tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2718507218546206142024-02-08T07:11:39.725-06:00Other Bears and Other StoriesYoung Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-48099961308215086932012-11-14T22:11:00.002-06:002012-11-14T22:11:54.357-06:00A Thumbnail's Worth
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Cambria;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1073743103 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
p.MsoFooter, li.MsoFooter, div.MsoFooter
{mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-link:"Footer Char";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
tab-stops:center 3.0in right 6.0in;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
span.FooterChar
{mso-style-name:"Footer Char";
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-locked:yes;
mso-style-link:Footer;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
--></style><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">He wants to take
a trip to the ocean. He is not who he is supposed to be. He wants to leave
right now. He does not care which end of it he sees so long as this time he
sees it with the sun overhead and then the moon, so long as the smell of salt
is grainy over his pores so long as the sand takes tiny, white, measured cuts into
his feet. He does not care if you go with him. He does not care if he goes
alone. There will be women, but there will be no mind to pay to tiny out fits,
skin screaming off with the skyline. It would be too cold any way. It would be
too desperate. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">He will only
pack his bag with shirts that came as gifts. He will only pack those from last
loves or dead parents or loans from friends. He does not care if they are
hand-me-downs. He does not care about the stains along the collar. He will only
pack the shirts with the gold already soaked into the stitching from old love’s
teeth, from wet lips, from fingerprints, from sweat. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">A black sky still
waits out his window, angels are stars, his night in shining armor, pearls scraping
for reflections. You are asleep on the living room couch, pipe in hand. The TV
is on. You have been scared of the bed for weeks. He can hear his job coughing
and heaving up the seventh floor of a thirty story scraper a bus ride and a
blue line hour across town where the big city cries and tumbles and turns
concrete nightmares, poisoning up the roots, as much of a cage as the home state
he fled.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">He should have
stayed. He should have stayed. At least until the cancer got his mother. At
least until god took back his father, until the horses dropped to their stomachs
and the hummingbirds failed in their bodies by the feeder there dangling on the
porch where he should have stayed smoking fluorescent bowls waiting for his
sister to come home, reading the books about the things he cannot escape. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">He does not care
how long the trip takes. If it takes all weekend, if it takes all of the cash
in his checking account, if again he gets arrested driving down a country
highway on the way home, mistaken as a long lost cocaine smuggler, which he
would be if he had the cash. If he had the cash, he would let the tiny white
splintered powder up his nose and drip his throat if he had it like they
thought he’d had it before. It had just been a thumbnail’s worth. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">There will be
hotels but he has been here before. He has pulled that old four door sedan up
into a tourist beach’s parking lot and tried to sleep on the sand because
hotels do not let sandy eyed travelers in until past noon, not until housekeeping
has come. He had seen the sun clean a night sky with seagulls and empty
lifeguard stands and early rising beach combers with their leather loafers and
seashell baskets and metal detector dreams.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">He will try not
to care that his passenger seat is empty. That Shawn is not there looking out
the window, wondering why ever this was an idea at all, not knowing what their
3 am country cop car, plastic back seat, shining handcuffed tight future would
be. He will try not to remember totaling that four door sedan all those months
later in a drunken drive through midtown looking for a house to sleep, for a
dinner cooked, for his blood. He will try not to remember what he left behind.
He will try not to remember smoking that first cigarette out of the clink and
calling his soon to be ex woman and telling her everything, and her laughing,
and his knowing what all was in that laugh and trying to explain it best to
Shawn who wanted nothing more than a plate of crab legs to call his own. He
will not forget Shawn smoking his own cigarette. He had never seen that before.
