As sweet as an ice cream on a hot july day....and lasting about as long

Soi've been in excruciating physical pain for the past 3 days... so today i try taking matters into my own hands with a combination of methocarbamol, acetylsalicylic acid and alcohol, and it barely makes a dent in the pain. But true physical pain has one thing in its favour...everything else becomes background. For the first time in the past few weeks my mind has actually stopped working over time trying to deal with all the crap that has been thrown my way of late because it cant get past the blinding pain...so its not all bad

So here I am again... havent written in awhile but here i find myself i get the strange feeling that everything is slipping away again, that i'm falling, or maybe i've already fallen and i'm too stupid to realize that I am once again staring up from the abyss (perhaps it looks different without the alcohol)

Ughh what's happening, i dont know how else to handle this. what else can i do how else can i say it. if you cant see it I can't make you. This isnt me, I dont like the person this hurt makes me into, I hate that you can hurt me so often, so easily and still not see it. it makes me sad that things are going the way they are especially when i know they can be so much better

just to make you jealous of the men she fucked before you met her..........

I wonder if you'll ever get tired of feeling safe, of hiding. i wonder if one day you'll wake up and realize you're brave enough to face the world again. i wonder if it'll be to late then

See you so quick to judge and yet we're doing essentially the same thing you and i, only you're going through the motions fooling everyone including yourself into believing everything is great, only this new world you've created for yourself is like a sweatshop where none of the sewing machines have any needles. A guarantee that you wont ever get hurt, but also completly useless and nothing can ever come of it

then of course theres me, who in comparison i guess you could say is stuck in the middle of the room full of all those discarded needles i know there all around me so i've given up moving completely.....also just as fruitless

A Moment of Silence Before I Start This Poem
Emmanuel Ortiz

Autonomy and Solidarity
September 12, 2006

Before I start this poem, I'd like to ask you to join me
In a moment of silence
In honour of those who died in the World Trade Center and the Pentagon last September 11th.
I would also like to ask you
To offer up a moment of silence For all of those who have been harassed, imprisoned, disappeared, tortured, raped, or killed in retaliation for those strikes,
For the victims in both Afghanistan and the US

And if I could just add one more thing...

A full day of silence
For the tens of thousands of Palestinians who have died at the hands of US-backed Israeli forces over decades of occupation.
Six months of silence for the million and-a-half Iraqi people, mostly children, who have died of malnourishment or starvation as a result of an 11-year US embargo against the country.

Before I begin this poem,

Two months of silence for the Blacks under Apartheid in South Africa,
Where homeland security made them aliens in their own country.
Nine months of silence for the dead in Hiroshima and Nagasaki,
Where death rained down and peeled back every layer of concrete, steel, earth and skin
And the survivors went on as if alive.
A year of silence for the millions of dead in Vietnam - a people, not a war - for those who know a thing or two about the scent of burning fuel, their relatives' bones buried in it, their babies born of it.
A year of silence for the dead in Cambodia and Laos, victims of a secret war .... ssssshhhhh....
Say nothing ...
we don't want them to learn that they are dead.
Two months of silence for the decades of dead in Colombia,
Whose names, like the corpses they once represented, have piled up and slipped off our tongues.

Before I begin this poem.

An hour of silence for El Salvador ...
An afternoon of silence for Nicaragua ...
Two days of silence for the Guatemaltecos ...
None of whom ever knew a moment of peace in their living years. 45 seconds of silence for the 45 dead at Acteal, Chiapas
25 years of silence for the hundred million Africans who found their graves far deeper in the ocean than any building could poke into the sky.
There will be no DNA testing or dental records to identify their remains.
And for those who were strung and swung from the heights of sycamore trees in the south, the north, the east, and the west...

100 years of silence...
For the hundreds of millions of indigenous peoples from this half of right here,
Whose land and lives were stolen,
In postcard-perfect plots like Pine Ridge, Wounded Knee, Sand Creek, Fallen Timbers, or the Trail of Tears.
Names now reduced to innocuous magnetic poetry on the refrigerator of our consciousness ...

So you want a moment of silence?
And we are all left speechless
Our tongues snatched from our mouths
Our eyes stapled shut
A moment of silence
And the poets have all been laid to rest
The drums disintegrating into dust.

Before I begin this poem,
You want a moment of silence
You mourn now as if the world will never be the same
And the rest of us hope to hell it won't be.
Not like it always has been.

Because this is not a 9/11 poem.
This is a 9/10 poem,
It is a 9/9 poem,
A 9/8 poem,
A 9/7 poem
This is a 1492 poem.

