sick of nick

One would hope

2009-07-05T21:10:00.001-04:00

One would hope I had the patience,
to wright
these thoughts on a piece of paper
on a romanticized
maybe beautiful media
so at least if not the contents at least the
form
would be a beautiful object
a thing

H-A-Y-D-E-N... I elongate each letter in your name as i sip away a long bottle of cheap Argentinian wine.
$5.99
your image rizeses in my head,
your yellow glasses, your golden hair
sitting
tangled
on or around your shoulders
silenced, confused and crystallized
who could think... know... thought
if you laugh
just for me
and the north pole melts in my fingertips
the north pole
in my glass cold water
because i am thirsty
and i should be reading this to you, because poetry is written to be recited
in my head
to your ear
whispered
a bottle and half of wine
a mouth full of kale and rice and oil
and one of your kisses
standing like an island, like a queen among servants
this beautiful Jewel, a diamond of happiness and luck.

I stay hear, in silence and hope
that some word, one
at least
will reach you
maybe
or
I could sing you this in G

who knew
making a girl fall in love with you
could be so hard.

Me, who belongs
to you
if you choose to accept
and just because you exist
and you fascinate

on apologizing and burning matches

2009-04-06T23:44:00.004-04:00

the nerve...

2009-03-10T23:37:00.002-04:00

Ok, so im browsing though Missed connections which I have never done before and this is what i find:

You opened it-----Good luck. Tonite at midnite your true love will realize they love you. Something good will happen to you at 1:00-4:40 tomorrow, it could be anywhere. Get ready for the shock of your life. If you break the chain you will be cursed with relationship problems for the next 1o years. Karma.If there is someone you loved (or still do) and cant get them out of your mind, repost this in another city within the next five minutes. Tonite betweeen 1 and 4 am they will remember how much they loved you as well. You will get the shock of your life tomorrow.

this is not funny...
Im superstitious

L

untitled

2008-03-22T17:21:00.001-04:00

Our New Fish Chelsea

2008-03-21T20:09:00.002-04:00

F is for Friday

2008-03-21T20:04:00.001-04:00

Billy and Betty Blue

2008-03-21T17:57:00.002-04:00

Family Picture

2008-03-18T23:23:00.002-04:00

TZ-4243

2007-11-18T20:56:00.000-05:00

There are no clocks
no watches
no minutes
no seconds
rain races to the ground
soaks the earth with no time
airports
warped in limbo
like a post-catastrophic scene
people wrapped up in blankets
sipping old coffee out of paper cups
pretending to sleep on metal seats
florescent light over there exhausted bodies
their yellow faces
featureless

the circus is in town

2007-09-14T00:41:00.000-04:00

To regret
to look yourself in the mirror
to stare at your self
in the eyes
to remember the mumble
closing your eyes tight to put away the shame
you look away
but you still feel it
in your stomach
mixed with cupcake crumbs and oily pieces of chili
disgust and nausea
black nails and sticky trousers
rubber soles sliding over the concrete
Bourgogne and Beaujolais
Norwegian music to ease the way out
hand rolled exodus
of rats that never learned how to swim
a bunch of adjectives with no verb and no noun
misery
and company

late
very late at night
I talk my self into a hole

(sigh)

2007-09-06T03:27:00.000-04:00

Bread crumbs on the kitchen table
A small finger in my hand
Two sad deep green eyes that I haven’t seen in to long
Endless cigarettes that chain-smoke my nights
A strangers voice whispering lalalas into my def heart
My dumb tongue stroking someone else’s yellow teeth
Shy trsitessa that stalks me from the door across the street
Shades of green
Worn out colors in my finger tips
Lost pieces of grass stuck to my new/old tennis shoes
Sleepy giggles
A sad roommate
An old love story
And endless rug of whys and why nots
Who cares
And maybe something exiting around the corner of a street I never walked

Platsic Toy Soldiers

2007-09-05T16:15:00.000-04:00

I wake up to my aching head
to an empty heart
to white light piercing its way in to my eyeballs
to a fly buzzing around my left ear
I wake up and the desire of making something keeps me from going back to sleep.
I film it in my head
A shot of myself looking straight into the camera and saying
“this is me” white burn and... cut
Me again, in profile, I say “this is my reel” Stop motion animated rolls of film bury me in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1... and cut.
I have a terrible hangover, as it fades away mild melancholy takes its place.
As I write a man is looking at me, he is curios and unfriendly.
We are all mixed
We all look straight into the void
Traveling at 30mph in a flying saucer over slumbered streets of broken baseball bats and untied shoelaces.
We are the ones,
the chosen ones who are aloud back into the city every morning,
expelled out every night
We look at the big buildings from across the river and wonder what the people who switch on and off the lights look like.
In the dark we all look pale
in the dark I touch my feet and think of naked children running in the snow.
Its the end of the summer
The howling season has started
the growing up
the smile killing
the beginning the brown
the end of the blue

