February, 23, 2014 - 1:16 PM
Things that make me content (in no particular order):
- Burning candles
- Dead languages
- Library smell
- Quotes by dead people
- Boxes of tea
- Word definitions
- People watching
- Peeling glue off my fingers
- Cooking at 3 AM
- The drop of a needle on a new record
- Soulful moments
- Coffee stains
- The sound of the saxophone
- The hum of an orchestra warming up
- Those awkward moments when you accidentally touch another person's hand
- Finding receipts
- Audiobook narrator voices
- The periodic table
- The smell of cigarettes with perfume and/or cologne
- Serious conversations that result in laughter
- When you listen to music so loudly that you feel like it's physically filling you up inside
- The sound of whispering
- Making random lists
- Organic shapes
- Collecting deformed pottery
- Losing feeling in you're entire body when you're walking late at night on a cold night
- Bubble wands
- Doodling on the condensation that forms on the outside of a cup of Coca Cola
- Experiencing everything
February, 16, 2014 - 1:36 PM
Beauty marks like scattered lights on my skin. They’re more like scars, they crystallize the places I’ve been. The cobwebs that tangle me in vaporize in the light of the day. These tiny bones have never broken but they’ve bent a lot through the years. My veins may play like violins but they often are out of tune to words and are filled with coffee that stain my teeth.
February, 14, 2014 - 10:34 PM
I wonder how much money have been invested in the creation of heart shaped foods.
- Cake pops
- Cupcakes? (Why don't we still have edible muffin and cupcake wrappers? They could be heart shaped too.)
- French Toast
- Breakfast foods in general
I wonder if anyone has fed someone an actual heart. "Cow heart for my Valentine", "Here's this cow heart from my heart", "I would take my heart out, but then I would be dead, so I gave you this cows heart instead."
Maybe this is why im single.
December 20, 2013 - 12:15 - 3:55 PM
November 25, 2013 - 11:15 AM - 3:55 PM
November 11, 2013 - 11:34 AM
November 10, 2013 - 2:38 PM
The gaps between her thighs stood like a doorway between space and time. How many trips to the moon and back had plunged? Spread apart by the ever moving future and the ever-knowing past. The "fuck you's" and all the lamps that gave their life to the cause, that live somewhere in a continuous loop of smashing against walls.
October 28, 2013 - 3:29 PM
Opposites that sound good together:
1. The permanence of the transitional
2. The dark lighted
3. Drunken sobriety
4. Black color palette
5. Opaque reflections
6. The all seeing blind
7. Mapping nowhere
8. Modern vintage
9. Fall up
10. Shallow drowning
September 29, 2013 - 7:00 PM
Let's be a human being.
Let's be a human.
Let's be a.
September 15, 2013 - 5:14 PM
Thoughts of 5:14:
Pacing. Around. Around. Around. Elevator. Sunlight is warm. Soak it in. Close your eyes and soak it in. Stop pacing. Whispers of people downstairs. Relax. Silence. Humming of vent. Organic. Round. Round. Cocooned. Shadow walking. Woman house. Stand in the sun. Hand shadows. I want to paint with the sun. Light. Nothingness ------------------------ . Om. Om. Om. Fall back into it. Agnes and Louise with Billy and tea. I'm in a jazz mood. Somewhere beyond the sea, somewhere waiting for me.
September 15, 013 - 12:34 PM
Thoughts of 12:34:
I think too much. Keep walking. I like her shoes. Mysterious and spooky, the Adams family. Don't walk under that. If heaven was a hangman. I'm going to be dead one day...I love the smell of grass though, so it will be a beautiful way to spend death. The paint on the bricks would be an incredible background for a new piece. This morning's conversation. Its hard to look him in the eyes because I just want to smile. He has a beautiful mind. I'm a zombie. French accent. Elbow cracked. No photos please. The glow off the pavement is like magic. They're so old, yet they still hold hands. Moaning mapping. Lost in Lewitt. Don't be the tower. Yes you can take a poster. Smile. Kind. Awkward smile again. I wonder what that old man was thinking. Walk again. Shadow. I wonder how many steps I've taken. 1. 2. 3. 4. Fuck it. Humming. Me, myself and I are all in love with you. I wish I could collect this moment in a box. Pink. Green. Blue. Pink. Green. Blue. Black.
