Monday, June 29, 2009


last night i had a revelation of sorts. 
i want to go to memphis. 
it's not that this is the first time that i have felt inclined to go to this beautiful place
(i've wanted to since i was little and  was infatuated with Elvis). 
but this time around, at the age of 24
i want to go for very different reasons. 
it's funny, although i am now infatuated with a different person
i still want to go see this new land for the same reason:
i have been obsessed with Jeff Buckley for the past 2 years. 
I happened to fumble upon him while flipping through the artist cards at my old job, Dimple Records. 
I had certainly heard of him and was instantly attracted to his album cover (his face and body donned "Elvis 1960's")
but had never heard him sing. 
once i heard him sing, i was fucking thrown into a whole other realm where no one else 
existed (for a good few months).
he was all i wanted to think about, read about, listen to, 
dream about. 
fast forward to 2 years and this hasan't gone away. i can listen to him for days on end.
i try to look through my ipod while on walks, searching for a new sound, but end up 
excited (yet again) for when his name scrawls on the screen. 
nothing excites me like his music does. 

i want to go to memphis to see where he last lived. the house (yes) even. 
but i am more looking to go to Wolf River, the place where he died.
some may say that this is morose, childish even
but i am really set on visiting this place. 
i do not know why i feel so compelled.
maybe it's why people visit grave sites religiously
or why mothers keep their deceased children's rooms intact,
but i feel like i have to go to this place
to pay some sort of silent respect.

also, it will become more real to me that this body of water
could truly be 
his unlikely assassin. 

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

drama, drama.

tonight has been very busy at the hotel.
i have finally finished reading that huge 650+ page book on jean genet
and am now in the early stages of reading the new jeff buckley biography.
which leads me to thinking
that i have always been more interested (consumed even)
in reading about other people's lives (real, cold hard sad lives)
rather than about fairytales or fiction.

give me real deaths or murders
absent fathers
drug addict mothers
lovers cheating on lovers

anyday over cinderella or vampire tales.

sorry kids, but the sad was made for me.

Monday, June 22, 2009

taxi driver.

so, i have to be honest and say that i have never looked at myself as someone who is beautiful. looking into the mirror is the last place that i would ever utter the word "pretty".
and i am saying this with the most honest intentions. i am not looking for comments of reassurance or compliments. please, no.
i am saying this merely just to say it (to myself even)

beauty has always been such an easy thing for me to fall for.
all my life, i've seen so much in so many things.
people, objects, words...
it's always here.
i think the most fascinating thing is that there are so many different perspectives and realms that underlie the very thought of something being
beautiful, that everyone has an opinion on this subject.
no one single person can or will go throughout thier life not having
an opinion or say in this.
it fascinates me.
it overwhelms me.

who knows. your future wife could be a sumo wrestler or a model
drug addict or librarian.
musician or mother of 5.
doctor or tattoo artist.
taxi driver or dentist.

or a 19 year old homebody.

Saturday, June 20, 2009


i swear, sometimes this hotel feels like i'm living in a wes anderson film.
the characters are the same, just wearing different uniforms and working different positions.
the cook is the hostess
the lobby maid is the bartender
the front desk associate is the busser.
i am wearing a blue blazer with a collar shirt and a tired grin
staring at the woman who is unhappy with her room
on the phone nearing an hour.
i am writing this in front of her.
(i am calm)

i miss the days in high school when i would be dropped off at my friend monica's house and lie upside down on her bed while watching "basketball diaries" and think for hours about my long 5 year high school crush (a boy, nevertheless)
and strum haphazardly on her out of tune guitar
singing about the alcatraz poster on her bedroom wall
or talking endlessly about what our little lives would

drama ensued (like it always does)
and we no longer talk.
and good thing
'fore we are two entirely different people.

but yes. good ol' 90's leonardo dicaprio.

(8) months.

forgetting my last name comes in triumphs,
blood on the sheets,
blood on the hands of the ones i adore.
i wear 2 rings on each left and right.
i look back
and forth.
forward and be
and on this day, there are mazes and numbers i want to remember.
all the strangers that invade my small time life for a simple second.

and the one that is pinned to my chest
even when i cannot feel it,

my darling.
8 months of spending life with her.

i hope to always feel this.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

to amy part 2.

amy, i could not lose it if i tried.
i tell the ones i love that i love them on a daily basis. it is a natural instinct
to either scream it or write it daily.
i do not understand most times but
i feel like i will have a heart attack if my friends do not know
that i worship and adore them.
i think i tell you enough. i hope i do.

i am so in love with the people in my life right now. the few but the many!

i could not ask for more.

to the grave!

