tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39718122011-07-07T22:25:28.269-07:00Pop Culture is not MulticulturalisticPop Culture is not MulticulturalisticMatthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.comBlogger361100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-50678826738203157472010-03-17T09:54:00.001-07:002010-03-17T09:55:35.142-07:00SomethingWrote a song for you last night,And forgot it in my dreams.Snake feathers, Fate weathers,Nothing was as it seems.Then upon my waking hour,I gained some latent fright,Moonlit skies, Devil lies,Became my guiding light.There you were in front of me,Gaily watching from your post,Thunder Claps, Bear traps,Thrilled me more than most.Oh then all hell broke loose,Changing all the ugly Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1101655170703194422004-11-28T08:03:00.000-07:002004-11-28T08:19:30.703-07:00Underneath It All
A spotted shirt with spotted flower,
Telling us that it's all over,
Wrecking balls, and waterfalls,
A natural crashing down.
Wilting holidays, and unseen
Circumstances.
Man, spirit and the holy ghost, mean
Nothing less than droughts to you.
A famine of the family,
A famine of the flocks,
A simple shortage of passing time,
Lost from broken clocks.
We'll wash our hands, and Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1086710318019936562004-06-08T08:50:00.000-07:002004-06-08T08:58:38.020-07:00Sr. Mal Suerte
He goes along a road with one path,
Sr. Mal Suerte.
Thinking that it takes two hands to hold,
two lips to kiss.
Taking no initiative.
Sr. Mal Suerte just watches as she
Rides into the moonlight.
Electric fences and polio paranoia,
He still has 2 weeks in the future.
But they won't matter.
Sr. Mal Suerte, has a back up plan,
He'll learn some mandarin,
And teach the children.
To Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1082425822111277572004-04-19T18:50:00.000-07:002004-04-19T18:58:39.590-07:00Pieces of Me: A Scene From Suzanne's
There is a room with a soiled bed,
By which I mean in soil, growing.
Growing ever since I grew uprooted.
I'm here, in this room as a scavenger.
Not the historian or hopeful youth
I ought to be at this point and time.
Sliding open the door, it makes a
Sort of whooshing sound, giving way
to ghosts and memories, they will
Return. This is where they live.
Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1080329927530200942004-03-26T12:38:00.000-07:002004-03-30T13:37:51.793-07:00Tea With Both Sides
I
I walk, so slow. So slow, I don't
Walk anymore.
Falling down into a mousetrap, set
Up for those mice,
Crawling upanddown your chesterfield.
A man of York stopped my standing still.
And explained.
It's just like spinning plates. "What"
I exclaimed, not asked.
But he just vanished, into
A Magician's bus.
Again, I'm walking still, standing at the
Stop sign.
Waiting, Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1078447007322507122004-03-04T17:36:00.000-07:002004-03-04T17:39:44.043-07:00God, he's your Devil
In heaven, everything is fine.
In heaven, you will be mine.
Backup in the doorway, and say that again.
"God lives in a house at Versailles.
And I don't know, don't know why."
Mary Aunt just looked at me, and
"He won't leave me, to my things"
Don't let the devil, in your door.
In heaven, everything is fine.
In heaven, everything is mine.
Clueless, the marble statue standsMatthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1075921319741892612004-02-04T12:01:00.000-07:002004-02-09T12:41:30.403-07:00Temporarily In Motion
Walking the Razor's edge, between
Blind love and death. He's Temporarily
In motion, because he's not yet dead.
I think we've seen this movie scene
Once before, and didn't like the end.
She's a hypocrite, a healthy person, sick.
And she's gonna plague us once again.
She's what's left, when the fire's
Gone to sleep. Making grown men
Weep. And something driven in.
Masacring Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1074885594687799992004-01-23T12:19:00.000-07:002004-01-23T12:21:56.903-07:00Just To Remember
How can it matter, why you, brushed your hair today.
Do you rememeber that there were games, games
we used to play.
Without the lovers and the indescretions, why did those
days go away.
You allude to the pink bunnies in your, your hidden dreams.
Asking me and God, what all of this means.
I am drifting on a cloud, to you or somewhere in your
direction it seems.
I'll grow up, Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1072989170605047972004-01-01T13:32:00.000-07:002004-01-01T13:34:23.716-07:00A New Mistake
There was a man, once upon a time,
Inside a life of glass n' rock climbers.
He sold relief and gave away a tale,
To all of us aging five and dimers.
He'd say, "Son I hope you're learn
You can't just keep running round.
You'll find that fires indeed do burn,
That you just may die with no sound."
