Posts tagged ‘2012’

January 7, 2013

Tender Thought (Self-sufficient Shorty)

She asked me if I ever got writer’s block…

I thought about it…

Yeah… I thought, but only when I’m in love; I can’t seem to get out of bed…

***

 

All that stuff in the past, I can’t rewind that.

Think as it passes, and then relax, its as good as trash at this juncture, in relation to my head.

 

I was gathering dust and rust with lust, so I traded in.

And found something underrated.

 

I found something that was there with patience:

Greatness.

 

Like rocks in a river.

Like cold to a shiver.

Like heat to a blister.

 

One another, together; behold a symbiotic situation.

A generation waited in anticipation.

Baited with cinematic inspiration.

 

And mildly let down…

 

Until…

 

It Feels like a lifetime since I’ve said I love you like this.

It Feels like bliss.

 

Like that.

Like old hat.

Like a first kiss.

 

Like this:

 

Not unlike the heat of super-glue placement on flesh, but absolutely benign.

Love is hope.

Love stops time.

Love is divine, and blind.

 

Love loses coordination; A sea-sick sailor, oh(!), on weak knees.

A maladroit, worth being teased.

It’s not butterflies within my stomach, its children on trampolines.

 

Trapeze.

 

Water and debris, in all its glory, just float by me.

All to see; my mind’s absorbing and storing.

 

Stuff like this needs to be remember for later, saved for a rainy day as they say.

 

Call it Zen, call it mother hen to chicks, call it being logical and simplistic.

We all need shelter.

We all need a little helper.

 

Every movement of the eyes is categorized, recorded, and translated into a statement.

What do they see?

 

Check the facts, there are no stats on love.

Nothing hanging above, just pure perception, intention, and honor.

 

Like subjective minutiae worth the weight of the world sitting on your chest.

Like boys and girls.

Like coming unfurled; sprawled for all to see when you’re not at your best.

 

There is only true feeling.

No embarrassment, guilt, or regret.

It is heaven-sent, even to the non-believer.

 

To live without such love would be oppression, regression of my true nature.

Not a misunderstood nomenclature, just part of my culture.

 

How one survives without someone like her, I’d be damned to know…

She is like a warm drink and chaser in midwinter, she and I sat bedside as the sky turned grey.

 

We had only good things to say; no stones to throw.

 

And that is what I thought of on New Year’s Day.

I thought of writer’s block, and how it felt when she and I were alone.

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November 25, 2012

Nothing Of Something

Nothing of Something
By Terry Scott Niebeling

A lack luster flicker of a star sends a shining message from afar; judgement on distant affairs, to which few care, particularly the provocateur.

Not knowing what he compares to reality, most likely steeped conversation and argument in fallacy.
But he won’t mention that.

But who is counting? Even a 3 year old can- 1, 2, 3, etc.
Look above, seeing is proof.
He reads it, it is then truth.

We pass it on as lack of judgement, no one budges.

Stand in line wait your turn, the frustrated real nudges…
Some years in the sky; he has seen it all, his ideas fly.

He has no fall or fault in his suspended reality, I wonder what he actually does?

He couldn’t be who he was.
Could he?
Even if he tried less.
Quick to judge and then later realize, quick to impress his peers with small fries.
Others look with 20/20 eyes.

He judges the clouds not in his skies, and the inhabitants of mountain tops aloft, yet he has not entered into anything other than the space he inhabits.

No grip to grasp at. Gripe to grabble at your babble.

He has not wore the crown described, or the leather boots assumed, not drank the liquid consumed by all the fools. By accounts on experience he has nothing to prove, he remains in same old shoes.

Cold spoon to bruise, attempted healing remedy, a bandaid.

He plays the blues, as we read his words we snore to snooze. Last battle, one more not to lose.

Choice words, time to choose.

But that is just presumed, I have faith in the hypocrite, I have faith in the fan. ūüėČ

Despise me, go make a bandstand.
Rally some of the same brand, how grand.
How simple.

Really, you are simple.

But its been done.

His orbit is morbid and ideas remain contorted to his very whim. Time stands still, he stares harder; he explains a cake before a taste, he knows a lager before the bother of a swill. Much skill to kill, apparently.

We have yet to see.
Come make us thrilled.

Take your childish poems back to the retirement home, or preschool, you can’t avoid what we do, your words are see-through. Be cool, sometimes we get frustrated too.

