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It's Cold. It Feels Like Independence Day.
And I Can't Break Away From This Parade.
07/07/07 08:48 pm - 07 | 07 | 07
Ever feel that whir of objects around you that you can't describe?
The buzz of everyday beating through your eardrums and through to those rattling brainwaves?
I've felt that way, painted vibrantly and loudly on the sheets of every recent morning.
So much to do, so much done already. I keep going like a blind train, moving faster and faster into all of this experience and I can't stop. I don't want to stop.
It keeps coming and I'm strung-out but I keep pushing.

My hair has grown so long, my skin kissed by some strange rays. I'm finally at peace with this natural world, my eyes constantly fixed on possibility.
I went to New York state this past week, exploring caves and empty fields that stretch for miles.
It was beautiful and real, and I want to carry that with me so I can remain open and free.
Something I value in myself.


30/06/07 10:45 pm - j u l y. j u l y.
Summer rolls in like a tide made of moss,
instead of shells I see the neon burn of fireflies.
It isn't the ocean I hear,
it's the hum of trees turning their leaves over to the storm;
the friction of grasshopper's kicking
to beat their mighty song;
a rattled boom of lights painting the sky for independence;
bones rattling, touching as the night ends.

It's the staleness I feel
moving in like a wave of comfort upon the aura of my skin
that makes me loon-like with satisfaction.
He has come from this shell,
Venus if she changed her form,
swimming through my life making me learn.

It's truth I finally catch in the breeze
in my little jar filled with nothing
it digs its way around the emptiness of its cell
forced to illuminate all it holds, and show me
the way it feels to be looked at
with something more
than his tired pretense.
This time it's something like the way
object skips over water.

The surface is altruistic,
the depths unimagined.

23/06/07 10:28 pm - s e a g u l l
I don't think my desperation for flight and the constant attempt at a life of individual prosperity could ever be more vivid than when I'm surrounded by family. After a breakdown aided in devastation took hold of me through the morning, I radiated this poisonous glow of another place buried within my skin. Everyone talked to me like it was my day of celebrating a newfound freedom (versus the truth of it being my cousin's graduation party). I heard my grandma brag about my goals and aspirations. They finally take me seriously and it's unbelievably refreshing.

I'm feeling confident in my sea of choice. I've gone to so many different places without the weight of emotion tied to my feet. I can float as high as I want with the brilliance of opportunity. It feels great to chew through the restraints of being protected.

Summer seems to be flying like gulls, alone but together, dully throught the vacant sky. I see it move in little waves, crashing softly with chance and new days. I'm heading to New York next week to get away from this routine of sameness. In a month I'm taking college classes for Creative Writing. A poem of mine is getting published in a book, and I'm continuing to volunteer at the library.
Things are going well despite the blackness of some history gurgling to the surface of my coming-of-age.
I hope I have a better chance of switching jobs from khaki to the multi-colored exteriors of hundreds of books.

F R I E N D S...Collapse )
08/06/07 05:04 pm - air.

The storm is whipping my jungle of the free world against my windows and through to my skin. The nature is lush and alive with its movement. Since school is out, I'm no longer in this cell of carbon dioxide. It's all oxygen, breeze, and the power to allow myself happiness.

I finished No One Belongs Here More Than You by Miranda July this morning, and I almost cried. Because it made me feel something. Little jolts of something other than nightime endorphins or dreamy euphoria. It was like love or something just as foreign to me.
No wonder the ocean makes me crazy. No wonder sunlight keeps me indoors. Maybe it's the possibility of love-like dreams that are really shaping my summer brain.

Should I get married? Should I be Good?
Astound the girl next door with my velvet suit and faustaus hood?
Don't take her to movies but to cemeteries
tell all about werewolf bathtubs and forked clarinets
then desire her and kiss her and all the preliminaries
and she going just so far and I understanding why
not getting angry saying You must feel! It's beautiful to feel!
Instead take her in my arms lean against an old crooked tombstone
and woo her the entire night the constellations in the sky...


Some shots from my Photo portfolio...Collapse )
03/06/07 01:24 pm - Beneath the water it plays.
I remember playing kickball with my cousins in this empty, hazy field. None of particularly liked the sport but we'd get up real early to watch the dirt create this cloud of smog that would rise in front of everyone, making the trees, brush, and faces turn into translucent ghosts. I think it was a tradition that we would play this game the last agonizing week of school this year. We would cross the bridge between bells & buses, and complete silence.
When my vibrant ties with childhood faded, I found nothing to reach out for other than constellations so many light years away. But as so many eras begin fading each nuclear second I'm awake, sparks of the past's big buzz light all around me.

Many things have died out, a parade de mort of sorts, but it's given birth to new stems of strange vitality. Secondary succession.

