by Eric Nixon
Manchester, NH
Wow. An hour ago I started to write about what a crappy day it was, and then I got to talking to someone I know online. We really did talk deeply about life…well I did, she urged me not to think about it. I got annoyed and stopped talking to her. She just didn’t understand. Deep thinking scares her because it will make her depressed, so she doesn’t. I definitely do not want to be with someone who would rather always take the easy way and coast along in life trying to make the least amount of ripple as possible. This poem isn’t about her…it’s mainly about me, and my pursuit of true happiness.
Conversation in the Round
Conversation in the round
We keep talking in circles
Like a not so merry-go-round
Yes we were at this point
Just a few seconds ago
And I’m sure we’ll be back
Here again in a few more
The scenery is getting
Repetitive and boring
Listening to you talking
Around it and confusing
Yourself something hard
Myself by not getting far
In your circular train track
Over and over and over again
Restating the same attack
As if you’ve said something new
It’s what I’ve come to expect
From an asinine tool like you
If I leave now then you’ll think
That you were victorious and won
If I stay here then I’ll get sick
From the dizziness which is no fun
I’m kinda wishing I had a stick
To stab you or even maybe a gun
To free myself from the endless
Horrendous useless conversation
You’ve ended up locking us in
December 18, 2003
Manchester, NH
The general idea for this popped into my head while I was getting ice for my beverage. I have no idea why since I wasn’t talking to anyone. Then again, I try to never question the reasons behind the inspiration I receive.
Here There Are No Answers
In an empty hotel room
High above the strip
A note found written
With five simple words
Quietly, profoundly, stating
Here there are no answers
There, beside the author
Having since moved on
Without moving at all
February 9, 2004
Manchester, NH
I saw a link on Fark.com for an article about how a good number of people go to Las Vegas each year with the sole intention of committing suicide. There was one instance where they found a note that only said, “Here there are no answers.” It was such a simple, yet deep as all hell statement that really stuck with me.
Rearview Mirror
Need to drive keeping
My eyes focused ahead
Up there on the road
Not up and to the right
Up there on my
Rearview mirror looking
At the past looking
At what I left behind me
Maybe I’m afraid of what
Is catching up with me
Even though I see nothing
Back there is where
I need to stop looking
And start ignoring
Everything in my rearview
What’s back there is gone
What’s ahead up there is what
I need to concern myself with
October 19, 2003
Manchester, NH
For a while now I’ve been thinking about rearview mirrors and what they symbolize. I finally remembered to write the words down and do something with it.
Hurt
Under the Bar
Cruising up the highway
Stopped at the boardwalk
Finding nothing to say
Staring out at the Pacific
Thinking about nothing specific
For the next minute forty
Until my friends finish the ride
Staring into forever
With the excited screams
And the cart blurring by
All behind me
I only wish the embarrassment
Was back there as well but no
It followed me
Tugging hard on my
Emotional sleeves
Nothing ever bothers me
But this did
Hitting hard on the belt
What I am
Has never really
Denied or kept me
From doing what
From living how
I want when I want
Until then
When I was
Under the bar
And the size
Of the situation
Became all too
Painfully apparent
For me and
Everyone else to see
Felt the scorn
Grade school feelings
Of insecurity flooding back
Heat on my face
Silent judgment
Being passed
And tossed
At my back
As I walked
The lonely
Walk of shame
Now I'm here
So much on my mind
So little I want to
Think about
Or deal with
As I'm waiting
For the fun to finish
Until then I'll just
Blankly stare
Way out there
Where the sky
Is like oil on water
In a plastic bag
Never mixing
Never joining
And, if nature
Has her way
It never will
December 30, 2003
Bay Point, CA
My friends and I stopped at the boardwalk in Santa Cruz, California to ride the Big Dipper rollercoaster.
