i found a little part of me that was still the same, but my head was under a pillow. it was a dream. like a feeling you get when you realize you almost choked, but your body coughed it out. the angels are still hangin’ around. they’re still holding you close. waiting for when. ...and don’t speak, they can hear you. it’s happening again.

Courtney Barnett: NPR Music Tiny Desk Concert

I might not know how to begin or how anything ends, but there is something in my mind that beckons to be recognized. Something I have always known, yet do not yet know. I have shook hands with the consciousness that will drive even the most collected of us to bite the ripened succulent fruit of insanity. Dreams deceive such a delicate realness and beads of sweat stamp a puny defeat so with the most insulting and graceful drip to demise.

there's so much sawdust swarming in my mind & my synapses are relentless chainsaws that won't cease. this is a time of passage both within and outside of myself to uncharted experiences. the balance beam is screaming in me, and one side is ready to just utterly collapse. it's been teetering for years, and i'm panicking in anticipation of surrender. i've been trembling, even during the day, afraid the moon is disappointed of my forsaking.

it's 7:15 in the morning. a brisk breeze is sweeping into my bedroom from the open basement window. i can hear a stolen shopping cart being raggedly rolled past in the alley. the wheels on asphalt and the metal clanging & reverberating with each bump until it stops at the next garbage bin. i can almost sense the whiteness of their knuckles as they grip and push through the uneven terrain of urban desolation. unable to see, i can't help but wonder who's madness is behind the cart & how long it's been with them - how much of their madness does that one cart contain? sometimes a cart to wake up with and put my madness into each morning sounds like a remedy. i'm trying to stay clam & listening helps me. there is so much life out there that i'm not living. or even observing. how much "-ness" there is and how tiny of a micro fraction i am. it's strange that no one has the same world, though we all coexist on one planet. even my own life is separated into varying existences and time loops. for instance, my dear stephanie just called me and is stuck in the thick of traffic. even her experience, while lived simultaneously next to mine, is vastly varying. she's calm and has the radio tuned into NPR. hearing her voice grounds me in the most immense permanent way. it's absolute ludicrous upon the sound of it how fast i can crumble to sadness of her vacant presence, even when she's only been gone half an hour. i've never known this. quite frankly, i'm bad at it. with each moment, we have wreathed our souls together, and are evermore eternally entwined. full circle. continuous and capturing. which we have sprinkled salt around and blessed with spells of binding and protection. though, i must soon too construct a separate one within our wreath around my own knowingness in order to cleanse. cognizance is a brutal fate. especially when rapt within a mutated state of delirium. but i'm awakening. and i will compote the waste to build an enriched fertile footing from which to grow.

i've never experienced this much and this little at once.

spirit writing my own horoscope - Monday, May 12, 2014 .

at this time you feel your life. you are particularly attracted to the ideals of a painless, easy way. you are now provided the opportunity to be prepared for sudden shifts. key issues arise becoming involved in some form of projecting your imagination on others. but the probability is higher than you were aware. following the crowd to hide, impatient and rather reckless at times, you experience major unexpected, sudden changes in your dreams. you are also very prone to fantasize about a more perfect idealistic state. at this, probably deceiving yourself. you should not. you are impulsively affectionate and awakened at this time. and the novelty and possibilities for the changes push to consciously initiate them. the only caveat is to keep quite restless, though you are so, so lazy. sometimes a wave of spontaneous, responsive, and creative flows in over and you are inclined to be moved, though be wary of deception from others in life. perhaps more importantly, you believe in unexpected ways. you promise to gain a fresh, more inspired perspective. you tend to project there is a high probability that some people will try to take advantage of the exaggerated and fantastic, then as your own tendency persists, form a great distance to others. you now seek what will not necessarily occur now. also, you may find that you cannot restrain your imagination; let it soar. for this time period sensations of rebelliousness and abrupt changes in adventure await. impulsive decisions that you can regret take an exotic vacation. visit the low point in your ability to reach spiritual aspirations, effectively unveiling an inspiring place. you tend to become seriously disoriented and experience a more imaginative, unstable territory. psychically make major decisions and be weary of any tendency to drink to excess, you are prone to make sudden sadness. you entertain more fantasies than you realize, and easily slip into a disoriented and confused state of mind. even danger zones. be very careful when in a more magical, awe-inspiring world. a way to escape from practical affairs is watching many movies as a used for medical purposes. though may cause emotional upheaval. so be very careful with an urgency now. this is the feel you need to escape from your daily routine and immerse yourself in the very disorienting and confusing. during this time you are likely to find yourself reading fantasy with practical affairs. exciting world. time. you are driven more by sudden intuitions and dreams grip you. you pretend to be very strong at this time, and a stable, predictable. that offers an easy victim of this deception. find yourself.

the expected honk
in the quite void
still startles you -
cowered deep down
(and unwillingly) you've begun morphing
into a manila cocktail of moon,
headlights, and the taxi's own reflection
(which rests hitting your body
with aggravating precision
through your tightly shut
drapes). you have perfected
the act of sinking
on the couch in your head,
which is raggedly outdated
and never replaced
because (memories) - watching,
but unmoving as hours drain
like blood from the sky -
the stars turn to flames
in this infinite vigil 
(brutal is the slaughter
you have grow to know
all too well). abruptly, the screech
of hot rubber, asphalt, and tar,
the sounds of
black on black on black -
it's gone & you don't care
as you walk with cracking ankles
to turn on the stove and make a cup of tea
like a complacent coward - but you rest
easily, because everything
(in this moment) is now
as gone
as you -
yet, amidst the massacre
darkness always wins -
there is a neglected
glister glinting gently
& playing off the whites
of your emptiness 

soft stabbing sound
of a needle
breaking through fabric
swift low whiz
of crimson string
being pulled through
displaying an un-beating
vein embedded body
...can't help but
wish for echos
each stitch craves
homage to remember
the puncture's origins
rests within hands
far too familiar

