brian jones 2004-2006

i was(am) staring at the shadows, waiting for the sun.

smoke and mirrors.

I am staring at 15 beers lined up, held upright by dying wood in a happy hour trance of smoke, earfulls of women's laughter, click-clacking of plates beyond the drum's circumference (sounds that graze the ear peripherally). This is not where I belong. I belong at home, fingers in between the first and last page of newly discovered book...or holding a pen or caressing a vowel key, then comma, then . a poem. something created, not destroyed, again, another night, wasting away my bank account, lungs, ears, eyes, and creative psyche amongst many strangers and few familiar faces. in '07, i must do better.

"gravity rides everything"

i realize that no matter how many high lifes or yuenglings i drink tonight, morning will come, relentless, unforgiving tomorrow and i will wake up after the alarm and i will shower and curse the sun and wipe sleep from my eye and brush my teeth and shave and stagger in a half-daze to the metro where i will observe eyes and somewhat yearn for a new connection, a random conversation with a stranger about life, how it's going, what could be different, how suprisingly similar our qualms and joys truly are. this never happens, just a passing thought and after 15 minutes of sliding doors, loud conversations about nothing, a distortion of my ipod and voices and bodies and smells and stares, i will arrive at dupont circle. tomorrow is a "stand" on the elevator day...yesterday was a "walk" day. i will walk 19th street defeated because the day will be just as the day before. i will think of office space, but think better of it as i sit at my desk and my boss asks me about my upcoming vacation and smile and discuss her trip and give me pointers on work for the next couple of days. it will take about 30 minutes for me to begin to work after a gmail check, a facebook check, a brief espn check, a wikipedia check, a craigslist apartment ad check. i will smoke 1 or 2 cigarettes at lunchtime, eat some greasy fatty food because i'll forget to pack something at home. i will doze after lunch, work hard for the last two hours and leave the office at 5. but all this matters not. i just felt like sharing. sharing is caring.

tuesday, 10/10

you were a long pull from my last cigarette

you felt so good, i thought i had died

living beyond my means...

father knows best. he always says, "even when you have money, act like you're broke" and he's right, b/c then you'll have money when you really need it.

i need it now...i don't have it.

something is wrong with this picture. the picture, encased in broken glass.

i've been thinking maybe if i get another job, then i would be good, but really it's a matter of habits. no matter how much money i make, i can be in the same boat because i'll spend more, if the present mentality continues to manifest itself, which it would, but it can't because i want to change my habits.

i will. it begins with auditing myself down the every cup of coffee bought. every penny must be taken into account. i grow weary of this attempt at explaining how i'll become more responsible with my money. i'm beginning to get hungry. good thing i brought my lunch today. pot pie. yum-me

---
loid, "what the fuck is up!" (c) dave chappelle

jai, this is as good as i could do today. depressing, yes.
i hope this doesn't take away from your shine.

autumn

the city wears a frown
that often brings rain
the sewers are unable to hold

a subway door catching
the index finger of my
hand trying to catch up
with my body (we're all late)--
this is where my mind lives,

with the change lost in between
the slivers of the couch
as the years pass and my skin
dulls under the collective
asshole of the world

today it finally feels like fall,
and although the leaves
have not yet begun to sing
colors against the autumn wind,
i found a tree by the basin,
which i will climb,
clasp my hands together and
attempt to hold on to what's
left of summer

how deeply rooted my
walk is planted in the
hope of making it to tomorrow
so deep, i often find
it hard to remember to tie
my shoes

i find it harder to forget
the things i missed today

and even harder to let go
of yesterday

which leaves me with nothing,
now being too short to hold
on to with both hands

so i trip over my own feet
that eternal slip into
then

or again

now and then
i watch the sun
and grow jealous
of it's view
of me

i can never get away

i write this in the lonliest of breaths
and grow weary of explaining
this need to be
to no one

i guess sometimes
i grow tired of mirrors

i grow weary of even me
and the overcast that is the first day
of another season come
one day too soon

let it be quoted...

Floyd Landis is on that good

Maurice Clarett is on that good.

Lonnie Baxter has no excuse, he is on that good as well.

I wanted to be on that good the other night, but considering I have a job, it's best to limit such activity to the weekend.

Alana's birthday is tomorrow. I have no gift. I have no money.
What to do?

*looks down, moans*

i was hoping if i came here i'd have something to say.

i'm here now.

i don't.

somehow, i don't find myself at all interesting this summer.
consciousness has been routine.

tuesday mulling.

there is dust today
gathers under the fingernails
with the dead skin
i've been scratching
off my forearm all day

i stumble upon
a poem by kevin young
and all at once
i am inspired
like i was watching
the beggar
with deformed feet
beg for help
with a sign written on notebook paper
in blue ink too hard to read
in the sunlight

i stand there and cry
but i do not help him
it isn't money he needs
i do not have what he needs

i should not use apostrophe
when trying to capture emotion
on a jagged line

the monotony is suffocating
it is what i asked for
it is?

i want to leave dc
i want to leave.
now.

my weekend...

in three sentences:

i drank friday, saturday and sunday night.

i spent 250$ on groceries at cosco w/ alana.

i played basketball (for the first time in about a year) sunday morning/afternoon, in cloudless 90+ degree weather up at american w/ some fellow okplayers and every muscle in my body aches today.

this weekend..

i plan to have as much fun for as little money as possible.