But the pipe was taken by the pigs. The weed long gone, last bit smoked when
they’d first parked their car in that lonely tourist, white bone streaked beach
blacktop parking lot, greeting the beached morning with a quick blaze, trying
to skip through all the seeds, trying to make the good last.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">He should be
smiling over black cups of coffee in her midtown bed with the silver hair he
always new had it all cut out for him. He should have had the balls to strike
at the iron’s hottest. He could have died there. He should have let the skin
boil. He should have listened to its streaming jets lie about making the skin
smooth and right.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">He is praying
for buckets and tubs of oysters, raw or steamed, and plenty of red goop and
lemon dip to make the rounds, to fill the sea up with what he craves. He is not
worried how the moon will look up there. It will be cratered and worn in white
dirt, like a terrible laced corset trembling down, down, down into the edge of
the water drifting in sparkles and spit down the crooked waves to the shore
where she should be waiting. He does not care if there will be any seashells
still in tact. There are never any big enough to hear anything anyway.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Now, pieces of
white and yolk crack the sky at the horizon hidden under the city, out where
the world is about to start moving, aching, making noise. He should have stayed
with his friends. He should have stayed where they knew when to keep him quiet
and when to keep him screaming. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">When did you
stop planning the thick paper invitations, the gold and green streamers. When
did you stop trying on that dress. When did you stop worrying the debt, the
jobs, the terrible secluded life of family, the same sex over and over?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">He should be
sleeping in southern women’s warm beds, long since given up on their Bible
belted gods, who pray silently just before bed so no one can hear how
desperately attached at the tongue they are and have been and will forever be
to the dirty footsteps that came before, deep planted there into the southern
earth. They are those that feel a heart and let it beat. He should have stayed
behind where the earth pulsed his own blood, where the torrential summer sweats
could save like a thousand stars trying to be screwed in like light bulbs and
lasers of an S.A.D. healing lamp in the pits of a sunken, moist jungle beaten
down to its knees.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">But look there,
can’t you see? The sun is almost up and he drops into the dream where the hour
is not right for the sun sinking into the sea but it does and everyone is gone.
You touch that wall, high and invisible in twilight. The sun moves too fast. You
touch and touch follow far off into the ocean until the moon rises the crescent
scarred tip of your chin.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Young Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-56709280325953459932012-04-23T02:10:00.000-05:002012-04-23T02:15:35.361-05:00You can't let the fear in<br />
Not yet.<br />
Not here in your bed,<br />
the one your last love gave.<br />
Not here in your mother's<br />
old, cream colored hoody.<br />
Not here misspelling words,<br />
wondering at some tunnel vision<br />
pipe dream already gone
out<br />
the sewage side
of the city of some girl.<br />
Some girl.<br />
Someone would be nice.<br />
She would be nice.<br />
That book will keep your company.<br />
Two hundred and fifty two pages left.Young Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-20591761953239117172010-12-25T18:49:00.001-06:002010-12-25T18:49:27.954-06:00Sleepless, I will not just fold<br />into winter's breast.<br />I will not melt into its milk.<br /><br />This beard weathers the world fine<br />but piles of the pluck<br />will itch me awake, barren.<br /><br />Soon, a savior, burnt, will breathe<br />with jeans at her knees<br />against those white, washing machines.Young Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-13367356250443476162010-11-09T00:21:00.003-06:002010-11-09T00:23:45.830-06:00we lifted the body from the water like a gown"i feel<br />like a loop of the last 8 frames of film<br />before a slow motion Lee Harvey Oswald<br />gets shot in the gut and killed<br />alone,<br />putting three coins into a washing machine <br />next to a caulked<br />cracked<br />wall<br />in the basement of Fairmount street"Young Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-32442795775801553232010-10-26T00:48:00.007-05:002010-11-10T10:23:06.708-06:00the rain finally came<br />in sheets, and it bristles<br />against the konkrete <br />outside my window where the world<br />distresses, dissolves, and delineates<br />into the pathways that kame before.