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How old are we going to have to get before we die?

Love is made of rope. That’s why you feet feel like they’re not touching the ground and you have trouble breathing.

The message in this particular bottle says that we’re going to get lost at sea tonight and unless somebody finds us, it’ll be red skies in the morning and sharks with grins.
A history written on mannequins stands between us.
A parking lot of dreams that do nothing but get hot in the sun.

Sometimes, though, it’s air hissed through teeth in a good way.
Half-lidded eyes caressing half-filled bottles looking at half-empty hearts.
If we’re going to use tonight to get even then let’s make sure that it’s quite the evening.

In order to form a tesseract, one must tesserate.
One must be in two places at one time to make the journey from a departure point to a destination, making the journey from one state to another instantly.
A kiss does this. Worlds have hinged on kisses.

Some of us are window washers and some of us are dancers. And I think you know what I’m talking about.

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The best way of keeping time is keeping a watch. This is why time goes quickly when you’re not looking. The best way to hear music is to press play. This is why time goes quickly when you’re having fun. The best way to experience love to give oneself over to it. This is why it’s called falling.

Let’s destroy the fences around our fainting hearts, fence on behalf of those who are faint of heart, and feint towards our opponent’s heart while fencing to raise both our heart rates. Let’s turn our swords into propeller blades and spin until we’re dizzy and flying.

Let’s attach outboard motors to our islands and run them aground on the mainland. Wave goodbye to the waves and become land lovers. Let’s marvel at our lack of isolation, hold hands, and listen to the voices of others as they mimic the surf. Let’s regret all the time we spent at sea alone.

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I’m told of a time when borders were too long to be enforced. No one needed a work permit to work in a different country because the idea of a country was only and intellectual concept. Your strength came from how many people trusted your word, how ready you were to work with your hands, and what you could carve out of opportunity.
An old man I knew told me that his grandfather’s driver’s license was a coin about twice the size of a silver dollar. Metal was the only thing that lasted back before plastic.

When I was in Amsterdam, I talked to a young man from Somalia. He told that the model named Iman is from Somalia and that you can always tell if someone’s from Somalia because they have such sad eyes. Generations of hardship, tragedy, famine and war have altered the very genes of the people from that part of the world. It’s in their eyes.

The internet has no borders. That’s changing. There are firewalls in China. I can’t watch Hulu clips in Canada. Companies are successfully litigating against Pirate Bay and other sites that freely distribute copyrighted music, films and television shows. This is the beginning of the end of freedom in the newest country on Earth. There will be tariffs and blockades on data. It will be traded like lumber. The internet decentralizes power by giving everyone a voice. That is being eroded.

I think that in the future, you will be able to recognize our generation’s children by the sadness in their eyes.

And their silence.

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These times, these dives into pudding and vampire stomachs, these clean-shaven pedicures tying fourth-coronary shoelaces, these vibrating hands from the fifties giving barber massages to twist-off businessmen in a downtown core made of glass houses. I’m not a judge. I kick over things in the dark when I’m drunk and trying to be quiet just like anyone else.

I sometimes feel like a spider on an escalator, concentrating too hard on how to use eight legs to notice that I’m not going anywhere. My steady diet of pearls before swine has left me as bruised as I am brazen. Coffee, cake and the squeak of vinyl leave every promotion feeling like a dismissal.

Tuck in that shirt and let’s have three cheers for unbridled acquisition! Three cheers for this wooden leg and my fear of sharks! Three cheers for Barbie’s unholy satanic eyes! Let’s see how many cobras we can fit into a suitcase. Let’s eat.

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You say, “Clothes are important because it’s always good to be able to take something off.”

I say, “Your decisions affect me.”

Divided by elements, one might conclude. You’re on the boat. I’m on the shore. You live there. I live here. The boat can come in and visit but it’s of no use on dry land and I can’t tread water for too long.

Or we could go further. You’re a fish and I’m an earthworm. Both of us down in the dark, completely at home in our surroundings.

But worms are put on hooks to catch fish so maybe let’s not go there.

If you’re a prairie picnic in the summer, then I’m a hospital hallway.

You are independent and clear as hope in an orphanage. All colours look good on you.

If I reach for you, you are there. It’s when I can’t reach for you that I need you most.

Turning your fears into a conversation is one of the surest ways to cure them.

Letting my feelings collapse into definition is one of the surest ways to negate them.

You are velvet awards, dimly lit business lunches, plaid coats and smokey restaurants. Hotels built like race tracks and beautiful elevators.

I am hamburgers at midnight, website reptiles, flipper logic, and rain on heritage-home windows. An unlabeled chart on a dusty shelf.

Wedding presents might as well be paper clips in my hands. Baby shoes turn into old hats right in front of my eyes.

The problems of all relationships are ours. Let’s keep going.

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Every person that inspires you. Ever idol. Every shining example that you think you could never be. They’re all thinking the same thing.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

Every leader that leads by example is hoping that inspiration will create copies. They hit the targets, exceed the limits, and break new ground in with aspirations that they will soon be one face among many. They want to start a movement where everyone’s full potential can be realized.