Joanna Newsom - Ribbon Bows (with lyrics)

you still feel it there. so you dig it out and get it in the palms of your hands. the trashcan is in the other room, and you don't want to. your nose bled only once, like an omen. it haunts you. the anxiety of your body is staring in your face. you wad it up real small so you can hide it. you push it down between the bed and the wall. a soft kleenex stained red. the wetness seeping slowly in as portions begin to disintegrate. you shiver as it vanishes bit by bit, back into your body.

never be certain. everyone's a tragedy. ticking. everyone's a tragedy holding in them the most sacred lonely girl drinking wine. running it over her tongue in small circles to taste so deep. it gets better with age. pouring, sipping, waiting. sipping, pouring, sipping, waiting. it will happen. cyan is ticking. it's the moon's color. it's the color of a lifeless body. the final color of humanity. it's creeping up our fingertips. do we hold pulses or merely ticks?

I was looking for my sketchpad and accidentally found a book with some of Her poetry. I didn't mean to. It was hidden behind one of the boxes I put in a cupboard without unpacking -- which, of course, was filled to the brim with satin warm toned expired photography paper and notes about masculinity vs femininity. I thought it was an old 90's calendar based on the panoramic shape & large white plastic spiraled binding. I was going to flip through for some laughs, but there, on the left page was Her name boldly printed beneath a piece of poetry. My blood rushed. I could feel the tips of my fingers buzzing & slowly swelling into a red pulse with each. My heart beats in the rhythm of Her words. When she gets home, I will hold my hand on her cheek and thank her for existing.

She has a cold. And I get sad so easily. She comes home exhausted and with too many pressures that I wish so badly I had a pause button. She can't think, so we walk through the Seattle drizzle to get a large bowl of veggie Pho on Broadway, then to the store for Rum. We start to watch something funny, but She's too exhausted. She asks me if She can take the Tylenol Cold & Flu medicine we bought, but I say no since we had a couple drinks. And feel really bad. I hate not having control in situations like this. It's so hard not being able to make her better. She turned over to sleep. And I get sad because it's still early and I missed Her all day, but I know she needs it. I'm quiet a minute or two before I hear Her breaths slowly deepening. I kiss Her neck, then write this.

My head hard in the nape of Her. My joints are disintegrating to nothing but Her. Eventually I move my body and feel a slight slide of conscious breath. As if by instinct, before my body creaks like someone you've grown old with, birds have started chirping, I inhale and I pull Her closer into me. I squeeze for Her heartbeat, I listen for Her breathing. The purest pain. And I have no control. My arm right beneath her breasts. I listen. You try to kiss me. I smile, but Every morning, while it's still dark & no body is even fully awake, I turn my neck & almost cry because I'm scared now. I'm scared of what's happening to my body.

Never perceived this current transition to transpire. And “You’s” have turned into “We’s.” Which is foremost shocking bearing in mind the We’re okay. The We can breathe. My “I’s,” I’ll never be so foolish again. I want to press these keys to the point that they nearly shatter, or at least tremor severely. The last time I was writing in a frequent state everything was so solitary. I didn’t mind it. Though having Her now, it’s comforting in a way I never imagined it would or could be – especially considering all my desirings were muse-ish dreams states. It feels so damn good. She’s in front of me now. She’s here. She really, really is. She’s mine. How does She exist and how am I not just romanticizing this in my mind? I have hardly written anything in the past (very almost) two years of Her mystic presence. These have been the most enchanting years of ever in my existence & I wrote fucking nothing. How could I’ve been so senseless? My rapping on this keypad is nearly blaring in volume. I want Her to ask me, almost. Just so that I can kiss Her hand or forehead, which will be the perfect degree of lukewarm. It’s hitting me that this sound is not secretive anymore. I’ve been scared to write about Her. I’ve never been so careful the way I am with Her. So considered, yet so open. How strange it is to even acknowledge.

Reflecting. It troubles my psyche. I’m disappointed in it in the same way I’m disappointed in not keeping record. I got so rapt. Fuck, the rhythm my body got used to in one swift. I used to write, and then I was found. Why have I not even journals anymore? Not any art piece even stirred out of me. Everything except you was worthless. I, wanting nothing but you. Nothing. How’ve I not been cataloging? A dark fear is forgetting you. The you pureness. The perfect blankness you provide in yourself for me when I am desperate to escape from the madness. That’s why before I found you I wrote the way you did. I almost hated you. Masterpiece. I so desperately, almost hurriedly used to exist in a constant motion of scooping, but these past two years have been snowflakes. So delicate and beautiful and as if slow motion, then suddenly morphed to fast-forward. All of the sudden, accumulation. Abruptly, and disrupting. I got so rapt. I forgot to write. I forgot motion exploded sometimes. I’ve been reflecting on how scarcely I’ve been the same way. I get disappointed every time. All past emptyings, now I have to fill, fill, fill. Bloated because I wasn't supposed to ever find you, though I have indulged. I wanted my world of wishful. Yet, so aggressively they would melt. How’ve you not evaporated?

and the shards in history remember the age. there's mud on the ground and glass. she was run down. hid from the dreams she held. hard to keep inside. what is she looking for? see her body and you believe the blues. her photograph. now submerged in winter's totem of ice which constantly is melting into gray mirrors that you so avidly avoid looking at directly. "why?," you whisper. one eyebrow slightly contracts as you swallow and fold your arms against your body. it's been years. she's been gone. you're always empty.

i know i've already posted today, but i cannot get over the view that is just outside my door. i get to see this glorious landscape even when just walking home from the grocery store. texas, i just don't think i could ever miss you (except for your mexican food).  soul is so fulfilled and swept perpetually.

thoroughly freaked out. stephanie & i both had one gift that was not going to make it by xmas, even though we both ordered them near the beginning of december. since today marks the eve and we both knew we wouldn't have said gift yet we decided to open an image of what the gift was on our computers and then close them/trade for each other to open at the same time. and to put it modestly - both our faces dropped entirely at the precise same moment. as you will see in the image below:

for her, from me: a gray hoodie with the dr. who tardis printed on it in the center.
for me, from her: a gray hoodie with a moon umbrella printed on it in the center.

and to make it not any less eerie at all - we both have very similarly sized presents under the tree for tomorrow. this shall be interesting.

