Good Winter

not just yet

2012-02-01T14:42:00.001-05:00

what's the right thing to do. I usually go into deep meditation or pray or go punch the heavy bag out in the garage when searching for an answer. I should have been working today. I took a job, the money was good. but I was curious about the "other" job and already had a 2nd interview scheduled. It was one I went for first. I used contacts and friends to put in a good word when i saw there was an opening. I worked it hard, but I wasn't sure how much they were offering. I had to know. So, I showed up for 2nd interview and wouldn't you know the offer was just as good +.
Now i had two good offers. Different opportunities. Nothing wrong with either. One is a much closer drive and has benefits. Ive never had benefits at any job. never had vacation pay, a 401k.

I was sold and then went home and wrote a letter- something to the effect- "after much consideration I have decided to take another job offer." so,,yeah i wont be showing up tomorrow like i said i would.
I get rejection letters for employment everyday. and here i am turning a decent paying job down?

I'm waiting for paperwork now. I got an informal offer yesterday and I informally agreed. Now it goes through HR and they send out a "formal" offer, i sign and the process begins. I was told it takes about a week. Meanwhile, Im still not working. Im waiting for this formal letter. what if it doesnt come? I turned down the sure thing job. I could be starting this shit all over again. Fuck. The other place was nice about my letter, wrote back for me to call them if it doesn't work out. And holy shit what if i have to?

I went for the best choice based upon the facts i was given. I assumed they were serious about formally offering me the job. I mean why have me come in for a 2nd interview and then go over how much they were offering ? maybe this is a classic case of me thinking to much. I should be enjoying my time off knowing i have a good job secured, its just corporate red-tape. and like always, like everything. the wait.

there will be traffic and smoke. there will be pay. (edit)

2012-01-31T13:02:00.001-05:00

- It's not hard to trace the doubt but never you'll find me in regret. the cost of living through a sea of words. salt water tending to these old wounds. I have never been on my own and always alone. I have never been on paths secured by guard rails. I have heard her voice. i have kissed her mouth. i have fell. i have tasted you. sweet eve, sweet victory, the sting of bee, the venom of snake, the tear of salt, the blood of your wine. if poison be the drink we serve best, let me drink from your cup. and if there be lies in the stories we tell, let there between the lines be always truth. -

11 days out of work. though I had some money saved and unemployment funds were deposited into my account. I went into survival mode. i went into force of habit. I filled out application after online application. and after no instant results i pushed harder. maybe the media is right, maybe there are no jobs? but i looked around and saw movement and flow and just didn't see it fitting the pattern. If you want something. you'll get it. it comes to you. always. I wanted everything and everything came- at once. 3 job offers. Two of them for more money than i had been making two weeks ago.

I figured maybe i could devise a way to work at home part-time (making a few bucks doing creative things) and have a part-time job. Besides being unfair to my wife(though she gets to help people and enjoys her job) but also curse me for wanting wine from a bottle and not out of box, for my love of buying things on a whim, like sneakers and expensive ingredients to prepare my favorite meals. So, I found a job that is in area of work Ive never done before, but uses many of the skills i have. It pays more than i was previously making and seems challenging enough. I will be able to add these new skills and experience to my arsenal. My thinking is in terms of 3 to 5 year plan. Obtain knowledge and skills i don't already have while working in something new, and either move forward or find something I enjoy even more using the combined experience. It just doesn't make sense to go backwards- to take less pay for something I'm not focused on really enjoying. This still follows my philosophy: Live, work, create.

edit: I went to a 2nd interview with a company in my field (electrical), except it's the supply side, not the contractor side. (I'm sick of the contractor side) a Big name in the industry, benefits, paid vacation. opportunity for growth. They matched my other offer. It's closer to my home, i wont have to be behind a desk all day and i know people who have worked their for many many years. I think this will be a good thing.

A week, a month , a year ..my dear

2012-01-23T14:10:00.001-05:00

Hard being still, I'd read a book and close a chapter if i could. things left unfinished. I'm sure you know how that is? I'm sure you have your loose ends sitting there over in the corner of your mind. never far away. never not just a phone call, a text an email away. but we think.....we think better of this.

I look for work, instead of driving to work. opportunities are opening up. A few job interviews scheduled for this week. there was one I had this morning. He asked how i prioritize my day, "Important things first? A combination of deadline and difficulty. first things first. I am sometimes a controlled chaos, but I always get things done on time." i say things that you probably shouldn't say. I forget there are no right or wrong answers as long as you're not completely rational or honest. I can do almost anything. I believe if i worked hands-on with a heart surgeon. I could learn that. No books. no school. just operate. My skills apply to everything. I write about how i do things. and then I do things. I write and it comes and I do.

There is this thing I keep loosing sight of...you know,, the whole doing what you love thing. I get desperate to make money. I start passing up things i like over the salary i see listed. though i have no real interest in the job. just sitting at a desk for hours. looking at numbers. I have something more to contribute to the world.

Its hard to let go. Its hard to let go and believe that if you open up, the universe brings you what you want. i cant sit still long enough, listen long enough. I want to fuck and fight and do something other than listen and wait and be still. but at least i have the silence of this room, the tapping of these keys....you
comfort me.

to one day strongly agree

2012-01-19T18:01:00.003-05:00

"What would you do if this were the last day of your life?"
she asks me this as i stare into the clear glass case, sports drinks and juice beverages chilled to the level, the first sip almost always burns. I ponder this strangers question.
We are here. now, together, that must mean something. maybe you know something i dont know?. maybe we follow patterns we cant control, we jump from wave length to length . we think about these things. because we simply think to much about things.
I lost my job. i tell her. i tell her maybe i hated it so much the universe took me out. maybe i dreamed of better things, not money, just something. You have to lose everything. Start over. It hasn't been easy. My habit is to work, to be somewhere, to chase money. do anything. work anywhere. my ego counts on this.
She says it doesn't matter. What if this was your last day..a meteor, a rocket, a star ship?. what if you wasted this day, this time. this now..thinking, worrying.
What are you selling? i ask her. Have you ever filled out those application for retail stores, grocery, big-box corporate chains? have you ever had to fill all that out and take that test? answer I strongly agree or disagree on all questions. I read that somewhere. they never want you to be in between, to be logical. to tell the truth. love everything. everyone. get along. and still .. i tell her...they won't ever call you.

I am a creature of habit and denial. I want something. I wanted change and i got it.
She smiles. you wasted it. you wasted it thinking. you think and that's all you do. If you aren't finding the answers maybe you are asking the wrong questions. The past is nothing but what was the future what isn't yet and you can't even know.
I watch her move to the counter to pay for her soft-drink, her candy bar.
"Don't think about this" is all she says. the doors whoosh open automatically

The New Dawn ( New years in photographs)

2012-01-02T17:06:00.000-05:00

Camped there. Ate that. Had that. Missed that.
see more. talk less. do more. talk less. live more. nothing less.
let go. let go. here i am. no more excuses.
no regrets.
no explanation
needed.

a New Cult

2011-12-31T15:56:00.001-05:00

i drove with the windows down this morning. open road - kissed out sky full of nothing clouds. my memories of you didn't last the year. i lied about that. i wrote about you instead, threw the paper away. clear my space. clear my head. what the fuck is in store for the new year?

It was about age 7 when i became fully aware of the cameras following me around.. a documentary film crew was filming my life. At least that's how I saw it from then on out. I don't know why, the inner conversations, the endless interviews..all the things i said and did were not just for me but for the world to see. my first kiss, Id smile from behind her back into the invisible camera. later on a thumbs up into the darkness after a sweaty session of sex. I was important and interesting. everything i had to say quotable. All the funerals, the online hook-ups, the road trips, the motel rooms, the music, the stories, the words, the tits, the ass. I wasn't just making movies, i was living them. the down time on the cutting room floor. the hours alone reading and writing and jerking off. the two or three lives we all live. inside, outside and the secret one we long for.

the windows down the air cool the sun high. I try to think of adjectives and proverbs and short little words that feel like breathing and sinking. that's what this is, a quick fade left and jab and hook. another fight. another tooth missing. another head ache. I need about 100,000 dollars so i can quit my job and just write words all day. just live the real fake life. treasure hunt. fuck my wife when she comes home. meet my lover in a motel room 200 miles away. find the loose ends. let them go.

I promise the last word i wont say this year is "sorry". Ill tell you that much, I'm living it all like i want to now. I'm doing nothing you want me to do and everything fun. I'm being good and true and dirty and messing with all the wrong buttons. I'm driving fast and dreaming hard and using it all. I'll make up the rest as we go along. fake it until the end of the line. until we bruise and bleed. pretty words with brutal definitions. i can see her running in the distance. running through the snow, the mud , the salt water. closer and closer. reach out your hand, jump this train. come along for the ride.

photo:
A mid west girl

Holiday in pictures -

2011-12-27T08:31:00.001-05:00

Happyland Express

2011-12-15T11:56:00.001-05:00

I find myself looking inside her medicine cabinet. I do this kind of thing. you meet online, she invites you over and do you really know what you're getting yourself into? and what if - what if by chance, this doesn't stop at just sex? what if she turns out to be the kind of girl you want to bring home for Christmas.

Prozac, Abilify, Valium, Xanax, Vicodin. You get the idea. Now, you think you know her a little better: She's crazy? depressed. the girl...has problems. what's that thing about crazy girls fucking good?
but there is that slim chance you might not leave with your life. (or worse you might have to hear the entire story of hers) So what? she wants some fun, kick an old habit by discovering a new one. depression. insanity. me.
and I wonder about my own. the power of attraction. Before this, what i knew of her was gathered from the tiny icon photo of her floating in space. I think in the right light and if i squint, she even looks remotely like it.

She probably wonders whats taking me so long. I take the cap off the bottle of Vicodin. I pop one in my mouth. this will help the tooth ache i feel coming on. When i get excited my teeth hurt. it feels like cotton candy inside my head. I am hard. I want to hurry up and get this over with. She had me come over for one thing. lets be clear on that
I turn the tap , cup my hand under the water and wash down the shame. She's cute enough. desperate enough and i want to get off before the Vicodin kicks in. i want the release and the numbness of pleasure and nothingness

Now Its like i know this secret about her, she kisses me with intense needy desire and i am so turned on. I somehow feel superior because i don't need drugs or to talk with someone about my pathetic problems. I'm not weak. I slip inside her. no condom. nothing between us. sickness. desire. i notice the scars along her arm. like train rails. perfectly spaced apart. i am riding this train. I am the conductor. I am starting to slip into the velvet. im not weak. im not broken. she tells me it's okay. she wants it harder. she wants my hand around her throat. Her words breathless and convincing. I am a kid on Christmas. she is sinking into my skin. what does anyone know of each other? Secrets told and untold.

Submarine

2011-12-05T11:56:00.000-05:00

DNA

It's clear we wouldn't last the year. but taken from an outsiders perspective. young love was tragic love and we were all kinds of that. young. tragic. ghostly.
I stared at her from across the class-room. the only class we had together. Marine biology. Fish swimming in the salty sea. some such nonsense like tides, rip currents, aquaculture. my sperm still trying to swim inside her from late Saturday night. Jelly-fish slow and drifting. poison. slow and drifting.
I turned in slightly above average grades. She was good at math, a quality i found sexually attractive. that and knee socks. that and her love for sad dreamy music. that and the fact she'd have me any way i wanted.
I sat and thought about my future. but couldn't see past the tip of my pen. graduation in 5 months. slightly above average grades. no real effort. no going above and beyond. mild obsessions distract me to easily. like music, like death, like the girl across the room.

before you're gone

2011-12-04T14:35:00.000-05:00

before i knew it, i had misplaced summer. your hand in my back pocket, a tourist in my own town. beach towels and a pirates map. i was never your prude. always wine. always gold. always above. always under.
I have a good mix for this, i have certain songs in my head. life is moving within a sound track. numbers, patterns. collisions. near misses. beats that make you melt and sway. there was the holiday party. drunk kisses under garnish. before you go, before you sleep. frost on our lips. a hug so tight. it's obscene. before you close your car door and head home to him.

before the end of this something- something - or anything and then winter. I drove my truck to the grocery where they sell Christmas trees out front. the cool air and smell of pine. i fall in love with pretty faces, pretty words. pretty sunshine. with blood on the snow, anything, everyone. you. I made you hot chocolate and we sat by the fire pit in the back-yard. I hate everything about endings. the last moment. the last kiss.
the last
word.

Whole of our Heart

2011-11-18T15:55:00.001-05:00

Turned up radio, tires slipping over wet asphalt. heart slipping on ice. Two days of rain. tomorrow they say ..."sunny and clear "
blue skies over gray. a long wait for someone special. the wait for snow. I'll take that.

There are two roads since she's gone. this way and that. up and down. I notice nothing of red lights. all green lights from here to the east. I've gone north and south. dizzy with the thought of drink on my tongue. I'm healthy again. A good sign she still thinks of me.

I thought of a cabin in the woods or seaside shanty , a house boat , a sail boat. then back to mountains. chopping wood, growing a beard. building a fire. books stacked to a ceiling made of cedar. writing is isolation. a desolate place. its like being dragged to the bottom of a pool except your able to hold your breath- endlessly. you can look up and see the sun refracted through the water. you should be drowning but instead you're in the silence. i can hear my blood. my heart beats in a pattern. everything frequency and patterns and nothing lasts forever, not the memories tattooed into my skin, not even me writing it down for you to read someday.

A song without words. miles of rain slicked highway. accelerate. stay alert. oncoming high-beams become hundreds of tiny moons. the only sound the tapping of keys. some impossible way to get you to notice me, but I must be dead for there is nothing but blue snow and the furious silence of a howling wolf.

Best wishes to you on Halloween

2011-10-31T14:39:00.005-04:00

She came to visit Halloween weekend. To carve pumpkins, to scoop out my heart.
I took photographs of her outside under skies the color of muscle, She held a long knife sitting in her undies, pumpkin between her knees. These are memories on a hard-drive.The fucking on my red Ikea sofa, on the floor, the bedroom, up against the wall in the hallway. I'd almost never remember any of this...if this wasn't the last time id ever see her again.

But, she drove over 200 miles to tell me about how much she loved Halloween. How she was only doing this because she couldn't stay away from me, even though it wasn't a good idea for either of us. For some reason she can't let us go. maybe never could, never will, no matter the circumstances. How are the circumstances now?

There was someone else she'd run back to once she was done with me. The carving and fucking and scooping out of my heart. I made a fuss at first. but she liked it to much when i got angry. she was something i couldn't have , but did have..really, and confused i kissed her hard and pushed her on the bed. I fucked her deep, she opened up, like that way there is no description for, like the way when you're breathing your last few fatal breaths, you'll remember and have no regrets about life. Because life was all about being inside her inside something that made sense at least for that moment. and now ....I get lost in the thought. I forget about what she took from me. How she will pack up and have her Halloween somewhere else, with someone else. but it was worth it wasn't it?. aren't we all better off now? I told you, i could handle the bleeding.

“I can’t believe I gave my panties to a geek.”