Overachievers do not want to be lonely. They are trying to pass the torch. These people want you to do it for yourselves they way they did. They are screaming for you to exceed your already amazing potential. Every leader wants to die knowing that he or she is leaving things in good hands.

It never goes down like that.

How do you look at your idols? What do you see?

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I am the Frankenstein’s Monster of my life lessons, brought back to life and staggering. This arm is the time I realized that I am a horrible liar. This foot is from the summer that I fell in love for the first time. The fingers of my left hand are stitched clumsily to me, each one a fingertip lesson of what not to touch.

This elbow told me to stop skateboarding. This knee is aching for the swimming lessons I never received that would help me save drowning children. The entire right leg is green, tattooed, and drags a furrow in the ground behind me, immobilized by the wolf trap of commitments I cannot avoid.

This eyelid is from the times that I dressed up as a man and it can’t stop winking. This smile is from the summer I sold used cars to old women and learned everything I know. These ears will always hear the sound of air rushing past my first and only suicide attempt. These cheekbones are from a young man that looked a lot like me.

My liver is from Scotland. My lungs are from the mountains. My heart is from you.

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The buildings of the downtown core jut up higher than the suburbs. From the air, it looks like a three dimensional sound wave of where humanity is the loudest.

What we as humans have done is really strange.

A combination of advertising and fairy tales has turned this world in a giant waiting room.

People waiting for the perfect mate. People waiting for the perfect job. People waiting for the perfect opportunity. People waiting for the perfect key, the perfect product, the perfect distraction.

Myself, I’m a juggler waiting for my balls to drop. I am a priest in a bullet-proof vest. People who live in glass houses have no dark rooms.

Anyone can stick their ass on a photocopier. After hours office parties are metaphors for this entire planet. The boss is gone and here we are doing our best to have a good time with no guidebook.

The truest way to live is to stay still while they’re firing but the surest way to survive is to dodge.

Never be earnest. Find ways around being direct. Get this tattooed on your chest.

Twenty-five cents a commercial is evil’s rate. Hiding doesn’t even come into it. Help yourself.

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Can we burn down a fire?
By rubbing two sticks together, we can start a family tree.
By bringing this match close to this gasoline, we can start a bloodline.
All babies are conceived in heat.

So let’s lick like flames eating newspaper history and use the past as kindling.
Where’s there’s smoke, there’s fire and I haven’t been able to see for days.
This is the smoke that blinds love.
The thick smoke that brings us both closer to the floor so that we can breathe.

Fight fire with fire, fighter.
Because when it comes to infernos, we’re all pyromaniacs.
The stink of it leaks from our pores, flammable and begging.
When it gets hot in the summer, we drip like sweating dynamite.

Entire libraries of forests give into the pyre.
Spontaneous human combustion.
Witches all, we burn with smiles on our sinning faces.
Hell is only too much of what we crave.

So come here and show me why the best explosives are unstable.
I will not cut any colored wires.
I’m better at taking punishment from explosions than defusing bombs.
I’ll only glance at how much time is left on the timer and act accordingly.

Turn my heart into a fireplace to keep you warm.
Shovel the coal that bad girls get for Christmas into my furnace.
Let it be the oven that makes the food you hunger for.
And above all, burn.

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I’m emotional but not intimate.

You are only a winner if you have never lost and if you claim to have never lost, then you are a liar.

We are all dust. And just like dust, you can only float for so long before you have to settle.

When the drought takes the world, we will get our just deserts.

They say that in the future they’ll have things we can only dream of.

When I look around at all the cancer and the heart fungus and the young bodies failing, I can’t help but think that there are things in the future we’re literally dying for.

On the other hand, sometimes my eyes wander so far out of my head, I forget to see the beauty right in front of me.

The impermanence of life is where its beauty comes from.

I remember the story of the Phineas Gage. A 25-year-old railroad foreman. On September 13th, 1848, he was blasting rock. He put the blasting powder, fuse and sand into the blasting hole and then tamped it down with the three-foot tamping rod. The explosives ignited prematurely, sending the rod straight through his skull.

It came up under his left cheekbone and exited out the top of his skull, destroying his left eye and the left frontal lobe of his brain. Even though his injuries were horrific, he stayed conscious. He was taken to the hospital and bandaged. After a coma and a hard rehabilitation, he made a full recovery.


Mentally, he was a different person. Before the accident he was kind and giving. Afterward, he was irritable and cruel. Sharp, mean, and disconnected.

Science thinks that this change in personality is a fascinating mystery. I think that this change in personality is unsurprising and logical.

The distance between science and real life is the length of humanity.

I’m emotional but not intimate.

You are only a winner if you have never lost and if you claim to have never lost, then you are a liar.

