Calculating

Calculating
By Jordan Brooks.

I asked her if she loved me,
her eyes,
her body said,
"Dude, it's really whatever."

So, you love all of them?
Him?
and then him?
...

Seems like you are primary occupied in calculations about all of them.
Oh, but you have to say things every now and then,
 to keep me around.
Oh, of the big inconvenience you have-

But, because you have to calculate about the boys,
you can't talk right now to me.
idc.
I'm trying to think,

I leave you here and now,
Did you bounce to number 1,
as you flirt with number 2, secretly,
are you going to take from me,

in a worst way, that works.
I think I've met you before,
a lot of girls,
 a lot of times,

and inside, secretly,
you have to hurt me.
She could change,
She could change.

I think we're going to go far.
Out at dinner, I said,
"I'm going to buy the house."
I'm going to further your plans.

I know you don't care,
but, I'm like you,
I needed you to know that.
We learn she wouldn't change,

So deliberate,
So self-centered,
and pleasured,
and hidden in her constant calculation.

Obnoxious

Obnoxious
By Jordan Brooks

She's invisible.
And her behavior gets worse and worse,
her attitude,
and when she's loving me, she's obnoxious.

 she's obnoxious
mad at me and obnoxious.
A rich kid,
the rich adult.

You have the audacity baby,
and you've gotten away with it lady,
but you always need to try it again:
disingenuous,

insincerity,
but you're just kidding, but there's no person there,
just a scientist,
that never is talking about her latest breakthroughs.

She's talking to me,
She's obnoxious, she's obnoxious
and invisible.

Jordan Brooks.

Country Crock-- a new low.

Country Crock-- a new low.
By Jordan Brooks


Country Crock has plants.

Could you imagine the marketing meeting that came up with that concept?

"Alright guys, we're worried the stock is going to go low, we need something to keep Country Crock at the top of everyone's minds-- a new advertising campaign. Anybody got any ideas?

... ...

Nothing? Nothing?! You guys have to have something."

"What about plants?"

"What?"

"We'll do an advertising campaign, 'Country Crock has plants.'"

"That's interesting. What kind of plants?"

"You know plants, just plants. Everybody loves plants."

Advisor 2: "Yeah, plants."

Advisor 3: "Plants, wow"

"Alright so we need new commercials, 'Country Crock, made with plants.'"

"Yeah, sounds good."

Advisor 2: "People are going to love it."

Advisor 3: "I know I love plants."

"Does anyone here not-like plants?"

Advisor 4: "I don't like plants, I'm a Jeffersonian Carnivore."

"A what?"

"A carnivore in the truest sense of the term, in the ideological sense: an ideological carnivore."

Advisor 3: "Dave.."

"You're fired."

Advisor 2: "I don't know about you, but I could use some plants right now."

"Any particular kinds of plants?"

"You know.. plants, just plants."

"You're a genius."

Country Crock-- a new low.


Jordan Brooks.

https://m.youtube.com/?reload=2&rdm=2mtple3tr#/watch?v=7j54QnhASng

Contaminated

Contaminated
by Jordan Brooks.
06.14.17

Contaminated

She was convinced she could control the environment
it controlled her behaviors, and her responses.
And there’s these superficial ideologies masking someone underneath,
someone that no one can ever see,

looks naked, it’s pretty or it’s ugly,
but, it’s like a world without girls.
And I’m sitting next to you,
Are you normal,

Are you contaminated?
You’re as normal as a girl in this place can be,
60% contaminated,
and acting like someone else,

I used to wonder what’s happened here,
I discovered it’s a sexual thing,
always going to do what secretly turns you on,
because nobody else can ever see every decision of yours has been weighed in this consideration,

And it’s a big competition, yeah,
ever since you were four,
and acting like the celebrities
it’s been a competition but not just vs me,

not just vs the boy, I mean
but vs everyone.

And by now he’s learned that you’re not going to change,
not ever going to fall to your knees,

and stand up to kiss,
like the men do, 

Going to live the low life now,

because no one can see

she’s missing,
out of the society
I watch cinema,
and I want to see her.

