| (no subject) |
[Sep. 10th, 2007||12:09 am] |
i've decided to make a new livejournal.
i'm going to keep this one, but just for the reason that it has lots and lots of writing and random shit in it.
[three or so years]
so, anyone who reads this occasionally, delete this journal from your friend's list, and add my new username - lelibertin
peachy?
peachy keen.
fabulous. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 9th, 2007||05:34 pm] |
through the alleyways to cool off in the shadows
then into the street following the water
there's a bearded man paddling in his canoe
looks as if he has come all the way from the cayman islands
these canals, it seems, they all go in circles
places look the same, and we're the only difference
the wind is in your hair, it's covering my view
i'm holding on to you, on a bike we've hired until tomorrow
if only they could see, if only they had been here
they would understand, how someone could have chosen
to go the length i've gone, to spend just one day riding
holding on to you, i never thought it would be this clear |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 9th, 2007||01:55 pm] |
what's the immaterial substance
that envelopes two,
that one perceives as hunger
and the other as food.
i wake in tangled covers,
to a sash of snow,
you dream in a cartoon garden,
i could never know.
innocent imitation,
of how it could be,
if when the music ended,
you did not retreat.
in my imagination,
you are cast in gold,
your image a compensation for me to hold.
parallel lines, move so fast
*
i've traveled far,
and i've burned all the bridges |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 8th, 2007||09:53 pm] |
some evenings.
there's a cup on the porch,
we douse our cigarettes and we go inside,
still talking.
we're making coffee much too late,
but we're just talking.
sipping
it's quiet.
i remember so many things that i can hardly empathize with.
i remember a short little boy on a tricycle
i remember climbing trees in the afternoon.
i remember hiding for hours.
i remember what it felt like
to be hidden.
i was invisible to the people walking my street below.
now i'll get tired too quickly.
i'll get to the top of a tall hill,
and i'll cough up tar from too many cigarettes smoked.
i'll wake up with a hangover and a fucking bad headache.
i'll make coffee as fast as i can,
and stand on the porch with another cigarette.
watching the smoke play off my fingers.
it's cold,
and i like that, so much.
i love those mornings and there's so many things missing all day,
and it's so mixed together, i can't pick out the parts
that play from memory,
and the parts that are black and white in front of me,
the things i live every day
i remember the smell of waking up in the mornings.
i remember the feeling of 1st grade.
i remember a field that i used to run across,
and i can't remember where it is.
i've got holes in my memory
and i can't fill them with anything that i see.
anything i've seen.
i woke up this morning to my dad shaking my shoulder,
and for the first time he actually looked at me, and asked me to get up.
and we stood on the bank of a river at 630,
we shared our coffee and talked,
about the things he'll be doing in ten years,
and the things that i'll be doing.
we talked about our trips we've taken,
we've talked about the mistakes he's made,
and the things that he'd like to apologize for.
he gave me a hug, and actually held on this time.
and at the end of the day,
he said he'd see me in the spring.
and i nodded my head,
and when he turned on the car and put in the clutch,
there was no where i wanted to be more than where he was.
right then.
i had to walk back through this town i live in,
thinking of the things i wished i could have done with him when i was 16,
i wanted to thank him for every day he let me borrow the car,
and all the days that he made me breakfast before school, when i was 12.
the way he talked with me about girls,
and the stories from when he was 22.
the ones that i can still repeat word for word.
we have a language that he speaks sometimes,
and we have walls that are never going to be re-built.
i have a way of living that scares the hell out of him,
and he told me that with clenched hands.
some evenings.
i drink and i don't turn back until i've forgotten what i've thought about.
tonight there were purple and orange lines on the sky,
it was a painting that can't be captured by anyone.
it was taillights and cigarettes and sitting in a parking lot,
sharing a beer with julian, talking about bob dylan.
there are things i've written in pages and pages that i'm burning in the morning,
to get it out of my system.
yeah, i'll see you in the spring. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 8th, 2007||08:23 pm] |
without giving anything away
i can say it's by the sea
it's a house that used to be
the home of a friend of mine
without giving anything away
you'll find ships inside of bottles
when the garden's overgrown
the house is white, but the paint is coming off
i didn't know if you wanted to
but i came to pick you up
you didn't even hesitate
and now you and me are on our way
i think i've bought everything we need
don't look back, don't think of the
all the places we should've been
it's a good thing that you came along with me
gold in the air of summer
you'll shine like gold in the air of summer |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 6th, 2007||02:11 pm] |
08 stepchild hammerhead
www.stepchildsnowboards.com/boards-hammer.shtml
ordered today :)
soooo excited. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 6th, 2007||01:38 am] |
i've got these memories of punching holes through a paneled door
sixteen, seventeen, eighteen
and i don't remember where
or when |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 6th, 2007||01:35 am] |
i'm goddamn sick of everything right now
this porch
these steps
the parking lot near my house
there are boundaries that i don't cross
and i don't understand why
i can reach out and grab it,
it's right there.
always fucking hovering in the air
right in front of me
and i just push it away. i refuse to let it touch me.
there are places in this town
that divide like some sacred street runs between them.
i cross over sometimes
to the places.
they have lights
and places to sit
and the time runs out
every time.
i can't stay long enough
my time is spent feeling sick to my stomach. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 6th, 2007||01:33 am] |
ten sentences
ten fucking sentences
who likes being alone
more than being with people
at 19 |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 6th, 2007||01:18 am] |
cold enough in the morning to see your breath forming in front of you.
grab my bag off the chair, pull on a hoodie and a hat.
i'm standing under the gray clouds, trying to warm up my hands with my mouth.
numb fingers pulling out a cigarette,
fumbling the lighter out of my pocket.
i'm standing in my driveway, taking in the sky for a couple minutes.
i'll walk to the bus stop and grab a cup of coffee, maybe a bagel.
there's a pebble sidwalk across the street.
some nice, big houses.
the audis flood the sides of the street more often than people.
the light is so pale this early
the air is so cold in september, snow hits the ground later in the month.
by december it gets down to minus ten.
morning.
but
even right now i'm at minus ten.
i'd go outside to smoke another cigarette,
but i'm scared of the frostbite |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 6th, 2007||12:47 am] |
3/6*
4:47:06 PM libertineblanc: i was so tired. and just woke up.