Between 4 imaginary walls

2007-09-04T17:41:00.000-04:00

I look into your eyes.
We are lying down on a bed on our sides. Your bed.
I start speaking to you in a foreign language.
I tell you that you are the most beautiful girl in this city.
That it seams you keep a frozen kiss of wind on your forehead.
That your eyes are like black holes that vacuum my soul.
You smile. You don’t understand what I say.
You can’t imagine how much I like falling in Love.

I try not to think about pain,
try to hold onto the moment, the perfect moment I’m trying to create.
But I’m a fatalist and a Romantic.
My imagination rushes off, escapes my fingers into the wild blue desert of speculation.
I feel the sand crushing us, spoiling the silence.
I turn around.
I want to cry but I know I won’t be able.
Ideally I would stand up, get dressed and leave.
Maybe this time I will,
to save us.

Deja Vecu

2007-07-11T23:36:00.000-04:00

A crying baby
The crying lot of club 27
Golden chains hanging from your neck make you slow
make you smile
make you nothing
Where there is no pain, there is no story
no skeleton, no bone
I sit in suburban parks, man made natures
stale and dead
SAFE
Hold on to moments like these
The hairdressers moments,
the law student moments
A red spider, a green grasshopper
and old man smoking a cigar on a bench and making crosswords on the newspaper
I think about his story, wonder why he smiles.
A blonde 8 year old midget runs throw the grass, trips and falls on its face
startled by a trucks horn
by a goats horn
by a horny goat
I can't really remember... so I make it up, but it still sounds funny
a Horny goat
He, He

Wycoff at Starr

2007-06-28T11:20:00.000-04:00

Home sick as hell I have coffee and croissants for breakfast, European style.
Sitting out on a terrace, but these streets are so American...
I just feel like running away, always running
whenever the air gets to thick and my brain starts getting all crazy and one sided.
I become obsessed, my heart shrunken and pounding away, my stomach all knotted up.
I bleed into the pure whiteness of a random toilet I call my own.
The pain is still soft, but something is definitely rotten.
I don't know how long I can cheat on myself playing this stale game
and drinking coffee and cigarettes to try and waken my blown up brains.
I might try cutting out my heart, its seams only to give me weight and chain me to the ground.

How many places can you run away to...
How many "start a new" can a person pursue without losing it's soul
Ah, the good old values...
I wish I still had some of that left in me, or something to chase instead of something that chases me.

Reckless nights of randomness and booze, spilling money all over the table and making holes in my intestines.
Maybe I'm insane, but no one here knows me enough to tell the difference.
So I roam the street, loose, a nut, a tricked crazed teenage lunatic, Board out of its senses
numb and lost in this gigantic meaningless city

I don’t remember what trees look like, or what soil feels like under your bear feet.
The smell of marshmallows and Italian piss sausages cooked on a real fire.

CLEAN

2007-06-19T16:37:00.000-04:00

I use a yellow pencil to write banana thoughts,
and linger under hot summer afternoons
debating myself between cold beer and frozen vanilla milkshakes.
Nothing seems very full, or clear or meaningful.
But my subconscious boils with random projects and excuses.
I feel stopped, but something in me keeps slowly progressing,
crawling steadily towards an unknown destination.
Stubborn fleas and pants full of holes fill my nights with empty dreams
of stars and clouds nobody seams to remember existed.
Once in a while an echoed voice through a distant telephone line throws me back
into a loveless limbo, dressed with someone’s else’s underwear.
I live in this misty dream a noisy life.
I don't listen to myself speak any more,
just a current of automated words rumble throw the refurbished
half priced streets of this city.
Nothing is left of the zest and zeal of the past.
All uniqueness has been transferred to cheap sweatshops in china
where yellow faceless men handcraft hipsters and graffiti art walls.
While the cleaning brigade secretly sprays the sidewalks with fake spit and
dirty wax wrappers.

My cheeks are plump and soft.
I look at my self in the mirror,
make funny faces
and wonder what will happen when the heat wave finally hits New York.

