Revolution on Canvas, Volume 2 Read online

  without having to talk to someone I really care about.

  The depravity in my sleep

  acts more like a hangover

  and at this rate I could be pretty drunk

  by the time my eyes close.

  I hear everything.

  Every whisper in my house is adjacent to my eardrum.

  I hear the people sleeping in my living room

  and I can hear their dreams

  and want to make them mine.

  I want so bad to be in a rested head.

  Tomorrow is now today and yesterday seems like last week.

  Take a hit … it might last longer this time.

  Orchids

  There was a brilliant white orchid

  living on the first floor

  of the Chaparral Heights apartment complex.

  She was my lonely, beautiful neighbor

  that bloomed every fall, and

  conspicuously, wilted by spring: no one knew

  where she spent her summers. No one asked.

  In later years, the orchid

  grew vibrant, as if becoming

  a woman of distinction.

  Now, it is March, and I could not miss her more.

  JARED DRAUGHON

  Classic Case

  New York City Vampires

  Smell the flowers,

  Wine and dine,

  It’s so beautiful to decide.

  You don’t have to tell me twice,

  I’m not taking your advice at all.

  At the door there’s a knock,

  Sudden loss of blood leads to shock.

  Now my wish is your command,

  Your presence is in demand,

  And I feel obliged to shut my eyes and make that wish again.

  Call it quits,

  Off to bed,

  You should stop while you are ahead.

  You’re not reaping what you sow,

  Because it’s all in who you know.

  Ignorance is bliss unless you wish to know the truth and live.

  You’re an empty heart.

  Human Error

  Some say the glass is half full,

  Some say that it’s half empty.

  We should trust machines to make up our minds.

  Human error keeps us guessing all our lives.

  Trust in machines they will keep us alive.

  Some say we came from Eden,

  Some say we all are primates.

  We should trust machines to make up our minds.

  Human error keeps us guessing all our lives.

  Trust in machines they will keep us alive.

  Some say the end is coming,

  Some say that we’re just starting.

  We should trust machines to make up our minds.

  Human error keeps us guessing all our lives

  Trust in machines they will keep us alive.

  COLLEEN NAPOLITANO

  The Study

  Well the kids stare at the history books

  and listen, half-aware, to learn

  that the world of Picasso, Da Vinci, Thoreau

  is dead.

  It seems the creators were destroyed

  by some meteor or an ice age in the airwaves.

  You can see what they left behind, the artifacts—

  their fossilized bones hang, under a light blanket of

  dust, in any museum [some carelessly loiter

  on shelves with yellowed pages falling out].

  Where have all the artists gone?

  They must’ve sold their hearts

  for a less complicated reality.

  Or became the soldiers in a war against—what was it again?—

  something they can’t quite recall.

  Charcoal faces with lines blurring

  into the creases, stating boldly,

  “I Want YOU to Give Up Now.”

  And there are those who claim,

  with sneering arrogance,

  that they never really existed at all.

  In such a static age, who do you believe?

  And now there is a new breed, the common

  “Bukowski-wannabe.”

  Who lingers around coffee shops and quiet cafes sullenly,

  with the life completely drawn out of their face,

  asking for a fresh cup, “something strong and black as my

  soul …

  if I had one.”

  On the cracking pale porcelain, they leave their fossils,

  two red bent ellipses of cheap lipstick and words just as cheap,

  just waiting to be washed away.

  RICH BALLING

  The Sound of Animals Fighting

  Einstein on the Beach

  Philip Glass must have reinvented the larynx

  when he reinvented the opera.

  Five successive hours of calculated cunning

  (if only I had such power over women).

  A survivor of both John Adams and

  Thomas Ades …

  but never, Mr. Glass, have I heard such

  penetrating arpeggios as these.

  Werner Herzog

  I am the artist coveted by most.

  Fellini never thought it would be me.

  Behind the single malt or shot of gin

  the film apprentice might consume to be

  a fraction of what I have done for them,

  I am the artist coveted by most.

  In jungles I lay days and nights with death.

  Disease and Kinski gnawing at each nerve.

  Behind the single malt or shot of gin

  that Bergman’s ever drunk since Nosferatu,

  or Fitzcarraldo or The Wrath of God,

  I am the artist coveted by most …

  by Wong Kar-Wai and even David Lynch.

  Guerilla in the midst of German film

  Behind the single malt or shot of gin.

  It’s cinema or cinnamon today:

  a fresh perspective is few and far between.

  I am the artist coveted by most

  Behind the single malt or shot of gin.

  Sarah Kane

  if any play could earn the terza rima

  that Dante found so eloquently fit,

  propose a work from Sarah Kane’s brief canon

  like Blasted, Crave, or Phaedra’s Love or Skin.

  a playwright passed down from the Gods themselves

  whose Godliness brought her to bitter end.

  and now we watch the scholars fill their shelves:

  4.48 Psychosis, Cleansed and then

  what would have come i’ll not attempt to tell,

  the work she chose to give us is enough.

  the freshest words since Charles I’ve befell,

  i’m sure he would have even liked her stuff.

