Goddamn Heaven.

Song for this post: Boo - Pinback

My air has been pretty thick lately.

And I mean THICK. Black viscous oxygen. 

I've wrapped every finger I have around my chair that I've sat in, watching you all go on with your lives. You all go live your beautiful lives with you beautiful bodies breathing easy air.

White knuckled grasping my chair gasping.

They all left to foreign lands with cleaner air than mine. 

They left me with wracked lungs and bleeding lips.

I am left with my broken ankles and my blind eyes. 

You left me in hell searching for heaven.

I don't think I have anything against any of them, better off they may be. 

I don't even think they are selfish, that's why we're all here right? 

Gotta get into Heaven. Gotta get into Heaven. Gotta get into Heaven. Gotta get into Heaven. Gotta get into Heaven. Gotta get into Heaven. Gotta get into Heaven. Gotta get into Heaven. Gotta get into Heaven. Gotta get into Heaven. Gotta get into Heaven. Gotta get into Heaven. 

They're all just tryin' to get into Goddamn Heaven.

I just am so scared and tired of being alone. 

I know no one is really going to read this. Besides me and the big man.

He told me about you darling, the big man upstairs, he told me about your brown eyes and your dark long hair. I know about you and your love and I know what/who I need to be to get you. I've been searching for you literally 24/7. I have a sketch artist picture of you in my head and I cross search every face I see with the one of yours I have. I'm searching every day. I don't know why my feet are molasses and my mouth is old honey. You are the stars and the my world. 

I'm just the space beneath the stairs. 

I'm scared I started looking to early. I don't mean to be like this. 

I feel like I'm trying to watch a solar eclipse but I'm in Alaska and the Sun hasn't come up in 3 days and I'm dangerous. I'm always in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

In my closet in the fetal position say over and over again. "Holy Shit, Holy Shit, Where am I and what am I doing?" 

I'm the ghost of the boy I want to be.

I'm the shell of the boy I used to know well.

You're my heaven, and I'm just tryin' to get to you.

But I'm just in the fetal position in my closet. 

Left Behind and Lonely.

Binocular

You asked me what I was looking for, as always, I told you "I don't know." sorry about that by the way. I always don't know, I know it bugs the hell out of you. I sometimes just don't think enough for there to be an answer where I can say "I do know, Let me tell you".

Well, I have an answer, and I know it's a little to late. I know you were never really into me that much and that's okay. This probably doesn't even matter that much. It's really easy to pretend it doesn't matter, I pretend it doesn't matter, wear a smile and act like my heart isn't broken. Broken by someone who was never mine. 

My answer, is I am always looking for something; anything. You asked me what I was looking for. I am looking for a girl who will love me back a little bit... That was a joke, I want a girl who will love me like I love her, the same way the sun loves the moon. 

Undoubtedly you don't think about that stuff, I would have told you that and you would have asked me why I am bringing the moon and the sun into the conversation. I would say I don't know. 

I am looking for a girl with sunkissed lips and the wanderlust brown eyes. 

I am looking for Magic and forests and someone who is just as lost as I am.

You asked me what I was looking for, I told you I don't know.

Now I know. 

I am looking for the ocean in Utah. I am looking for 2 hands just a little smaller than mine.

Smiles with gaps and fingernails that are chipped. Callouses on our hands from the garden and a nose I can kiss.

Now you're gone, and I have answer. You asked me what I was looking for, and the answer is you.

For better or (most Likely) for worse

There is a kid upsidown and backwards. The boy's body is made from street salt.. Hands cracked open he licks his sores every night before sleeping. He's got a bad case of "The Junes", a terrible disease where everything seems so right but he gets into bed at night and he realizes things.

I'm just the ordinary arms and legs of ordinary world living in the shadow of ordinary's arm hair.

All my limbs have an Achilles heel and I'm speaking but the only thing that comes out is ink and ball point pens. His eyes were his scope and his smile was his gun.

"It'll come to ya."

There's not lots I know. I just know that we are all scared.... Of something rational or irrational. Also, I know something else.

we exist. i exist. we exist, whether it be by Cowardice, Or courage, we'll all walk back to our own crime scene with feral claws dripping with revenge and lilacs. Always lilacs.

Love always, or never: Zack

Tell 'em how it is.

