Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Sleep: Night Five
By: M.G.J.
Looked through the wanted ads all morning long, I’m either too qualified or just don’t have any experience to do to any of the jobs. What else can I do other than education, it’s all I know. But there are so many educators losing their jobs it’s like finding a needle in a hay stack there’s just no openings. So why are they’re building so many damn new schools? Who’s going to teach if they’re letting everyone go? Why build facilities if there are no facilitators? Yet I kept searching like a pirate with map in hand searching for a cursed ruby, holding a bowl of stale cereal sitting in the boxer briefs our son gave me for Christmas. Do you remember the look on his face as he picked them up and said, “My Daddy would Love these.” Love, what a beautiful feeling, I’d never felt love until the day you came into my life, like destiny. Like it was written that I would be stranded on the train tracks, and no one would stop to help but you, an angel sent from heaven to rescue me from a life of loneliness, sorrow, and guilt. And I was never happy until I heard the cries that filled the room after our son took his first breath of life. A scream so beautiful it brought me to tears, a man sobbing like a child with a scraped knee.
A howl in the distance, a cry from a neighbor’s dog begging for a bit of food that they do not have to give reminds me that it is night, reminds me of all the sounds that surround my place: the leaky faucet, the Ticking clock, the beating of my wicked heart. All sounds that fill this restless night. All are sounds that remind me of the smell in the air, the putrid smell of decay in a decrepit room, in a death filled town of stranded travelers destined to never leave this place, San Cristobal. I can hear the cries of the neighbor’s daughter, and I am once again reminded of the life we created in this hell hole, a spark of light in an abyss, a cavern in the midnight zone where light cannot touch, yet here he was shining like a gift from the heavens, like a sunken treasure that would never be touched by a buccaneer, a treasure guarded by a Kraken.
I turn to you hold your cold naked body close to mine. You feel so cold so still, sleeping in the dead of night. I smell your hair, so different from the smells that fill the room. The musty smell of life now lost…death. How is it this place always smells of death? No matter how hard we work to keep this place clean it is never enough to take away that awful smell, and the sounds, the clock. How can the ticking of the seconds that come and are now gone sooth your soul? How can the knowing that with each TICK and TOCK we grow closer to the end bring you to peace of mind? How can loss of time bring you to the rest which I have been deprived for all these sleepless nights. I feel your breast and am reminded of the love we’ve shared. I remember the time in the car the night we fled from the cops, and then my mind is brought to that awful night.
I remember staring into the rearview mirror and seeing him, my father. And all the anger he placed inside my heart. I remember the heat inside my skin, the fire rising that night. You told me to let it go. You told me that he was probably in a rush. You even reminded me that our son was in the back seat. Yet staring into the mirror I saw it was not me in that car, it was him. Like father like son. Would my son too be cursed to be like him, or like me? Now I will never know. I remember swerving between cars chasing down that red Chevelle. Oh how I hate Chevy. I remember him driving so fast in an attempt to flee from the roars of his pursuer, from the roar of my Mustang. Your cries reminding me he was in the back seat.
The sound of the copters and the sirens in the air, just like the sounds that followed that night is the sounds that breaks me from my trance and I am reminded that I cannot sleep. I feel the rumbling of the windows grow closer, closer, until it rushes up my skin and through my heart, like the beating drum in a death filled battle field. The screams heard in the air, “Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, Abraham. Help me! Please save me! Help…. Abraham. Please. Help me!” 3:33 of course. I rush outside follow the screams, Copters above shining lights before me, as I make my way towards a dark silhouette, as I make my way to you, the keeper of the sound, the owner of the voice, the bearer of the scream. I reach for your arm, feel it so cold and soft, I must help you. What’s that smell; that taste? Mmmm Cherries….
Monday, July 25, 2011
Sleep: Night Four
By M.G.J.
