each step seems so reel
watching this kid i once knew
shake and tumble into the rough
it's an emotionless picture

awake yet so distant
closed circuit, barely grounded
many edges, round to a common touch

he knows nothing
but every single part
every single line
usually before the others can
trying to remember to forget
namely faces
and such pages
never should have read them
but he has to ---
for playing the role
is worth losing it all

he tried to escape many times
the lions wouldn't let him go
like cars, he had to warm up
to the idea of moving

so simple, yet so poignant. it's always amazing to recognize things that appear to recognize you. moments like that make it worth breathing to me often times (likely the only reason why i'm still here *shrug*)

will post on the sight shortly. very light, but still need to add a couple of layers. hiyo.

in the lab. working on a couple of remixes and fleshing out ideas for a collaboration with a kid that was supposed to go down a long time ago. will give more info as things progress shortly.

with a radio near a pretty head,
she thinks of what to do next
blinds watch pages
written with air
kissing, consoling
with each window glare

notes seem to awake her
the morning, a painter
over such blue cheeks
staining over much anger

rolling into cotton,
towards a silent space,
towards sleep, the forgotten ---
she wonders if it left

sifting through grounds
thinking about a past,
why flowers look so pretty
but are never meant to last

the cathedral calls
ringing to her soul
sights reach for ceilings
for anything she can hold

..."move still breeze...

my pages are on course
with the coarsest hands
tips broken
for refusing to finger point
while covered books
walk between seasons
with reasons
paralleling the reasonless

"guess which one doesn't belong?"
says a mirror man
reflecting on the picture painted
by everything that no one truly understands
accounts however say otherwise
accounts of a mountain culture
one that shadows every individual
seeking to avoid the visible
the broken record visual
cuddling the visceral
observing silence with the invisible
this is my ritual

on open seas
with no desire to seize

warlike --- the civil state of mind
a willingness to abandon the well
torn apart, my limbs live
between the seen and sightless

i export each dream
to boats of glass
and watch them travel
to the edge of tables
food for thought
food of the gods
men who walk by me
seemingly.

i stand for nothing
nothing but everything amazing
thus i barely remain upright

my head tries to escape
while bullet trains scream the answer
"run far and fast, machine"

my keys turn doors
that feel like floors
layered with linoleum,
petro, blood and crumbs

will shortly reshape the "latest news" section shortly to better include thoughts, writings, art.

ugh. not sure how to start up my "blog" section of the site. maybe with a couple of witty political comments (ex. "obama is the new PBR"). or maybe some American Apparel fashion arguments. or or promote some Facebook event/group. i don't know :/

general tech: