Skip to content

New Blog

Greetings, readers. I’ve moved my blog to its own domain. It can now be found here. My writing is getting better (I think), so it might be worth your time to check it out!

Flowers

This is not a poem about

flowers

and

how beautiful they are.

and how much EMOTION

they invoke

when I see them

and when you see them

through

me.

 

Because

if you want to

experience

the powerful, engrossing, intoxicating

feelings

of

looking at a bunch of plants

you can find your own damn plants.

 

But if you want

a taste

of

what it is like

to experience the

mundane world

of

Mitchell’s head

then

shut the FUCK up

and listen

because that

is what this shit

is

about.

The Unsettling

I need something to do

I am dying

to do

something.

but it’s not

something

it’s someone

and it’s not even

do

as much as just

be

with.

 

I don’t know who

I don’t know

why

and I DEFINITELY

don’t know

how

when

or any other

necessary

inquisitive prepositions

for forming

a plan of action.

 

I am just stuck

reveling and writhing

in

the need.

You

You smoke too much

pot

and drink too much

and I drink too

and you make me

drink

more

and I don’t smoke

but I know

if we are in

close

proximity

for too long

the habit

will

return.

 

And you don’t like

pets

or kids

or monogamy

or anything I love

in

a girl

 

And you are so perfectly

wrong

for me

that you have

in two days’ time

captivated my affections

in a little

glass

box

and put it away

next to the others

for

safekeepingg.

 

And I hate you.

 

But

mostly

I just

hate

me.

Second to last post

I’m not going to be writing poetry for this blog anymore. I’ve managed to fuck it up, as I tend to do. If you’re subscribed, stay subscribed – I’ve just started on a full-length novel which will be mostly autobiographical, and will include some of the content I’ve posted here. You might like it.

The next time I write a post here will be if and when it gets published. If I get around to finishing it, that is…

Awl alone (part 2)

Now

the worst thing about not

writing

any new blog

posts

is that all of

the

comments

from

cute girls

just

stop

coming.

And I am DEFINITELY

owl alone.

The lonely Owl

The worst part about

not being

homeless anymore is that

you don’t get to

meet

fifteen new

friends every day.

And nobody gives you

free beer

and

other interesting

things.

now I am awl

alone.

Hiatus time

Sorry to be the Bear of Bad News, imaginary reader who likes my writing, but I’m going to be taking a break. As a sufferer of Bipolar disorder, I often find that my interests can be driven by a quite extreme passion, only to die out shortly thereafter. As such, I don’t see myself doing much posting in the next month or more. However, I have cycled through interests in writing more than once before, and the interest always seems to come back eventually. So, if you like my stuff, I urge you to subscribe – you’ll probably get an email in a few months advertising new posts in great quantity. Thank you to all of my supporters!

Ian the Traveling Kid (and Caitlin)

Ian was

as are many of the people

about whom I

write

one of the coolest people

I have ever

met.

 

We met because he

was

wandering around the Haight district

of

San Francisco

with a ukelele

and I was

wandering around

with

a guitar.

 

He was incredibly

intelligent

and

friendly

which is

in my experience

a good recipe

for

a good friend.

 

Then

we met

Caitlin.

 

Ian was the one

who

invited her to hang out with us

and

I was the one who

stayed quiet

while he attempted

to get to know her

in more than one

sense

of the phrase.

 

I stayed quiet

for

more than one

reason

 

The reason

which I would like to think

was

the main one

was that I

occasionally

like to assume the role

of

the wingman.

But if I told you that it was the

main one

I would be

a

liar.

 

The main reason why

I didn’t talk much

was

because

I knew that Ian

would make a much more

enticing

conversation partner

than I would

so

I defaulted to my

tried-and-failed

social tactic

of

making myself as inaccessible

as I could

and hoping that the girl

in question

would

find that intriguing

and choose me

when it becomes

sexy time.

 

Somehow

in this case

it worked.

 

Caitlin maintained her interest

in Ian

but also developed

an interest

in

me.

 

Somehow, she ended up

putting make up

on me

which was a surprisingly

intimate

experience.

 

Then

(again, somehow)

we all ended up

drawing

each other

and

my drawing of Ian

was

much more flattering

than

his of me.

 

Eventually,

we all headed toward the Castro district

for some exploration

and

partying.

At this point

there were four of us;

a fellow by the name of

Gavin

had joined the group

obviously out of interest in

Caitlin

but

he was a cool guy

so

we retained him.

 

We were all

to some degree or another

homeless

and

San Francisco nights

can be quite

chilly.

 

So, after much

drinking

(I have no idea how we had gotten the whiskey)

we all got under the one

blanket

that we had.

 

There was only room for three people

side by side

under the blanket

so Caitlin had to choose

one of us

with whom to

double up.

 

She chose me.

 

And once the other guys realized

that

they weren’t going to get any,

and went to sleep,

Caitlin and I

started

fooling around.

 

The amazing sex that we had

a little while later

inspired my poem

Love?

 

And then

the next morning

Ian and I walked Caitlin to

the bus station

and said

goodbye

forever.

 

Later that day

I confessed to Ian

that

Caitlin and I had hooked up.

 

And later yet

Ian made the

quite reasonable

decision

to ditch me

as

a

friend.

 

This is a great shame

because

he would have made

a wonderful

long-term

buddy.

 

But I have no regrets

because

as horrible as it sounds

I needed the sex

more

than the friendship.

Decent Stuff

I write most of my

poetry

more because

I want to write

those words

than

because I expect anyone will

want

to read them.

 

So this is an index

of poems which I wrote to be

read

rather than just

to be

written:

 

The Big Deal

Coyote

Fuck Poetry

Cock Jockey Extraordinaire

Vikings and Manic Depression

Oakland

Obsequious Hypochondria

Love?

Love? The Lesbian Version

Reggae Prime Minister

John George (This is Not a Happy Poem)

Fuck Yeah, Banana Man!

West Oakland

Barack Obama

Anti-Socialism

An Idea for my First Tattoo (OR: The Venerable Bede is Awesome)

The Wall Street Protests

I’m Totally Gay (And There is Nothing Wrong with That)

 

That’s all for now, folks.

 

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.