Ran out of paper, crap what will I use for the entry in my journal, so much I wanted to tell you today, guess I’ll just tell you now, write it on my skin with this X-acto knife. Ah feels so good, the sting (reminding me that I have life, a life that I can take, like a father before), the warm blood running down my arm it’s almost soothing. So I lost my job today. Your asleep now so I can tell you, couldn’t bring myself to tell you earlier. Been there for fifteen years and this is how they repay my long hours and dedication. I always went in early to prepare. Always left late to make sure everything was ready for the next morning. Think of all the long hours at home. All the long hours we spent together working on projects so that my delivery would be perfect, you were such a great help. I have shaped the lives of so many, influenced hundreds, reached out to more lives than any ordinary man, yet I am so unappreciated that I was let go. My students were my life, we’ve argued so many times about this, how I love them more than I love you. Its not that I love them more it’s just that…just that they need me.
I know you can hear me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’m not the man you married, the man you remember. Things have just been so damn hard. I mean just look I can’t even do something as easy as falling asleep. My mind wonders like a child who’s mind has been polluted by hours of non stop television watching, constantly needing to see something in motion, like Jose, he can’t sit still can’t focus, now I know how he must feel. Poor boy, who will work as hard as I did to try and help him learn to focus? I wish I could sleep, forget this life. Start anew, in a world like no other, a utopia, or heaven perhaps. But no I’m stuck here in San Cristobal, how ironic the saint of travelers, yet once you journey to this God forsaken town you never leave, your trapped like an ant under the rays of a magnifying glass scurrying about trying to avoid the flames of hell. And now, I like so many others am jobless soon to be collecting an unemployment check, and I can’t even bring myself to tell you. I am just like him, I see it now. You always told me I worked so hard that I was nothing like him but just look, we are the same man. I hate this God awful life, this place. Just take a whiff of that smell. Death fills the air, that’s the only smell I can compare it to; a rotten body, saved by a necrophiliac waiting to have his way with this defenseless body.
I can hear sirens, there coming close; they come to stop outside my apartment, not unusual here probably a drug bust, after all they’re as accessible as candy from a gumball machine here. And yes of course they are always followed by the sound of a copter over head, lights beaming into my room, and the walls shaking causing dust to fill my room, and my sneezing, yet you lay motionless. “Ahhhhh!!! Abraham! Help me! Please…” That voice is it already 3:33. Should I go outside? The cops must hear her. But they wont do anything to help her they never do anything to help anyone, damn crooked cops. I feel like it’s my duty to help her, like she’s one of my students. I put on my boxer briefs, and run outside, scurry through the pitch black in search of the keeper of that voice; her screams calling to me like the song of a Siren luring unsuspecting pirates to crash into the reef. Will she too lead me to my demise? Mmmmm. Cherries on my lip, and the smell of Channel in the air...
Ran out of paper, crap what will I use for the entry in my journal, so much I wanted to tell you today, guess I’ll just tell you now, write it on my skin with this X-acto knife. Ah feels so good, the sting (reminding me that I have life, a life that I can take, like a father before), the warm blood running down my arm it’s almost soothing. So I lost my job today. Your asleep now so I can tell you, couldn’t bring myself to tell you earlier. Been there for fifteen years and this is how they repay my long hours and dedication. I always went in early to prepare. Always left late to make sure everything was ready for the next morning. Think of all the long hours at home. All the long hours we spent together working on projects so that my delivery would be perfect, you were such a great help. I have shaped the lives of so many, influenced hundreds, reached out to more lives than any ordinary man, yet I am so unappreciated that I was let go. My students were my life, we’ve argued so many times about this, how I love them more than I love you. Its not that I love them more it’s just that…just that they need me.
I know you can hear me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’m not the man you married, the man you remember. Things have just been so damn hard. I mean just look I can’t even do something as easy as falling asleep. My mind wonders like a child who’s mind has been polluted by hours of non stop television watching, constantly needing to see something in motion, like Jose, he can’t sit still can’t focus, now I know how he must feel. Poor boy, who will work as hard as I did to try and help him learn to focus? I wish I could sleep, forget this life. Start anew, in a world like no other, a utopia, or heaven perhaps. But no I’m stuck here in San Cristobal, how ironic the saint of travelers, yet once you journey to this God forsaken town you never leave, your trapped like an ant under the rays of a magnifying glass scurrying about trying to avoid the flames of hell. And now, I like so many others am jobless soon to be collecting an unemployment check, and I can’t even bring myself to tell you. I am just like him, I see it now. You always told me I worked so hard that I was nothing like him but just look, we are the same man. I hate this God awful life, this place. Just take a whiff of that smell. Death fills the air, that’s the only smell I can compare it to; a rotten body, saved by a necrophiliac waiting to have his way with this defenseless body.
I can hear sirens, there coming close; they come to stop outside my apartment, not unusual here probably a drug bust, after all they’re as accessible as candy from a gumball machine here. And yes of course they are always followed by the sound of a copter over head, lights beaming into my room, and the walls shaking causing dust to fill my room, and my sneezing, yet you lay motionless. “Ahhhhh!!! Abraham! Help me! Please…” That voice is it already 3:33. Should I go outside? The cops must hear her. But they wont do anything to help her they never do anything to help anyone, damn crooked cops. I feel like it’s my duty to help her, like she’s one of my students. I put on my boxer briefs, and run outside, scurry through the pitch black in search of the keeper of that voice; her screams calling to me like the song of a Siren luring unsuspecting pirates to crash into the reef. Will she too lead me to my demise? Mmmmm. Cherries on my lip, and the smell of Channel in the air...
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Sleep: Night Three
By: M.G.J.
Up again, I think I’m beginning to grow accustomed to staying up at night after a hard days work. You’d think my body wouldn’t be able to take it, yet here I lay every night for weeks, and like every night before, I try to fall asleep with little success. Eyes wide open, mind aware of every last sound that reaches my ears, I can hear every last noise that surrounds me, even each individual hair that covers my body as it rustles on the sheets, the skin on my head as I toss and turn in bed not only makes a sound but also generates so much heat my head feels like it has been stuck inside an oven, or set ablaze on a streak as to warn the world they are entering the gates of hell. Here I lay thinking about everything and nothing; about fights, over due bills, pay cuts, whether I’ll even have a job next week. The lay offs are climbing pretty high up the seniority latter getting so close to me, I can hear them hiding in the brush, like a silent killer out on a night of hunting, and I’m the prey.
I remember simpler times, when I was younger, when all I had to worry about was whether you’d look my way. I remember staying up late at night thinking about you. Restless nights lost in thoughts. Did I always suffer through this insomnia? Had I ever fallen asleep? What is sleep? I remember grabbing hold of anything I could reach for, anything that could hold my thoughts, an old pen, broken pencil, and the paper I used to write notes in class, anything. I remember this helping me then. Could it help me now? And so, I reached for a pencil and the old napkin I used to wipe away the remains of tonight’s dinner, old sardines in a can, must have been in the covered for over 3 years. I begin to write everything I hear, everything I think. I label it “Peering into the mirror.” Someday I won’t see you when I look into that mirror; I’ll be a better man than you. My eyes begin to grow heavy, this just might work.
“Ahhhhhhhhh,” It’s that scream yet again for a third night. Who can it be? I can tell it’s the same scream so high pitched it could break glass, so young, so frail. Besides, the clock reads 3:33. It’s always 3:33. Dare I step outside into the pitch black? I open the wooden door, stand behind the metal door and contemplate whether or not to step outside. The copter over head blows a gust of wind into the room, sending that awful smell up my nose, so reeking, so spoiled, so rotten. The copter’s light shines directly in my eye like the light that leads to heaven, as I hear it once again, “Ahhhhh! Abraham. Help me!” What she knows my name? Mmmmm cherry lip balm…
Up again, I think I’m beginning to grow accustomed to staying up at night after a hard days work. You’d think my body wouldn’t be able to take it, yet here I lay every night for weeks, and like every night before, I try to fall asleep with little success. Eyes wide open, mind aware of every last sound that reaches my ears, I can hear every last noise that surrounds me, even each individual hair that covers my body as it rustles on the sheets, the skin on my head as I toss and turn in bed not only makes a sound but also generates so much heat my head feels like it has been stuck inside an oven, or set ablaze on a streak as to warn the world they are entering the gates of hell. Here I lay thinking about everything and nothing; about fights, over due bills, pay cuts, whether I’ll even have a job next week. The lay offs are climbing pretty high up the seniority latter getting so close to me, I can hear them hiding in the brush, like a silent killer out on a night of hunting, and I’m the prey.
