first stanza omitted because it sucks]

Traintracks: some romance of distance and communication between strangers leading to some adventurous exploration and exploitation of the lack of motion in motion.

This is a day like any other day, you’re free to wake up and shave.
Don’t shave. Bicycles that you can’t ride.
But you have a car, your unhealthy alternative.
Jawbreaker, Jawbreaker, Jawbreaker, Jawbreaker, Jawbreaker, Jawbreaker, Jawbreaker.
It isn’t written.
Smell the rain.
I told you it has a smell.
Like fresh air,
Or the river,
The Hudson doesn’t smell so bad,
It doesn’t even kill.
It certainly makes you live better than the Dnieper ever did.

When don’t we wish you were here? We always wish you were here. You are so inaccessible.
You are harder to read than silence by the blind.
You’re the braille to a paraplegic.
So out of the way.
You’re the mountains we never climb.
A color out of space.
So you think you can tell heaven from hell.
Blue skies from pain.
Can you a green field? From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
Lyrics from popular songs.
You never liked anyway.
You’ll love someday.
You’re so narrow and awkward and pretend to be obscure and esoteric.
You’re like the smile of a horse.
You’re like the dying breath of a rose, inaudible?
No.
Loud. Loud. Loud. Loud, but unheard?
A fishbowl. A fish bowl in the funny states of funny fields. Of funny rainbows and charcoal felines.
Gargantuan angels.
And pioneer women.
A blood smear on my perfect moon.
Burn it all to ash?
And dump the ashes to the fires,
My duwop gang.
Skat it all in the moment’s waste and dribble away the contents of the heads,
Your head’s your only heaven in your hellish thought’s rest. You drift to the bad.
You drift to the bad.
Hello?
Hello?
Hello?
You’re not there.
You can nod if you hear me.
Is there anyone home?
I hear you’re feeling down, I tell myself again.
I’m a liar in such ways.
A liar to myself,
Procrastinate away.

When there’s no pain you are receiving,
We’ll get down to the biting of wrists.
When they buckle under the weight
And it’s just another day,
You’ll try again until they shatter.
And then you’ll do it again.
And you’ll hate the excess and the surplus,
But you’ll love the processes from which they’re made.
You’re uncomfortably static,
And stasis is something you should love.

Pleasurable aural experiences.
You hear them all say,
“Music is my life!”
Music is a novelty.
This day and age, there’s no art but an unnoticed life.
The ##### crazy are the most mundane.
The most mundane.
Most mundane.
Mundane.
No.
No,
There’s a word for those like us,
I just don’t know it, or the tongue its in.
But I’m sure it’ll come, I’m sure you’ll know it too.
And when we conquer the world, we’ll give the power to those undeserving bastards
From those that we took it from:
That is how it must be run.
Who are you anyway?
You, the you, the quintessential referee,
The arbitrator,
The arbitrary receiver:
The judge of this lengthy nonsequitur.

Blink the scouring, blink blink blink.
Blink again unnoticed, I won’t look because you’re boring,
And I’m bored of gos and stops and “Fin”
And ^s.
And always feeling dumb, even though you are not?
What?
Who told you that?
Who said you couldn’t do math?
Who said IQ tests were accurate, or even grades?
Who said geniuses must do well?
Who said the world isn’t square?
Who said you don’t freeze as you burn?
That who, that bastard, who says all.
The draft that freezes us so cold,
And drives off to war.
I hope it comes and drags me too.
For something to shoot me for.
And something to shoot for.

And when we reach the sky, we’ll burn it all down.
The size the size, the moment’s final rising stars,
Stabbed to death by Caesar’s guards,
Stabbing him with a senator’s eyes.
All those books they’ll never read.
Because we don’t know how.

There’s some joy in some pride.
In our pride.
Your pride?
It’s a matter of pride.
Draw the rest from greed,
Pride comes first.
When you killed the lion with your bare hands,
You killed the curse that bound you to the mountains,
Your madness,
Your chain,
A yoke,
A xenophobic joke.

And unknown words float:
Loquacious
God knows the meaning
Or that word mid sentence,
O’Brien, 1984,
Forgot but know I didn’t know
Confused, puzzled, the context didn’t help.
There are no lyrics:
It makes it all the greater.
Word count reads 885.

Grading, grading, grating.
Remember when you were young?
You shone like the sun.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
It’s crazy you have to be crazy
To be crazy – your thoughts right now run dry.
The paint of the grass makes the sigh
The sigh: a martyr’s dying cry
A lie.
Your waning belief,
Waxing disbelief in purpose,
Nietzche wannabe,
Lovecraft sycophant
Some egotist’s philosophical example,
“Interesting that”
“Pathetic this”
“Fun that”
“Fun this”
No Fin.
You’re right, the end is wrong.
The end’s always wrong.
The ##### moment is stolen again
And again
And again
And again
I’ve hoped for time to stop in moments of love
But it always turns into strained relations
The summer always makes me try crying.
The distance the lack of room the lack of things to do
The lack of employment or friends or a story or things to do.
The stuffy moments the forced trips the lack of things to do.
The jazzy the crazy, there’s always a plumbing problem,
And you have to wonder why, or why, or why, or why,
Your texts have run your bill so high, when you made three,
And it’s sometimes because no one picks up their phone.

