Take Your Time

Everything can be given away in one simple conversation.Do you...

Thu, 09 Feb 2012 23:16:56 -0500

Everything can be given away in one simple conversation.
Do you believe in truth?

who can say what a portrait really is?(as the dynamic of...

Sat, 31 Dec 2011 02:00:56 -0500

who can say what a portrait really is?
(as the dynamic of memories begin to sit just as a person would in front of me)

#39: I walk the straight lines. I walk through the summer...

Tue, 13 Dec 2011 01:19:09 -0500

#39: I walk the straight lines. I walk through the summer nights. I walk the silver rope of dreams. I walk through dawns of dawns. There’s not a lot that isn’t dying. I see people parading in front of each other like insects in a killing jar, watching each other die. I walk the straight lines through the Christ machines. Through the eyes of the throwaway people. Through the wards and the shores and the cracks in the skulls of the sidewalks. Through love’s howling vacancy. I am the freedom soil. I dig my own grave. i resurrect myself every night. I am all the things to myself. I walk the straight lines. i walk the spider’s jailhouse. I walk the think line, the thin line, the white line and all the lines in between. I wish I could trade in my eyes.
-Henry Rollins “Black Coffee Blues”

frustration flourishes as they fail to see the distance between...

Sat, 10 Dec 2011 03:22:25 -0500

frustration flourishes as they fail to see the distance between things. The space separating them. We look up at the functional repetition of things. collected. displayed. kept close for others. and when we look up from where we stand. we can not tell the difference between what is and what was. They begin to coexist in front of our eyes.

Photo

Tue, 29 Nov 2011 01:36:43 -0500

what do you do when the one thing in life that you thought was...

Fri, 25 Nov 2011 22:57:42 -0500

what do you do when the one thing in life that you thought was beautiful is beginning to loose its beauty? i don’t know.
here i sit caged within the one environment that I had control over. and control is begging to allow the decay to spread into my thoughts as I sleep. I need to stay awake, need to produce. My joints need to be rotting at the end of my years, the gears need to be rusted with hope by the end of the try.
I sit across from you and count the number of times I find flaws in your statement and I wonder why It’s so vacant on this side of the table. what happens when you just let your mind wander? what happens when you begin to understand that it was not just the things that you failed to do but the things that you find yourself constantly saying. When you look into a mirror you find that none of this will prompt forgiveness from them. i wonder if i am set within these four walls for a reason. the bodies keep cycling through but i can not seem to remember how you came to be. this is a statement that is universal. because these molds that we seemingly are walking around in are begging to look for the answer to every mystery. the experience of being loved. of being wanted. of looking for someone to just be infatuated with the way you begin and end every sentence. react to every situation. live day to day.
(and you wanted her to spend time with better people anyway. you wanted her to see the good in him. you asked for it. you did this. no one will read this)
but the apples will rot and you will still love her and I will still be thousands of miles away hoping that you are thinking of that time we drove until the sun went down and I thought that everything was going to be fine. you said everything was going to be fine. I think we said that everything would continue on. but then you just left me at the end of the pathway. broken cracked cement sidewalk. where I could see the end (or was it the beginning?) wondering if you were ever going to go around the bend again. and if that would be you are running back to me. but you wont. you wont. because standing here lost in memory and anxiety seem to be my permanent condition. I have the inability to see. I can not edit. I can not. I can not. I have failed to do so.

"When I put my hands on your body on your flesh I feel the history of that body. Not just the..."

Tue, 15 Nov 2011 00:20:00 -0500

““When I put my hands on your body on your flesh I feel the history of that body. Not just the beginning of its forming in that distant lake but all the way beyond its ending. I feel the warmth and texture and simultaneously I see the flesh unwrap from the layers of fat and disappear. I see the fat disappear from the muscle. I see the muscle disappearing from around the organs and detaching iself from the bones. I see the organs gradually fade into transparency leaving a gleaming skeleton gleaming like ivory that slowly resolves until it becomes dust. I am consumed in the sense of your weight the way your flesh occupies momentary space the fullness of it beneath my palms. I am amazed at how perfectly your body fits to the curves of my hands. If I could attach our blood vessels so we could become each other I would. If I could attach our blood vessels in order to anchor you to the earth to this present time I would. If I could open up your body and slip inside your skin and look out your eyes and forever have my lips fused with yours I would. It makes me weep to feel the history of your flesh beneath my hands in a time of so much loss. It makes me weep to feel the movement of your flesh beneath my palms as you twist and turn over to one side to create a series of gestures to reach up around my neck to draw me nearer. All these memories will be lost in time like tears in the rain.””

