and.then.there.were.none.

'in the beginning,' the poem goes, 'you do whatever you can to survive.' i can never remember the rest of the poem. it is, in that way, a 'random act of literature.' because the thing with this site, right, (rhyme) is that i am hesitant to put anything on it that is not random or literary. this is a difficult criteria to stick to. to which to stick. that is. one example of a random act of literature is like this line above, i feel, a line of prose that disconnects from its context and referents and lodges itself firmly in the memory, or more appropriately floats freely in the synapse field, flashing and fading intermittently. 'in the beginning, you do whatever you can to survive.'

here's a little story all about how

once, maybe even today, there was this dude. eightclip was his name. he lived on a corner where freaky shit went down. maybe not so far from your house. so he recorded these and other phenomena on blogs. one day, not today, or yesterday, or the day before that, he set up this blog for me and him to post stuff on. literature. or whatever. for a time, all was well. then our friend eightclip got a little antsy. in his pantsy. he got a little itchy. and a little twitchy. and he decided to tell me a little story. and the story was all like,

"There was a time a long long long time ago. When we ran a blog together, called "Random Acts Of Literature". It died though, because there was only one person posting to it."

to which i sweetly replied, 'aw hell naw. i hella just posted. it's on, eightclip. on. bring it.'

Worse Off

The sun has burnt into the sea
And day falls to dormant night
And cities lights,
They start burning bright

The summer city turns cold
And unwelcome clouds make me feel old

The cities largest monuments,
Stand reaching towards the sky
And half is lost
Amongst the fog
As the scrapers stretch so high

Fall intoxicated by the smell of the night,
And sounds of the simmering city
For the day boiled over, hours ago.
And the night brings of subdued pity

It feels the pain of the millions of souls
And its wretched movement shows
Straight posture askew
It hears the cries of
Hungry people you never knew.

Forget for a minute your worst dealt hand
And think of the pains of a few
For all the hurt that you may feel
There’s likely someone worse off than you.

Time Isn't On My Side

"Time is on my side, yes it is.

Go ahead, go ahead and light up the town
And baby, do everything your heart desires
Remember, I'll always be around."

by Jerry Ragovoy



Such a lie. It seems like I have NO time. NO time at all, and some of the people around me (i.e. class mates) seem to think that all we have is time to waste, time to spend, time to kill.

I have none of this right now. I have other shit I'd rather be, should be, and am not doing.

Archive: Untitled

This is an old one i found in Allegiance Tour Diary notebooks.


Untitled
My expectations of kids with broken dreams
has finally been brought to its knees.

I've been witness to things
that kids like me
should never see.

Yet we're still living our lives
stuck in the same old closed mind.
Attempting to be ourselves,
and create an identity
amongst these violent times.

One Hour and Fourty Two

I played for thirty minutes with this phone,
attempting to kill the time.
And for thirty more,
I watched as the clouds moved across the sky.

I walked for five,
around this room.
Spent eight in line,
then ordered in one or two.

Sat and consumed for twelve,
then digested for a few.
wasted four or five without anything to do.

And the last seven?
I just sat in silence,
alone, no thoughts.
Just waiting here for you.