2011-10-31T12:04:00.000-04:00

"Happy birthday, Samantha. Make a wish."
: -"Well, it already came true" .

I never liked the ending of this movie.(which im sure is playing on some channel, somewhere in the world at this very moment). Other than the geek became king by getting Samantha's panties and also got with Jake's drunk girlfriend. If i've said it once i've said it a thousand times... Fuck Jake.

This is my latest stencil- its called - "Molly hates Pink"
Hand-cut Stencil , spray paint on card-board 2011

another Halloween wedding

2011-10-31T10:48:00.000-04:00

Three years married. Today. Here is some Art work she made for me and our upcoming ETSY site Sugar Glow Club.

Sisters of Mercy

2011-10-26T17:07:00.003-04:00

Something huge from my High School journal
Oct - 87'

I found a note in my locker. it smelled like cigarette, girl, and old book-bag. I was in class unraveling the million folds. Finally, bubble cursive written with a cheap bic pen. A quick profile: This person could give a shit about school, perhaps dreaded the waking world, life was a drag and then....you die. Judging from the Iron Maiden RULES scribbled in the corner - A lover of all things metal.( daughter of satan?)

The name at the bottom. I knew this girl. I stepped over her and her friends every morning as I walked into school. they sit in a circle on the sidewalk in front of the school. Laughing, smoking, blaring heavy metal out of a boom-box. I smile at her. every morning. metal girls are horny. so am I. I’m fucking 16. I like her make-up. too much shadow. too much doom.

I think back to the way she held a cigarette. why it seemed different. I wasn't sure why she was after me. I gave no outward indication I liked Metal and that’s how people interact at this school,. by the kind of music we like or pretend to like and bands we know and pretend to know. I’m in a band but I doubt she knows that.

The sides of my head are shaved, my intention was Mohawk but it came out more mullet. I listen to punk mostly, and Bad Brains and Elvis and Johnny Cash. Last year, I dated a perpetually gloomy girl who played The Cure and Bauhaus and the Smiths while we laid in her bed. She let me fuck her, if I promised not to tell. Then she told me a few days later she likes girls. But what was I talking about? Oh yeah, I can’t say I wasn't able to fall deeply into the despair of lyrical drone of the music. I also hate Pretty in Pink and Molly Ringworm. but secretly I don't.

The records I go back to over and over are Queen and Cheap Trick. (another secret) But, punk is awesome. Black Flag..is fucking awesome. And that this girl ... this horny heavy metal goddess wants to get with me. like this is totally out of the fucking blue too. I’m so hard right now.. 10 minutes till the bell rings... I hope I can get it to go down by then (think garbage. think old people fucking) This is the start of something. I just know it. Rock on. Rock hard.

different at night

2011-10-20T17:13:00.001-04:00

maybe the night and something different. i waited for her call, her laugh, her fall. maybe because of the cool October air. so how about tonight? black cats and candles. we laugh, we fuck , we get high. maybe i leave marks. maybe he'll ask how you got those bruises on your neck.
she says, maybe it won't last.and why do you only say i love you when you're inside me? but that's all elementary. like the beginning and end. like how its easy to groove to this song. the start and stop. maybe this time we meet behind our lovers back. or maybe we are those lovers.
I talk to much in the dark. I say the things i should keep secret...I've never believed as much as i do now, anything is possible. and she says where did that sad boy i knew once, go? I was inside you. say yes....nothing ever really ends. the devil comes and gets what's due.

Forty-Two - Audience of One

2011-10-14T10:22:00.001-04:00

Nothing ever fits. make wish. blow out candles. eat cake. it's sweet. life is sweet. It's fruit punch swallowed with bitter pills. i choke.I drown. but this place revolves. it spins on axis. evolve. come and go. Stay. Stay the night. Stay forever. Be the fucking ghost i talk to in my sleep.

Nothing fits. Over the years I've grown out of my shoes and shirts and lovers. nothing fits forever. body parts deceived us because they feel so good. sliding in and out. In and Out. like breathing. it's dirty tricks. it's trick or treat. Our heart beats one on top of other. the warmth, the salvation, the words. We mean well, then we are just plain mean. we say.... at some point, "we just don't fit". so, maybe we try, maybe we even stay. Just our bodies. Hey, tell me where your mind lives?

I thought of you. how we are just pieces of this puzzle. Every year i make a wish. I set things straight with myself. I know how it works. Wait. then wait more. it's almost finished. Turn the last piece this way and that. Force it. love me. Settle in. Perfect fit.

unburied

2011-10-07T15:48:00.002-04:00

the nights have taken hold
and your words,
have taken hold
where have all my lovers gone -
underground - underground

come, let's give blood again
the mobile unit parks
outside the library
on Halloween
come make a fist
with me
come let me breathe you

before it gets to dark again
before it gets to late again

wish me happy birthday?
let your body be my
cake

the filth is rushing in
and
the blood is washing out
and my thoughts are taking hold
of you
unburied

End of Summer Squash

2011-09-24T13:36:00.002-04:00

The end of the beginning:

The end of summer? not even close when you live in South Florida. It's business as usual down in the tropics. Chlorinated swimming pools, the beach, playing Frisbee in the park with the dog. heat and more heat. i smell meat cooking on the grill and i don't eat meat anymore but i cant say i don't love the smell of lighter fluid and hot dogs and hamburgers. A rib-eye steak on a grill? oh yeah.
Sure I'd like to see leaves change color. I'd like a three-some Halloween. I'd like you to invite me to your town for lunch. show me the books you read. play me of the music you like. show me the undies you wear. expose everything about yourself in short sentences. text me your life story, email me the easiest way you come.

Consider short distances. the drive to work.
the holiday.
the big move away
is only a short distance to
any single
hearts desire
her leap of faith is
only depth perception. words
in a box.

blood virus.
my bones on your bones.

short distances
I'm clicking your home
page

and reading your
scars

-Today is home-made red sauce, down on the chopping block we have two kinds of summer squash and sweet peppers which are sauteed in EVOO, garlic and red pepper flakes. The sauce goes in. Some time goes by......cook pasta as directed on side of package. Mix in with sauce. Serve. -

Joining a Fan Club

2011-09-21T09:14:00.001-04:00

I'm sitting in the middle of our back-yard on an old wood stool my Dad put out special for his "famous buzz-cut" A talent he says he picked up while over in Vietnam. If he shaved one the guys in his platoon they wouldn't get shot that day. Word got out, but he wasn't around the barracks much because he flew missions day and night shooting up the enemy as a helicopter gunner. When he would return there was a line already forming for his buzz-cut. So, I should be lucky. I guess. To have this edge. But, it was unlikely id be shot. I'm 7 years old.

We were in the backyard so as not to get "Hair all over the damn trailer" Clippers to my head and shaved down to the skull. He tore it across until it was flat and smooth, I feel the heat of the sun on pale exposed skin. There are woods behind us. miles and miles of woods. Crickets, birds, mosquitoes, saw-grass, and the everlasting Florida heat. Electric cord stretched through the yard like a fluorescent orange snake. The clippers alive with power, hair falling in clumps. over and over with razor touching skin. nicking it here and there as he barked for me to stay still. It was just me shaking, me hating this. like the time he threw me in the pool to teach me to swim. the deep end and the sinking down to the bottom. Sink or swim, Sink or swim. All those lessons not taught but forced. Everything black and white. Yes sir !. No sir ! Sink or swim.

I didn't want to look like a soldier. Boys in my school wore long hair and had big fat combs hanging out of their back pockets. They wore dessert boots. Girls wore feathers in their hair. I had no hair. It was 1976. There was no war and the only army I wanted to join was the KISS ARMY.

My head wasn't shaved because I had lice like everyone at school accused and laughed at me for. It was because I had no choice. I had rules to follow. Rules that only seemed to apply to me. Dad took a swig of his beer and placed it in the shade propped against the trunk of a tree. His cigarette dangling out of his mouth as he spoke in deep gruff tones of how I look like a man now. How not to move , " Do want me to cut you?" His shaky hands and shell shock. His screaming and walking around the house late at night. I’m locked inside my head. Inside my little world. I’m sinking. I laugh to myself when I see his beer tip over by the tree. Maybe there is a god and if by some chance there is, maybe he'll save me.

Haven't seen you since forever sex

2011-09-15T16:34:00.001-04:00

Cells made of molecules, molecules made of atoms, atoms made of energy. we are this- Energy.
Ghosts of perception. Illusions until the spaces fill with patterns, pain, heartbreak, seduction, joy, adventures. There is no choice. the blood and salt water. the bones and ashes.

Happiness is a thought that isn't anything else.
thoughts become things. i want you here.
my skin close to your bones. our energy. It attracts it expands,
it explodes.
It will last many lifetimes.

everything is illusion
every doubt , every fear
that has held you back

or kept you apart from
what you've desired
There is nothing that can't be had
There are no
limits

art: Mike Egan
photo: roadkill rabbit (flickr)

2011-09-05T17:53:00.001-04:00

Fall is a distant star to me. unlike , dreams i have of your soft voice and breathless moans. it's true, my home, my love is closer to the sun and sea than near your breeze carrying the scent of snow. I am closer to where vampires roam and the sharks swim themselves to sleep

Thoughts become Things

2011-09-01T11:07:00.000-04:00

these are things that I could not tell you;
things that remind me of you when I want nothing more than to forget;
things that have gone wrong;
things that have gone right;
things that will never happen;
things that are your fault,
my fault,
the faults of no one;
these are things that we did not do and will not let go

Swimming til dark

2011-08-28T19:20:00.000-04:00

i know more of warm breezes
and salt water
than
cool nights under stars
under blankets
under you

and
anything i've ever known of it
are false memories:
turning leaves,
snow fall
her enigmatic

hip
sway

all
novel outlines
bits of
broken
melodies
from discarded
soundtracks

but i feel your
warm bed
and cabin smoke
in my heart
i touch the cold
breath on my neck

i found it
here
sipping
the poison
of
your
poetry

Perpetual motion

2011-08-21T23:36:00.002-04:00

There’s a trench dug into my side of the bed in the shape of an S. the outline of my body faces the wall. 9mm semi-automatic, top drawer of night-stand. A pen. notebook. books stacked on the floor. there is an I-pad and head-phones. A knife stuffed between the mattress and headboard. a shot-gun under the bed. shes next to me tucked inside a warm blanket. i sleep on top of the sheets. Dream of blood. Dream of rain. Dream of her body safe and sound. I want our cabin in the woods, our sailboat anchored in the shallows. Birthday candles, Halloween. The things that comfort me , the things i fear. Sharks swim the waters of my heart. Her skin the smell of the sea.

Cut out all the ropes and let me fall

2011-08-18T15:00:00.001-04:00

Had this fucked up dream last night. You're not with me anymore and my dog died. I was sitting in this road-side diner like the waffle house or something like that except they served fried chicken and waffles.the waitress came over and threw down a plate of cold eggs - sunny side up and covered in ketchup. I hate that. I left and traffic sucked. Then it was just about light outside and I was in bed thinking that school starts today! fuck and i was late for the bus. I despise those teachers and kids and hipster haired fuck ups. how's is that Steve Fairgroves is even capable of growing a beard at barely 17 anyway? I cant wait to laugh at his Pabst Blue Ribbon belt buckle and fag anchor tattoo. Ever wonder the ratio of anchor tattoos to actual sailors in your town?

I woke up in a real negative mood. pissed at the dream and the sunshine and birds. I fumbled around in the kitchen. I managed a cup of coffee (praise to the Keurig machine) then shook Fruity-Pebbles into a bowl and sat at the desk. I attempted to work on my comic-book. but nothing. nothing. Okay. I needed to cool off. So, I showered like Christian Bale in American Psycho, scrub down, moisturize, spray. A few push-ups. I let the sugar and caffeine settle in and got to thinking: I used to be able to write so easily, so good too. Girls left with sticky knickers good. i mean, i could never draw for shit but at least i had the writing part down. I wrote with my dick, that was it and i knew it. Driven by an insatiable need to create and to fuck. girls seemed to like the pent up anger and frustration. the displaced loneliness pouring out on the page, drawn into a character. and that worked? Yeah, Girls emailed my blog to get to know me. "Put your anger inside me" they seemed to say. and i did. Often. but it was never without the vapor trail of emotional scars and broken promises associated with the artist /~~whore~~ muse hook-up. They ended as stories in my comics. Entertainment. But, the void was my life and what i wrote about and drew was merely the truth hidden between the lies. Ah.. ,, hows that for bullshit?

I got a girlfriend and then married - a wife. a shiny new black metal ring to wear, then the dog and job and bills and no time for girlfriends on the side or any time at all. time slipped away along with my words and drawings. I want to write again - fuck again. fuck someone new and keep secrets and then forgive myself in comic-strips and prose. With these thoughts i go back to the desk. I have 10 minutes before i have to leave for work. Ive been working on this same rough draft for weeks, the sketches, the idea sheet. my latest comic .

My comic book is called - ARCH. (Anger. Rage.Confusion.Hate)
It's about this guy named Arch and he's a real negative dude. (at least on the inside) but it works for him, until it doesn't. i mean strange shit happens along the way. He meets a girl who is into werewolves and choking, he volunteers at the animal shelter (and the dogs sometimes talk to him, offering advice) Arch makes what money he can writing a self-help blog online. He is a life coach of sorts, he'd battled his demons in the past and truly believes he can now help others. specialties include the power of attraction, sexual addiction, consumerism, and balance. with that he peddles his e-books and email coaching seminars (personal one on ones can be set up) He has few overly devoted followers if you know what I mean. He claims to be good at fixing things but i think its more destroying things. One morning after a particularly awful dream he wakes up and writes a scathing rant in his blog, a manifesto filled with sci-fi and porn references. He takes on everything from religion to Star Wars. But, he only planned on venting. Getting out all his anger on the page like he'd been taught, release and let go. No one gets hurt. Delete. Only he pressed Enter. It's gone, it's out there for the world to see. The entry is titled "Rainbows and Ewoks are Gay and Love is Shite " 250 comments in less than 3 minutes.His cell phone is buzzing. Oh shit.

May your heart be the map

2011-08-12T11:38:00.004-04:00

The past few years I've practiced minimizing both the physical and mental clutter in my life. I started by promising myself to do MORE things i love doing. In fact, I try to do as many things i love doing as possible. Getting rid of all things that are not me. It takes time. It's a process that i continue to work on daily. Throwing out my old points of reference. the same actions ALWAYS produced the same results. So, why not do something different?

What was it that caused me to take or not take certain actions? certain risks? What caused me to think that life had limits?
Fear. Fear based on past experiences. even experiences i only saw or heard about. fears projected from what Ive read or seen on TV. fears of what others might think of me and my ideas. But, why limit yourself doing things NOW based on the past? Why not live the life you want to live? I mean the one YOU truly want to live- Not the one you're supposed to want. Not the one conceived by outside influences, family, work, school, the media, fear. No constraints. Live and love without limits.

