TURN GREEN

there’s this woman behind the wheel of a car driving down the road in the middle of nowhere. it’s pitch black. middle of the night in the middle of nowhere. she comes to a red light and she comes to a steady halt and waits at the light. a minute goes by, the light is still red. she still waits. several minutes go by and she still waits. hours, days go by, but no, she thinks to herself, she must not run this light. it would be wrong to run this light. chances are if she runs the light no one would be hurt, she knows this, but if we disregard the laws that have been established to protect us, what separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom? nothing, she says to her self. birds hover above her. the sun rises and sets again. insects jump onto her windshield and off. the world changes around her, but she remains the same, unflinching to her convictions and the convictions she has been taught. babies are born, the elderly pass away. new technologies come into existence. couples fuck in their warm beds. people bitch about the weather, but refuse to talk sex, politics and religion, but this woman is not concerned about any of that as she waits desperately, starving to death on the inside, for this light in the middle of nowhere to turn green.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “KEROUACIANA #1″

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KEROUACIANA #1

I was napping under the freeway in the bone city of Los Angeleez, when a man walked by and he stopped and he asked me “Who are you?” “Who am I?” I said. “Who are you?” “Who are we?” and next thing I knew we were in his flat uptown, drunk on red wine, listening to Charlie Parker through the radio. Charlie was manic panic writhing up and down his saxophone beneath the electronic fuzz. The man who took me in paced around his apartment aimlessly. He was a strange man – his books scattered across his cigarette floor. I asked him what he did for a living and he pretended not to hear me, I’m pretty sure.

The wine hit us hard and we laughed at the Bodhisattva residing in our hearts. We laughed at fleeting enlightenment and we bonded over cold Chicago. I passed out on the dirty floor, but in my haze, I heard his girl come home and ask who I am and they riffed for a minute, her asking if I was another junkie and he said “No, well, I don’t think so,” but they calmed down and I faded to black again.

When I woke up, I was alone in the apartment. A note had been placed on my chest “Don’t worry about locking up. No one would rob this shithole anyways,” and that was that. I gathered myself and caught the next train out of the city of angels.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “BREAKUP WALTZ”

BREAKUP WALTZ

and the way
we go on
when our words
lose their weight
is all just
a strange form
of grieving

and the way
that we call
with nothing
left to say
is all just
a strange form
of grieving

when they’re there
they are there
so you have
things to say
to these ghosts
who walk down
your hallway

now, listen
i’m sorry
i loved you
that’s the truth
it’s too late
it’s over
it’s over

time is not
always in
four four time
sometimes it
does what it
wants to do

sometimes we
dance and when
the song halts
all we have
left is our
waltz

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “10TH & OSAGE”

10TH & OSAGE

the night rolls on
like a silent film

it flickers like old home movies

and i am shadow
void of vocal cords

i am lost in denver
in love with denver
awake in denver
forever in denver

where life is
the slowest american speed
possible

where you be
and people accept that you be
where stages erupt with talent
in the shittiest of dive bars
underwater

just waiting for the wave to crash
this giant frozen wave
this tsunami lost in time

lost in denver
love with denver
awake in denver
forever in denver

in love with the story
that it weaves around me
in love with love
and you
uncatchable jellyfish
away from denver

the north star forever in motion
one thousand lives away

that is you
and i am astronaut
space cadet
chasing infinity by the tail

circles in the sand
lost in denver
where lights reflect on lights
where we cannot see truth
so we make our own
from whiskey and fire
from moonlight and confusion
and death sets in the west
just down the california way
but we lay on the frozen grass
and don’t think about it
we just hold our breath
and count the stars
and lose count
and don’t start over
when we lose count

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “YOU PAINT YOURSELF IN RED AND I PAINT MYSELF IN BLUE”