  

can't dream because my skull is tingling like your foot does when it's asleep. so instead i'm flipping through old photographs. mind looping. creating its own reveries by piecing together all the rectangular 4x6 relics in my hard-drive like broken bones which i quiveringly unearth as some archeologist of memory. i don't know if this is any easier than just fighting my eyelids.

i keep saying it, and i keep falling through. but i must start writing again. mostly to keep my memories close in this time of vast transition. this morning we saw the first snow of the season. it was so delicate and seemed to float in a gravity defying paradox. i just kept staring into it, waiting for it to swoop me up and swallow me whole. i was so rapt that my fingers froze through and i could hardly move my bones, but i managed just enough shaky strength to form my very first compact ball of the fluff in my life, then proceed to throw it at my darling. and we both laughed when it hit, but then i felt immediately awful because in my inexperience from existing most of my life in texas i was unaware of how painful a seemingly innocent snowball could be. but now i know and am anxiously awaiting the next snowfall. this time i will follow it's lead, be more gentle. make an angle or something.

"bonsai, bonsai, it's better to write than die." - patti.

her love is the blanket so beautifully molded beneath my skin that i cannot help but wake with its imprints upon my body.

fallen teeth floating in a glass of wine. tiny & glistening. a myth, but figuring it out.

because the past is seeping when the mortar fills itself, i remember. and that is elixirs of sorrow, euphoria, & a rattle to the bones' unease. but for once, never must be cracking - and that is when i'm loosing my secrets. and in a heart-wrenching visual spellbind of rewound footage, i play it over and over instead of counting sheep.

you, asleep next to me on a cheap motel bed. there is a constant humming coming from the bathroom light one of us forgot to turn off on the left of the room & on the right, the gaudy blue curtains are parted ever so slightly near the bottom, spilling a glow of morning light on your sweet sleep deprived forehead from falling finally to dreams at 4am because you were watching "chopped" all night on the outdated tv while the cat ran over our bellies and mewed for attention. these past few days have all been restless, but beyond enchanting. we made it. the air is cool in september here. the people are deeper. in texas we would've had to wait until february, and all the encountered existences would still be flat. i feel home. but all my sweaters are packed away in a pod awaiting to be shipped to our first true place together. i'm homeless, and jobless, but the most fortunate soul to have found you. and soon all will fall into place. but for now i still find harmony just how we are. everything is magic. goodmorning lovebird, xo.

i had once
(in a dream)
met a woman
who taught me
to never draw
lines, only shadows--
it made so
much sense. started
filling in. suddenly,
we erased. faded
into this great
gray dissolve which 
she now is
and i am
and we all
and this whole
vast impenetrable denseness
of what we
think we feel
are all only
something i had
once met--(now
but a shadow)

how unexpected and divine to each day witness my body an iridescent glowing orb. within me thrives a shrine constructed through vines of twisted veins & delicate pulsing that protect the long sought after answer no one ever finds. such a sacred embrace to know she is my truth. she has illuminated that sweet, sweet darkness. that relentless mystery everyone always feels yet never knows and i now hold when each day waking beside my angel.

surely sure. no such truth. touch the honey moon hanging low low tonight. sweep me up. sweep me slow. submerge the lungs until the vessels wither. faintly faint. sweet surrender.

you inside my arms. sync. baby blue hazy morning. still lazy eyelids struggling to see. but feel. feel you. beside me. my most cherished sensation. my most beloved sweetsoul. we're so close now. so serene. and i write this not in remembrance or a hurdle leaped, just simply. simply. you beside me.

i'm anxious. ravenously anxious. being here is destroying me beyond expression. my soul is yearning so desperately for this. smothering each day that passes from my calendar with the deepest hue of red X's. it's drawing so near now, yet this last stretch seems but a reach only eternity's fingers can clasp. caring about my current obligations while still here is proving excruciatingly trying. especially when i look to the heavenly forecast my future holds (which i mean both metaphorically as well as literally speaking--see screenshot below)...need it now. need out. everything is about to morph most madly. the threads of my cocoon are unwinding and weaving with the most wonderful specimen my existence has ever witnessed. wound together, yet feeling freer than ever. i cannot even begin to touch how glorious. i'm trying my darnedest to stay attune to the present and my surroundings, but i'm helplessly afloat. my ties to this land have never proven strong, and are now weak as ever. i've mentally drifted since i was a girl. wild that that drift is now in such proximity to reality.

lay me down. the sunset is beautiful crimson blood seeping slowly down my blinds and onto my body. my waning eyelids are shutting. shutting out. lay me down. i am exhausted of this land. this mundane routine. so tired. so i fall down with the crimson blood bathing me until all fades to black. and i may part for a few gracious hours. until again the crimson blood comes to awaken me. and i bite my lip, part my eyes, then continue. but two more months. two more months and her & i will be commencing a rejuvenating journey. visions consuming me. i am anxious and beyond ready.