- David Wojnarowicz

I told him to go find where his passion sits and wrestle it to...

Mon, 14 Nov 2011 01:35:10 -0500

I told him to go find where his passion sits and wrestle it to the ground for infinity.

As you wait and hope and reach out for the impossible/Stuck in...

Sat, 12 Nov 2011 03:08:09 -0500

As you wait and hope and reach out for the impossible/Stuck in how it was/wondering if it will ever.ever.ever feel the same.

One day i will have to crawl out of this limbo.

Wed, 09 Nov 2011 00:06:50 -0500

One day i will have to crawl out of this limbo.

Bending (bursting)

Sun, 30 Oct 2011 23:58:38 -0400

Bending (bursting)

The wood of the fence creaked in the wind like an old house that...

Sat, 29 Oct 2011 17:49:40 -0400

The wood of the fence creaked in the wind like an old house that folds under heavy feet. Although the grass was vividly green it felt as though his soft bare feet were walking over dry, jagged, dead weeds. He continued to approach the girl slowly.
She was standing alone, chains draping over her arms, pressing coldly into her neck. He noticed how pale she was amidst the red vines and bright sky. Her dull complexion was not unflattering and the chains did not make him feel uncomfortable. It just made him wonder, filled him with curiosity. It made him need to get closer.

because when words fell from her lips they dented marble...

Thu, 27 Oct 2011 01:32:36 -0400

because when words fell from her lips they dented marble blocks.

Her heels rolled over the cracks of the splitting cement and...

Wed, 26 Oct 2011 01:32:52 -0400

Her heels rolled over the cracks of the splitting cement and with each step she heard her bones move inside of her. Thudding dully as if they were impatient to escape.

I am chained, tangled, tethered to these distracting memories so...

Mon, 24 Oct 2011 20:01:22 -0400

I am chained, tangled, tethered to these distracting memories so tight I can no longer hear ( but I could never listen ) It’s like when someone is sitting across the table screaming, ranting, divulging themselves to you and all you can hear are the conversations of last night stomping back and forth in your head ( just nod and smile ). You look up and time starts ticking in your chest. It partners up with these symbols and we stop moving because we are told our bodies can only take two rotations. When does stillness begin to hurt? May I say now? As I ( as we ) realize that imagination was lost entirely too early. Rooms are feeling smaller now. They continue shrinking, my gut says they’re not as grandiose as before. Nothing fits. Colors become systematic, static, irrelevant. Sounds go mute as I cover them up. My lack of speech becomes the only thing that I taste. Our imagination is linked to our senses and my experiences have become quite deprived.

permanent (in passing) .

Mon, 17 Oct 2011 21:56:58 -0400

permanent (in passing) .

This is when everything begins to feel abnormal.

Mon, 17 Oct 2011 00:27:53 -0400

This is when everything begins to feel abnormal.

He was right, you can not ignore this light.

Wed, 14 Sep 2011 01:20:33 -0400

He was right, you can not ignore this light.

what would we do without these consequences?

Sun, 04 Sep 2011 00:26:05 -0400

what would we do without these consequences?

slam your glass down and make your voice heard. wondering if...

Mon, 29 Aug 2011 00:49:48 -0400

slam your glass down and make your voice heard. wondering if what is coming out of his mouth is the truth or just another universe. Traveling those thousands of miles (maybe that is just the consequence of memory malfunctions) with you made the summer complete. We were self affirmed, please continue to be that way. This simple conversation of back and forth shakes the evening over and over again. Sending me into a body high that has volume levels worth closing the window for. I want to think that these are times that i will remember. Snapshots of a time relative to us on all planes, within all time and out of all context of reality. Who knows what will become of us. But I hope for a life free from restraint and all negativity .