Sunday, September 27, 2009


turns out i broke my ankle.

jordyn is asleep next to me.

vicodin and crutches to my right. 

i'm really excited for next month. 

love you all. 

Thursday, September 24, 2009


the condensation between air ducts disarmed me.
i was sitting in geography class thinking about everything else.
the value between a good day and a harmful one is slight,
the mere action of waking up,
how someone is greeted,
not falling down the stairs,
getting an answer right,
obtaining monetary means,
eating something healthy,
simply breathing.
all of this can make or break a day.
we all know this.
to realize this and own it
is the thing that needs to be materialized.

walking down three flights of stairs every morning without falling
can be something to be proud of.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009


i love.

richie + margot.

and this was the greatest love affair.
the love between two neurotic people.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009


but she breathed.

to feel that knock against the base of your own back

you could almost feel your own lungs at that moment

and at one moment she had,
the time when she took acid with her friends
in the woods
on that bench
near the water
in the dark

but back!
tilting her neck to the side
ajusting the lapel to the right.


"rosaries have never been my thing, really"

the floral imprint
graced her skin
and the cross,
oh! the cross
swung silently between her breasts.
she did not want pity,
nor a smile.
she was walking
or maybe she was driving
she no longer rememered things
like that
because the destination was all the same.
somewhere on a street
she was to be at work
so soon
and to wear that blazer
and to comment on elder's dress
and to sympathize with wealth's laments.

10 minutes til showtime.


goodbye, period.

"hello. i am a 26 year old catechism.
i have brown hair and brown eyes."

"horrifically awkward.
has a tendency to cry a lot.
crumbles under pressure in workplace situations.
has a paper tounge,
seldom follows through with things".

"passionate but misguided,
a self doubter."

"kind to an extent,
often looks puzzled,
not very good with confrontation"

you can tell she is really 24.

i'm your pusher.

i am returning to the "old me",
one in which inspiration was a daily thing
and there was always music playing.

it's just an injustice to wake up without your favorite song blaring.

"bored to death" is a new show on HBO that i can easily find myself obsessed with.
the characters are awkward, self-indulgent, neaurotic,
and heartbroken.
it airs sunday nights at 9:30 if you are ever in the mood for that sort of thing.

i am begining to smile a lot more lately and i think it has something to do
with the notion that i'm tired of complaining.
everyone has it hard. big fucking deal. get over it.
it takes a lot to change.
but honestly, i'm trying to understand that things are going to come and things are going to go.
as well as us.
so while we are here, we might as well be smiling.

hmmm...last night i watched a documentary on gangs in oakland, ca.
i don't think i could ever truly be in a gang,
although when i was in 6th grade i formed a gang with my friends.
i forget what we called ourselves but i remember we wore black
hoodies and listened to bone thugs.
it was great.

oh, and chelsea is going to meet sofia coppola.

Friday, September 18, 2009

my focus.

so, today my boss told me that i needed to figure out my priorities.
and he is right.
he said this after i told him that i would love to give another employee
(in need of hours)
one of my shifts.
after our 5 minute conversation
(and my profuse apologies after every few seconds),
he left and i thought about what he said.

and it's true.
it's about time that i acknowledge that music is all that i really want to do.
but oh! god, when you make statments like that,
failure can a heartbrake.
but what if failure is not the only option?
well, may live your life in false starts,
sad hesitance,
and a lifelong thought of "what if".
oh, and we all know this
but i am tired of feeling inspired, only then to curl myself into a
huge ball of self-doubt.
there are plenty of reasons to live the "safe life"...
i know a lot of people who are doing it pretty well and who are living
very happily.
i just have to come to terms with the fact that i am not one of them.
never have been.
doesnt have to be a bad thing at all,
it just means that i have to be more assertive with the things
that i do want to achieve,
the plans (however lofty they may be)
that i want to put into effect.

and you can ask youself "well, who am i?"
but honestly
who are you not?

i don't want to be a millionaire
nor the next MTV superstar.
i would love to just be able to travel and play music
and affect someone.
paying the bills is always a plus and maybe having some clothes without holes and a bed.
but honestly, who am i kidding?
i've never wanted a huge house, mutiple cars, etc etc.
nothing against it but those aren't the items i dream about.

like jeff buckley once said "i'm not trying to be elvis".
i honestly do not know who or what i am trying to be.

the only thing that i know is that music is the only thing that i feel truly comfortable in,
the only thing that provides mutual and consistent happiness
(of course, besides my friends and loved ones)
it's something that i'm confident in.