Edges of Everything
Driving southbound down I-93 after work
Long day, late at night, I can’t wait to get home
Looking ahead I see a set of bright car lights
Heading north in the southbound lane in my lane
I tried to avoid the car but it was going too fast
Head on, out the windshield and into the rain
The world became patches of consciousness
Fleeting memories interspersed with intense pain
I remember someone apologizing, then sirens
People surrounding telling me to hang in there
Funny, where else am I going to go
It hurts so much I want to let go
But I think of her and tell me no
I see my Daewoo and a Tempo
Both are destroyed beyond any recognition
I’m on a bed and being put into an ambulance
The doors slam and off it goes, sirens blaring
I wonder if ambulances ever get into accidents
No, there has to be some rule about that, ow
I start to wonder about something that doesn’t
Something that is really non-important but
It seems so important, amazingly important
But I start fading, slowly at first
The edges of everything turning white
And the fading spreads inwards
From the peripheral to the center
While they work on me, to save me
I hear someone say something about
How it’s unfair that the drunk driver
Never gets hurt at all
Right now all I know is hurt
But I’m slipping under
To somewhere warm
Where it doesn’t hurt at all
August 8, 2002
Chelsea, MA
Division
Addition
Of someone else
Subtraction
Of confidence
Of her love
Multiplication
Of problems
Of complications
Division
Of our things
Of the rings
December 6, 2002
Manchester, NH
Simple math as it relates to my life.
Auto-Pilot
Driving without thinking
Trying so hard not to
Too much to think about
Too many memories
The good, the bad,
Everything else in between
So I zone out, all the while
Driving across the blurry miles
Brother in the seat besides me
Mother in the back seat
Driving across the state
Quiet knowing the inevitable fate
Of the man lying in a hospital bed
Feeling the loss creeping in already
Not wanting to face
What lies ahead
Not wanting to see
What will be a traumatic event
So the emotional side of me
Shut down and coasts hard
On auto-pilot
Otherwise I’ll think too much
Way too much
And get overwhelmed
By everything hitting me at once
And we may never get there
March 19, 2004
Manchester, NH
Thinking back on my drive out to Pittsfield, Massachusetts on March 7 to see my father on the day he died.
By Her Countless Paintings
She painted all these pictures
Spent years crafting
Elaborate views of her
Myopic pointillism oils of me
Dark slanted scenes of some friends
Crayon-colored caricatures of others
Her true feelings poured onto canvas
And, in that succinctly tasteful way,
She framed each one beautifully
Before she walked out
Leaving me alone
Alone and surrounded
By her countless paintings
With shadows lengthening
Across the floor I got to work
I hung them all on the walls
I invited the knowing public
I let them see what she made
We all stood staring
In the gallery of her thoughts
Where hardly a word was spoken
(That can be repeated here)
The looks on their faces said enough
Furrowed brows and scornful glances
One by one they thanked me
As they left into the night
While I’m not proud of what I did
It was something everyone
Needed to see for themselves
It was something everyone
Needed to know
Tonight
I let her paint herself into a corner
Without even knowing
And this paint doesn’t dry
Not now, not ever
As she’ll stand
Damned and alone
By her countless paintings
When the sun comes up tomorrow
April 29, 2003
Manchester, NH
Flood in the Desert
Loneliness is a poor excuse for love
Yet we often find ourselves
Drowning in one and
Dying of thirst in the other
Flood in the desert
Both at once
Hard to believe
But here I am
Drowning in the
Swirlingly and
Overwhelmingly
Oppressive former
Thirsting and dying
In the eternal sand
As far as I can see
Call the coroner
Because I’m getting hit
Twice as hard here
And I know I’m not
Going to make it this time
Unless someone
Rescues me
And airlifts
Me to safety
But from where I am
And where I stand
That doesn’t look like
It’s going to happen
Not now
Or anytime soon
October 18, 2003
Manchester, NH
The first line had been hanging out in Line Ideas for about a week. I picked it up and went with it.