I sit on top, as stated, watching you struggle from the bottom.

You said it, they said You Got Him.

A certain blow from a made-up foe, damaged he; struck to calamity, clubs came down upon him, what a catastrophe.

But who gives a fuck anyway?

A new situation to fill an empty void of lost patients, he tries to fill a broken cup; years of complacence, years of disgraces. A common place vagrant searching for famous placement.

Don’t cut your face to satisfy your thirst.

How wise are we?

This is just an assumed assessment, though, I could careless about your time present.
My perception is my perception.

This star must trust that he will inevitably combust, a few readers, or alone, with only judgement and a dark space to call home, like the rest of us.

No one is above the rest.

Everyone dies by themselves, he thinks; where you come from is where you will go.

All others can see what he’s done, see who he was, and call it naught for a buzz, but for a simple suggestion, a shrug. How smug?

And he thought he was judging a mere child.
Maybe, but understand all children can smile.

When into question he frolics, he does not understand what he reads; therefore only heeds to a need to be not astounded and still counted.

At that instance exacting an answer, a whimper, a hope, a word transfer.

A star founded years after has stolen his knowledge and laughter in less than a fortnight.

Even if he were surrounded he couldn’t have acknowledged that he found it, some stars are just lightyears away. The rest of your life starts today, so go prosper.

But black holes still suck.

 

Don’t believe everything you read, and thanks for reading. ūüėČ

November 11, 2012

Oppressive Options (Now They want to be like Me)

Fans are setting goals in respect to my situation, and talking about words on occasion.  I am in good company; everyone that surrounds.  Complexion not mentioned, hardly ever, always abound.  Those who avoid regressive expression and let it out.  We are found.  We are now.  

Like DKR, Like my roommate.  Like we do.  Like in the BroHaus.  Over and Out.

 

However, I sit and think.  I think and drink on economy, prosperity, reality, and dreams.  How realistic they seem, and how to make ends of means.  I believe.

I guess I believe…

 

I turn pink because I can’t relate.

I read more, instigate, initiate.

 

Not to hate, not to hate.

I’ll extrapolate.

 

Dodge dates, girls wonder why I show late.

Or not at all.

 

Count your blessings.

There are 99 bottles of beer on this wall.

 

Not my fault; I was taught by condition to absolve and revolve.

 

Keep straight forward, on a mission.

Watch out for number one, and wash the dishes.

 

Breakfast in the kitchen; Guinness Extra Stout and Gravity Drip Coffee, eggs, lime, rice, and beans.  Be lean, stay clean, read Minneapolisscene.

 

Write like that, like this here.

Right here, right now.

To exist, not missed, somehow, and still get around.

 

Not so fast, chill out, sit down.

 

So clearly mirror what you are near that you disappear.

Steer clear of fear.

Drink much with peers.

 

Appreciate those you hold dear, and the lack of competition.

 

Wishing like they are fishing for a compliments.

Bitching, that’s how I vent.

Commonsense.

 

And they hold it in.

 

Get asked why I am so happy.

Probably because my smile says fuck you, and inside I want to flee.

Exactly, exactly!

 

Just to be free.

Just to be something like me.

 

So many options and no definitive answers.

 

But freedom and choice cause oppression and tension.

Just go with your gut, end of the lesson.

 

And in my other blog I talk about fucking, and she says its substantial.

Beat that Dane-imal.

She gave me a handjob and called me an Asshole.

 

The day was uneventful, so I slept through it.

 

***

 

Identity crisis, thoughts divided.

Self-minded, ever self-minded.

 

I love you Dane,

Good luck on your goal to out write me.

P.S. ¬†Sorry for drinking all of your SnowShoe Grog Schnapps. ¬†I’ll get you S’more Schnapps soon.

TS-

November 6, 2012

Coffee, Reading, and Votes 11/5/12-11/6/12

More material than a craft store…

Starting word wars with scholarly whores.

 

But, anyway, we wake up in the same bed, problem solved.

 

And that one time began like this:

A Cat in a window with different colored eyes.

Light blue and light green, contrast clearly defined.

 

Walking to the cafe to spend a few dollars.

 

A pumpkin ahead smashed to death on the side-

walk right by to Bob’s for java and the warmth inside.

 

To open up my eyes.

Just to open my eyes.