so, my boss wanted my focus
and so here it is.
for all the 9 people who may read this
to see...

i want to make music.
i'm saying it.
i'm writing it.
so now it is real.
and now it is concrete.
and if failure comes, then so be it.
my god, even if i stopped singing tomorrow
the experiences already have shown me more than most.
but i woulnd't mind 20 more years of experiences.

school is definatly another priority.
i am almost done with college,
i want to and will graduate.
but i have to be honest with myself
and know that i will put school off to tour.
my goal is to finish by the time i turn 26 or 27,
and although that may seem a bit older to graduate,
i think that experience far outwieghs textbook

from there on, who knows what life will be like.
my boss tried to say that i should consider what kind of job
i will have when i am 30
if i keep on touring and whatnot,
and honestly i have no idea.
i know for a fact that i do not see myself in the hotel field for the rest of my life.
i abhor it after just 6 months,
how the hell could i stand it for 10 years?

if anything,
i am a passionate person.
that has to count for something.

as you can.

if you don't have a point to make,
dont sweat it.
you'll make a sharp one,
being so kind.
and i do appreciate it.

if you don't have a date,
go out and sit on the lawn and
do nothing.
because that's just what you must do.
nobody does it anymore.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

mid september.

there are some things that remind me of you.
jagged words
the soft shaved corners of the slopes of
cursive t's.
or certain sidewalks of new york city
which i have never seen
but dream of all too readily.
you slept on my floor
in the smallest room i've ever owned,
in fear of others knowing.
when we were almost children-
yet full grown.


can i tell you
that you are the closest thing to family that i have ever known?
the person who has been around for longer than i can remember,
almost as long as the boys
or music?
not talking to you for more than a few days
makes me anxious.
make that a few weeks and my whole body aches.
and you could call me sensitive
or needy,
but with you my friend i am awfully a child.


i've become some
haphazard recluse,
more momentary than
turn the phone off-
block the front door-
hide under my hair-
kind of sick

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

tip my hat to you in earnest.

so it seems that i have fallen back somewhere,
say in the year 2003
where all i did was ruminate over her music
and watch Magnolia dozens of times a week
and read interviews of fiona apple.
and that is ok with me
because this is the first time in weeks i have felt
inspired artistically.

the 4 months of lying on my carpet floor,
singing to the cieling
missing out on nothing
studying her voice (along with billie holiday and ella fitzgareld)
long beach sky never turns fully dark.
(i will never forget that)

once again, she has inspired me to look up writers i have not
read before.

jonathan ames
tobias wolff
charles baxter.

i am grateful because i have been in a rut for weeks now.
i know it happens to everyone,
writer's block, depression, anxiety, listlessness, etc etc etc
but i have been in a complete and total black space for a while
and the few days have been amazing.
but today, i feel inspired to read and then write and then hopefully create
and that mere feeling of being "stuck" on something,
excited about something,
is a relief.

so, once again fiona apple
you never fail.

103rd st, please.

i have been daydreaming about New York.
being that i have never been there,
most of my thoughts are cinema-inspired, novel romantized,
breath taking (maybe even myths?) images
of that elusive and exhaustive city.
nevertheless, i am so intrigued by that place and want nothing more
than to spend a winter there.
i want to be bundled in an old coat, with heavy scarves and headphones on-
walking through neighborhoods-in awe
of all the people, buildings, life.
and i know exactly what song i would listen to first
during my exploring there.
i know that the city may not be a big city of dreams,
but i have some vision of being there
(atleast for only a while).
it will be cold.
it will be inspiring.
it will be slightly miserable at times.
it will be fucking amazing.

Friday, September 11, 2009


wes anderson,
i love you.

dear natalie

dear natalie,

reading your blog has inspired me. knowing that you are also in a "quarter-life crisis" relieves me. i say this in the most loving way possible, but knowing that someone else out there is as confused as i am as to what they want or need to do in life, makes me sigh outloud.
it seems as if many people our age are kind of lost and just reading your words comforts me and calms me for a good while after reading it.
just know that i love and appreciate you.
your being lost gives me some sort of direction.


Thursday, September 10, 2009

anna jimenez.

third grade.
the boys hated that i was fairly competent in basketball
so they pushed me on the asphalt one recess.
i remember blood on my knees,
some hot anger rushing through my skin.
i wanted to fight them,
to pull thier teeth
to grab their arms.
i was violent back then.
instead, i turned to my friend Anna
who if i remember correctly,
was so soft spoken,
most times i could never hear her.
she was pretty
and loyal.
i respected her loyalty,
i needed it,
even back then.
she put her tiny arms around me and walked me to the bench
and grabbed those harsh, stiff paper towels
that elementary schools buy because they are cheap
but this was back in the 90's
before things got really bad.
but anyways, that is me digressing...
she took the paper towels and wiped the blood from my knee,
cleaning it
and pretending that she was a mother.
or maybe she was,
meant to be a mother
so she was showing her instincts early.

but i remember her.
she was my first experience with loyalty.

micheal jordan.

