slumberland:999 miles

get into work. click on computer. there is work left from yesterday and i change screens to look stuff up, i count things, i compute, i estimate, i click my mouse and move it here and there and up over there. this is how things get done. my eyes are already starting to burn. I get down by my drafting table and do 100 30 quick push-ups. blood is flowing now, all i can think about is writing. I found some pictures last night i’d like to post before someone else does. It’s frustrating when you save a picture thinking you’ll be the first to unveil it to the world. Of course, you won’t unless you were the one who took it, and all the ones i take never get re-blogged. and it’s such a shame.

It’s such a shame about us.

i do more work. distraction. I shuffle papers, write up invoices. i like this pen. it writes smooth and i like my spidery handwriting. i need an envelope. money is good. invoice + mail it = money. that’s a good thing right? Don’t let anyone tell you there isn’t money out there. It’s limitless, like everything else. The truth is everything i need I already have. It’s already in front of me. In front of you. I have everything i need. just your love…your love..where is that?

I wonder if it’s to early to log into my tumblr. Is it to early to see girls sucking big fat cock all over my screen? I can take it. My blood is flowing. im no prude. i don’t want to become numb to it. Sometimes it isn’t art, it’s just a woman with her legs spread and a dick in her mouth and it can become redundant. Is it to early? or is it just what i need.

There is a common thread but we all don’t see beauty the same way. I like a breaking heart and there are plenty of those too. I decide to log on. As i suspected the first 5 photos posted by who i “follow” are women with no clothes. white, asian, tied, kneeling down, ass up. It’s before 10 a.m. who doesnt like a morning boner. The next few posts are broken hearted and love quotes. There is no difference between the two. You are either searching, or finding, or in, or out, or missing… love. The common thread.

I like photos of food, another common. our tastes in food differ as much as our taste in art, women, porn, music. Something to bond over, something to relate to. something to cook for you, bake for you. the women who have been in my life can all make great pancakes. usually, blueberry. I wonder does she make them for him now. will this post be enough to satisfy me for awhile. I hope so. A distraction. I’m essentially getting paid to do this. Many of us are. Right now. Paid to write and post and be beautiful. art. I have no complaints. Everything i need. I already have. and once, I even had you.

it was magical. the kiss. it’s how we started things. it’s how we ended things. or did things really end. Do they ever?

why did i have to learn love from movies and television. I always wished to be like that guy running down the airplane pre take-off or jumping from a dock on to a moving ferry boat. I take the girl into my arms. I can’t be without you

she is waving goodbye with a beautiful sound track playing in the background. me, i just wave back. But i wanted to be the guy holding a boom-box over my head outside her window- In the rain. That Lloyd Dobler kid because (to know him is to love him).

the accumulation of ghosts. it’s more like that movie. pain is often involved and dialogue not unlike a kevin smith film. I am the out-takes to peoples lives. i am the one who drives her to marry someone else.

maybe it’s because I’ve always secretly rooted for the bad guys i

n movies. the villians with the cooler costumes and better entrance music, better hair. Deep down thats who the girls always wanted. I mean, if there was no bad. how would you know what good is?

in the end, you’ll see there isn’t much difference. there is good in even the most misguided of hearts. look, i’ll show you. (cue music)

re-posted from my tumblr

The sweetest taboo

yes. pancakes. I tell her pancakes for sure. breakfast is her thing. I stay in bed. warm and listening to soft alt country music. sun coming through the window. summer days. slow. summery smells and humidity. the a/c clicks on and the air is cool the hum. the hum of switches and fuses.

I hear clicks and clanks in the kitchen. I imagine she wears an apron. tussled hair. dripping pancake batter. it sizzles and pops. blue-berry. maple syrup. i can almost taste them.

she comes into the room with lemonade. fresh squeezed. she says. but i know it's crystal lite. I ask if she used three lemons or four. I ask what she wants to do today and she climbs on top of me.

the beach, or thrift stores, food shopping, doing the lawn, watching t.v., book stores, comic shops, surfing, driving, going in the pool, bbq, holding hands, making-out, Frisbee, drumming, kung-fu, parks, .......... summer is hot and slow and I don't want to do anything, say anything, write anything. I like music, books and breezes. I like the ocean. not sharks. I like the way jellyfish look drifting toward the sunlight. almost invisible. sometimes i wish I were.
invisible.
I am sleepy. reality bores me. I like her voice, and her hands and her fixin breakfast.



photo5: its-kitsch