  Camus, Bukowski, Beckett, John L’Heureux

  the next, Sarah, addition, here, is you.

  H. P. Lovecraft

  A private hospital for the insane

  He bore the name of Charles Dexter Ward

  An antiquarian from infancy

  The pits whose inhuman cadences rose

  had drawn down nameless horrors from the skies

  Calvino

  If on a winter’s night a traveler

  Perhaps you started leafing through the book

  If on a winter’s night a traveler

  Perhaps you started leafing through the book

  This sentence sounds somehow familiar

  Celine

  The lady lies down in a mess of lace

  It lingers on in the smell of her death

  “Ah!” she says “It’s burst.” She meant her abscess

  It pounded worse than forty-nine truck horses

  Enormous mounds all tangled up like bushes

  JASON GLEASON

  ActionReaction

  For the Day

  Call to me oh, Cannibal,

  When the heavy work is done.

  Call to me a liar, & a beggar, &
a son.

  Call an angry officer,

  Un-televised, Unsung.

  Call to me the serpent’s Tongue,

  To tell me I am young.

  Call to me a roof maker.

  Some rain is leaking in,

  Past my fear, and past my Courage

  To the puddle in my brain.

  Call to me my bedroom floor

  To see it all undone

  And my cupboards are all empty

  Except for One

  For The Day, the sun will rise.

  And for tonight, my sorry eyes

  Can see the Reason that we call it,

  Masquerade.

  It May as Well Have Been March 21, 1982.

  (three random thoughts)

  thought #1

  Meanwhile,

  As I go.

  I often end up wondering. Lately,

  As if by sudden force,

  I would lie in submission to my day. (or life, for that matter)

  For Time, is irrelative. Or Σ

  Relatively.

  Irrelevant to any western Thought.

  Or so I think.

  And I keep on thinking. Lately,

  As if by a great, sudden force,

  That I would ever lie down.

  To face the dirt.

  And so on.

  And sometimes.

  And so forth.

  thought #2

  Where did all the believers go?

  The ones who tell the dreamers, they’re Alive.

  We need an army! Believers with desire damnit!

  And not those pansies that make believe.

  Just the ones who

  Know

  That

  LOVE

  Will Cure.

  I will test the Chameleons of Sleep,

  And the Believers will sort them,

  And I truly believe that.

  thought #3

  This one’s gonna be long winded,

  So stop now if you’re not even going to bother.

  If Humans Have Heartbeats, Do Robots Have Heartbeeps?

  Catch my sleepy head,

  Carry it down a long way.

  Watch my field of view,

  And carry it down a long way

  How bright the souls of heaven, and dull that wander home.

  When the Lord is done with me,

  He will.

  If we can lift the wheel, we will.

  If they can sew it up, they will.

  Catch my sleepy head, and carry it down a long way.

  Breed, you summer girls,

  Carry us on for long days.

  Feed us when we forget to feed,

  To carry us on for long days.

  If one contests your place in Heaven,

  My Hand will strike him down. Then you will see.

  When the Lord is done with me,

  He will.

  If we can break the doors, we will.

  If they can bring us to rest, they will.

  So, Breed you summer girls, To carry us on for long days.

  When will we see the day

  of death without morning?

  Green skies above the water

  & Light below.

  The day we all become

  One simple thought of noise.

  In a vast open Mind.

  As if we weren’t the very moment we were seen.

  Sun drenched & Naked,

  But not alone

  If I can lift the wheel, I will.

  If I can sew it up, I will.

  Catch my sleepy head, and carry it down the long way.

  ALEXANDER KENT

  Say Anything

  A Short Clip from “The Unlikeliness of Counterpane””

  Characters:

  Spudnik Arugala Rhubarb

  Wealthy, an eye for success, this 6th grade boy plays 2nd string attack on the lacrosse team. Although most boys this age have no clue, Spudnik does not know who he is and tends to believe he has a co-existing, ever-changing, alternate mind.

  Genivive

  Witty, modest yet aggressive, she loves to volunteer at senior citizen centers. She knows her shit.

  Joebob Ralph Lauren

  Loves his name. He’s tall, an early bloomer and can relax you until you forget about homework.

  “I had the craziest day, guys … I mean, CRAZY!” exclaimed Spudnik, looking up at the long-sleeve sky. Genivive and Joebob couldn’t help but not move or gesture towards Spudnik to let him know that they were interested. They were entranced by the wool sky and the stars its mother had sewn into it. Joebob moved only his lips, “Tell us about it jonnnnny.”

  Spudnik then, half regrettingly, opened his mouth. “Well, I woke up at around 11:30, slept through my 9:45 alarm. I sat down to pee, as I enjoyed in times of no rush, and got a call from Chris. He asked me if I still wanted to go to Guitar Center. You see, I was looking for a microphone for my Midi Keyboard.