I haven't had time to sit inside of my hermit bungalow to count the precious ways I could recover my comfort. I've grown too much to consider it.
Instead I've chosen people who are wholly free to see what they could consider. People without limitations or the weight of the world. People who think, wonder, and keep their eyes open.

I spent the past two nights walking through opposite universes, drinking in everything I saw and let brush through me. I spoke with meth heads waiting in line. I skimmed through $2 John Cale records. I wore sundresses and let the wind move my hair all over my shoulders.
I walked around in the stale heat with Carolyn to find interesting garbage in the land of garage sales. I bought an ivory white starfish candle. We both purchased reading lights.
Later in the day, the sky was painted in a muted watercolor shade of gray as I walked up and down the Strip searching for treasures of an empty beach.
All I want today is the sight of a dark, rolling sea and dozens of broken shells. I've bought these beautiful silks and beads which represent the coral ground of my thoughts.

Summer is the freedom of tidal waves. The whirlpool of possibilities.

19/05/07 10:46 am - Open.
Forget what they say. The wind blows and it carries a thousand stars. Stars burst into this erythrol light in front of me- showing me words, creating an eternal buzz.
I've lost a space in life, I've gained a thousand new ones.
I can't remember what it feels like to pretend. I've become a warrior of chance. I grab what I want and I lose what I don't need. It's a way of life, nature works with me at times.

I missed my old friends so much. I missed their faces, their eyes, their stories. Going back to them and hearing the intimacy of their dreams brightens things. I missed that.
Forever will I be in love with sound. I sit and let it pulse through me, I hear these beautiful people play. They look at me and I look deep into waves of audio.
Maybe I'll try to sing it. Maybe I'll experiment with noise and see where I can place myself.

Days are blurry but they light fires with experience.
living colorCollapse )

And as we all play parts of tomorrow,
some ways we'll work and other ways we'll play.
But I know we can't all stay here forever,
So I want to write my words on the face of today.
And then they'll paint it.
And oh as I fade away,
They'll all look at me and say, they'll say,
"Hey look at him and where he is these days."
When life is hard, you have to change.

-Blind Melon.

[self-portrait. cages.]
I've got nocturnal instincts in me. I feed on the sky when it's covered in late smog and shoots out little diamonds of light. Something about the air just shakes right through me like the first drink in months of desert thirst. Crisp and piercing, I feel it poke my skin and string through my veins.
I enter my walls of comfort, and I see how confined plaster makes me. I think I may start something exciting and fresh. Something that pulls me in every direction, testing my limits and pushing me to run wild. Last night was the first time in so long that I really felt free. I thought that lightyear had passed and pressed itself into a star, but I guess it fell back down again, lighting up my eyes and showing me possibility.

I met so many new faces, new brainwaves and built-in stories. I was in love with the idea of seeing life in a form that can walk, talk, breathe, and recall. I wanted to wrap myself around every collection of cells and organs. I want to run free with silk and hair that smells like lilacs. I want to weave myself in and out of creation. I want to travel every sea to find muses and people. Finally people.

I wish I were a groupie; pulled along by the chains of sound and the bodies which move strangely like fins. Night time for me was sitting on the cold floor watching my old friends and loves just shredding apart their instruments to create something which turned my mind into putty. I was so in love with sound that my teeth chattered and my knees shook. My body lifted off of the ground, covered in ashes and posters, and I looked into each of their eyes like they saved my life.

I drove all around with my friend Josh, the dark carrying us along, stopping to see a show and to see people we knew from the past. I haven't had such moments of endorphin-shooting chaos since... well it's been a long time.
I feel new and fresh, my surroundings changing and recharging my tired eyes. I can barely take it.
I'll be driving soon, giving me possibilities and bodies to swim through. More than ever before.

Like the moon's milk.

The season is bringing sound and thought into the hollow walls of my skin. Visions encircling the membranes of my mind, always so lucid and glowing.

When I'm working I can hear echoes all around the porcelain building. I can hear "Sixth Avenue Heartache" by The Wallflowers. I can hear the shuffling of feet. I can hear
It's all music, flowing in and out of my ears like a cartoon whirlwind.

The music carries into the week, and for once I feel elated constantly. I sang every word to a mix of '90s songs in the darkroom of my Photo class. I saw mystery take shape in the chemicals as "Doll Parts" rang on for the six millionth time in my head.

Today has heat rising from every pore I see. I had to sail through the sun, the way it reflects off of putrid brown and aluminum silver, to retake the test for my temporary driver's license.
I can see the highway of my mind, vast and vacant. Sun seeps through the breeze as it is dulled by my poor vision. I can feel free with these feet, walking along any underground or valley. I see no need for a machine. When I travel far, I want to feel the ground. I want to breathe in euphoria and let my skin feel the air of the entire planet. Cars only weigh me down with a 4,000 lb. burden.

