pieces

winded creatures
spy
hindered gestures
restricting addictions
they collapse in mid air
loosing shadows
sinking boats
their thoughts float -grandma's favorite song

bleugh

wide eyed.
(pls don't tell anyone).

Everywhere I am folded, there I am a lie.

Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.
Rilke


the violent battering of rain on my air conditioner makes me jittery, so I stay inside all day.

jusddddooooitttttt

weekends

too many coincidences.

home homer homme homo

1) ok. no more listening to cat power. ever.
2) must gather all my socks in one pile and finally figure this crap out. where does it go?
3) frankly, get work done. now. frankly.

Janet Frame

Very often the law of extremity
demands an attention to irrelevance.

Writing a novel is not merely going on a shopping expedition across the border to an unreal land: it is hours and years spent in the factories, the streets, the cathedrals of the imagination.

done with with time on my hands

deaded

..stuff i lost, bidding on ebay : (
BUT I'm so inspired..

The top picture is artist Iris-Shieferstein, her movie- (only someone that talks like her could do what she does.)

http://www.oneeyedmonster.tv/content/issues/issue1/movies/IrisSchieferstein/LifeCanBeSoNice.html,

i wish it snowed in warm weather.

this little piggy

I constantly imagine myself in a state post a near death experience which made me want to change my way of life.

(Feelin behind.)

through the winter

we draw out the time
putting on skin after skin
as the light changes
we begin to feel warmer
the static remains
unnerving gusts of wind are replaced
by the cooing of pigeons
the color fades back in
we return to our normal sizes

Making a list is always a good idea.

kill one bird with two stones
empty your backpack
heap up the bones

hold it.
it all in.

stuff I made:

Some Chinese supermarket fish balls with a curried gingery soy saucy tomatoey goo and sesame seeds. Aand, spinach soba-noodles cooked with chili-sesame oil.not that weird

Sesame seeds forever.

gugh

Some poetry:

Save up rust
Pick out the crustWatch your eyeballs gather dust

One more million ton of sweet
One more blister on my feet
Of all the lonely roads in hell
They threw his daughters down the well

either getting stupider
or learning.

dirty

A steady climb for once. Then dirt. I would be a better artist if i had a sink in my room.
Or a piano.

to be submerged

dawggy poem

He's just my dog. He is my other eyes that can see above the clouds; my other ears that hear above the winds.

He has told me more than a thousand times over that I am his reason for being -- by the way he rests against my leg, by the way he thumps his tail at my smallest smile, by the way he shows his hurt when I leave without taking him. (I think it makes him sick with worry when he is not along to care for me).

When I am wrong, he is delighted to forgive.
When I am angry he clowns to make me smile.
When I am happy, he is joy unbounded.
When I am a fool, he ignores it. When I succeed, he brags. Without him, I am only another person. With him, I am all powerful.
He has taught me the meaning of devotion is loyalty itself. With him, I know the secret comfort and a private peace. He has brought me understanding where before I was ignorant. His head on my knee can heal my human hurts. His presence by my side is protection against my fears of dark and unknown things.

He has promised to wait for me ... whenever ... wherever ... in case I need him, and I expect I will, as I always have.

Who is he? -- He's just --

MY DOG!

-Author unknown

takes time

cutting my hair all day every day

and i wish had blue eyes so i could feel innocent and new. clean so people would always trust me and fall into me like they trust clear water and oceans, so that i could be trusting and always see light in the grubby murkiness around dark hallway caves places
lost homes and deep ends.
in loud puddle foot steps in slow pacing rhythms
but my eyes, heavy, starless, seek out dark, in gloomy shadows, they always know it, there is no stopping until everything turns to black liquid end.

what the fuck

Sweating metal
being bored
hoping some things
hugging gold
shaking lonesome
tasting truth
licking laughter
keeping tooth

another mark, mark, mark.

I must learn
To grow willpower
And young

Saving etching achy memories