Generation Umm..


One of those good, long poems that sometimes burst out.

Had fun writing this one.

Generation Um.

A soul is elastic
But new buildings rise on my street
Fingers pointed straight at me
Branches push up from the rolling smokin’ tires of old trucks
Glasses filled with cheap wine, smelling of phosphorus
Kerouac beat down
Ginsberg loved to death
Wailing heartbreak
And the best minds of my generation et cetera

I have blind spots
When I’m at a party
Or meeting friends eventually
Alienating strangers with no rhyme or reason

In the back of my mind I have something of mine
I think I’m living in Moscow
Writing a movie about a domestic…
Central image of a filmmaker
Philosophizing the way I talk
An image of a late night
Of Moscow?
Or some other town
Maybe London
Still relaxed in my freedom
Relaxed in getting older
Getting different
Richer but everything is harder
The intense pressure a sunset feels after a dawn
The wrap party of my adolescence
But I still have to find a rhythm
I can’t assume an interest
Or assume anything really
We all have an ego
And I don’t want my life to be just
A sigh of a body
I want my body to be
My friends and my lovers and me
Acting together
Creating an atmosphere
Where the subconscious could work

Nothing is good when you think of it in advance
You should be always responding
You succeed sometimes and don’t at others
But we’re all interested in the future
And I’m dreaming of the future
And what the goal of the future is
22 years is a long time
And I can’t believe I had a chance to live it
An overwhelming sense of gratitude
I now see I’m not in control of the universe
And that makes my life unique
Or not
Who knows?
Is there anything unique?
Aren’t we all repeating a story?
Drooping down fate
Baring fate
Slipping through soft grass
Towards the white stone house of childhood
Cross legged in adventure
Our breath trembles in the woods beyond
So much life!
So much sound in the forest!
The silent hillsides passing through grey clouds
Mossy hills sway in our memories
The bay sways in our memories
Gigantic through its roar
Our grandfather fixing the engine of an old boat
No imperfection in his old face
Only experience and blue eyes
And pain I can’t understand
I’m young and I play
I can’t understand pain
I mix my dry hands with the waters of the countryside
Under the low branches of flowers
Returning absently to my grandfather
I can’t understand pain

Life hangs balanced on reed
The reed next to the water
The tunnels in the reed
We glimpse the sun and wisdom interknit
Flashing, bleeding love of our fathers
We make our way through the tunnels
To the edge of the island
Leaves wash white fog down the branches
Our grandfathers behind us
Engines work, roar the engine winds
Exquisite winds motion us to shiver
Graveyards and memories to the right
Parents and love to the left
No harm on their body
No fault in their eyes
The perfect unstained weariness of love
We try to repeat their story
We sit down
Trying to understand the past
Hiding our weakness in the rain
There are no great secrets though
No success
Only breath
Only the breath of our grandparents
The breath of our wild, but perfect parents
To take that quiet breath
Seems impossible
There’s a sad root of truth hidden in there somewhere
That you can’t cheat through
My time, our time
There’ll be no answers
Only floating existences
Only blue eyes and experience
Only a bay and tunnels in the reed

A soul is experience, an afterthought
A bashed open imagination
All over the world
My vast plains and your plains
I try to hide the glow of my white smooth racist skin
But all I’m really afraid is
Not being loved
By every girl in Estonia
Loved, yes
But in the right language, no
What is this?
Shallow fucking waters
A festival of flowers
I must be something by now
Talking to someone and scribbling down songs
People trying to pin some sort of anthemic qualities on me
It can get lonesome
But I guess you filter through it
You stumble through prophecies and lifelines writ in your hands
That mean nothing
And it’s hard
To give up my Blake, Keats and other masters of Ecstasy
Is there any other way, though?
There must be others like me
Surely
There are others like me
I search for others like me
No, better than me
People past the meadows of Me
People in the neon streets of knowledge
Speeding along the highways in my horizons
Madder than me
More merciful than me, but covered in blood

Almost in tears, I climb upwards
Searching for a language that’s yours and mine
Skirting past high school and budding independence
Getting laid in a car
A fuck of fear
Stupid isn’t it?
The way we are born in the vast sadness of our mothers
Only to have sex in cars
And get broken up, or drunk, or high
Living in our immense desire for relief
With our eyes glowing and singing and dancing in lust
“We are young!
Destroyers of millions”
We lift our voices and declare apocalypse
To the one pure winter afternoon
Of our grandparents dying to cancer
What are you fighting?
What don’t you have?
You have no loss
You have nothing but horizons
What are you rebelling against??
Just life?
Just life.
We have no great depression or a great war
We have the brick and cement of nostalgia
We have… dying old people
Dying to something we can’t quite understand
How can I understand the loss of .. anything?
The loss of memories between two people
Between my grandfather and me
Memories of him not having the strength to …
Memories between his old disease riddled body and me
It’s such
A huge
Contrast
A 20 year old trying to understand decades
Or the loss of ’em…
The loss of railroads between his fucking tiny fishing village and the capital
The loss of his brother
The death of his wife…?
Will I ever understand them?
That ancestry I come from
That trembling ancestry that bellows so hard on me
Even in the sun it is hard to be beloved
by all the brightness of my friends
Because I know I’m not alone
Almost all of us are cursed by this love of old heroes
The tiny men and women swimming in our consciousness
The empty skies in our hearts
We have no path to run down
“All we do is for this frightened thing we call love”
By Allen Ginsberg
Or Hemingway
Or anybody like me, really

What are we searching for?
Uphill with high tension wires flying beside us
To independence?
No, we have that
No giant demons to kill
No birth right to claim
No house to build
There’s a tremendous sense of loss
A loss of skill… or talent
That we don’t even possess
But we still lose it
Somehow
We lose it
Like we can’t bare the passing of the torch
And instead we drop it
We say no to any responsibility
And lose virginities in cars and buy cats
Get apartments on streets named after birds
Tearing tears of fear into the river
It’s so dumb
A decadence of youth
“A decadence of youth?” Really?

I’m just a man in a…
I don’t have a rebellion to go
No wounded, no desires
No void to drop into
No illusions to destroy
The world is very honest to me and I guess that’s what frightens me
I’m very aware of how alone I am
Everybody is alone when a war ends

I wish I had a network of answers to give you
To give to myself
But in the end it’s just babble
A nebula of thought and nothing else
And we’ve had so much thought
We’ve been built on thought
On experience
On rising mountains
And now we’re on the top
And under us a majesty of shivering flowers
We’re all in this together
Moving together
Breathing together
Fucking in cars together
One being hung in limbo
Groaning
To find their way

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