smoke signals - flashing mirrors - messages in bottles - carrier pigeons - flags in the air - hoofbeats on the ground
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Friday, August 26, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Tuesday, August 09, 2011
Wednesday, July 06, 2011
Dear Melissa
It is the hour of the wolf. A Nordic tale that speaks of a wolf that stalks outside people's doors between the hour it is darkest just before dawn. It is the time when the greatest of nightmares seem the most real and life clings to itself for fear of losing grip. You can't sleep, and all you can see is the troubles and the problems and the ways that your life should've gone but didn't. All you can hear is the sound of your own heart. I've often been awake through this time. I've practiced methods of trying to scare the wolf off or hide from the wolf. Were I to come from a family who drank, this would probably be the time to do so. So I take suggestions from other lore. One large glass of vodka before bed and three very small sips of vodka, just in case the wolf had babies. I'll curl up on my bed, no breeze coming through the window, city soundscapes and the absence of chirping. If I had a cigarette I would smoke it. Instead, with no blanket to cover me I will clutch my book and take deep breaths and let the vodka help me along.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Friday, April 08, 2011
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Tuesday, February 01, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
dear melissa
"You know art is why I get up in the morning, but my definition ends there, you know it doesn't seem fair."
Listening to any Ani DiFranco will always remind me of driving around in your death car around cornfields while you repeat all of the spoken parts with perfect rhythm and inflection and tone.
"The butter melts out of habit, you know the toast isn't even warm."
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Friday, January 21, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
Dear Joe
The Original, for me, is this
As he dresses Piero's corpse, he pauses to look up. He tells the corpse, and us, "It's going well. We are winning."
After 10+ years of watching this movie, I maintain that it is my favorite. It's silly and awkward and over-stylized and I adore every last minute of it. It will explain many things.
Also,
your tumblrgays have fucking nothing on Walken.
I suggest you screen this flick at your next party.
As he dresses Piero's corpse, he pauses to look up. He tells the corpse, and us, "It's going well. We are winning."
After 10+ years of watching this movie, I maintain that it is my favorite. It's silly and awkward and over-stylized and I adore every last minute of it. It will explain many things.
Also,
your tumblrgays have fucking nothing on Walken.
I suggest you screen this flick at your next party.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
dear melissa
"There was madness in any direction, at any hour. You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning."
- Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas - Hunter S. Thompson
dear melissa
“I used to think I was the strangest person in the world but then I thought, there are so many people in the world, there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre and flawed in the same ways I do. I would imagine her, and imagine that she must be out there thinking of me too. Well, I hope that if you are out there and read this and know that, yes, it’s true I’m here, and I’m just as strange as you.”
— | Frida Kahlo |
Monday, January 10, 2011
Dear Joe
things i wont buy myself but covet nonetheless
" Just a nice little reminder you are gonna kick it one day."
" Just a nice little reminder you are gonna kick it one day."
Friday, January 07, 2011
Monday, January 03, 2011
dear melissa
Melissa worry not for me. All of this has happened before and will happen again and if it doesnt than that is ok too.
It is not all one blue-eyeshadow mess. I know it is fleeting. I know it is passing and is gone as fast as it took to type this sentence. What becomes lasting is the work that survives for whatever reason, mostly the work with meaning. Much of that is yet to be unveiled or has not yet made it to post.
I carry sapphires in my shoes, rubies in my eyes and the emeralds you gave me in my pockets. Quite the nonassembled invisible crown.
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