I remember simpler times, when I was younger, when all I had to worry about was whether you’d look my way. I remember staying up late at night thinking about you. Restless nights lost in thoughts. Did I always suffer through this insomnia? Had I ever fallen asleep? What is sleep? I remember grabbing hold of anything I could reach for, anything that could hold my thoughts, an old pen, broken pencil, and the paper I used to write notes in class, anything. I remember this helping me then. Could it help me now? And so, I reached for a pencil and the old napkin I used to wipe away the remains of tonight’s dinner, old sardines in a can, must have been in the covered for over 3 years. I begin to write everything I hear, everything I think. I label it “Peering into the mirror.” Someday I won’t see you when I look into that mirror; I’ll be a better man than you. My eyes begin to grow heavy, this just might work.
“Ahhhhhhhhh,” It’s that scream yet again for a third night. Who can it be? I can tell it’s the same scream so high pitched it could break glass, so young, so frail. Besides, the clock reads 3:33. It’s always 3:33. Dare I step outside into the pitch black? I open the wooden door, stand behind the metal door and contemplate whether or not to step outside. The copter over head blows a gust of wind into the room, sending that awful smell up my nose, so reeking, so spoiled, so rotten. The copter’s light shines directly in my eye like the light that leads to heaven, as I hear it once again, “Ahhhhh! Abraham. Help me!” What she knows my name? Mmmmm cherry lip balm…
Friday, May 13, 2011
Sleep: Night Two
By M.G.J.
Another night that I lay in bed staring up into a void, the glitter from the asbestoses filled ceiling sparkles like stars, reflecting light cast by the moon’s rays as they impale the blinds like a thousand small blades cutting into the skin, a surgeons tool, or the medium of psychopath. They paint a picture that tells a story, a space odyssey that takes me into the open space that I call my mind. It speaks of times when all was well. When we didn’t have to worry about not having enough for the rent, or whether we’d have food on the table. But with this dying economy, and past mistakes, how can I think of times now past? I see you lying beside me, remember our love, that night down by the railroad tracks, we were so in love then. They say all you need is love. How can you rest so peacefully? Can you not hear the sounds carried in the wind?
Can you not hear the wind rumbling in the distance, howling like two rabid wolves competing for the last bit of meat left on a rotting carcass? Can you not hear the screeching tires, the burning rubber, the hot lead that cuts through the air? Do you not wish to leave this wretched place? I hear the sirens in the distance, miles away yet they feel so close, they remind me like all else of the world that surrounds my tiny apartment, in this…Sinners Paradise. And once again like every night that damn clock. Tick TOCK Tick TOCK, beating like the pulse of a broken heart, dying for just one last ounce of a partners love. If only to reach into the chest and silence this life, could I have one nights rest? I begin to wonder why I have the clock in the first place. Ah yes, because its sound soothes you, helps you go to sleep. If you only realized its beating drives me to near insanity and back again, sets my mind in disarray. In my fascination with the sounds that enter my room all is silenced as that scream shrieks through my room like the night before, “Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!! Help!”
I jolt out of bed, the sound so close it hurts my ears. I forget what was on my mind; the worries fade, for I am safe behind these wooden walls unlike the owner of that voice, so painful, so lonely. If only I could help. I walk to the window peer through the blinds. All I see is dark(the dead of night), “Ahhhhhhhhh!!! Help m…..”Where is that voice coming from? As I try to make sense of what little is visible outside my window, a copter’s beam reflects off the glass showing me my reflection, or yours. I remember you robbed me of my soul sucked the life right out my eyes. You killed my mother with your selfish ways. I can never forgive you, wish I could forget yet every time I stare at my refection I see you. It is my living hell, a reminder of what you took from me, a reminder that I am just like you. I can smell Channel No. 5. It smells so real it makes me sneeze. I then wake to the taste of cherry lip balm, sweet, soft, wet…
Another night that I lay in bed staring up into a void, the glitter from the asbestoses filled ceiling sparkles like stars, reflecting light cast by the moon’s rays as they impale the blinds like a thousand small blades cutting into the skin, a surgeons tool, or the medium of psychopath. They paint a picture that tells a story, a space odyssey that takes me into the open space that I call my mind. It speaks of times when all was well. When we didn’t have to worry about not having enough for the rent, or whether we’d have food on the table. But with this dying economy, and past mistakes, how can I think of times now past? I see you lying beside me, remember our love, that night down by the railroad tracks, we were so in love then. They say all you need is love. How can you rest so peacefully? Can you not hear the sounds carried in the wind?
