Saturday, June 28, 2008

Bluebird by Charles Bukowski


there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
you want to blow my book sales in

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
and we sleep together like
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
-Charles Bukowski

Tupac Shakur: "Only God can Judge me"

I took the liberty and edited it as to only include Tupac's parts.

"Only God can Judge Me"
Only God can judge me, is that right?
[synth voice] Only God can judge me now
Only God baby, nobody else, nobody else
All you other motherfuckers get out my business

[Verse One: 2Pac]

Perhaps I was blind to the facts, stabbed in the back
I couldn't trust my own homies just a bunch a dirty rats
Will I, succeed, paranoid from the weed
And hocus pocus try to focus but I can't see
And in my mind I'ma blind man doin time
Look to my future cause my past, is all behind me
Is it a crime, to fight, for what is mine?
Everybody's dyin tell me what's the use of tryin
I've been Trapped since birth, cautious, cause I'm cursed
And fantasies of my family, in a hearse
And they say it's the white man I should fear
But, it's my own kind doin all the killin here
I can't lie, ain't no love for the other side
Jealousy inside, make em wish I died
Oh my Lord, tell me what I'm livin for
Everybody's droppin got me knockin on heaven's door
And all my memories, of seein brothers bleed
And everybody grieves, but still nobody sees
Recollect your thoughts don't get caught up in the mix
Cause the media is full of dirty tricks
Only God can judge me

[Verse Two: 2Pac]

I hear the doctor standing over me
screamin I can make it
Got a body full of bullet holes layin here naked
Still I, can't breathe, somethings evil in my IV
Cause everytime I breathe, I think they killin me
I'm having nightmares, homicidal fantansies
I wake up stranglin, danglin my bed sheets
I call the nurse cause it hurts, to reminisce
How did it come to this? I wish they didn't miss
Somebody help me, tell me where to go from here
Cause even Thugs cry, but do the Lord care?
Try to remember, but it hurts
I'm walkin through the cemetary talkin to the, dirt
I'd rather die like a man, than live like a coward
There's a ghetto up in Heaven and it's ours, Black Power
is what we scream as we dream in a paranoid state
And our fate, is a lifetime of hate
Dear Mama, can you save me? And fuck peace
Cause the streets got our babies, we gotta eat
No more hesitation each and every black male's trapped
And they wonder why we suicidal runnin round strapped
Mista, Po-lice, please try to see that it's
a million motherfuckers stressin just like me
Only God can judge me

[Interlude: 2Pac]

That which does not kill me can only make me stronger
(That's for real)
and I don't see why everybody feel as though
that they gotta tell me how to live my life
(You know?)
Let me live baby, let me live

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Red Paint

"Red Paint"
The echoes sway back and forth inside my head and yet all I can hear are the soft slaps of the droplets of rain. I can no longer hear what was said and instead see your red lights driving away. I wanted to say the right thing but my lips now only let out the last soft breaths these ears will ever hear and somewhere lying inside the drenched darkness I stay watching the rain as the droplets drop onto my dying face. As my gut painfully paints the road red the pain inside my head slowly melts away and the echoes of your last words sway back and forth. But somewhere between the cool wetness on my face and the hard sting above my waist I find my calm. The pain of your life streams from my eyes as I realize why I died for you. I wanted to say the right thing; I wanted to say so many things but your eyes painted in red laid to rest all we had. The sharp cold gray stained of deep crimson now lies by your side to which it left me to lay eyes upward lost in the falling rain. I'm sorry I wanted to say but the pain of your life now paints red my eyes as I realize why I died for you.
-Armando Torres

Monday, June 23, 2008

The Death of Silence

"The Death of Silence"
The midnight chirps of the crickets outside reminded him of the dark summer night that surrounded him. It’s in this darkness that he lays to hear the midnight sounds where he found the death of silence. The night swept in on a hot summer breeze and he was somehow perplexed by the idea of thought. Something outside the window pane began to move when the thoughts started to drip in. His eyes were wide as they darted around the room from one sound to the next as he tried to piece together the shapeless void that lay before him. What else was moving out there, he wondered? Was he alone? He didn’t know. The soft chirps of the crickets seemed more purposeful now as they had more meaning in their rhythm. Something was moving in his closet, he was sure of that. He could hear the soft steps of someone inside that door, the whispers slipped in through the slits and somehow he knew the voices would subside.

