in case you were wondering

Posted on April 13, 2010 by letesting

15.09.08

i write to fight
the injustices committed unto myself
by embarrassed girls with ponytail curls
by the dusk-covered stars in the overcast sky
by the weeping nights under unlit lights

i write to fight
the injustices committed unto myself
by long pickup lines at the security checkpoint
by the crime patrol in [my] western Seoul
by the don’s loan shark and the devil’s car park

i write to fight
the injustices committed unto myself
by hot rain and wet snow
by the oxy pills and fire drills in fairless hills
by the longstanding tradition to do or die–
and the oft-picked do

i write to fight
the injustices committed unto myself
by the one who calls himself
me.

but the question remains:
why fight?

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went for the gold

Posted on April 13, 2010 by letesting

18.11.08

i am a battering ram made of tinker’s dam.
an unsteady surface serving a worthless purpose.
shaking the walls of this mistaken city,
a city unshaken by the gravitational constant of
my constantly repeating dreams.
the repetition is nuclear fission on my mind,
chain reactively decaying thought and emotion alike.
wisdom, cast into the slums of boxed cajón drums.
love, cast into the slums of “when the time comes.”

the city is my olympic track.
i am usain bolt, beating my opponent back from the front of the pack.
i run at the speed of broken necks.
i deposit blank checks into my new-founded bank, My Injured Heart.
i’d put myself on the disabled list, but i’m
too much of flight risk to be granted bail.

so around this track i’ll keep backwards running,
circling this oval office inscribed: “my mind.”
negatively traversing the line of time.
hoping that time travel will enable me to understand
to understand the beforelife, that before true life commences,
_blank_ must unwrong my common senses.

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hitting the language barrier

Posted on April 13, 2010 by letesting

27.12.08
[ed. note–this was the inspiration for this blog.]

i write more than i eat
thrice a day i poeticize
put words to paper to humanize emotion

but in all the subtlety of this poet
he can’t seem to find the words to describe himself
he unmuzzles his emotions,
uncorks the Cristal bottle and pours himself out
into this champagne glass made of wood pulp and recycled fiber
but he never gets the right pour
someone cut a hole in the bottle
and it’s now spilling onto the floor
quick, get a rag
and clean it up
because those words are too complex
to break it down

language can be beautiful

my words dance on the page
but stand awkwardly off it
like the fat boy at the high school party
too scared to ask the fat girl to dance
because he’s been rejected more times than he’s eaten today
endurance comes from carbohydrates
but he’s burnt them all
being burnt by
the girls with tricolored purses
embedded with hearts and filled with condom wrappers
so instead he stands in a corner
trying to muster the strength to speak up
but he hasn’t had his verbal pasta today
when he finally finds his voice
he realizes
the dj stopped spinning.
the disco lights stopped glowing.
the room is empty.
like him.

language is beautiful

the passive voice
is more my voice
than my own
because i’m passively aggressive
actively progressing ends in regression.
i’m no stat major,
but when i analyzed that regression
i found a causal link
between pretty words and pretty voices
but not pretty words and pretty choices
the choice is yours
the voice is mine

language is beauty

i can’t re-form
when i was never formed
in the first place

formulate me

the hardest part of beauty
is knowing
it’s in your mind
yet not knowing
where to look.

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Major

Posted on April 13, 2010 by letesting

18.01.09

Tom crossed the line
this time. The third in as many tries.
Also crossed his eyes, dotted his Tees,
X marked the spot with wet sand from his thighs.
Double crossed the lunar crosswalk:
happens once in a blue moonage daydream.
Suns sweat, asteroids arise across the universe.
The shuttle descends without intent.
And it’s not okay. But Tom,
well,
he just
floats on
anyway.

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titled.

Posted on April 10, 2010 by letesting

the bass is pumping,
like fists on jersey’s shores.
actually, that’s a pretty bad analogy.
really, it’s like a bugatti
driving through this dim light room:
quickly.
just… quickly.

i drift through the harmonies,
through wind tunnels and bastard couples joined at the hips.
i’ve been blind to see since my soul was squeezed.
i’m wandering,
wondering,
why?

i need a second,
i need a second to think.

pause.

i’m told this is reality,
but i don’t feel real.
haven’t for days.
i’m lost and dazed in this dreamworld.
a wanderer,
wondering,
why.

un-pause.

this poem is not a realization.
nor an outcry.
it’s just a statement.
a truth.

truth is not stranger than fiction.
rather,
truth is fiction.
and both are strange.

truth is.
and.
fiction is.

how existential.

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three words to infinity

Posted on March 28, 2010 by letesting

no.
definitely false.
without abstraction, a lack of doubt.
what a way to begin.
multitudes convey platitudes, but alas,
our story commences in negative.

matter.
consisting of mass and space.
though situations may not be massive,
and some thoughts never make the page.
so we embellish and induce false emotion.
we are coercive beings.
power lies in between.

what.
interjection.
interlaced with contradictions,
contractions perfectly placed in sentences
designed to shift meaning and blame.
indefinite.
we end in uncertainty.

when looking glasses are filled to the brim,
and the nights turn to days,
these are the words
we must not forget.

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the alcove

Posted on March 20, 2010 by letesting

i’m lost in the moments
monumental like tidal waves over sunsets
overwhelmed with metathoughts and predetermined feelings
i scribble.
mental notes written in pencil
and erased
and re-written
and re-erased

in the near distance a man proclaims self-actualization
his thoughts become facts when induced by realization
can i do that?
that which has been undone by self-deception?
yes, but only in thought.

the time shall come.

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i am the Ides, together we march

Posted on February 14, 2010 by letesting

to the sound of bagpipes and vocoders.
into war my friends, but not into battle.
meritocracy is an ideal and we are idealists.
the lifetimes of genocides will come to an end
if we let the beats build unto broken hearts.
life is a disc and we are the jockeys.
break it down.

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cognitive dissonance

Posted on February 14, 2010 by letesting

the district is awake, but still alone.
i am a house yet to become a home.

i’m running through nightfalls forgotten,
in the aimless abyss we used to know.

and i know you hear me.
i know you see the world through my eyes,
because you were never fooled by my disguise.
but now i’m masked,
and there’s no mardi gras to show this face.
the mountaintops are amber and bright,
and we are the clouds covering the sunlight.

i’m running through nightfalls,
in the aimless abyss we’ve begotten.

the district is awake, but still alone.
i am the coffee shop where you wrote this poem.

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words for the moment

Posted on January 12, 2010 by letesting

life is richer in a minor key.

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