Some new poems

•September 2, 2008 • Leave a Comment

Just some new ones I wrote. I thought I’d put them up in case you wanted to read.

Ladys Got A Fix On Me

Ladys got a fix on me,
Feeling sad and lonesome,
Yearning to find that place I used to be,
But never finding it,
Only descending deeper on my trail,
My trial,
My exhibition and execution,
Mere moments a memory,
As the click of arthritic bones,
Lays itself out through my bed,
And forever turns my sleep,

Nations

Each man an island in their segregated stalls,
England has a coffee, no sugar,
And America has full breakfast while No Mans Land makes,
Himself a bed out of cheap leather seats,
The smell of filth creeps out of his booth and,
Into mine,
Ruining not only my appetite but my mood,
If only he would die or leave,
Either way improving on his condition,
And more importantly on mine.

Silence is …. really boring.

•March 30, 2008 • Leave a Comment

No posting lately. I’ve had lots to write about but just…. haven’t managed to get it down I guess. My girlfriend and I broke up. It was mutual though, sure it sucked, but it was rather painless and everything. I’m not sure how I’m feeling about anything. I’m mostly in a haze. My medicine is confusing my feelings, so I’m going to change. If that doesn’t help, I’m going to just quit medicine all together and be a real person. Lots of people seem to talk about how medicine saved their life (I’m talking about mood disorders and the like, not physical illness) and it’s really changed them as a person, but I dont want that. I want to remain me, if that guy ends up living some outsider existence because he’s a bit weird, than so be it. On the other hand he might be perfectly fine and everyone will accept him, either way, I feel like I’m just being untrue to myself.
Also, I realized I manage to piss a lot of people off without meaning. Half the time I don’t even know. There’s no follow up to this line except that I’m an asshole, but I really wish I wasn’t. I’ll write a proper blog another time.

?

•March 5, 2008 • Leave a Comment

Why is it that the more I get my mental health and life in order, the more tempted I am to do something risky? It seems every time I get closer to being normal, I fear boredom and try find a new risk. It’s dangerous behavior, and because of it, I’m losing sight of myself. These days, I hardly ever realize who I am. I can now recognize the world around me, but I’m more lost in it than ever. This may be a short entry, but I didn’t know what else to write.

Sexy

•February 27, 2008 • Leave a Comment

I’m so sick of peoples close minded attitude towards sexuality. Recently while browsing the internet I found someone stating that being bisexual was a choice and that all those people who claim they are bisexual are deviants who let sex rule their life, and want to have as much as possible. Personally I like sex, as I’m sure many of you do, I don’t let it rule my life though, so how is it that I’m bisexual? Am I merely looking for a quick thrill, something saucy to stimulate my pecker? Also, why do people think that bi people can’t commit? In response to a question about how to handle finding out their bisexual boyfriend someone suggested they ‘kick him to the curb. He could be bringing home all kinds of stds, with screwing men all the time.’ Sure some bi’s screw around, but so do a lot of straight and gay people! I’m just sick and tired of people thinking it’s something you turn on and off at will, or you can be cured of, or that it determines your entire personality. Not all blonde’s are stupid, not all black guys are in a gang, and not all bisexuals will screw around.

Two kings with an ace kicker…

•February 25, 2008 • Leave a Comment

How can people say gambling is moral debasement? Gambling is a part of everyday life, with every little action. Should I have some salt on my dinner, or is that gonna tip the odds and lead to liver failure? Should I step outside today or stay indoors, if I go outside I could get hit by a car, but if I stay inside I could, on the off chance, die from mold poisoning. Considering how I see some people live their lives, maybe this gambling is moral debasement, but that’s neither here nor there. It appears that no matter which way we go, the odds are eternally slipping out of our favor. It’s like the world is playing one giant game of Russian Roulette, and some point soon, it’s bound to go off.