 

I sat back, watching peers through a window as they went on with their lives.

Strolling.

Contemplate the day; a pint earlier, though it was morning, but not before sunrise.

I was patient, life then was boring.

I couldn’t find a surprise.

 

A modest work for a modest pay: the modern modest’s only way.

 

Art, Drink, Sleep, Fuck, Write, Etc…

Shut off the light and pray you’ll make it through the night.

Breakfast of champions.

Feeling cramped again.

 

Start the day.

As they say:

 

What are you doing with your time?

Are you still studying?

Brain bubbling?

No, not really, I am just waiting to quit.

I’m loving it, reading a lot. ¬†You know-

Books are legit…

 

And minding my own fucking business.

 

 

(Then I listened about)

 

Anxiety of national responsibility on their lips.

It sets in, as hearts dip.

 

Even worse my Ma is sick.

I am thinking B.I.G., I am thinking dark and tired, I am thinking about starting a fire.

 

Trying to be inspired.

Bukowski said don’t try-its written in stone above his catacomb.

 

It’s the water around it.

 

Don’t doubt the happenings at a glance.

Wait to review the past.

Then think before you act.

 

And I was tired moments later.

 

(Then I listened about in another direction)

 

The Beatles were playing and everyone was buzzing about politics.

 

January 20th, 2013 everything will change.

They say.

The tea is warm and tastes a bit bitter,

I thought.

The coffee smelled swell and everything was well.

We all sat, we were all lost in thought.

 

Then I took off.

 

Warm place downtime.

 

A transgender lady spoke to a gentleman about stance as David Bowie played one of his classics.

I finished a book and couldn’t find the right words.

 

God damn, I can’t wait until tomorrow is over.

You can’t say that everyday.

October 12, 2012

AM Minneapolis (Before Five in the Morning)

Shaken from slumber by the semblance of an early morning dance.

The darkside of a lunar wane exposed; the heavens stretch forever as our necks bend to accommodate our vantage.

 

Scratched backs, cars drive by as I imagine their muffled sound in the future snows.

They remind me of thoughts from the past.

 

Black but blue, the shades of everything at this time seem new.

Coffee is a distant thought, breakfast is truly morning food at this time, moments are lost.

It is before 5 am and I do rule this city.

Boss.

 

All is fleeting faster in the vast darkness.

I ride down Franklin thoughts of yelling Powerderhorn, or Southside!

 

She says I need brighter bike lights, she doesn’t mention my intellect.

Off to support, the girls, the ladies, the babies.

 

We don’t know, she can’t go.

She did.

 

Met yesterday and spent the night in it.

Met yesterday near Chicago as she exited the bus.

 

Looked for a blond, but I found a brunette.

Surprise-surprise.

 

Minnesota desolate, again, the end of summer hinting of fall and enlightenment.

Leaves stripped from trees to come, forgetting of the heat, lying in the slum.

Pulling the AC out as if removing a splinter.

Ready for winter.

 

From before, I stand in front of her door on the sidewalk as she rides away.

Days are number, I guess that is true for all of us.

 

Getting along like no other, forgetting reality as lovers.

Good food and good preparation, the beauty of aggression transpired temptation…

No agitation.

 

Few on bike, some with heads down, a couple of nods.

Most are nodded off.

 

People walking, small talk, sharing little light and little thought.

The cool breeze reminds me of my thoughtfulness as I pull out a coat.

 

Certainly we must think ahead.

Or think again.

Or we just don’t.

 

He and she look for release, coming back from vacation I sit down and listen with patience.

I realize everything I need is here, I suppose that is anywhere and everywhere I go.

 

She says I am so one sided, I tell her I just don’t see it that way.

 

My thoughts run, a week ago my thoughts menaced my days.

No more tears, just happiness for what is near.

 

She left and came back, like the bird with the olive branch, like that story about a dove.

Life happens, but when it happens think less hate and more love.

 

This summer is naught only for loss, like live and let go.

I built a fire on the beach, I came to drunk on your porch while you kissed me.

However, you know.

 

Those  stars we saw earlier  that day next to the moon were Jupiter and Venus.

 

Momma’s got the squeeze-box and Daddy never sleeps at night.

You had me singing Here Comes the Sun before day break.

 

You were my guide, leading me to the bus with frosted windows on the journey home.

You sat in the grass smoking cigarettes in the sun, while milling over my finances and telling me everything would be okay.

