http://slow.writerscafe.org/chadhalle The original writings of author Chad Halle en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776017880 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15  she stand in beautyi watch her breathei watch her talkmillions of words run throughmy heart but nonethrough my mouthshe's a socialw***e but i enjoy hercompany and wantmorei stopped talking andlearned to listenlong agobut no one wascountingi count her teethas she.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/351961/  i found jesusin my toast. i prayedfor peaceand loveand understanding, thenhe laughedat me. i askedwhat was sofunny and he showedme pictures of thetaj mahal, sayingthey werelooking for me. nowpeople in indiaare finding the gunsand knocking outtheir teeth. yetbe.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/348859/  the sky was explodingfor us. with a boomthe darkness shone light andcolor on everything beautifulexcept for what mattered. and wheni went looking for whatset it off, i was sent backto the benchesto watch. and i watched the sky blossomfor us. it opened upfor our lov.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/348489/ a song http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/334921/ i, like hafiz did manymoons ago, caughtthe virus as well. hewarned that it wascontagious. i saton the couch with my eyes facing the walluntil she sat nextto me, rubbing herleg as we spoke ofmusic, modeling, andhow politics arefucked. i wassmiling, enjoyingour talk. i.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/334120/  war es peace&freedom es slavery&ignorance es strategy y peace es warslavery es free(dom)strategy es ignorance y ignorance es slaverypeace es freedomwar es strategy y slavery es strategywar es freedomignorance es .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/334119/ when the revolutionis over, whatyou gonna change?what you gonnachange (?)when the revolution isover(?) http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/332148/ start on page one, nextthing i know i'm onpage sixty. mesmerizedby these words, hauntedby these beautiful words,caressed by these beautifulwords. keep eyes on thebook cause the cabinets aremorphing, the plastic ismelting, the fire is much toohot. albert hoffman isn't deadhe's l.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/328393/  -welcome,friends, welcome tothese rollinghills/ bundle uphere, don'tget lost inthe wind, or fallin the snow-fog fathoms over feet-it's cold, can't feelhands or tongue whichwas bittwo, maybe threetimes whileeating the 2 dollarfrozen yogurt ballsbig cup of frozen.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/325762/  i got holesin mysocks. i gotmissingsocks- onlyhalf apair. i got justone sipleftthen i'm offto sleep. sleepin,sleepingand dreamin ofholes, ever fallindown holes andspinnin incircles- creatinga uselessenergy that goesnowhere; gettingme no.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/325758/ based on a ZKS poem http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/324638/  i kept the waterrunning too longand it puddledall around me. the water keptrising and in it,next to mine, wasthe refection ofLi Po embracingthe moon. the water continuedto rise, up past myknees, and i lookedout to the moon, whichwas still swinging up.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/321211/  today at work i had to help this dudeuse the shitter. there were threeof us in the bathroom, liftinghim from his wheelchair to thetoilet. it smelled like some sortof powder. once he's allsituated on his throne andfinished with business, we touchnoses for wiping duties. luckily .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/321209/ O boy! An immature battlefor righteousness stoppedshort; hidden somewhere within the lost world scrolls. So we search. It was betweeneast and west we couldn'tclimb the wall, three sirenscalled- we were deported and put on trial. There's a tampered witness on t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/316659/ tonight the moonis cut inhalf, perfectly downthe center.  and iwonder whoelse is looking upinto thestars, andi wonderwhich half ofthe moon theysee. i've been cutin two halvestoo, idon't rememberwhen, or bywhom, but i keepwanderingthese nights andth.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/314318/ gonna havea party, people! it's in november and yr ALL invited! http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/312618/ Ii'm drunkand sittin on afold-out chair, talkinto this guywearing a black cap. his name'sbenn. he's telling meabout how he usedto bein a gang fromtown. he's sayin eventhe copswere afraidof them, man. they wasreal tough. i'm imaginingponyboycurtis and his grou.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/308171/  I i remember smokingtea on thebridge and recitingfake poetry. just youand melooking overthe edge, sharing thewind with thebirds and the bluesky. the clouds formednew worldswhich we wereable to name afterdead disciples;thompson, kerouac,ginsberg, burroug.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/306105/  she wantedmeto call i wasfuckedup she said have a safe night i'm gonna finish my movie ifuckedup she didn'twantto talk http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/306103/  i remember smokingpot on thebridge and recitingfake poetry. just youand melooking overthe edge, sharing thewind with thebirds and the bluesky. the clouds formednew worldswhich we wereable to name afterdead disciples;thompson, kerouac,ginsberg, burroughs,bukowski.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/303135/  i used to ridemy bike througha trail connectingspring road to somewhereclose to the cemetery. itwas more like anunpaved back roadno one drove onanymore, but itwas a nice ride. afteri sold my bikei still would gothere, take walks, sometimessmoke some pot. one dayther.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/298565/ my response to 200 Motels...a Frank Zappa film...Keith Moon is the nun http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/295821/  the clock hasbeen slowindown, tickingless andless. i been walkinfast, runnin toya, waiting.my feet are tappinto themusic, makingthe music. mylegs aresweating, tired, sittinhere, forever. yetwhen youreturn, the clockwill catchup again, spinninfaster thane.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/290880/ it's one thingi regret; nothaving my phonethat day. work wasrelocated to theleonardo housefor theweek,and william s.burroughs wasthere. he satin his chair, lettingpeople know whensomeonewas atthe door, and whento answer thetelephone. acouple days hesat there wit.