Read This Aloud

Sometimes… Actually a lot of the time I wish I was dumb. I think far too much. Sometimes I think myself out of my own mind. Sometimes I look out of my eye sockets and look down at my body and feel truly trapped. A lot of the time I look in my head and feel helplessly stuck with myself. I mean what actually is a memory. Is it the images and sounds of experiences of the past or is it still present? What constitutes the present?. Oh there goes another second of my lifetime. Why am I not out jumping out of aeroplanes? Or climbing boulders or helping sick kids? Am I sick? Why am I not helping myself? Sometimes… Well a lot of the time, I don’t too much like the Idea that I can’t control my penis. Actually, my penis pretty much seems to control me. Pretty primitive, eh? Why can’t I be a cat or a cloud or a flower someone gives to another person they love? Do I even have the right to uproot a flower to show my appreciation for an-others existence? I don’t so much like horror flicks, because I always tend to put myself far too much into the scenarios. Like watching one of my friends or family members being brutally murdered. Sometimes I think about killing people. Not in a homicidal way. I think, I just think of these things because I want to understand them. I don’t understand how anyone can kill another person. I think I have tried to once. Or at-least tried inflicting pain on another. I think it was in a fit of rage from discovering my past lover in bed with a former friend. Pretty primitive, huh? The ironic thing is that I ended up dying myself that day, due to five blows to the head with a louieville slugger. I don’t exactly remember what happened but I think I deserved it. I had to be taught how to walk again. Now if only someone could teach me how to control my penis. That would be great. I don’t so much like porn flicks either. I always tend to put myself far too much into the scenarios. I believe a therapist would say I was exposed to them far too early. I mean wow, 5th grade. To be regularly exposed to loveless pumping and thrusting and moaning at such an underdeveloped state of mind can really fuck someone up. Don’tcha think? I think I treat people the way I would want to be treated. Thats one morale I picked up. So I think that is why I don’t understand when people don’t treat me the way I want to be treated. Its very confusing. Sometimes I feel very anxious which leads to aggression, because most of the time I look down at my “disproportional” body and feel trapped and don’t understand how or why anyone tolerates me naked, or why I have friends or why they like me. Am I a good person? I don’t think so. I mean I don’t know what I mean. Do I have friends because I treat them the way I want to be treated? Do they love me? Or do they just say they love me because they want me to love them? Or do I say I love them for the same reason. I am anxious a lot, and for the most part treat my anxiety with alcohol. I smoked weed sometimes but it just made me feel more trapped in my body. I don’t fear God or cops or crooks or death or hell or even heaven for that matter. What I most fear is rejection. Rejection for my past. For almost being a killer or something like that. I still feel like I have killed. But I don’t want to feel like that. Please don’t reject me for feeling like I have killed. I love you, remember? Please don’t reject me. I am very self conscious. Sometimes I feel like killing myself. Don’t worry, not in a suicidal way. But because I don’t understand how I even exist… for that matter, I don’t even understand how one truly loves oneself. What constitutes one worthy of loving themselves? I am pretty fond of romantic comedies. I always tend to put myself far too much into the scenarios and that makes me feel good. Good and dumb and content because all I want is to have love, and for everyone else to have love and be dumbfounded by the power of love. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes its for a reason, other times its for no reason that i am aware of. I think sometimes its because I am mourning the inner-child that saw one too many porns in elementary school and can’t really understand how to control his penis. A lot of the time I choose to like things because no one else likes them. Because they make more sense to me when no one else likes them. And most of the time I lose interest in them once they become “mainstream”. Not because I lose “hipster” points. But because i feel that if too many people like one thing, that they don’t really know why they like it, in-turn destroying any beauty that this “unliked” thing once possessed. Then inadvertently destroying any beauty that I have felt or possessed and I am once again stuck with only myself. I am dating someone now that I truly feel has me pegged and at the same time I feel that I have her pegged. It is really beautiful. Because everyday is the same, but she shows me hows it’s different. I wish I would of known her in 5th grade, so she could’ve shown me to understand how to control my penis before it controlled me. I love her you know? I love her very much. Though I wish no-one else loved her, or even liked her. So that I could enjoy her entire beauty for myself. But she is teaching me to be selfless. I am glad people love her. I am glad she loves me. Even if I don’ t understand why. I am anxious a lot that she will reject me. I fear that she will leave me for being an almost killer. I want her to show me how to love myself the way that she loves me, or how I love her. I think I am the most vain and selfish person I know. I can’t even tell my dad or brother that I love them and vise versa. I don’t think they know how to control there penises either. I wonder if anyone does? I cry sometimes. I wish I could cry on demand. That would a great career move as an actor. I think I would be a great actor. I mean, what is easier than being someone else right? Sometimes I feel dumb. Like an animal, but cursed with the understanding that I don’t understand anything. I am pretty fond of love. I want to love everyone; Even Hitler or Jack The Ripper or Slave Owners or even Pedophiles . Please don’t reject me for wanting that. I am very fond of love. I am very self conscious. Please don’t reject me for that.