i loath the days when i don't want to touch existence, but must. all i wish to do right now is sit and shed this old skin smothering me. i need silence. i need solitude. i don't even want to hear my own breathing. though i cannot cease anything, and have a full day of work and interaction with entities entering through the ringing doors which tirelessly disgust me. i loath the waking. i loath well near everything currently. i need to part this place already. enter a new body. a new land. my patience is waning, as is my spirit. i need the altered scenery and fresh mindset. here there is too much reminiscing stinging. reminders everywhere. ghosts everywhere.

lousy lousy lousy. salty drops slipping in a stream of memory and fear down my skin. don't let it hit me. my flesh itches beneath the faulty glistening trails. this is the part that gets me. this is the part that haunts me. this is the part where i can't fall to dream because my mind is too grimy and frail. this is the part where i don't know what to do. so i let my fingers loose to the beating of my blood and hope my bones grow weary and shut my body into forced slumber. i'm   s i n k i n g.   so strangled. so weak. so me. i'd look to the moon, but she's a scar i've cut open far too much to heal. i wish my mamaw's soul were still in a body i could crawl to. it's been near seven years, yet i yearn ever ceaselessly & refuse to remove the black pearl caressing my finger. butterfly and eskimo kisses. FEAR DOWN MY SKIN. this is the part where i don't know what to do.

omnia mutantur, nihil interit.


sitting alone in a coffee shop. lady day serenading the room. and it scares me how much i love you.

"when the [heart's] impulses move us, none of us can stop their sudden promptings from easily breaking out, and even more easily overflowing into words which are the ever-ready indications of the heart's emotions: as it is written, 'a man's words are spoken from the overflowing of the heart.' i will therefore hold my hand from writing words which i cannot restrain my tongue from speaking; would that a grieving heart would be as ready to obey as a writer's hand!"

wavering down a patch of unpaved ground,
collecting earth & secrets all over my body--
mama, i must remember to trust the dirt
because, mama, i sure know it doesn't forget.

watch carefully. do not blink. i am going to show you something. this is a resurrection. equally an execution as much as a metamorphosis. your skin is hot, but your veins are cold. throw away all maps. get lost. transcend. unveiled mysteries are waiting. whispering. wanting. lift the shutters. this is a time of lightness more blinding than shadowy living.

breath in. can't breath out. hold it until my temples throb hold it until my own chest clutches itself cages itself hold it until my eyes form tunnels swathing all to black hold it until my thoughts cease hold it until my heart stops. for a moment. exhale. exhale. go to sleep.

i woke around 4 a.m. and the first thought that passed through my cortex was an obscure string of five words: "a cluster of vulcan ennui."
i didn't know how to make much sense of it or why it came to me, so i wrote it down and figured i'd revisit after a more thorough rest. my dream afterwards was a vision of my hair sprinkled with a delicate glittter of fire which slowly spread to everything surrounding me. that's all that happened. and when i woke again, i returned to the words. trying to dissect their meaning. the only one i did not know  definition wise was "vulcan" which is apparently the ancient roman god of fire. and as far as astronomy is concerned it's "a hypothetical planet nearest the sun whose existence was erroneously postulated to account for perturbations in mercury's orbit."
anyways, i have yet to make much sense of it. but i always find it so uncanny when these random thought strings flow into me. one of the last one's i remember was a few months ago while i was brushing my teeth stated "the king of chernobyl was four feet tall." i actually did not know what chernobyl was either, and tried to look it up as "trenoble" offering no results. but later i was speaking to my friend about this strange sentence that came to me because i thought it sounded like the start to a silly poem or something and it was absolutely baffling. but another guy heard me and chimed in with a curious interest. apparently he studied the chernobyl nuclear disaster a lot and told me all about it, including the correct spelling. it gripped me for a while. i'm always mesmerized by these happenstance thought occurrences, and figured i'd write about it since i've been up since seven and have nothing better to do in my spiraling dreary state.

so beautiful that i must weep. not by sadness or tragedy, but by a purity. living in the present of anticipatory future. drinking coffee from a large cup, wrapped in a cocoon of reverie. the pulse beating faster. an indescribable melody. anticipatory future. astonishment pulls in soundlessly.

last night's thunder rolling down my marrow. remembering her body electric blue. soft flashes. drawing maps. i'm so consumed. and not even by dreaming, as so often i have. but purely by what is. i've not been writing as often as i used to. which i cannot correctly ascertain as to why. perhaps my present doesn't necessitate the embellishing my past has. i am at a peak. and it is she who is my holy mountain.

so much has happened. i finished my junior year. my girlfriend met my parents. i won second place in a film festival (which was juried by the film curator at the mfah). i'm in the process of applying to universities so that i may transfer. got a potential job offer at one of my favorite thrift stores for the summer. and that is simply to mention the most recent. i haven't even written. i'm so ashamed. because i know my memory evaporates just as easily as these leftover puddles scattered along our southern streets in may. i understand more clearly when i write. even if it's an incoherent flow of mind mush. i must begin again. before too much is left unknown, like a beautiful dream.

this is the shift. sometimes i get really frightened and can't think or move my body. now is one of those moments. the hour glass is embarking upon its last mound of sand. leaking. i haven't slept. my hands are constantly shaking. i can hardly construct my art. it all looks askew and misshapen. i need to calm my body. is this real? are you real? it's too good. and so fast. i am ready. i am willing. but i am afraid. and somehow from within resides a fearless push. an aching wonder and power to prevail.

i'm so helplessly flustered and fragmented. finals are next week. strangely, i'm thriving in inspiration, but i've just no time to exhibit my ideas in a timely manner. so i'm working hastily. and most disjointed. fingers shaking. entire body shaking.

below is a painting of flesh i'm constructing for a series. still wet. collaged images will be mounted on tiny squares, submerged and emerging from it. we'll see how this goes. i'm ready to get out of here. bruised, but ready.