The scene will come,
I'm going to see what she's abandoned,
Besides the obvious:

100% contaminated--

The World Syndrome.
This time she wants me to believe the problem is with me,
that I am just like him,
am I just like them?

Yeah, yeah—she’ll say yeah.
That little girl was never honest with me.

If I can’t seduce you,

you’ll be getting angrier every day.

And every day she’s getting stronger and evolving,
growing immune to this boy that I am—
she's going to be so mad soon,
so mad soon.

Jordan Brooks.

Apartment-house

Apartment-house
 By Jordan Brooks
Nov. 04, 2016.

My mind
is traveling a-thousand-miles-an-hour
and so is my life,
 finally,
rates that keep me occupied.

I can hide from you,
but eventually I'll be found,
completely hidden, it seems to be not allowed,
so, lately, my writing has been less than profound

Has it gotten so bad,
that I
can never write again:

the college instructor: who abandoned those dreams
when he realized holding onto them was stubborn,
he walked into work to find the students in his class,
seated, and ready to learn, he had become that,

his love for writing, quieted, and substituted,
like an ex-girlfriend,
something not-allowed,

the desire to write,
like a girl you to whom you never spoke:

Back when I was on the bus,
I used to pass the roads that led to you,
then later, on different avenues,
I'd push the button, and stop the bus,
(in some affluent city,) out in California.

 it happened a hundred times.
It is possible: that's something I could never do.


`Jordan Brooks.

Loved

Loved
Jordan Brooks.
Nov. 04, 2016.

In the bedroom, the bed's not made.
A television is on,
but I won't listen to what they're saying.
I'm amidst a daydream.

So, I go to the kitchen; I pace the room,
my wife will be home soon,
and troubles abound,
lately,

my writing's been less than profound.

She'll tell me to practice it,
with a pen, make movements until you're skillful and eloquent,
and perfect,
and in the house we'll have quiet as the heat of the night,

I gotta hold my completed and beautiful work,
and kiss my wife,

and stop rummaging through muted thoughts for a place I've found:

 a girl I met in town,
obviously, incapable of love,
each day there's new evidence,
she tends to allow herself to marry,

so just admit you've intents,
you're not trying to convince,
you say I love you while rolling your eyes,
you've never loved me or any other guy.


JlB.

Inequities ii

Inequities ii
by Jordan Brooks
Nov. 11, 2016.

There's a headache,
(you feel good,)
I notice how you can't empathize,
at all. And so, you're not one-of-a-kind,

Get so angry now,
 I've said it.
I imagined a boy, he doesn't know of better,
all the girls always got mad,

he's never seen a better response
in a better relationship,
never had the response he could just love,
a normal response from a girl untainted,

and a girl, she sees he's imprisoned by this,
and she gets mad, rather than loves him,
rather than showing him the good light,
that he could know of:

She locks the door:
He'll think that is what a girl is.

I know you think he'll grow to love her,
that it's not the prettiest relationship there is,
a missing critical element of her personality,
another element trimmed from the picture,

one he'll never know of or miss,
another deceit, (he missed,)
Your imposing inequity.


Jordan.

Practice

Practice (day-off)
By Jordan Brooks
Nov. 11, 2016.

Thursday, during the daytime,
I took off school,
and I awoke, had breakfast and went back to sleep,
and woke-up around 10am

to start working on my writing,
hoping I'd find myself better at it now,
than I was yesterday,
when I looked at it, and thought

that it wasn't very good.

I kept my eyes open, looking for noteworthy signs
of goodness,
and something surfaced, I had finished,
I thought it was adequate (not great).

Setting it aside,
I worked on another,
not much better than
the last one I wrote,

not as good as years ago.
Those days, I did alright
These days, I have to practice,
and try to get better;

the treasured item,
is that I'm still writing:
I'm still lifting the weights,
I'm not at home not-exercising.

