Sunday, February 19, 2017

(Quiet Now)

Anything to close it up tight
Keep the insides from the outside
Too raw to take another overexposure

No lecture 
No lesson
There will be no more appearances
in unsafe space

If only my crazy had been a performance
Or some kind of manifestation
Of genius

If only my truths had made me alluring
Instead of delusional

If only I could take it all back
Pull it all out from the memories of others

Big shot
That's some big idea
If If If won't make it true

Parts of me stuck back there now
(My Past)
Integrated IN THE SYSTEM 
Loud wrongs and
Quiet rights
Parts of me I can no longer direct
Forming so much of the fiber that holds my today

Those pieces of desire
Fully loaded
Painfully desolate
All that fear

Cannibals and animals 
People needing help
And tie- ins I would never imagine I was smart enough to come up with

No no no
I need to forget it all and keep what's left

I need

I need to be 


Saturday, February 18, 2017

Dead Ends

You always had to
make it

Are you
like that?


too late
to leave


Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Never Know

if i never
get back
to where i belong

does that mean
i never
belonged there?

Saturday, February 4, 2017

Back Then

Things I thought

back then

I believed


I had photos and books

Carpets and plates

Sandals and rainboots




In a flash

All is gone


Saved only myself




All I told you

all I knew

I believed it then


Sunday, January 29, 2017


when magic is no longer
found in the stuff of everyday

birds who should have
flown south months ago
standing around parking lot puddles
looking for fish in January
are no longer a sign

they are hungry and cold
with dirtied feathers
majesty dimmed

lost birds
a statement
not a question
certainly not an element
in any story

i squint and pretend they are

close my eyes and see nothing

open them and find the
omen- less aviators still in bad shape
choppily wading through a thin
sheet of snow over asphalt

after a minute i realize
they are dangerously unafraid of cars

maybe the sky is not as inviting
without belief in its vast extents,
its existence beyond the horizon line

maybe these
out of place birds have also lost their
belief in magic
thus their will to fly
afraid they will never find better
than this

without magic this is all there is
puddles, cars, asphalt, hunger,
and at least one human who
sits nearby and stares

maybe i should bring bread
or seeds or

i can't afford fish

maybe they will be gone
the next time i come back
and i won't have to feel

i drive away


Friday, January 13, 2017

Inflated Statistics

It's a bot.

My visitors are all bots.

Countries of origin listed

are fabrications,

automated slights of hand,

wishful thinking in data form.

These stats reflect

imaginary travels of readers

who do not exist.

My blog is visited daily

by numerical sets of tasks



to bounce from place to place

leaving traces of connections with geographies

purposefully misleading.

Despite this,

I am always ready to believe

a sentient being

has visited.


Friday, January 6, 2017


waiting / trying / wanting 

 / settling / sane / quiet / 

waking / watching my back

 / living a wrinkled life.

Wednesday, September 7, 2016

Change In Temperature

Snow will fill my pack.

Sun will melt what I have held.



Tuesday, August 23, 2016

A Different Kind Of Road Trip

Context: The Newslinq post says this man´s father has Alzheimer´s Disease and through music, he gets him back for a few minutes.

Monday, August 8, 2016

Spend Myself On Today

There are others besides myself
who hear blood like wind
move bones like furniture
around in houses made of memory
of oceans
with lovers long gone
in nights dark with paper raindrops
love letters torn into pieces
by remembering

These people know that day and night
are the same if you make no effort
to live in the world that your body
sits in

Even when I sit with you
though you are gone
--have never been here--
I collect my breathes inside
and spend them all to turn
the lights on when my eyes open

I spend myself on today
even with you inside me.


Wednesday, July 6, 2016

Reminded To Stay In Progress

so many peoples' minds run to ends that are prescribed

how invigorating to see one that hasn´t been captured

reminded to stay in progress

working together with the unknown


Tuesday, July 5, 2016

Lonely Octopus

removed from various paths of circulation

have you ever been

yourself taken out of the mix?

prohibited from re-entering

your most familiar?

have you ever 

been excluded

and become foreign

out of necessity rather than by choice?

knowing it is done by actions

long before it is declared in words,

like a break-up whose murmurs stir lazily the unaquainted

--circles out too far to feel any real loss--?

lists of facts confirm the separation

intentions guessed at infrequently

and only in whispers 

mostly to pass the time

my parting took place long ago

my tentacles pulled away

long before this notice

forced off quietly

in some spots pried away

certain objects and people knowingly released 

impulses steering me towards the inevitable

I did not want to go

I did not want to leave you

this fourth of July I feel I am an octopus who floated away

still loving what I was most attached to

i close my eyes and swim

i swim

have you ever been

pried away?


