Monday, November 29, 2010

old words.

i desire strength like i desire water-

i am attracted to honesty like i am to words.

i think beauty is a posthumous object and the true sight to herald is a lover's wound or a friend's tears.
the only sad thing in this world is the potential people lose when thinking otherwise.

Thursday, November 25, 2010


the universe is a standstill
on the window sill
or the bedpost
where love had been made
with images
hovering over the intimate scene
a bedroom smell
breaths in your hair

locks of hair
always on the ground

always wanting to be around.

Monday, November 15, 2010

angel baby

right through my hair.

there's hardly any color left.

p.s. happy birthday Jeff Buckley. Marry me already.


i just love
staring out at the ceiling
some holy penchant that could easily be
your typical metaphor
dare i say that word
is a long drawn out feeling
it lingers in subtle doses
i've had some subtle doses
and i've been intimate with the share
some say that things develop over time
and i'm starting to understand the concept of collapse
never mind this writing
it's all dreary shit
and no one reads it
and i like that
all of this can be thrown onto the internet
and yet it is still obscure.


tell you
give me some time
nothing as beautiful as nothing at all
(i) tell you
give me some time
nothing as beautiful as startin' the war
tell you
give me some time
nothing as beautiful as nothing at all

you are
you were.


biting my teeth
in rows
counting them with my tongue
just to keep the peace.
it's clear that things are not working
(at this time)
let us sit back and stare at
odd examples
of just how long
human beings can draw things out.


Tuesday, November 9, 2010


are we both oblivious here?

Wednesday, November 3, 2010


and we are all digging
drowning in dirt.
you see the four shovels
constantly moving-
hands can be roughed up with either red clay or brown dirt-
overalls, jeans, ballcaps, t-shirts,
or maybe it can be really cold-
snow perhaps?-
either way we are outside
and either way we are digging into life.
the entire time as the song plays
all that you see is the exhausting work
that has to be done-
that is being done-
the motions,
the colors,
the exhaustion,
the sweat,
the fucking weariness,
the expectations.
and then
maybe a little let up?
only to find what the kids have been looking for
upon pages
fill the dirt
and it all happens when the "one"
discovers the first piece of their "treasure"-
the single 1/3 of a page
and then the rest of them get excited
and work even harder
until they find the "treasure"-the
pages and pages
hundreds, thousands! of pages
in the grave

and the end shot
is them
all four
in this massive hole that they have dug for themselves
all dirty
covered in dirt
with huge fucking smiles on all of their faces.

Monday, November 1, 2010

lady of the flowers.

the room was filled with pages
the lines outlined the walls
and all it took was some scotch tape and patience.
and maybe some time to kill.
but back then,
all that i would do was listen to a song
for hours
on repeat
and hum and sing
and scream
while i stuck those pages to the walls.
happy and content
to be alone
in that room.
X st
could be 6th st
but it lacked a few key players-
the tall lanky kid with the mean eyes and his pair of ratty headphones,
the bulky kid with the teddy-bear heart and his pair of ratty blue addidas pants,
the handsome kid with his blue eyes and his ratty book of drawings,
the angel kid with his fucked up theories and his ratty cassette tapes of old men talking,
the genius kid with his focus and his ratty purple car covered in Anime,
the salty kid with his paranoia and his ratty black Sharpie...

they were all so brilliant.