All the Fun at Tumblr.

Turns out, keeping this blog updated didn't happen. For the time being, I feel more comforable blogging at clarityandchaos.tumblr.com. My poetry still is at christophschumacher.blogspot.com - there even is a new one!
See you around.

My Poetry Has Moved! And More Changes

For quite some time now, it bugged me that my poetry site (this one) and my pop culture/politics/etc blog used the same title: Clarity & Chaos and clarity + chaos, respectively.

Since my band Union Hills finally called it quits on Saturday and I now want to embark on adventures on my own, writing and - some time in the not so far future, hopefully - producing music to my texts, I decided to change this situation by - for the first time ever - publishing under my 'real name.' I know! Just like a real author! So may I proudly present: christophschumacher.blogspot.com!

But this doesn't mean the death of this blog! I'm also not satisfied with the mix of longer, more original writing on feminism, pop culture and politics on my tumblr. So that content is moving back here! And the tumblr will be the site for links, findings, pretty pictures etc.

Confusing! I know! But fun! I promise!

Crisis at Starbucks

Hand in hand they
lost each other
between sips of foam
and swirls of caramel.

When they met, they
had to choose between
food and Foucault.

They'd both been
unhappy in happy relationships and
happy in unhappy relationships.

They joined forces,
became allies.
Countless days
 and even more nights,
afternoon walks and
midnight fights.
Distributed clothes and utensils
in their cabins
until they found a home. 

A home.

But between quiche forms and
high thread count bed sheets
they stopped talking.
Osmosis replaced communication.

So they went where
modern campaigns started.
To end it. To talk.

They took a final sip,
licked foam
off their lips,
opened their mouths
and -

"I'm claiming the right to be unhappy."

They smiled. And it all came back.

One Bench.

One old couple
holding hands
on the park bench where
you kissed me for the first time
- carefully -
not spilling a drop
of the coffee I bought.

Chinese hipsters pass by
the old couple
sneers together
like they've done
for years
and will for
one more.

Too.

The
too slow walk of the
too young man -

too alone with his
too long beard framing his
too old face, his
too battered coat and
too worn out shoes, pulling a
too small cart
too full with
too many bags with
too few bottles -

reminds me that I -

too

- could be that man.

Just Like This.

On a night
     just like this
In a place
     just like this
Nothing special
     happened
And it was just
     fine.

The Man on the Corner

"The wind is the worst"
he nodded
barely holding on.

"but I'm used to the cold."
Snot freezes in his beard.

No one buys newspapers anymore.

Not For You

This song is not for you.
This beat is not for you.
This beer is not for you.
This laugh is not for you.
This dance is not for you.
This drink is not for you.
This street is not for you.
This house is not for you.
This kitchen is not for you.
These friends are not for you.
This room is not for you.
This bed is not for you.
This body is not for you.
- waking up your smile meets hers and you know:
This night was all about you.

Swirl

Out of a
swirl of voices
near and far,
abstract and crystal clear,
of joy, anger and
futility
a vague image develops:
Your mind.

ICE

tracks tracks tracks
tree!
tracks tracks tracks
tree!
tracks tracks tracks
tree!

suits racing
along tracks

work work work
free!
work work work
free!
work work work
free!

dig trenches 

through markets

buy buy buy

see!

buy buy buy

see!

buy buy buy

see!

like a deer 

in headlights

Heaps of Glass

Late September
wasps
parading around
the remnants of
summer's eve

Heaps and heaps
of glass
red wine
trickling down into
autumn day

D.

"C'mere, baby,
let me tell you how it is"
he said,
words spilling from
his mouth
like fishnets;
his lap a
landscape of regret,
reeking of a
stale, undead age.

Bad Influence

Every time I start to
think
I feel like I need a
drink
Maybe I should stop to read
Bukowski.

Missed Connection.

Couldn't hear you
on the radio.
So I came out
to play.

Clarity & Chaos on facebook

This little blog of mine now has a facebook page. I hope you like it - I do.

Dare

Ash fell
on the
D.A.R.E. sticker
on his
desk.

"Those were the days."
he thought
and coughed.

Troy.

Once
you stuffed them
into ships and huts
Reaping the
fruits of their labor
Denying them humanity.

Now
you stuff them
into blocks and jails
Reaping the
fruits of their labor
Denying them clemency.

A Dream.

Once I dreamt
of Jonathan Franzen.
We shared a sweater
and a cigarette.
Before I asked him
how to write
I finished my drink
and woke up.

Growing Up.

I was a father once
had silver-gray hair

then

I became a child
and finally knew
everything I would ever need.

Breaking Beds

we wrecked a
bed
in youthful
wrecklessness

from the backseat
of our fathers’ car
to the back of the
bus

ten minutes
to downtown
was enough

other kids’ stupor
(turning into an
adults stigma)
never caught on
to us

your parents’ basement
a practice field
tests without results

we painted our story
with all the colors
we could
find

Our world held
together
by three words
and a
hair slide

We joined in
fearless talk of a
non-combatant
future