Make life beautiful:

Get rid of all things that are not you
Do things you love
Love things you do
Express gratitude
How you feel is what you'll attract
Get healthy
Stop buying junk
Don't follow same old thought patterns
Create something
Notice something beautiful (at least one thing per day)

Photo: britneyfontana

79

2011-08-01T11:42:00.001-04:00

79:

I didn't feel the first punch or second or third. I was trying to get home before dark, i knew of a short-cut. Ride my bike over some lawns, go behind a few houses and end up back on the street. Simple.
I was on my way back from the gas station, a mile or two west of my home."Up to the corner " is where i told my Mom i was going. I bought a Coke, the icy cold bottle in one hand, small change curled in my other fists. I rode fast and hard , i was feeling lucky so cut across the lawns and found the next street over.
Kids fought kids for all reasons and no reasons in this neighborhood. It was 1979 i was 10. Small houses crowded close with peeling paint lined the street. It was dinner time and i thought i could make out the smells of tater-tots or hamburger helper. From the corner of my eye, I spotted them sitting on the sidewalk. 4 or 5 kids, passing around a cigarette, and one straddling a bike. I peddled fast but the kid on the bike wheeled out in front me, blocking the road the group of kids all got up at once. I tried to ride around but one of them pushed me and i fell in the street. Coke bottle and coins and bike and skin crashing to the asphalt. I could smell fresh cut lawn, i could smell sweat and cigarettes. I heard Rockaway beach by the Ramones playing from an open window. My arm was already bleeding from scraping the road. I knew what was coming next. fists and feet flying from all around. The bigger kids hung back and shouted " Kick his ass Stevie!, Take his fucking bike, take his fucking bike!, " I felt a few punches but they didn't hurt much. My Dad it me harder than any kid could ever punch. I got up and started grabbing and punching. It's what i usually did in fights- a short flurry of crazy. I didn't like fighting, i knew kids who could fight. that liked it, were good at it even. But, what was worse, having my bike taken or having to walk back home and face my Dad ? I knew i had to fight either way. At least some blood would prove i tried. and i did, I fought back and then got shoved down and took the beating, I thought about grabbing the broken Coke bottle i thought about breaking free and running over picking it up and tearing it across one of these kids faces. hurting them real bad. Finally, one of the bigger kids went over to my bike, now laying on its side by the curb. He got on and called back to his buddies "Come on" The kids started walking away, but not before one of them got in one last kick. I got up and saw the sun almost gone, I liked the color of the sky, purple- black just before it turned dark. I heard laughing in the distance. A faucet running, someone doing the dishes. I barely made out the back of a kids shirt and my bike carrying him away.

la la la la take me home

2011-07-24T12:39:00.000-04:00

my two dogs are ashes. one inside a wooden box carved by a Tibetan monk, the other a hand blown black urn, her name is embossed in gold. they were big dogs and you wouldn't believe the weight of these things. i guess everything , even the slightest whisper, even ashes- have weight.

I plan on doing a bit of traveling, minor explorations and hedonistic adventures. As much as id like to i can't commit to getting more fur friends just yet. So for now, I volunteered at the local Tri-county animal shelter. It's a No-Kill shelter. The dogs don't just sit sad-eyed in cages all day waiting to get adopted. there are many great volunteers and they help train, walk, give millions of pets, brush, and play with all the "guests" as much as possible. The shelter is situated on a few gated acres so the dogs can run loose for exercise too. Some of these dogs are amazing. Two of them were adopted in just my short time there. It's pretty great seeing that, especially when an older dog get a home. Its what the No-kill shelter is about.

Home is wherever I'm with you - don't you know? I have difficulty having to put them back in the caged pens after i hang it with them. Id like to take them all home. I imagine them all having homes. each one, the older ones, the puppies. I visualize it. I send it out to the universe. Even thoughts. Everything has weight.

drowning in dreams

2011-07-15T14:59:00.001-04:00

there were fights and sweat soaking fucks, like animals. but there were also sweet dreams fortified with red wine and soft pillows. sleep was easy and it was probably the soft sheets and they way the scent of it all sunk deep. everything clings.

when she was gone i knew i had to wash them, but i put it off because i wanted my skin against
the smell of her ghost. even though she was miles away somewhere next to him - she was with me. funny how that works. funny just how true that seems in our heads.

the silence doesn't stop me. it only pushes me to look deeper inside myself. heart beats. muscle tissue. expansion, contraction. disintegration. I wont let go.

late at night i play instrumentals so fucking loud the paint might peel from the walls. cellos and trombones. real woods and metals. real flesh and bones. the part inside the inside - the narrator. nothing can stop me from getting what i want in this life. nothing can stop me from living this story.

sweet dreams fortified with sugar rush and piano chords. we gave our blood in a mobile-bank outside a library. we never stop giving. we share our sin.

photo revivify

Summers Blood (lyrics)

2011-07-12T16:54:00.004-04:00

miles and flagrant
observations
come
mounted
on incoming
breaths
the night we swam
chlorine
stung our eyes

we trespassed
remember that old house?
remember how the walls came
crumbling down
oh that was a time
oh that was a time

the rain fell like
summers blood

all the miles
those little birds
flew
fucking wild
fire
and power lines
all that
she never
stays

for miles
i wanted was
home
to swim like sharks
in a pool
of summers blood

and she'll take her photographs
spread them like wild fire
you
are restless
you are in my
blood
you are
gone

photos: Cari Ann Wayman

I like it , what is it ?

2011-07-07T09:43:00.000-04:00

it sounded so much better playing in her room. inside out. turning me inside out. the music floated to the ceiling. it gently bounced off walls. it meant something. scratches and bites and all.
sometimes it means new or change or something you've never done before. jump. leap. live. lyrics you can't hold or understand. It means illumination. it means dark secrets mixed with drum beats. there is want and need heavy in the air. breathing.
the song had meaning because you were there and i was there and we sang it deep in our hearts. i felt it on my mouth and in my hair and fingers. I felt it on your skin and inside you.
somewhere along the line, the scar closed, the memory tape healed over by time. time steals these quiet moments, the ones i tried so hard to hold and not let go. the smell and feel of her. its on the tip of my tongue but just out of reach. her voice when she said my name. the song that played. now just a soundtrack on a rainy day. background. I feel words. i don't hear music. i feel text. I think of you. I write it. nothing more.

keeping in touch her

2011-07-04T17:30:00.000-04:00

Dear you,

I like the sound the water makes in the shower when it hits the plastic lining of the shower curtain.

- X

choking on salt water

2011-07-01T15:27:00.000-04:00

water pools in the drive-way mixing with motor oil, black-top. a flow, a stream, a rainbow hurricanes into the drainage ditch. but it's not nearly fast enough. over-flow. small floods.memories, tide pools.
summer heat is followed by mid afternoon summer storms. reducing the mood to a purer state. i fold paper sail-boats looking out the window. stuck inside. we are always stuck inside for something, stuck inside because of rain or work or the oppressive humidity. stuck inside our own heads, thoughts of sweat and fuck and silence. It is that kind of summer holiday. the long sight lines, the emptiness, the building wind. I fall into myself. thunder-storms. the soft tap of rain against the window. i wish you were here.

small wonders

2011-06-22T10:41:00.000-04:00

engine heat and a dizzy head
first thing in the morning
radio fuzz
shaking off
the dust of night
sun
in my eyes
from a distance it looked
like a dog lying
in the street
but as my tires
spun and the world spun
and my head
spun
upon closer inspection
it was a dead
t-shirt
the kind of road-kill
one can enjoy
and only wonder
who's shirt? why?
the kind that
will sort of
make my day
a brown shirt
dead center in the street
not a dog
thank god !
not you
if it hurt
i didn't feel it
a shirt
maybe his
maybe hers
under my wheel
then forgotten
bright day
ahead

We, Us, Them , You and Me

2011-06-15T16:53:00.000-04:00

Not long ago i read a book Cheap: The High-Cost-Discount-Culture
I'm not sure why, i saw it on the shelf at the library and like most books i pick up I'm drawn to the cover or something. It's that or something that usually gets me in trouble.
Anyway, the book was about how companies like Walmart and other Big Box stores are ruining America with cheaply made products, employing cheap labor and on top of that forcing manufacturers (mostly in China, Vietnam, and India) to build these items at the cost THEY want to pay for it.
For instance, one of the guys named Gunnar at IKEA designs a sleek new chair. The design spec is sent to a plant in China and is ordered to build it: and make it wood, come in these 3 colors, weigh a certain amount, and we need so many shipped by such and such a date. AND we are going to pay you you this SET amount for it) - Build it or we will go somewhere else. So most China ends up having to cut down vast forests in protected parts of Russia or other places to meet pricing and shipping deadlines. All this so we can purchase a 20 dollar -kick it to the curb when it breaks (which is sooner than later) Chair. Essentially a waste in every way you look at it. Had you purchased a 300 dollar Herman Miller chair..its likely not to break , you wont kick a 300 dollar chair to the curb, and it might even be handed down to someone else to enjoy. How's that for conserve, re-cycle, re-claim.

I can't afford quality so i went for design instead. I needed a cheap desk chair but wanted something that looked cool. I took a 30 minute drive to our South Florida IKEA, my first time ever. And hey, they didn't seem like such bad people. helpful, friendly, attendants helped direct my Honda into a parking space. It was like a theme park like atmosphere. A theme park of spiffy designed sofas, lighting pendants, chairs, billy book cases, and 3 dollar Swedish meatballs for lunch.

Found my chair (pictured above). You pick it out in the showroom (which i pretend to live in each room) then write down the aisle and bin # on a provided sheet of paper with provided mini pencil, then when you re done - head to the warehouse area and pick it out yourself. It's so hands on. My girl fell in love with the hot pink version of mine so we now sorta match. Yes, they were 20 bucks each. I had to assemble them. Easy. It feels pretty good, rolls around great, swivel action works, and i think they look great too. I bought a few other things that need assembling, that were CHEAP, but look good. and isn't that what this was all about?
Yes. Yes it was.

when crush turns to like

2011-06-08T10:19:00.001-04:00

A puff smoke of cloud floating against a summer blue sky. Power-lines, high wires crisscrossed . engagement. pavement. easement. houses. brick driveways. garage doors. opening and closing. I decided to take off work. I'm deciding if i should get in my truck and just drive. a bird catches my eye in the back yard. I get a false sense of security there. fenced in. surrounded by ficus hedges. camouflage the coming and goings. the victories and heart aches.

Sitting by the pool. 3 books, i-pod, note- book, pen. Sun screen rubbed into the sleeve of ink covering my arm. all those hours. all the pain. art. life. worth it.
the sunscreen smells like coconuts. birds in a palm tree. coconuts. they are wild green parrots. noisy. random thoughts. i tear a page from my note-book and make a paper airplane. she's gone. I'm not sure who, or which one, i just know she is.

Film for the 35mm camera. I keep forgetting the thrift-store camera i bought. I'm anxious to try out all the different lens it came with. I borrowed a book from the library - William Eggleston photography. i have it next to me. its heavy and reflected in the morning sun. inspiration. the mundane and ordinary find life. you just have to open your eyes. you just have to look.

Sparrow

2011-06-02T07:33:00.000-04:00

   All thanks to the magical I-pad I've been geeking out on comic books lately. or is that nerding out? do you geek out if youre a gamer? (which i am not) and nerd out if you're bookish and comic booky, like me? I don't know but it's been super swell getting back into comics again.
   I purchased the app ComicZeal4   , its pricey for an app 7.99 but worth every penny as it' s changed the way i will forever view comics. I still enjoy supporting my local comic-shop, check out all the latest vinyl toys, low-brow art, the racks and racks of colorful books, and scope out hot geek girls.
   I have to say IMO, comics were made to be viewed on I-pad or other reader type device. This is exactly what comics needed. You have to see it for yourself to understand, and this coming from someone who prefers "real" books to ebooks. though i do have my fair share..I use Calibre ( I highly recommend this free program if you have a reader of any kind., It converts most files into the type you're reader can read then lets you transfer the book to your device). Yes, Its one of those things that can be used for good (you may purchase ebooks from various sources direct for the best price it finds for you on the net) but It is essentially for bad, as you can also easily pirate ebooks from sharing sites (such as piratebay, eebookee, etc.) download them to Calibre, convert and transfer, in all of 3 minutes time. With the Comic App you can do the same, only you transfer to the app through I-tunes. But, again, i do still support comic shops in purchasing other items and graphic novels. What i think most people owning reader devices find troubling is that book publishers want 10 or more dollars for books, which are only file transfers of text. no production, binding, or trees destroyed. and that seems very little discount. You get a no frills book, music, comic...(all items of which in the real world you can share, copy, borrow from library, whatever) yet they aren't willing to cut you a break.
    Why do apps sell so well? people love them because they are .99 cents, maybe 2.99 and you get much more bang for the buck, not to mention they improve and update them constantly free. I'm not trying to justify piracy, I'm just saying.

dream within a dream within a .....

2011-05-29T10:32:00.003-04:00

These words are open mouth kisses and legs spread wide. make me hard. make me weep. send me your letters of discontent. blunt force trauma. i want you one very first last time. you have two fingers. give me one and wear my ring. two hands. he has one I hold the other. one heart. penetration. you are in my head.

I wasn't sleeping . I read. A flash-light sits beside my bed. I've started a thousand books. books in stacks on the floor. My note-pad and a pen.
I draft the type of characters that one would dream up in the middle of the night:

'He is a teacher. He teaches creative writing. She is his student. He has never had a best-seller, he writes a blog under a fake name. He likes her, but she isn't his first. He always waits. She said she would wait until she was 18 and that was in May. He wanted to wait until she graduated. she couldn't wait. He told her he didnt want to do everything. "everything?" at least until she was out of his class. in college or something. He knew the window of opportunity was closing. It wouldnt be exciting. summer. His wife. His charming home. Writing alone at his old wooden desk. one word than two. another and more. nothing.
She met him at the hotel. he texted her the room number then deleted the exchange. They both would write about this. She laid on the bed. He told her to pretend she was alone. "show me what you do when youre alone and need cock." He had never spoke like that to her. Never said the word "cock" so graphic.this was blunt force trauma. their fantasy. "we can't do everything" he reminded her. She wore a skirt and light blue buttoned down blouse. she sat up on the side of the bed. He was in a chair. she leaned back and spread her legs apart. she pulled her undies aside and rubbed her pussy. shaved. she was close to half his age. He unbuttoned his pants, pulled out his dick. breathing. air conditioner hum. she watched him. he watched her. moans. she looked at him. offering. He was close to losing it. full of cum he is liable to to anything and he knows it. just cum..just cum and things will go back to normal. he got up and walked over to the side of the bed. He slide her panties down, they were wet in his hand. He held them in one hand and stroked his dick with the other. just ....He orgasms in a thick stream, shooting one, two, three times. On her thigh. she moans. her face is flush. watery eyes. maybe she came. maybe she didn't. He goes to the sink and gets a hand-cloth, runs it under the water. He cleans off her thigh and lays beside her on the bed. no words. both staring at the popcorn ceiling. the she told him it was intense. that she wanted to feel him inside her so bad. she whispered about college and her latest boyfriend. He thought she was a decent writer. but what can you do with that? He touched her skin. delicate. he thought about taking his wife on vacation. He thought about other fantasies he's had lately. then he removed the rest of her clothes, took off his and told her to get on the covers. they were naked and she could feel how warm his skin was. it was the start of summer.

when the right things aint easy

2011-05-20T15:58:00.001-04:00

Before i left for work i checked her water dish to see if it needed filled. The bowl wasn't there because she's no longer here and it's going to be difficult getting used to. It was the right thing to do for her, i have no doubt. I couldn't selfishly keep her here just because id miss the breathing and sleep twitch. She was 15, had a pretty killer dog life. but was getting worse and worse and i wasn't going to let her suffer. I had my vet, she comes right to the house, it was peaceful. i put on her favorite chill music.

