Anything but Dreams Read online

  Manchester, NH

  Wow. An hour ago I started to write about what a crappy day it was, and then I got to talking to someone I know online. We really did talk deeply about life…well I did, she urged me not to think about it. I got annoyed and stopped talking to her. She just didn’t understand. Deep thinking scares her because it will make her depressed, so she doesn’t. I definitely do not want to be with someone who would rather always take the easy way and coast along in life trying to make the least amount of ripple as possible. This poem isn’t about her…it’s mainly about me, and my pursuit of true happiness.

  Conversation in the Round

  Conversation in the round

  We keep talking in circles

  Like a not so merry-go-round

  Yes we were at this point

  Just a few seconds ago

  And I’m sure we’ll be back

  Here again in a few more

  The scenery is getting

  Repetitive and boring

  Listening to you talking

  Around it and confusing

  Yourself something hard

  Myself by not getting far

  In your circular train track

  Over and over and over again

  Restating the same attack

  As if you’ve said something new

  It’s what I’ve come to expect

  From an asinine tool like you

  If I leave now then you’ll think

  That you were victorious and won

  If I stay here then I’ll get sick

  From the dizziness which is no fun

  I’m kinda wishing I had a stick

  To stab you or even maybe a gun

  To free myself from the endless

  Horrendous useless conversation

  You’ve ended up locking us in

  December 18, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  The general idea for this popped into my head while I was getting ice for my beverage. I have no idea why since I wasn’t talking to anyone. Then again, I try to never question the reasons behind the inspiration I receive.

  Here There Are No Answers

  In an empty hotel room

  High above the strip

  A note found written

  With five simple words

  Quietly, profoundly, stating

  Here there are no answers

  There, beside the author

  Having since moved on

  Without moving at all

  February 9, 2004

  Manchester, NH

  I saw a link on Fark.com for an article about how a good number of people go to Las Vegas each year with the sole intention of committing suicide. There was one instance where they found a note that only said, “Here there are no answers.” It was such a simple, yet deep as all hell statement that really stuck with me.

  Rearview Mirror

  Need to drive keeping

  My eyes focused ahead

  Up there on the road

  Not up and to the right

  Up there on my

  Rearview mirror looking

  At the past looking

  At what I left behind me

  Maybe I’m afraid of what

  Is catching up with me

  Even though I see nothing

  Back there is where

  I need to stop looking

  And start ignoring

  Everything in my rearview

  What’s back there is gone

  What’s ahead up there is what

  I need to concern myself with

  October 19, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  For a while now I’ve been thinking about rearview mirrors and what they symbolize. I finally remembered to write the words down and do something with it.

  Hurt

  Under the Bar

  Cruising up the highway

  Stopped at the boardwalk

  Finding nothing to say

  Staring out at the Pacific

  Thinking about nothing specific

  For the next minute forty

  Until my friends finish the ride

  Staring into forever

  With the excited screams

  And the cart blurring by

  All behind me

  I only wish the embarrassment

  Was back there as well but no

  It followed me

  Tugging hard on my

  Emotional sleeves

  Nothing ever bothers me

  But this did

  Hitting hard on the belt

  What I am

  Has never really

  Denied or kept me

  From doing what

  From living how

  I want when I want

  Until then

  When I was

  Under the bar

  And the size

  Of the situation

  Became all too

  Painfully apparent

  For me and

  Everyone else to see

  Felt the scorn

  Grade school feelings

  Of insecurity flooding back

  Heat on my face

  Silent judgment

  Being passed

  And tossed

  At my back

  As I walked

  The lonely

  Walk of shame

  Now I'm here

  So much on my mind

  So little I want to

  Think about

  Or deal with

  As I'm waiting

  For the fun to finish

  Until then I'll just

  Blankly stare

  Way out there

  Where the sky

  Is like oil on water

  In a plastic bag

  Never mixing

  Never joining

  And, if nature

  Has her way

  It never will

  December 30, 2003

  Bay Point, CA

  My friends and I stopped at the boardwalk in Santa Cruz, California to ride the Big Dipper rollercoaster.