Amateur or the art of nothing

2007-06-13T20:15:00.000-04:00

I have found that words are like paintings you create in the others mind,
when I say "flower" you draw in your head a picture of a flower.
I engage you in my/your painting by making use of these words.
The quality of the painting resides in my ability to suggest beautiful paintings and your ability to paint them.

clothes

2007-06-11T19:05:00.000-04:00

backyards

2007-06-11T01:10:00.000-04:00

5% ALC. BY VOL

2007-06-04T18:47:00.000-04:00

swimming in a hypnotic fluid, slanted and exhausted
I blink my eyes in slow motion
blue eyes, icy, no spark, just a buzz and a couple of º.
No more conversations
just neon lights and concrete walls covered with démodé graffitist
Society puzzles me in a paralyzing fashion
Dollars run down a wet coble stone street
Chinese pop music
New York, the city of the $200 shirt
of the polished, smiling, skinny people with goldfish poring out of their ears
Cocaine plastered bathrooms, junky cardigans and hydrogenated bicycles.

I guess after all drinking with people is not much better than drinking alone.

pic

2007-06-01T06:25:00.000-04:00

lunch brake

2007-05-14T01:15:00.000-04:00

got the flow, I slide
head over feet, cotton brained and candy in my mouth
I felt a child's hand on my shoulder
I sighed... Took a deep breath and jumped into the pool with my clothes on
shoes and everything
An orange light bulb warming my dampened heart
and silence sounding like Jacques Brel in the 70s
We eat pickles on a Sunday afternoon in the park
wax rappers float and Frisbees cut the wind in slices , toasted with cream cheese
I wonder if happiness prefers me or you
And I wonder what peaches taste like under water

numbers

2007-05-14T01:13:00.000-04:00

a pen
a penny for your thoughts
a dime for your smile
a dollar... for a PBR
a ten for a date
a twenty for a night out with friends
a hundred for a real job
a kiss... for nothing in the world

assignment

2007-05-14T01:03:00.000-04:00

blue moon
blue, like my nails when I forget to breath
blue Sunday afternoon
blue clouds, dirty puddles and leaking skies
blue dots on my red heart
blue drops of honey on a lavender flower
blue 5:30 in the morning on a new york rooftop when I can't sleep
blue remains of a happy hangover dripping over you, juts before the pink.

POEM

2007-05-14T01:02:00.001-04:00

...

2007-05-07T01:25:00.000-04:00

don't be sad, winter will come back, and with it, well gained misery
maybe even a tear or two
who can say...
I don't give up, you...
you don't really exist
I probably dreamt you many years ago, when I was still sober and my nights still had images and b/w pictures
because
I don't cry anymore, and I don't dream, and I don't sleep
and for all I know
maybe
I don't even exist

rock the boat with random thoughts

2007-05-07T01:09:00.000-04:00

Not so strong I sit on a rock and dream of my lost battles and failures to come.
I don't dare smile, even slightly, for fear guilt may want to take its revenge. But in a world without stomachs and hearts the throat would probably be queen, and ten fingers it's humble servants.
Do you ever think of colors?
Just as they are, a never ending blue,
a hole day of pink fields up to your ears
While we, the ugly people, the un-hip and un-fit struggle to snatch barely an inch or two of beauty
to put it in a jar and show to our grandchildren when we are old.

bubblegum

2007-04-23T13:32:00.001-04:00

Arnau

2007-04-23T13:31:00.000-04:00

Wycloff

2007-04-23T13:27:00.000-04:00

sh

2007-01-29T01:53:00.000-05:00

sometimes
there are no words
just a feeling
of snow
and night
and silence

lullaby for my sleeping bag

2007-01-23T22:41:00.000-05:00

so there came the night
with its chilled blanket of stars
stray dogs that bark and much honking of horns

the remains of the day....
are always ashes of smiles
strangers words echoing in the void of your mind

the quiet street slowly falling asleep,
the concrete kissing you good bye
farewell my friend

you are left alone
at the time were the cold silence of dreams
creeps up your spine

frozen brick walls

2007-01-20T14:25:00.000-05:00

Salted the street 'cause it tasted like nothing

2007-01-20T14:05:00.000-05:00

1, 2, 3 smile

2007-01-20T13:06:00.000-05:00

I look at my nails, they look purple and then I realize I sometimes forget to breath...

who the fuck is Michelin?