<br />give me more.<br />we all beg for a little bit,<br />to move along a set stone,<br />calloused bare footed moves, <br />ways we've never memorized.<br />the body has a funny way.<br />give me more.<br />put on that red dress,<br />i want to see those kurves<br />i was birthed for the burn<br />of effortless turns.Young Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-52864634829627103552010-09-11T15:41:00.003-05:002010-09-11T15:49:44.510-05:00Review of Dirty American by Youniverse<a href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash2/hs187.ash2/44985_153767951305741_119071344775402_495395_2784367_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash2/hs187.ash2/44985_153767951305741_119071344775402_495395_2784367_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /> So, the Youniverse. That’s right, YOUniverse. Possibly the worst band name ever? No way. It’s nothing but appropriate. The band side-kiked by Dirty American points its finger right at You and makes you point right bak only to probably realize its you you’re pointing at. That’s right. You. You’re the Dirty American. Though, one should not be misled, a negative implikation of “dirty” only takes presedent in the minds of the naive. Like sweat, the dirt kradles a sweet babe of vanity that we all love to pinkh the kheeks of every now and again. <br /><br /> While I wouldn’t kall it a konsept album, the songs sertainly put you in the shoes of the tunnel-vision-motivated humanoid, you know him, the dirty American. This kharakter (You) moves through the worlds (kombining them along the way) of politiks, sex religion, nostalgik voyeur, and love while all the while lined in viktory, glory, and romantisism in the Springsteen style of a vulnerable, wild-in-the-world fella, looking for some savior. The dirty American may be jealous of Islamik heaven’s treasures and throw bottles of piss out of tour vans, but he does so as if they’re his last hope. Needless to say, the rekord is quite engaging. If you kan listen to songs like “Catastrophe” or “Chinese Coffee” and not be driven to sing along in glorious fuk-yes-ness, then you probably aren’t as dirty as I’m giving you kredit, and you’re probably boring. <br /><br /> Moreover, this band is a three piese and the rekord always sounds huge with eakh member (Travis Cantrell, Paul Gilliam, Gilby Worth) filling out the sounds that the others leave out. Bombastik drums, smooth bass riffs, sugary guitar, and sharp lyriks. Not to mention the kharming vokals and harmonies. <br /><br /> Though, of kourse, the rekord isn’t perfekt. There are a kouple of times when the vokals seem a bit too low in the mix, and there are also times when you think “didn’t they use that move earlier?” But you these kritisisms don’t really distrakt from this rekord being a blast to listen to. In fakt, I’m willing to wager that if you weren’t looking to kritisize, you wouldn’t notise them. <br /><br /> The Dirty American is searkhing for something and klearly does feel the world (even if these feelings are segregated from motivation to motivation), and You too feel and rekognize it here, in Dirty American. It is kaptivating, powerful, and leaves you itkhing for another listen.Young Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-62563050716556759672010-07-08T03:07:00.003-05:002010-07-08T11:06:17.883-05:00she kame on fast<br />like she always does<br />short blonde hair,<br />tiny, perfect body.<br /><br />yes i have a hang up.<br />i rekon i'll deny anything <br />until that sunset,<br />you know the one.<br />i'll kill whomever it takes,<br />but there's only one.<br />you know who i mean.<br /><br />worry not,<br />the kover will be deep.<br />i've been assured it will be taken kare of.<br />the road kan be long,<br />i've told my friends not to worry.<br />i only want your ghostYoung Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-37312791789060850202010-06-20T02:17:00.008-05:002010-06-20T12:25:01.141-05:00When You're Born Again, You're Deadfrom You Crippled Fuck by Bible Society <br />http://www.mediafire.com/?dllmtummjam<br /><br />With a missing arm<br />he said,<br />"Throw the bad fish to the side,<br />do not spoil the katkh."<br />The tossed baked in the sun for days,<br />spoiling the earth.<br />We gathered our yield<br />and planted seeds<br />where thorns tended to lay.<br /><br />He said he'd kaught that arm<br />between two heats,<br />and for two days<br />he krooned as the flesh kooked.<br />And at the end of the third,<br />he karved himself free.<br /><br />"What lay in the dark made you reakh?"