Monday, July 4, 2016

corrected: VIKTOR POPKOV;YESTERDAY at the Russian Museo

Collection Of The Russian Museum
Saint-Petersburg / Malaga

*when initially posted, the second image below was misattributed. It has now been corrected; the artist´s name appears properly.

Vladimir Gavrilov
Marzo Alegre
additional image reference

Viktor Popkov
 September in the Mezen River
 additional image reference

Yesterday at the museum I was filled with the goodness of paint.
Lines and strokes and fat globs of paint.

There were colours that were magnificent. The orange of Gavrilov's
Marzo Alegre does not show true in the photo, instead it looks yellow.  In life it was a vibrant, pulsating,
warmly-glowing lit-up orange, splendidly lighted
by staff who instinctively knew its brilliance and it stole the whole show.

Popkov´s river scene was no less dramatic in its colours although it did not
take my breath from me when I turned its corner like the Gavrilov. Despite
being compared and coming up short, it has formidible formal qualities and
is a strong, strong painting with a point of view I appreciate.

Thursday, June 30, 2016

No More Afternoon Hours

climate here is like a weathered coal miner
and I an old interloper at the mouth of the hole;
I have been warned.

I will see you again in late


falling away from the heat and into this womb of marble
biblioteca - cream coloured library
call yourself anything! I am already devoted

your refrigeration and its coolness are a summer lover's arms
down here in the south where a sleep after midday dinner is
a necessary hiding
from the suffocation of
a heat-sealed-envelope:


here, siesta means preservation and education
not laziness
steamy street asphalt collects in sticky wads
carried around on heels like discarded gum

siesta; how judgmental the world beyond
when in practice nothing else presents as reasonable whatsoever?

siesta in julio
siesta in agosto

words that situate me like arrows
pin me to a board directly in-line with the Spanish sun

tomorrow´s hours will not be the same as today´s
and i will miss
my chilly book-mausoleum desserts

nothing promised in place of what is being taken away
simply the words "summer hours" and the numbers
9:00 - 14:00 in a language I now
know well enough to
know to sweat upon first reading

little room with little window and curtains
my hands and arms will learn better
how to close you off to late day hot wind
and how to remove
myself from glaring-whole-walls of spotlight
searing intensity being their primary,
unrelenting feature

location plus season


Tuesday, June 28, 2016

Stop Fussin'

convo with myself: what was all the commotion about? losing hold and dropping into the void only confirmed (to me) there is no dropping out...there are also no smoke or mirrors. there are only a bunch of other stories, other people, other eyes with fears of the same non-existent void. that ought to teach me for thinkin´.


You Are Not A Mystery

a mystery begs

to be solved

and your absence

never begged for anything

except to be forgotten


Monday, June 27, 2016

Who & What Will I See?

how thin the line
between belief and disbelief

between being hungry
and thinking hungry

between holding on
and holding nothing


Friday, June 24, 2016

A JOURNEY: Not Your Sure Thing

all it takes is one minute

listening, I know:


...what it looks like

when I close my eyes and

disappear into the rolling colours

whose mist columns spin and tease

a full pallet of electricity out of my chest...

my soul´s sensors

slender air-bones form a harbor

against a backdrop

in indigo hue

caress a private inside-space





far from the girl you knew

but I hold her, too

far from what was once my home

I am not lost:

My journey is so far beyond the lines of

lost and found,

when I reconnect with you,

you´ll see.

You'll feel

the difference,


That is,

if I even let you in:

No more am I

your "sure thing."


Do Not Follow The Lead(er)

Is it a feature of Autism to want to be
an Astronaut?

To want to be surrounded by
outer space?

Can a person...become Autistic
the way a person
becomes a Doctor,
a Lawyer,
a Pharmacist,
or (a) Thief?

Never imagined myself saying:

"When I grow up I want to

It wouldn´t be something I would
choose to be,
but if it turned
out to be
something that I am,
I suppose it would also be
I always

(...except I do not think
that I am.)