I had a practice day-off,
I should buy a drink for a pretty girl,
a coffee,
after I tell her hello

...

Jordan.

Happy Hopes

Happy Hopes
 by Jordan Brooks
Nov. 18, 2016.


Rebels against authority,
 making inside jokes against conformity,
 twenty-four years old,
 at ends with the man, more than a few times;

I'm not sure if I had committed to intending to say hi,
 when somehow we met,
 I'm just some boy that's nearby;
 maybe she just sees a boy with wide eyes.

Tells me she's been thinking that I'm unlike most guys,
 her best friend,
 a guy she admires,
 like because she just feels connected somehow.

And as we talk,
 we find in each other,
 emotional maturities,
 levels and real growths,

and we share the bed,
 it's still the rush, and in it, I've happy hopes
 Day is sweet.
 Night is sweet(er).

Then one day it ends: she can't see me anymore.
 it's not personal:
 it's just that it can't get that way.
 I see her inside-joke ,

rebels against authority,
 and now, she rebels against me,
 her pretty story,
 she gets her way,

then runs away,
 and then love is the fairytale,
 it seems.

Jordan.

Depressed Girlfriend

Depressed Girlfriend
 By Jordan Brooks
Nov. 20, 2016.

You got in the bed yesterday morning,
 you should try to get out of it today,
 because tomorrow is just too long,
 and you're not talking to me,

and now that we're talking less,
 I believe it's not enough,
 the candies on the other side of this town,
 are harder to get, more valuable now

that bed must be so comfortable,
 that the thoughts of being somewhere else are unadorned,
undesired, and unattractive:
 the bed's the only place you want to be;

we were walking through the hall, away from the quiet dinner downstairs,
 and I had a thought of you saying something,
 but when I looked, I saw you hadn't talked,
 you'd said, all you hear from the room are the keys,

that I'm always returning or leaving you
 I hear them dancing too,
 or the silence of you lying up-there
in sadness, the depressed state,

the hints you give,
 I couldn't figure them out,
 they weren't good to me,
 he's supposed to be able to figure it out,

it's impossible,
 a joke to you,
 as you lie, you laugh inside,
were you even hinting at all,

 the noises in the silence of you lying there,
if I wake you, if you smile,
 and say the depression is gone,
 that nasty thing is out of this town,

it descended, regrettably, onto our lives,
 and we kept our sight,
 we stayed it off,
 we laugh and love this part of our lives,

the relationship's grown,
 another element we've beaten,
 this, another victory we're seeing,
 so, yeah we've continued to grow

and the look in your eyes,
 the childish relationship that continued to grow,
 is grown, and compared to... those days in our bed,
 and a depression that stops,

was there ever even any doubt,
 I never saw it hanging around.
 I never saw you distant and falling away.
 I mean, I always knew you loved me.

it's there whenever I see you looking at me,
 it's what I've seen, since we were meeting
 at coffee shops for tea,
 the curse of the girl who can't ever hide,

that's my daydream these days;
 I can't ever be sure,
 the curse of the girl who always stays hidden,
 a guy who's never close-enough,

to be known, to be loved,
 I mean, I'm sorry, not that.


Jordan.

Suburbia

Suburbia
 by Jordan Brooks
Nov. 21, 2016.

Those reoccurring visits,
 she's never doing them.
 and showing-up where some guy treats her bad,
 is constant;

I guess, a good boy, friend,
 with all of everything,
 the normal life,
 is not fun, or wanted.

I'll take the fifteen into town,
 to shop from store to store,
 and walk around,
 on streets paved with brick,

I'll find her:
 the Redlands bowl,
 or the library.
 It's almost evening,

she might be in one of all of those empty seats,
 suspended in the electricity,
 in the reverie,
 watching the setting sun.

It's charming,
 and incredibly moving,
 the romantic comedy,
 the lovely movie,

the guy who doesn't need anything,
 in the closest seat, talking to the girl,
 like a foreign language that in a few months, he might get,
 a French conversation,

from two people,
 a boy and a girl in the tenuous night of the city life.