We are born upon the wings of angels, and die in the arms of evil

•February 11, 2008 • Leave a Comment

I feel the need to change something…. I was thinking of dying my hair but unfortunately, I already shaved it all off and there is nothing to dye. I’m sick and tired of living my life with such drudgery on a day to day basis. I want to vent but I have nothing to say, and if I turn this into one of my long posts, there will be nothing of value said, so I’d prefer to keep it short. I really want to write something, I have the ache. The ache is a feeling you get when you have to get something important out, and I want to write my something important. I want to write my To Kill A Mockingbird, my Catch-22, my Catcher in the Rye. I see all these people every day, older than me, who don’t live, they just survive, struggling along in the exact same way that everyone else does. And then I see these people who live and do something every day, these people are younger than me, and they might not achieve the picket fence dream, but they’ll enjoy whatever they do until it ends. And for some reason I see what they do as temporary, something that won’t last. They wont burn out, they’ll just fizzle. Somewhere else in this grand scheme is me… I don’t know where I fit, I’m drudging along day to day, but I create, but I don’t feel like I can enjoy. I don’t want to fizzle out, I just need to stop the ache and get this novel out, however there is one problem. I know what I want to say, but I don’t know how to say it. That’s all.

So I’ve been down….

•February 3, 2008 • Leave a Comment

I’ve written two songs recently. Both are rather… depressing I suppose. One isn’t about anything in particular, but is rather just an expression of feeling. On the other hand you have 5 more fingers, and a song that is about something. If you want to, guess which one is about something and tell me your answer, then guess what it’s about. Sorry I haven’t updated recently…. life’s been…. intriguing and busy.

A Sailor Slowly Drowning
Take a trip down the rabbit hole,
All you’ll find is dirt,
A fever comes like a cannonball,
And fills you full of hurt,
I sold a drunk his soul,
And he paid me with his shirt,
But no one ever listens,
And they never ever will,

And then I heard a breathing,
Of those I thought were dead,
They’ll never find their answers,
When they’re so sick from dread,

And an acrobatics alcohol,
Will kill him in the end,
And children at the steering wheel,
Can’t see around the bend,
And those caught in the crossfire,
With letters they must send,
They could have died at home you know,
And no one would have cared,

And when I heard a breathing,
From those I thought were dead,
I tried to bury them again,
Just so I could rest,

If I should ever find a dream,
I’ll crush it with my hands,
And then I’ll move to Alaska,
Or faraway new lands,

Hate the sin and kill the sinner,
I buy body bags in bulk,
Take advantage of the lonely man,
He’s a simpler kind of folk,
Like white creatures as big as fourscore men,
In an unsavoury form of joke,
I”ll find out what the gun was for,
And end it all tonight,

And when I heard a breathing,
From those I thought were dead,
I tried to bury them again,
Just so I could rest,

If I should ever find a dream,
I’ll crush it with my hands,
And then I’ll move to Alaska,
Or faraway new lands,

If I should ever find you here,
I’ll kill you with my hands,
Torn apart in a bloody mess,
And a pile of dirty rags,

Ashes In A Can
I bring it up again,
Because it’s lost inside,
And I know you hate it,
But it’s on my mind,
I know you hate it,
When I’m lost in dreams,
And I’ve been thinking,
What it all really means,

And I see you,
And I feel you,
And I know you,
And I am you,

You’re just ashes in a can,
When it’s all broken down,
Why can’t you be a man,
When faced with hells hound,

I’m going for a walk tonight,
And there’s a killer in the heat,
And you make him go away,
When you hide beneath the sheets,
And it doesnt feel so empty,
In the house of the black sun,
Where everybody congregates,
To tell me what I’ve done,

And I see you,
And I feel you,
And I know you,
And I am you,

You’re just ashes in a can,
When it’s all broken down,
Why can’t you be a man,
When faced with hells hound,

And I see you,
And I feel you,
And I know you,
And I am you,

You’re just ashes in a can,
When it’s all broken down,
Why can’t you be a man,
When faced with hells hound,

Dear Piggy

•January 7, 2008 • 2 Comments

Now now dear piggy,
All bets are off,
The odds are in,
Our clothes are lost,
A breath of air or salty sea,
How do you feel when you see me,

Are we lost upon the night,
Did the devil give himself a fright,
Are we where we’re supposed to be,
Out here there’s only you and me,

Now now dear piggy,
I’ve said before,
You cannot stand,
With your back to the floor,
A breath of air or salty sea,
How do you feel when you see me,

Are we lost upon the night,
Did the devil give himself a fright,
Are we where we’re supposed to be,
Out here there’s only you and me,

Now now dear piggy,
I heard you say,
Home is in the heart,
It’s where I lay,
A breath of fresh air or salty sea,
How will you feel when you’re set free,


I wrote this recently in the space of about 5 minutes. These days I write in a leather bound book given to me by my girlfriend, but before then I wrote in about 10 different exercise books, and while scouring these for inspiration I came across a poem which lead to this new song.