Song: Sleeping at last - 500 Miles

I'm headed to Berlin, please don't follow me, please don't try to contact me, please don't come to Berlin either.
Now that that's out of the way I can ask a favor.
Send a message back for me.
Tell them I was always on time, but I was also always late. The whole mind and body in the same place theory is completely wrong.
Tell them I'm always wondering and I don't stick to anything.
Tell them about the orange I left in the drawer downstairs, I'm sure it's rock solid by know, which of course was my goal. (Enjoy)
Tell them about the secret in the journals, and the broken light bulb pile under my dresser.
Tell them I took my boots but the sneakers are right where they left them.

Tell Mr. Nelson I'll still be writing.
Tell my mother it was never her fault, and not to worry.

Tell them I hated them all. Tell them I needed help but it was never given to me.

Tell dad to be there for the next son.
Tell them to be there for their sons.

Tell the teenagers that it's alright. Everyone's got something wrong with them. There will always be stereotypes and mispronunciations, but deep down everyone is fighting a battle.

All teenagers are messed up. In all honesty. Don't worry kiddo. You'll be fine.

 We are the Nostalgic Generation. We grew up in a transition age. We went from hand-written letters to electronic mails, and from film to digital. We really really really liked new things, neglecting the way we spend our afternoons. Cupcakes and tea. Play-Doh and Polly Pockets. Young to naive. Technology changed the way we waited and really destroyed our patience and we grew up too fast. The simple things in life seems more meaningful now that it's fading. We grew up in the age of transition and have become the generation of nostalgia.

Love Zack

When I was little, and when I would cry in my bed at night because I was scared, or had a bad dream, or was nervous, or actually contemplated life, which, is actually something I did as a 6 year old, and I would get nervous about the future; my mom would be there in seconds. My mother, would come up to my bed and tuck in my sheets tight, even around my feet(which I loved) and she would whisper something in my ear. I don't remember all the time what they were, but I know she said them, and that it was real, and how forshadowing it would be for my life later on.

Last night I was crying in my room. Hard. I guess I just take on the whole world all at once, and I always think I'm ready, but I never am. I get small and go to the scary place in my brain. The place the Zoloft doesn't reach, the place the prozac or the lithium won't fix. The place where everything always seems far away.

It was late, and I was crying. My mom came in, tucked my 18 year old legs in, wrapped the sheet around my feet, which I still loved, and whispered:

"Don't worry Little fighter, soon everything will be Brighter."



I'm O.K. now.

z.t. 1:50 a.m.

#RealTalk

Song of The Day: England - The National 
(Coming to Twilight Concert Series in SLC August 1st)

Here's a quote that I felt was applicable to this prompt:

“It’s easy to take off all your clothes and have sex. People do it all the time. But opening up your soul to someone, letting them into your spirit, thoughts, fears, future, hopes, dreams.. Now that’s being naked.”

and with that, here's my post kids. 

There's a kid we all know, one with green eyes and red hair. He's a likable character but sometimes you only see what's on the outside. He walks like he's got some place to be. He has funny little freckles that are hard to see, but they're there, trust me.

He digs his elbows in, and he wants the world all to himself.
He's a god fearin' man, but he ain't about to preach to the choir.
He doesn't laugh much, but when he does, he laughs for a reason, like the Earth, the Earth that laughs once a year around spring time, the Earth that laughs flowers. He finds it hard to wake up every morning and convince himself that he is different than every other pile of bones walkin' this rock we call home.He knows he's nothin' special, and He tries to hard but there's something out there for Him he can feel it in his veins.

There's an anxiousness in his stomach all the time and sometimes he can't eat, and sometimes he writes like it's his last day and sometimes he really thinks it's his last day. But he's not selfish.

He doesn't like being touched by people he doesn't like and he likes the taste of fresh mountain air on his lungs after a long dose of velvet pages full of beautiful words.
He watches close and learns quick.

He may not be the sharpest tool in the shed but he could rip the shed walls down, without disturbing the tools inside.

He wishes he had her, sequoia limbs, West coast lips, East coast wrists and diamond eyes and all in his arms, the arms which look much bigger in the mirror than they do in real life. They will run together, socks up to their knees, hands out like wings through the trees without touching them. He's no snake handler but He would hold her tight like the gentle shore and the fine sand. She is his royalty and his goosebumps. He has never met her, but when he does she'll say "I love you the way I bruise without touching, and the way you forget my birthday but bring me flowers the day after." (He'll laugh and say He would never forget her birthday, but he will.)

That's how He'll know She Is The One.

He knows that someday the world will be his, but for know he's just writing rhymes on napkins, crackin spines, takin names and reading out loud.
Love Always,
                   Zack "Alexander James" Taylor

 

"Wander" is my Mantra

I wrote a poem about you, and then threw it away, 

 because that’s the last thing I need right now:

 More words dedicated to someone who will never dedicate a single thing to me.