  Edges of Everything

  Driving southbound down I-93 after work

  Long day, late at night, I can’t wait to get home

  Looking ahead I see a set of bright car lights

  Heading north in the southbound lane in my lane

  I tried to avoid the car but it was going too fast

  Head on, out the windshield and into the rain

  The world became patches of consciousness

  Fleeting memories interspersed with intense pain

  I remember someone apologizing, then sirens

  People surrounding telling me to hang in there

  Funny, where else am I going to go

  It hurts so much I want to let go

  But I think of her and tell me no

  I see my Daewoo and a Tempo

  Both are destroyed beyond any recognition

  I’m on a bed and being put into an ambulance

  The doors slam and off it goes, sirens blaring

  I wonder if ambulances ever get into accidents

  No, there has to be some rule about that, ow

  I start to wonder about something that doesn’t

  Something that is really non-important but

  It seems so important, amazingly important

  But I start fading, slowly at first

  The edges of everything turning white

  And the fading spreads inwards

  From the peripheral to the center

  While they work on me, to save me

  I hear someone say something about

  How it’s unfair that the drunk driver

  Never gets hurt at all

  Right now all I know is hurt

  But I’m slipping under

  To somewhere warm

  Where it doesn’t hurt at all

  August 8, 2002

  Chelsea, MA

  Division

  Addition
r />   Of thoughts

  Of someone else

  Subtraction

  Of confidence

  Of her love

  Multiplication

  Of problems

  Of complications

  Division

  Of our things

  Of the rings

  December 6, 2002

  Manchester, NH

  Simple math as it relates to my life.

  Auto-Pilot

  Driving without thinking

  Trying so hard not to

  Too much to think about

  Too many memories

  The good, the bad,

  Everything else in between

  So I zone out, all the while

  Driving across the blurry miles

  Brother in the seat besides me

  Mother in the back seat

  Driving across the state

  Quiet knowing the inevitable fate

  Of the man lying in a hospital bed

  Feeling the loss creeping in already

  Not wanting to face

  What lies ahead

  Not wanting to see

  What will be a traumatic event

  So the emotional side of me

  Shut down and coasts hard

  On auto-pilot

  Otherwise I’ll think too much

  Way too much

  And get overwhelmed

  By everything hitting me at once

  And we may never get there

  March 19, 2004

  Manchester, NH

  Thinking back on my drive out to Pittsfield, Massachusetts on March 7 to see my father on the day he died.

  By Her Countless Paintings

  She painted all these pictures

  Spent years crafting

  Elaborate views of her

  Myopic pointillism oils of me

  Dark slanted scenes of some friends

  Crayon-colored caricatures of others

  Her true feelings poured onto canvas

  And, in that succinctly tasteful way,

  She framed each one beautifully

  Before she walked out

  Leaving me alone

  Alone and surrounded

  By her countless paintings

  With shadows lengthening

  Across the floor I got to work

  I hung them all on the walls

  I invited the knowing public

  I let them see what she made

  We all stood staring

  In the gallery of her thoughts

  Where hardly a word was spoken

  (That can be repeated here)

  The looks on their faces said enough

  Furrowed brows and scornful glances

  One by one they thanked me

  As they left into the night

  While I’m not proud of what I did

  It was something everyone

  Needed to see for themselves

  It was something everyone

  Needed to know

  Tonight

  I let her paint herself into a corner

  Without even knowing

  And this paint doesn’t dry

  Not now, not ever

  As she’ll stand

  Damned and alone

  By her countless paintings

  When the sun comes up tomorrow

  April 29, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  Flood in the Desert

  Loneliness is a poor excuse for love

  Yet we often find ourselves

  Drowning in one and

  Dying of thirst in the other

  Flood in the desert

  Both at once

  Hard to believe

  But here I am

  Drowning in the

  Swirlingly and

  Overwhelmingly

  Oppressive former

  Thirsting and dying

  In the eternal sand

  As far as I can see

  Call the coroner

  Because I’m getting hit

  Twice as hard here

  And I know I’m not

  Going to make it this time

  Unless someone

  Rescues me

  And airlifts

  Me to safety

  But from where I am

  And where I stand

  That doesn’t look like

  It’s going to happen

  Not now

  Or anytime soon

  October 18, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  The first line had been hanging out in Line Ideas for about a week. I picked it up and went with it.