His name was Forgotten, so he said,
But his stories had a fable, or such,
Fifteen Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1072331717496460942003-12-24T22:55:00.000-07:002003-12-24T22:56:41.060-07:00Christmas Eve
Do you remember the times when we were so young,
The looks on our faces before we dived right in.
So bold, and ignorant, but it sure was fun. Right?
Yes it was, and I don't remember where it went.
You can't buy the past in stores, or wait in long lines.
Just remember old boy, that's what Gran said, but I can't
Or don't. Either way it's not really Christmas anymore.
Not in that Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1071450423929407832003-12-14T18:07:00.000-07:002003-12-14T18:08:13.950-07:00Sunday Night Before Finals
I wish I was an annual, or at least an inauguration,
But I'm a non-existant, a never was. Not even your
Lesson learned in pain. Rather your soap box,
Standed on, to tell people you don't know my name.
I'm sure you don't tell them of me, as your friend.
Because you've said before you don't know what
It is we are, no matter how many I love you's.
My stomach hurts, Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1071088186195881822003-12-10T13:29:00.000-07:002003-12-10T15:46:15.043-07:00Josée's Penguin (Take 1)
I bought Josée a Penguin
From the record centre,
Down the block.
It doesn't fly, or say hi.
It's not real, it's like me.
Stuffed with cotton and words.
His name is Leopard. Because
He's not like me, a quick one.
She just said goodbye, to
Call her mum down the road.
At least that's what I'm told.
Her penguin, his name is Leopold.
More dignified. He's prettier than me.
Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1070649378639070392003-12-05T11:36:00.000-07:002003-12-05T11:37:16.200-07:00Josée’s Hand
I just wanted to be in your poem,
Wherever that guides me to.
In your bed, or in your home,
Whatever the poem says to do.
And I’d be some famous sailor,
Or a mythic figure of ancient Rome.
I’d be the hunchback’s ugly jailor,
All just to be in your hand’s poem.
I would be your Mary Magdalene,
Following you from land to land.
Trailing ink flowing from your pen,
To be a word by Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1070427209722629112003-12-02T21:53:00.000-07:002003-12-02T21:56:02.576-07:00Men Age (Josephine and I)
He apologized for dropping his halo down the sewer well.
The angel lost his wings for sudden vanity and greed.
Perfection exceeds the grasps of all those in need.
The goddess, impure she is, with forces of dark compel.
Best and worst, the opposites exist, can we be both?
She says nothing's changed, that in us, gone is purgatory.
Angels don't make mistakes, not humans, Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1070339581829136162003-12-01T21:33:00.000-07:002003-12-01T21:33:54.606-07:00Men Age
A weekend soliloquy where you were mine and mine alone.
I knew it wouldn't matter in the end, my sister's friend.
I, that's not me, I don't do these things, but you offered,
To take my mind off things, to become my midnight story.
You're not who I want you to be, but the drinks race along.
Forgetting all the romance, I practiced in the evening rain.
It's awkward at first, like the firstMatthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1069299462531421912003-11-19T20:37:00.000-07:002003-12-03T11:03:29.763-07:00Learning Italian
I'd play a song, if you'd stay awake for just one more night.
I'd like to think she would, So good to see you.
It's been a long time. Stay awake, it's been so long.
We won't let him take you, that snake, in the fold.
What if there isn't a tomorrow. The sun will fall.
That won't happen, but it will shine in a different light.
For will it not be a different sun, if both our eyesMatthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1069297912646638752003-11-19T20:11:00.000-07:002003-12-03T11:03:22.246-07:00Dmeifsifnoirttiuonne
How simple and magnificent,
The symbols that read our minds.
They portray our ideas and feelings,
And the holy truth it finds.
We may search ancient texts,
Our friends, we don't gather words.
But ideas, for words are these,
Together with nature, stirred.
For now, what we judge together,
Are not bad symbols, but ideas,
For those indeed are plentiful,
Set to sail on ocean Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1069128447613422812003-11-17T21:07:00.000-07:002003-12-03T11:03:15.200-07:00Things She Said This Weekend
Come down from that ledge, now.
It's not worth the fall, Let's just
Say what we forgot.
I wish I could tell you,
That you're good in bed.
Or that I love your lips,
When they're red. They
Taste a special hint,
Or something, and that scent,
I wish it drove me crazy, and
Warmed my blood on a cold
Windy night. But I don't know,
I just don't know. Won't you
Tell me what Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1067990884284010132003-11-04T17:08:00.000-07:002003-12-03T11:03:05.153-07:00The Sickness
5 of 15
They just laugh and point at the kid with one bad leg,
He's different, smaller, inferior, something odd.