(...although I would not  mind
an Astronaut.)

(...although I cannot be
because then I would
better at math.)


Thursday, June 23, 2016

Care For Your Passengers



Highlight what sits up front,

even when it does not drive!


21st century Passenger Safety:

Beyond Civil Egineering.


Monday, June 20, 2016

Dream It Twice

(From my notebook, 10 Junio, 2016)

I will draw.

I will dance.

I will dream of icicles,
popsicles, dandelions,
sunfish, swordfish,
oceans full of glittering
starlight, and of ham,
ham of the kind in
sandwiches which I shall
never eat of again. I won´t
miss the ham. But the starlight,
I should be sure to dream it twice.

--suzy devere


Wednesday, April 13, 2016

Life (With You)

if there is any faculty 
of mine left
at the end...

of any day

of any night

of any reel

it is only a whispered shadow
of a feather 

because you know 
at the end of any (moment)
(MINUTE) (day,night,reel)

all i have and am

should be experiencing

life elsewhere,

with you.


Monday, April 11, 2016


and i know i've done wrong.
i'm no saint.
and i don't want to be any martyr.
but i am sorry.

for (some) things.
i try (to phase into kindness)

Sunday, April 10, 2016

Transformative Sex

riding charge
shared vectors

wrapping friction
multinet span

stem to sun
stem to sun

irides dear
roll in rising pockets

galaxy accordion
ocean floor heat fissure

change excites me
(have you missed me?)

flats and points grip
engaged resistance
static hum

into form
past release

six and a half seconds past
pulling primed sense envelopes

(our)single system

wet pressure choreography
(we are one)sympathetic muscle


(i feel)subtly empowered in believing
you can't have it without me.


Friday, April 8, 2016

Beyond What Is

what do you want to hear?

breath of silver 

words of reflection

i will repent

in silence.

Physics For Grasshoppers


a wheel









A New Bond

response card reads:

It will be the

pleasure of the Sea

to witness

your wedding.

Sea +1


A new bond 

made of free will

and with eternity's 



"Freed Caryatid Marries"

Freed Caryatid chooses 

new bond

at the edge
of a welcoming sea


Thursday, April 7, 2016

Fashion Faux-Saw

i don't need what
anyone's selling me,

i just need you
with me.

funny how you're
my weak spot,
but you make
me stronger.

i imagined i saw you
today and i nearly
called out your name...

but deep down i knew
it couldn't be you

because if it was
you would have
seen me, too

you had surf hair
and a sportscoat
and a scarf on
with shorts

and it (i know
it, i know it,
it sounds
like a squinting mess,
at best, but it) was


too hot
for g.q.


maybe it was you?


miss your
mr. know-it-all
and your
(extra) today

hearts and flowers
and a pinch
for a second
so you
really know it's me

and sending sun,
so it won't
be lonely


Wednesday, April 6, 2016

Scroll Panorama

could have sworn i just 


right to left

here's your city

right to left

here's your city

right to left

is it a paper 


rolled out scrolled out drunken carandache

where are my carandache? 

my water cup?

my fingernails?

panorama in a livingroom 

on a mountaintop

hanging paper right to left till i reach the end

why is there an end?

i don't want the view to end

close my eyes and buy more paper


more paper

drawing on the paper right to left

left to right is how i roll it

drawing in a livingroom on a mountaintop


here is your city

here is my home


Dye Packs II.

body is irrelevant to

method of sky 

 and sea


What colour is my love?

What colour is my pain?


What colour is a rainbow?

Dye Packs I.

there's a dye pack

in that paper

who you foolin?

used to be some

now it's all

the pages


pinafores & britches

my eyelet
little ones

where have you gone?

have you gone

without you
your mother
is coming


more than one
pram lost


Tuesday, April 5, 2016

Drove Through

(read the areas...)


morse code in dark skull

bar code planted in trees'

precise pattern shadows

across asphalt gps point at 2:00

(read the areas...)

saying i'll wait

is not the same

as saying take your time



We fear the violence of the violated.



in the flurries of ash fires
why do we wonder?

why don't we know
the answers (already)?

to the battlecries
that slice this earth

the broken windows

why don't we know
what's coming next?

when we know 
so well
the violence
comes from



ruptured veins don't close
for cash
not for anything you

can't give (all these)violations 
a new dress and expect
(what do you expect?)