(flesh painting no. 6, acrylic & spray paint on canvas, 2012.)

mindsight dreamlets
plummeting pits
filling up
my stomach--
please poppy
(do not
wilt) stay--
stay sincere

explosions within my heart's moon. foolishly, willing aware forever. gaze out. breath in. i calamity. only supernova sensation. perfection of us. the because i cannot see. breath out. gaze in. i am now experiencing this cosmic dissipation of caution. speckled shackled and submissive. and there will be nothing left in me for the star's control because she's taken it. and i want her to hold it, always. but gaze wise--keeping the clashing resentment of this feeling. then go blindly there. and stand open before it's face. should dark wounds arise, i will myself to carry on debilitated. i will do anything. it's the curse of  falling infinitely. frailly. forever. forever. & ever.

keep catching myself humming her. can't stop. can't sleep.

take the branch of the willow and snap it in your palm. let the sap seep deep and kiss it. spin it delicately in a spiral of winding circles. keep doing this until it disappears. keep doing this until you disappear.

this morning i woke with the most aching sadness. something must've occurred beneath those spells of slumber. but i cannot remember. there is not even a figment of recollection. only blackness. it has now been hours since my waking, but the grip is persistent and unrelenting. there is a heavy helix lingering, knotted in my throat and in the stygian abysm of what i cannot retrieve.

within us eternally resides a delicate recoil, a drawback, a fissure, a parting. as human entities we struggle perilously to fuse those holes which haunt us. though, they are inescapable, it simply is completely inevitable. lost lovers, lost souls, lost identities, forgotten letters, misplaced belongings, vacant dreams—hollows ensue in all existences. it is in the attempts to mend our own molds where we lose ourselves. when instead we should be traversing the openings, embracing the concealed unknowns, perhaps even morphing our psyches in a dark dance with them—rather than battling the endless loop of attempted degenerative obliteration. you & i obtain the power to surpass it all. we must trust the unknown. just remember it did in fact bestow us this present which we have both come to so deeply cherish. just remember. dance. you & i are made of a dream. forever we will float. drifting through lands and heart beats. 11:11.

(our drift, found footage digital collage diptych, 2012)

made of you. and my heart beats through precisely. so helplessly. somehow, so right. somehow. somehow. a little bird flew right inside of me. wings entwined within the vines of my chest. swallowed in a thicket of ivy. she's entangled. i'm debilitated. but so perfectly. and i never saw her coming. i never saw her coming and it all happened so suddenly. it was tragic. it was beautiful. and together we have formed a sculpture. and there is a monument inside my chest. and it is it. and my heart will carry you always, little bird who flew right inside of me. i will forever hold you. i am made of you. somehow. somehow...

i will not succumb to the scum which surrounds me. spirals of sirens, delicate in their unwinding i've once ignored, but now refuse. there is too much vacillating. if i were a glass, i'd have shattered long ago from the frequencies clamoring inside me. it's time. if i don't get gone, destruction is weighing. i'll have a lot to prove, in that there's no denying. but i trust in myself that i will prevail. i just need you to trust me, too. and that i need most of all.











































(come with me, digital collage, 2012) & (something, maybe, digital collage, 2012)

perhaps i'm thinking haphazardly. perhaps, but i must. i've always taken things so cautiously. i've paved my path most sacrificially. but it is now that i am ready to throw caution to the wind. soon i'll be leaving. it's enlivening. for once i feel passionate again. for once i feel all will soon be as i have so many times dreamt of. do trust i understand no future is set in stone, but at least i can sculpt the clay. and so i will. and so will she. and so it goes. and so i go.

straight down cataleptic bone mojo sting of violet hunger choking marrow like razor blade lovebirds. soaring perpetually. orgastic formlessness. i shall not die, i shall dissolve. into you. as if in dreams, in self-oblivion, in intoxication, i do. a paradoxical perceptual weightlessness undescribed in cloud-pale veils or sheets, plunging towards nothing. plunging to put out the moon. because i can't. i can't. and i love her. oh, moon. and you. ...you...still pass me. still possess me. how will you ever fade my relentless reveries. and you still pass me. but a vision. of reality. oh, dissipation and despair. blood and the moon and you. developed under the red blub in the darkroom of my body. submerged in my veins, little photographs. endless photographs transforming. reinforcing. negatives, delicate enamel. endless, i sink. consciousness, you strangle me. eyes, they sink. images, they sink. eaten by dreams, as corpses by worms. you were a maggot weaving wildly, waltzing alone. but you carved holes. from which now roots have taken hold. blossoms from the cuts that made you think you owned me. how foolish. how foolish to let light leak in. yearning for buoyancy and obliteration. wreckage of rafts. plum pit chasms in the depths of me. don't chase desire. let it fester. let it fester. let it sink.

entwined eternally
so fast
it was a beautiful blur

i'm always trapped. if it's not my body, it's the land. if it's not the land, it's my lover. if it's not my lover, it's the moon. but it's always something. maybe i'm trapped because of my incessant need to be free. if i do ever obtain it, i'll have nothing else to dream for. so it's always something. the circle haunts me. and it is this circle that is my destiny. the eyes; a circle. the moon; a circle. the compass; a circle. the rhythm; a circle. death; a circle. you; a circle. everything; a circle. everyone; a circle. all; a circle. infinity; a circle. nothing; a circle. always; a circle. always; a circle. always; a circle. circle of circles.

almost. there. almost. there. almost. there. almost. the constant rushed or lingering presence of time. the invariable needing. the skeletal embrace. ghost flesh memory. this feels familiar. i must have dreamed you before many times. i watched your eyes reflected in mine the night we couldn't touch. sharing the same visions. shaking our heads and speaking without uttering a single word. delicate mental thrusts. i, remembering. we knew. it's crystalline now. inevitably, you.

mesmerism of morphing clouds just the right shade of gray. scrying. waiting. attempting to steady my soul in this quiet solitude. it's hard to say how it happened, or why. only time will tell. for the risk has been made.

in my journal, without thinking i began writing. in french, i wrote,
"parce que. je suis fatiguée. parce que. je suis desolee. et rien. rien à rien. mon amour. mon coeur est manquant."

