Alis Chronicles

Stick Thin Boy (for Patrick)

2011-11-14T21:15:00.000-08:00

Stick thin boy
you were
the light
that lit
the room
you
bubbled over
joy unleashed
with each
new idea

Why did you
go there
all alone
where you
shouldn't be
Stick thin boy
to the water

Petiole

2010-12-03T09:11:00.000-08:00

My tiny beating heart
faintly glowing
lantern on a tendril
reaching out
hanging bare
you would not go there
no fond smile
of quaint naivete
just you wouldn’t
only I would
so I hang
droop
withdraw.

Why couldn’t you give the
right response
sunlight for a seed
water for my thirsty throat
I put it back inside
pack it tight
and warm
and safe
till better weather comes
another season
another love lost
fallen leaf
compost

Escaping the Matrix

2010-02-17T13:11:00.000-08:00

To succeed, you have to go faster than time. Jump ahead of time. Have a feeling, a thought, an action, in the right order, with the right sequence and timing, and miracles happen. Traders sell at the right time, politicians act on inside information, developers catch a trend early, surfers catch a wave at its peak. The key is to predict an opportunity before it happens. To determine something no one yet knows. The weight of these intuitive actions, once realized, can be immense. In suicide, people went too fast. Thoughts and actions got out of sequence, parallel possibilities merged, producing consequence. As Morpheus said “Time is always against us.” Unless you can beat time.

Loner Freaks (like us)

2009-10-12T12:06:00.000-07:00

earthy odor of confidence and poise
evaporates
cold quivering metal mind
shivers, barren
“This is the Village of the Forgotten,
The Place of Lost Places
These are Those who were Left Behind”
she squints in the light of the impending hour
as two grandfathers grind their chimes
and a voice screams from the speaker phone
her mind
now fully programmed
whispers
“Type, damn it. Type.”

Crashing Through Treetops

2009-04-07T15:21:00.000-07:00

She stared at the tops of trees wondering why she didn’t love herself. What could she quit, who could she leave to make things right? Then she would be happy, like all the other changes she’d made in her life. Lots of changes she’d made. She loved change. It wasn’t the result of the change that she so needed, it was the changing itself – going through the changes, striving endlessly. A car jerked forward into the intersection. In her mind, it slammed hard into her door, crumpling metal, tossing her to her side, her blonde hair splayed across the seat. Blood splattered on windows. Back to reality… she drives. Why weren’t things easier?

Inside Alis (Part Two)

2008-01-03T21:22:00.000-08:00

Alis Diamond is strange. She purposely avoids any exercise in which she is required to analyze herself because she is not really her own entity at all, but an amalgamation of tangible influences contributed by thousands upon thousands of knowing and unknowing people. Alis knows she is strange, and she's satisfied, even pleased, with that simple definition.

Alis is a collector of ideas, thoughts and impressions. She is each day the "clean slate" which psychologists claim can only be maintained for the first few days after birth. She channels her energies not into finding herself, for she is just a pinball on a world machine. She directs her efforts toward understanding the rest of the world.

Inner peace and equilibrium are precious gems in the mantle of humanity, to be sought out and obtained only after deconstructing (not destroying) one's outer core of hardened emotion and pragmatism. Each irony, each insignificant inconsistency in world society, is a pin prick in the tinder of a battered straw voodoo doll clasped tightly in the hands of fate.

Alis feels the strangeness of human existence as would a single grain of white sand on a wide vacant beach. She goes with the tide.

Self Emmolation (A Man with a Cause)

2008-01-03T21:12:00.000-08:00

All the waves of society's underestimation
cannot wash out the flame of intent
intent on recognition
it cannot be extinguished
it is only transferable.

The warmth which envelopes the emoliate
and charges him with purpose
sends its fiery tongue to lick the public's conscience
to singe their souls
and taunt them
And as all protruberances of the human host
become concave
the blood and fleshy sinew hearts of a few
bystanders
meet with reason
and strain outward from their shallow sockets
Their lives have been touched
by the passing of a stranger's

And like the smoking remains
of charred bone and teeth
The long and painful journey
lies prostrate before them.

Shattered Alis

2007-05-05T18:57:00.000-07:00

On the elevator, the sound of a woman jingling her keys, or a man jingling the change in his pants pocket, was often abnormally loud and grated against Alis' nerves like the sound of shattering glass. Sharp and jagged, flying in all directions. Like her.