 

Daily thoughts are of you.

That is how I make my way.

September 27, 2012

Somewhere South (Seriously Serious)

Somewhere in South Minneapolis,

 

Changing shirts feels like picking scabs at this time of day…

Rub my blackened eyes for the 15th time and fly away.

 

Playing dumb out of sheer wits-head to the sky, on account of giving a shit.

Vulnerability is a bitch.

 

Asking why?

What’s legit?

 

No one is playing tricks.

Competition what’s that?

 

Healthy and sick.

So sit back.

 

Anti-apathy happy-go-lucky.

Statistically right with insight.

Come fuck me, lovely.

 

Above the rest of the ugly, yet still paying homage to my goals.

Ask everyone with the polls,

(everyone around me knows)

they know.

They know.

 

Underground soul not to be sold.

Never on sale.

Growing like mold.

Out of control.

Learning and progressing forward from the old…

 

So.

 

She comes to blow then go.

Out slow-straight process.

Nightly prospect.

Cesspool flow, coming from the dome which most loath out of logic.

 

Its known to be known.

 

I just push my bike pedals and roll.

 

Think about it, ask about me.

 

I’ll be downtown nightly, getting trashed probably.

 

TS_

 

P.S.

Naps are necessary.

September 10, 2012

The Difference in Change

You’ve got to think, when you’ve given it all and there is nothing more to give… ¬†Did you enjoy the way you lived?

 

***

Feet planted in this section of the planet trying to save nerve while managing habits.

 

Getting better at throwing empty beer bottles in the trash can, playing Mario Kart and not coming in last man.

That’s the difference from my original arrival; that’s the¬†difference between death and ¬†survival, what I know.

 

What do we know about denial?

 

Tribal; making sure shit isn’t hollow.

 

Banging head against the wall to hear a thud.

Found a stud, prepared point for penetration, chair fixed on a rug.

 

Paint-chip displacement.

 

Hammer in hand, nail pinched between two thumbs and pain.

 

We wallow in the distance.

We cherish the gifted.

We ride trains.

 

We bury all the mistresses with broken dishes in a riverbed to get washed away with the rain…

 

Super-smart head.

 

(All friends gathered in laughter thereafter.)

 

Enlisting all of the children while taking away their wishes.

 

Hopefully investigating a past tense situation.

Hopefully still studying after graduation, and not in procrastination.

 

The sun wakes me through a window in this building.

Her body is in Madison-so, this morning is chilling.

Killing time; drinking wine to unwind.

 

Falling behind as we fall to our knees; cards aligned.

Lack of greed, sit at ease.

Hands clasped in lap listening to the breeze in the trees.

 

Leave for a moment.

For a moment only, then I shake my head and fall back to earth.

 

***

 

Early to rise gets the prize; taking time to change the tides.

All for good or bad, is all the same.  Taking something away from the daily exchange.

 

August 23, 2012

Sleep Apnea

If you want to see me, come see me-

A lot of people do.

 

Wake up, breakfast; another day in tattered shoes, and food.

Another day to not be rude.

Another day to choose.

 

Choices challenge…

 

My mind rooted to traffic.

Oh, the sights are graphic.

-The detailed movement of people, places, and things.

 

Stop-light…

 

Finding relaxation on idea, dismissing all fear.

 

And life…

 

Life sits on a balance; feast or famine.

Embraced or abandoned.

Picked-up or stranded.

 

We get along…

 

Did you get the cash transfer?

Oh, it doesn’t matter.

Plastered, drunk again, searching for answers to pastures and grandeur; to meeting loved ones in the hereafter.

 

What a life…

 

Yet, I sit with this coffee and this debt.

Breathing easy, calming-exercise to get the weight off my chest.

Half-spent in thought.

 

She says I must have done something bad in my past to wake from my sleep like that.

I tell her nothing.

-Don’t worry.

 

She says, “Yeah, I know you.”

“So why do you sleep with me?”

“It feels safe.”

 

Pink pigment, like piglet.

I detest, not embarrassed, but I rest when she rests without regret.

Hiding stress under her dress.

 

This mess is structured…

 

My eyes take it in.  

 

We just met and she is bent-

While I keep it straight forward.

 

No time to wonder.

As she nears the border.

 

***

 

In a state of stating a statement…

 

I woke to yawn.