Jay Writes Words

no biggie

I Met Jesus At Starbucks Yesterday

I met Jesus at Starbucks yesterday.

It was early in the morning, so I didn’t notice him there for about five minutes. I was just zoning out like I normally do before I’ve had coffee. When the line started moving, I noticed a flowing white robe in front of me. I looked up and saw a mass of shaggy brown hair.

“Hey, not to bother you, but…”

He turned around and grinned at me. His eyes widened obnoxiously, as if he couldn’t wait for me to finish my sentence so he could speak. Have you ever looked at a stand-up comedian’s face right after he’s delivered the punchline of a particularly risky joke? They smile sheepishly, as if to say “sorry, I didn’t mean it”—but they know exactly how funny they are, because the crowd’s roaring with laughter. That was exactly the look I saw on this guy’s face. I hadn’t realized Jesus was a cheeky son of a bitch.

Read More

There

I stood behind the dripping glass, and—
My tongue was frozen wine,
My feet were bound in twine,
And myself was no longer mine.
 
A dull roaring in my brain
Bashed against the walls of its cell
But I knew, it would be hell
If I closed my eyes and fell.

All about that jazz

  • talking to a good buddy of mine while we exchange jazz music recommendations
  • Me: THIS IS WHY WE'RE FRIENDS. FOR GOOD JAZZ MUSIC.
  • Him: idk why i never looked at dave brubeck
  • and then he proceed to explain music theory to me. We're still friends, don't worry.

The World in Parting

Twice has my life closed,
And twice have I fallen,
Each earth stretched before me
More weary and sullen.

If hunger bring error
And barer trees terror,
Then let me not vanish
As my meals grow rarer.

If vision bring darkness
And brighter lights harshness
Then let me not fade
As my gaze becomes heartless

And if I am blind and hungry and weak,
For wanting of nourishment, and somber and meek,
If I sit stilly calm under heart-tipped branches,
Will I be safe from avalanches?

I Turn No More My Head

The night was velvet,
the wind sobbed softly, and
my blood murmured quietly through my veins.

On the far side of my mind
I thought I saw an exit sign
but the door was barred shut with frozen steel.

I pulled out a cigarette,
and gingerly stepped out from under the present,
though it hummed after me all the way.

I haven’t yet turned around,
but I hear night’s rumbling sound,
so it seems as if I’m going back today.

Yeezus, on the Cross

Kanye West’s music is, if nothing else, extremely personal. His eclectic and often bizarre taste in samples, his ludicrously over-the-top lyrics, and his unparalleled attention to detail impart an element to his music that is undeniably his own. It is this quality that Yeezus shares with the rest of Kanye’s discography; its carefully crafted sonic textures reveal a level of artistic authenticity that few pop artists today can claim. The man is nothing if not honest, and even at his most ridiculous, he takes himself incredibly seriously.

Read More

A Marvelous Photograph

In the city there is an abundance of hungry and curious young gentlemen—but none were half as hungry or half as curious as Manuel Padilla.

The boy was around five foot eleven, with immense amber eyes that just barely fit into their sockets. His uneven black hair obscured his bronze face, creating shadows that danced around maniacally whenever he talked. His laugh was alarming and rough, his smile broad and bold, and his voice thin and shrill. His rather uncivilized mannerisms, combined with his unpolished appearance, placed him firmly in the awkward and altogether unsightly territory between boy and man.

Read More

My Dear Valentine

My Dear Valentine,
 
I saw a photograph of you today
Reflections of myself looked back at me.
Half-written harmonies began to play;
I squeezed my heart ‘til it bled melody.
 
Some nights I penned a hundred closing acts
Each wistful, wonderful, before we kissed.
But lusting after that which poems lack
I told you all about my secret wish.
 
I would’ve written back if not for that
I drowned your final letter on the grass
The weeping words left stains where I once sat
And as they dried our future slowly passed.
 
—That final cadence, I knew, was the end
For scattered ashes never light again.
 
Love,
 
 

Insomnia

I would water the flowers,
but all I’ve got is whiskey;
that’s why their white caps are stained red.

I ought to sleep, because
the ground is shifting underfoot,
and my breath is unsteady,
and the sky is dancing diagonally.

But last night I dreamt of solid ground,
and a shining white road, embroidered with silk.
At the end of which lay a garden
where I planned to sit still for a while.

As I approached, the guardians peered through the gate
and behind its iron ribs, they whispered damnation
with their fig breath, sickly sweet—
And their fiery sword cut me down.

It’s growing quite late,
But now I’m afraid to sleep
because the floor is broken glass
and there’s a bottle cap in my pocket.

Lullaby

As I drifted off to sleep I heard a lullaby:
A golden rhapsody
framed in crescent curls.
My dream began then.
 
I was alone—but I was not lonely.
I was mortal—but it became apparent to me
That I am not being chased by Death
So much as I am running away from Life.
And so my body shivered into the universe.
 
I saw the truth then;
I saw it, bold and beautiful.
And when I woke up
All I had left was my pen.