I've had dogs for the last 17 years and now none. On the way home for lunch i mashed down on the accelerator eager to get home to check on her as i do everyday. call her name, let her out, give her a treat, pet. pet. pet.

- Posted using BlogPress from my Lovers Hot Box (I-pad)

A supposedly fun thing I'll never do again

2011-05-18T15:08:00.001-04:00

I bought this new shave gel and the fragrance instantly takes me back years ago when I was vacationing with my ex. We were young and crazy and somewhere in the subtropics. Costa Rica. surfing and fishing, drinking and fucking. I brought along our video camera that recorded on 8mm video tape. she did some of the dirtiest things. I figured why not marry the slut and it wouldn't really be married since we are way over here and we live way over there. It didn't count. Just the honeymoon and sunshine and drinking and kissing other girls and the things you did in the men's bathroom. .
The smell of this Nivea shave gel brings it all back and gets me hard. it makes me want to go searching the box in the back of the closet for the tapes. Problem is, the camera died years ago, I have no way to play them. It's comforting just knowing I have them. It's not good revisiting shit like that anyway. memories of a forgotten youth. Whores in love in a foreign country living out a fantasy or two. every time I shave my face I hear Spanish guitar and waves crashing, I see moonlight and think of the couple we went home with from that crazy dive bar. Slow dancing. Your lit cigarette and quiet promises. I wonder where the fuck you are. And does it still count?

do you like getting dirty teXt messages?

2011-05-16T10:41:00.002-04:00

I'm from the generation just before Internet. From just after the fall out of 70's swingers and cb radios to the apocalypse of divorce. From isolation to connection. Music on vinyl records to the 8 track to cassette tape to compact disc to mp3. the Ipod. Beta-max video recorders, to vhs, laser disc, and dvd.
From three local TV channels, tin foil and rabbit ears to OnTV, HBO, ESPN, DirecTV, tivo, Dvr, 60" high definition flat screens. holy shit.
OMG.dont forget LOL (but thats getting ahead of myself) The car phone as big and brown as a brick, beepers, cell phones, text messaging, and cam. Overload. Give me back my comic books and flashlight under the covers. but I'm not scared. not really. I was young and looking for anyway to get off and all this new unsupervised time alone with my books was great , but then HBO after dark. "The Hitchhiker," 'walking a lonely road where terror awaits around every curve. Walk with him, and you'll find yourself in some very dark places...places you wouldn't want to visit alone. That's why he's there. That's why he's always there. He won't hold your hand - but he'll make sure the only ones who get hurt are those who deserve to.'
I'm from riding my bike 8 miles to the flea market just to pick up back issues of Penthouse magazine, to now having instant porn, to chat rooms, love@aol, instant messaging, livejounal, craigslist, myspace, tumblr, twitter, it's everyone, everything - here and now at my finger tips. There is virtually nothing i cant know or have. there isn't a kink or fantasy i cant fulfill with the like minded. Yes, it turns out there are people out there just like me, with similar tastes in art and music and fucking. maybe you? love isn't any easier, never was never will be, but damn if we cant email or text to meet up in some shady motel on the side of highway 1. and damn if i cant place my zappos order for the 25th pair of sneakers i don't need.
The something different is the isolation that i once had and sometimes still crave and at other times don't want to be anywhere near again. i like the unknown and i like the silent moments between them. the sunshine at the end of my street. i like for you to tell me i can have you - if i wanted, if i were closer. oh, the secrets we keep. and ending the chaos, all this mind fuck pretty picture overload is as simple as shutting it off, saying goodbye. stop writing, stop posting, stop staring at those little icons, stop dreaming, stop ......but now that we've made it this far, who can do that? promise me thrills, I'll promise you jet-packs.

yours not mine

2011-05-11T14:02:00.001-04:00

She stood with her knees slightly flexed, one foot forward, head down, her hands at belt level, held slightly out from her body. Arrested motion. I saw them right away, lustrous black bees,enormous, maybe a dozen, bobbing in the air around her. At twenty yards I heard the buzzing.
I told her not to worry, they wouldn't sting. I moved in slowly, as much to reassure her as to keep the bees from getting riled. Burnished, black-enameled. They rose to eye level, dropped away, humming in the sun. I put my arm around her. I told her it was all right to move. I told her we move slowly up toward the path. I felt her tense up even more. Her way of saying no, of course. She was afraid even to speak. I told her it was safe, they wouldn't sting. They hadn't stung me and id walked right through them. All we had to do was move slowly up the slope. They were beautiful i said. I'd never seen bees this size or color. They gleamed, i told her. They were grand, fantastic.

As I held her close she gave me a look that spoke some final disappointment. As if i could convince her, stung twice before. As if i could take her out of her fear, a thing so large and deep as fear, by going on about the beauty of these things. As if i could tell her anything at all, fake lover, liar.
We held that inept stance a moment longer. Then i took her arm and led her through the field.

the fade away

2011-04-28T15:52:00.000-04:00

Am I her bruise? I wonder this under the halogen canopy lighting glow. In the stillness of night pumping four dollar-a- gallon gasoline into my truck. glug- glug- glug. road trips and bruises are an extravagant expensive. Soon, i fear we wont go anywhere at all. bruises and memories fade. will she remember me?

I prefer to pay inside because enhances the two a.m. twilight zone experience. the people inside are crazy and smell like cough medicine and cigarettes. I feel i am seconds away from an armed robbery but nothing ever happens. there are zombies picking out candy and porno magazines devouring them like fresh brains. A girl with a blank stare. the floor is dirty. choosing the right energy drink is crucial. and let me ask you, at what age should one stop mixing every soda together to form the 40oz concoction we used to call " the suicide " as kids. I want to tell this guy at the dispenser, holding his cup under one then the other, back and forth. Dr.Pepper i believe is well enough alone (there have been extensive tests and studies) no need to hit it with cherry coke and mountain dew too. But it's his gut, his lost childhood. I open the glass cooler door avoiding my reflection and choose a red bull. Another form of suicide.

I kept the motor running in the truck, which is illegal. An empty car left running outside a convenience store is called a get-a-way car. I just call it my ride home. No cops. No hassles, I put the truck in gear. Red bull sweating bullets in my hand. Humid nights in south florida. Another then another then another. This is how it goes. I have to go to work in a few hours. I want to live somewhere where a scooter is a viable means of transportation. Somewhere like Italy or the Florida keys. A mint green vespa and the wind in my hair.. Aviator goggles and 5 dollars worth of fuel taking me 80 miles per the gallon. Every night a trip there and back there and back. This is how it goes.

this feels good this feels right

2011-04-23T18:49:00.000-04:00

i like the shape
of your salty mouth
talking like this
your tangled
summer
hair
between my fingers

pirate ships sailed the
waters where
i live
i drink the same
purple wine
toss
my bottle over the side
with secret messages
inside

i found you
amongst the sharks teeth
and broken shells
i found you
and drank your words
i poured you into me
until my
blood was
drunk
on your
love

blowfish

2011-04-15T15:37:00.000-04:00

why did we drink each others poison?
is this why we are
already
ghosts.

Bruises to prove it

2011-03-28T11:37:00.000-04:00

what didn't fade with time
faded from distance
small
features in the rear-view
i looked at your house
waving and smiling
your door already closed

funny this blood connection
our chemical crush, our holy ghosts,
atoms, particles, cells, bones
blood
prayer
funny how you say you love him
when you don't
im sorry about
our fury
of mistakes

i clench my teeth at night
ball my fingers into fists
i read ancient scriptures
searching for the answers
in fables and parables, in allegories
the language of women and children

it's the missing you
part - i hadn't counted on
the variable - the ghost
i figured in for additions and subtractions
the lovers and passing of the moon
the placement of diamond rings
time + distance + blood type
the subset of X
add it up
nothing between us
has ever
made
sense

i follow rivers

2011-03-07T15:26:00.000-05:00

(I found this Canon AE-1 camera, telephoto lenses, filters and other accessories for 14 bucks at the thrift-store. Old school 35mm and works perfectly. I won't lie, I'm a huge fan of digital cameras and photo editing the result. I might even like the photo-editing part best of all. I used FX Photo Studio app on my I-pad to process the photo above. That said , I respect the art, patience and knowledge of those using the manual settings of a film camera and getting cool effects naturally. I'm looking forward to learning this camera a little bit, take a few rolls of film, let the joy and nostalgia course my veins.)

gold hearts
and breezes
this isn’t what i
expected
fist fights
funerals
big dogs
little cats
big lies
big dicks
my heart on a sleeve
hopeless romantics
whores
love
and work
all day
everyday
all day
sunday
on the couch
t.v.- radio.
book
computer
porn
popcorn
gold hearts and the price of oil
the price of a diamond ring
just know
you are not
alone

What you can and can’t do. Go. I had love and fear holding me back. A good job, mad love, my favorite team. There was luck in this town and superstition. Maybe it left when you did. The job, the money and the good times Charlie. But there are good songs left to share and wine and smokes and I’ve stayed up half the night writing - my fingers are numb. I could probably work harder and make a few bucks, relieve half my so called troubles. Love wont keep me warm at night. All this chopping wood and carrying water. All this health amongst the sick and weary. nothing to keep me from running. The moon will glow and the sun will rise and fall. Wherever you are, wherever you go it’s the same. I know this. Streets with different names, shadows on higher walls, whispers from ghosts. What you can and can’t do. let the dust settle. Then go.

Promise not to forget me

2011-03-05T17:41:00.000-05:00

My best-friend almost killed me. He had his fathers shot-gun but pulled it away at the last hair-trigger moment. "It's not loaded " he said but just to be sure he moved the barrel from my chest, pointed past my shoulder and proceeded to blow a pancake sized hole through his parents front door. Yeah, good thing it wasn't loaded. My ears rang for two weeks. I couldn't hear myself thanking the fucking stars but I was happy to be alive. I opened the front door with the smoking hole in it and crossed the street to my house just as two patrol cars came screaming around the corner. I don't know what happened to my friend. He stopped going to school after that. I never saw him again. I'm pretty sure his father beat him to death. I saw him bury something in the backyard late one night. People said it was the family cat, but I'm not so sure. I promised god I wouldn't play with guns again. One of many promises Id make and break in my short time on earth.

I used to like wrapping things around my neck. At first it was just to see what it would feel like to run out of breath. Stupid things kids do in their rooms when they get bored. I discovered I quite liked it. Tighter tighter tighter until I was barely able to breathe then I'd let go and the air was back. There was a rush I can't describe to you. I used belts, jump ropes, clothesline, socks. Eventually I thought about rubbing my dick and doing this at the same time, a natural progression though I don't know why. I was to young to achieve any kind of orgasm at that time, no ejaculation, no release but it still felt good.
I got hung up once, by then I could cum and I did all the time several times a day and in as many different ways as I could think of. I remembered choking myself but I'd heard stories about kids found dead half naked so I counted myself lucky for making it through those dumb early years . Fifteen, stupid and bored and hard all the time. I took my finest black leather belt and cinched it around my neck. I was hard just thinking about it. It worked great the first time, to good, I sucked in air and shot cum so hard and so much it would take extra cleaning time to remove it from the ceiling, walls and floor. Fuck it was good. I should have quit but now i was hooked. I couldn't wait to get home from school. Radio up high, the marks on my neck. Fuck school, fuck everything. Then It happened i couldn't get the belt loose. I was thinking - please don't let it end like this. Running out of air and starting to panic. rock hard all the same. I was seeing stars through my tears. I promised I wouldn't do it again, please just one more....chance. The buckle broke and clanked on the floor. I came and finally breathed or the other way around. I was tired and crawled to my bed. Half hour later I woke up and jerked off again. But I kept my promise.

photos(flickr):
1. arbyreed - 2. emma louise

Permanent Sleep

2011-03-01T15:23:00.000-05:00

Growing up I was always visiting my grandparents in the hospital. One or the other. My sister and i sat patiently in the waiting room. We brought coloring books from home and were given money for the vending machine. Candy and hospital smell. I hate the smell of hospital. The smell of sick.
I got older and it was still always one or the other, now I was allowed to visit in the room. The smell was worse here and all those tubes and bliping machines. There were straws in plastic cups, nurses came in and said hello. My grandparents always seemed to know them by name. I would watch the t.v. bolted to the wall. Mostly it was always turned to the local news. ” the local weather today is 77 and sunny” Pale room with sterile light. Hospital after hospital. visiting. waiting. one or other. First was Grandma then Grandad not long after.
Oddly, both of them died at home.

Go

2011-02-17T06:24:00.001-05:00

Sunshine at the end of my street. luck rises with my every morning hard-on. I still growl for you. you still purr for me. I say, good im alive- good nothing has changed. i guess.
With every warm day this winter fades. sunshine at the end of my street, in my skin, in my blood. I want more than how it works, the box with windows where i do something for little money, more than the passing of road-kill on the nothing more than a drive to and from work. silly numbers on paper at the end of the week. I want car crashes and fires i want motel rooms and debits owed. a hot new mouth to kiss - yours. and i don't want roses, i want marks and bruises. a scar showing you were once mine and i yours. i want to pretend there is something more than the filling of space between us more than the fuck of lies of our life and death. This time is totally lost to me. i don't remember it. I take no sense impressions with me, no voices, none of the road noise, the hours waiting. Nothing sticks but smoke in our hair and clothes. It is dead time. It never happened until it happens again. Then it never happened.

the devil between us

2011-02-10T16:18:00.001-05:00

be careful what you wish for, she told me. and i said. yeah, be careful. and she said, yeah, be good. i tried not worry about the pretty things, about the photographs, words and bite marks. i don't want to be fake, I do this with the intention of getting you into bed.

I want to kiss and fuck you there. no, I wish. I wish to put everything inside you. my fingers, my dick, my come, my memories, my lust, my love, my lies, my anger, my pain, my birth, my death, my happiness.
I want study your black and blue. I want to smooth out the lines and fall between the silences. I want to know if you still think about me sometimes. am i the poison in your blood
am i that bruise?