4:47:17 PM degaslovesme: are you a robot? |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 6th, 2007||12:00 am] |
what gives, what helps
the intuition
i'll know, I'll know
oh, i won't have to be shown
the way home
although, although
they can lead you
hide or reveal too
a destination known
only by the one
whose fate is overgrown
piecemeal could break your home
and have
a love is not complete
with only heat
they can tease you
break or complete you
and in came a heatwave
a merciful save
you choose, you chose
poetry over prose
a map is more unreal
than where you've been
or how you feel
and it's impossible to tell
how important something was
and what you might have missed out on
and how it might have changed it all
did i, did i |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 5th, 2007||11:43 pm] |
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with forgetfulness, what remains of the desire that consumed him? where does it go? obsession, so finely tuned, is misplaced with this dramatic loss of authobiography. so that someone watching him on his hands and knees on the thin chalet carpeting is perhaps witnessing a frantic search for that physical half that longed to lock itself like a claw in the body of another. a few hours later he is no longer aware of what has left him, the body's role muted, the brain refusing to give any clue as to what he once wanted so badly. he falls into a relived sleep in the single bed, unaware of the panorma of this week, unaware of a motive for these wounds, unconcerned with the need to avenge himself. desire and obsession so slight. one organ, the hippocampus, closes down, and we are redirected into an emptiness. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 4th, 2007||09:58 pm] |
my boss's wife is a stupid bitch.
and greg isn't much better.
but, greg is scared of me.
so, it could be worse.
*high fiiiiiive* |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 4th, 2007||09:45 pm] |
every time you close your eyes
lies
lies |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 4th, 2007||06:29 pm] |
oh gotta see, gotta know right now.
whats that riding on your everything?
it isn't anything at all.
oh gotta see, gotta know right now.
what's that writing on your shelf in the bathrooms and
the bad motels
no one really cared for it at all
not the gravity plan.
early early in the morning it pulls all on down my sore feet
i wanna go back to sleep.
in the motions and the things that you say.
it all will fall, fall right into place
as fruit drops, flesh it sags
everything will fall/right into place
when we die some sink and some lay
but at least i dont see you float away
and all the spilt milk sex and weight
it all will fall, fall right into place. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 4th, 2007||06:24 pm] |
blaahhhh
what's that writing on your bathroom shelf and.. |
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| predict the future, it's pretty damn easy. |
[Sep. 4th, 2007||06:18 pm] |
". . . The theory that a war-time president's powers are virtually
unlimited is contrary to the basic principles of the Constitution."
"Since the Sept. 11 attack on the World Trade Center, we've seen an
erosion of our civil rights. And we've tolerated it because we're all
dazed, I believe, by the sudden realization that America is not immune
to the violence that plagues so much of the world. We've tolerated it
because we have let ourselves be ruled by fear."
"Terrorist groups threaten a super power like the United States not
because they can eventually carry out an attack that kills hundreds or
even thousands of people. No, they threaten us because they reap the
benefit of our overreaction."
"I never would have believed that Americans would tolerate the
systematic torture of prisoners. I thought that was something so
repugnant, so foreign to our understanding of what it meant to be
human, much less American, that the public would instantly reject it.
I didn't believe Americans would abide keeping detainees -- including
American citizens -- imprisoned without charges. . . ."
"I would have been alarmed that Americans would yawn when informed
that their own domestic calls had been wiretapped in the absence of
the warrant required by law."
"I take exception to the endlessly repeated mantra that 9/11 'changed
everything.' It did not. We have always been vulnerable. We always
will be. It's part of the human condition and it is heightened in free
societies where citizens accept a degree of risk as the price of
freedom."
"If, as the sole surviving super power on Earth, America cannot now
afford to live up to its ideals when do you suppose it will ever be
able to do so?"
"Already the American public seems to be somewhat convinced that it is
powerless to influence a government attuned primarily to the demands
of the enormous corporations that finance our elections."
# "Despite all these truly daunting challenges, I still have hope. I
have hope because I see a younger generation with energy and a
determination that America can live up to its promise. I have hope
because I can see you listening, and I know your ears are sharp. Once
attuned, those ears will always be sensitive to that soft, chipping
noise -- to the haunting sound of dying liberty." |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 4th, 2007||12:14 am] |
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our government has no moral line over which it will not cross |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 4th, 2007||12:05 am] |
dammit people,
READ.
THINK.
WHAT NOW.
Since the early 1950s, the U.S. government has been involved in
nefarious secret operations in the Middle East. These operations
have included the following decisions:
Overthrowing a democratic government in Iran (1953)
Assisting the British in taking control of Iranian oil (1953 - 79)
Befriending tyrants in both Iran and Iraq, assisting them in
the butchering of innocent peoples
(1953 - Shah of Iran, 1979 - Saddam Hussein of Iraq)
Placing the American public at risk of retaliation (1953 to
present day)
Sacrificing the lives of U.S. military service members to
advance clandestine economic agendas (1990 - present day) |
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