Jordan.

Day

Day
 by Jordan Brooks
Nov. 22, 2016.

If I ever get to know her,
 type-d personality, plus
 in my past life, a troubadour,
 anything-else is just unwanted,

we might have the good one.
 Like this apartment in Bangor, I saw,
 only a couple hundred a month,
 could be there in a couple of hours,

(w/) the laptop at Cedarwoods,
 I could write my stories there,
 you won't ever get unhappy there.
 I mean, we'll pick-up where we left off:

I can get so lonely, it seems,
 (maybe) even in an atmosphere that makes all the difference;
 and then, I get my peck on the lips,
 and the air, you,

it's heavy with wonder and lust,
 for us to wander, in love.
 The street lights come on
 in the winter's warmth,

the hot cocoa's stirred,
 we haven't been talking though.
 but we love the days,
 the guy she loves, this place.

and he won't ever get tired of loving her,
 so she'll always feel loved,
 the sky, pretty
 the wind, a breeze

the sun will rise:
 last night we were on the sofa together fighting the chills,
 and turning-in for warmth,
 the days and nights in happiness.

Jordan.

Private Talk

Private Talk
by Jordan Brooks
Nov. 25, 2016.

Telling secrets, the couple
 pulled away from the group, it's the private talk,
 it's different when we are with friends.
 Like at the house, these things, he's never said in-front-of them

or anyone else,
 A binary excitement:
 she can't wait to talk alone with him: she can't wait to be
 out with him.

She was befuddled, I wonder,
 they haven't been intimate with a lover where they still kiss each other
 through the nights,
 (and again just after work: she

lies in bed:
 where they always meet, after work;
 he unbuttons his shirt and crawls right in,
 tells her, after this they can grab a snack

or a dinner.)

Out at the events:
 she's waiting for him to get back to her,
 waiting for the night end,
 he always pulls her close

at the house, they talk of secrets,
 they kiss
 he's not the same guy
 who is talking to his friends,

(not the same girl talking to her friends,)
 it's the girlfriend talk, the private talk,
 better than the friend talk, (better than the business talk)
 that she loves.

This is of romance that has lifted her up,
 and eventually, allowed her to set firmly on the ground:
 she dances around him,
 he always loved her, (and her amusement,)

he goes thither: they go thither.

Jordan.

Alaska

Alaska
 by Jordan Brooks
Nov. 26, 2016.

Our love slowly freezes,
 words become annoyances,
 and we can't go to the pretty place (Anchorage),
 because there's nothing special about living in our ordinary, everyday.

And I'm thinking of working late, just staying in the story
 (and) escaping today.
 My protagonist,
 aware of how things are supposed to be,

she always corrects everything,
 And when he objected,
 the attitude doesn't want to see him at all,
 holding-out on kisses, and quiet in bed.

And then he falls for her again, when she's finished,
 like he did in the beginning,
 well, it all angers me.
 They won't ever attend to each other,

the blindness, the immaturity,
 I wonder if they even love each other,
 if he's just like me,
 I'm just your Bang Bang Bart.

(And attitudes,)
 maybe I've been looking for your clinical diagnosis,
 its ever-unspoken words:
 of concepts never founded.

Everyday, as attitude is paining
 she does love him,
 from sea to shining sea,
 (in the house in Alaska atop the coldest peak,

that snow-filled wind blows through the yard,
 in the house it doesn't even flicker the flame
 except she loves the cold attitude I hate:
 it's from the comfortable warmth of inside of our home--

our home,
 protecting us from the cold and the loneliness of the world,
 the love of a boy and a girl,
 a husband, a wife--

Is it difficult to believe,
 like, that this happens
 I should always believe she does love him,
 because somehow, she probably does.)

Jordan.

