tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47734683129738295312010-01-15T18:11:30.940-08:00Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-27179419971298014122009-12-06T22:36:00.000-08:002010-01-15T18:11:30.956-08:00

Eight blocks, scattered my heart. This dust pan has a lot of work to do. My secrets spread across, a promise on a platter, I never saw this coming. I swear. I did my best to wrangle this beast but you never trusted my small hands. So I stand smoking in the rain and I promise the city lights that I'll never utter your name.My lips spread when that wheal spun, and the dog in the cage behind us

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-61419503042389733472009-11-08T21:37:00.000-08:002009-11-08T21:46:58.157-08:00

Induced slumber night after night in these bare cave walls. Bear hibernates through the toughest hours of the night while lovers moan through out the city. No one cares if you fed today and tales of your nightmares go untold. Nothing to paw at, no one to stroke your fur. This is what it's like with out me.

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-76443889439772085952009-07-14T18:45:00.000-07:002009-11-17T14:18:48.826-08:00

I was crawling out of my skin under the sun on the most crowded island. I came to paradise to escape my life and found they have "life" here too. "That's life, you know" they say, when some one is trying to make you feel better. Or make them selves feel better. "Let's just accept it, lets not move the river shall we?" Except I didn't want to move the river, I just couldn't help the

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-43804825467502817662009-04-03T02:32:00.000-07:002009-05-20T21:26:10.043-07:00

I took it very personal. Laying on my back, eyelids open during witching hours. Insomnia made herself comfortable in my bed for going on 47 days. You'd think if she was going to spend all this time under the covers with me, she'd at least want to fuck. But no. I lay here in a gray room listening to four paws chase something in the apartment upstairs. Back and forth, back and forth. It

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-7759764397693983992009-03-02T20:49:00.000-08:002009-03-02T21:05:30.610-08:00

I stood there, like I did many years ago with my heart pounding it's way out. Choking wasn't an option in this case. A mistake meant death. My head warned me about it the whole way here. In the car, on the phone and in airplanes. Through songs and drugs, between sex and crying it warned me of all of this. But every heart suffers from amnesia. And despite the fact the brain has a firm grip

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-92070944056308067052009-02-22T15:31:00.000-08:002009-07-14T19:36:35.157-07:00

I wake up with him. His shadow on the wall the moment I open my eyes, I feel his arms around my waist. Please go, I think, please leave me in peace. Not today. He shushes me, today we will spend the entire day together.I pace the living room, his shadow following me, forming to every wall in my apartment. I open and close the fridge, he stands behind me. There is no reason to shower, no

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-12567341397632812862009-01-17T15:38:00.000-08:002009-01-25T09:41:36.812-08:00

The mice didn't bother me. They never really have. I kind of liked watching them scurry close to the wall, their gray shiny bodies wiggling across the gray shiny cement looking for the right hole to go through. I watched one this morning stop at every other hole and poke it's head in, then quickly continue to the next.I'd glance over to the facesthat matched the feetthe little mouse navigated

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-57243407242041382032008-12-14T18:56:00.000-08:002008-12-14T19:10:47.453-08:00

I was on my way home, crossing the Mission on Mission Street proper. The morning was young still and merchants were pushing and pulling carts on to the sidewalks. Words slinging from the inside of stores out to young workers propping up merchandise, like a game of ski ball. Shoes, socks and dresses. Mangoes, bananas and dried fish. Everything shimmers in the new morning light. I give credit

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-89238769621442459342008-12-12T08:46:00.000-08:002009-05-19T18:37:04.371-07:00

The belching buses were gone. The whirl wind of dust in my hair as the subway lights flashed toward me, gone. The train crawling up and down the city, each car jerking left and right, gone too. They didn't exist for me. At least not here.The trolleys...wait, the last time I was on a trolley I was five years old visiting on vacation. Sitting there watching the hills roll up and down, my knees

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-25882956093496410132008-11-07T19:42:00.000-08:002008-11-15T22:17:09.511-08:00

Alright. I put everything I think on this table in front of me. Rusty trinkets, the collection of a drunk sailor, too old to be on a ship, too tired to drink. Memories, fears, regrets and a few pieces of hope. I put them all on this table here. I gaze at them fondly although they clutter my head. Some of them are of you.I sit at the table, whiskey in hand. I can't seem to bring it to my

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-67209504996034135272008-10-27T00:34:00.001-07:002008-10-28T22:39:51.695-07:00

Light is barely lifting off glittering asphalt streets. Dew makes things look pretty and new. Vomit on side walks almost looks fake in the early morning. I have half convince myself I feel alright.I keep swallowing, hoping that what ever was left in there knows that it better stay down. It's too late for me, nothing would come out any ways.All I'm left with are the shakes.Sun shine is

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-25113634090144245902008-09-30T02:29:00.000-07:002008-09-30T02:40:25.353-07:00