Dear dear rude pig,
Won’t you ask your brother,
How he got to be so weird,

While we’re in clean clothes,
Our naked sneers,
Put off all bets,

I’m really happy with how it turned out, now I just wish I knew what it was about. I remember writing the poem with some sort of intent, yet when I rediscovered it I’d forgotten it’s meaning. I feel as though I’ve addressed it to myself, but I don’t know.  At the moment Josh has been working on pieces of music which will be woven into a song to surround the lyrics, hopefully all goes well.

I’m going to write a story, I don’t know what about. I want to write something childish yet able to be loved by adults as well, such as the classic Through The Looking Glass, which is one of my favorite stories of all time.  I don’t remotely believe I’ll write anything as good, but I’m going to write something.

I’m leaning ever closer to addiction, I’m craving cigarettes more and more, but not for some kind of physical addiction to be satiated. I often have difficulty focusing, going through somewhat manic stages (hence why I’m seeing a psychologist next week) and smoking said cancer sticks, with their depressants, help me focus. I don’t believe in an afterlife or that our actions matter all too much, so I have no problem with smoking per se, but I’m not too keen to die young and fear cancer at a young age if I smoke too much. For some reason though, this doesn’t stop me smoking marijuana. I enjoy marijuana, but it is no means an addiction in where it becomes my milk or water, or sugar. Merely, it opens me up to see new thing, allows me to see old things in a new way, and I’ve written some wonderful poetry under and after the influence. A lot of people say marijuana is a gateway drug, leading to heavier addictions, but it’s my belief that anyone smoking it was probably already interested in drug culture and other substances, and just happens to be more readily available, leading to it being the original drug they try.  Perhaps I’m making all this up, who knows, I certainly don’t.

-Ace

Live

•December 11, 2007 • Leave a Comment

“You are going to die anyway, if you don’t smoke, don’t be an atheist, don’t take drugs, don’t have sex without a rubber, don’t wipe your arse with the right kind of toilet paper, don’t exercise, don’t take the right vitamins, don’t get a real job you’ll still be dead.”
–Leland Buckle

People should live, if people follow their assembly line lives the whole way and play it safe, they haven’t lived. They have just survive, and it’s been a very predictable road for them. Take a detour and get yourself lost, you’ll find it much more rewarding.

War and not so much peace

•November 10, 2007 • 1 Comment

I like being self destructive. I think our bodies are temporal, and after them there is nothing, so why not have fun with what we’ve got. I drink too much, I smoke a little and consider smoking more. And on occasion I do drugs. Sure I’m not the worst case, but maybe I’m just a late bloomer. Sometimes I wonder if it feeds creativity, or maybe us “creative types” are just living too close to the edge of insanity. Hunter S Thompson and William S Burroughs were junkys, Bukowski was an alcoholic. I could list more, but I really don’t have the time or room, and maybe I don’t even give enough of a shit to continue. The point is, everyone who writes seems to have their own little personal demons, is writing how they are exorcised? Or is it just that their heroes were self destructive, and felt the need to imitate, perhaps to spurn on their own creativeness. I wonder about these habits often, those aforementioned authors careers thrived off of their habits, without them they’d have nothing to write about. Sometimes I compare my life to theirs and wonder how I ever have anything to write about, but then sometimes I realize there is something in my life. In the short space of two days I’ve been punched and seen my friend thrown into a mirror, I’ve burnt myself just for kicks, I’ve drunk more than I should, I’ve spent time re-evaluating my whole life, and I’ve felt those things I mentioned in the poem. Maybe I don’t need more self destructive habits, maybe I just need to actually pay attention to what’s happening around me, because it’s all happening at once. So many doors are opening, now I’ve just got to choose which ones to step through.