Colfax

we had a map of the piano

I think Lucas took it with him

to Seattle

he and John took a quarter each

Aaron took the smallest sliver

Kyle ate his portion

Machu's in her bones

Michael has pinned it to his heart

and I have it tattooed on my brain

and we all took acid

remember when we were young (er)

and everyone was single

and there was no asking about whereabouts

i met you guys in the Colfax hills

tiny car

tiny radio

and we swallowed the bread whole

and went dreaming in the dark

i had my back flat on the bridge

and the water was under me

you three went into the pocket

and laughed about prophecies

and i remember being really ok with being so small

and then in the backseat,

it finally hit me

that our dear friend Kyle was beautiful

and a genius

and i wanted nothing more than for him to be near

but he was off ranting about the government somewhere

so instead, we all held worship

while listening to his music

and ha remember

my lungs were green

i could feel them

that night

and the entire next day

gender lines didn't exist

the smile of his was the equivalent of hers

and my face hid in the books

at my mother's house

when i felt like it

viva lost hood

he was tall

he had a great frame

i remember what his shoulders looked like in the dark

some sort of tale

that lingered on

for too long

the cars went by

fast around the corner

in that house

in that house

you could hear almost every sound

the neighbors walking by

the dogs fighting

the rain dancing

across the tin roofs

children with sticks hitting the chain-link fence

people making love

above you

alongside you

inside you

i slept on the couch

without making a sound

always to music

(viva lost hood)

there were times when we would gather

in the living room

and just laugh and laugh

about someone's antics

or we would go out at night

together

our crew

our clan

and wear bands around our heads

arms in the air

and roam Sacramento

as if everything was brand new to us

(because it was)

and we would sometimes sit on the roof

and watch the sky

turn into code

mumble either confessions

or make out

or draw on the white tile

until the building fell apart

and we would hide it in the trees

(until they chopped it down)

i would lay on the carpet floor

and hum along to music that

i had just discovered

or remember that time

John got me to smoke out of a bong

for the (first) time

and we "discovered" Portishead

and afterwards

awkward commenced

(to which he then left)

and i was free to be high

and alone

i'm staring at frames of tall women

who walk into the coffee shop

unaware of the two men

who's eyes are haunting them

mine are too

but not for the same reason as they

i think of what she is thinking

of what she did the night before

of how many vowels are in her name

or street

or vehicle.

all of these people we will never meet

can inspire you to

befriend a stranger

or on the other hand

it can overwhelm you

i don't want to be overwhelmed

i want to be careless

and run to the hills

and sing

quietly

along

and have unexpected experiences

with people i've always known

pink floyd

this hotel is getting wierder as the nights go on.

it may seem that i'm always so unhappy when i write these blogs
but i'm just nostalgic
and wanting
something
more
either
some past
memory
or a constant present.

it's all good.
i have the weekend to figure me out.

2+ 2

going through the motions
is not
a way to live.


it should really never even be an option.













there are two halves right now.
one half of me doesn't even remember what i did the night before.
the other half is anxious, always.

the supremes

i need
to
shut out everything
for a day
and not listen to
anyone speak
not worry about anything

blood. visions.

watched a movie with Jordyn last night about a man who kills the man his husband cheated on him with...
killed him with a snowglobe.
snowglobe to tha dome.

all i could think about was the amount of blood that came from his poor, gourgous head...
his black locks
stuck together
while lying on a stack of books.