More mosquitoes than sand in this desert!
Why don’t we try a grander escape:
Our castle is our submarine!
Our submarine is our spaceship!
And Shevat damn the second disk all!
We’re all stupid and ##### emo #####.
Leave us fly, and shove filth in our face:
We’ve lost quality control when we lost discipline
When we became paranoid and afraid of the spank
A whole generation:
Burn it all down.
What comes after Z?
Will you start the numbers?
Who was in Generation A?
Were they god fearing?
Were they good people?
Believe that people are generally good
And that love conquers all
And that the moment is all you have:
The Carpe Diem urged to abandonment.

We love our fiction.
It beats the hell out of our truth.
Buy me a trip to the moon.
So I can laugh at my mistakes.
I can see the end from here.
From this perspective…
From this perspective, I procrastinate.
I’ll put on my face
And I’ll go insane
And you wouldn’t notice anyway.

“We create magic tonight: My friends,
Together!
Shut the ##### up!
I WANT TO SEE A SEA OF BOILING PEOPLE!”

Isn’t that just wonderful and grand?
I hope we buy enough time
To boil really well.
To tolerate each other’s sadness.
That we hate.
So smile and pretend to be happy
With platonics.
When all that you ever wanted
Was eloping
And ignoring law
And swordplaying your way into hearts
Of hundreds
For years.
Dramatized and bastardized by that,
Every time you run, though,
I fall behind.
Let’s catch each other up.

Be happy like a shooting star:
A dying rock in a dying atmosphere
How many billions can it take?
How many billions had gone by?
Are we really that small?
Any mountain you climb, you’re just a prisoner of doubt:
You’re just a liar, crier.
“I WANNA SEE YOU BURST INTO ##### FLAMES COME ON!”

We like to share our scars
It makes us feel alive.
Sometimes you flirt
And I didn’t realize.
It seemed like a joke.
And it came far too late:
How serious we were
About being lonely as mice without cats.

Can we find the cure?
For the ten AM alarms?
For the coffee addictions we never got?
For our alcoholic padres?
For our disappearing ones.
The smoother voices to the distorted noises
I say turn left and I turn right.
Let’s till the land with ash.

Revolutions!
REVOLUTIONS!
And then we give up.
Always strive for the best.
But the best is never perfect,
Nor your best.
There’s a problem.
There’s a problem.
It’s so minor and it kills you that’s it’s there.
Did I say the wrong name, or did she?
I can never tell who I am embarrassed for.
It must always be me:
“Are we playing Badminton?”
“…Why ever would you say that?”

Trolley busses.
Marshrutkas, too.
The tiny patches of woods
And squatted general stores.
Half the things I know
I don’t know if they’re real
Or I dreamed them up
Eventually I’ll forget this too.
Save the yellowed rotting paper,
Lock it in the cupboard with all the smut you’ve been shamed by.
All the childhood battles that you lost.

We’re all guilty,
Champions of our olympiad.
A prayer, to keep you safe:
The word count says 1639
The number isn’t a word, right?
Claim me,
Assimilate me,
Make me count as one.
And as you too,
I want to think perfect,
Like you,
Or you.
God knows the subconcious ramblings of an unconcscious mind,
The misspelled loves. The misspelled quotes! The misspelled lies of wittier men, ghosts of worlds that don’t believe in ghosts, and those men and words and confectionaries that broke our jaws. Shed tears for the lack of choice, for the lack of belief, for the lack of desire to believe, and for our conviction that belief is wrong:
A ghost should come to me,
And tell me,
“You’re wrong,”
So I may change properly,
Or die trying.

So let’s elope.
Just you and me, and the rest of the world
And conquer all that we thought we couldn’t touch,
Slander the evillest touch:
Slander the goodness too.
Leave nothing untouched!
Claim everything!
Climb all!
The sky isn’t a limit:
Limits kill,
And we refuse to die.
Let’s conquer, let’s elope. Let’s forget what we want,
And take even that which we hate.
Greet each morning as we say goodbye to night.
And née as we morte.
Parlez le langue quelle vous detestez,
Balakai movi vi zabili

Why am I the only one?
Why am I the only one?
Why am I the only one?
Won’t you be one too?
Why am I the only one?
Why am I the only one?
Why am I the only one?

Ramble with me!
Rant away!
Vent for pages! Say no to end!
Shout, screw the modest meekness, kill the wordless tables.
Claim conversations, steal sing quote rhyme alliterate assonate allude symbolize personalize perfect, mutter, utter, begin it all: screw the bystander and pedestrian, we are not elephants.