D, D, D, Dialogue

gather round, gather round.
let's go up the canyon and make a fire. we'll make smores and stuff.

do you ever feel like... like youre wandering? i feel like that. the good kind of wandering, meeting people and seeing things. it's a cool smooth kind of freedom and i am scared it will kill me someday but you have to be dying to learn how to live. and im just 18. im just a kkid.

i used to have a stutter. i, i, i, couldnt p, p, p, pronounce my sy, sy, syntax. i would come home after a vicious day in 5th grade or 4th grade and tell my mom 'th th th they take the w, w, w, words out of m, m, my mouth.'
my mom would hug me and id cry and go to school the next day.

Drugs.

If I could 

I would take that smile 

and inject it directly into my blood stream

My parents warned me about drugs in baggies

sold on the street.

 But never the ones with teeth

and a heartbeat.

I rememberz

I remember weslie in 1st grade, he became my friend without asking and my mom made me play with him. His mom drove an orange truck, his dad was an electritian and we had creamies on a tree stump.
I remember My first poem, and how you told me how good it was, and I remember how young we were, this was before college.
I remember the day I wanted to write, so you'd like me a little. She's definitly why I started.
I remember my dad showing me myspace and how he said this will be big someday.
I remember Kogan pooped his pants in 4th grade and then in 6th he was popular. He thinks people forgot, but I remember.
I remember the playlist for us: New Perspective - Panic! At the Disco and Here in My Arms - HelloGoodbye
I remember when my dad gave me the talk and how all I could think about was how dogs do it and the organ concert after the talk about organs and the drive home.
I remember the first panic attack. and the second. and the third. and the fourth. and I remember how I promise myself I won't get that low every again, then I do and I remember how frustrated I get, and I remember when I yelled at my mom and it scared the hell out of both of us.
I remember New York.
I remember the crying in the swing after every girls choice dance I didn't get asked to.
I remember nostalgia and how it went away with the medication.
I remember spring break and how effed up it was, and I remember vowing not to take what the doctors gave me ever.
I remember that one rainy day and how perfect it was. We were all friends. No one had a job, no one had responsibility, not a care in the world.
I should have kissed that night in the truck. I was too coward.

With Love Always, Alex

Playing On An Empty Stage

Float On

Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

My Body Is a Cage

Shake the Dust.

 Song of the Day: 'Damnation' - Baths

This poem is for the Hipsters.

This is for the kids who think like their mothers.

This is for the boys who think like their brothers.

This, this is for the kids who take water bottles to school and clutch them like it's the last water they'll ever see.

This is for the recess guards and the high school janitors.

Shake the Dust.

Rid yourself of staleness, and dream a little.

This is for the kids down the street who never stop playing basketball, 

Shake the Dust. 

There's plenty of world out there and life's too short to play basketball your whole life.

This is for the girls who love a manic-depressive writer with a huge imagination.

This is for the tattoo artists who don't have tattoos, congrats, you're makin' it.

This is for the girl with the dirt under her rosebushes, I'll miss you forever, but it's winter here and I can't see you, so I'm not thinking about you because it's hard to think about something that doesn't even want to be seen.

This is for the old men still in boy scouts. 

Shake the Dust.

You think these boys love scouting as much as you do, but they don't. 

*This is for the children who speak half English, half God.

Shake the Dust. 

Don't EVER put away your toys

This is for the kids without lovers and don't mind being lonely, it's gunna be alright, I know because *like me, the day burns at both ends, and spring always manages to step forward after every single winter.

Dance like no one is watching and blink like you don't wear contacts.

Shake the Dust.

Love, Alex

*idea for this poem from 'Shake the Dust' by Anis Mojgani.

*indicates, Stolen line.

Dear whoever is reading this...

You're young, you're beautiful and someone out there is crazy about you.

So smile because life is too short to be unhappy...

Lovers Eyes

Song of the Day: 7/4 Shoreline - Broken Social Scene

 

He has stupid freckles that aren't always there when he needs them to be. He's got this ring on his finger that's silver, and it helps him remember. He always wanted to be a firefighter. 

He has a face that's bald, a crooked smile and worn out eyelids, He stares to long sometimes. 

His mouth is the sea, frothy and dark. It could swallow you whole. His eyes are wandering like the clouds under gray skies. He walks like he's got Michigan in the rear view mirror. He'll cuss every now and then, and it bugs the shit out of some people. He is unannounced and unproclaimed like sage brush under a redwood tree. His silence is as loud as thunderclaps and he knows it. 

