One day I will find the island I was born to be king of
Population zero and not rising any time soon
Somewhere off the coast of somewhere unheard of
It waits for me
But I’m not ready
I lost my birthright as I tumbled down the hill of innocence
into the burning forest of deadly sins

For years I wandered around waiting until it felt like home
But the beauty of those flames decreased with each passing day
As my chest filled with smoke
I began to notice the blackened vines wrapped around my ankles
It’s amazing how quickly you can fall out of love when it tries to trap you
Strong attractor, terrible captor

Faces soon appeared between the charred trees
Their eyes reflecting the desperation in mine
We broke each others bonds and forged a path to the sea
Now we chase the moon across it
Dragging in or wake those whose lungs had been seared
by the inferno we had escaped

One day I will find the island I was born to be king of
But “I” is now “we”
And now that we have recognized the error of our ways
We can rule properly
That island will never know lust, wrath, envy, gluttony, pride, or greed
And will never claim a single sloth as its resident
It prosper eternally in endless progression

no fanfare.

no ribbons.

no handholds.

no breadcrumbs.

no reality anymore.

best of luck.

Spit it straight. Not crooked or to the side, STRAIGHT.
What’s it all about?
What’s the fucking hubub?
Accomplishments? Naaahh.
Broken dreams? Naaahh.
Creativity? Hell naaahh.
On that new level shit. Too far advanced. Too futuristic. Two times two is four and fuck yeah I can still add.
Even subtract too. two. to. toe. tag.

I love a good pair of worn out shoes.

Sprinting down a hill. Rocks breaking through my broken soles.

My feet started to hurt and I got some dust in my eyes and teeth.

So I stopped.

I stopped running.

But I kept going.

I kept falling,

plummeting,

barreling down the hill.

The dirt rushing through my hair and the solid sky beneath my feet.

Then the opposite, then repeat.

And so on and so forth for a good month or two.

Or three.

Tumbling,

turning,

breaking bones.

But I feel like I’m settling down.

Maybe soon I’ll stop rolling,

and start standing back up.

And when I look all around me,

maybe all I’ll see are hills.

And maybe they’ll actually be mountains.

And maybe they’ll actually be peaks.

And maybe it’ll take me a while to pull myself together.

Because I keep falling down when I’m just trying to stand still.

But I love a good pair of worn out shoes.

there is a mausoleum in my head filled to the brim with voices.

it’s sole purpose is to house the dead dreams from when i was a kid.

all the things i never realized; the trips i never took with a family.

inside, the air is dank and warm.

less like a spring day, more like a basement in Cassopolis County, MI.

the walls are painted with the hopes my parents had for me and repainted with the goals my friends set for me.

the entire structure collapses in on itself every hour, on the hour.

unfortunately, it rebuilds itself in seconds, knowing where each stale brick misstep.

when the dust settles, the familiar dank fog creeps in, rendering the building vaguely redundant.

lather, rinse, repeat.

a life defining insanity.

alone is the way to remember.

without connection is the way to survival.

i seem to be trying really hard to destroy myself.

someday the process will be completed, either by succeeding or giving up and living a normal life.

maybe the two are one and the same.

it’s as if i have to fully rip everything out to rebuild from scratch.

tense moments are the only tangible thing anymore.

regards for my personal safety have gone out the window.

i loathe everything i see these days.

i want nothing to do with most things or people anymore, to the point of wanting to be left alone.

i’m going through the motions 80% of the time and the rest is at half steam.

i sacrifice people to my demons, most often without them deserving it in any way.

i can’t apologize anymore, the words are meaningless to anyone listening.

i part ways with all of you in a cloud of disgust and firm looks.

resignation tendered on most fronts.

time to pay myself for what i’ve done.

drum break, fucking, fucking, short
of breath, cream cheese, nothing, paper,
stayed in my heart, nobody is in
my face I’m not what I used to be,
be my only , attention span , I don’t
want____ camp fires(fives), fireman, cap gun,
cheesecake feet patrol wander vision
(we aren’t dead(fed), help me out
mention my name.

Speak what you need to
The words have lost their sparkle
Don’t try to find me

I’m waaaay too humble.