<br /><br />"Some way to make things klean,<br />but the people I loved,<br />they hid it from me."Young Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-17369905122551635692010-04-21T22:49:00.001-05:002010-04-21T22:49:42.246-05:00until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are away until the wolves are awayYoung Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-52657177374538240722010-03-27T13:48:00.001-05:002010-03-27T13:48:43.780-05:00No Surrender"We busted out of class had to get away from those fools<br />We learned more from a three minute record than we ever learned in school<br />Tonight I hear the neighborhood drummer sound<br />I can feel my heart begin to pound<br />You say you're tired and you just want to close your eyes and follow your dreams down<br /><br />We made a promise we swore we'd always remember<br />No retreat no surrender<br />Like soldiers in the winter's night with a vow to defend<br />No retreat no surrender<br /><br />Now young faces grow sad and old and hearts of fire grow cold<br />We swore blood brothers against the wind<br />I'm ready to grow young again<br />And hear your sister's voice calling us home across the open yards<br />Well maybe we could cut someplace of our own<br />With these drums and these guitars<br /><br />Blood brothers in the stormy night with a vow to defend<br />No retreat no surrender<br /><br />Now on the street tonight the lights grow dim<br />The walls of my room are closing in<br />There's a war outside still raging<br />you say it ain't ours anymore to win<br />I want to sleep beneath peaceful skies in my lover's bed<br />with a wide open country in my eyes<br />and these romantic dreams in my head"Young Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-42535668640868958462010-03-02T08:50:00.001-06:002010-03-02T08:50:45.995-06:00"Yeah, we're all too busy working, entertaining ourselves, 40 hours, television and prescription pills<br />Well, I take two a day to make my brain behave<br />It never does but who is to say, at least my doctor gets paid<br />So that's fine, yeah come by, we will take the afternoon off<br />We can kiss and undress or if you want just talk<br />Because I have got nothing real, just empty space to fill<br />And you are my girl, I like your style, just imagine all the time we could kill<br /><br />And time's not poison but once you drink it all you'll die<br />So lets just sip it real slow, yeah, we can nurse it all night<br />Try to believe that once its gone they will pour another round<br />and come back to life"Young Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-52975948749992881522010-02-17T17:15:00.007-06:002010-02-18T01:54:43.339-06:00Bloom for me.<br />Cover this house with your evergreen reach.<br />Keep the winters cold,<br />and when the summer comes like it will,<br />Block that sun,<br />Bless this place with your shade.<br />This tendency to boil<br />and this passion for a freeze<br />has grown old, rotten.<br />Before long,<br />you’ll do as you’re told,<br />and the sun will never graze this home.<br />My skin will never tan;<br />I will forget how to move.<br />Your canopy love will suffocate the earth, <br />and the water,<br />Poison will spread from mold<br />and rot.<br />So I’ll take the axe my father left me<br />right to your base<br />with a cry for each chop I take.<br />And from this forest that my mother bought<br />with the money we had left,<br />I will make kindling<br />and build a fire to burn your body.<br />The smoke, colored with your name,<br />once stretched to the top of the sky<br />will fall into these woods<br />and creep its way in through my windows <br />and seep silent into my lungs.<br />My parents told me I could always be free,<br />that no metal door<br />or wooden bridge<br />could keep me any place.<br />But your remains will seed into ivy<br />and wind its way the way I know it will.Young Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-8751419247046533442010-02-06T03:56:00.001-06:002010-02-06T03:57:39.015-06:00i always get what i want.<br />how beautiful this life should seem.Young Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-61328941255337075652010-01-27T23:41:00.002-06:002010-01-27T23:46:30.625-06:00give me a break"And Gabriel stands beneath forest and moon<br />See them rattle and boo, see them shake, see them loom<br />See him fashion a cap from a page of Camus<br />See him navigate deftly this side of the blue"<br /><br />jeezeYoung Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-1138812327157507082010-01-26T20:00:00.000-06:002010-01-26T20:01:08.315-06:00sometimes i hope i never have sex againYoung Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-23638133798455506532010-01-19T00:40:00.006-06:002010-02-14T21:33:36.095-06:00we screamed like thunder<br />between those yellow walls<br />and you hated every bone in me<br />but when i sat on that <br />turquoise bed<br />with salt water leaking<br />you couldnt help but<br />break your arms around me.