Space is only Noise

2011-01-19T20:29:00.001-05:00

downloaded a bunch music apps for I-pad. my plan is to record something ambient/synch or dream pop or post-rock or whatever happens happens. this idea was planted after reading the cartoon band Gorillaz recorded an entire album using only the Ipad.
now your probably asking - what do you know about music?, making music?, creating music? and i say hardly anything and everything. I just like making things that sound, look, or feel good to me. another distraction from what is and what isn't. like the writing, like the art, like the photographs and as always.....it's for
you.

just make it past
Wednesday
because that was the day we'd love each other
less
or things got frustrating
me here
and you over
there

three or four moons
since
fucking over the
up all night weekend
after saying the
things we say
feeling so good

then
the days and moons and
words
and no words

did I? did you?
could we ever?
so Wednesday comes
and there are deep sighs across the
lines

and vague messages
you'd wake up
late in the afternoon and call to tell me
how easy it would be
to find
someone else

and you did
and i did
and then

one day I would drive to see
you on the weekend
we'd fuck and say those things

and it was
so
so
good

Wednesdays pretty icons

2011-01-12T20:57:00.002-05:00

drip,drip,drip. oil leaking from my Honda Element. not a lot, annoying enough.the little adds up and soon.....
i brought her to be fixed and they put her up on the lift and did their thing and told me she's all better. I drive her for a few days, a week, a little rough at times, because you have to put her through the paces. keep everyone honest. through puddles, past stars, and the reflections of stars, neon, road kill, street lights. past the moon and the sun. above and below. you know how the earth spins? don't you.

One night I get home and drip. drip. drip. drops of oil on my garage floor. not fixed. leaking the blood of cars. I've crawled under, burnt myself on pipes and all that hot shit metal under there. I've spent countless obsessive hours wiping the outside of the oil pan clean, up to the cam shaft, crank case, hoses, bolts, seals. I cant barely fit under there, and this is why i brought her somewhere to be fixed. someone else touching her gears and fiddling with her insides. Oil leaking from the same place they supposedly fixed it. - at least that's the way it looks to me. im on the dirty floor peering under with a flashlight. axle grease, her blood on my hands, grease under my finger nails. her life source. oil, grease, fuel, lubrication. her juice. drip drip drip.

I converted my old 1st generation Bose Soundock into a wireless speaker system for Ipad. After i made the sinister move and purchased the wonderfully magical Ipad. I got to thinking - how the fuck am i going to play my itunes music? all that music i ~~steal~~ test. I mean my soundock was great for the little i-pod but it doesnt even have an aux jack to plug it into the headphone slot, so now what? the Ipad is huge, it wont fit.
I came across a blog (because you can find the answer to almost ANY question on the net). Turns out it's easy, you buy this for a mere 20 bucks Sprint-Bluetooth-Receiver w/ dock connector
plug it into the dock connector, set your magical ipad settings to Bluetooth ON.. it asks you for the code (which is found in the paperwork you get with the Bluetooth receiver). they connect. Easy. and kind of like magic. Now when i get within 30' of the sounddock speakers, it picks up the bluetooth signal and plays wireless. I-Tunes music, Pandora, LastFm. Cool?. well, it is to me.

snug as a bug in a rug

2010-12-29T15:35:00.004-05:00

snowed in:

only you hear this
dog whistle
only you see this
remnants
of torn
paper

i promised not to speak of
our last night
about the moon
or electrical wires
fire works
or snow
fall

let's share
this
burden of
lies

snowfall
the moon
electric wires
fireworks
my ghost

lay
silent in
this
burden
of truth

you fit me
like an
old winter
coat

good thing

2010-12-22T16:51:00.000-05:00

snow fall:

I've minimal grievances directed at your hearts sway
my hand taking yours
this is where i want you to touch me
>>>>C<<<<<
let's share this
weight of
winter

blizzard:

small hands
hurricane heart
filthy mouthed
these aren't even
what i like
best
of you

- 16

2010-12-21T09:28:00.001-05:00

There were slow words and long goodbyes. we finally meant something to each other, but it's late, it's in dreams, it's as shiny little ghosts. It’s been so long I can hardly remember the real thing. and I cant hardly forget.

I get hard thinking about it. You. I come. I sleep. I write. I get hard thinking about you. It. Do you?

I got all five fingers inside. you still have your spell on me. You let me have you like I wanted and it's always going to trump the average day to day bullshit grind or that other one you married or the ones who wish for you now.

That sickness we have. Shit, I thought it was love but it’s some other disease. I’m blind. I like you for what you are. I don’t speak. We don’t lie. Good things still will happen. We should fuck again. We should let this burn until......

0 Eleven

2010-12-14T15:59:00.003-05:00

this is it.
i close my eyes and it starts
like this -
I take the year out, lose myself,
find myself.
dedicate to writing,
to listening,
to living.
here we go-
magic.
here we go-
sunshine.
a mini
novel
a
niche
love affair
novelty
poverty
prizes

art: blackapple

messages that fall like snowflakes

2010-12-08T15:49:00.000-05:00

frost on the car windshield, or ice, i don’t know. I'm unfamiliar living in south Florida with the terms, with cold- brisk winds, with what most probably view as usual winter. LL Bean flannel shirt, cafe racer motor cycle jacket, over doing it. how many more times will i get to wear this? to look heavily clothed. to feel warm and secure. false warmth, false security. I'm over doing it because that's what i do. it's that good or that bad and nothing in between.Yet, in between is where i live. the devil between us.

I'm making it out to be colder than it is, I'm making it hurt more than it does or should or ever would. she didn't hurt me has bad as i say. Ive almost forgotten. Almost.

its not really that cold out. but, what I'm feeling isn't fake. it never is, it never was. I want comfort. warm. do you remember what warm feels like?

the sky is clear. night. day. night. somewhere there is wood burning. it smells like mountains and pine trees. like my cabin in the woods. like the dream i have of a cabin in the woods. books and music piled floor to ceiling. a dog by a fire in twitch sleep. breathing. always forever breathing.
music with horns or piano, string bass. maybe cellos. music for the lost loves and pets and family. winters we spent silent. guitar drone the lyrics you can’t quite make out. this is vague. these are my words and my arms around you on a cold night. warm.

Many fine things

2010-11-25T15:28:00.002-05:00

I'm in the shade, its Thanksgiving day, im writing this on the stone patio set in the photo. wireless is working fine. Through doors and walls and glass. And im tapping on glass, getting used to it. Words.
My family is coming over for the big dinner, been cooking all morning. I don't eat meat so they bring the bird, my sister the drinks, my grandparents, cousins, aunt, uncle,, it's a lot of guests this time. They all called, they are all running late. It's okay, I watch some football, I read a little. I go on the treadmill and after i go swimming in the pool. I wish it were cooler out, but i don't mind that i can swim today either. One half the other. Where you are and where you end up its where you're supposed to be. At least for today.

There was a back breaking afternoon a few weeks back, getting this patio set from my parents backyard to here. The parents just sold the house i spent my middle and high school years. They were just going to leave it for the new buyers but I wanted to keep something from the house. It was originally used at a fifties style diner that my father was part owner of. It's all he ended up getting out of it. don't get into something you know nothing about is the lesson there. And that the set is a beast to move and that it will be here a long long time, or at least for today.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

And when your fears subside And shadows still remain

2010-11-18T15:14:00.005-05:00

1. Ive been throwing things around more since August, less sleep, clenching my jaw, balling my fists. bad dreams. everything. anything. Since august. since my Dallas Cowboys took the field and started losing game after game after game, then injuries, and more losses. they fire the head coach, good. Win one. I'm elated this week. I'm different. I shouldn't care this much, i always say this. but i do, and i know there is some sweetness in losing. feeling lost, feeling alone, feeling sunken. You cant touch me here, you cant reach me in this place. The pain of losing, the feeling of being down, i have found it lasts far longer then the feeling of winning. the feeling you get from getting what you want-is never as good as you think and it never lasts. Its the journey from below..that is the sweetness.

I learned to lose, early. It was like learning to swim. At first its scary and you don't like it. But then, you kick and fight your way to the surface and breathe. Just fucking breathe.
I was 7 and on my first soccer team, Mcdonalds. we had a big corporate sponsor. (really, the coach owned a franchise) our colors are famous: golden arches yellow (over one billion served). we have knee high tube socks with three golden stripes. Under the South Florida sun we look like mini french fries running around kicking a ball. I loved soccer and hated it. which is the way I learned to love things. All things. When we won a game we were rewarded with a team trip to Mcdonalds after wards. A treat since my Mother always cooked, We rarely if ever ate out. I can count on one hand how many times we ate fast-food. which is a good thing, i guess. but seemed cruel when you're 7. So, i tried very hard to win. I hated to lose. but we almost always lost. I had a total of 3 cheeseburgers, 89 fries, 2 soft serve ice-cream cones- a large COKE the entire season. we received a trophy at the end of the year in a ceremony where every team in the league got one. win or lose. an "everyone wins!" booby prize. a losers prize. a trophy for last place? I looked at it and on the ride home i was silent. I walked straight to my room, closed the door and threw the trophy in my tin Dallas Cowboys trash can. I cried for 2 hours. It was the best i felt all year.

2. Be consistent. don't try to be perfect. just write. write more and write anything. be consistent. write because you have to, because you hate it and because you can't stop. bleed because there is no other way. this isn't what you love, school isn't what you love, you're job it isn't what you love. what do you love? Stop writing with your heart. for just once, let this not be about her.

photos:
goodwinter
ohashleylove (flickr)

Penny Candy

2010-10-29T10:24:00.001-04:00

Not much here. the road - a few dirty pennies on the ground. leaves falling from trees. On the grass, a light morning dew, the pavement reflects a diamond mist, shards of glass in amounts endless. birds song over hum of a\c condenser. It shakes beneath the window. shades are open but the windows are fogged so badly - the room is cold. blankets.
she met me here, stayed the night. she's gone now , maybe to work, im not sure she has a job. maybe school? she says she's writing. im not sure. im a writer. ha ha ha. Im writing this on the back of a book of matches. the words are small, Ill light it on fire when im finished.
she left early this morning. It was still dark. It was the first time weve seen each other in a few years. It was the same but different. No, it was the same. it was whatever i told myself it would be. If i still wanted to love her i could. If i wanted her body, if i wanted to hate her. I could. i only know one way to make love to her - hard. dirty. my body wont let me do anything else. it is difficult to be tender. i cant be anywhere but in the moment. like an animal. It's chemicals..she believes it too. Its why we follow each other. state to state, city to city. in dreams. there are often no words and long distances and... no words. not before or after or now. we just sometimes fall together...cosmically by design. we say hi, she asks would you? just one more time. let's. we should, we shouldn't. Shall we? Yes. say yes. just say yes.

I didn't find the bible but i prayed. It's usually in the top drawer of the night stand. isnt it? not that i would read it but it's the knowing its there. like you and I. it makes me feel safe somehow. like it was worth it to drive all this way to make this mistake. - and it is a mistake as much as its not. It's something we know better than but do anyway. life is short and painful. all those excuses make it better and worse. Us. the flaw in us. in all of us who haven't overcome the attraction.

When i finish, i immediately feel us slip away. I fall between that space of anxiety and calm. the desire that drove me all those miles begins to rapidly fade. I put it all inside her. she has it now.. all my good words, she has the books and maps and she has me...inside her. my life. and i have....nothing. i turn on my side and give a thumbs up to the darkness. my small victory. i had her. I smile into an imaginary camera filming the movie of my life. I think this might be the last time and I wonder upon this grand closure. never enough, never satisfying. there is a candy on the night stand which i pick up and put in my mouth. It's ever so sweet. she left this to remind me of her. i light the match and watch the words burn.

How Our Lives Look with the Lights Off

2010-10-25T15:22:00.002-04:00

pages torn from dirty magazines thrown along the path, stacks of them hidden under tree stumps. not the lame kind with articles but hard-core. filthy. Even as young as i was, i knew the difference.
the woods meant something dark and dirty, something exciting - alive. once glossy pages, a bird trail of tits and ass. body parts rained on, weather beaten. I knew every inch of the woods. where knives were hidden. the secrets people thought they buried - I dug them up. after school and on weekends all i did was explore these woods, they made me feel safe, they made feel scared.

I could still hear the fighting and chaos in my head, the excessive talking to myself , but it was less here than home. It was in the distance. less here than at school or riding the bus to school . I listened for breaking twigs, foot-steps, noises, voices. I perched myself in trees or camouflaged within the brush. I saw things: kids smoking pot, drinking beer, peeing on trees, two teenagers fucked on top of wet pine needles and then against a tree. they fucked like how dogs do it. I saw a man bury a cat and another man attempt but fail to hang himself from a tree branch. I saw people bury things and days later dig them up. the girls who came into the woods only did bad things. in fact, most anyone who was there was doing or would do something bad.

I stayed until dark or as long as i thought i could without being missed. If i went home my Dad would find something for me to do. Some work. He'd call me worthless or pick on something he deemed to effeminate about me: the way i walked or the clothes i wore, anything to make me feel small. So I stayed in the woods because i am lazy to work and hate taking orders. I was to important, i knew to many secrets.

Bad dreams. i had bad dreams, nightmares- tornadoes in a dark distant sky, decomposition, the smell of it. bad dreams about bodies being buried and unburied. I'd wake with my heart beating fast, sweating, shaking. I couldn't remember, were these things i really saw or something just made up? - just dreams. I felt as if i had done something wrong. just bad dreams.

when i got older, I went from watching to doing. i took a girl i liked from school back there. i showed her the weapons id found. knives, arrows, rope,. she looked impressed. i showed her how to hide, to make yourself disappear in the woods.
"Let's do something we have to keep a secret" this usually involved pulling down our shorts, pulling up shirts. this usually involved drinking beers and kissing. this usually involved the planning of murder of her Daddy.
He touched her and that made me angry. I touched her too. how casually she gave in to me - anything i wanted, she'd tell any lie, keep any secret.

we remained friends. me and the woods. me and the girl. what we did or did not do. we keep in touch. the wounds have turned to scars. what we do or do not know. i can feel her, though she lives nowhere near down south. when we speak, I detect the slight drawl in her speech - and mine, well no one would notice.
"no more bad dreams? " she asks. " no more bad dreams? " I ask.

whereabouts unknown

2010-10-21T16:23:00.000-04:00

there was one halloween i put on a cape and mask, i was batman. another halloween a pirate, a cowboy, a biker, the grim reaper. there was one, a long time later where we carved pumpkins in the back yard, sitting on the deck next to the swimming pool. pumpkin guts and seeds, she made a mess of things. i made a mess of things. we fucked on the sofa and in my bed and she got up in the night and told me she just couldnt be there anymore. she left and went to him. 3:03 A.M. I didnt know it at the time, but i thnk she saved my life.

another halloween a different girl and we were married that evening, at midnight we drove into the night. she asked me not to stop until we saw snow or at least changing colors of leaves. I kept the music loud, i kept my foot on the gas and my heart was anywhere we ended up and called home. october soiled in blood and birthday candles. littered with memories and the veins of fallen leaves. sometimes I fall hard for the think-back and want back and take back. here we are, here I go again.