  Off

  Glow Star Stickers on the Ceiling

  I lay in my bed at night and

  Everything’s dark except for the

  Streetlight outside and the

  Glow star stickers on the ceiling

  Arranged by some former inhabitant

  Of this same room years ago

  And no one noticed to take them down

  Well, they wouldn’t have noticed them

  Not during the day when the work is done

  Only at night when you’re lying in bed

  Staring at them with your undivided attention

  Glow star stickers on the ceiling

  I hated them at first

  I wanted them down

  Then after a while something happened

  I wanted them there

  I needed them above me

  Late at night when I’m alone

  Late at night in my room

  Annoying at first

  Comforting at last

  Glow star stickers on the ceiling

  They live up above me

  They shine down on me

  They’re there to stay

  May 14, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  The night I moved into my brother’s house, I climbed into bed, opened my eyes, did a double take, and squinted (because I had taken my glasses off). “Is the ceiling glowing?” I asked myself. It sure was. I ended up writing this six months later.

  Bad Lazy Font

  The font that wouldn’t behave

  Try as it might, just wait and see

  How it’s trying to complicate me

  Bad, bad naughty font

  I’ll show you

  I’ll use another…

  But maybe that’s what

  The bad font wanted

  What it was hoping for

  Maybe it’s not so much

  A bad font

  As a lazy font

  Something I never considered

  I smile and turn it into

  A win-win situation

  As I delete the fucker

  Take that, you bad lazy font

  October 10, 2002

  Chelsea, MA

  I downloaded some new fonts for my computer and one of them wasn’t working right.

  Down One of These Streets

  I step out of the sweaty heat

  Into the stinging January night

  Leaving the din of the Middle East

  The bitter chill across my face

  And sucked deep into my lungs

  Makes me skip a breath and

  Forces me to quicken my pace

  Head down, shoulders scrunched

  Hands jammed as deep as they’ll go

  Constantly shuddering while

  Speed walking over to where

  Down one of these streets I’ll find

  Where the parking garage hides

  February 24, 2004

  Manchester, NH

  I wrote most of this in the car after seeing the Buffalo Tom show at the Middle East nightclub in Cambridge. It was in my Palm Pilot for a month before I finally did something with it.

  Touristy Intentions

  Feels strangely odd

  And refreshing

  To be alone

  Riding the subway

  In a strange city

  Just me my mp3<
br />
  And my thoughts

  Taking in the sights

  Blending in

  Acting like a casual

  Looking like a local

  But with touristy intentions

  December 31, 2003

  San Francisco, CA

  I’d like to think that I don’t look like a tourist when I actually am one.

  Footprints on the Fiber

  Kinda nubley

  Somewhat stumbly

  In nature

  No nurture

  At least none recently

  The strangest things

  That motivate

  And move us all

  A touch festive

  With a slathering

  Of the happy stuff

  Devoid of haranguing

  All the while I’m singing

  Along to the song

  That I feel in my hug

  While walking on my

  Freshly vacuumed rug

  Such a nice feeling

  Much like fresh linen

  But for the eyes and feet

  I’m afraid to be the leaver

  Of footprints on the fiber

  But I get over it quickly

  And step my size 13

  Proof that I was here

  Not like anyone cares

  Then again someone must

  Because you’re still here

  September 27, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  Pure unfiltered Eric thoughts.

  Observation Cookies

  Stuffed on the MSG

  And the Chinese

  It came in to me

  Finally faced with the cookie

  I opened the plastic wrapper

  To find my fortune inside

  And it said, “It is a nice day.”

  And I stared blankly at it

  For more than a few moments

  It wasn’t a fortune at all

  And no, now it’s not even true

  Not anymore at all since it

  Was ruined by this impossibly

  Flagrant messenger of annoyance

  Did the cookie companies start

  Thinking fortunes were too costly

  So they replaced them with mere

  And inferior observation cookies

  You expect something profound

  And it says, “The Earth is round.”

  Maybe they ran out of ideas

  Maybe they need some help

  Maybe I just need to stop

  Stop thinking so much

  About a stupid fortune

  Eaten and in the belly

  Of a tasteless, mindless

  Cookie shell

  October 18, 2003

  Manchester, NH

  We had Chinese food for lunch at my hotel today for the employees and I made sure everyone got a fortune cookie. Personally, I never eat them. I don’t hate the taste, I just never feel like having them. Curious, I opened mine and it said, “Today is a nice day.” I was like, “WTF? That’s not a fortune at all.” I was so taken aback by the offending scrap of paper that I hung it up above my desk. I pointed it out to someone and said it was an observation cookie, because it sure as heck isn’t a fortune cookie.

  Panty-Less Protest

  Spent the summer between semesters

  In that hot hell known as Arizona

  Lived in a house with her grandmother

  Forced to go to church but didn’t wanna