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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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

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”

I DON’T KNOW

be the savior of my religion
be the hand beneath my pillow
be the paperweight on my papers in the wind
be the kiss that beats my alarm clock

i’ll be the dust on your stage
i’ll be the canary to your coal mine
i’ll be the detour to your house
i’ll be the fire to your attic

we’ll be until we can’t
we’ll move like wind ahead of hurricanes
we’ll dance like we’re drunk
in my parent’s basement

then you’ll be the ghost under my stairs
then you’ll be beneath my flowers and my letters
then you’ll be the flowers that rise to your grave
then you’ll be cumulonimbic swan songs

then i’ll be with you amongst the madness
then i’ll be swimming beside you like two halves
of a pair of scissors piercing through paper chaos
then i’ll remember the way we felt

i’ll remember the way we felt

then i don’t know
i don’t know
i don’t know
i don’t know

we’ll make it up as we go along.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “THE WALL AT THE END OF THE UNIVERSE”

THE WALL AT THE END OF THE UNIVERSE

there is a wall at the universe
where shit heads graffiti their names on the side
street kids hide little bags of drugs behind the bricks
and you and i just sat there
our backs pressed against it

“what’s beyond that wall?”
you asked me
and i told you
“that’s the whole thing.
it’s the wall at the end of the universe.
there is nothing beyond it.”

“nothing is something.”
you said.
i wanted to kiss you.
you were wearing that lipgloss
that tasted like cherries
or strawberries
or some delicious fruit
and when my lips are done
sliding off the synthetic taste
all i’m left with is you.

you and me.
sitting against the wall
at the end of the universe.
the one that doctor gonzo
drove his great shark over.
the one that syd barrett
crashed into
like the comedown
from the astral plane.
this is where we are.

“have you ever wanted
to look over the wall?”
you asked.
“hell no,” i said.
“that’s just

that’s just too much for me.”
“how can you not want to look?”
“to be honest,”
i said,
“i’m slightly disinterested.”

“i’m going to look.”
you said,
and i thought that too
was an honorable choice
so i lifted you up onto my shoulders
and you looked out
into the great beyond
where i imagine
there are no red planets
or white giants
or starbucks across the street from
starbucks
and i asked you what you could see
and you said

“i don’t know how to describe it.”
and i said
“well try…”
and you said
“i can’t even really see anything
i just feel
deep inside of me
this haunting faith
that there is something beyond
this wall.”

“who made this wall?”
i asked
and you said
you didn’t know
and you came back down
from off my shoulders
and you looked into my eyes
and you said
“huh…”
and i said
“what…”
and you said
“nothing.”

there was a pause.
the crickets held their bows
and waited for our cue
to continue.

“i’m gonna throw a brick
over the wall!”
i said.
and you said
“you are such a guy.”
and i said

“i have to know.
i have to know if i can
break down the walls of perception.
what if someone
just put this wall up
to make themselves feel better?
maybe they were afraid of
infinity?”

“afraid of infinity?
do you know how you sound?”

“i’m serious!”
i said.
“why else do we build walls?
because we’re afraid of
not understanding
what is on the other side.”

“or we’re trying to keep
something
out.”
you said.
applying more lip gloss.
“or
maybe,”
you said,
“they were a romantic…”

“what is more romantic
than the idea
that everything continues
forever,”

“i’ll tell you what,”
you said,
“the idea
that you and i
on some cold colorado night
could pack a picnic
and go sit
at the wall at the end of the universe
and accept that we did it.
that together, we made it.
we all want to be pioneers.
we all want to feel that what we found
is the ultimate.
we are nationalistic
to the nation of ourselves
and our loved ones.
that is why we are here.
that is why you and i ended up here
at the wall at the end of the world
so we could pretend our love
is romeo and juliet
that our love
is the love story that they will tell
to our children
and our children’s children.
that our love
is the ultimate.
that is why we build walls.
windows and doors and walls
these are things we’ve created
because it is part
of our idea of home.”

“i don’t need walls
to feel like i’m home with
you.” i said.
and your eyes glimmered
and i saw in them
what i think you must have seen
when you looked over
the wall
at the end
of the universe.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “WHITE SMOKE”

WHITE SMOKE

will you fix what’s broken?
will you travel all the globe?
will you kiss the pavements?
will you wear the finest robes?

will you cure the sickness?
will you stand amongst the brave?
will you move the eyes of watchers?
will you eat the things you crave?

will you sign the papers?
will you wave at waving hands?
will you teach us Earthly sinners
the way a good man stands?

will you read from written speeches?
will you speak from heart and soul?
will you look to fill your pockets
from pockets full of holes?

i know not where you go now
but i know from where you’ve came.
will you twist the hands of history
or keep its shape the same?

the Vatican falls silent.
the winds of change, they roll.
the chimney burns with white smoke;
St. Peter’s bells do toll.
In the eye of the storm of spirit
St. Peter’s bells do toll.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “HAIKU #2″

THE HANDS THAT REACH FOR WINTER

the hands

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the hands that reach for winter
the nights that reach for pain
the guns that reach for murder
the fire burns the same

the beds that burn for lovers
the streets that turn like time
the art of stabbing in the back
the acidity of lime

the words that clasp like thunder
the planes that land unharmed
every righteous number
that we shoot into our arms

the man from california
the woman from d.c.
every foreign victim
from sea to shining sea

comforter of angels
chancellor of drugs
loving heart of death now
now the death of love

brilliant manifesto
child in the gutter
orphan military
absent-minded mothers

the sermon on the mount
the dusting of the crops
the clicking of the gears
the roller coaster drops

we fall
and we fall
and we fall
some more

we dig our graves
and dance with death

we talk like
virgins

we walk like
whores

we eat
until
there’s nothing left.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “HAIKU #1″