Who is my ego and What did it tell me to do???

What is my ego and Who did it tell me to do?



if we have anything at all -- we all at least have time -- we have the power to bless others in the same way we seek -- the magic we need

I found this in an old notebook

And I don't remember writing it

You remind me of someone I love, but on the outside, loved. Your beard grows like his and I'm not sure if I can look again at your face. Your boots beat me like a path taken too often. Now I know I will miss you and want to take you like a kid wants to walk on forbidden grass.

In the end I was left with all I started: my bones and my breath. The facade that I had acquired more left me believing I had less. I am scared of what to lose even though I have not yet lost anything.

How can I look defeat in the face when its from the defeat I wish and ache to be saved.

How can I look loss in the face when its by the losing I believe I am chased.

How do I look life in the face if I have not accepted that from its slate I will be erased? Perhaps, I never made a mark.


And that's when I realized things were passing by me like dragonflies past my ear. All the moments I thought I held captive - like seeing him for the first time and feeling my body draw to him like a magnet - were no longer there. He was no longer standing in the doorway I now stare at, darkened. And that was when I realized things were passing through me like layer cake through my intestines. What once appeared mouth-wateringly organized by color, was now chemically altered, several hundred feet below where I stand swimming in public works water . 

Why do my eyes strain to see him there, again, standing? Why am I even allowed access to the electric memory? Perhaps it is not I that holds it captive, but it that pad-locked me behind rusted bars, whereas I think I am standing against the 1919 wood-paneled wall of the sunken 55 bar, I am actually butted up against sweaty rock where I fester in a dampness consisting of the stone's perspiration, my tears and my urine. Like a cigarette, half smoked, half exposed, in a puddle on Christopher street

Chicago (New York)

Even in June car sleeping gets cold when migrating through the mountains. Though it’s still nothing like being in a snow storm, broke, Parked somewhere downtown Boston. *Car on, sleep, wake, car off, sleep, wake, car on, sleep, wake, wrapped up in a mink coat in a snow cave*

Before I became a seed of the Apple I’d drive to the village just to be in the village. I’d park my Accord on Thompson St. When night folded I’d fold down the back seat, fold up a towel, fold up my legs in its queen sized trunk... with sunrise I'd stumble over to stumptown on W 8th and have morning coffee. 

Anyway at this minute I’m in Chicago with a sweaty glass and the last watery sip of an old fashioned. My names not Rick, this bar's not in Astoria, and its sure as hell not in Harlem. 

First time I came to Chicago I got to know it in my cousins pearl-colored Cadillac. A city at my fingertips... Philly, Phoenix, Baltimore, Miami, Vegas (Las and Nash)

But none can even begin to know me like New York. And I wish it didnt have that power to push my buttons... but this comes with access to its ladder. Someday it’ll repay me with a key to Gramercy Park and whole floor of the Flatiron.

Painless Headache

A painless headache

It’s feet in my stomach

It’s treading water


Waiting for an answer

The mailbox is empty

I’m expecting a delivery

And left the door cracked


Eight states border Missouri

My house, today slated with misery

Where is the shipment of citrate from Avalon

To line my parapet?


Spent the day making love to a watch

To the pace of the grandfather clock

My reflection in the tock 

of its brazenly arched pendulum — 

revealing my concave awareness


All the while... where’s my answer?

Where’s peace to grasp?

Just when I nearly accepted that I was abandoned

I remembered I forgot to ask


I got home and my heart sank to my gut  

How did the streets get to the sky

I covered my body and folded my arms

And remembered how I let my hair cover my eyes


So Carter couldn’t see their visceral springs

And the jarring ebb and flow

Of the jelly-like energy that spins round a wire

Extending from my pupils, out into the world like a laser

Southwest Thoughts

Aftermath of a day, long division of a year. My eyes shut like the date... onto the next number. We're really making headway, aren't we?

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