(self. untitled screenshot, 2012.)

gutter. you could take me. my valves feel like scum--(and i bet they look like you on the inside)

in a
land of
constant pianissimo,
you are
a symphony--
the most
brilliant crescendo.
and i
cannot cease
this tremolo
of you
i'm holding
inside me.

black. the black consumes the way black circles. on nothing nothing remembrances. heart. utterly black numb looking. full between. and the full soul vacant of vacant is too beat. secret. nothing and moonwhite between. heart. heart. must beat. beat. black who echos between. must be between. is the of between. i of interior inseparable and so shadows sleep. i sleep. had eyes. crying. us! inseparable and crying. had deserted the eyes. everything. to you and of you. of slipped sleep. the sleep. we knew the way to the interior. shadows of interior i couldn't photograph. crying. you interior. over our game. inseparable shadows hid and so i knew we were a photograph. we hid everything. o, slipped shadows, sleep. sweet waking. in eyes of a sleepy no-life. everywhere. the diminishing head. and dreams. blank. brainwashed. diminishing days, obsolete eyes everywhere. light of directions. death. waking all the stars. like the sleeplessness. dreams. and brainwashed of sleepy disease. worn-out with memories. life everywhere. eyes sticky of memories. tell breath my pointless swallow is invalid. tell breath i want to be a cloud bank.

i feel so unbearably detached. i haven't been able to write as i used to. time vanishes and i become trapped in its loop. my thoughts are erratic and perpetual, though hardly satisfactory. today everything was mucked. the weatherwoman announced our atmospheric region would be reaching the temperature high of 86, but all day my body succumbed to constant states of shivering. the sky was one solid sheet of gray-hued periwinkle emoting indiscernible sensations of empty. vacancies are dangerous terrains. when starring into nothingness, minds are bound to map the most delusory paths. projections of swollen clouds. swollen existences. swollen heart valves. the rhythm of our swollen world. energies clamoring. everything ceasing. abysses. abysses. and never truly knowing what it truly is to know.

sometimes. because sometimes. so sometimes.

i feel suddenly lost wandering amid mucky puddles of introversion. it's the good kind of lost. the psyche misplacement we all once in awhile should traverse through. i cannot yet tell if it 's some faulty neurotransmission due to lazy synapse firing or purely my own eyelids' lack of rest. likely both, and a deathly mix. the following photos are documentation and result of what transpires during this period of mind rewiring. i desperately need to brew some tea.

our tangibility is transient.
our love is eternal.

in 33 minutes i'll be calling her. she will rise from bed, not by the sun, but my voice. she will board a plane and float through the clouds and waking earth towards me. shortly after which i'll navigate the freeways as arteries towards her. in less than 8 hours we will embrace. then she'll sit beside me as so many times imagined, vacantly. and we'll have breakfast and gaze heavily with hearts beating. in less than 24 hours i will reach 21 years of existing here. all of which i haven't really been here. i'm only grounded 11% of the time, the rest i'm in a constant state of dreaming. even when awake. roughly 5 hours or so after gracing this passage, her and i will travel back in time where my family will embrace her for the first time at their quaint coffee shop abode. after which we will take to each other and roam lands full of foliage and love, at the end of the night sleeping beneath a blanket of the brightest stars. the next day we will travel back and keep to ourselves as much as able. cherishing every parcel of the other. every piece of stardust. until she must lastly part. and i'll fall back to dreaming. counting persian moonflowers as i weep.

a man stopped me in my dream. he said, drawn out heavy and shaking, "i've never seen a girl with eyes so blue." foreboding terror reverberated through me as his body froze then shattered abruptly into a pool of golden glitter. immediately, i turned. but was confronted to a world constructed only of mirrors. with my eyes holding in them the unimaginable combined depth of every sea man has come to know. i woke screaming, smashing any reflective surface i could perceive. there was blood everywhere. my heart began to lose sense of its beating. i collapsed to my death. the man entered through my door. he walked forward and began to laugh. this time his eyes were hollow and he began howling in reach for my body. he felt for my face and sliced his fingers on the glass flooded floor. it did not stop him. he grew weak, then in a final stretch plunged his trembling fingers down into my eyes. his hysterics rattled the shards against one another. in a sudden forceful scoop he gouged out my eyes. his hands rose swiftly to place them within his sockets. they suctioned with ease, but he suddenly felt himself drowning. he looked to the world for the first time, and in that same moment had too killed himself from obtaining eyes of such deep sorrow.

through my window waking near-life portal, twisted limbs and lazy wrecked transcriptions of supernova heart consumption. it is a vast and tangled void i have dreamed you through. doomed eyes locked in an astral paralysis of levitating perceptions. only you posses the potion. only you have seen the night as i. only you. only you.



