Poem: Proud Cycle

Shiver awake the first day, and there was no sun

warming me or the others, though we could see shine

in through the ceiling holes, we were to together though,

hearts beating like ovens, we were kept keeping love

warm under the roofs, we prayed they’d not return.

 

The bad days born again, my brother died in a tub

drowning shallow water away, but those of us

holding hope sacked movements eternal, failing

first, but surrender has been taken from us, the weak

have no choice but to fight, live or die depending.

 

The overlords whatever they are, killing for fun

or boredom business decisions, the kernel

remains ever thirsty, for we will emerge again

wearing letters, knowing many will die this time

as last again, but resistance is foundation.

Poem: Proud Cycle

Poem: Flickering Light

It starts so soon, because the internet’s fucked

in the head sometimes, and as atrophy is death,

life is philosophy, churning water memories

boiling a steam line to the secrets

of the universe, pilot a model boat

home by nightfall, chugging soft quick

bubble pounding, an artistic metaphor

to be sure, but in myriad ways less

then meaningful, it’s pretty not import.

 

If consideration replaces boredom in my heart

I will be more, or less depending

on the breaks of the waves, fortune is a fire

tornado, leafing away buildings

to skeletal dissonance, so what’s the use

of reason at heart, justification turmoil is political

gamesmanship, my mind lies on

my tongue, introducing indistinguishable

ideals and setting them to a death duel.

 

The world is war, whether it outs

ever or not, for every pinprick is

a disaster waiting, coming in threes

fours and fives, or just never-ending,

so if life is pain what is the point of poetry?

Poetry is above points, obviously, but

there’s an intriguing question behind

the question, what is the point

of questioners, without a god above.

 

Who are they to listen to us?

My questions are not for loan

or lease, and less are they mine

at all in the first place, every question

is birth stone bestowed, left to be

discovered someday, smashed open

and scattered in dust, sprinkling onto

words, so all must be related, somehow.

Poem: Flickering Light

Poem: Candlewax

I’m jacking off in a latticed waffle pattern

prison window light, scolded and sunken,

I write about reality, make it a legend

of virility, I’ve had sex and my penis is perfect

admittedly, it curves pleasantly and heaves

occasionally with passion heft and dignity,

unless it’s fatigued, inaction sickness

prescribes pornography, only a temporary

animated opiate, take two and call me again

in the morning, you useless husk, dry cracking

skin at the edges, my girlfriend

passes out sometimes, drunk on vodka

I provide with my accident, not satisfaction.

 

Drizzle on me sizzle, weeping I’ll be

in a magma puddle, straining my mind

and spirit both, so I’ve nothing more,

I wish that I had an explanation

for myself, call it an excuse if you want

but I beg no pardon, my bare back

under lash pleading punishment, something

tangible with a lesson I could take,

at face value, a simple hobbling

like I had once, correcting an arrogant

streak I selfsame felt, like I’d get laid right

quick, not years later in a fumbling

drunken mess, of which I was

the villain, getting fat on pop tarts

and white bread ham sandwiches.

 

So in a way I was rescued, and rescuer

it seems, so today together acting,

we will achieve greatness, standing as mine

a chaos emerald, beautiful and lovely

though tortured and blind at the same time,

moving in waves of motion fluid

surging up over, learning the patterns

of each other, we live in greater harmony

and love expanding exponentially

with the in between time, not wasted

space, smooth setting a place

for us to sit, watching the flame move

downwards, staying constant sloughing

material off, to the sides in ripples.

Poem: Candlewax

Poem: After the Bombs

On my back is a backpack, flavored rucksack

holding pictures of the past

canned food and your signature, saying “I’ll see you

again someday,” but it doesn’t matter

much anymore, for the world is fire

poison and knives, no one is

safe even for a moment

anymore, but I promise to you

and my descendants knowing my heart,

that after this is over, I will carry

your heart in mine again, for war cannot kill

the realities of the world, love in desolation

still shining like it’s colorized.

Poem: After the Bombs

Poem: Forever

Roller coaster, slog along, like a tick or tock

up a pole, make a mountain, swallow the sky,

pulling at the sea, daunting a tidal

wave looming overhead, once more to the breach

dear friends depart and spirit the place

today tomorrow and yesterday, smoothing the vibes

of unmet yearning, of which is a healthy stock,

you and me, fight and fuck, one more

but who’s to say, a coaster called, “forever yours”

Poem: Forever

Movie Review: Before Sunset (2004)

Before Sunset (2004)

Director: Richard Linklater

Writers: Ethan Hawke, Julie Delpy, Richard Linklater

Stars: Ethan Hawke, Julie Delpy

Before Sunset, Richard Linklater’s follow-up to his well-received 1995 date movie Before Sunrise, is to me is the most effectively emotional, wonderfully acted, and masterfully contrived romance in the history of film.  In Before Sunrise, having just broken up with his long-time girlfriend (he was dumped), directionless college student Jesse (Ethan Hawke) spends a daylong whirlwind romance with spunky french beauty Celine (Julie Delpy).  The film ends on a major cliffhanger, with the young lovers promising to meet each other on a certain day at a certain place in six months.  As Before Sunset begins, it’s been 9 years, and Jesse is on a publicity tour for his new novel, This Time, which is a fictionalized account of the night he and Celine spent together almost a decade ago.  He stops to do a book signing in Paris, and just before leaving the bookstore he sees Celine, a beautiful vision from the past.  Together, they have another day of romance, in which they speak at great length about their their lives and their feelings, and we see it all.

I say that we see all of it because at the moment during Jessie’s book signing when he first sees Celine, we begin to follow them, completely without cuts.  The entire film is one extended conversation between these two former lovers, wherein we see that in their time apart the love they shared has not shriveled up, and is more intensely felt than ever.  At the moment Jesse first sees Celine he is answering a question about future book ideas, and as he first sets eyes on her, he is in the middle of saying “. . . and it’s obvious to him that time is a lie.”  This is significant, to me, because at the moment when he sees her, he is transported back to the way he felt on their first night together.  In the moment when they first set eyes on each other, a huge set of powerful and contradictory emotions is written on each of their faces, and these emotions are brought fully by the masterful performances of the two leads.

Hawke and Delpy (who also co-wrote the script along with director Richard Linklater) step into the characters of Celine and Jesse easily, imbuing each with intense emotion.  Hawke, as Jesse, spends most of the film staring at Delpy’s Celine, mesmerized by her beauty and absorbed by everything she says.  Delpy’s Celine is extremely intelligent and self-possessed, but when Jesse is near her jabbering to himself, she can’t tear herself away.  Both characters spend the film trading monologues, each fascinated by everything the other says, and filled with heavy longing.  I’ve seen it many times, and I would recommend, when watching the film, watching the face of the character being spoken to rather than the one speaking.  The silent emotion on each of their faces is the core of the film.

The emotion constantly spilling onto the characters faces is so obvious that I could not help but feel the same.  In one scene, late in the film, when Jesse describes two recurring dreams he has about her, Celine reaches her hand out, almost touching the back of his head, before pulling her hand back, embarrassed.  This moment, to me, perfectly describes the relationship of these two star-crossed lovers.  He is entirely obsessed with her, she is always on his mind and filling him with love.  She in turn is intoxicated with him, and is as devoted to him as he is to her.  If I’ve seemed to get a bit flowery and romantic in my language, it is only a consequence of having just re-watched Before Sunset.  I whole-heartedly recommend the film, for its intelligence, its acting, and most of all for its flood of emotion.

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Movie Review: Before Sunset (2004)