In a greater way, this was heaven too.
The straight boy who wore drag slept in the bednext to me in that apartment, a few times. We didn’t hold each other, but I didn’t sleep either. I couldn’t sleep. I COULD NOT sleep with God laying next to me. When the morning came, and his distant warm body left…the sparkle stayed in me for a good part of a day. I never felt safer, warmed, happier, or more hopeful, then when his warm body would lay in the same bed as me, and not hold me.
We had one big fight before the huge fight. He lied to me, and I called him on it. We screamed and yelled in a bright sunny afternoon, in my four window bedroom with the windows shut tight. After the fight ended, we held each other for the first time. The only time. We held each other and didn’t let go…for at
least three minutes. Or was it five? Or was it forever? A hug loses all sense of time when it is the most amazing thing that ever happened to you in your life. With hugs like that, a fight almost seemed like something I would like to have more often. He left down my stairs, in his Burger King uniform, wearing
the black beret I gave to him. I told him he looked beautiful, and he did. More importantly, I felt beautiful. I felt the beauty of life’s possibilities…in the bright brown eyes of a boy that was only in my life for a very short time. He told me he had a secret to tell me, but he wasn’t ready yet.
The last night we hung out it snowed. We were driving to a friend’s house and we took the long way, by choice. It was the first snow…and the roads were
ever so slightly powdered and covered… We were on dark, lonely back roads, talking about dark and lonely things such as the meaning of life, and our future together as friends. He said we could be much closer in a few years…and as my wipers dealt with the mist of snow bouncing onto my wind shield…I dealt with the mist of hope bouncing from my heart, into my brain, and out of my eyes. I knew this was someone I had to know forever.
A few nights later he hung up on me. He couldn’t take me anymore. He couldn’t take how I hated all his friends, how I took his artwork for granted, and how I loved him when “all we were was friends.” In the same room when he told me his favorite Madonna song was “Bad Girl” he told me, he could never, ever talk to me again.
“Something’s missing and I don’t know why..I always feel the need to hide my feelings…from you …Is it me…or you that I’m afraid of tell myself…I’ll show you what I’m made of.. Can’t bring myself…to let you go”- Madonna
I went to his house, because I told him I wanted everything back I ever gave to him. And as he shut the door in my face, I left his house with the beret in my hand. I left a lot of myself inside of his house that day. I tried many many times to reconnect but he held true to his promise…he would never talk to me again. Only because in his words “we really didn’t have much in common anyway.” Perhaps he was right.
The air, the wind, the snow, and the sun still exist in cold Northern small towns. They exist long before, and long after amazing conversations take place in cheap punk rock cars. But sometimes trees lose their leaves, and for some unknown reasons, the leaves never ever grow back. I left my bare branches in Fredonia New York years ago. The only danger is, I left my clear blue skies there, too.