He'll take the words out of your mouth at the very moment you need them. He'll walk right through the walls you try to hide behind because he thinks It's his job. 

He is a walking contagion, spreading his disease of the heart quick like cracks in ice.

He prays for heaven's floor to break, just so a little light can come down on his dark shoulders, to keep the dark marks under his eyes from becoming permanent. 

He is scared of being forgotten.

Love, Alex

Obscurities

I'm sitting in the sand and it's so blue out there. 

The ocean's been wandering for awhile now and I wanted advice, I guess. 

"You see, I've been wandering, and it's really hard sometimes"

The ocean didn't say anything. That made me really frustrated. Really really frustrated. 

Like when a parent is pissed off, but they are scared of the word angry, so they use "I'm frustrated".

I'm just looking across and I see you, I am screaming and shouting and flapping my arms wildly. 

And you just wave back because you think that's what I'm doing. 

Do I need to get a flare gun?

Just take what I'm giving you and be happy. 

Flames! Engulfing Flames!

There's beauty in things of the future and some kind of stale madness in things that linger.

Like forest fires and landslides, Destruction is the best proponent of change. When something is destroyed something is always created. Love like you've never loved before darling. It's always going to be wonderous but don't linger. Don't get stale.

I call them my Clinker-Clankers

 Song of the Post: Hear the Noise that Moves So Soft and low - James Vincent McMorrow

It's a sickness. Like the morning after something horrible has happened sickness. Knowing what I need to do, I know a lot these days. I'm talented, my mom tells me I am the architect of my world. I guess she's right.
It just feels bereft of fulfillment. Maybe I'm not far along enough. The cerulean sky talks to me sometimes. she tells me I'm like her in her vast expanse of blue and beauty. I'm still not sure if I believe her.

My life gets hot sometimes. I feel like I'm changing, it's uncomfortable and beautiful. This life is a crucible. I'm sure it's good but the enormity of all of it, is really overwhelming sometimes.

My bones tell me to do what I want. They are so loud and clanky. I want to break myself sometimes. Bones are like statues, cracking with time. Resembling something that once was or someone who once lived. Beautiful and off-white, off centered and off balanced. People walk by without remembering and that makes my bones mad. They don't know that people can't hear them screaming "Just listen!... Shut the hell up and listen to what I'm saying!" No sound escapes through my skin, cracked it may be. This is where it gets a little scary. My bones start acting irrationally and this is usually the part when they try to strangle everyone within 5 feet.

I work out. Good thing too, or I'd be strangling all you fascists right here right now.

But every once and a while, I break. The calcium lines and curves take over, and I'm left to my own bones to wreak havoc upon innocent bystanders.

They call it manic-depression. I call it noisy bones.

Love always, Alex

 Song of the Post: Truth - Alexander

Lying in bed.
Under my sheets, even though they make me cold.
Blanket up to my nose, my hands grasp the top of the blanket'
White knuckles clenched.
It's getting darker and darker
And the barbed wire is getting tighter and tighter.

My feet are frozen, and probably blue.
but I'm too scared to look at them,
because they are so far away,
at the end of my bed, dangling off my mattress.
The draft whispers at my mouth and nose and ears
and ruffles my hair.

Barbed wire tight and cutting.

It's just me and death,
and he looks me in the eye,

well I don't know because of the hood,
but I pretend.
Because it feels like razor wire now.
Tight and cutting.
Blood.

it must be time, I think.

"I'm scared."
Death says 
"Me too."
"Why are you scared?"
"Because anything you are scared of, will always be just as scared as you are."

Razor wire, wrapped around my neck.
tight and cutting.

It's even darker than before now.
which up until this very second of my life thought was impossible.
It's colder now too.
and my feet are so far away, and
The door is further than my feet.
Which I also thought was impossible.
I know I can't leave,
because my legs are like a slow computer
jerky and slow.

It's foggy in my room, and it's funny,
because I don't remember buying the fog machine.
Death gets closer to my bed.

Death is the only thing that seems in perspective.

Death smells like roses.

which I find strange,
because it's death we're talking about here.

But then again, 

a rose will still smell like a rose,

long after it has wilted.

Love, Alex

#RealTalk

I don't think we should ever be scared to ask for help.
especially from God.
'cause Dad says He always listens,
all you gotta say is "look, i just can't do it right now. give me some strength?"
Dad says He will give it to you, right then and there.
and i think you'll also find that when you stop for a second and look around,
you'll see some friends running and climbing and swimming, too,
and there's this magic thing where when you help them,
you'll end up helping yourself, too.

those are a few things that i've learned.