funeral. (for monday)

it is ok to die today
because last night
we made love

the road that has no fork

the idea of possibility is a tomb for he who is directionless

this is where i walk, no retreat, no rest stop, only sun-soaked pavement

a wall-less corridor, a prison with no bars


i'm not sure what blinds me more, looking into the sun (there are no clouds)

or staring into the glaring blackness melting my soles

this road is not one full of choices

the choice was made before entering

i travel this road alone

no exits, no mile markers

time does not exist

the sun has not moved in years

slowly,

my brain's screws will loosen

and my head will splatter against the curve

of yellow that protects this road

from reality




i can't make up my mind

here: hold out hands

you take it

what's new

i went permanent on my job as of June 5th.
i will getting paid monthly which means until the day after the 4th of July, i am very much broke.
i look forward to the check. my job is chill.
i can look for a place now w/ the ms. alana
i haven't been writing a lot lately.
i have been reading the collected poems of James Merrill intermittently for about a month now. his imagery is beautiful.
the reason i'm posting this is because i feel guilty for not posting, not because i have something to say.

the sun is out. it is officially summer today.

wonderful

the significant nothingness of a 9 to 5

i stare glaringly at the left top corner
of the mac until my eyes fill with salt from
some dark place and the pixels become faulty
remnants of a clear graphic

to quit would be to succomb to
11 pm binges on steel reserve malt liquor
to awaken 2 pm with the world
trying to break out of my forehead

the synapse flickers, sparks in response
to a thought i have of lighting up in the office
my instincts think everything is a good idea
if i followed them more often

i would not be at the desk nodding off
to the hum of central air, the dull
light, pink walls, empty bulletin boards
i envision an escape through the open door

i never closed when i arrived here,
nowhere yet to be seen and it is clear
if you saw me today, you'd see straight through
this dullness has a way of hollowing true

wedding day.

May 13, 2006

we wore ivory and peridot

the occasion occurred in raleigh, north carolina

groom: randy baker, first cousin

bride: corranda townsend

me: groomsman

it was wonderful being able to support my cousin on the special day. i enjoyed getting away from the city for a few days and hanging out with family. it's amazing how one's outlook on life can change when the scenery is shifted. i honestly did not want to come back, at least stay down there or go somewhere else for a week or two. i need an extended vacation. i would settle for a new job.

all in all, i'm very glad i went and i wish randy and corranda the best.

okayplayer moment. 10.05.06

it is rather ridiculous how amusing this website has become for me since venturing outside the freestyle board (where i post poetry) and fully embracing my General Discussion (GD) homies. here's today's funny. posters' handles shall remain anonymous. i think this may become another spin-off blog.


Thread title: Has anyone perfected the art of TF'n?

Body:
(for those that don't know, TF'n is tittyfuckin...the last frontier)

I'm thinking I should invent a seat or some shit, because ladies, do you all mind to have some nigga's prickly, hairy balls draggin' all up and down your sternum while we're pumpin' aways at your sweet oily ravine of love-meat? Or do you just take that as a hazard with the job?

And what about that happy ass nigga who you both know about to launch off that nuclear and get slick and pull it from between your monsters and cold starts jacking that jount only to give you the Peter North special? You all get mad with that too or you cool with that?

Or are you one of them ladies that just let it pool all around your sah-phuh-gus or however that's spelt?

Holla @ me...we need the truth.

Ladies, describe how you hold em up so you can hold him down....we need vivid, slooow examples.

Like do you kneel and drool on it for lube? I mean...the streets needs this.
--


i almost laughed out loud when i read "the streets need this"
i love okp and hate okp but i always return to love. so many intellectual, creative, and motivated brothers and sisters on there; as well as the assholes, freaks, brownosers, etc. a wonderful way to pass the boring day in the office.

happy hour

the drinking begins at 6 pm
in the common share,
kickballers huddled in pre-game
drunkenness, laughing over
pilsners and guiness

staring at me in 10 second intervals

wondering why i'm alone--
it's how i enjoy drinking/
the alcoholic way/
a camel light burning slowly
away the day's expectations
and bringing on the night
smoke glowing gold in the setting
sun disappearing behind Staccato

i command the jukebox/
7 songs late 90s hiphop
or late 80s conscious rap
i settle for early 21st century
britpop and the white folks
are surprised or intrigued or
just waiting for my song to end
so they can play early 80s pop
late 60s rock or whatever their
friend says spilling Blue Moon
over the edge of the bar

the hours here roll over
like anytime minutes/
women strut in as if this is LOVE
or H20 and who really gives a shit/
all the men do (i am the self-proclaimed
exception)
i dont even see the girls parading
down the narrow walkway with martinis
and chiraz

attention is cheaper than the beer specials

lust is a marvin gaye song away

in a bar, everyone's hip, until they stop drinking

if you stumble out of the bar, you've had too much

i never stumble

i always have too much

awakening

draft.-,

your lips are the sun-

my forehead
the cloud it touches
then rises over,
parting;smile
to shine on all
that encounter you today

i get to be first,
alone with you,
eyes still waking from dream
so that i see you double

sleep, awake, sleep, awake--

you never left
you never leave

i lie under you all day

and when i sleep again,
you
setting
beneath my chin

blow kisses, stars

traveling without moving

there is so much noise in the city. restless. eager. angry. people come so close, brushing by you, hastily during lunch, on their way to the end of the block to wait at the red light. distant. weary. searching...

today, my future has weighed heavy on my mind. ever since i received formal notice of graduate school not being in my plans in the very near future (fall), the cloud of uncertainty that surrounds my next move has grown darker...not some fog that burns off in the late morning. this is a storm, and it is here to stay until i make a decision.

slowly, but surely, i'm gathering steam to move toward a career in education. i'm looking to get out of this temp job and substitute teach for the rest of the school year and then possibly get a position teaching summer school somewhere...now this seems like the right path or the beginnings of finding the right one, but then i'd also like to leave dc, but with no money how shall i move and if i was to move, where would i work...and would i like it? would i want to come back here? i guess all those questions could not be answered unless i actually moved.

all in all, i'm tired of standing still.