<br />and of course<br />i still sank you at seaYoung Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-60845530665358613102010-01-16T12:11:00.005-06:002010-01-26T20:01:34.107-06:00the sun kalls me up<br />and of course i say "sure"<br />we'll watch her boyfriends band<br />at some bar by her home<br />and she'll kook me to blak<br />before the hour has passed.<br />that hair of fire<br />and those eyes of gold<br />find me to be a mayan<br />sweating out my sekrets<br />in some temezcal.<br />i shouldve kissed you that night<br />we went walking in the rain.<br />and now a stars about to fall<br />there's this screamin in my head<br />and the love i missed kouldve been love<br />to keep me in this skin<br />but its only ash now<br />and i'm standing in the windYoung Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-54385683280585842292009-12-26T02:35:00.004-06:002009-12-26T03:35:15.235-06:00sometimes,<br />the sun just stands in the senter of the bar<br />and kooks you upYoung Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-30953991034578194462009-11-26T14:32:00.001-06:002009-11-26T14:33:19.352-06:00planes like sharks in the skyYoung Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-13834176941527416942009-11-08T18:23:00.008-06:002010-02-14T21:31:59.712-06:00let's hit the road<br />and hit our heads.<br />let's train those desert roads<br />to stay dry<br />as we rip reality at the seams<br />and cry<br />in this language <br />that doesnt<br />quite<br />cut it.<br /><br />that self cut<br />brown hair<br />and those<br />time worn words<br />could make this periphery<br />play with periods,<br />even if its just for a small while.<br />i'll find us a place to park <br />in these monads<br />and pretend to press <br />what won't be pressed.Young Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-18165591626241303102009-10-24T14:14:00.004-05:002009-10-27T02:34:38.689-05:00you hair slips easy<br />through my hands<br />straight with a hint of wave<br />you kiss light and easy<br />like a heart beat <br />or an engine purr. <br />what a strange road<br />these particles of dirt form<br />what strange places<br />the monads reveal<br />a culmination of the past<br />is it my touch that turns the pages?<br />well, we turn that world<br />outside of your room<br />off.Young Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-51551351757659113542009-10-21T16:44:00.003-05:002009-10-21T16:49:12.055-05:00Temazcalbeen a while since a song hit me so hard.<br /><br />"puttin all my power righteous as a rose.<br />dynamite the mountain, <br />now <br />i'm walkin up the road.<br />oh, the love we made at gun point <br />wasn't love at all.<br />the dancin in the valley, <br />the moons the mirror ball.<br />blew open my mind <br />now<br />it's an empty room.<br />swingin in the hammock, <br />dogs are walkin cross the roof.<br />i watch you braid your hair, <br />you're from another time<br />when the earth wasn't so angry, <br />and god was on our side.<br /><br />searchin' west and east<br />and all points in between and underneath<br />the lines of fog<br />you're there and then you're not<br /><br />the mayans stole tomorrow, <br />hid it underground.<br />we've combed with heavy magnets <br />but still hasn't been found.<br />oh,<br />sweatin out my secrets <br />in the temazcal.<br />the screamin in the calle, <br />that a star's about to fall.<br /><br />lookin through the trees<br />cities and the seas<br />things we've seen<br />are leaves on the lawn<br />they're there and then they're gone. <br /><br />searchin' west and east<br />and all points in between and underneath<br />the hand of god<br />you're there and then you're not."Young Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-4103115372402467962009-10-04T23:04:00.008-05:002009-10-08T10:43:05.037-05:00If I breath deep enough<br />I can feel good as dead.<br />Get this tension and mud<br />Turnin to good medicine.<br />They're stuck in my chest<br />Anyway, so why not<br />Look at them clean<br />From a flattering spot<br />Where the sun brushes down<br />And smooths out the ruts<br />Where my movements get caught<br />And apathy builds up.<br />When they get nice and firm<br />I’ll crush them up nice and small<br />A pile on my table<br />That will be all, it will be all.