Paparazzi

Paparazzi
By Jordan Brooks
Dec. 01, 2016-

And I was thinking about going to the supermarket and acting like the paparazzi: you know, following people to their cars and asking them questions, being careful to not get in the way of their departure in any way, "Did you buy chicken? How about mangoes, if you didn't get mangoes, you can still go back and buy some. They're like $.60 cents each, why don't you go get some mangoes. Are you going to have some mangoes for breakfast: Are you going to have orange juice for breakfast? You know orange juice helps to prevent heart disease, that and oatmeal. Did you buy any oatmeal? Looks like you need some oatmeal, or some cheerios. Hey, how long were you shopping? Did you vote for Trump? Shouldn't you make burgers tonight? Buy ground beef. You dropped your black pepper. Do you want it? The black pepper you dropped? Do you think I should sell your black pepper (on LetGo)?"

I was getting to my car and the paparazzi was there; they said, "How's that book going? Is it almost done? How many pages is it? Are you going to give-up on it? What's it about? Can you send me a copy when it's finished? That's a nice tie. How about the people on your Facebook, how are they doing? Are they writing books too? What are their books about? What do they think about Hilary losing the presidency? Is it time for an impeachment? I hope they're doing well. Tell the people on your Facebook I said hi. Give them my regards."


`Jordan.

i

i
by Jordan Brooks
Dec. 05, 2016

She sits with me for a long time,
 I don't know why,
 and when she leaves, I realize
 it wasn't long enough.

I'm to remember a girl,
 we shared a cure.
 so, I love her a while, she's
 even more special now.

Seems I don't know how to write it out,
 I want to save it,
 I ought to write it down.
 Maybe my last relationship holds the clues.

The things she liked, I ought to do.
 but, those things never seem to last
 and that relationship just fades.
 All the water is washed away,

with my hands beneath a faucet,
 it's all just down the drain.
 It's warm or it's cold, it goes away.
 But, I hold the water to take

a drink.

... hers is supposed to be better,
 a filtered Dasani, or a Roxane bottle.
 The girls aren't off oblivious.
 They're always making moves,

been years of this.
...all just down the drain,
 it's hot; it's cold,
 I hold the water to take a drink.

I sit with her for a long time,
 to the pretty night,
 and when she has left, I realize
 it wasn't long enough.

Estate

Estate
 by Jordan Brooks
Dec. 06, 2016.

A girl made her way into my diaries,
 a smart and pretty girl.
 I cannot tell which is her greater gift.
 Sometimes I wonder if it is indeed

her intelligence.
 Still, her beauty reigns,
 and she's nice in her disposition,
 played hard-to-get, and relented,

it was quite the relief.
 She plays a game when she speaks to me,
 a show of her intelligence,
 so she's fun,

even though the game--
 well, it can dismiss a conversation,
 makes it frivolous.
 Maybe that's how she feels about life,

it isn't so serious,
 Maybe that's the feeling I get from her.
 It isn't so serious.
 I guess she's a contender to take the place

that another girl entertained,
 and then tossed away;
 she makes a persuasive argument,
 that's what I'm thinking now,

when I'm with her,
 she doesn't seem so far away,
 looks on me
 with kind eyes,

and kind thoughts,
 her understanding's advanced,
 soon, I'll find myself
 wanting to be around her

at recess,
 or Market Night.
 I'll scribble it down in a notebook.
 Maybe I'll see her there,

I'll send away the smile as we start to talk.
 I'll see the intelligence, the prettiness,
 the cart of candied apples,
 the evening with the bands playing

the kettle-corn,
 we can walk through the streets,
 looking to buy
 dinner from a similar place,

then dessert,
 as we approach a band,
 on east State Street,
 the one across from shop that sells coffee

where we can watch the night end.

Invisible

Invisible
by JlB Aug. 2009.

The city has two faces,
it has too many phases, 
I found myself flipping through pages 
from days of my life, 
all alone, at a desk by a light.

People keep swarmin by him
no one looks back for a quick glimpse,
looks like they're ignoring some simp
who is standing in the street, 
it's not surprising me. 

During the daytime, 
-or maybe during another lifetime,
He'd send his mother a lifeline saying, "Hey, mother I'm fine, 
but the people on the street, it seems like they can't see me."