2007-01-20T12:38:00.000-05:00

...and then Europe was a mean continent and all Americans smiled at us and the French spit in your eye and the Spanish got drunk and slapped you on the back. everybody said yes, but then nobody came. So it was lots of noise and no walnuts, if that expression exists in English and if you know what I mean. I had been waiting for hours for nothing to happen and the bar next door is closed today. a pile of resumes way a ton on my empty stomach and I always think of writing a book, but then I remember that I'm not a writer, so fuck it.
I'm freezing, sitting on a dirty porch, my nails are purple so I remember to breath... Thinking of buying beer, but everybody has a girlfriend. Ain't that a fucked up thing?
So where are all the lonely people?
And all those sick chicks with cats, it worries me....

NYC: Hasidic Breackfast

2007-01-20T12:35:00.000-05:00

prayer

2006-10-14T01:14:00.000-04:00

homage to C.M.

2006-09-11T19:01:00.000-04:00

sometimes
bizardness comes up to you
and wispers in your ear
and sets your mind on fire
then it goes into thin air
and there you stand
with your brains blown out
splattered all over the concrete

sometimes
mistery has a face and a name

fuck you

2006-09-03T12:16:00.000-04:00

se que tengo la llave en algun bolsillo
xo hace años que no encuentro mis pantalones
de mientras, soy egoista
y
la poca magia que me queda
me la guardo para mi

banana eatin guide: lesson num 1

2006-08-15T10:25:00.000-04:00

I read about war

2006-08-15T09:26:00.000-04:00

I've been reading some short stories by Salinger,
about pre war america
about post war americans
silent women, weaping, conforming
with there broken men, lost and shaking.
This small misery, we all keep in our hearts,
made of bad desicions, lost chances and petty regrets.
The greta pain of mankind,

we are joyful, and funny, and alive
and still we are always blue.

suicidal guide: lesson 2

2006-08-09T09:45:00.000-04:00

suicidal guide: lesson 1

2006-08-08T15:02:00.000-04:00

why do we all hide our hands in our pockets? are we still trying to hide our guilt?

2006-07-30T21:56:00.000-04:00

tengo el corazon envasado al vacio

2006-07-30T21:31:00.000-04:00

Julio
una plaza del siglo XIII con una fuente y naranjos.
en los bancos y sobre el cesped
borrachos, sin techos y alterados vaguean, se gritan, se chutan
a escasos metros,
una terracita con gente vestida de blanco que escucha Bob Marley
"baby don't worry about a thing.."
alguien se ha preocupado de poner una mampara de cristal que les enmarca,
que nos separa de la escoria etilica,
que les separa de la basura burguesa.
hasta donde hemos llegado que cuaqluier situcaion cotidiana se convierte en un simbolo de la lucha de clases,
de la diferencia, del escalon
en cada esquina la paradoja te escupe a la cara y te aprieta las entrañas
¿Tienes estomago?
ven y paseate, bebete una birra de 3 euros,
dale 5 centimos a un niño que mendiga.
Jartate de foie y langostinos y ostras.
Vete a casa, a tus sabans de disseño sueco,
enciende el aire acondicionado
quejate de que el mundo se va la mierda,
y vete a dormir.

summer and young

2006-07-23T21:02:00.000-04:00

ain't writting much lately
must be the heat,
the hard work cluttering my brain,
the pot numing it all in.
ain't thinking much these days
just fucking and eating
and sweating my smart ideas
into old t-shirts,
stupid afternoons watching TV
and trying not to think about drinking.

Si tienes mucho dinero es que algo has robado

2006-02-24T06:11:00.000-05:00

No te duermas
no pares de pensar
Crea, produce, ejecuta
El producto es tu carta de presentacion
haz cosas que esten bien
vendelas bien
vendete a ti mismo
al mejor postor

la belleza es un punto de bloqueo esférico

2006-02-22T09:48:00.000-05:00

by Nozin

all play and no work makes john a toilet boy

2006-02-22T09:08:00.000-05:00

I'll buy a farm
and get some chickens,
feed them corn
and fuck the cows.
Eat lettuce barefooted,
and drive the pigs crazy.
Run in the fields,
sleep on the hay
Leave you here
and go away.

carlasssdarkk

2006-02-21T10:50:00.000-05:00

by:Natalia

Melancolia:estilo post moderno

2006-02-21T08:15:00.000-05:00

A veces no sabemos ser felices
otras simplemente nos da la gana de estar amargados.
Beber vino, sentirnos bohemios y marginados.
En resumen ser burgueses, parasitos capitalistas que arrastran su esteril existencia por este circo de grandes marcas y multinacionales hambrientas.
Soy una pequeña maquina programada,
un engrenaje generador,
una visa que compra compulsivamente.