True Identity

2007-05-05T18:41:00.000-07:00

Here I am, independent. Yes, it's good to have your individuality. To shine in your own light. But to do this, you must step back from your lover and your family. Go away and leave them in trust, and try to have fun hoping they'll still be there when you return. It's good not to be too codependent, but it's good to say spontaneously "I'd rather be with you." Something bad does not have to happen every time I leave, every time I breathe my air freely.

It's a sign of true identity to leave and then come happily home.

The Disappearance

2007-05-05T18:09:00.000-07:00

I Am Dirty Footprint
Chupacabra
Shuffling Snuffleuphagus
Snorting glue

I'm graffiti
on charred trains
such blank remains

I am industrial youth
elemental
heavy metal
throbbing core

The world snores
So what

WHERE ARE MY PEOPLE?
WHERE IS MY FACE?

Silent Treatment

2005-10-30T20:52:00.000-08:00

Creeping stillness
the calm remains.
Sizzling embers
so unoriginal,
our forgotten fever
burns.
Holding court
over us,
Indescructible...
More so than we.

Seeking Sanity

2005-06-26T21:53:00.000-07:00

The subject line of her email said "Seeking Sanity: How to Develop your Teflon technique." Does anyone have tips on growing a thick skin? She knows she needs to let things bounce off her, but how does she stop reacting and become rubber? Aren't you supposed to react?

She visualizes the column of air inside her that made her feel stong yesterday (yesterday's 5 minute self-improvement mini-movement.)

Barbed words fly
toward the swirling column
now a whirling white tornado.
The words scream
"Ting!"
They careen away at odd angles
off the twirling furious edges
of her cylinder,
ninja stars
ricochet
like gangsta bullets
in a bad part of town.
Well this can't be the technique,
she thinks.

Alis Inside

2005-02-07T21:37:00.000-08:00

In her interactions with people, and in business, Alis could easily predict each situation's outcome. She wished she had never read Machiavelli's "The Prince."

She spent a lot of time thinking about the process. Because she knew the outcomes in advance, the situation could quickly become revolting. "Like a bad chess game," she told her lover. "I don't want to play." When given the choice, she preferred to choose battles she knew she could win. Everyday events fell into predictable molds. Politics became business as usual. She was able to determine her probability of success - - the likelihood of pushing an idea through, or making a significant change. She enjoyed looking at how she would get there - - what could be, so much better than what was.

She spent too much time looking ahead - - invalidating the current moments by dwelling on the future. She looked forward to moments of change, like the first day in a new apartment, or travelling to a new town.

Like a cryptographer reading secret code, she dissected each day.

Right Then

2004-11-04T13:58:00.000-08:00

When you got wasted
you were only a friend
that's all you could be
right then

Graffiti Suicide

2004-11-04T13:53:00.000-08:00

Draft Thug Niggaz

The Edge of Insanity

2004-11-04T13:07:00.000-08:00

I continue to believe, increasingly, that we are all just one short step away from insanity most of the time.

Humankind finds solace in routine or in "doing what we must" (survival). But the knife in your hand making the family dinner could, with a sudden unexpected movement and little or no pain, cause irreparable damage or even death.

Every time we stand at the edge of a cliff, we stop ourselves from jumping. Have you never had thoughts in anger of things you knew should never be done, or even thought about?

The sweet escape of insanity is always close at hand. Like an addiction you can dabble with it, tempt fate, deny its easy appeal. But stay there too long, you may never come back. You may not want to.

Lover's Last Dance

2004-11-04T13:04:00.000-08:00

In heels and dress and hair and makeup she leaves the house for the big dance. In the front yard there are two rattlesnakes doing a mating dance. She gets a camera and takes their picture, and then gets a shotgun and blows them away.

Walk, Don't Run

2004-05-22T20:41:00.000-07:00

Hey, I
didn't mean nothing
No one
runs up behind me
Boys playing, joggers
little girls,
I always look
sometimes I yell
Hey,
don't run up
behind people like that
I could have hit you.

How Much is Too Much

2004-05-22T20:32:00.000-07:00

How much is too much?
Tell me, my friend.
Which day is the first
day of the end?
Will I ever have
another chance
to live this part
of my life again?

How much is too much?

Growing Up

2004-05-14T21:01:00.000-07:00

1993 at age 29 was the year of rejection.
I rejected things and they rejected me.
And I felt more like the self I knew from growing up
than in all the years of growing.

About Alis

2004-05-13T20:34:00.000-07:00

In her job, she had to be hyper-aware. Aware of each tiny detail when proofreading, aware of the phones incessantly ringing, aware of a problem across the room, and aware of the occasional twinge of annoyance that unconciously altered the way she spoke.