I think that I might just be
(invisible)
-

The city has two faces
shit, it has so many phases
I found myself ripping through pages
of days of my life
I detest the tests of life. 

So I closed my heartbreak,
and I even turned the page on heartache
stopped looking through keepsakes
for something inbetween, for something I just can't see.

That's because it's not right-there anymore
it's become invisible. 
That's because there is nothing there, like before

so I am ( )

by JlB

My Needle

My needle
by JlB Aug. 2009

The way it happened at first,
we took at turn for the worst-
it wasn't expected.

She tried to fight me again, 
so I'm letting her win-
I'm not defending my actions.

I'm heading down to the market, 
and I'm just going to park it
-until they open,

because its just after four and some idiot whore
has ruined my night.

So I had to walk walk-walk- 
16 blocks, 
just to get some comfort,

and now a cop's pulling-up, 
Oh man, I'm about to get fucked;
-I just wanted some Comfort.

-
Needle in the hay,
I'm the needle in hay wherever I go.

Needle in the hay,
Needle in the hay,
I'm the needle in hay wherever I go,

and I'm not defending my actions, 
you ought to leave me alone,
because I'm not defending my actions.


I'm just the needle in hay,
a simple needle in hay,
so you ought to be careful...

or you are the needle in hay- 
you are the needle in hay,
like a pin lying in wait, like a pile of too many problems.
-

You laughed at his jokes,
touching his clothes,
while everyone's laughing.

I can't be myself
around everyone else
when I'm watching this happen,

I just need some time
to be alone,
so I hope that nobody wants me.

...
...


Back at home
and I'm almost alone-
if she'd stay out of my way.

I can't talk right now,
there's no talking this out,
I'm simply sick of your actions.

You're the needle in hay,
a needle in hay,
a bitch with too many problems.
-


Then some days pass by;
a new phase comes by-

She wants out of my life.


I'm not okay,
I'm not okay.
Now I need you out of my life.

I said, "I'm not okay;
no, I'm not okay.
Now you are relieved from my life."

You can leave me alone,
just leave me alone,
I'm not defending my actions.

You can leave me alone;
you can leave me alone;
because there's no defending your actions.
-

You are a needle in hay,
a needle in a hay,
and I'm not sifting through problems.

Needless to say- 
a needle in hay,
is the least of my problems.

I said that needless to say, 
sadly, my needle in hay,
might just be the least of my problems...

by JlB

Drinking Milk (at Midnight).

Drinking Milk
-Of ivory in the moonlight-
From "Unsweetened Laments" Aug. 10, 2009.
"Under the guise of retrieving drinking-milk to become stronger, I opened the refrigerater. I believe, truly, it's comforting to combat torments, such as Osteoporsis, in this manner-- the drinking of milk. Unfortunately, instead of 
luxuriating in bliss, I discovered agony and anguish. For, I had a vision of hundreds upon hundreds of cows, stabled to death, in a hell of complex mechanical milking contraptions. Emotionless, I reached for the Silk. For the first time since the last time, I reached for the artificial milk. The body of the box of Silk communicated that it was fortified with vitamins. Luckily, the silk was not the byproduct of an animal being milked to death; the Silk was not a byproduct of hell.

Honey, self-righteously resting on the counter with my glass of artificial milk, I'd managed to perpetuate my bliss. This, however, seemed a bit odd. Upon closer examination, I realized that the procured glass of artificial milk infused with vitamins could be closer to ecstasy-- closer to heaven, that is-- than a glass of the residual waste of caged animals in a hell. Not only was this small reality fantastically dreamlike, but as I brought the glass of Silk to my lips, I experienced another epiphany: After considering the heavenly aspects of the consumption of artificial milk as opposed to the "drinking-milk" of hundreds of enslaved cows being milked to death, I grasped the rue and woe of derriving elation from consuming artificial milk. Drinking a glass of artificial milk infused with vitamins to combat indulging in the excess of an animal in hell is truly an unsweetened lament."

JlB