  Realizing it was Tuesday, I checked movie times and asked Annie if she wanted to see a 5 dollar movie, our Tuesday habitual. We decided on Proof at 5:30 and I began the day. Same thing as the night before, a Burberry-scented black long-sleeve, some fruit-stained Lucky jeans and my penguin Vans were thrown on in a rush. I conscientiously turned out the lights and ran out my door. After this I drove to my dad’s house where I infiltrated his garage and got my Harry Potter books, a 22” ride cymbal to lend to Marc and my Gnome Checkers (unopened). I rushed to Brian’s house where I encountered him and Ryan. We unloaded my bass amp and the ride cymbal. Chris moseyed on over, unshaven, with sunglasses on. He looked like a relaxed drug lord, to be honest. I stood there, by the garage door, dumbfounded. I WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE THERE! I was supposed to be behind the drum set! I ran over behind the wooden contraption as quickly as possible and instantaneously picked up the sticks. Then me and some all stars rip-rop-rooted the place into shambles.

  I got four blisters. Next thing I knew I was convincing Ryan that broccoli cheddar soup = uber. He believed but didn’t like it mucho. We got to guitar center and I didn’t find any cool mics. I walked across the street, paid my own cellular telephone bill, BY AUTOMATED MACHINE, and drove back west. The drive was short. I picked up Annie and we went to Coffee Bean to get our favorite little fixes. LARGE pure chocolate with soy milk and a LARRRRGE double vanilla tea latte. For some reason, I had this uber-obsession with vanilla. Annie’s friend LoLo called me and asked me where we were. (She was rendez vous-swa-zeeee-ing us at the movie theater.)

  “‘Hey where are you guys?’

  “‘ We’re across the street at the Beanery’

  “‘OK’

  “‘We’ll be there soon’

  “‘OK’

  “We walked into the movie theater and saw 48 people over the age of 65 or so. That made the movie’s total attendance so far 51. After the movie I peed in a stall where I miraculously recollected thoughts I had created in that very same, unrecognizable poop coop.

  Even better, the thoughts I recollected were confident aspirations of becoming a ninja. Then my beautiful lovely sweetheart cupcake dollface offered an adventure to the beach—with tea! More vanilla tea, socks and shoes off later, we were waltzing down the dance floored beach. Hand in hand, lip to lip, eye to eye, BRAIN TO BRAIN. We talked about the tattoos of power animals we were going to get in 10 or so days, her 18th birthday coming up soon (that very Sunday), and COLLEGE. She told me she would enjoy Florida if I wanted to go, and that it would be EASIER on our growth. I love her. So many thoughts in my head. Do I quit my band? I mean, my life is dependent upon this amazing yet crazy person, but that seemed like a whole different story.

  “I took Annie home, and called Chris. He was at Rico’s and I asked him to get me a burrito and invited him and the all stars over to my house. They came, they saw, they left. We got high, and Marc, Chris, and I went to Blockbuster where I bought a lovely bunch of DVDs. Then me, Marc, Ryan, Chris, Gabe, and Brian all watched a movie in my room. I lathered my body in honey milk
and rode on into the night.”

  “All you needed were some cool waves, a tasty buzz, and you were fine,” rumbled Joebob.

  “Ha.” They all laughed in unison.

  “Are you still high Mr. Rhubarb? YER IN SIXTH GRADE! … I saw you in Mrs. Kronemeyer’s class earlier … Asked you if I could borrow a pencil? We walked down to Honor’s Pre Algebra together, holding hands to be controversial.

  You’ve never played an instrument, let alone go to a guitar center, or had a cell phone! WAKE UP SPUD!”

  Spudnik turned to his right. He stared Genivive in the eye, and she knew not to speak. He turned to his left and did the same with Joebob. He started articulating a word, but stopped 1/2 a syllable into it. Genivive busted first, she always did. She could never hold her laughter in for more than 4.8 seconds. It would be written in the history books someday.

  “It must have been a daydream. But it seemed so real. I mean, I feel like I WAS THIS GUY. Is that a memory from the future or is it the mescaline we did earlier laced with weed?”

  “The latter,” Genivive stated relaxingly.

  “I don’t know what that means, bitch!” Joebob cried, offended.

  Genivive was a smarty pants, she loved showing the guys up.

  To be continued …

  JARROD TAYLOR

  In Reverent Fear

  A Young Mother’s Medicine

  Oh Lord, how I want to fall in love in ease by the lake in St. James.

  With smoke in the evening sun, I will sleep and I won’t move

  Oh Lord what am I to do with me, my mind falling off the hazel trees?

  I go from wanting graciously to not at all.

  A young mother’s medicine is strange.

  Oh mother, I want to be a child before all the salting came in me.

  To love not as a boy with almond skin, but ripe as an apple’s skin I’ll love

  A young mothers medicine is stranger than you thought;

  1 part paranoia

  2 parts bread and wine

  1/2 a cup of sugar

  and any drug you find

  I’m wasted all the afternoons

  I never sleep at all

  My heart’s a famine murdered land

  I dare not speak of God.

  And it’s strange, but I wish I could fall in it.

  I wish I would.

  BEN JORGENSEN

  Armor For Sleep