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Looking at shattered pasts and burning lives, I’ve come to a conclusion.
Tears make horrible glue and then can only put out small fires.
Even though the prairies of our cheeks get rain and we don’t have a fire escape,
being outnumbered is uncomfortable.
When your backup plan consists of “Jump”, a new plan might be needed.
Tear ducts go off like espresso machines.
Chicago, London and Pompeii all burn together.
The smoke is getting thicker and we’re all being forced to crawl to breathe.
If only fragile things break and all of us are broken, then our time here will be short.
Action is required. Action is necessary. Action is the only choice.
What we all know. What we all embrace. What we all shy away from.

For uncounted years, our desires have ruled us. That will not change. But we can change our desire.

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Another six by six. It has to read the same left to right as it does top to bottom. It's a little confusing but it's tremendous fun to write...

Quivering, beneath that mouth saying, “never.
beneath your forced and pronounced touch.
that forced your lips to me.
mouth and lips you clearly like.
saying, pronounced to clearly enunciate this.
“Never. Touch. Me. Like. This. Again.”

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This is what's called a six by six. It has to read the same left to right as it does top to bottom. It's a little confusing but it's tremendous fun to write.

Teacher builds bridges to new tomorrows
Builds bridges and tunnels to connect
Bridges and tunnels under student bodies,
To tunnel under weakens bodies, minds
New to student bodies, erections raise
Tomorrows connect bodies,minds raise walls.

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I’ll make you a deal.

You cut off the tips of my fingers and cut out my eyes. Then I’ll finger-paint a self-portrait from memory. You will judge if the portrait looks like me.

If I do a good job, let me live. If I do a horrible job, let me live.

I’m less like a candle and more like a fuse. Water down your past with tears. Wrap me up in finish lines. Let’s trade in our lies for lyres and make music together. Let’s max out our credit and pay later. This oven isn’t big enough for the both of us so let’s leave together into the kitchen.

Use me like a diving board. Play me like a piano in the key that opens doors. Wrestle me into the summer. Let’s tape welcome mats to our backs and lie down in front of our future together. I want you to know that the only reason I dance is because I don’t know how to walk.

Questions leave mouths and all I know is that every secret is a weapon. The answers echo back from the canyon of my throat and I have no weapons left. There is peace now, here, and I feel like I’m back in Eden because I am no longer ashamed to be naked. Let’s have a game of Hearts and Arrows. Because snakes and apples has been done.

Let’s make presents out of our pasts, turn these bored games into hot nights, and make sure that love has amnesia.

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At times I have a soul inside. At times I have a wraith
Because whatever is inside quite often loses faith
At times the summary of me is greater than its parts
Because the heart I have’s alive in other people’s hearts

Sometimes when I look at love, I’m like a scientist
Because I cannot feel it but I see that it exists
At times the memory of love’s the thing that seems profane
Because it’s like I’m looking at it through a window pane

When I have it in my hands, it’s not the love that’s changed
It’s just the hands that hold the love that are what’s rearranged.
The cells and bones and tendons cradle sweet love in their grip
But like a condom reservoir, I only see the tip.

Sometimes I am lost in all of love’s totality
If love is but a wild ocean then I’m lost at sea
Even if I drown there then it isn’t really death
Because I’m breathing in the love with every single breath

I surface and I dive and then I surface all again
The water’s deep and I don’t care because there is no end
I feel as though I’m filled with love inside my bones and skin
Nothing there can cover up my oceanic grin

But then it flips and here I am, a lover on dry land
Looking at what’s left of love inside my dripping hand
And where my heart’s supposed to be is just a vacant hole
At times I have a wraith inside. At times I have a soul.

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When the needle on your compass starts to spin and you lose your direction, either dive or start digging to find out why. Each promise shipped to you for christmas that got there by easter will tell you that time is not an illusion. If that were the case, there would be no such thing as too late. Find those gems lodged deep inside you, deeper than your heart, deeper than your past. Find out why your compass is spinning and pull that reason to the surface.

When you've got a hold of it, look at what it uses for balance. Look at how it sees the world. Figure out what it's always wanted. See how it has always fit into you. Let it examine you in return. Achieve an understanding. When you put it back, it will be changed. The end result will change you, too. You will be different.

Using your different eyes, look at the steady needle of the compass that no longer spins. Head in that direction, especially if it goes uphill.

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Closets are for clothes, they say. They’re also for monsters. The water near the beach is mimicking the curled-up dragon glittering of your green eyes. The sun is reaching down to silence our conversation before it can get too heated. It’s too nice a day, too nice a beach, to ruin it with history books.

Four scars and seven years ago, our forefathers who art in heaven, hollow be their names, trespassed against us. Now we must forgive those we trespass against. Bringing forth a new nation on earth as it is in heaven, giving us our daily bread. Lead us not into liberty’s temptation, and deliver us from the proposition that all men are created equally evil. For thine is the the civil war, testing whether ourselves can long endure, for ever and ever, amended.

Though time marches on, you and I will be here forever, looking at the ocean and daring to be still instead of moving. Daring not to talk. Taking in the ocean and feeling as calm as the gentle lapping near our toes, feeling the surf keep time with the pushing of our hearts. We turn off our engines, listen to the wind, and coast.



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