If I let my mind go where it pleases, it’ll never come back to me. It’ll walk about the weather first then the general seasons and how they don’t seem to exist here. It will ponder, in depth and quietly how there are really only two seasons here- winter and summer and how the seasons that exist only in name are just battle grounds for the two real seasons. Then, it will grow bored and some other things to explore.
My mind will then go to more trivial things- things I want but don’t need like a new pair of headphones or more supplies for the imaginary painting I have yet to paint. In evitably song lyrics will come to mind, or some forgotten line in a book I read many years ago. I’ll play with it for awhile, disecting it and running it through my head again, sounding it out and dancing around it. Then, my mind will look for other lines, tracind them down and committing them to a memory that is flakely at best, and at worst, untrustworthy.
Eventually some line will lead me to a memory. And then to another. And another. My mind will stay there, in those shadowed places and let them pass over again and again. Like the Sun and Moon on a never-ending day.

Snowy Day

It was snowing outside when I woke up. It was expected and welcome. I love watching it fall, up, down, sideways. Snow represents a group gone wrong. I swear some of the stuff doesn’t know where it’s going so it goes up for a bit before going down. Some goes straight down and narrow. And some, defiant to the end decide to meet their end a little different than the others and come crashing down (if snow should crash) sideways.


They were all across the mall. The geese. You could hear them from a block away as they ate. Little warbling sounds, and bills snuffing in the grass that was all muddy from the melting snow. I wish I knew what they were eating; whatever it was it was tasty- they barely looked up for the passersby. Coming or going. I walked across the mall and, in a mad thought, wanted to run right through the herd. I told myself that if I stepped on thier shit, I would. I didn’t. My eyes were too keen on the ground as I walked away.

Listening to Smother by Daughter


Here it is at it’s proper time in February

schemata strings

“There are thousands of fish in the sea”
“It just wasn’t meant to be”
“Any guy would be lucky to have you”

Haven’t we herd these all before; from a friend after a bad breakup or a lover who simply wants to part ways. Comfort phrases to get you to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and get back into the grove of finding someone new. Someone new. Because there’s always someone new out there right?

Yes, there is. There will always be someone out there willing to date you or be your friend or lover. But you don’t need someone. You don’t need anyone. Anyone includes those you simply can’t date because they are dead, or married, or too old or too young. Includes those that aren’t even attracted to what you are. Includes those that wouldn’t want you and you wouldn’t want them. Includes those who would merely…

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When Your Shovel Breaks

When your shovel breaks I got another one in the backseat of my car, playing another lovesong and hoping you’d’ just stop. Cause he’s not worth all this trouble and he’s not on the other end of this whole you’re digging. He’s with someone else he would dig a grave for all the way to China and back. And not you. But it falls on deaf ears and you come back for another shovel. I give it to you letting my hand linger a bit but I relent with a half-hearted smile and a thumbs up. I’m hoping this is the last trip, that you give up, sit down, and have a drink and finally see the dirt on my hands and he two broken shovels in the back- failed attempts at digging to get to you.

Listening to Kicks by FKA twigs


Hello all, I know I haven’t posted for a week and I apologize, life got in the way. I just got through my first week of college so things were pretty hectic and I still have to figure out when I’m actually going to write these post- probably over the weekend. In that time all I was doing was running around, rushing from thing to thing without actually taking any time to sit down and absorb. That’s was my art class taught me- to sit down and just observe. So, I’ve been practicing- watching and being fully in a moment. Seeing as the cold morning son comes up and shades everything a gray as if it’s been waiting for a long time for me to get up, cross the room, and turn on the lights.

Listening to Just Once by Shura


I lose myself everyday. It’s an art now; I have perfected the practice. I enjoy it in the day and in the night I collect myself in dreams. I lose myself in art; lines trap thoughts and take the memories in their pictures. I leave parts of myself in the distant lands of a book. Books that pile up on the self with enough bones in them to assemble another me. I am mostly gone when I simply watch a movie. I wait to be filled by some engaging tale of debauchery and tragedy and crime. But I spare little pieces for you.  I leave them in the wires of the phone line so when you call I’ll be there on the other end. And we can put me back together again.

Listening to Take Me to Church by Hozier.

Also, would anyone be interested in my making a small poetry book? I have quite a lot of it now so it’d be nice to share. Each little book would probably have some flash fiction (or micro-fiction), poetry with some illustrations by me and revolve around some theme I think.