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/278234/ today i foundan electric organthat didn't work, itjust hummed.i turned it onand pressed thekeys but it didn't makea sound, just kepton humming. iplayed somesongs anyway.tonight i'll passout and sleep throughanything.tonight i'll get drunkas hell and writea poem, call .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/274088/ on wednsdays ivolunteer ata community artsprogram, quite a fewparticipants are mentallyhandicapped, disabled.every one of themso smart andso kind. one participantenjoys art for it isthe oppositeof mathematics; thereis no right orwrong answer, and noright or wrong wayto .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/269796/ i work at asuper market, thoughit isn't verysuper. i workat a grocerystore which employsplenty of geniuses;potheads,crack heads,alcoholics,ex-hippies,hippies,college kids anddropouts,high schoolers,and others fromthe mentallyill spectrum. the kids inthe deli alway.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/247728/ chewin on nicotinegum, sippin onwine from a waterbottle. hightenedsenses, burning face, burningthroat. cold, i'mcold. loud, everything isloud. pull my hair, tugat my ear- nottoo much, it hasbeen peeling lately. might go fora drive, pick upa handfulof pills. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/247016/ based on the folk song "dreamed i saw joe hill"...numerous others http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/244707/ here driving down84on the roadto lowell, the birthplace and burialgrounds ofjackkerouac, the "kingof the beats". to the town he firstcalled home. aking whoquitely satandslowely wentmad, takeing hisbody withhim. but why wasn'tallenginsberg king? beingth.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/244700/ This guy kept calling mesir andasking me how Iwas feeling, telling meto hang in there.I think he thought Iwas hung-over, sayinghe knows howI feel; he's been therebefore. Butthe fact thathe would callme sirwas close to unbearable, hisformality was uncomfortable- the ol.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/241929/ i would like to write an epicpoem some day.with kings and queensand knights and dragons;knights dyingwhile fighting dragons.knights dying inhonor. me dying,dying for honor, forimmortality. a poemto speak, apoem to shout, towhisper. it would takepages, it wouldtake years.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/241906/ the dog had astyle, and it was good; he had the mostimagination, which isa plus on manyaccounts. and some liked the bald kid, butthat was more likea sympathy, peoplefelt for him. but myfavorite wasthe boy at the piano; he had a style that counted, he madehimself ma.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/241905/ was thinking of adding in how when you're younger they dont tell you those things, when you were young he really was a magician.but once you grow older, the magic dies, people become entertainers. maybe that's what we are here for; to entertain. just thatsome people are g.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/241902/ there is no magicleft, just an entertainer. a manwho had his audiencelocked in time, lockedin the palm ofhis hand. houdini wasthe locksmith,the pickpocket.the people in their seats; handcuffs,straightjackets,chains.there is no mysteryleft, just a fraud who knew theess.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/241901/     she watches the fish. she stares out the window and shuts the blinds; wonders if fish would like blinds, for the advantage of shutting out the rest of the world whenever necessary. one day she took one out of the water to see how long it would last in the air; one minute and fifty.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/222359/ The words so carefree, floating from your lips, didn't match the sounds.I didn't catch all theconsonants and vowels, couldn't piece it all together.The few minutes- not even, must have been a few seconds-that we spent in that kitchen, talking aboutsomethingthat went.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/222357/ foggy thoughts burdenan uncertainlife. uncertain of faith, love, self, of being. loathe (life) .poison (please) .could every ambition be a mistake? every passing thought a lie to ones self? every drink the last? here i sit, here i live...eventually dead. who.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/222354/ i meta vampyr. she had pale skin and thin, dark red lips. somehowshe managed to getout in the sun-light. sheasked for thetime, i didn'tknow. andlast night as i slept, she hunted me down, she sucked my bones dry.i wakeup in a coldsweat, conf.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/222353/   When it gets hard to breathe I try to take more air in with each breath. I don't know what it's supposed to do- or if it does anything- I do it because I can f.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/222350/   When I was younger I was under the impression that you'd live forever, but I made out a check to reality after your first heart-attack, which gave.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/222348/ My heart it burns, there is a fire inside of me, longingto escape. Sometimes I worry itmight, and sometimes it does butis quick to extinquish. I worry that one day it will burn this house down, just like in August of 1979.My possessions, my writings, what I would call.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/222346/ As I wasdriving home one night, all I could see was what was illuminated bythe headlights. Other than thatit was black, as if i weredriving in a black abyss- ablack hole if you may. All I wanted to do wasto drive awayfrom the road andinto the darkness and driveoff.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/222344/ i've known this girl since high school, we were in a class together, spanishclass. kids would throw paper airplanes and spit spitballs, condoms were passed around. i would listen to music in the corner. we did anything but speak spanish, and through the .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/222342/   i used to write stupid poems. love poems about dates i never went on and girls who never paid any attention to me. poems praising a god i never believed in. but mostly love poems, somet.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/chadhalle/222338/