dream and breathe

Deep breath. Deep thoughts. But with no time to breathe I haven't been thinking. Haven't been writing. Luckily I've been dreaming. Perhaps not clearly and no where near lucidly, but at least vividly. I remember them, enough to try to make sense of them later. So I know I'm breathing in my sleep.

face to face

And now we come face to face with the creator of our asphyxiation.  It climbs over our mountains to feed on our small valley, lighting the night sky with its embers.
We smell it, we see it, we'll feel it.

dance metaphor for life

when my toes are bruised, my ankles swell, and my soles are sore i will still dance. when my feet bleed, my heart bleeds. but pain is only temporary. and i will still dance. my feet, though not beautiful, have character. they've lived, and they are strong. beauty is not strength, strength is beauty.

you know who you are

One day I'll say it anonymously, and you'll know its me.

mother

a broken plate with shards of glass that sticks to the soles of my feet. a crying child with empty tears that stick to his rosy cheeks. a temper without hesitation that twists the insides of myself. a patient hand with tiny cuts that twists when picking up glass. and it was all just a moment with angry breath and a tired child.

pompeii

Ashes are falling from the sky, and I think of Pompeii.  Smoke shades the lights, red is now the norm.  Smells like a barbeque, lost trees and dying brush.  It feels like last summer, and perhaps the summer before that, because it happens here.  We'll smell it in our sleep all night, smell it in our hair forever, we'll feel it on our skin, we'll feel it in our lungs, and it will short our breath- fire.

and the boys were lame

Venice, not Santa Monica

A boy
who thinks too much and tries too hard
the wrong way on the highway
a few missed exits
and here we are
foggy skies and cigarette smoke,
sunglassed eyes and the sun’s not out
the cool mist on the sea
is beginning to creep through the street
it hides the people with their beach trash art
and the music keeps playing
battles between every store
he’s still here
but i wish i were alone
my hand is sticky with humidity and he smiles
because he wants to hold it
i’ll put on my smile mask
and turn the other way

new chapter.

The blogs I've posted here are only in terms of my new chapter in life.  I've left out the old, the depressed.  If you're interested in those its a myspace thing, not here.

another

And another online psuedo diary, when I've never honestly kept one.  The thing is though, there's no reaosn for this unless I include older entries.  Which I will.  But let it be known that this date was the true beginning.  Welcome to my existence.

Lancaster is not California.

Beats. Kerouac. And what sounds like a book on tape. Lame acting where there's no actor. All about California, but what else is new? I know the difference between here and everywhere else. And that difference? Here its ours. Not really, but it seems so. And we believe it. That's all that matters. Here is ours. So what is here? Third Street? Hollywood Boulevard? Or is here just thirtieth and K? You don't know, I do. But I wouldn't tell. Because Lancaster isn't California.

power

Mountain tops, power lines, unreachable to us. And in our attempts to reach power we will knock down mountains and destroy our humble valleys.

terrible

days when people tell me how beautiful i am. days when people laugh with me and make me feel funny. days when i smile and everyone smiles back. these are the days i remember how terrible i've been.