Can't think of all the things he could teach,
The hopes and fears he could portray and smash,
They just laugh and point at the kid with one bad leg.
He isn't weak, just starts a little farther behind.
Not an evil wrecked body, riddled hopeless by his peers.
Shannon, a Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1067986352353941052003-11-04T15:52:00.000-07:002003-12-03T11:02:45.483-07:00Numb
1 of 15
It's at the door and cannot speak.
It knocks and knocks, you cannot hear.
You would come and it would run,
But you won't, it's not really there.
The child screams, because she can smell
The fear of things, that live so near.
Fingers curl, mobiles twist and turn,
Hypnotize the monster 'til morning.
It comes home, after last call,
Using the amplifiers to gain a roar,
Wakes the dogs Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1067409520059821482003-10-28T23:38:00.000-07:002003-12-03T11:02:32.936-07:00brakes
How do you know it's true this time?
That the sirens don't call you name,
But another, less fortunate.
Is it a miracle if someone still gets,
Gets the raw deal in the end.
No more moutains to climb,
These days, just like the last, same,
This mobile's owner, it's corporate,
And Las Vegas never halts the bets,
What do you have to say friend?
Just stop, stop right there, do you see?
Could Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1067319871216342442003-10-27T22:44:00.000-07:002003-12-03T11:02:21.200-07:00Two Weeks From the Post
It’s coming soon, the anniversary.
You can’t feel it because it’s not there.
The vamps and their delights,
Robbed the citizens of their
Crops and their nights.
Forced to retire for the sun’s set.
Electricity has no place here.
What is it Mina? Did you have
A bad dream of things best left
Unexplained? Go to sleep,
And forget it with candies
And peppermint slumber.
I’ve Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1066088135890603352003-10-13T16:35:00.001-07:002003-12-03T11:02:10.746-07:00The Director’s Mirage*
I
I’m the director, you’re the actor
That’s not the way it’s supposed to be.
You can’t act out my script,
Perhaps because it’s poorly written
They think that sex will sell,
But no one can live up to it.
They don’t want an idealist,
Or someone under iron fist.
The middle man, the middle class,
Between depression and happiness.
No characters with talents lost,
Or tyrants Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1065978114449532532003-10-12T10:01:00.000-07:002003-12-03T11:02:00.140-07:00All In, With a Pair of Twos
We've discussed these issues,
So many times before, and nothing,
So why now, because of the summer evenings.
When for once I wasn't there, neglecting you.
It wasn't my intention. I know it's real.
Plastic things don't upset the ways
Real things do. We've hurt each other,
Though you get it more than I,
Because I did know, always have known
I would no be good enough, Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1065904340851114832003-10-11T13:32:00.000-07:002003-12-03T11:01:45.060-07:00Thomas the King
It's not enough to be a millionaire
They still scream for richer blood.
I souled my soul to make a deal,
No it's just not enough.
To be pleased with yourself.
Your not yours, anymore.
I'm not a savior
Or a matyred cause.
I left my wife,
To make the company big.
I took their drugs,
To get in the magazines.
It's all publicity
Little kids, who are you
Burning my life away.
I won't Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1065831066662180092003-10-10T17:11:00.000-07:002003-12-03T11:01:35.873-07:00Los Angeles
My prophecies do not,
Come at the hands of
Foreign cheap labour
Camps. Quit giving me
A hero's status, I'm sick,
Oh so sick of taking vapid
Photographs. I'm not,
But I am sorry, for calling,
And that you're a pretty
Star, obsessed with falling.
What are you doing here,
I don't remember sending
Your invitation. This isn't
Yours you know. It's mine.
How much sleep did you
Lose, Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1065652447527062352003-10-08T15:34:00.000-07:002003-12-03T11:01:12.140-07:00Looking at the Sun
Woke from a dream of ancient yesterdays
It’s not true, a mirror I tell,
Waterways swallow deceitful reflections,
Inspections of which we wish to sell.
The apologies of star-crossed lovers
Allotted space for true mistakes.
Covers the dry desert lands and seas
Pleas of truth from criminals and fakes.
O Love, most mortal would of joys.
A happy frown of peculiar shape.
Employs Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1065586456364626062003-10-07T21:14:00.000-07:002003-12-03T11:00:59.840-07:00Good Intentions
She lives on, good intentions
Doesn't fall in, with the crowds.
She has no, Big suspicions.