Can you not hear the wind rumbling in the distance, howling like two rabid wolves competing for the last bit of meat left on a rotting carcass? Can you not hear the screeching tires, the burning rubber, the hot lead that cuts through the air? Do you not wish to leave this wretched place? I hear the sirens in the distance, miles away yet they feel so close, they remind me like all else of the world that surrounds my tiny apartment, in this…Sinners Paradise. And once again like every night that damn clock. Tick TOCK Tick TOCK, beating like the pulse of a broken heart, dying for just one last ounce of a partners love. If only to reach into the chest and silence this life, could I have one nights rest? I begin to wonder why I have the clock in the first place. Ah yes, because its sound soothes you, helps you go to sleep. If you only realized its beating drives me to near insanity and back again, sets my mind in disarray. In my fascination with the sounds that enter my room all is silenced as that scream shrieks through my room like the night before, “Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!! Help!”
I jolt out of bed, the sound so close it hurts my ears. I forget what was on my mind; the worries fade, for I am safe behind these wooden walls unlike the owner of that voice, so painful, so lonely. If only I could help. I walk to the window peer through the blinds. All I see is dark(the dead of night), “Ahhhhhhhhh!!! Help m…..”Where is that voice coming from? As I try to make sense of what little is visible outside my window, a copter’s beam reflects off the glass showing me my reflection, or yours. I remember you robbed me of my soul sucked the life right out my eyes. You killed my mother with your selfish ways. I can never forgive you, wish I could forget yet every time I stare at my refection I see you. It is my living hell, a reminder of what you took from me, a reminder that I am just like you. I can smell Channel No. 5. It smells so real it makes me sneeze. I then wake to the taste of cherry lip balm, sweet, soft, wet…
Friday, May 6, 2011
Sleep: Night One
By. M.G.J.
Many nights I find myself lying in my bed staring into the black somber space, emptiness fills my heart. I can feel you to my side yet I feel so alone, like a newborn child left in a basket set to drift down a wayward stream. Like there is no one in the room except for a numb motionless body. I can not bear to move. I can not sleep; can not bring myself to fade away into a world of dreams; a world where everything is at peace, where together we lay, happily, like lovers often do. Here in this world there is no sin, here I can give you everything you deserve, everything you desire. Here life is perfect. I hear the windows rattle as the copter draws closer, till it passes over head rattling the windows so hard dust fills the room sending pressure up my nose forcing me to sneeze. I’m now reminded of that musty smell of the slums, like a corpse left out to rot. It all reminds me of this sinful town; I wish I could leave this place. I wish I could close my eyes and forget.
Bright light fills the room illuminating everything in site temporarily blinding me before my eyes focus on the walls forming before my feet. The light climbing up the wall like hell fires forming the shape of the room, rising up to the heavens. My eyes fixate on that symbol. Ah, I forgot there was a cross hanging on the wall, how lovely, with all that has happened we still find the strength to reach out for intangible beliefs. Another painful reminder of how much I hate who I am, who I’ve become. I haven’t slept in days, I reek of sweat, and these damn noises don’t help. The leaky faucet dripping every minute like the tears you shed when you cry yourself to sleep. The ticking of the clock is counting down the hours till the inedible end, growing louder and LOUDER. Tick TOCK Tick TOCK. Your breath so soft and peaceful like a baby after feasting off the comfort of the bosom, the rhythm of the night fills the air, a scream heard down the street, breaks me from my state of motionlessness
I pull the sheets off my naked skin and rise from my bed. Chills now run down my spine as my bear skin is greeted by the cold night. “Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!” there it is again, that scream, so hollow. Poor soul must not have made it inside before the sun set, or perhaps a street walker, who else would be stupid enough to prowl around at night? I glance down at your resting body, your breast so plump, nipples hardened by the dead cold. How could you sleep through the night? I make my way to the bathroom. Each step I take squeaking like the rats feeding off the molding crumbs the very food from which we feed. Damn Vermin. I finally make it the bathroom. The door shuts as I walk in. Is it the draft rushing in from the broken window? I flick the light, nothing. What more should I Expect from this shit hole. The only light the reflection of the moon piercing through the window resting on my face. I stare into the mirror and see my reflection. I look just like you, your splitting image. No matter how hard I try to wash it away I can not. For I am you, you are me. I hate you. I hate you. I must stare for hours, for I can smell the morning. I can smell wet hair. I then wake to the taste of cherry lip balm, sweet, soft, wet…
Many nights I find myself lying in my bed staring into the black somber space, emptiness fills my heart. I can feel you to my side yet I feel so alone, like a newborn child left in a basket set to drift down a wayward stream. Like there is no one in the room except for a numb motionless body. I can not bear to move. I can not sleep; can not bring myself to fade away into a world of dreams; a world where everything is at peace, where together we lay, happily, like lovers often do. Here in this world there is no sin, here I can give you everything you deserve, everything you desire. Here life is perfect. I hear the windows rattle as the copter draws closer, till it passes over head rattling the windows so hard dust fills the room sending pressure up my nose forcing me to sneeze. I’m now reminded of that musty smell of the slums, like a corpse left out to rot. It all reminds me of this sinful town; I wish I could leave this place. I wish I could close my eyes and forget.
