the leaves are like static.

Wednesday, 22 July 2009

  • higher. cheaper. faster.

    harder.

    rusty pink scaffolding. alert. you are walking on a bridge over a brook, over movement, over rocks. there are no tall buildings lurking behind trees. airplanes poke holes in glutton clouds before they burst and make everything stick.

Monday, 06 July 2009

Sunday, 24 May 2009

Wednesday, 20 May 2009

Thursday, 13 November 2008

  • what is love if we can only love when it's convenient?
    if we can't love our enemies, are we really capable of loving at all?

    i hear a lot of the same thing said in a different way.
    and i'm never quite sure how gullible is too gullible.

    i let myself entertain the thought that maybe you'd surprise me, that the last few weeks have just been a terrible joke and that tonight, you'd deliver its punchline; so that we could laugh, so that i could laugh, and breathe a huge sigh of relief.

    but i am neither laughing, nor breathing.
    there is no punchline, no drum cadence.

    i am foolish. i know this. i've always known this.
    and your ghost is rubbing it in my face tonight.

    you were the last person i thought could expose me like this.
    and of course, this means that you were most likely to be the first.

Tuesday, 11 November 2008

  • internal pizazz.

    i wrote something like a poem a few months ago. it captured this inexplicable feeling of detachment that i'd set my coordinates towards long ago without even knowing it. a series of enlightening dreams have indicated that i have reset my coordinates elsewhere. destination unknown.

    i think about people in terms of consumption.
    before, i thought about people in terms of space.
    (there is a conceptual relationship between the two.)

    if we accept the world as we perceive it, i imagine that we are all standing in self-made dioramas generating details as we learn and observe new things each passing day.

    hm.

Friday, 31 October 2008

Thursday, 30 October 2008

  • i am reading goethe's 'the sorrows of young werther'.

    sometimes it's hard to fathom how deeply you can empathize with an author's work. with me, every reading strikes a deep personal chord. it is in the words of others that i find comfort in the fact that i am not alone, that my mind has wandered difficult, inexpressible terrain that artists capture in bodies of sounds, colors, and words. there is a twofold nature to my experience with empathy, however. in light of diversity, people seem reluctant to accept, acknowledge, and cherish that there is, in most cases, common ground. diversity, if handled constructively, can create a beautiful palette of colors. diversity can also cause wars.

Saturday, 18 October 2008

  • 'intense'. what an adjective to describe someone. i've been told this before.

    sometimes i hate words.
    because sometimes you can't say enough without having to use too many of them.

    i asked for patience.
    i can think of two and a half people who really understood this.

    'home' is a variety of particular scents.
    i've found them in olympia, india, germany, and now austria.
    (i think this is wonderful.)

Friday, 17 October 2008

  • today, i fell asleep next to an open window.

    the city is dressed in autumn attire, the trees expose more and more each day to the cold. (our response to the cold is the opposite of trees.) someone somewhere is asking: "why waste such a beautiful day on sleep?" my question is: "why waste time asking intrusive questions that have an answer that will mean nothing to you?"

    i slept under a blanket of autumn day dreams. in them, i wrote novels and music. i lived in a room with a green door next to strangers. there were mountains, a cerulean colored sea, and anonymity. there was peace, adventure, and bookbinding. i opened my eyes, my window was still open. the glass was glazed with images of my dream over a palette of autumn-attired-city-street colors. i draw no lines. none.