After years of providing you with all the proof you could ask for
that there is nothing in this world I wouldn’t do for you
I am shocked and amazed at how quickly your back could turn
Though I could be a prick at times
my love for you went beyond this life
I would make the catch before you realized you’d dropped the ball
Phones and freeways kept us connected
but you never seemed to understand that they go both ways
Always taking, never appreciating
Giving and expecting so much more in return
How could anyone live like that?
How could I have let it slide for so long?
How could I have let you be the one to end it?

I guess I should be thanking you for your betrayal
But all I want to say is, “Fuck you”

Fuck you

My demons have returned, fueled by distrust for all
I hear their claws scratching at my eyelids
It won’t be long until they find their way in
Yes, I’ve fought them off before
No, that doesn’t make it any easier
Hearing my name and then a series of whispers
Seeing several pairs of eyes darting quickly away
Is it really worse when they try to hide it?
Makes it harder to tell who your real friends are
but how many of us really have friends?
Have you ever loved anyone more than yourself?
No

My fear fades as I lose what little hope I had left
Paranoia isn’t the word I’m looking for any more
It’s all been much too real for far too long

I believe the hostile hummingbird–my neighbor, smoke buddy, and unlikely foe–migrated. I haven’t seen him for three days. I’ve grown used to daily threats on my patio, and I’m starting to feel a little lonely out there. I can’t imagine why this hummingbird wanted to scrap with me in the first place. I wonder if it had to do with my smoking? Whatever the cause, I already miss my little enemy. I remember the first time we met. It was a beautiful, but painfully bright, spring morn. Out of nowhere, a hummingbird appeared and hovered approximately 4 inches away from my face. The impression I got from the winged aggressor was that it was sizing me up. Part of me wanted to turn my head, so as not to take a blinding beak blow to the eyeball, but the rest of me was dead set on holding my ground. Before it broke our connection, I’d say we had about thirty seconds of silent adversarial respect between us. It took a few different quick positions in my immediate surroundings. It talked a little bird shit to me. Then it rushed to the nearest tree branch to glare from a comfortable distance. This sequence of events became a sort of routine for us, every other day or so, for a little less than a month. I hope it’s ok, and also that it found someone its own size.

Precipitous flow… OH NO!
Looks like the show’s a no go.
But we got friends and beer and a beach that’s clear.
We find bliss and reminisce the years with hugs and tears.
In true backhouse form, we blaze the sand storm
Battle the gusts and winds, strengthened by these friends.
Lose hats to waves, and Skippy to caves.
We behave like knaves – slightly tipsy, but brave.
Super hippie and KB, flanked by KC, besatree, and birthday B.
We had Boiled Ants in Nets, and we all lost bets
Cuz even J & D made it in by sunrise.
Jen got coffee to open the eyes
and Cardo busted out a juggle surprise
Mitch snapped pics of Pickles and sticks,
Images distorted of memories assorted
I’m so glad you all transported
To SLO for a show that got thwarted.
No mistake.
We’ll take a mancake at the Shackle
Play some games that make us cackle like the jackals we are
See that slackline Jon?
TACKLE!

Round two!!! Triumphant return to push through.
Do what we do to construe a relevant true.
Not expectant, just flagrant
desire to inspire a higher mindstate
from fire of choir acquired by fate.
Just wait.
Canaries out the cage…
Hit the stage to assuage your coming of age.
This page from the mine’s gotta rattle your spine
Cuz we define the divine design on every line.
These birds spit words while you recline.
Sit back. Take it easy.
While Anthony twists your mind a lil
with besatree and KAB.
Are kidding me? These three?
They got more life lessons in a pinky
than all of thee could find in a library.
Took cave level like a breeze.
Movin on to bridge level with ease.
Reveled like a disheveled devil
atop the mountain level.
Huckin clods to sea, echoing our spree
Like a banshee decree arising from debris
Perhaps now you all can see
Why we all agree the marquee
must soon shout BESATREE.

So we gave a little taste of the backhouse face
Replaced the daily haste with a couple of rhymes
Some jokes and smiles and memories of times
Harmless crimes and puns on mimes.
“You like that reprise?
Here, check these CDs”
SLO town enthralled and appalled,
by the things they heard bawled.
Job done, we make a quick run.
Grab some beer and steer
Back to the Shack for a slack.
Trade thoughts sincere and we cheer.
Revered how we persevered – well done.
Then my friends disappeared.

I’m jaded.