(don't expect better)
what did you give?


(what did you expect?)

what's left?

** *

mannequins in shuttered rooms

fresh scent of the bloodless
 a plastic world
(barbies don't bleed)




i will always wrap myself
around you

for love for love
my peace in isolation

for love my love
i will never leave you

for love my love

(?why are you afraid?)

(what did you expect?)
(what did you give?)


(never let you bleed out)

not one drop shall they take

(no man will lay one hand on your body)

not one drop shall they take

i will always wrap myself
around you

(what do they expect?)
(what do they give?)


violations violations 

(we should know)

we fear the violence of

the violated

what did you give?
what do you expect?

(from all your violations)


when it is your turn 
you ask for mercy

when it was his
you demanded blood

i said not one drop
(no man will lay a hand on his body)

carving his flesh
drinking his blood
can't save you

(only love)
what did you give?

(learn not to kill)
to kill another does not save you

what do you expect?
(what do you give?)


give mercy

(only love)


Sunday, April 3, 2016

A Wish Always Late or Early

no day is ever the right day

to get love wrong

in love with an April fool

born to make me late

for Spring


wrapped in silk 
 steel-caged heart




wait for blooming


Saturday, April 2, 2016

Do I Have To?

crying alone because it's going to be
another conversation with myself

asking questions that don't 
get answered:

first off do i always have to be funny?

am i nothing if i can't get a laugh?

without a joke i've gotta be 


do i always have to be pretty if i can't be funny?

what about when i'm angry? do i always 

have to be a lady? am i crazy? for not 

wanting to have to be funny pretty watch 

my tongue? why is it i have to be all these

things or be

no one?

am i crazy? does it help if i make that funny? 

that i cry because i'm angry and don't care 

if anyone thinks i'm pretty but you and you

aren't here why? is it because i'm not 

a lady? not pretty? not funny? get angry?

or is it because i'm crazy for you?

why do i have to be all these things?  when i 

feel like no one...


and don't tell me to get smart
i tried that, too

can't you see? i've tried everything
and i'm still no good to you


why do i have to be all these things? why

can't i learn to just shut up and try to

be pretty...

maybe i'm crazy because i keep having

to ask myself these same questions

my whole life spent asking these same 


and they never get answered

and i never get 

















Easily Distracted

Real Madrid



who won?

...uhm, Coca Cola?



I was confused.

Now I think I got it:

Fly Emirates beat Quatar.

But in the beginning, Quatar was playing better.

And Coca Cola lost to Estrella Damm or Damn.



I love it.

I think I'm going to be a fan.

(I've always liked airplanes.)



how i feel? i think if you can

push it all aside

i'll make a great wife

never one to drop without

saying goodbye 

you saw me waving from a window?

with some other guy?


but i would never leave.

never leave you for someone else

if you want me to stay

take the cups out 

backyard ballyhoo

me and you

under trees hung with faery lights

tell me the truth

if you really love me

and you saw me waving 

wouldn't you

wonder why?

pasts go in all directions and we can

drink and compare all day

but by tonight i want them to be over

under the lights

throwing rainbows from a disco ball

down in the grass 

underneath you

by tonight

we need to believe in love

or i need to 

wave goodbye to you


need to believe in

this love

need to believe

it's real love

agree to be in
real love
in real real real love
real deep

down in the grass
underneath you

never want to

wave goodbye to you

Texas, or Not?

you can take my boots
but you can't pull the
Texas off my feet

maybe I've never been there
but if ever there were a cowgirl
you know it's me

and though I can't drink beer
or ride like a Queen, I can defend
our land and its people, and
isn't that what it means?
Don't mess with Texas?

And sure, I won't eat bbq anymore, but I
promise to honor the stars, and I wear
stripes with my cowboy boots,
and I raise my right hand place it over
my heart every night when I dream
of my love

and isn't that what it means to be
from Texas?


or is Texas too good to claim
a Nevada girl?

don't be too quick to judge who loves
you by their skin color
the way they might roll their 'r's
the state or country they're from
their god, gods, or no god they
worship or wish they knew

if you give them a chance people
like to love you

and isn't that what it means
to be from Texas?