Joshua Tool – 11/17/2008

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1 Shot! 2 Shot! 3 Shot! FLOOR!

At least once a week we find ourselves downtown in some familiar friends apartment. Like clockwork we begin to look for a new board game to play as means for entertainment. Picking right back up from the previous week almost as if we had just pressed pause. About halfway through the first round its already time to make things more “interesting” with a shot of moderately priced whiskey and a cigarette. Now this is just the first one so it is fine, and then…

“Well okay, one more and then we will get back to the game”, friends insist.

“Sounds good to me” I concur.

You kind of just change the subject and fall back into the living room, onto the couch and into your computer. Before we know it the game is background noise to the sound of shot glasses hitting the kitchen counter for good luck as the tenth or eleventh one slides down my throat. My face begins to flush and heat. This is about the time that I notice that you aren’t exactly overjoyed with the “man” I have made myself again. Quite incoherent at this point I don’t exactly know how to “slurlessly” speak to you. So I pretend to not notice that this is a big deal for you and we just decide that sleep is probably the best thing to do. So we undress and work our boney frames into the old black futon. We might discuss this uneasy situation right before sleep but it is doubtful that I can keep from passing out mid-sentence. So the cycle continues, because my stomach constantly continues to hunger for that oh so familiar burning in hopes to dumb down and make things more “interesting” yet again. But my heart hungers for a more progressive solution now. So I’ll just let your intoxicating presence be enough.

So I’ll just let you be enough.

Joshua Tool – 11/16/2008

Tired Of Playing Hide ‘N Seek With God

For me to say that you have cheated on me, would imply that we were involved in some sort of game

However, I don’t think that is the case

This was never a thing of skill or luck

For that matter it was never something to feel cheated on in the first place

You do not belong to me and never have

I never belonged to you and never will

Because we are the same condensed matter that floats through this snow globe looking for a unique snowflake

Just as my car or your clothes or the neighbors cat

Breathe in

Breathe out

Its all the same

And these are not bitter words

They are very much grateful

The only thing that turned our dirt bound bodies into love baring beauties, was the short period of time when our souls slow danced in one others blacktop pupils

Friction

Connection

It was an agreement to save eachother at-least one song for the end of an awkward prom

Mostly spent sitting and sipping spiked fruit drinks

As for now the punch is flat and the DJ sucks, so we have to find a new rhythm to tap our feet to

So I will continue to dance and float and float and dance

As you will do the same

You are grass and sun and tree and air

I am cement and booze and building and neck ties

I am You are Me

Every vibration, every taste, every touch, every smell, every word meant for our ears, nose, mouth and body still lingers in the air

If you are silent you will hear them

If you are still you will feel them

If you are painting you will taste and smell them

See It never starts or stops

It just is…

Joshua Tool – 09/17/2008

I Hate Winnipeg

Some would take the impression that I was a victim of epilepsy

With the untimely way I would seizure over you as our fireworks created a kaleidoscope burst of extreme off-sets and strobe light scenarios

Up and down, back and forth, pressing my lips to your lips and my nose to your cheek

Hoping that if only I could press hard enough, we would fuse into one blood pumping vessel

One air sharing being

I told you that I would love you forever or at-least until we were dirt

Even though our recent departure may seem mournful

The only appropriate watershed be from the clouds

We would take the form of flowers

We will sprout and stretch and bloom and our sweet spring aroma will never be matched

We will be a regular ol ‘bunch of rein-carnations

We’ll bask all day in the crisp clean air

And we will wait…

and wait and wait and wait and wait and wait

and pollenate

Joshua Tool – 09/04/2008

I am just vacation for girls with A.D.D.