Rubbed in its greases
Its war on the unkempt plain of a used sauce pan
Outfitted in a topographical collection
It steams about iced landscapes
But when middles seep out
Middles, centrals, and their intersection
A support group in a bamboo cage
Touch feet to feet in a meek showing of solidarity
In remembrance of proper demoralization
Decide to see through the cracks
And create the rest through instinct
You can steal a kiss from a train
By laying your cheek on the rail
After it passes
Throw a voice
To meet a dummy
Who’ll likely find out
What a ring in a nose is for
This is the intimate setting
Tell me who looks down a dark hole
And wonders themselves to the bottom
Pull the chain and the light turns on
Who finds an animal corpse
And sticks a battery in it
We have the volume
To end our quiet lives
Some nights we stomp our
Eyeballs like grapes in barrels
Did face drunk stiff
And arms solid
Just go the distance of the gutter
In a sludgy runoff

I spent the entire summer of ’93
Hiding under my bed reading prisoner writings
And really bad translations of early 20th century French madmen.

I drank toilet water and liked it.
Anything I had to say was either whispered through an electrical socket,
Or written on a tiny piece of paper and pushed under my bedroom door.
I learned how to get high off grated nutmeg and make wine from rotten apples,
How to make dice out of toilet paper and a pipe out of an empty tube of toothpaste.
I started digging a hole in the wall…just in case.
I developed a special fondness for postage stamps.
I referred to my parents as ‘screws’
I lost language.
I began making little bird nests out of strands from my hairbrush.
I collected buttons, burned out matches, seashells, bits of string…little things like that.
I willfully hallucinated a friend…a very large woman who would sit in the corner-eating mice from a brown lunch bag.
The crunching was ghastly, but she was nice enough.
I dreamt of ocean air, balloon vendors, and the sound of coins dropping into automated slots and wake up w/ wet eyes.
Just when I had made real progress, I gave myself a concussion by tripping over a cord while attempting to catch a mouse that had escaped from the woman’s food bag because I couldn’t stand the thought of it crawling all over my face while I was having my sacred dreams of freedom.
My face plant was loud enough that it got the attention of my screws and I was promptly taken to the E.R. where I was found to be Anemic and…um, mentally unhygienic.
When I was allowed to go back home I found that all my favorite people were either dead or in exile:

George had been shot to death by the S.Q. guards; it was termed ‘justifiable homicide’ even though all the bullets entered his spine.
John Henry had been released to the American literati…he ended up stabbing a waiter who refused to let him use the bathroom and then later, hanging himself w/ bed sheets in his cell.
Celine became a Nazi pamphleteer and a champion of hand washing.
Assata made a break for Cuba.
Jack was released, became a librarian…then one day, he place his pocket watch on the ledge of a bridge and was never seen again.
Artaud never found the rightful owner of the magical staff, and was kicked out of Ireland for efforts…he later OD’d and was found cradling his shoe as if it were a baby….hell, maybe it was some kind of baby.

Fin

I have a madness of the heart,
And a passionately fractured mind,
I keep a thoracic surgeon and an alienist,
Working a debt in overtime.

I need a fair weather umbrella,
Or a foul weather friend,
A comfortable sword to fall on,
Or a fashionable death to keep me up w/ the ends.

The times change far too quickly,
Far too goddamned fast,
And the sheep I wish to count on,
Are sheep that have already passed.

I feel exhausted and almost eternal,
I know I’ve been here far too long,
But, am I a time traveler, or a Martian?
What sort of caged bird would sing such a song?

It is of these things that matter most,
That I am most unclear,
So I leave it to the professionals,
And turn my blind eye against my deaf ear.

Somebody better strike me down
Before I become the next great plague
Drinking whiskey and spitting fire
Burning everyone on my side or in my way
Go ahead and beat the hell out of me
I’ve stood before heavier fists than yours
And as bad as this could possibly get
I’ll still refuse to act like I give a shit
I’ve lived this long to make others smile
Faking my own I’ve been a stubborn child
But the charade is going to end tonight
Your teeth meet my hand wrapped around a mag light

It’s going to come crashing to the ground
In total darkness with a cracking sound
You’ll look to the empty sky in wonder
As the mistakes you’ve made pull you under
Shaking with laughter, I will stand tall
I wanted to save you but you chose to fall

a new image. period.

I have more new stuff on here   http://nicholasseckington.blogspot.com/

hope your weekends are filled full with beer, smokes and whatever else your heart desires!..and lots and lots of sun!

If constantly trying to see your position from others points of view, should it be considered thorough or vain?