Off
Glow Star Stickers on the Ceiling
I lay in my bed at night and
Everything’s dark except for the
Streetlight outside and the
Glow star stickers on the ceiling
Arranged by some former inhabitant
Of this same room years ago
And no one noticed to take them down
Well, they wouldn’t have noticed them
Not during the day when the work is done
Only at night when you’re lying in bed
Staring at them with your undivided attention
Glow star stickers on the ceiling
I hated them at first
I wanted them down
Then after a while something happened
I wanted them there
I needed them above me
Late at night when I’m alone
Late at night in my room
Annoying at first
Comforting at last
Glow star stickers on the ceiling
They live up above me
They shine down on me
They’re there to stay
May 14, 2003
Manchester, NH
The night I moved into my brother’s house, I climbed into bed, opened my eyes, did a double take, and squinted (because I had taken my glasses off). “Is the ceiling glowing?” I asked myself. It sure was. I ended up writing this six months later.
Bad Lazy Font
The font that wouldn’t behave
Try as it might, just wait and see
How it’s trying to complicate me
Bad, bad naughty font
I’ll show you
I’ll use another…
But maybe that’s what
The bad font wanted
What it was hoping for
Maybe it’s not so much
A bad font
As a lazy font
Something I never considered
I smile and turn it into
A win-win situation
As I delete the fucker
Take that, you bad lazy font
October 10, 2002
Chelsea, MA
I downloaded some new fonts for my computer and one of them wasn’t working right.
Down One of These Streets
I step out of the sweaty heat
Into the stinging January night
Leaving the din of the Middle East
The bitter chill across my face
And sucked deep into my lungs
Makes me skip a breath and
Forces me to quicken my pace
Head down, shoulders scrunched
Hands jammed as deep as they’ll go
Constantly shuddering while
Speed walking over to where
Down one of these streets I’ll find
Where the parking garage hides
February 24, 2004
Manchester, NH
I wrote most of this in the car after seeing the Buffalo Tom show at the Middle East nightclub in Cambridge. It was in my Palm Pilot for a month before I finally did something with it.
Touristy Intentions
Feels strangely odd
And refreshing
To be alone
Riding the subway
In a strange city
Just me my mp3<
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And my thoughts
Taking in the sights
Blending in
Acting like a casual
Looking like a local
But with touristy intentions
December 31, 2003
San Francisco, CA
I’d like to think that I don’t look like a tourist when I actually am one.
Footprints on the Fiber
Kinda nubley
Somewhat stumbly
In nature
No nurture
At least none recently
The strangest things
That motivate
And move us all
A touch festive
With a slathering
Of the happy stuff
Devoid of haranguing
All the while I’m singing
Along to the song
That I feel in my hug
While walking on my
Freshly vacuumed rug
Such a nice feeling
Much like fresh linen
But for the eyes and feet
I’m afraid to be the leaver
Of footprints on the fiber
But I get over it quickly
And step my size 13
Proof that I was here
Not like anyone cares
Then again someone must
Because you’re still here
September 27, 2003
Manchester, NH
Pure unfiltered Eric thoughts.
Observation Cookies
Stuffed on the MSG
And the Chinese
It came in to me
Finally faced with the cookie
I opened the plastic wrapper
To find my fortune inside
And it said, “It is a nice day.”
And I stared blankly at it
For more than a few moments
It wasn’t a fortune at all
And no, now it’s not even true
Not anymore at all since it
Was ruined by this impossibly
Flagrant messenger of annoyance
Did the cookie companies start
Thinking fortunes were too costly
So they replaced them with mere
And inferior observation cookies
You expect something profound
And it says, “The Earth is round.”
Maybe they ran out of ideas
Maybe they need some help
Maybe I just need to stop
Stop thinking so much
About a stupid fortune
Eaten and in the belly
Of a tasteless, mindless
Cookie shell
October 18, 2003
Manchester, NH
We had Chinese food for lunch at my hotel today for the employees and I made sure everyone got a fortune cookie. Personally, I never eat them. I don’t hate the taste, I just never feel like having them. Curious, I opened mine and it said, “Today is a nice day.” I was like, “WTF? That’s not a fortune at all.” I was so taken aback by the offending scrap of paper that I hung it up above my desk. I pointed it out to someone and said it was an observation cookie, because it sure as heck isn’t a fortune cookie.
Panty-Less Protest
Spent the summer between semesters
In that hot hell known as Arizona
Lived in a house with her grandmother
Forced to go to church but didn’t wanna