Bright light fills the room illuminating everything in site temporarily blinding me before my eyes focus on the walls forming before my feet. The light climbing up the wall like hell fires forming the shape of the room, rising up to the heavens. My eyes fixate on that symbol. Ah, I forgot there was a cross hanging on the wall, how lovely, with all that has happened we still find the strength to reach out for intangible beliefs. Another painful reminder of how much I hate who I am, who I’ve become. I haven’t slept in days, I reek of sweat, and these damn noises don’t help. The leaky faucet dripping every minute like the tears you shed when you cry yourself to sleep. The ticking of the clock is counting down the hours till the inedible end, growing louder and LOUDER. Tick TOCK Tick TOCK. Your breath so soft and peaceful like a baby after feasting off the comfort of the bosom, the rhythm of the night fills the air, a scream heard down the street, breaks me from my state of motionlessness
I pull the sheets off my naked skin and rise from my bed. Chills now run down my spine as my bear skin is greeted by the cold night. “Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!” there it is again, that scream, so hollow. Poor soul must not have made it inside before the sun set, or perhaps a street walker, who else would be stupid enough to prowl around at night? I glance down at your resting body, your breast so plump, nipples hardened by the dead cold. How could you sleep through the night? I make my way to the bathroom. Each step I take squeaking like the rats feeding off the molding crumbs the very food from which we feed. Damn Vermin. I finally make it the bathroom. The door shuts as I walk in. Is it the draft rushing in from the broken window? I flick the light, nothing. What more should I Expect from this shit hole. The only light the reflection of the moon piercing through the window resting on my face. I stare into the mirror and see my reflection. I look just like you, your splitting image. No matter how hard I try to wash it away I can not. For I am you, you are me. I hate you. I hate you. I must stare for hours, for I can smell the morning. I can smell wet hair. I then wake to the taste of cherry lip balm, sweet, soft, wet…
Posting
So I will try and post stuff up here now that I have access once again. Hopefully this time around my page can evolve to something great. I am going to start by Reposting "Sleep" day by day until the end is revealed.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Some old poem
Okay so i think im getting more into posting stuff up on this site. I'm going to dedicate a lil time to my own page too. If you like my work in Metal Crow Productions stay tooned for stuff i put up here. I will try to bring some interesting things here too. heres a start.
The Crow and the Willow Tree
By M.G.J.
From among the darkness a crow appeared
perched on the willow tree
a figment of my darkest fears
a figment of my darkest thoughts
consumed by darkness
born of hate
tainted by what had come to pass
perched upon the willow tree
it spread its wing and then took flight
only to come crashing down
to fall deeper down that endless hole
still yearning to spread it wings
I watched it rise from deep within
a part of me consumed by hate
born of sorrow
it spread its wings
and then soared high
tainted by what came to be
it still spread it wings and took flight
flew past the dying willow tree
flew so high that I could not see
that this crow consumed by darkness
born of hate had actually
come to be my tainted soul
attempting to be set free
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)