August 23rd, 2008

I can still remember the first night we met.

It was pure accident. Or fate. If you believe in that whole thing. I had inquired of Heidi if she would like to hangout that evening. She said “Sure but I am with a friend. Is it okay if she comes over too?”

“Yeah thats fine. I don’t mind”

I had no idea or intention of having you come too so that I had someone to hit on while I was drunk.

You two arrived and almost cautiously knocked on the door, as if you were afraid you might be knocking on the wrong one. I think it was Ely that answered the door, but thats irrelevant. Heidi entered and you followed shyly behind . You walked through my apartment door in that knitted black beanie and your eyes were just slapping me sober.

“Hi, I’m Josh”

“I’m Courtney”

“Wait, I think I have met you before”

“Yeah, I think it was at your old house downtown”

“Oh right, right. Well it’s nice to meet you again”, I replied shaking your hand and smiling as if I already knew things would be perfect after that.

We hit it off so well. We talked for hours that night, though i don’t remember exactly what about [due to my indefinite state of intoxication]. I really wish I could remember our conversation that night. Now it’s just flashes of imagery. Moving from kitchen rants to couch cushions, and eventually we wound up in my bedroom and I couldn’t help but stare at you through the blue glow from the computer screen, as you lip-synced to manchester orchestra with your legs crossed in my swivel chair, you had such a refreshing passion and life in you. It was the first time I have ever seen that certain spark in another person.

The next morning I woke to an empty bed and an achey head.

Was it a dream?

I had to find you again.

But even before I attempted to call anyone that might know you, you had already left me a note with a message reading, “It was very fantastic hanging out last night, call me sometime soon if you would like to again!(***) ***-****. oh and make sure you listen to the manchester orchestra that i downloaded because it is great.”

It’s funny because now I can’t seem to take manchester out of my CD player.

I wanted to play it cool but I couldn’t hesitate. So I gave it a couple of anxious hours before I contacted you.

I don’t know if that is a long enough time to wait to be considered “Playin it cool”, but I don’t care.

We met in the parking lot of my work just after close. I didn’t know your car yet, so I scanned the parking lot trying to act casual. You got out of your car and I couldn’t feel my legs. Only the nerves in my stomach. I didn’t know if I should give you a hug or not, so I didn’t. I just walked towards you and tried to think of something to say. But everything that came out was a stutter. I never stutter. You just laughed and imitated how much I butchered the words, but you made me feel better after the flirtatious teasing by letting me know about your cerebral palsy. And I told you about my imbalanced equilibrium. Which later became an inside joke every time one of us did something stupid.

“oh, it must be my equiwibweeum or your sewabal pawsy acting up”

You asked me to run around the parking lot as you hopped on one foot to show me the difference between your left and your right leg strength.

You started to come over every night after that. We would partake in a routine of excessive drinking and music. The conversations wouldn’t end until the rest of the world went to work. Oh, how I loved our conversations. I swear you are the first lover I could every be so intimate with.

I don’t think Daniel’s hair will ever look as cool compared to the night we cut it ourselves in my bathroom and gave him an accidental euro-mull-comb-over cut.

We even took some nice polaroids.

I loved it when you would refer to things as “Nice things” or “Nice Times”

Polaroid pictures also became a familiar thing. I think we all enjoyed taking pictures in that indian headdress that you bought in manitou. We even smeared lipstick on our faces to look more authentic.

I think one of the first times I realized I was in love with you was about two weeks in. Everyone went to Schylar’s parents house and had a dance party with whiskey sours and 3oh!3. I loved the fact that you barely knew anyone [not even me], but you still weren’t afraid to dance. That night we spent hours in your car listening to music that you thought i’d appreciate [and I did]. We talked about our beliefs and how neither one of us believed in the traditional sense of marriage, we talked about our likes and dislikes. One of your dislikes being that you hate it when you try to show someone a song and they talk through it. I didn’t make a sound through Flobots, or any other song you put on. We just shut our mouths and opened our ears, attempting to peer through the fogged windshield with our cigarettes increasing our buzz. What a connection we had, and the music that night just seemed to fuel the passion. I didn’t even mind sleeping on that tiny one-seater futon, as long as it was with you. That night i felt so alive and i wanted everyone to know.