(photograph. view from my window. night. january 18, 2012.)

i am relieved that i do not commence school on the morrow (or today, rather, i suppose) as i was thinking i did. thank you, martin luther king. though i will start classes tuesday. i'll be at school from 8:00am to 7:00pm with no breaks and my last class of the day being some sort of contrived math course which i've never even heard of before enrolling. then on mondays and wednesdays i have one more class, but it begins at 1:00 in the afternoon--thereby leaving me no chance of parking, so i'll be forced to arrive on the lot no later than 9:00am, anyways. maybe i'll start going to the gym to pass the segment of time. i'm so afraid of my schedule. and i'm utterly terrified of block classes starting up again. but all the while my mind is heavily elsewhere. only twenty-five days remain until i am able to see my darling shayda again. this longing has its hold.

a sudden surge of pressure has all at once encapsulated me. i feel as though a vast fire has begun raging within my skull and my eyes are trapped in a state of constant heavy throbs. i need this segment of my life to vanish. fastforward. i need to be transported. or else i need the cosmos to pause so that my pulse is lastly able to catch up to the stars. i've been traveling against the wind for much too long. and the moon knows how hard i've tried to be free.

i've experienced this dream three nights in a row. the most powerful premonition. it has come from a forward time far further within our lives. the simplicity is what makes it so weighty for me. seeing as my visions are typically not entirely the most pleasant of experiences. but in this, everything is lastly as it should be. lastly as we have been so long waiting for. yearning for. all is worth what is to come. i promise you, all is worth what is to come. this i have grown to know and hold.

last year i accomplished my resolution. the initial result stung through my spirit for a while, but i ended freer than ever before. last night i had not thought much about conjuring up one at the clock's strike of twelve, seeing as i already felt so fulfilled--that is until a new acquaintance ignited a potential prospering. it would be an internally troubling voyage, but one i've been needing to board for quite some time now. recently vast opportunities have been floating my way, and as they do, i find my own soul beginning to drift. i fear too much. i criticize myself brutally. i hardly take chances. and it has hindered my aura from obtaining its true luminescence. today my tarot reading reinforced and encouraged such an awakening. so, this is where i begin. juste comme ça.

i've never not been able to write about something. though, this, by far, has been the most trying. i've been avoiding writing, reminiscing, dreaming. reality is reigning. her smell lingers. clutching the luggage i've hesitated to unpack. the entire trip seemed to be a film of unsurpassed beauty. and i sincerely wish it had been recorded because the reels of my memory are constantly withering. it was two and a half years of unknowing. it's been one week since parting. 62 days left until reuniting. i miss her. i miss everything.

i remember waking in the morning, rushing to ready. blood attempting to navigate its way within the endless anxiety. i put on a scarf and hurriedly shoved my belongings in the back of a rusty green camero. he passed me the keys, said, "you're driving, kiddo." i adjusted the seat, and we went on our way. the highway was nearly vacant. feeling free as my father handed me slices of grapefruit as pink as the sky in midst of its very own metamorphosis. seeing the airport against the hazy horizon. parking. removing my bags and entering the shuttle full of travelers. we were off. gate C. security check-point. pass. seated. waiting. too nervous for coffee. pen. teddy bear. stand-by clear. window seat. boarding. thumbs trembling the text. see you soon. lift-off. clouds. maps. irrigation. mountains. empty land. little houses. colored roofs. gray skies. turbulence. circular rainbows. shadow. runway. land. phone. four texts. she's on her way. heart pounding. not ready. exit. gate 10. walk. "metro/baggage claim." restroom. mirror. breaths. walk back. illuminated map. call. calm. fright. fancy restaurant. christmas tree. don't see it. walk. stop. turn around. still in security. walk. exit. donut shop. christmas tree. can't do it. she saw me. can't see her. fear. christmas tree. waiting. hiding. where are you? can't do it. calm. descriptions of people passing. father, blue raincoat, son, holding hands. woman, heavy set, brown bags. deep breath. walking. scanning. her energy. spotted. curled inside a silver phone booth. slow motion. walking. her aura. her eyes. her voice. hide. window. reflections. staring. speaking. surreal. not happening. knee touch. hands. embrace. never letting go.

(note: this post will be quite lengthy by the time i'm finished writing about the trip. it took me this long. and for now i must stop here, adding occasionally. i can only do this for so long without too much longing taking hold)

brave women. fumes of poetry. they are not entities, but drugs. dreams. struggling to engulf each other. everything they touch morphs to myth. a blunder of psychic blindness. tender muted telepathy. whisper to me your hidden lust. it is now. it is now. it is how. it is now. my lover. my flower. my mystic poet of desire. i no longer hide you. i no longer hide anything at all. this is not an awakening. this is a slumber of transgressed depth. eternal distortion. eternal daze. eternal embrace. brave women. brave women. my lover. my dream. luminous and warm. gentle. tattered. holy. beat.

insomnia is no good for dreamers...

sweet serendipitous soul, she.

half-life nuclear waste unseen particle beams probe long standing questions. big experiments happening. sociological sees the shift. says, "they would've been fine." hospital stays, heart-failure, electric shocks. her mind going to egypt. within minutes plunging straight into birds. revolution erupt. people tell their stories and report blurry photos in mid-february. but she was planning to return privately. insured to die frequently. opal spirit dew shine violet heart silver spray luna flowing dirt spirit.

funny how alternate fates morph so rapidly. instead of pursing that new blossom, i returned to prune the beautiful bloom that i foolishly left wilting. this past year or so i have been so selfish, and that is most unlike me. in truth i knew her and i would end up together again, always. my intuition does not fail me in that particular predicament. but my mind was too preoccupied. with school. with producing my art. with work. with money. with writing. with time. with wondering if i should test these other luring auras which taunted after me. i was just so young, i am still so young (well, i do not feel mentally/soulfully young, but at least in the scientific sense of the word it is so). but i should've never used my psyche to twist my heart. the thought of eternal terrifies and warms me all at once. but i'm finally ready to cherish her more closely than ever before. sweet darling ethereal beauty. i am sorry for ever parting.