September 15, 2013 - 12:10 AM
The idea of creation is completely undefined. Patterns, lines, curves, times, space, words in your head that define the question of “Am I crazy?”. That define the maps on the palms of our hands, that define the lines in the palms of our hands which read like books and scream into a space not yet identified through time. What is real? Here, him, you, now? Is it words between friends? Is it the way I look at him? Is it coffee or sleep or papers or pens or your hands or my hands or this box or that string or your word or my words? Can we cross a divide that is crazy and undefined? Be the void, be the space, be the string, be the box, be the wood, be the floor, be the air, be the glass, be the you, be the me, be the words, be the hands. Enter the glass. Or the illusion of it.
September 13, 2013 - 3:18 PM
It's between mind over matter and it matters too much, on the edge of casual conversation, or the darker stuff. Stuck in a wrinkle, or a second of something like laundry lint or the after taste of diet pepsi. You're between the coffee stained napkin and the red lipstick mark, or the white piece of paper that you want to use but can't make a mark on without it being wrong. It's the lie of counting sheep and the beauty of a skinned knee that won't stop bleeding, and that stinging solution that all collides to fill something you never thought was there that you keep on forgetting until it comes back around again. It's between the he, she, it, who, where, when, there, their, how, says to you, me and the other guy. It's the endless description of words that don't flow or rhyme and you can't seem to find an ending to because there never seems to be a resolution.
July 15, 2013 - 2:10 PM
Tin cans tied on a string like a childhood story of between and within what I used to believe was everything. Cocooned inside this beating chest that can't keep beating without two hands to keep repeating the rhythm of what it used to be. It's a tin can or a heart on a string that rotates with the over tunes of questions that scream, "what gives?” The chance that the coin that you flip will change the course of your day, the chance that you give is the one that takes away, the chance that all the secrets to the universe are written on this $10 bill that you traded for a pack of cigarettes in the summer sun. Making lists and tearing them up in that all too familiar pile next to the pit of your thoughts, all the rules you broke that you wish to take back.
April 17, 2013 - 3:34 PM
These are the secret of the universe in your hand.
March 16, 2013 - 10:56 PM
Thoughts of 10:56:
Nervous tapping. Nervous tapping. What? What?
February 12, 2013 - 8:29 PM
I find that your heart is filled with stardust although your eyes see no trace of the ghost like smoke, which puff from your innermost workings. Your solar flares bright and unwavering light burns in my soul, makes me feel warmth. I map your simplicity, your form of being, to hide it away, to keep like a fallen star, to preserve the infinite light within you. I find your flaws endearing, they make my mind wander into your eyes. Not a lust, but a thirst for everything you are, your flaws, your perfections, your vulnerabilities, your strengths. How your flawless way of being imperfect makes you beautiful, and how your words become mumbled and rearranged through calculation, triangulations, and rhetorical thoughts. The everyday words which slip from your mouth, ebbing and flowing into my mind like depths of pure blue, and your kindred spirit to my soul.
I find your presence soothing, conversation appetizing, words transforming, and existence celestial. The art of your being is louder than words.
January 27, 2013 - 1:43 PM
Smarties. Random acts of kindness.
December 22, 2012 - 11:32 AM
It's a psych, life is awesome thing, where it takes you to the depths then back up to a surface that has no end. So stand there and you're sober, drink up the sun, it's a long time until you feel the ache of death's drums in your chest, you're broken at best, so you pull apart with fingertips to feel it's heat, to see it's movement like running feet, the motion like a sea. It's undying faith like the disciples whose shadows painted like giants against walls, it's warmth like Mary's breast, but your heart's willingness to love is like it, God, Buddha or all the above. The voices in your head saying it's a wonderful life, weeds growing inside old scars, like beauty marks in the stars, all the lights giving shadows to the palest of dark. It's a collision of two worlds thing, feeling bold without a voice to scream, my heart to joy giving moments away to time, to let it rest upon my mind in layers of life, in layers of skin, in layers of dreams, in layers of the ocean air you'll breathe that fades out of the smoke, this heart in the clock of life.
November 2,2013 - 9:57 AM
Samara. Translates as "the cycle of life and re-birth.
October 5, 2012 - 1:37 PM
I carry your heart.
October 1, 2012 - 3:22 AM
Paper brains tied to metal wings. Tin cans or a heart on a string. Permanent ink on a liquid surface. The secrets of the universe on a $10 bill.
September 27, 2012 - 4:13 PM
Infinite decisions. Infinite possibilities. Infinite chaos. Infinite love. Infinite dreaming. Infinite ambrosia. Infinite thoughts. Infinite time. Infinite infinitude. Infinite letters. Infinisdnfdsndfdj.
September 25, 2012 - 1:06 PM
This can't be pre-written.
September 25, 2012 - 1:02 PM
And she goes to the roof and stares at the stars.
June 15, 2012 - 12:27 PM
Her mind was nebulous after watching hours of pornography. And we all fall down...