YOU PAINT YOURSELF IN RED AND I PAINT MYSELF IN BLUE

you paint yourself in red
and i paint myself in blue
and i keep painting-
and i keep painting-
and i keep painting-
and my paintbrush escapes
the crooked-cruel-edges of my canvas
and i explode like bluestars across the blacksky
and i paint my entire house (in blue)
and i don’t miss the ceilings no sir i do not
and this – all reckless
and you, all restless
and me – all deathless and dreaming of death
i take a breath. and i breath in the red of you-
and i wonder where we are and who we are and wait what-
where the fuck is my refill on coffee?
and where the fuck are the stars in this nightless sky??
and where the fuck am i??? dead and alive
and angelic and, lost and, finding comfort in your red paints
and your lighthouse when i’m lost at sea
(always lost at sea this one – always lost and never found and
al ways painting portraits of the back of my head
with shotgun hands and sinking ships for lips
and my adam’s apple elevator stuck between floor one and two
the heart and the head it meanders through my throat
like a lost child in a target store
where the what the who the why the fuck am i?
i am blue i paint myself in blue and i lie on the floor of my kitchen
as dull knives live boring knives in drawers
forever will they ever find their way out i don’t know
i am not wise man – i am the boy with firecrackers for hands
trying to dance with girls drenched in kerosene
i am love ha ha ha nope that’s not how this song goes
but i am trying like hell to soak my sheets in sweat of compassion
night terror alcoholics sing to me through open city windows
howling like mad wolves lost in their tiny coffin apartments
where the what the who the why the fuck am i?
i paint myself in blue you paint yourself in red
and the purple mountains majesty
that live in my parking lot
will laugh that we can’t be half what they have always been
nope we never will be what they be
)

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “WHATIF”

Don’t go to Walmart

i deleted my facebook today. this is probably the ten millionth time i’ve deleted my facebook. also, i see the stupidity in deleting your facebook and then writing a blog post about it, but that’s where i’m at. it’s overwhelming, especially with things like ferguson. there’s just so much entitlement and hate and confusion and it’s overwhelming. it’s not the lens that i want to see the world through. beyond that, i can’t tell you how many times today i had the though “i should make that my status.” oh man.

i watched before sunrise with my friend, kathryn, the other day. there’s this part where the main woman talks about when she was in russia and away from media and all of that. she talks about how clear her head felt. that’s what i need and want. i’ve been feeling like time is finite, which is problematic, though i’m starting to see it’s not finite, but it is valuable, and i want to focus my time more usefully. hopefully, this means more blogging.

november really is my favorite month of the year. it’s just so transitional. it’s like when the plane begins its descent, to me.

i would give anything to be on a plane right now. a red eye flight over new york city, seeing those lights for the first time as the plane circles in like a hawk stalking its prey. i worked on thanksgiving and i don’t understand why. i think we really need to step back and remember that we will not die if everything isn’t readily available all the time. i saw the walmart parking lot full on the way home. full. just packed to the brim. it was too much. why? sit and do nothing. it’s okay. i promise. sit and do nothing. hug your family. write about your life, or do a backflip, take a nap, climb a tree, build a blanket fort, build a bench. do something, but please don’t go to walmart. and delete your facebook. maybe for a week? or maybe you’re just better at it than me; not getting consumed by it all.

my sister got married yesterday. it was beautiful. i’ve never seen her that happy.

i already feel ten million times better. hope you’re doing well, everyone.

happy thanksgiving. i am thankful for everything and i try daily to realize the responsibility that comes with the everything i have. i am thankful for you, dear reader.

love,
brice

WHATIF

i think about what i would do with my time
if i wasn’t a writer and i am pretty sure i’d be a carpenter
but i think i’d probably stop halfway through a project
to go lock myself in my room and write poems
because i couldn’t focus on carpentry
with all this nonsense floating around my skull
yeah
if i was a carpenter i’d probably just be a poet with a bunch of wood lying around my house

if i was the president
i’d be a terrible president
but i’d write some brutal poetry

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

i blink and

i blink and
one million people pass by me
at one million miles per hour
as stupid flowers bloom
and brilliant cities are planned
and corrupted
and born again
from the genesis of tragedy

i love in the moment
i mean
i try
but i get lost at sea
with my technology
and my telescope
that can see the wall
at the end of the universe but
only from the perspective
of my sight

and there
sitting on the wall
at the end of the universe
is a manic pixie dream girl
my answer to questions
i should be able to answer on my own
but unfortunately
not all of us are born
philosophers and tech gurus
some of us are just born
starry-eyed idiot boys
forced to pace around our rooms
for 40 days
with no water no oxygen
not an ounce of television
just us our love
and the exhaustion of staring at the
ceiling

i wander drunkenly down the halls of
harvard
i love voraciously as i fall asleep in a bathtub
in your heart
i drive myself insane trying to recreate
the something that maybe
but possibly
maybe not?
i fall asleep with a lampshade
on top of my enlightened head
in the bathtub
of your heart

(what the fuck is he talking about?)