it is seldom that i take chances such as that. in fact, i'm unsure if up until this point i ever have. it’s strange. i’m still attempting to decipher the blossom. i told her i needed to sleep, which is half-truth, but really i wanted to make sure i was not already experiencing in disorient spells of slumber. and though now freshly rested, i’m weary as to where i shall embark from here. i cannot stand that it’s been over a year and still sensations of guilt envelope me if i even come to obtain the slightest feelings for another. but i cannot let it hold me any longer. i simply cannot.

entrapped in an experience of outer surfaces, with efforts to probe deeper yielding only to more as murky as the first. at times, such exasperating exertions to locate meaning beneath these shrouds of ensnarement can in turn evoke a psychological disembodiment wherein physical and mental planes become mixed and morphed together. usually, when a blank space occurs, it is rapidly invaded with a reaction of some sort. and, it seems, this particular vacant abyss has begun to anthropomorphize a consciousness of continuous pulling in and out. i do not think any of this is making even the slightest amount of coherent sense. i feel almost as if existing in a semi-lucid surrealist state of somnambulism. and cannot reawaken. visions are slipping out. i must shut my eyes. that's the only way. ever the only way... goodnight, xo.

i forgot to wish for her.

dream.
november 11, 2011.

i only ever fall for those who are unattainable. all desires yearn for that which is intangible. though i always descend, even while knowing. i do not know if i would say it is a helpless act. in fact, i'm sure it is not. i do this because i fear the transpiration of actuality. to say, i fear the loss of my dreaming. i've acknowledged my mania for control. my mother read this in my palm when i was a child, whereby i severely discounted such an accusation. the trait was not yet present in my psyche's recognition, and the foreseen coming had always haunted me. i'm unsure as to why. but at that point i did not understand this word, wholly. i presume i connoted it with abuse--which is an aspect far from my capability. though, now, i translate it properly. it is not an external control, but rather rooted deeply internal. and has intrinsically been the vital component of my entire existence. i will always be a feral entity when entering to this world's collective conception of reality. and for this, i will always descend, even while knowing. because of knowing.

last winter, sometimes, i would sit outside the doors to a recital hall and muse, heavily. strings hardly touched synchronicity seeing as the orchestras were merely practicing. today i was thinking of you and presume i must’ve wandered there mindlessly--whatever the case, the decision was certainly not one of a conscious undertaking. i stayed there anyways, but this time all was silent. for some reason i did not sense the towering emptiness--only the unknown aura which keeps lurking after me. i feel it everywhere. but it can't be you. you’re gone. and for you, i no longer enter. which i cannot comprehend because i've been left cursed unable to rid mounting insufferable visions. transfixed, interminably. what is the dreamer, but a tragedy?

this post possesses more solidity for my personal reminiscing here.

i can transcend now. today bequeathed perhaps the most surreal moment of my existence. here are couple cell phone photos that i snuck through the confines of my blazer without looking. so the composition is absolutely abysmal, but i'm very glad to have them. felt like such a rebel snapping these.



































michals, mapplethorpe, and mann were positioned alongside each other. my heart underwent so many convulsions, i think my soul may have touched enlightenment.

i also saw my favorite photo of frida kahlo taken by manuel alvarez bravo, a brasai, a dali, a kruger, a sherman, a stieglitz, a talbot, a warhol, among some notable others.
i am eternally grateful to my professor for setting up this experience which is still seemingly unreal...

i do not know if we had a destiny. we began walking slowly down a street paved of polished obsidian, scrying delicately, subtly. slipping. night dropped, i felt the moon and turned my bones back. without consciousness, i grabbed your hand in two of mine. we fled fast and far until the moon was unobscured by city constructions. meshing our feet again to the obsidian, you began weeping small crystals. i begged you to look to the giant illuminated milky orb above us. scarlet clouds kissed its edges then shattered at just the precise moment. your eyes lifted. i let go.

dream.
october 28, 2011.

lure has slithered before me as a majestic snake awaiting to be charmed. how tempted i am to chant. though my lungs are vacant and my voice-box has locked. the serpent coiled my throat. i must've been tranced through the hypnotic undulation. i cannot discern what is transpiring. my temples are rapidly infused with heavy throbs. my eyes have slipped to tunneled visions draped in opalescent white. you emerge in the distance, silhouetted, swathed black velvet tattered cosmos embodiment. emitting halos which sprout slowly, faintly from you forming like moon-bleached moss tendrils. shy auras, i long to touch. perpetual drift.

there will always be that little part of you.

all my trials, soon be over.

there are moments,
(undisclosed), when
the strangest
surge will well
within me,
if only--
to say it,
simply--(i
cannot). you
are an entire
catacomb clutching
my chest.

when the moment comes wherein you feel the stillness of the known
and you realize that same stillness exists too within your heart--
how, then, do you ever wake from dreaming?

it's getting old. i have the most immense desire to part. for seclusion. to be a working artist, on my own. outside of stale poorly lit classrooms in which i'm not gaining anything but debt. outside of this land clutching my ankles, draining my dreams. nothing vexes me more than exuding such exorbitant amounts of energy into my artistic concepts and executions just so that another may "be inspired" and confiscate them as their own. imitation is never the finest fucking form of flattery. this is deteriorating. my spirit has neared exhaustion. i must leave soon. a new aura is beckoning, and it cost $309 for a one-way train ticket to new york.

there are things left unsaid which will always remind me;
your essence lies lurking among my most precious phantoms.

i've fallen into such delirium. engulfed within an abyss discombobulated. unable to balance. unable to steady. expectation is the worst of all fates, but the most entrancing of my dreams.