Everything from here to there and back

2010-10-20T00:15:00.000-04:00

In typical Libra fashion it was hard for me to decide when choosing a device to replace my beaten and battered, but trusty lap-top unit...fond memories: porn that had graced its screen and ate away it's memory, the music, the sin, the sticky hot writing. Its where we met- It's where we said goodbye. Love and sex and text and email messages, gmail chats and music exchanges. love and lust in the new age. All those late nights. The duct-tape could no longer hold you or the lap-top in place and so,....

The thing was, i wanted something small, mobile, fast, something id never used before. sleek with design, light and long battery life. something that looks good maybe even to good for me. I already have a Desk-top so that is my anchor - i wanted an affair with something on the side, something new, something to blow me totally the fuck away.

Enter I-Pad. reach out and touch and touch and touch. touch glass, touch words, blow your mind out with apps. I dont own an I-phone or I anything for that matter, unless you count an old Nano I-pod. i was very unfamiliar with whole apps thing or how the touch format worked. but i did it anyway, I splurged an bought myself I-Pad for my birthday. I did my research and for all i wanted to do for all - i needed. I choose I-pad wi-fi - 3g. I know it doesnt have Flash (lack of porn viruses), or USB port (you have to synch it through I-tunes using your Desk-top) It cant totally replace a lap-top but...yet it can. It did. I'm tapping glass right now.

Im still in the early stages, getting used using the touch keyboard, rifling through the "must have" apps at the apple store, figuring out how to post to this and other blogs. Oddly enough there isnt an app made for Blogger, but there is one for Wordpress (which i dont use) and to be honest its not that easy to post on blogger from the Ipad at the moment.there will probably be something for blogger soon or adjustments to the site so its a bit easier.I hope. LJ, and Tumblr apps easy and great. pretty much everything else..I love. I even enjoy the touch keyboard more than i thought. Of course you can get a wireless keyboard, stands, a moleskine case even. cases, sleeves, covers, apps.. ( so far i have only installed an anti-glare and scratch proof cover on it). Its all making my head spin but in a good way.

-thrift-store had half off records over the weekend..thats half off .60 cents folks. a new batch had just arrived and so i picked these up for .30 cents each. they are worth that for the cover art alone.

This was written on the I-pad. Amen.

41 drops of blood

2010-10-14T12:03:00.003-04:00

Forty-one today. how the fuck?! that's a few candles on the cake. that's having my cake and eating it too. 41- I cant believe it myself and it's me. It's Hum to Lolita, It's 20 is half my age. it's the professor, It' call the runner, It's the confessor, it's the dirty ol man.
At least its a prime, at least a prime number. fate is based on primes.
Here i am slower to get out of bed and here i go working harder and longer just to add up days. saving a sudden car crash or heart failure or some major catastrophe, aren't we all destined to live past our mortality rate. slow, slow, slow . to many pills and tubes and miracle cures. to much medicine.there are zombies among us.
Im an alchemist in many ways, starting off creating a potion for one thing and ending up with something else entirely. I never meant to write any of this down. this was supposed to be words and numbers for only me to read. but your eyes have pried on the stories i tell. I have bled and made you bleed. i never meant to hurt you. Here is some truth.- I still think about you. .
But, Im not the kind that wants to go back. I know more now, though i don't know any better or i do know better but now i can see the fall ahead.
How many more of these, who knows? I remember nothing of the town where i was born. was there sun or snow? It was the beginning of fall, there were pumpkins and dried leaves, and the sky...oh the sky i bet it was a hazy orange hue.
Im still mixing potions. discovering your poisons and drinking her cures. I have stumbled upon the best things in life by accident and there are no accidents.

mind in gutter feet on the ground

2010-10-11T10:35:00.000-04:00

out here, things don't go the way we plan. love in uncharted waters. love in anything.
a sinking ship. love corrupt.
love as a whore. cannon fire, walking the plank.
I long for the warm water drowning.
there is no compass and there are no maps. use the skyline. use the stars.
use me.

we carry switchblades
we drink from bottles of salt-water tears.

you are the tide that washes over all the names and tattoos.

i raise the sails and let the wind carry me

wherever it will. this is revenge

this is kidding ourselves,
this is other lovers and
other beds

this is never expecting to much

this is running away
while looking
for home
raise the sails,

I let wind carry me
and it
does

Marriage is the new going steady

2010-09-23T16:12:00.000-04:00

your heart wont always be broken
and it wont always
stay
intact
explosions, cracks,
catastrophes
and-
there will be
bleeding

but there is glue
and stitches
and band-aids
and from time to time
shit like
words will heal
you -
a kiss will
hold you
together

the first time you
swallowed
the first time
i breathed
the first time it ever felt
good
the body we buried
the secrets we
swore
the drowning we witnessed
at sea

how we laughed at the
thought of a
happily
never after

the boat was
sinking

how we never
looked back

Stars in the Ceiling

2010-09-14T14:22:00.006-04:00

she's getting her hair-cut. I hate passing the time…hate waiting. Im not good at it. nothing good comes of it - car crashes, drug deals, craigs-list, bank robberies, fast food, road trips, bad vibes, internet re-connections, a strangers touch. it always looks like im doing something bad but im not, its just passing the time, doing what you want me to do - to wait. this is how most of us wait.

Im restless, my head hurts, there are out-of-date magazines displayed on a table in the area meant for waiting. I sit on a hip mid-century reproduction sofa, it instantly makes my back hurt. everything in this place has a junk yard future. the bottles of chemicals, the furniture, the lights, the silly ass speakers painted black to match the ceiling and seemingly every stylists wardrobe, in here. but, we all look good in black. even me.

there is coffee free for the taking. coffee, magazines, uncomfortable chairs. these things seem to go hand and hand with waiting. the doctors office, emergency rooms, getting the oil changed in your car.waiting areas. mind numbing silence, hopelessness mixed with sweat and the breath of anti-depression medication. Magazines and coffee while waiting at the airport are not free, but its available and its mostly what people choose to do, even when mixed drinks, beer and warm cookies are totally an option.

Its morning, did i tell you that? im hungry thats probably why my head is hurting. I didnt eat breakfast. i didnt sleep very well either. Its morning but techno music is blasting from the ceiling speakers. I stare at sugar crystals someone spilled on the floor. someone should wipe the counter, sweep the floor. Isn’t someone always sweeping the floor in a hair-salon? i like when the shampoo girl massages my head. why cant i just get that? i almost drift to sleep, maybe i did.

i dont feel right. i havent been feeling right. Im here, waiting - I'm along for the ride. im outside myself looking-in. presence is poison and all i know is to retreat from it.
a women with smokey eye shadow walks over from behind a large greeting counter.
she asks if im okay. “im reading this magazine”, i shake it forcefully in-front of my face.
okay, but …
“It’s okay, Im waiting for her”
She looks in the general direction im looking for what seems like a long time, shrugs and walks away. No one comes to sweep.

I leaf through a Food And Wine magazine, there is a recipe for a spicy Sicilian sauce, i tear the page out- quickly fold it and place it in my front pocket. then, an article listing the Best Rustic Retreats to visit on a budget, I take that page too. Palo Duro Canyon State Park in Canyon,Texas or Devil's Den State Park in Arkansas are the most appealing. I have to remember to tell her later. this is where we should go, this is something we might like to do. pack the truck, take the dogs. rough it. she likes it rough.

lady in black comes back and asks if im okay. Of course im Okay.
"would you like a hair-cut" she asks. "you'd look good with your hair cut... hmmmmm, shorter- brushed to the front"
I say.. "like everyone else?" and then i stand up and tell her to let's cut my hair.

Im staring at the ceiling, resting back over the shampoo tank or bowl or sink, whatever it is....she sprays my head, testing the temperature of the water. " is okay?" I shut my eyes. shampoo smell, she begins rubbing, massaging. there are stars on the ceiling. I could fall asleep.
"who do you wait for? I see nothing"
I am shaken awake by what i perceive as an eastern block accent i hadn’t previously noticed. She has root-beer colored eyes, sprinkled with green. her voice is like someone you know or want to know. ” you say you wait?”
I am in front of a mirror sitting at the witches station and she is behind me with her snake eyes and scissors. I gaze into the mirror, slick wet pieces of black hair fall and stick to the cold white floor. the opposite of snow fall snip. snip. snip.

the reflection is me, but not me. It’s never really me. I look around the salon and it is empty beyond the low growl of techno beats. The witch and I, the witch and I and sugar granules spilled on the floor. snip.snip. Boom-Thump- hump- Boom. snip. snip.

Where I Lay, I'll Lie

2010-09-10T13:49:00.009-04:00

these honey
bunches of words
these scratch marks
down my back
this hit
and
miss
troubling
as
sting of bees

as we lie
as we
lay
on this bed
stars-
on the ceiling

we say these certain phrases
in the heat of
these
stolen moments
it goes down easy
on sweaty sheets
all dirty words and
after-glow

but, i wonder without
these kiss fits
and fist stings
i wonder without
the honey,
could we ?

without the brutal
fuck force
of
promises
we never meant to
keep

this
silence,
suddenly
violently
random

I wanna do bad things to you

2010-08-27T14:27:00.006-04:00

I'm in 3rd grade and the girl holding my hand, her name is Amy, she's in 8th. She volunteered from upper school with a group of other students. We are lined up along the wall, in the hallway as if being placed in front of a firing squad. Everyone from my class has to have their own "buddy” who will escort them to and from the school church. "Your buddy will meet you on every Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning" instructs Sister Mary. The hallway is bright with sun. I have my left shoe off. im touching the cold white floor through a hole in my sock, my big toe pokes through. .. i bet if i ran i could slide 20 feet or more. i have the urge to run but don't. the older girls creep closer through the glowing white light. I can feel myself breathing. I feel the blood inside my skin - pulse.pulse.pulse.

I'm focusing my mental powers. I posses no true point of reference to what is or isn't pleasing to the eye. It is or isnt. im in 3rd grade everything is visual. everything is honest and heart-felt, mostly. Im attracted to peculiar details; a small gap between front teeth, a thin gold chain , a green hair barrette in the shape of a butterfly. The girls all wear the same school uniform; plaid skirt, white blouse, knee socks. I say a silent prayer. she is in front of me. Im lost in the shadow of her. she speaks, i mumble something to my feet. She tells me her name is Amy and takes my hand.

Sister Mary stays behind to grade papers. what i like best about her is she tells our class the most wonderful stories. stories of when she was younger, how difficult it was to become a nun, how she felt all she ever did was sin. she rubbed the beads of her rosary smooth over “thinking bad thoughts” and in repentance she once recited over two hundred Hail Marys in a single day! Her stories often ended with a deep sigh and watery eyes. I was taken in by her world, mesmerized by the rise and fall of sin - so much like mine.. so much like me

"bad thoughts". I wondered where she slept at night, if she ever drove a car, if she shopped for groceries, what was her favorite food and if she had ever listened to my favorite band KISS.

Amy loved the band Kiss. Peter Criss was her favorite because "he played drums like sex". I didnt know what "sex" meant, but is sounded like “bad thoughts” and that instantly excited me. what she asked me right before she took my hand was who my favorite band was. When i mumbled “Kiss.” She screamed "Rock and Roll all Night!!!! "

The church sat just west of the class room building. the sun stings my eyes walking toward cathedral ceilings and stained-glass glitter and shine. A somber Jesus- hangs above the altar, arms out-stretched as if saying "Why?" sometimes it looked more like " come let me give you a hug, you look like you could use one" It was both calming and scary at the same time and i liked this quite a bit.

Amy smelled of band-aids and strawberry shampoo, wore her hair in two braided hoops clipped with barrettes. when she spoke, I liked to look at the small space between her two front teeth.

It seemed like months but it was probably more like a few weeks. Three times a week, the short walk, holding her hand, answering questions she'd ask. Her laugh, her voice, her smile. She'd ask What was my favorite number? color? what girl did i think was prettiest in my class?

On Friday, it's hot, it will be summer vacation soon. no school. no nuns. no church. no Amy. We are walking back to class everyone is ahead of us. When we are alone she grabs me by the shoulders and grips me tight. she leans into my face and kisses me on my mouth. hard and wet and tasting like zebra stripe gum. She says it will be the last time she'd be able walk me, to see me, the school year was over for the 8th graders, two weeks earlier than lower grades. and then something about next year she'd be in another school and she really liked me, if i were older, when i get older..and I was thinking how I liked my mouth feeling so numb and bruised. she looked at me very serious and told me most times in life we never get a kiss goodbye, never even get to say goodbye. "People just"....she paused. "Leave" so this was a good thing but that i shouldn't tell anyone. She took my hand and it was true and true.

blueprint for something never finished

2010-08-18T16:19:00.000-04:00

A false ending has two contexts; in literature it is a narrative device where the plot seems to be heading to its conclusion, but in reality, there's still more to the story. In a musical composition, it is a complete stop of the song for one or more seconds before continuing.
The presence of a false ending can be anticipated through a number of ways. The medium itself might betray that it isn't the true ending (i.e. it's only halfway into a book or a song, a film's listed running time hasn't fully elapsed, only half the world has been explored in a video game, etc.), making only stories with indeterminate running length or a multi-story structure able to pull this off effectively. Another indicator is the feeling that too much of the story is incomplete when the false ending comes, making it feel like there has to be more

Ive lost interest in chasing you with words. it's all headache and heart break. memories fragmented into tiny pieces. i take the pills, i drink the wine. i lied. I've built this story of you and us and of how we pine through this distance. the moon and stars we share, texas and shitty stucco walls , spanish guitar, romance and cigarettes. the medication and her new short hair-cut. the last time you called and wouldn't say good bye, but you meant it. baby, this time you meant it.

Ive built this story of myself. I hate you for it. I love you for it. Ive lost interest in chasing you with words. there is a feeling of relief and yet a sense of overwhelming loss. a day of the dead painted face, walking around like the whores we used to be. like we still are. for you and for everything. we are buried, still writing it all down. this is the end. that's what i write... The end.

the downward spiral

2010-08-08T19:00:00.004-04:00

what have i been doing? let's see. vizcaya , last weekend. amazing architecture and gardens. maybe i should get down to Miami more often, there is an awful lot to see and do there.

the frustration over writing - or should i say... my attempts to update - saying what i want to say - saying anything.
it's due to lap-top failure. a computer on it's last breath. literally held together by duct-tape and porno and prayers. it's sloooooooow, crashes or hangs up every 10 minutes. I often end up slamming the taped-up lid down and calling it horrible names. this lap-top has gotten me laid in the past, i can almost forgive it for anything, but I sense my relationship with it coming to a bitter end. I slam it shut and walk away. im done for the weekend. over it.

I have limited time at work to fuck around on the internet. I do. i find music and photos and look at sites. my work computer is lightning fast and that only causes further frustration when i come home, back to this. this.
yeah, im looking into a replacement. Im thinking of going Mac. either an egocentric Ipad? or the stylish notebook? something sleek and fun, fast and expensive.

but, distractions come along, ive been spending all my extra money on art and things for the house. mid-century modern furniture lately. I also like Spanish\Mediterranean revival. thrift-store finds for the most part and ive had a good run of late.

another thing taking over my life: this stupid little Roku box. It lets you access and stream netflix playable media on your TV. I have to admit i never streamed a movie or tv show on my computer. I just thought is seemed lame: small screen, a chair that hurts. I want to watch shows on my 60" Plasma, thats what i got it for. I rarely go OUT to movies anymore. why would I when i have a huge screen and surround sound (that took 3 years to pay off) at home? I love it. i love TV. I love movies and doc's and I love fucking Football and sports too,,,. and I really like this Roku. Im streaming tv series ive never seen, movies, all sorts of wonderful mind numbing stuff. It took about 5 minutes to hook-up and the quality is close to DVD.
want to see one of my latest thrift-store finds?

