January 2012
21 posts
2 tags
Constant Force
And I loved you with this constant force— in the ways of sunlight or gravity, how it moves and exists. It is infinite, it is there, uninterrupted, unfaltering, unalterable, suddenly and indefinitely. Trust that, and we will survive it. Limit it, and we will collapse beneath it’s weight.
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Halogen
I can feel the movement of the halogen fingers of every letter that composes every word piecing, prying, and pushing its own way from in between the bones of my ribcage— where I keep my most unbearable truths suppressed and locked away— to the surface of my chest. From there, these fingers...
Existence is harrowing winds in an infinite abyss banging and pushing against the walls of nothingness. But even the children can find enlightenment there.
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Sometimes, I feel like my soul is on fire With wit, with love, with a melancholic despair that pushes me to write and run and take long walks at 3am with a horn strapped to my back and my adventure notebook in the pocket of my coat. In my sleep, I shake it off, I dream of flames and touching things that turn to dust. I’m on fire, I’m on fire, and...
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I can’t get my rhythm right. Everything is too damn loud. Be still, be still, be still— so I can sing and show you.
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Beginners
Eras are surfacing from things that are undead but disbanding in dimensions, replacing unwanted touches and sounds and the screams we made infront of mounts of cocaine mixed with gun powder and the blood we accidentally spilled as kids. Our almond eyes are brighter now and we have music flooding our ears and the gentle lights from venues taper to our skin as though we belong we see things now in...
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You are a man with hands that carry the scent of the freshest of flowers— reminding me of the kinds of plants we find on the graves of saints; reminding me of hints of eternity that are later complimented by your kisses that drag like molasses and carry the essence of drunken sways, perfect circles and the acceptance of death but I am quickly stirred awake by the scent of the flowers we find...
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Watch I was about a week late on the album review. Powerdove’s “Be Mine”. It sat there, I stared at my email inbox. My editor ended several sentences in question marks, my email had hundreds of unread messages, I had arrived from New Orleans after a series of unpredictable, yet —in retrospect— completely predictable occurrences. Suicidal thoughts at the...
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Feature: Remnants of The Calm Blue Sea via Red...
“Luck,” Steve Bidwell says in a dry, unwavering voice. “Luck,” Chris Patin follows in the same tone. Luck. The word finds itself suspended in a brief, yet lingering silence. It’s the word the two original members of The Calm Blue Sea use to describe the band’s return from an 18-month hiatus. “Certain stars aligned,” Bidwell explains. A series of seemingly cosmic events triggered the...
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Your hand in mine, how it was until you passed that i began to search the lights; how it was until you passed that they began to call my name. (032009)
You see, there were two definitive kinds of crazy I have discovered within myself. There is the kind that you are born with. It is constantly triggered by environment, by emotion, by stress and love and finances. Fear. Hunger. Excitement. Then there is this strange version of insanity that society feeds you, by the mouth. A crazy that gives you ulcers in your sleep when no one is touching you, or...
The Breaths Of Dying Flowers and Sleeping Children
This room is like sleeping beside wilting flowers breath in, breath out the trickling of petals the downfall of handpicked, altered, and selfishly exchanged bouquets This room is like carbon monoxide dizzy spells and talks of hell
We need to leave and let this die; things are catching fire like the stars.
Still nights like these, when the howling of the wind and of the dogs and of the broken fan up there, there, there make the eerie sounds of cheap post-rock and looping tracks that sit ontop of looping tracks because insanity drives you in despair for overlapping chords sound like different worlds you swear, swear, swear you’ve heard before. 3am, it’s 3am, and...
I am the essence of a drunken sway followed by a drunken sway with muttering words that claim to be “okay”— modest attempts of holding it together amidst a laughter coated in the dilated vessels from rosy, rosy cheeks. Kiss me here, no here— feel my words, hear me, hear me. The ocean waves that pound and beat against every steady sturdy force, exhausted to be still ...
I am swimming into the deep end, she said, going into the places no one else would go. I’ll tell you how the water feels right before I fall.
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Your Sound and Being Seen in the Inbetweens
You go on walking the streets with this one rhythm you have had your entire life. This one muffled beat that pounds steadier, louder, more definitive, more confidently than your own footsteps, your own heartbeat— it makes a song with your breaths, with your blinking— this one beating of the drum. It is your essence, it is your goddamn fucking song— it drives you insane, it...