i blink and
i am lost in some sea of angelic
monsters

i blink and
i am shooting downtown
in a metal death shuttle
piercing the skin of den
ver

i blink and
i am lying in bed
reading 10,000 pages
of a murakami novel
not about you
my room was hit
by a tornado
and i really couldn’t
give a shit

i blink
and my sister is marrying
the man of her life
i blink
and she is rosy-cheeked
and happy
and barefoot
and pregnant
and still in love
and she cries at her son’s
graduation
and she holds her husband’s
hand
and she holds her husband’s
hand
as they ascend into heaven
and i blink and i
blink
and i blink
and

i channel surf
the million lives i want to
live
and don’t think about
pink elephants
you’re thinking about pink elephants
aren’t you?
and don’t think about death
oh wait

i blink and
i am driving to saint joseph
to save my lover

i blink and
i am playing pinball
until four in the
imaginary morning

i blink and
i am in the car crash arms
of my saint joseph lover

i blink and
i am playing the white album
backwards

i blink and
i am swimming in my mother’s
chicken noodle soup

i am swimming
in a bathtub
in a hotel room
in your heart

i am charismatic
and charming
and almost out
of anxiety pills

i am down to
my last
anxiety pill

i am
my anxiety pills

i just
don’t know
who what where
when
why i’m at
at the moment
in the
sand dunes
in a hotel room
in your heart

i blink and
i am billy pilgrim
who has come
un
stuck in
time

against my
mother’s wishes
i have stared too long
into the eternal sunshine
of the spotless
mind

i am
jim carrey
in eternal sunshine of the
spotless mind

i am
kate winslet
in eternal sunshine of the
spotless mind

i am
hiding from
the velociraptors of reality
in an oven
on a dinosaur island

i am love
(i should always take a
moment to remember that
because it reminds me
that there is no such thing as
incorrect or irrelevant
or unimportant
you are important
you are too important
and the things that
you say
create waves that last
long after the moon
has blacked out drunk
remember that)

remember how beautiful
you looked
in my rear view window
as i went so very
not fucking gentle
into that good night

i blink and
i am watching my friends
sail away from the shores
of colorado
into the distorted audio
of california
into the arms
of jack daniels
into the eyes
of spiritual materialism
into the death star

i blink and
i am wallflowering
so very well
i am so very good
at wallflowering
when i want to
wallflower
and for the longest
i felt terrible
about wanting to
wallflower
but if time
the liar
has taught me
anything
it’s that i’m allowed
to wallflower
we move
so fast
even when
we’re not in
motion

i blink and
i am beneath your version
of the stars

i blink and
i am doctor gonzo
on a two-week
sociology binge
where the windows
are shattered
and the doors have
been busted open
and i am taking notes
on the human disease
and its beautiful
afflictions

i blink and
i am listening to a
tape recording of your voice
telling me nice things
about myself
and i am still
out of anxiety
pills

(i blink and
I turn off the lights
and listen to
something
and i meditate on
how people would speak
if words were as expensive
as college)

i blink and
call my mom and dad
on my way home from work
in zero degree temperatures
in november where i live
to tell them i love them
and i want to see them
(and i want to see you)
soon
i’m sorry i’ve been busy
and feeling very anxious
and honestly
i feel like if i blink anymore
i might miss

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “FUNERAL”

FUNERAL

let’s see where do we start
the wooden walls take in the cigarette smoke
you can’t see shit
someone’s playing broken piano on the creaky stage
but you can make out the face
just the silhouette of a man in a hat
there’s flies buzzing in and around the swinging lightbulbs
the barkeep is mopping the floors up with beer
the backdoor is open
you can hear drunken demons laughing in the alley
but as far as you know
you’ve got the bar all to yourself
you and your well whiskey
you and the weight of every one of your years
and you can’t face it you don’t want to face it
but every single failure every single success
has lead you to this hard seat beneath the moon
that can’t shine so harsh on you from inside of the bar
the barkeep wipes down the glasses
the barkeep washes his hands incessantly
and you just keep testing your liver
the smoke goes blurry
you see a face that you don’t want to remember
you feel her hair in your hands
you’re up and dancing alone
in the middle of the smoke filled bar
your eyes are as red as revolution
your bones are as dry as dust
the lights are swinging and so are you
you’re throwing punches at your own damn face
and it’s last call and tom waits and more well whiskey
and the lovely women of the world are everywhere but here
and you forget your name
and you laugh in the bathroom mirror
and you rub your eyes and don’t recognize the face
unshaven unclean unwell unsober unforgiven
you rub your eyes and you don’t recognize the face
and you’re staring at the flickering halogen lights
on the bathroom floor as the water runs over
and you’re every drunk american piano song
and you’re a modern day john the baptist
and this is gonna sting in the morning
if the morning ever comes
but you’re fading to black end credits
exit music for a film
the white names scroll across the black screen
and then nothing
you’re stuck with nothing
and you better get the hell up
and do something about it
there’s a time to mourn your death
but you better get the hell up before last call

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “TO MARLA”