This is what happiness feels like. Like being above yourself; above your body, above your fears and hopes. Above loss and depression. If you could imagine anything above that. It's what "it" feels like. And when you feel "it" you're completely caught off guard. Like getting the wind knocked out of you, or getting fired. Like taking a deep breath and feeling human. "Feeling human" is not something

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-10232121830368647392008-08-19T00:03:00.000-07:002008-10-27T00:33:59.617-07:00

I had to believe that every thing would be fine. I had to trust that the end result would validate the turmoil, drudging through every days' existence that threatened my self worth. I had to justify the means by the ends, so they say. That was the only reason not to hang one's self. The only reason not to drag the needle across the skin, you see.I had to have faith. It's a common word "faith

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-62329889398300296092008-08-08T23:48:00.000-07:002008-08-09T00:29:33.839-07:00

I take Wilshire to Beverly Glen through palm tree lined streets. There's a huge 4 o'clock line before Sunset Blvd. trying to make a right. I swoop around them and drive into the Bel Air entrance, only I U-turn it just before the gates. I block traffic of coarse and inside some fog-gray shiny car some dip-shit extends his arm and at the end of it stands a middle finger just for me. I maneuver

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-78940499165178427452008-08-07T04:02:00.000-07:002008-08-07T04:28:34.498-07:00

If only we could stop all this talking.If I could explain myself only with pen and paper I could get a lot more done.A lot more across.But I can't. In the midst of an arguement, I wish I could pull out pen and paper.Or those giant poster size writing pads you see in meeting rooms of big companies.Men and women drawing charts and diagrams, writing "main ideas" and "goal oriented projects".Words

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-76807919170966318862008-07-24T10:18:00.000-07:002009-11-17T14:19:17.592-08:00

Chapter One - OliveI laid in bed with her as still as I could. Her arm thrown over my belly, only reached half way across me. I scanned the room, the studio we shared for the last two years, 625 square feet that our lives together fit perfectly into. In fact it sort of resembled those portable storage containers you fill and leave on your curb for some giant truck to pick up and store some where.

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-46988672490960014522008-07-24T10:11:00.000-07:002008-10-17T11:59:19.350-07:00

We sat at the table, she to my right, our hands gripping tissue. Bodies in black suites, black dresses, black hats and scarves filled the room. Eyes stinging, we sat at a table in the far corner; an orchid sat on the white table cloth.“Abuelita, quero que venga con migo al servicio, mi papi no quere que venga mi mama, pero ustd. Si esta envitada y necessito que venga con migo.” And she answered,

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-6281311446636254622008-07-15T10:28:00.000-07:002008-11-07T20:16:46.348-08:00

I crouch down to turn off the television,and an exhausted cool wind pushes itselfpast the window screen, brushing my shoulder.A cool breeze,the relief from a few daysof dry-mouth sun.That familiartouch of a much needed wind,nothing like it was in L.A.,when that kind of breezewas begged for.I shut my eyes and I’m there.Two years ago, longing it in the wee hours of the morningwhen no more clothes

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-66069077255966207972008-07-10T05:50:00.000-07:002008-07-11T18:16:47.122-07:00

And it hurts. Like this.Echoing.Water dripping from a pipe running alonga low basement ceiling. My chest is hot.Echoing with each splash.Watching it's deathly fate as it swells,dangling there from above.Death below.It knows,it knows as it swells.Grip loses the argument and shhh...Splash! My chest is hot.An echo announces each death.All the memories inside this body,all the organs gasping as I

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-41731418499146429832008-07-09T23:30:00.000-07:002008-07-15T10:39:37.019-07:00

In the buff, are secrets and lies.And none in between.In the buff are things that bring you shame and pleasure.In the buff you can be so very alone while in company.In the buff nothing and everything matters.In the buff is when you're honest.In the buff, is when I hide the most,behind shadows,behind heavy breathingand silence.Clumsily, like bumper cars,shifting skin around skin,in jerking motions

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-73143013079675676172008-07-09T11:25:00.000-07:002008-07-10T05:15:41.570-07:00

There were many things I could not understand regardless of how many times I broke them down, categorized them, and filed them in appropriate chronological order. I had graphs and charts to explain, predict and justify, yet I still spent most my time obsessing. There must have been a glitch in the computers of my head that kept me from smoothly running through the days. However, there were

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4773468312973829531.post-47078101767842311142008-07-08T23:02:00.000-07:002008-07-09T10:06:44.750-07:00

I passed two needles on my way home to day.Laying right next to each other in broad day light,that stinging truth kind of sunshine that exacerbatesthe steal head bands.In a little plot of dirt, a city's attempt to revitalize urban life.Concrete life.Cement walls, cement walk ways, cement drive ways,flat gray, charcoal gray, glittery new paved road gray.All erased by little plots of dirt with

Alexis M. Lockmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08565697055691747971noreply@blogger.com0