January 2012
15 posts
Through the dawn, behind its pastel painted cold sweat, its invisible borders and mortar and false feelings of separation from the day before, lies a swell.
So subtle, like most things real, it hides in wait for hunters. Lost children who have wandered off the path, run in tangents into the woods, tearing at the heavy things that adorn them, as they run. Feet barely touching the ground.
All...
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December 2011
5 posts
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November 2011
31 posts
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I sit alone by the self-serve bar and keep precious watch over tiny plastic cups and apple juice. I close the blinds and curtains, as if to wrap the night around me, to surround myself with something to keep me warm. Ma niente puo caldarmi, solo lei.
So I sit quietly and wrap myself in thoughts, and I am warm. Far from the sleeping Chinese circus that lives just behind the polyblend...
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a pile of yesterday and today, last week, lies on the top of the dresser.
innocent and cement-like, and like many other things: interesting, followed by useless or dull, and to very well be picked up at some point in the future as though it were new.
or with a feeling of nostalgia, instilling upon it a heightened quality, mostly constructed of hope or a lack of heat.
misdirection...
I have always looked upon decay as being just as wonderful and rich and expression of life as growth. — Henry Miller
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The sky crackles and threatens to split in two this morning, revealing who-knows-what. Maybe the beast who eats garbage and has finally come to devour all this filth. I don’t really mean that. Clawing at the dawn and burning selfishness on its way to work? No. That’s not it. But there’s something else. The voice that, if you listen closely, sings the subtle harmony behind the weather; the...
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“At the top of the mountain, we are all snow leopards.”
H.S.T
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The floor beneath me is carefully knit, but closely sewn in some parts. I walk in step with it, blue above, but a leg falls through. Sometimes, I begin. The weave before me though, is a labyrinth of mystery and adventure and rips my attention back. With what needle will I tighten the patches? Pull them back close together so nothing can get through? Or do I learn to jump when one approaches,...
We don’t need the dance.
When the motion is so swift around us, our feet don’t touch the ground. Deep in your lower spine, the tiny but infinite point of reference, the magnet. That is why I clawed through sediment and laundry to find my bracelet, this morning. That is why I said the prayer. To guard from the trails, so rapid-fire now. they don’t breathe or ever sit on the...
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the landscape sits around me like a mural, colours only a layer deep, easily removed with a little scrubbing, appear unmovable, carved in cement. but i race, vibrating so quickly, i can barely see. i move past this world and into others. i can’t understand, can’t commit. because how can i hold onto something that flies past me? how can i love from a train? how can i let you in when you are...
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I have always looked upon decay as being just as wonderful and rich and expression of life as growth. — Henry Miller
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I have lots of things to teach you now, in case we ever meet, concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so don’t worry. It’s all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don’t know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that...
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Off cut gems arrange themselves just-so on Chinatown kitch trinkets for the kitchen window.
They want to be polished, pull back their shoulders.
Like nail polish on a pig.
So silent is the night. When there is no more duty. What’s out there is much further. So far you couldn’t walk.
Transplanted skin, could belong to anyone.
Like a snake’s discard and become things of desert legend, sewn and...
“That’s what I love about fire, how it would kill me as quick as anybody else. How it can’t know I’m it’s mother.”
Palahniuk
“Mostly I feel it stir in crowds,” she thinks. “Or maybe that it can play itself out, undetected, in that setting.”
She wipes her eye with the back of her hand and the paint smears. She rolls onto her back, stretches her arms out against the hardwood and remains there, motionless, prostrating herself before the gods of release. In her mind, she is fastening bows...
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I perform ancient tasks that were, at one point predictable, but for this woman are a harsh tangent. I move outside. California on my computer screen. Silicon Valley. I let go of things that cause my cheeks to sink, make me count, toss, make me have conversations that coat my skull like plaque. I throw them over my balcony and then realize I can still see the blue of the sky and the clouds...