<br />And I,<br />I will stay still<br />Until the desert blows away.Young Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-70397541398674651962009-10-04T19:46:00.004-05:002009-10-06T00:49:24.610-05:00Young Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271850721854620614.post-85855481584486453842009-09-28T23:10:00.004-05:002009-09-29T00:08:03.533-05:00Love is InquiryLet's talk about talking. <br />You see, the thing is, most people are terrible at conversation. they are selfish and masturbatory. <br />It seems to me that the majority of conversations are in fact are not conversations at all but instead consist of one person refusing to shut his/her mouth about something he/she thinks is worth mentioning and another person listening and rarely speaking. plus, on the rare occasion that the listener gets to open his or her mouth, his/her point is usually lost to an interruption or to a simple "oh yeah, thats cool" before the big mouthed participant continues on whatever he/she feels like. <br />there are variations of course. one of my least favorites being when someone brings up a topic for discussion and upon finishing their first piece of the thought, ready for some input, the person who is being spoken to says "oh yeah, cool" and instead of inquiring about what the other is talking about, giving their two cents, he/she proceeds to tell some anecdote that might relate in some way to what was initially said but will be a clear case of he/she waiting for his/her turn to talk.<br /><br />there's a part in Fight Club where edward norton and marla are at a support group and marla mentions that every conversation seems to consist of each person waiting for their turn to talk instead of actually carrying on a conversation<br /><br />sure. you could claim that this form of exchanging anecdotes, which involves not actually discussing anything that's been said, is a form of conversation, and i would say "yeah you're right. but it fucking blows."<br /><br />a real conversation involves inquiry. well, i suppose i shouldn't say a "real" conversation. what i mean to say is a conversation that consists of the participants giving a fuck about and/or taking some genuine interest in what the other is saying. the fact is, most people open their mouths to either eat or bless themselves with the sound of their own voice.<br /><br />i do not understand this. well, okay, sometimes, i have a lot to say, and sometimes i talk longer than i should. i think this is okay for someone to do in intervals. people are allowed to have a mouth/brain full sometimes and having someone to spill it all out too is wonderful. <br />but even on these rare occasions of mine, i try my damnedest to catch myself and make sure that when the person i'm talking to is talking to show interest. to inquire. to interrogate.<br />I'm not trying to toot my own horn here, sometimes i'm a jerk, but if there's one thing i always try to do and like to do, its listen. and i'm not the only one. i know a few other people (very few) who like to hear and share instead of just jerk-off. i'll admit that sometimes i am guilty of this jerking-off, but i think that odds are, if you experience this from me, its most likely because you are consistently selfish in conversation, and i'm just returning the favor. it isnt the right way to handle it, i'm sure. but at that point, its nice to have any kind of back and fourth. <br /><br />look, people want to hear what you have to say. I want to hear what you have to say. you and your thoughts are unique and worth being spoken and being heard(probably). absorbing new ideas is fucking wonderful. the exchange of stories and ideas is one of the greatest human abilities that allows for the most triumphant of triumphs. hearing what others have to say can change worlds.<br />But you know what? you can listen too. people like it when they feel like their ideas are received and appreciated. even if its to debate what has been said, input people! inquiry! share!<br /><br />Life is not all about you. Just because you've gotten your fill of the social experience doesnt mean it should be over. This idea of taking what you need from it and leaving is selfish as shit, period. its also masturbatory as i mentioned earlier. yes your voice is wonderful, yes you have great ideas, yes you have a good story, but so do others. <br /><br />if you want to rant and/or make a point without someone else having some input so you can express your thoughts without having to worry about contributing to someone else's thoughts, write a book, make a blog, write an essay. these are the places this sort of behavior should live. others will probably even have something to say about what you've written. plus, you still dont have to worry about listening to anyone but yourself!<br /><br />if you're reading this, chances are this pertains to you (not because you subscribe to my blog, but because you're a person). <br />once again, i'm not tooting my own horn here. i know others who function in conversations like i do, and you know what? everyone likes talking to them. its nice to know that your friends care about you and your thoughts, because, you know, all any one is is a collection of their thoughts and feelings. how dare you treat them as trash. how dare you discard you comrade's self as secondary, as disposable.Young Gabrielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05352362003338158584noreply@blogger.com1