We are going to catch fire like the stars.
December 2011
31 posts
21.
Slowly, I am becoming a more actualized version of myself. With each day, each moment, each accident, every job, every kiss, every “A” and “F”, and every fucking time I say “I love you”, and mean it. I think this is the best birthday I am having yet, because I am not ashamed of who I am. I am quite useless, and quite worthless, a hot mess every second of every...
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Magic Still Stirs
I still blow you kisses towards the South East from the tallest hill in my city, from the tallest building here among the setting sun, I still love you and it still hurts but I know you are free and I am free to fight, to love, to laugh with others, without us. And magic still stirs in the inbetweens like unsettling dust when I blow a kiss down South. Even though I am now a grown woman—...
How To Spend The Holidays Alone
Today I:
Woke up.
Made coffee.
Made tea.
Made hot chocolate. Drank them at the same time, I was curious.
It was too quite; it was too cold in my drafty apartment so I jumped on my bed for 30 minutes and laughed.
Opened the window and watched the birds and listened to the dogs howl.
Laid on my bed and felt my heartbeat and batted my eyes at the ceiling.
Called my mother cried.
...
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I am slipping from your hands And you are unaware that this is it. this is us falling out of love this is us losing.
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Sometimes our mouths are on fire from the anguish of our hearts and the burning in our brains and we spit out things we never even mean and kiss lips we were to never kiss drink wine that was never ours to drink we’ll consume anything to put the fire out. because we’re catching flames; convinced we’re young and dying and refuse to go without a vulgar fight.
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I see myself in other worlds where things are brighter and ghosts are free to play I see myself in other worlds where the edges of cliffs and bridges and balconies; tops of buildings and 7th story windows don’t speak the word “jump”
I see myself in other worlds where things are better— and everyone can feel the trees and everyone can see the...
How To Wake Up
“Scientifically, you’ve already interrupted your REM cycle— you’re not going to feel more rested than this, you know— so come on, come on darling, wake up. It isn’t so bad once you get out of bed. I know it’s cold, but you will warm up. Your faux leather jacket is hanging on the door, put it on.
I know you’re sad; I know you think you can’t do...
Don’t you understand? don’t you understand? God, don’t you understand, don’t you?! You are free. From everyone, everything, all. Every person you ever loved Your rent, your bills your grades, your love, your disappointments, even Nothing, no one can touch you. No one can take what you create, nothing can destroy...
In regards to relationships, friendships, and all those ships: The only thing I like to commit to is not committing.
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“She did not want to go to work, although she was very late; and so she remained...”
– — James Alan McPherson, Hue and Cry
This is me.
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Sometimes, we try so so hard to belong to someone desperate, anxious scratches on thighs bruises on shoulders a kiss here, and here, and there see me,hold me love me, need, need need me. cheating, lying, sweet, damned bastards who never bring flowers, but still want...
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drunkonSpanishliterature I sit here writing and reading lesson plans for a man that wants my tongue on his mind— a lesson or two to teach with laughter and to pay for my rent. ”How much do you want?” I’m fatherless and poor; I want it all until I die.
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No Moon, No Moss
Walking in the direction of the cigarette smoke, that’s how we’ll get home it moves like ghosts, it moves like us.
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I couldn’t stop and couldn’t breathe because of the blacks and blues and purples with yellow freckles on my thighs and arms and ribs.
and now I speak with red, red lips and bloody fists. And I can’t stop. screaming.
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Black and gold among other things are reflected in your eyes, dark dark and ancient. Waiting, shining like gleaming stones at the bottom of a moonlit sea. You are beautiful, upon the black and gold among other things— ...
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The same things that drive you to freedom will push you off a building, off a bridge or into a speeding car. There is no safety in passion, just freedom, will, and insanity.
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These men take them away, the ones with twitching heads that scream and shout I’ve seen them cry The men in suits with pepper spray and tazer guns drag them into trucks taking them by the carloads. the ones pulled from society they grab my skirt and sit on me saying something about somethin’ about love and the devil I wonder what...
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Sadness creeps between the cracks before the day beneath the night it belongs to you and you to it.
The way the light chases you, what does that feel like?