Well, yes the green chair too. But, focus in on the mid-century record cabinet. It's made by LANE, walnut and mahogany wood and best of all it holds 200 records!!

I didnt know what it was when i first went over to inspect it. I thought it was just a cabinet, I was intrigued by the look of the wood. I opened it and wow!!! finally somewhere to store all my records. I thought.
Im from the age of vinyl, in fact i still have my first Kiss album. I somehow managed to keep all my 80's music records too. The rest of my current collection was picked up at flea-markets, thrift stores and yard sales. dirt cheap, with no regard for any particular genre. I have classical, opera, frank sinatra, movie sound tracks, big band, hair bands, metal, Prince, 80s pop, Queen, Folk, electronic. Shit, I have Tom Waits to Air Supply.... and ive gone a very very long period of time with NOTHING to play them on. Picking up this cabinet gave me no more excuses, So that's new too. the portable record player is a cheap Crowsley I bought at Target. It's made to look retro. Let's face it .. Quality is for the rich. Design is for the rest of us. For the money it sounds decent. I had a piece of crap one while growing up, so to me, It sounds about the same as i remember. Anyway, if you come over we can play records.

the boat was sinking

2010-07-25T17:23:00.005-04:00

never liked much of the back break, okay. im a libra and a little lazy. I’ll start by telling you about his girl again. she knew how to keep herself busy at night but during the day all she ever wanted to do was.... sleep. despite this she’d call me in the morning, sleepy and hungover. she’d call me to say hello and break my heart. she’d call like i was her only friend, then call someone else who was her only friend. another guy who might come save her, who might invite her her over to visit the next town, the next state, the next distraction. she didnt have any intention on loving the one she was with. im not sure any of us have those good intentions for long. i mean, we do, but there are other things, other places, other dreams…...two people hardly fit inside there. from time to time shed come over and we’d fuck. we’d smoke cigarettes on my back porch. grill hamburgers, drink beers. it could be that simple, i guess, but it isnt. it could be that safe. it could be home.

I work, sun up, sun down. I drive past big square boxes with windows, i work in one, go home to one. I wonder like everyone else.....is there anything else? but maybe its because i wasnt looking long enough out the windows to see the flowers and trees, the flag pole. american? southern? i didnt take the time to breathe in the salt of the sea air, merely blocks away. I didnt mediate enough, read the right books, listen to the best songs. my taste in art and movies and blogs is suspect compared to the refined and low-brow hipster friends i associate with. i like young girls with old souls and older women with young hearts. I like pretty eyes more than a sunset. I like books that have previously been read, i like real books over touch pad reading. I dont like touching screens, media hype, multi-tasking, video games, car horns.

on a clear night above my house, you can see the stars. i never paid enough attention in school to learn the constellations. so ive made them up; pirate, horse, tits, big dipper, little dipper, circle, square, half ass cross-bow. the shiniest one i just call ....Star.

ive begun to notice things more. i write everything down. numbered like a list. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. I saw a bird today that had bright blue feathers and i meant to look it up on the internet when i got back home. i forgot and wrote this instead. i think its a blue-jay , some kind of blue bird. there isnt always space enough for the two of us. but mother- fuck im happy you're with me.

what you love you must love now

2010-07-22T13:33:00.004-04:00

she’s crazy- but she fucks good. god, ive heard myself say this much to often. and so what if she’s broken?, maybe everyone is- maybe i broke her.

I'm sorry, i keep building these time machines, keep bringing you back. it's not like there is any real conclusion, not really. not like i won't get half way to you and crash it right to the ground. buried remains of twisted metal and false memories. It's not like i really want to go back, not really.

I never thought she was the kind of girl who would tell someone no. I liked and hated that about her. she fucks guys because she thinks it makes them like her. It’s all she knows, that and the writing, that and the stories; the coming and going, the art of saying good-bye.

"ive never not cheated on someone", i once confessed to her.

the kind of truth that hurts. the kind of truth you should keep to yourself. the reward for truth is often mistrust.

now she's the same as me; a cheat and liar. a whore and thief. a swinger, a baker, a fucking candle stick maker la..la...love you..la... la...

she was always the same as me. pretty words and terrible lies. secrets bled out on a page - vaguely hidden truths between the lines, between the spaces between the lines and the love and fuck and fun that haven't any difference. a freedom and art given to you by another that swallows you up inside, that never seems to calm you the way you think it might. ive made a home, and ive searched for home somewhere in your crazy heart.

all i can say is ..... your skin, I wait for it. i dream of it. i live for it. my whore. i don't know where you are but i know what you are. why does that scare you so? there is a home in our crazy hearts. yours and mine.

swimming with sea bears

2010-07-14T10:03:00.000-04:00

sea bears like warm salty water and the sun. hibernation is in the summer - the opposite of winter bears. sometimes they sleep, sometimes they stay up all night writing tall tales: buried treasure, sharks teeth, pirate hookers. eating, drinking, fucking, swimming, writing, sleeping, crashing waves. Yeah. that's our thing.

all my days by the beach and ive only ever found one single shark tooth. I was about 9 and it was on the West Coat of Florida. not even in my own back-yard. I bent thin wire around it and tried wearing it as a necklace but it fell off and i lost it. I looked for more but only found shells and sea glass.

why not stay home all day and make art? why not be rich with the reward of gifts? i dream of one of those treasure finding things that you wave over the sand. going out on the beach in the early morning looking for lost treasure. I listen for beeps and high tones. gold, silver?. memories someone lost. I'd hang out until the sun was just above the ocean, ready to fall. pages torn from my notebook; a sea-side adventure tale that takes place in a sun worn motel. thieves and liars and whores. it would be mostly fiction. mostly.

Don't Say a Word

2010-07-02T14:38:00.003-04:00

The two of us, hanging out, doing stupid shit. If ever a romance had less than a snowball's chance in hell, it was ours. I knew that. But then there we stood, more in love with one another than any two people that I've ever heard about, and brother, let me tell you---- I'm talking since the dawn of mankind.

Casually Smashed to Pieces

2010-06-30T16:11:00.002-04:00

road journal in no particular order:

june of july when summer starts. It used to be when school ends - is summer. simple enough. now we pack bags and load the truck for camping or some disney world bullshit. stock up on explosives; fire- crackers, mortar shells, bottle rockets - the 4th. charcoal for the grill, bright red cooler stocked with bagged ice .

I like the road at medium distances. the great lakes and oceans blue. I like mile high cliffs and smokey mountains the peaks and valleys and her curves. anywhere. anywhere with you. I try to count the orange trees. they fly by in a hazy blur, im doing 85 or 88 mph. bugs hit the windshield with a Thump.Thump. Splat. Florida presents one the most boring of drive. flat awful roads; the occasional road kill. skies can open and pour down on you in a blink of an eye. torture you with black and grey and wet. Yes, there is lightning, more strikes than any state in the union. As suddenly blue skies, birds singing. all in all the surroundings near and far are not much for recalling. drink your fluids, check your gauge for overheating.

high noon mind numb with motion and vibration. It's not long before the sun drops off a western horizon. keep the radio playing loud, keep driving, keep taking mental notes. Are those mountains or clouds up ahead? Is that the ocean im driving into.. the abyss? tricks and illusions. Im not cut out for long distance. she kisses me awake with sugary redbull kisses. Im vaguely aware of She & Him playing from the tiny dashboard speakers- it seems to fit my mood now, fit this road and hour, twang and whisper and zooey eyes. I start to fade again. Half asleep I pull into a small motel, single level maybe 15 rooms. serene, half cozy half dirty. neon pink screaming Vacancy and cold a\c. In the dawns early light the office window is fogged with condensation. a glow creepy and inviting.

------------

The gas light has been on for the last 30 miles. So now I m pumping gallons of fuel into the tank. road weary with a slight Red Bull buzz. I like motels with window shaker a\c's units. the soothing hum and glow of vending machines that for 2 dollars can dispense me ice cold Mountain Dew. A motel that suffers through the off season months, through the hard times. like these. a motel so rightly fucked in and fucked up. Over chlorinated pool that burns my eyes and tingles my skin. A hard pillow and hard cock and two fingers in her mouth. scream. moan. It's okay. We ain't from around here and we aint never coming back.

june of july how wonderful to be alive and able to write this. running out of ink and out time. she calls for me to hurry it up, there's a nasty storm coming from the South. Get back in the truck, get back in and just drive. drive. drive.

She & Him - Thieves (BBC)

sky is womb and she's the moon

2010-06-10T13:40:00.003-04:00

we'd speak of food like porn in secretive sexual whispers, in moans and low tones. two religions. our prayers and favors carried out on knees. the philosophy of a good fuck or a perfectly seasoned steak. the taste of melted butter, pepper, a squeeze of lime. bruises and grill marks admired as art.

there was the weathered airstream trailer painted the colors of mexico where we bought one taco after other. the lime soda, the hot sauce. The night we pulled off the highway so you could sit on my lap in the drivers seat, riding me forwards back. The farmers market excursion randomly searching out mangoes and oranges. your lips warm from the sun. How about that old cuban guy who sells seafood from the the pier? live blue crabs and pink key-west shrimp. that was sex, baby. A salt water boil, steaming pots and clanking dinnerware. we can talk like this for hours. wet mouths and appetite. blood and wine, chocolate and wine, bread and honey.

Her tooth hurt. the one in the back.
her tooth fell out. It was only a dream.
something was under her pilllow.
a coin under her pillow.
there was a strange boy next to her. he was pretty and warm.
It was only a dream.

Silver in the Blood: Joshua Murray - Sculptor\Wax\Silver\Custom Jewelry

2010-06-03T14:40:00.008-04:00

Here's the story: One day I was looking for photos of silver skull rings on deviantart, I'm a huge fan of Custom made silver.. skulls, eagles, anchors, lightning bolts, sugar skulls, saints, virgin marys, etc.
It's ART you can wear. Anyway, I'm thankful for stumbling upon the work of Joshua Murray. Since then, I've coveted pretty much everything his mind has imagined to create. His jewelry is sick and I can't wait to adorn one his quality custom pieces. I know little to zero about how one would make such fine things. i mean, from idea, to sculpted wax, to finished silver work of art. I wanted to know more about the art and the artist. So from Los Angeles.. im happy to present - JOSH MURRAY

Good Winter: How did you get into making silver jewelery? Did you go to art school? where did you learn to sculpt wax?
Josh Murray: I do not have any formal training, I started working as a freelance sculptor when I was a teenager and have been at it for the last 15 years. I got into the silver racket about 6 years ago, partly because I started using wax as a sculpting medium and wax and metal casting go together hand and hand.

GW: Do you remember your first attempt at carving wax to mold to silver? what was it and how did it go?
JM: It was a ring with a pirate skull carved into it. Either the investment plaster was mixed poorly or the centrifugal casing machine was wound too tight but the liquid metal shot right through the mold and almost took my face off. It was awesome. I still have the casting, you can see a photo of it here [link]

GW: 4 favorite places?
JM: Madora North Dakota, Tokyo Japan, Clearwater Beach Florida, The Yangtze river in China.

GW: What is currently on your music playlist?
JM: The Didjits, Alice Cooper, Nina Samone, The Violent Femmes, Tom Waits, The Supersuckers.

GW: most prized possession?
JM: I guess if my studio was on fire and i could only take one thing with me, it would be my Grandfathers dog tags.

GW: what are some of your past Halloween costumes?
JM: Batman, C3PO, and a shit load of zombies.

GW: 4 things that you collect?
JM: Tools, Artwork, music, jackalopes.

GW: whats your secret?
JM: A little music, some math, a bit of whiskey, and an ass load of patience.

flintlocksilver.com - flintlockprivateer(deviantart)

Then and

2010-05-24T16:11:00.000-04:00

Now: - Replaced a 10 year old dirt and dog haired filled carpet with a new cherry wood laminate flooring, coats of fresh paint (Baer antique white, Belgian sweet chocolate), replaced 80's looking lighted cases with Wood (cherry) leaning ladder shelves. I was needing something warm, medium dark cherry wood and paint tones did the trick. I know flat screen is total chaos but Im addicted to movies and football and Food Channel. Still, its more natural with the wood and feels more like home.

Raise the sails

2010-04-27T16:35:00.003-04:00

she likes the act of movement and the word movement. she was wrists and shinbones and unbalmed lips.

Big things you cant control or ever hold down. a little thing that often flys away. oh my god, girl, i have feelings that hurt and feel good all in the same breath. you.

she can take a touch of pain. a drop of honey in her tea. a sweetheart and lover and slut undying.

my world is small and smells like me

2010-04-04T21:34:00.009-04:00

It's been a long and strange reconnection. I pray to saints and stars. I climb out on that skinny limb with you, almost broken, almost falling. All we had hoped for was some kind of proof in each other. proof we have made mistakes. That everything was real, everything was really .... real.

I've taken to listening to audio books while driving, books I've previously read silently to myself, now read aloud by the author. I do it for the story retold, to hear tempo and voice inflection. This is how she might have wanted me to hear it and it makes me happy to know. Words lessen the silence and madness between traffic lights, between gasoline fumes and pretty girls talking on cell phones, a lady in curlers, a man shaving, couples kissing, kids screaming, a singing woman, a young girl crying, someone taking a deep breath. Things we do in cars.

This week Miranda July keeps me company, she knows how to use her voice and im afraid i may have read everything wrong. last week it was Sedaris, he makes me laugh and i wonder if people stopped next to me, see me laughing at seemingly nothing. I have the Zen of Motorcycle Maintenance and a biography on Saint Theresa lined up. Whatever the library has to offer for 14 to 28 day loan. Though it doesn't take me nearly that long. I'm prone to smaller stories and traffic jams.

How come that blood

2010-03-21T19:33:00.010-04:00

The sun hangs up there and it doesn't want to fall. days seem longer, they drag and wilt awaiting our kiss dizzy summer. I have trouble getting to sleep. my mood sharpens or fades depending on the music i play, the books i read, the photos my eyes show me. maybe it all depends on if she loves or not - misses me or not - or.. at all.

shadows appear on walls and familiar faces loving and lying and twice in between, not enough. I'm fixing us something to eat, I'm using a grill because where there's smoke there's fire. drinking wine and waiting for midnight as if something will change. but, no pumpkin, no white horse, no death. not yet.

i think of how much I'm hating the word "sustainable" lately.