I love that you like your music for what it is to you and for no-one else. I have listened to that mix you made at-least 35 times, and that’s not an exaggeration. I also sometimes get mad when someone rides in my car and talks when I am listening to it. I can still see you doing that little head-bob jig you do so well. Shimmying your neck and shoulders up and down to favorite songs, wearing glasses three sizes too big for anyones face.

We would meet every night at the gas station Daniel worked at. So that I could leave my car for Daniel to drive home and you would so generously drive us both back to my house. Most of the time I would need to buy food since I never planned ahead. So we would drive to king soopers and hold hands down the isles searching for something vegetarian that actually tasted good. Most of the time it just ended up being pizza. When we would leave, you’d remarked about how empty the streets were.

“What if we are in zombie world and we are the last survivors” you would propose

“That would be pretty intense”

“Yeah, but we have to still obey the law, otherwise the zombies will find us easier”

“Like driving the speed limit and paying for the food in king soopers, even if nobody’s watching” I said, instigating the idea further

Thus the theme song was born.

“O-bey the laws-of zomb-bie world!”

It was a blast to pretend with you.

Just like the time I came out of the liquor store and while you had time to think in the car, you had been watching a man talking on his cellphone through a blue-tooth.

“What if doctors prescribed to schizophrenic people blue-tooths? Like, so that it looks like they are talking on the phone with someone instead of talking to themselves. I mean, what if that guy is schizophrenic and we would have no idea.”

“Haha that would be a great solution to schizophrenic people in public places.”

You always did have some pretty “out-there” ideas, but so do I, and that is what I loved about you.

You were so inspiring to me. I even picked up piano. I remember when I was writing a song about you in my car because i couldn’t concentrate in the house. You came over and sat in my car with me. I even sang it for you.

“You’re corky and I’m dorky, We’re spoonin oh yeah forking!”

I don’t normally sing for people unless they are in the band. But for you it just came out.

I’m glad we could be so open and silly with each other.

Like the time you told me that my cologne smelled like your lesbian aunt. I don’t know if that is a good or a bad thing, well I guess I just don’t know if she has good taste or not. I would always find something lovely in your scent. You smelled like pure nostalgia. Like every beautiful thing that I have ever held dear.

I hope you truly knew what I meant in my poem for you when I wrote, “you taste like a prayer to a god i thought gone, but he must of been hiding in your lips all along”.

I miss those lips, and brushing your hair behind your ear as I kissed every inch of your face.

It’s kinda funny, when I told you I loved you, it came out easier than I thought [it might of been easier because I still drank like a sailor] but regardless, my convictions were genuine.

There were no second thoughts or over analyzations. I just simply let you in.

“I love you too”

And I exhaled in a sigh of joy and relief. I became even warmer than the liquor had already made me. I couldn’t be happier, as we buried ourselves underneath my over-sized satin comforter. The next morning I just wanted to stay in bed with you all day [I guess you felt the same because you wrote it in the first page of the bright red journal you got for me].

I loved waking up and turning over to see your bashful sleeping face. For some reason, through the course of a night, your eyeliner smeared enough to make you appear Egyptian. Truly beautiful. Inspiring me [even more than i already wanted to] to kiss you good morning and run my hands across your exposed silky legs. I never told you that. I guess I just wanted that to be for me and if you knew, there would be a chance that you might inadvertently make it stop. You would slowly come to, and let out a giggle and sometimes a small wheeze from the cigarettes we smoked the night before. I would kiss you as many times as I could squeeze in before I would already be running late for work.

You would always tempt me in the cutest voice, “don’t go to work”

“Aww, I wish I didn’t have to”

Still kissing you between sentences.

“don’t go to work”

“I’m sorry, I must. Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

“I love you”

“I love you too.” you softly confirmed as you drifted back to sleep.

I could face anything after that.

I miss waking up to you. How we would always make time to discuss our dreams or at-least what we remembered of them.

“I just had the strangest dream!” I blurted out as you quietly laid ready to hear about it.

“So, we were in Wal-greens and the clerk was following us around, but not because he thought we were gonna steal. More like he worked on commission and we were the first customers in days. Then when we went to pay. He busted out in song!”