This is a poem about what causes poems like this to be written.
And if this is a 9/11 poem, then:
This is a September 11th poem for Chile, 1971.
This is a September 12th poem for Steven Biko in South Africa, 1977.
This is a September 13th poem for the brothers at Attica Prison, New York, 1971.

This is a September 14th poem for Somalia, 1992.

This is a poem for every date that falls to the ground in ashes
This is a poem for the 110 stories that were never told
The 110 stories that history chose not to write in textbooks
The 110 stories that CNN, BBC, The New York Times, and Newsweek ignored.
This is a poem for interrupting this program.

And still you want a moment of silence for your dead?
We could give you lifetimes of empty:
The unmarked graves
The lost languages
The uprooted trees and histories
The dead stares on the faces of nameless children
Before I start this poem we could be silent forever
Or just long enough to hunger,
For the dust to bury us
And you would still ask us
For more of our silence.

If you want a moment of silence
Then stop the oil pumps
Turn off the engines and the televisions
Sink the cruise ships
Crash the stock markets
Unplug the marquee lights,
Delete the instant messages,
Derail the trains, the light rail transit.

If you want a moment of silence, put a brick through the window of Taco Bell,
And pay the workers for wages lost.
Tear down the liquor stores,
The townhouses, the White Houses, the jailhouses, the Penthouses and the Playboys.

If you want a moment of silence,
Then take it
On Super Bowl Sunday,
The Fourth of July
During Dayton's 13 hour sale
Or the next time your white guilt fills the room where my beautiful
people have gathered.

You want a moment of silence
Then take it NOW,
Before this poem begins.
Here, in the echo of my voice,
In the pause between goosesteps of the second hand,
In the space between bodies in embrace,
Here is your silence.
Take it.
But take it all... Don't cut in line.
Let your silence begin at the beginning of crime.
But we,
Tonight we will keep right on singing...
For our dead.

OUCHHHH!
That stings,
Did thaqt even happen? I'm starting to think in my crazed state of loneliness, is it possible that i imagined the whole damn thing..........
perhaps i'm just waking up now... (note to self) always, always, always better to stay sleeping

Yikes what am i doing, am i letting go, am i really ready to do that? I've been hanging on to this for ever, caught in this state of stasis for so long and now all of a sudden this movement like the first chill of fall taking you by suprise without your jacket. suddenly things are spinning so much faster then i can control its like the tilterwhirl, i love it and i dont want it to stop but damn is it ever gonna make me sick in the end

No you sicko's I am not talking about necrophilia (sorry you can stop reading now)
Although I guessin the broader sense, if necrophilia means having a love for something thats dead then I am.
and i have been for a lon g time, which of course I am aware of but you know us depressives, if it doesn't hurt its not worth it that's my motto.
It's not even so much what you think it is that I miss, it totally doesnt have to be that way, i'll admit at one time it did, I wanted it to be thhat way so bad but not anymore and it seems to only have ruined or buried what was there (hence the nail in the coffin) that perhaps its not salvagable

Anyway thats enough for now, have to go wash all this red off my hands.............................

Out out damn spot!

Well life in the ghetto isnt as bad as i hough it would be, my stalker seems to have disappeared (at least i hope he has)
i've never been one to be nervous or anything to walk down the street, in fact i think i'm usually less cautious then i ought to be. But there is nothing like a stalker experience to make you jumpy. Now im constantly on edge in my neighbourhood (you would be too if you saw it) and always looking over my shoulder wherever I go...it sucks


In other news, my contract is up which means I am once again unemployed (such is \the life of a contractor) hopefully i find a new gig soon.


I know its been forever since i've updated don't even know if you guys are still reading, but if you are i'll try to be more timely....after all i should have plenty of it now...

umberto tozzi

new Lyrics

You were everywhere today, (well actually the other day this is a few days behind because of my lack of internet but i shall write as if it were today)
So i awoke from a dream which featured you, its been a long time since i had one of those so then i was in a weird mood to start the day. Then while i wasat the bus stop the person in front of me was wearing the same sent as you used to, its funny but until that moment i had forgotten your scent but thenthe wind blew by the person in front of me and there it was asthough you'd never left.
So feeling even more strangely i make it to work only to receive a fax from someone with you name...talk about twilight zone.
Most of the time i'm fine with the situation but today i was thrown for a loop i'll tell you that. So of course i start thinking and the guilt just gets to me like maybe i should have told you. i know that it wouldnt have made any difference for us and i wouldn't have wanted it to, but its an awfully heavy thing to carry around by myself.
i just have to keep reminding myself that it asnt my fault, even though i don't entirely believe it, you know whats that they say...fake it till you make it right