She had one of those readable faces. Despite years of practice escaping her body shell, and turning off feelings like faucets, still, people thought they saw things on her face. Then there was the energy thing. People could feel her negative energy. They could feel her anger and frustration. She had a rule that if you kick a door or punch a wall or whatever, as long as it was inanimate, it didn't matter. As long as it wasn't human, which was often hard enough. Yes, it was disturbing to others, but for her, it was restraint.

Meanwhile, she thought much of her accentuated awareness, her biggest problem being that she actually gave a shit. Things like bad service got her nerves. In this flush economy, the service industry had depleted its reserves. Cashiers, waitresses, attendants in general functioned like robots only needing to say "Welcome to MacDonalds can I take your order" regardless of whether they were actually ready to take that order. A person steps up to the counter and the words pour out the cashier's mouth, but they are not listening. They said their piece unconsciously and they have done their job. You wonder don't they care that I've had to say my order three times? And sadly realize: no. Not one iota.

She liked a good ending. Similarly, she liked the last days leading up to each grand event, when you are almost upon doing that which you've been working up to, like Christmas Eve to Christmas. She thought a lot about her girlfriend's suggestion that she was a procrastinator. Never having been called that before, the subject was intriguing. But after much thought, she determined that she was not a procrastinator at all, because it really didn't matter how much you procrastinate -- you don't earn the title as long as you get the things done on time, which she did quite faithfully.

AlisLogic, she like to call it, this perfect rationalization. It made complete sense to her although she realized it did not to others. Along the same line, it was perfectly acceptable and sometimes beneficial to hit, swear at, or flip off TVs, computers, telephones, broken appliances, cabinet doors that hit you on the head and things that trip you in the dark. The logic here is that it is OK to take out your aggressions or momentary anger on all these items because they are inanimate. They are not living things, so better for them to bear the brunt of any physical reaction that works toward lessening any pent-up anxiety that might rear its ugly head at a less opportune moment involving humans. Let humans create their own angst, to be treated entirely differently, but let not the frustration of misplace and ill-performing inanimate objects enter the human fray. It is dealt with its own way and rightfully so.

Waiting in the elevator, the sound of jingling keys was like shattering glass. Like a movie where the background noises all are amplified for dramatic or suspenseful effect.

Driving home, her peripheral vision was amplified and supersensitive. When cars whizzed past her, she could feel their proximity like a hot hand squeezing her heart. Her chest constricted. Her breathing accelerated. She gritted her teeth.

She tried to explain why she didn't want a blanket. It would make her look weak. "You've got too many hang-ups," she was told. But she thought it was a rational, even interesting way to feel. A social observation. Power relationships 101 – control group coming soon to your living room.

BeatBoddhiWonder

2004-05-13T20:06:00.000-07:00

iris spreads as a dog
before a fire
and flattens like the
center lane of highway 5

pow'r touch like a Duraflame
burning rainbows
with everlasting promise

restless dreamer who screams
in her sleep
from angel to lion
slipping heartbeat

alone in your vastness
you need me

fearless lover
roaring through time
unchanged by empathy

you lure me from sleep
each moment a glance
new day unconnected

infidel
godless
graceless

mortal

14 Mission

2004-05-13T13:27:00.000-07:00

I left my morning
on the 14 Mission bus
among ordinary idiots
loud-talking losers
and trumped-up drug addicts
full of boring, baseless bravado

bus driver yelling at the passengers
passengers yelling at the driver

"There's no more room!"
"Don't keep stopping!"
"These kids need to get off!"
"Hey stop the bus!"

six blocks of screaming
ate my morning
senselessly... silently.

Don't Miss It

2004-05-13T12:24:00.000-07:00

"Most people don't know there are angels whose only job is to make sure you don't get too comfortable," she said. "They know how easy it is to fall asleep and miss your life."

Why does it matter?

2004-05-13T12:09:00.000-07:00

Often I wonder why it even matters, my thoughts, the things I care about. I mean why would it matter to other people?

Why do we all just keep going when we know everything is impermanent? How do we make ourselves do the things we really don't want to, just because we should? Why do we honor right or wrong, when we know how easily and quickly those concepts can be warped by our perceptions? Why do we continue to care?

Heather Lewis, the author of "House Rules" (Doubleday) answered this question well in an interview several years ago, with a phrase that's stuck with me all this time. The dilemma right now is "Do you choose fear or do you choose faith?" There are not many concrete reasons to be hopeful, but because of that, it's like you have to. The alternative is dark.