Notes on a Generation

Journalism is made up bullshit.
Fashion writing is the only reason you're here.
You have interest in clothes but no style.
You have interest in fame but no talent.
You have interest in expensive habits but no financial backing.
You have no way to get your foot in the door so you're getting a degree.
You're not glamorous. You're obsessed with petty, insignificant things.
You're all going to end up at a local newsroom.
None of you will make it to Vanity Fair.
But you're American, here to get your dream, the dream that's owed to you.
NEWSFLASH, nothing is owed to you.
You're wasting your time and money here.
Go into to porn, you'll "make it" faster & you'll be able to afford your parliaments, double shot, and those ridiculous shoes.
Entertainment killed information.

© m.f. /Roxywaters  Feb. 2011

Astonishing

Paralyzed on
the gournie
again but what
I'm really talking
about is sex of
the color blue.
fuck you self
expression is the
only thing living.

© m.f. /Roxywaters  Jan. 2011

Empyrean

I'm trying to write you down but the words won't come out. A few lines of letters combined and we think we'll be immortalized forever. That's not how this works, but I don't know how this works. I don't know how any of it works. The truth is I'm trying to figure it out. Figure out what is truth. You keep inexplicably coming in and out of my life. All of you. One by one you blur my senses like a carousel of moving morals. Songs  fade, flooded memory, come back...

You don't want to talk about it. Conversation is not your strong suit. Nothing is your strong suit. You don't even own an actual suit, which I always admired about you.

I'll always be waiting for him. To come take me away from this place I've built for myself. For his experiences to become my own. For ours to grow and blossom in that french house by the water. You know the one, with the clean lines, sweet smells, lovely melodies. The one made of books and experience.

It's a reoccuring dream I have. Shes in a field playing with the daffodils you sent me, you never forgot. She looks up and yells my name. She's beautiful. She has golden locks of hair she repeats my name and I don't know hers. I am overcome with happiness. Her two brothers run over and ask if I'm okay. Tears stream down my face and I am about to fall to my knees and thank whoever I can for such a gift. They look up at me scared. Her brothers tug her sweater that hangs awkwardly over her white cotton dress. She walks to me with knowledge in her little eyes. She presents to me a daffodil. I touch it, still in awe of my life. I lean down and meet her height. She touches my cheek and asks me why I'm crying. I muster up, "Because you're beautiful darling, more beautiful then I could have ever imagined." You run over redfaced and anxious. You pick up the boys and pull her back to your hip. "What's wrong I ask?" You scream at me. I'm lost. Confused as always. You take them. I watch you go until I can't see anything. I back up until I hit a solid mass. I know the texture of bark from my memory. I follow it to the roots with the rest of my body. The warm wind blows and leaves of the great oak start to fall all around me. I realize I'm weak and pale. I stare at the place she was standing. I stare forever. For years I sit and I stare, waiting for her to reappear again.

Just as I wait for you now, I'm waiting for her. I know nothing else but she and you and her brothers and that house.




© m.f.  Feb. 2011

"I've alway relied on the kindness of strangers."

These city streets aren't what I thought they would be. Nothing ever is really.

I'm wading ever closer to what I think I want, but who will look back at me when I arrive?

If I get there.

People don't think like me or I like them.

Nevertheless, I've never been privy to logic, that much is true.

I've been given a craving like no other I have ever seen.

Created by one I've never come close to meeting.

I'm starting to confuse visions of greatness with headaches.

I'm left starving and unaware.

My actions have bewildered me and I'm left naked in a powdered forest, yet the breeze still hits me as refreshing and the trees still astoundingly tall.

I'm turning into something that my blood rejects.

I'm here and there on two different plains and I wake up abandoned...forgotten.

I find comfort in small things, but I cower from what I've always known.

A beautiful inception.

I'm drowning, but I know how to swim.

Find solace in poetry when you have nothing left.

What's left?

Raise from the ashes with that achilles heel.

We know what is right. We constant what is wrong.

I will not fade or fall. I will either succeed or fail.

Black or white, I've always been partial to gray.

I'll find myself somewhere along that dunned path of forever, and hopefully when the water meets my feet I'll still see my reflection.

© m.f. /Roxywaters  Feb. 2011

Felicity

An earthquake behind my eyes. But the room is still.

Ants scattering up and down the page, but its just literature at seconds glance.

-

Life moves in blinding lights, buildings, and sunsets. 

 But today is unlike the others. Time is lost on the faces of memory. 

-

 Seeping through the holes of that hospital blanket. I start to cry.

The melody of the song is pure & strong. 

Something hits close & I lose everything in my Mothers face. 

-

 Vinyled music streams in sweet like sunshine & I can't let go. 

We waltz there in the moment. I conjure up my envisions of the future. 

My first baby in a field of wild flowers. Her hair brushes against her rosy face. 

Skip later to her first meant "I love you." 

"I love you."
As if it meant anything until that moment.   

-

The dust of the blinds falls into the path of the windows sunlight & acoustic guitar fades in. 

Our golden retriever sits lazily in front of the porch door. 

go back.

Faint lapping hushes the atrocity that my eyes fall upon. How could water ever be that cruel?
I collapse into your arms. Whoever you may be. You bid me to look away & in that awful place I know I could be nowhere else but with you. The trials of life bring us closer & happiness pursues us at our front gate.

Is this all okay?
Where is the golden egg?

No, I may be lost. But I'm still here. 

-

I wade into that image of my Mother.

I think of the life I should have grown up with.

Or perhaps one I've already lived. 

The clean lines, the lime green fixtures, the moon landing & everyone smoking.

-

I touch her grave &

it all feels the same.

-

Scripture could never save me, 

but literature might.

-

An angels choir falling around me like feathers. 

If I don't find it, I dare say that might be the end of me. 

But what if I die looking? Is that enough?

 -

       "I won't let them fail. I can't, I'm responsible.

            Those are my men. I won't ever fail them."

-

It's all worth it if it's like it is in my head.  
Nobody knows but
     "I've got a feeling...a feeling deep inside. 

           Oh yeah, alright."

 

© m.f. /Roxywaters Jan. 2011