“Can I interest you in a pack of cigarettes? Can I interest you in some gum-gum-gum-gum? Can I interest you in some BIRTH CONTROL BIRTH CONTROL?!?!”

I woke up right after that part

“Haha what a strange dream” you replied.

For some reason I always remembered my dreams when I was with you. Now when I go to sleep to stop thinking about you, you just show up in my dreams. You have been in them every night since we met.

When we couldn’t sleep, we would go on late-night Wal-mart adventures. I think the best one was when we humored ourselves by making our first “married purchase”. The first season of “Early Edition”.

“If I had tomorrow’s newspaper today”, I would’ve saved this in the nick of time.

We watched that season for an entire afternoon once and occasionally at night. The rest of the nights, we’d lay naked pressing our bodies together to the point that nothing, not even air, could exist between us. We would grasp each others hands, holding them to our hearts, and all was one. We’d share our daily experiences with one another and you would read “The Perks Of Being A Wallflower” to me right before we went to bed. I would fall in and out of consciousness trying to fight sleep and follow the story.

I finished the book alone…

…My room is dirty now

Its has been since you left

And this is the third time I have used that floor lamp that we picked out [also from a Wal-mart adventure].

“I think you should get the orange one”

“Thats what I was gonna say!”

We always did agree on taste….

…Now I smoke too much and haven’t eaten in what seems like weeks. It must just be the snake in my stomach.

Now all I can think of is your lips on his, and your skin pressed to his.

Your “I love you”, matching his softly into one another’s ears.

The holidays will be especially lonely without you.

Joshua Tool – 08/28/2008

You Cut Your String But Not Your Ties

Into rusted old bean cans we would talk of our dreams through a piece of red string from our upstairs windows above the side yard

Then four years later we were caught in your mother’s laundry room so called, “fornicating” on top of the off-white soap stained washer between the dryer and the steem cleaner

I wasn’t allowed to see you after that

Another year had passed until I wrote you a letter but it was more like a song when I recited it to you through that same upper floor window

By this time you had a boyfriend and I had a complex

I couldn’t help but to watch you water the lawn and walk the dogs every dew ridden morning before he picked you up for school in his high school 80’s starter car

The paint job reminded me of our rusted tin cans

I remember the day he left you for cold in front of your snow buried steps

You cried in my room the entire night

It was the coldest night of the winter and your pants were soaked to the knee

So you found yourself into a pair of my favorite navy blue sleep sweats

I held you until you fell asleep on my freshly made bed

You consumed yourself under my plaid down comforter

I watched as you softly sniffled yourself to sleep

And before I turned down the night and held you through the winter

I stared at my tin can in the corner of my room and entertained the idea that you would probably never make me your lover again

And red as that tattered string, I kissed your lips for the last time as a lover

The snow spoke of pianos that night

And the wind chimed us into slumber

A place I wanted to stay

A place that I could still dream through a string

Joshua Tool – 01/25/2008

I Fucked A Flower. I Grew A Garden.

Last week you gave me your pillow as we slept blanket-less on the hard wood floor

Fevered glands finding themselves in wet regret

Friendly hands no longer find

Trying daily to drink myself to sleep away my pining

Yet even when I spin to sleep

Its never quite the same

So I sit here and vomit for the trend

Cause I don’t think I’d ever seen you bleed so much

Oh how the colors raced down your face

Like fireflies in the night time skyline

Your eyes lit up

And the room dimmed down

Now we lay amongst the wilted wallpaper

And attempt to reinvent this room

Oh, and will you flush that condom for me?

Joshua Tool – 04/13/2007

Her Name Was Scarlet… 
Yeah, She Liked To Sleep

Our windowsills swell and creek’n speak in rainy tongues

As its gray noise wisps outside the window’s TV-like pane

Channels constantly changing

I want nothing more but to hold you in my autumn arms 

and watch the world fall gracefully into the gutters

Only to form a bed of leaves for our winter napping

Time itself will never be the same

Now that we’ve swallowed the seasons 

our bodies become cameras

With film fixed and focused eyes

A storm was stored in our pupils perspective polaroid

s

Novembers turning imitates our song of sweet nothings

Joshua Tool- 12/18/2006