i was thinking about funerals last night and how horrible the thought is to think of losing anyone in my life. i am sorry but i must admit, that in this field i am awfully selfish.
i want to die before any of my close loved ones.
i do.
death has always been a subject that has been embedded into my head since i can remember. it's not really an eerie thought, rather than just a constant knowing that it is inevitable. sometimes i am scared of it, sometimes i am not .
once i even craved it.
now i am pretty much hoping to stay for a long time in order to experience my life with the ones that i adore.
i think this always happens for people. as soon as you get older, death becomes more real, more vivid, more in the cards.
it comes in cycles. it comes in storms.

i would like
a few songs to be played at my funeral (hoping that this does not happen for a long time)

but the classic "wish you were here" by pink floyd is a must.
"gong" or "singlapor" by sigur ros please
"sleepwalker" by santo & johnny.

other than that, that's all.

sorry for the depressed writing, but i feel really happy.
i just wanted to put that out there.

Sunday, June 14, 2009

dusk in your hair.

this evening, i lay on my lover and rattled off my devotion to her. eyes locked and my messy hair sprawled onto her shoulders and chest. none of this dialouge was very calculated. it was restless and anxious and overwhelming.
(i've never been good at explaining how i feel).
most times, I ramble and forget-and delve into run on sentences and cry or laugh or zone out
and my words were exhausting her, i know this. she wanted to read
she wanted to learn about something new and
something old.
(not me)
i wanted my words in her mouth.
so that they would never come out
and she would swallow them whole
without regret or momentary lapse
or sheer digust
from my sheer desire.
my veins lingered on the sheets
my hands falling into the mattress.
i want years to
and stability to ensue.
(but i am a dreamer)

Saturday, June 13, 2009


this morning, my eyes stuck to the center not wanting to leave.
last night, my legs and feet felt numb (bothered by the wieght of this nothing).

we finally finished recording after 3 days at the hangar. jordyn called it "boot camp recording".
and it was. but it was the most amazing recording experience i have yet to have.

it baffles me how much our friends and family supported us over the last 3 days.

i still feel pretty numb, empty and dazed. my head is a cloud.
i want to sleep.
i want to watch first 48.
i want to read.
i want to listen to anthony green and screamscreamscream
while lying on a bed/grass/shower/backseat

pulling out my teeth.

i have a few more hours to go at work.
i haven't researched much.

i don't know why the update but i think it is important for me to write out my thoughts because i will feel more stable after all this, hopefully.

machu slipped 30 dollars in my work jacket pocket because i am a broke bitch.
i was stunned and teared up at work.
she comes through esp. when i ask nothing of her.

my god.
lethargy is my friend right now.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009


I've been reading a few blogs (ok, maybe just one in particular) and I have to say, I am not really into writing about the profound stupidity of others or about the "immense depth of my logic". It's pretentious.
And it's bullshit.

I'm sorry but i don't really think I am better than anyone. (ok, maybe a few assholes come to mind that I think I am a much better person than, but that is merely because I don't enjoy gossiping, lying, stealing, or killing). Other than that, I'm just as able and willing as anyone.

I would love to call this certain person out, but I'm a recluse and I would like to stay that way. I abhor drama and this boy would certainly bring it. But not in a straight forward kind of way, no
he's too good for that.

he's let me sinkandswim in it.

the way a good letdown should.

Saturday, June 6, 2009

i know

i know a man who loves electronic music like making love to a stranger like he's known forever
i know a woman who loves a woman who ain't nothing never gonna leave her like tomorrow
are every
i know a girl who is tempted to throw her shoes out the car window and pray for
i know a boy who likes cereal like he loves his mother

i know what sentences should be but what they are not

i know a homosexual who is the msot beautiful face i've yet to see on the pages of a 652 page novel written in french, loved in english, smeared in spanish, and ripped apart in portugese.

i know a friend who is finally home tonight after 1 and half months overseas

she makes me write like this

all frantic, like.

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

poverty, at best.

if being poor means anything to you,
then i'll count my dimes darling because i have few.
i have songs that fill my head at a rapid pace,
books to the tons filled up on the sides of my non-existent bedroom.
with more cd's than any human probably should have.

i miss lucas johnson with my lungs.
i miss john horton more than i care to think of.
and i miss aaron fowler like i've never missed anyone before.

boys, all spread over the western terrain.
san francisco,seattle, and auburn.

i am in neither.

i am however, in a city that has led me to many new things.
need i list them, i may lose them so i will not.

and i don't know who this blog is for
probably no one
but being poor must be written about, sometimes.


i want to study the veins of her
or the blur that becomes us
as we fell frantic
on her bed.
in the night i was a fool again
i'm in love with a number and a
tunnel over my head
like lost beggars or petitions
on the way to a dynasty.
i pressed my scream into her shoulder
and felt my teeth break skin
fumbled my tounge
and swallowed blood.