3 to 11.


thomas jefferson.

but because i refuse to cry again at this hotel,
i will pretend that i am someone else.
another person, possibly male this time
who is not here, who is not held accountable for anything,
and who smiles as he walks,
confident of everthing.

because i have a friend in another country who left everything
just because she could.
because i have a friend somewhere in the ocean who committed
himself to an organization because he knew that sacramento
would give nothing but dead winters.

because i am alive.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009


to the me that was merely 20 minutes ago,
you are spoiled
yet honest.
spoiled in the fact that you have a job,
honest in that you hate it.

it's me vs. me
for 8 hours
4 times a week
32 hours a week
with nothing else but my thoughts
and your words
and elevator music to pursue this frenzied chase.
and i'm never ready for the repercussions
of being in my head all fucking day.

don't cry.
you're at work.

thomas paine.

something here tells me that there are no boundaries here.
i'm standing here, wanting to pull my hair out.
if you think boredom is a word that shouldn't exist,
then you obviously have never worked at a hotel front desk.
and i am not complaining outright,
nor do i think that this is the worst place possible...
but it's becoming the thing that keeps me up at night,
the mere thought of putting that blue blazer on again
and answering phones
and lying to people, acting as if i care.

here is the truth.
i don't care.
i am 24 years old.
and i have much bigger goals than to be someone's servant.
oh but everyone must pay thier dues,
i knowiknowiknowthisiknowthisiknowthis
but i'm tired.
i haven't slept in 3 days
and i'm just exhausted.

couldn't the world be a bit more generous and just make everything go away for a few days?
i'd give you anything.

Saturday, September 5, 2009




the lethal kind.


give me your hips, please.
you don't need them,
be honest
give my your hips, please
you don't need them
be honest

silence rose
(like the others)
count it, it's easy

because you're so perfect
i'm building your stem

you can count it,
it's easy
it's like mouth mathmatics

i can't defend your spine
when it's not mine

blood is your blood
is my blood is my blood
and it's obvious.


saturday nights at the hotel are always a bit strange.
the tension is palpable,
everyone is eager to either sleep with someone,
drink with someone,
eat with someone,
get away from someone,
or reuinte with someone.
some are spoiled,
some are kind,
some are memorable,
and some i won't remember five minutes after checking them in.

i wonder what guests are secretly gay.
or who is a prostitute.
or who is making a baby at this very moment.
or if anyone is getting murdered,
falling in love,
breaking up,
or simply just watching tv.

this hotel is not just simply that.
it's a four story mecca of emotions.

Friday, September 4, 2009

goodbye holiday.

this hotel is making me like humans a lot less.

it's time to leave.

Thursday, September 3, 2009


in an effort to run away from things,
i write about old times
and old things
and old faces
and old bodies
and old hearts
and old music
and old houses
and old carpet
and old, old, old.

until i finally have no memories left,
and i have to confront that same old dance.
and your mistress.
the empty cavity.
root canal gone wrong.


but wait,
you're not a sparrow?

and my father said,
"when life gets hard, it's only testing your metal".

Wednesday, September 2, 2009


and forever.
the walks to work in the rain or ash.
on my ears, heavy headphones where everything was ultimatly blocked out.
thank god.
i could not hear you.
when all i did was think of a stranger who was beautiful but
beyond anything i could ever handle...
i was 18.

and october.
lying in my room with the low lights on
and music music music
always staring at me.
the carpet was a part of my skin,
i held it close and worshiped the strands left imprinted on my cheek.
i took some drugs back then
and called her on the phone
trying to describe the muscles of my chest
or my collarbone,
in other words secretly wishing that they would come over.
i was 22.

the whole world had came crashing down.
at a time when age meant nothing.
and sunsets were my favorite thing,
i did. and i had proof, i tell you.
_____ and i , we would drive on the freeway, telling lies
screaming verbs into the air
our arms scaling the sky.

and i would go to the bookstore, alot that fall.
and search out for hungry readers so that we could pick apart each other.

give me your hips, please.
give me them.
give me your lips, please.
you don't need them.
because you are so perfect,
i'm building your stem.