He had stacks of books piled in the corners, mounds of newspapers scattered on the floor, an over-used computer on a worn-out desk sitting next to his window that looked out to the street and sidewalk. He could hear people talking as they passed by, sometimes about their droll lives but sometimes about him. Somewhere mixed in with their pointless banter about their dead end jobs and cheating bitch wives he could hear pieces underneath their jabber like a chair showing through a covering blanket; certain words would stick out. Every third or fourth word contained something he had to write down, a message, a plan, something hidden and he had to find it.

His face showed the reality of age from worrying about the whispers planning something against him. His weary eyes had painted deep black recessions around themselves from the long nights he spent working on his computer. He wore an old blue moth-ball infested robe, long dark hair draped over the collar as it hung open loosely. Long nights he spent hunched over his keyboard typing away at his thoughts that seemed to peer over his shoulder from every dark sound that crept around his room at the moment. Something about the night quieted the loud voices and let the whispers be heard. He would listen and with every noise that seemed suspicious there his eyes would lay, red with wear over his shoulders and bugged out. Every blood vessel ready to erupt and bleed crimson tears and he wouldn’t care, he would let them fall where they may, to leave their blood stained path along his face. He didn’t care; he had no time to occupy with the appearance of his face. He would rarely see his face in the light anyway. The only mirror he had was a broken piece of shit in the bathroom. Broken from when the faces started to taunt him, when they started to haunt him.

His life consisted of nothing more than what his mind could conjure and as he stared into the dismal gray glow of his computer screen he realized the inevitability of his life. A soft creek crawled to his ears and his eyes darted over his shoulders where they would stare glazed over as if his eyes were the ones to hear the sounds. He wondered for a bit who would find him and came to the conclusion that it wouldn’t matter because after all, he would be gone. What could they do to him? He would show them that they couldn’t mess with him; he would beat them to the punch.

As he wandered about his small confined area he knew it had to be done. His head contained too much information for them to have; he had to leave or else it would be too dangerous to give them the opportunity to have it. Just then a banging on the door began, bang bang bang! It was them! He knew they would come. He had to hurry they wouldn’t give him much time. He ran to his computer and destroyed all his encrypted information he had gathered over the years. The banging got louder, he had to hurry! All the preparations had been made, he wouldn’t let them get him that easily. He was ready. He stepped onto a stool in front of his door as the banging became more violent and methodical. He stood there staring for a second as the door shook from the pounding it was receiving. The hinges on the door were ready to break off. Finally, he closed his eyes and took one last breath and realized he was ready. He tipped over his tiny stool and hung there for a moment. As his eyes faded to black the banging had stopped. Nothing was left but the sound of swaying rope being stretched tightly.
-Armando Torres

Sunday, June 22, 2008

Dying by Emily Dickinson

I heard a fly buzz when I died;
The stillness round my form
Was like the stillness in the air
Between the heaves of storm.

The eyes beside had wrung them dry,
And breaths were gathering sure
For that last onset, when the king
Be witnessed in his power.

I willed my keepsakes, signed away
What portion of me I
Could make assignable,-and then
There interposed a fly,

With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz,
Between the light and me;
And then the windows failed, and then
I could not see to see.

-Emily Dickinson

Friday, June 20, 2008

My faintest image

"My faintest image"
There you are in my faintest image, in the corner of my mind. There you are smiling back at me forever forgetting me and the life we were once supposed to have; nothing more than a ghostly image of memories. They haunt me so deep. I fight back my sorrow filled tears just to remember them. I want to say I miss you but I would be the only one to hear it. Though, there you are in my faintest image missing you and your smile, the touch of your lips against mine, the comfort of your arms around me. I miss you I do but I'll never say it. Everything we had in a life that once existed between you and I has fallen into the water; with every passing moment it sinks deeper further from me. I have fallen in too it feels. I watch you as I drown away into the infinite darkness fighting just to be remembered. I miss you I do, but I'll never say it. I will forever have your picture in my faintest image, haunting me, making me cry the tears that I should have shed so long ago. Now all that is left is the haunting echo of your sweet "I love you's."
-Armando Torres

Monday, June 2, 2008

My Cosmic Trip

"My Cosmic Trip"
Something plays on the T.V. but I'm not watching. Its dull blues and greens are spat on my walls dripping to where the cool darkness watches from outside the window as the crickets play my elegy; I've gone. I see something else in the empty space before me. The gentle daze of night covers my eyes where I rise above the midnight clouds to fly with the moonlight; I exist in the endless cosmos and catch the passing wave to ride through the stars as the dogs howl in the distance, the moon bathes the grass in a deep blue and my eyes soak themselves inside it to which I then remember. The feeling washes over me and covers my every inch of existence where I fall ten million miles and crash back to my television.
-Armando Torres