Sometimes my eye forms angles, and I wonder if I could create them.
I've considered filming a documentary of the way we see things, even in the same environment. The way things mingle and move, breathe and appear. I want points of view to warp your mind and hold your eyelids open to see each brain as it blossoms and pumps through its own veins.
I think I noticed the way eyes see and connect to the brain and heart, then ultimately to the skin, while I walked along a trail behind my school. It was morning... quiet and new, and I was part of a small group of so many different senses clicking. Like little bugs, pieces of pollen, the ring in your ears underwater. I can't explain the internal diversity and the way it illuminated around the morning sky, but it was there, and it made me think. Through each petal, branch, and cloud, I saw possibilities. I saw the way it must feel to be a member of this society. I felt a sort of place, and I felt like I needed to run.

That night I went out and purchased comfortable shoes.
I think these eyes have caught onto earth like a magnet. I see differing perspectives, and I want fresh ones. This summer will be filled with my travels and records. I'll make that promise to myself.


The boy was in the hallway drinking a glass of tea.
From the other end of the hallway a rhythm was generating.
Another boy was sliding up the hallway.
He merged perfectly with the hallway,
He merged perfectly, the mirror in the hallway.
Yesterday, a woman looked into my eyes like they carried the world.
She said to me, "Do not sever your independence."

And this phrase, this short and tangled string of words, put the haze of my mind into a clear and glistening perspective. I knew I had a mission to myself, to my sanity, my goals, my parade of days. I knew I had to understand worth and what it means to be free again. I cut off ties to the burden of sweetness. I slipped back into the alley of Beats, punks, and words. I know my place and I sing it well. I know I could never shine like a clear summer day or a child with delicate limbs. I am a gray sky over the gutters. I am overcast on the valley. I could never shine like a thousand pink pools, but this isn't a constant fear. It's a reassurance.

I talked for three hours while steaming coffee entered my veins. I talked to my old life and I was free again. A release of high school and confines, a sweet flow of concrete and dark diamond skies. I saw the stars and I saw ghosts of gypsies floating around my tired eyes. They shone like a dead ocean, but it was good.
I remembered what it was like to read and give myself to every page. I have a collection of philosophy, transgression, and dystopia filling my bedroom. Sometimes I wonder if it will break. Plaster and paper all over my eyelashes as I wake up one morning.
But I know that no matter what, I've found what I lost one time, and I understand the meaning of my passions.

I get to run free this summer, to a workshop, to museums, to nature. Just this morning I dug my feet into the lush green grass and it was like childhood and understanding all rolled into each vibrant green leaf. This is life, and it's blossoming everywhere. I can't let myself fall for other situations unlike my own. I can only live as myself. I can only live with the ideas I hold within myself. This makes me breathe text and real air.

29/04/07 07:33 pm - Ghost of the Coast
Sometimes I forget what night looks like. Her sapphire skin sweating handfuls of stars, clouds painted shady like smoke over the moon's pouring light. I forget what it's like to walk through the air as it stings me, the glow of dark as it soothes me, the shadows of love as they tempt me. Some days I want to stay awake to see history. I want to see it all fall into my windows like cosmic cool. Sometimes I imagine myself a stranger, born into the world to exist for no one but the tribes of starlight that seep through the cracks in my walls. These burning beings would enlighten my refuge. And somedays I wonder why anyone everyone else has to break walls down at all.

I guess it's peculiar when you wake at a decent hour to the pink sky, smell the way Colombia might, and see daisy chains and swans floating in the air. Nightlife has taken a rest under my pillow. Saturdays and summers are the breeze I feel when I decide to act like a person.

When I step outside I can taste possibility. I can see faces and places like sunshine reflecting off of car windows, store windows, my eyes. Other peoples' skin.
I feel these thoughts that run wild like poetry, weaving through me and connecting to other people. I feel other people. I feel the earth, and the way it holds so much more than I could ever dream of. I'm finally feeling... something at least, something like a wave before it bursts on the shore. My water is made of worldly particles that remain unexplained.
I love the way the sky moves me. I love the way I can move my feet and close my eyes and end up home, which is really miles away from my own.
I feel home in strange places. I feel home in other people' eyes. This is unfamiliar, but maybe it's because my ties to comfort have frayed and fallen apart. It's a new fire which burns magically through my bones.

A young girl smiled at me as I slid my hands along painted dishes. The smile was light like atmosphere, but it hit be like wonder. I was called well-read. I talked to the fungus that lounged on the water's surface.
I bought so many books. The sky was gray and I looked at each book like it was power.
My body feels like a weapon.
Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent. © BNN