I breath in ,,,, one, two, three, and out............ four, five, six.

driving home past road kill and garbage trucks. idling slow at red lights next to pretty girls on cell phones text fucking their lovers. I care about the earth and our sustainability. I do. I drink water from taps, I apply even pressure to cuts and scraps. I kiss bruises. I just don't use the word "sustainable" as it applies to food or textiles or the rubber garden hose coiled up like a snake.

2010-03-01T20:58:00.002-05:00

this is how it used to glow

2010-02-23T08:28:00.003-05:00

a pink house next to a yellow house, next to pale blue. it's South Florida. I drive past Spanish, key west, ginger bread style casa's. pink flamingos and invisible fences, little dogs that play on dry lawns while shiny cars sit in the drive ways.

a pink house next to a sun yellow with swamp green trim. I drive past road kill iguana, road kill raccoon. I've counted six in the last two weeks. it's the half moon crazy fuckers fueled up on red bull and orange juice. It's the black top and salted earth lit by headlights and tourists drowsy from the sun. they come down from where it's cold, from some place else. sometimes i think that's where I'm from. not the cold. just some place else. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, ... pastel houses and road kill.

I think it's the heat that makes everyone so crazy, makes the women so kinky down here. fisting, spanking, spitting. been there done that. fist fights and bottle rockets. the days are slow and the nights dance with the glimming hope and fear of anything better. But is there?

It's funny, i remember those nights meeting up in some dingy motel room, pulling at each other clothes with the longing you only have with strangers - when the only parts that matter are the ones you fuck with. freshly shaved down, if i thought about it, it's almost comical. who the fuck were we kidding? tattoos, sweat, and empty promises. sometimes, I still think i own a piece of it. If i call her name that girl can probably still hear me. she'd have to, anyone fucks you like that..they own you. now, you see what i mean about the heat?

The girls down here... smile often. they sleep to the right side of the bed, they drink bottled water, green soda, and blood.

Don't this look like dark

2010-02-14T23:27:00.002-05:00

cold again. good for bears, hiking, and chopping wood. good for blankets and fucking and breathing you in. a good winter for ultra-sonic wave lengths, geometry books and glimmering jeweled eyes.

she teased me with her small haunting, with small offerings. i see shadows, i hear voices now. she used me when she needed to feel good. it's okay, it fits me too. she's a risk, something from the past. I don't want anything new. old lovers fall easily into bed, easily into arms and sleep and words like forever and always. words like i miss you and good bye.

She says we are always close, I'll always be the one, but it's not true. I wont touch her again. In certain moments we might miss each other. late at night i might whisper your name, i might smile and hold back words. It doesn't mean i won't feel you again. we dug our holes with golden rings and shovels. distance, cruel as all snow and rain and diamonds.

Ive gotten into this thing where i look up a new word for the day. Today, it's apotheosis. I look out the window and repeat it to myself the word and its meaning. I use it in three different sentences. I like the word. a word lavish with sunlight, with the gods gladsome songs. the golden power of the sun.

we once ate fruit and discussed Mexico. She seemed serious about going. she wanted to live in a house that jutted out over a high crag, a house with gardens inside and out. We'd grow our own food, make love whenever we wanted, and read the lives of saints to each other through the terrifying night.

in a cabin with you

2010-02-01T04:47:00.006-05:00

my god

her elegance,

like olden days
curled hair

and apron strings
my gods,

the wars she must

cause not knowing it

if i were king
Id have his head

and make her mine

force her to take

my name

and

wear my paper

crown

if i were not

this gentle soul
cursed

full with words
and vulgar poetry

with

this

mouth

both to hurt
and kiss you with

she just likes to fight

2010-01-25T15:17:00.000-05:00

the sun. the ocean, the everglades, the sky. the silence. the flat stones. the gravel, the insects. the wind and the clouds. the moon. the stars. the west and the east. the song, the color, the smell of the earth.

ipod playing music i like. the clouds hang low, grey in a movie fake sky. probably, I wouldnt know. it's getting warm again and you are far again. the breeze carries a silence and a happiness you can't get when the sun rises. shades pulled down, sleepy with distant voices in my head, hers and mine. existence without anxiety. happiness. knowing your body. understanding the real needs of man. the universe was born in violence. stars and love die violently.

perhaps there is no silence. or maybe its just that time is too compact to allow for silence to be felt.

the sun. the ocean, the everglades, the sky. the silence. the flat stones. the gravel, the insects. the wind and the clouds. the moon. the stars. the west and the east. the song, the color, the smell of the earth.

art: casey oconnell

map of the falling sky

2009-12-18T12:05:00.004-05:00

she let her hair grow long this year. she wrote poetry without mention of birds or stars.

without using the words: trembling, breaking, fall, or multiply.

we grow up. we grow apart. in winter, in long years we grow out our hair.

we try writing without lies. it's harder. stark. brutal. numbing.

i want to go back. i want another chance to watch you shake

the stars from your hair.

photo 1: cari ann wayman http://www.yyellowbird.blogspot.com/ photo 2: scarabuss http://scarabuss.deviantart.com/

they might not know, i know

2009-12-15T20:17:00.003-05:00

colored bulbs, the fat retro kind. the kind we had on our house when i was a kid. I'm standing on top of a ladder putting up christmas lights. It's south florida, the sun beats down on the side of my face. my eyes adjust to the glare. an ice cream truck turns the corner. It's the holidays.

lights thrown randomly across the bushes. I should have done this later in the day. they are plugged in but you'd never be able to tell. on or off. everything seems out of place.

at night things change. in the dark it almost seems like december. lights twinkle, stars flutter. something akin to joy rises briefly in my heart. tinsel in clumps. a homemade decoration hangs from the tree. grandmas ghost is a sparkly beaded ornament. she made one for each of us. it hangs like a mystery, a gift after so many years she's been gone.
it doesn't fit in with the others. its better because it hurts a little. everything good has to hurt a little.

I took her to dinner but all she ever ate were the mints

2009-12-05T17:34:00.013-05:00

this slow
burden loving you

waiting
just anything
just words
just presence

her
rust and
honey
mouth

peppermint tooth paste
and bad dreams

snow falling
in
a perfect silence

but i have yet to really feel it.
this slow burden
having loved you

and i have never
seen snow
so there
is
no silence

glitterball

2009-12-01T22:05:00.005-05:00

its a night of small revelations, night of odd comfort
im starting to love this distance
starting to feel how present you are in
it.

longest kiss of the year

2009-11-26T14:10:00.007-05:00

there were storms today.
after the storms,
bliss.
a slight change in temperature.
tingly skin.
the longest kiss of the year.

the devils hand reaches-
to remind me of you.
please, i said.
"whisper me
the words of your god."

dangerous with a pen

2009-11-22T00:41:00.012-05:00

this is what i used to do while at work when things were slow. i gave myself 15 minutes to come up with and draw something or else id go back to working. It was to replace what i'd normally do when it was slow, which was to go online and read her journal, look for porn or other eye candy, download music, or write something stupid on one of my own journal things. Hey, It was more productive than jerking off in the corporate bathroom stall. (although that would have been quicker and felt better)

silly drawings are another form of getting the extra noise out of my head. like everything else that would flow from a pen or in this case a sharpie it ends up just another way for me to bleed.

I had this idea that anyone could come up with a little saying and draw a picture to go along with it. it's easy right? when i see it, it looks easy enough and except for the drawing part and coming up with cute lines. I did okay. I guess. nothing that's going to end up on a t-shirt stretched out across some girls tattooed chest or put up on someones kitchen wall, but that wasn't really my goal. It was 15 minutes of distraction. I moved on to something else before i had the chance to learn how to draw a decent robot. I'm not sure what it was, i haven't drawn anything for a long time. there is a good chance that's it for the year so i wanted to see them all in one place. now that i have, I'll move on to something else.

Be good or be Gone

2009-11-07T15:29:00.006-05:00

the other tragedy- I'm yours but hopelessly romanticize every situation.
at the grocery store i look into other peoples baskets and when i catch someone looking into mine i wonder if we all don't fall in love a little.
just between produce and dairy. the smell of candy, of fresh baked bread.
At check-out our carts lightly touch. her bug bitten legs. my chipped finger nail polish left on since Halloween. its my job to notice. its my story to tell. we browse the magazines while waiting our turn: new chewing gum, new fade diets, flu-scares, celebrity faces, horoscopes.
she pays. i pay. we go about our separate ways. our separate lives.
a quick glance, a slight smile enough to know it isn't just me.

it was who she was in the dark, cigarettes and mumbled sleep and a hundred other things nameable and not.

the devils in me. sadness. no reason- maybe the radio.
cellos. calamity.
maybe I'm not sad.
this could be calm.
this could be what soothing feels like.
this could be me without noise. i listen to my inside voice. no echo.
the vibrations are a hum.

the trouble with everything is how suddenly it could turn to nothing. every candy a toothache in a fancy wrapper.

a book filled with poetry and fuck stories. my lies. our lies. our nothing.
the devil is loose in my heart and she likes it rough. like it was in your room the night you let me stay. A sunny skied morning turned a starry night.
whatever she says. whatever god says.
whatever the darkness tells me to do.
after dreaming i write to her. i want to click send and open old wounds.
she fucked the words out of me.
bleed.
I'm sorry.
the vibrations are a hum. good bye again.
This is us. this is how we follow through.

baby, Im a vampire- Interview:JULIA TROTTI (photography)

2009-10-25T21:07:00.004-04:00

I've been itching to feature work from this young and talented photographer for quite some time. I have been consistently blown away by her use of light and the touching way she displays softness in her art. like shattered poetry- like haunted photographs. The fact she's just 18 years old with so much yet to come.

I'm pleased to introduce: Julia Trotti. She is 18 and hails from the land down under. Sydney, Australia.

Good Winter: what do you love about photography
julia trotti: I love how I can create my own little colourful world, and show people a piece of my crazy mind.GW: do you remember when you took your first photograph?
jt: I don't remember the first time I pressed a shutter release, but I do remember the first time I fell in love with photography. I went on a walk with this point and shoot camera that was lying around the house, and just starting taking pictures of everything and anything that I saw that I thought was interesting. They were terrible photos, but I just had so much fun doing it, that I knew I didn't want to stop after that.

GW: what are some things that inspire you in and around your town?
jt: I live in a place called Cecil Hills and there are all these lakes and fields and well, hills, around everywhere. I'm very fortunate to live in such a beautiful place, it makes taking the sorts of photos that I do so much easier.

GW: what movie haven't you seen that almost everyone else has?
jt:Probably a lot actually, I don't watch that many movies. Every time someone mentions, "oh, have you seen that movie where.." I hardly ever know what they are talking about! Haha.

GW: what makes you crazy?
jt: To me, being crazy is a good thing, being crazy is what inspires me. And the things that make me crazy are the things that I can't put into words and that are really hard to express in a way that people can understand.

GW: what or who inspires you ?
jt: This is always such a hard question to answer, because everything inspires me. I can be inspired by the smallest thing like a street sign or an empty jar. Really, just everything and everyone that I see inspires me. I don't even think about it anymore, everywhere I look, I see a photo.
GW: favorite books?
jt: I don't really read much, but I loved Alice in Wonderland and can read it over and over.

GW: 4 favorite places?
jt: My favourite place is mostly lost; lost in my head, in fields, in the ocean and in the stars.

GW: What is currently on your music playlist?
jt: Amanda Palmer! and the Dresden Dolls. I'm obsessing over them lately.

GW: describe what a good winter is for you?
jt: For me, that would be a Sunday morning, where its cold and raining outside, but I'm in my warm bed, sleeping in!

GW: most prized possession?
jt: I suppose that would be my camera. I don't think I could go without taking any photos at all.

GW: what are some of your past Halloween costumes?
jt: I haven't really dressed up as anything for Halloween, but if I did, I would dress up as a different Alice in Wonderland character every year. They're all so peculiar and look like so much fun to act as.

GW: 4 things that you collect?
jt: Sugar packets, photos of sunrises from my bedroom window, empty jars and the number 52.

GW: whats your secret?
jt: To be able to make something from nothing.

Please check out Julia's other sites:
http://jtrottiphotography.viewbook.com/
http://vampire-zombie.deviantart.com/
http://jtrotti.blogspot.com/

Where to begin

2009-10-22T17:11:00.004-04:00

i ran something over the other day and i don't know what. she calls me out of the blue and i wasn't paying close attention to the road. I don't think anyone does anymore.
im doing things and nothing gets done. does this happen to you too?

I said hello.
i wonder how she got my number. but, I'm easy to find she says and knows it's probably on purpose. i was probably waiting for this. it's what i wait for. Okay. fill me in.

I say, listen, here is what's new:
she's off the pill.
I make an awesome black bean taco.
after the best night of sex Ive ever had i was offered a frozen waffle for breakfast.
I don't just love the ones i cant have anymore.
I love the ones that love me.
dust and pornography have collected on my laptop.
I don't let the stories write me.
There has been to much coffee. not enough sleep.
Ive been hearing my inside voice more and more.
i like pumpkin anything and peanut butter anything.
you anything.
I don't lie unless you ask me too. I like when you ask me to.
Ive been bored with music lately.
I play piano. I drink beer and wine.
I'm going to Mickey's not so scary Halloween party at Disney World 10-31
I no longer eat meat (only fish) .
she likes when i tell her stories.
she believes she still loves me.
I believe in ghosts.
I can no longer find comfort in words.
I don't read what you write.
this is distance.
this is as close to silence that i know.
i think about you almost every single day.
this doesn't belong in the category of secrets.
i like keeping your secrets.
this isn't everything.
it's not far from the truth.

just one wish

2009-10-12T20:34:00.006-04:00

What is waiting for worth?
What is worth waiting for?
How many miles are we apart tonight? the few are to many and covered with rocks and snow.
we rise to the same sun and fall to the same moon.
I probably remember it nothing like you. I write my story, you write yours.
I love it that way. dirty and repetitive so we never forget.

Birthdays come and go. there is always a build up that lasts until just about the time I wake up and nothing feels any different. I'd expect a quarter under my pillow if i had lost a tooth but another year comes and goes and I'm better off not to look in the mirror and compare last from this and the one before that. another scar and few more lines. if not desired, deserved.
I wish that If I still don't know any better about keeping you in my heart, at least make me experienced.

I'm just trying to tell you I'll be 40 in a few days and i can't fucking believe it. I'll say the same thing next year, hopefully in some better way. I'll make some kind of mid life crisis wish like I hope for any young girl to still find me a little awesome. but then, those are just words.

I bought a Halloween coloring book yesterday and found i could still color between the lines. She once asked me " Is that where you write too?"
What i colored was a haunted house. It was beautiful and gloomy and I wish I could live there. Dusty books and creaky beds. It reminded me of your room. The bed squeaked every time we moved our hips. every time I put it deeper into you.
you were my favorite scary movie.

sleeping lessons

2009-10-04T15:52:00.004-04:00

steady sun and steady rain and steady unevenness. thoughts and addictions.
something new not so new.
maybe the pumpkins will make me happy or the vampire girls
or vampire rings or candy rings.

rings of gold, rings of fire,
wear my ring?
wear me like a noose
rope burns
and the everlasting

photo: kristamas klousch
art: Miss Van