April 2009
1 post
“i’m so bored and broken with everything. i see so much beauty surround.
i want to kiss, but then i can’t even think about kissing. i want to touch but can’t even think about touching. i want to begin but can’t even think about beginning. i don’t want it to end but all i can think about is it ending.
every bit of unknown ugliness leaks out of every gleaming...
May 2008
3 posts
if you could hold your grace in the palm of your hand, i’m certainly sure that you would. but i saw it take shape in her palms and move slowly, emitting out from her chest. out through her throat and then her tongue, teeth and lips. if only this is how you could carry yourself. i would love to wear your legs like a belt, and use your hair to scrub the awful scent out of my nose. let my...
post script -
this blog does no justice for implied form.
first thursday’s night. i’ve [been] spent sober, fancy me a blissful alone. “the [spiral] stares descend and the our dies quickly” you won’t lose your way. oh. and let them, the shadows, fade. my fingernails look like a rubix cube, or maybe a cross word puzzle. maybe they’re pruned, like fingers are after a bath; from far too much water. or maybe...
April 2008
1 post
there was something i wanted to say to you about something you may or may not possess and then some other stuff about what is or isn’t on my mind, but never mind because it’s inconsequential or completely meaningful. except i can’t tell you because i don’t know which way is the right one, or the right way to be the wrong one. what is it to be see-through? probably the same...
March 2008
12 posts
mammy
my mother knit a blanket for me. well, not knit, but you know, she used one of those tools, the ones that make it easy for you. it reminds me of my grandmother and when she used to knit them; blankets, for me and my parents, except she really knew how to do it. she made bigger and more intricate afghan blankets. i wish my mother could do that, because i want a ton of them. they aren’t even...
[fr] n+j a.k.a.(shhh, hush)
i remember you before you were one single person, the two of you. i remember when you made my friends happy. now, you might as well not even wear dark sunglasses when your eyes can burn a hole through the lenses indoors; even at night. your secrets are something everyone knows, and you aren’t so secretive and exclusive. it’s a shame that all you’ve got behind this mess is poor...
i have to become a much better poet and less of a narrator. or do i?
for class.
one. for about two and a half years now, i’ve had this lasting feeling. i want the waves of sound to crawl through my body endlessly. the idea of being suspended like dust in air, carelessly existing. like the feeling you get right before sleep when you’re lulled by the sound of an empty room, or a breeze that graces your skin. or the slight touch from the hand of a lover who knows...
i’m always full of ideas, (i’ve always got a load i want to work on) it’s just that, time is never on my side for it. so i guess maybe i’ll just have a collection of “good” ideas ready to be bound in a book someday. remember: them all, those things.
“What just happened to us
I think I fell asleep at the wheel
We must have...”
– chad vangaalen - “1000 pound eyelids” i think this paints a very sad and draining image of an actual car crash. i specifically like the like “because i can’t feel anything at all.” the music fits perfectly - the somber horns and drawn out melody.
i kept a blog (unsuccessfully) for about a year. i say unsuccessfully because it lasted roughly a year. looking back on it, it looks like i was someone else. i watched myself go from hopeless romantic to (virtually) nihilistic cynicism. i looked bipolar. but i always had hope. looking at myself from such a distance made me realize that even though i’m evolving personally and becoming closer...
“it’ll be better if you come over
i’ll mostly be alone
we...”
– bobby burg - love of everything - “it’s better”
four
just.. get the inside of our arms to touch eachothers rib cages.
three
some nights, i watch the street lights (or any lights) blink. i think about why they blink, and i remember why i blink.
two,
i miss your lips on mine, especially.
one.
i was driving around and i thought about when i broke my face. i remember crying so hard, even though i was twenty one years old. i remember the last time i cried like that, or rather my roommate remembers, because he told me i cried as loud last week as i did when i broke my face; i knew i was bawling, just not that loud. i rarely cry, and especially like that. i was kind of devastated for the...