Sunday, December 27, 2015


Like paper dolls, to be crafted
Like tears to be shed
And I mean it like the lump in my throat
And the tears I’m holding back.
its taking everything I have
to hold myself steady in this moment
and it feels like all the previous times
I have ever been afraid
when facing opposition
I feel it, like the snowfall in the mountains
as her jagged teeth beckon me
like an Olympian siren that only I can hear

my attention was consumed in the minutia
Like a symphony playing out
To the tune of collaboration
Bob, weave, fuckin’ shit flying everywhere

And the sound that came out of the cold
Was merely wasted time
Time that I want to spend with my loved ones
Time that I want to spend with you
And we get so little of it
And its unfair
And I hate it.

I spend so much time outside of myself,
Looking inward
As if we are paper dolls, stuck in a dance
That cannot be undone
Our ballet unfolds and unfolds
As petals of time consume us
Becoming closer to ultimacy
by growing away further and further
from one another

and I am filled with rage in this way:
that I do not have the power to transcend these aspects
I would do so much to reach you
To awaken you from the dream
I know the demons that lurk in those nightmares
That gnaw at the core of our fears and psyche-
And I have faced these demons so many times
That look forward to our encounters-
And I know that bravery is contagious

Like paper dolls
I take part in the drama
As it unfolds in a way that is quasi-theatrical
I feel so utterly compelled to elaborate
To expand upon this narrative
To open up
About all of the things,
I want to hide in the boxes,
of myself
I want to share with you a piece of my humanity
As best I could capture
Through actions and words.

as if we are frozen in paper and glued to the frame of something
that we must participate in
every day it feels like I am looking into my own life
as if designed by a child, seeking credit for some other menial task
above me, the helicopters growl through the sky
their blades, chopping my thoughts into invisible confetti
and it rains down upon this land like the sorrow of stupidity
their scenes frozen in time, crudely taped in place by clumsy and foolish fingers
and I must delve, compelled to fix my gaze upon these
little people and their little lives.

like paper dolls
fixed into permanence
suspended into a flimsy frame
they take part in a never ending ballet
silently dancing
consumed in the fragility of the moment.
and I am of them
diligently putting their movements to music.

Sunday, December 6, 2015


I have a very good concept of nuance
I have a very good concept of gesture
I am haughty
And Vain

I reign in darkness
Rise in fire
Triumph in the cold.

In the way that
I have seen a syringe on a dancefloor
In the shadows and sound of so many deafening nights.
I have seen you-
From a distance as a forest of light in the dark places of the gross
And as I come as the soul of the leviathan
I see that you will make a great famous person.
Everyone seems to have motives, it is their motives that spool them.
I wish them all well, but in many ways this has shifted my emphasis
Irreversibly, in such a way that I have no real desires of my own anymore
I have become unbound
Like a mariner out to sea, and I know I will never see the shores of my homeland ever again
But it is a lie that I tell myself
As to animate this corpse of a body for another day
Also… This corpse of a body likes to dance
And I’m a hella good dancer. 
It has served me well on those unknown dark shores

I ride over 100 miles a week
14 a day, every day, on my days off it’s more
50 hours of kitchen shit, every week
So I can live in a neighborhood
Where I can literally hear men fighting in the street right now.
Bottles break.
“fuck you too, Nigga.”
Flesh meets flesh. Voices are raised.
“Don’t’ Fucking worry about it!” and faintly- pleading like a plastic bag caught on chain-link
feminine voices are wrung out into the array to be crushed under the spokes of what has already become the inevitable,
“shut the FUCK up!”
Gunshots are heard. Windows break.
And I... I sit here typing, on a keyboard that I find irritating, because it is not ergonomic. Because I think that ergonomic keyboards help me type better. And I could give a fuck about which one of my drunken neighbors gets killed tonight.
It is monachopsis; in such a way that I am indigenous and have become deforested by some moronic and pathetic invasive species.
But if this environment has taught me anything. It has something to do with how we prepare for fire.
Quick and decisive
But it has everything to do with healing.
Recovery makes great
As trees must endure fire, so too, shall dreams be tested

When times are lean do not pity yourself
Falling in love with one’s own legend is treacherous
I am not special for making it through the snow, as much as nobody cares to hear of traffic
True art requires a noble approach.
As a samurai slashes through its opposition, not at it
I am building a house, not hammering a nail
It is a slight difference, making love to a woman
devouring a mango, feeding on a pomegranate
it is these ideas that keep me warm
when my hands feel chapped and my spine wants to climb out of my back
and curl up, and die.
Yet, the snow can be refreshing
The sorrow grants perspective
The frost gives us a reason to shed what we have carried
Arguably, for too long.
Unfolding like a gentle dance with oneself
surrendering to the onism
that the essence of self is never what it quite appears to be.