Thursday, March 31, 2016

How Many Years

say the
words to you




if i even try
i know
i'm going to



Wednesday, March 30, 2016

Fold It Up

i'm still here
i'm still here
i hope you never find out
what it's done to me

under a summer sky
when life looks new
close your eyes
let a kind man
kiss you

it's not right to hold
yourself like a dying bird
when you can fly

don't seal a wound
i'm coming soon

don't fall apart
just pray


talk about simple loves
in a storm with winds

cross your hearts
cross your hearts
cross your hearts

we'll be beautiful
again but you have to
fold your pain up
and stand up

cross your hearts
cross your hearts


i hope you never find out
what it's done to me


I Don't Know Anything

I know I don't know anything and I know you understand
that it's not my fault for trying to be loved
trying to find out why doorknobs twist and turn 
but Love's doors never stay open for me

It's not a game to me when I'm losing 
and because it's me I never know when I've won so I keep losing
Please give yourself a second don't say what you're thinking yet
because I don't know 
I don't know
if you want to hurt me
but you can hurt me
that's the one thing I know:

I know I don't know anything and to you 
maybe I don't make sense or maybe I have sometimes
but the weather leaves your soul cold and you
can't find it in your heart to show me


If there's anything you want to say or anywhere you want to go 
you know I don't know I don't know
I don't know
but I'd go


The doorknobs twist and turn
but I can never seem to get the doors
to stay open

I don't know why
I don't know anything

I don't know why


telling stories to guns

telling stories to guns


One day when she was very small, Aomame awoke next to a gun. The room was new, bright, loud, and with the exceptions of herself and the gun, otherwise empty. Its floor was emerald green and blue patterned tiles that felt cold on her cheek. She saw, too, her feet and legs were now bare. 

She remembered hearing screams all around her after leaving the market the day before; she had been on her way home when white vans pulled up in front and beside her. Now she was hearing new sounds, maybe birds? And sounds of rythmic moving water, and a heavy, mechanical hum? 

She touched the gun's handle with timidity, as a child would who is meekly engaged in disobeying his mother, pointer finger extended, eyes scanning sides for witnesses, then the decision:  Is it worth the trouble sure to follow? She analyzed the handle's feel: inhuman, cold, and unsympathetic, no different from the tiles she was laying on. She thought a long time, one finger still making contact with the object at her side.

"It could seem like a friend, protecting me. But it would be a false friend, as it can never know any more or less of me than of my enemies it shoots.  It will protect anyone it wakes up close to. This is not devotion," she said.

And she made a decision, pulling back her finger and curling up her hand into a fist.

"It pretends to listen, but it has no loyalty," she said aloud, addressing the air. More time passed. 

Her hair became dewy from sleeping in line with the sun's rays coming in through the room's single window. It was the heat of a noontime sun, she guessed, that had found her place on the floor.

She looked again at the gun, and then with both hands picked it up and held it before setting it back where she had found it.

Next, she spoke to the gun silently, imagining it could hear her mind's story:

"You will never be my love," was her last thought, and that story's ending.

She drifted back across fields and flew above forests of evergreens and rivers with curves like snakes. When the door to her room was opened later, the men found Aomame gone, and the gun with its single bullet just where they had left it.


Tuesday, March 29, 2016


in case you just don't know

here we go...

here come the helicopters

breathing guns in the rain

here come the blades

the raids

e'ryon' here?

no time for shining your shoes

('cause) guns looking for you

(let's) get the fuck outta here

('cause) helicopters don't care

you never done shit

guns trained on you

now you a number

you a hit

don't be up in your mind

open your eyes

here come the heliccopters

n don't give a fuck about you

(or) what you don't do

now you a number

you a hit

say you never done shit

don't matter what you said

'cause you dead

once they over you

here we go...

here come the helicopters

(breathing guns in the rain)

(here come the blades)

(the raids)

e'ryon' here?


(don't kid yourself)

(you just a number away)

yours (can be) the next number

don't look up

(yeH, it's FUCKED.UP.)


Waking Up In Antibes

let me be here
hate to disappoint you but
i keep waking up in Antibes

wake up in Antibes
where i think
you must have
loved me once

when the paints were new and
that sun...
and oh Lord, that moon...

cobble stones and sand dragons

gulf juan behind our backs
a day we drank like the sailors
not sure if they ever made it back

through the windows we see the
waves change directions
we clean the studio floor

spilling tea
making love

spilling tea
making love