late in high school, and my year off......

......were spent keeping soberness at bay
during daylight hours
And trying to drown it at night
Only to wake the next day
And try again.
i'm still not sure
what my grudge was
with sobriety.
but i'm still
pretty sure
it deserved it.

Daggers

As my fingers caressed the small of her back.
I still remember
not just what she said,
but how she said it.

‘Why are you touching me like this?’

She told me from the get go
that she doesn’t use the word ‘love’
I told her it was overrated anyway

Oxycoton and heroin
Taught her feelings,
And I had become another hangover

She consumed me,
Anytime she felt lonely and bored
a common void bonding us together
But only at the edges
we spent our time fighting or fucking
To grab, poke, stab, bite, yell
At something outside ourselves.

Even our cold shoulders
Were loud, defiant
And jagged

But there were quiet moments,
In bed,
With cigarette smoke and sweat
Her tracing my tattoos
over and over.
My lips,
speaking slow
Gently touching
Old bruises,
More ancient than either of us felt

that was when she got
Demanding.
Each word carefully
Sharpened into a
Barbed and accurate dagger

‘Why do you touch me like that?’
Her voice slicing the space between us
Eyes begging for the answer.
I would smile, confused
And say, because these
are beautiful moments

thinking that
Our violence,
For a moment,
Together……
Could be all love is

Reminding her
softly of this emptiness
The way she reminded me
Through daggers of words
That pierced my insecurity

These serene moments are tiny scars
Wondering if I touched her like that…
With delicate daggers on my fingertips
Just to remind each other of the voids
we were seeking to destroy

Salvation Incorporated. - Eric Victorino

total poet crush on this guy right here.......

"I dont think
people who believe in god
are stupid.
plenty of very
intelligent people
have faith.
some of them
have even read the bible.
i've read it.
and i think its a great story
its a fucking best-seller
for Christ's sake."

excerpt from a great fucking book......

"i hope this book enters into the mix, bringing academics, performers, and all who care about a society in a postmodern, postindustrial world together, dropping some knowledge and breaking down some barriers. i hope, too, that it does something to dispel the pernicious notion that rappers are somehow non- or anti-intellectual, or that in describing the crises facing urban American and the world they are somehow glamorizing or advocating the conditions of which they testify. On the academic side, i hope that no one will any longer be able to think of music or poetry in the late twentieth century without assigning rappers a primary place, both out of an awareness of the urgency of their message, as well as on account of the tremendous poetic power and variety of their expression. and for rappers themselves, and everyone in the vast and growing hip-hop nation, i hope this book will help make evident the mulitiple connections between hip-hop's insurrectionary knowledges and the historical and societal forces against which they are posed, and in so doing expand and strengthen the depth of our determination to 'fight the powers that be'."
-Russell A. Potter
Spectacular Vernaculars: Hip Hop and the Politics of Postmodernism

"I love quantum physics so much.... I just think I'd be calmed by the solar flares."

A friend on wanting to see the Northern Lights

Paroled Fable Thieves Intro piece (TJ & Kristen Tomanocy)

We live in this house of language
This cathedral
of oratory masters.
this castle of tradition
dug with fricatives and dipthongs
poured meaning through these sounds in order to cement stories
My bones never mortared themselves
for Aristotle's corinthian mantle foundation
but they hold up the rafters
while hinged lungs from the past sing back and forth
with every door we open and close in the hallway
my tongue drags along the doorknobs
wanting to taste every story with these words
starving for the ferment of cellared ancestry
I taste the spilled blood like iron in the hinges
my shins hold up the dinner table
plattered with a history of every noble hearts evocation
so listen
when you live in a house created by the
howls of human need, extending the limb of language,
a lost tongue in a shadowed cave of a mouth
you feel the echoes of your next door neighbors
So stop sitting down
stand
Raise a primordial scream like a battering ram
because the labored breath of
these creators is rattling through us.
demanding to be heard
We can own this.
Read this.
Channel this.
Lyric this.
Love this.
The words of our people typewrite themselves
through our toes on this hardwood floor.
write this. write this. write this.
Move like you have been given
the chance to construct stolen sonnets,
we are nothing but thieves in this mountain of crumpled pages
oragami masters
adding new folds from our own experiences
delivered through our breath as a gift
to decorate anothers barren dwellings
Because when you inherit this beautiful, ancient
temple of a house
all you can do
is listen to it.

Un-Friended by my grandfather!!!!!

My grandfather, also a writer, sent me this after i posted the link to the first anthology of the Intangibles "Static: and Other Lungless Things" on his facebook page.



Awesome!
if you want to see what i posted on his page to elicit such a response, visit here http://poetcd.com/index.php?item=285