Sep 28, 2014
7 notes

For all intents and purposes, this blog is on serious haitus. I have an unhealthy relationship with the internet, with myself, and others. I’m gonna go be better at that. I’m only leaving it open to check messages once a week, and update on A Dream a Day. You’re all good people. Take care.

Sep 24, 2014
8 notes

in television static, in day old rain

it is in the light that we remember.
we see that holistic glimmer
like the mercurial river-water
glow under a waxing deep night
moon, glimmer of the dead days,
the ones we see in the wave of
life and light kissing the water’s edge
as our lungs stay pressured shut,
like we are slipping off to some place
new, a deeper world than human’s world, like a new kiss, that early reach,
your first kiss, how each first kiss
with each new lips to kiss, came
with its own invisible language,
the temperature and warmth,
the ways to curl to smoothen out
the movements of the mouth,
how exposed and vital those moments
sit, how much it is when september
cracks with the bristle of a storm,
like the loudest roll of thunder in
the late afternoon, like street-lights
mirrored in the silver puddle sheets,
like life and hope condensed
into a breath, and left to
dew.

Sep 23, 2014
12 notes

The Hour And The Melody

jchrostek:

Tuck those words away,
I’ll take them down with me.
My heart will sit upon the pin
of infinity, I will laugh away
the pain that pin would say
is the fault of gravity. You will
know the songs we found
like the shadow of a dream,
like you will know my affairs
as I sit beneath the greenery
and hum with lack of skill
our melody, each of us on
our different paths, the clocks
counting their foreign hours,
building days and ages both
outside the time we knew each
other. The moon, waxing white
over a southern purple sky, might
sit alone but glows its pallid glow
because the sun it lies far separate from,
over the gradient seas of dusks and dawns,
over the hour and the melody,
the sort of glow you’ll always
(damn the sorrow) give to me.

Sep 23, 2014
12 notes

The Hour And The Melody

Tuck those words away,
I’ll take them down with me.
My heart will sit upon the pin
of infinity, I will laugh away
the pain that pin would say
is the fault of gravity. You will
know the songs we found
like the shadow of a dream,
like you will know my affairs
as I sit beneath the greenery
and hum with lack of skill
our melody, each of us on
our different paths, the clocks
counting their foreign hours,
building days and ages both
outside the time we knew each
other. The moon, waxing white
over a southern purple sky, might
sit alone but glows its pallid glow
because the sun it lies far separate from,
over the gradient seas of dusks and dawns,
over the hour and the melody,
the sort of glow you’ll always
(damn the sorrow) give to me.

Sep 22, 2014
10 notes

Repetition

This is a practice poem, based
in repetition:

I have been sick. I have forgotten the light. I have been
sick. I have forgotten the light. The light is not extinguished.
The light was not the moment that is dead. The light is not
the people who have forgotten you. I have been sick.
I have forgotten. I am the light. You are the light. We
are the light. The light is not extinguished. The light
is not in what we drink. The light is not lost in vomit,
it is not lost in you. It is larger, it is brighter, it becomes
us when we let go, when we rise up. The light breathes
out, sits golden on the road even though the sky
is bruised. I have been sick. I am sick no longer.

Sep 22, 2014
11 notes
the-blonde-assassin asked: Your poetry is a breath of fresh air. I'm so sorry that you're hurting, but you speak about it so beautifully. That's one thing that always struck me about being a poet. The normal eye sees depression, but the literary eye sees this great, unchained madness.

I’m posting this publicly because this is one of the kindest things anyone has said about my work in a long time. I’m very glad you enjoy it. I work very hard on developing clarity and meaning out of the muck that is my thoughts.

Sep 21, 2014
8 notes
I’m going to start uploading 60D shoots on my Instagram so it’s gonna get way better. Let’s follow each other!

I’m going to start uploading 60D shoots on my Instagram so it’s gonna get way better. Let’s follow each other!

Sep 21, 2014
15 notes

I’ve been getting healthier. I’m eating again. Haven’t thrown up anything in a few days. The loud tenor note of stress has quieted somewhat. This is all good news. It seems, for now, the worst of it is over.

I feel as though I am returning from war. Every day, I am capable of a few minutes more genuine happiness. For the most part, things feel hollow. I walk outside and the air is cooling. I can fit comfortably in small t-shirts now. I have shrunk.

I wonder, sometimes, if the silence ending would even help. 2014 has been built to teach me to survive. It has pushed me to my breaking point. Past it. I stumbled home last night, drunk and high, and the streets were empty. I wanted a car to hit me again. Why?

I think I keep digging to see how little I need. How horrific shit can get for me. To prove that I can still get up, that I don’t need what I want.

I don’t need happiness to survive. I don’t need safety. I don’t need stability or hope. I can press on through the goddamn darkness.

Sep 20, 2014
8 notes

I hate “universal truth” jokes. Like those really sweaty red-faced white dudes in polos stand up with solo cups of beer and say something like “Women, huh??” And “I’m a guy! You know, you know, what being a guy is, come on.” It’s that like water cooler boring ass talk that people make everywhere in America and it is so boring I could run my head over with a bmx bike.

Sep 20, 2014
11 notes

i have forgotten the easy ways to breathe.
they tell me i am not the same. i know this.
i know that this me is not the best me.
the beautiful song inside me has gone quiet.
my body expects me to keep moving.

i am beginning the see the sun and moon
moving together in the sky. it is an illusion
of perspective, but so is everything.
i laugh black smoke. i cut the night
like construction paper.

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