They're not, for her.
She sleeps, with boys,
On the, first date.
She doens't, feel it.
But she, likes it.
Her name is, Forgiven
No she, doesn't
Apologize, for livin'
She's not, a girl
But a snake, hidden
Hidden in the grass.
She has, eyes for the night
I can't understand.
When she, tellsMatthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1065212993095633762003-10-03T13:29:00.000-07:002003-12-03T11:00:50.373-07:00Pray for Me (You're Just Wasting Time)
I'll face your fear,
To have your babies.
Sing to the phone,
To make you know I'm there.
Clean your face.
You don't need that paint.
It only runs and ruins
The Taste.
The barbed-wire fence,
It isn't really there.
The dollars and cents,
We've nothing to spare.
The electric distance,
No, it's not really there.
I'll take a plane,
A flying boat or train.
And Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1065212583741923742003-10-03T13:23:00.000-07:002003-12-03T11:00:40.060-07:00A Merry Cuss
I
Where did he go?
That fucking radio man.
Left me alone, to bathe
My mother.
It's not fair,
No life just isn't fair.
That's it, I'm gonna
Get him now.
Give me a drink,
I'll trade you a smile.
II
Lady of the night,
You'll have to be
Tied Down.
Otherwise it won't work,
For any price I pay.
Just wait there,
I'll get the rope.
Thanks a lot,
I really needed that.
III
Mom, please,
Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-1065155582149049032003-10-02T21:33:00.000-07:002003-12-03T11:00:02.640-07:00At The Drive-In
I'll change my ways,
And write you letters.
Till the day we meet.
And even after then,
I won't ask questions
About where you've been.
That doesn't matter now.
I'll cut your hair,
Fives inches too short,
Play with your toys.
Run out your doors.
Just don't have me
When I leave.
I won't be long,
On trains and ticking clocks.
They'll call the police,
Don't let them in.
They don't Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-854676472002-12-03T22:46:00.000-07:002003-12-03T10:59:39.420-07:00Something
Wrote a song for you last night,
And forgot it in my dreams.
Snake feathers, Fate weathers,
Nothing was as it seems.
Then upon my waking hour,
I gained some latent fright,
Moonlit skies, Devil lies,
Became my guiding light.
There you were in front of me,
Gaily watching from you post,
Thunder Claps, Bear traps,
Thrilled me more than most.
Oh then all hell broke loose,
Changing all Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-853057052002-11-30T14:43:00.000-07:002003-12-03T10:59:20.796-07:00Little Miss Italy
I
Dancing in the silver raindrops,
Riding on the musical carousel,
She hopes the ride never stops,
Leaving her scared as hell.
The song doesn’t go on again,
The horses all die away today,
Monsters grab the broken sin,
There’s nothing left to say.
II
Here comes the night winter,
And there goes the praying lie.
She choked on the merry dinner,
The blank stare four sides die.
Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-850249392002-11-24T16:14:00.000-07:002003-12-03T10:59:07.513-07:00Untitled I
Make no plans to fly away,
Get a Pynchon to Genesis,
Bring back the misery of Spear,
"You are a drunkard Manikin
Never to see Heaven again."
Grope the remote control
Mute, or wish to be the bromide
Of Atlantis, technology be found,
"I'm no alcoholic Manikin
Hidden in his shredded skin."
Pipe, crack, long dream mares,
A fight of Kerovac and 'poet'
Ginsberg. Reason be damned.
"You're Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-850245332002-11-24T16:04:00.000-07:002003-12-03T10:58:43.293-07:00Tornado
Truely is the aged
Around the piano and the bocks
The woman goes to Eden.
It, the morning, brings water.
Smiles in the mailbocks flag.
Down to the creek,
It, Avalon, the present ute.
She, Elizabeth, waters her skin,
The rosebud fades,
Her eyes are black,
While the soil dies,
Her scales are falling
The, It, the spring
Enlightens her foundation,
Ah, yes, the whirlwind,
Rips, kills, shreds,Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3971812.post-850242612002-11-24T15:56:00.000-07:002003-12-03T10:58:31.013-07:00Rabbit in the Headlights Part I
Please headlights slow,
Stop blinding me,
Mr. Driver stop for me,
Take me down the yellow brick road
For I've been stabbed in the most peculiar way.
And left without armor.
Been strangled by a shadow mirage,
Used as a pleasure machination
Take me to the gauze house
So I may bleed to heal
Your tire so close to my ear
But closer to far away
Wrap me up in lies
Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00312836474241689409noreply@blogger.com0