updates.

my life is just kind of like a balancing act.

been raising hell, but now that it's grown up and moved out, i don't know what to do with myself.

not sure how much time i've wasted. one day i just stopped keeping track.

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im sensing some antidote in the way the world has been speaking to me. but im all heart with these fingers stuck in my ears-playing scenes from my childhood so loud that i cant hear whats happened to me. you cant fly these wings, you cant sleep in this box with me. somewhere theres a backroom for us to be swapping spit in. a ditch for me to be forgotten again. "there are plenty of fish in the sea" quip pretty fisherman on boats in stocked lakes and fish farms. do you think about me when you see the moon in the afternoon? "shape up or ship out". im nailed and boarded up in a box addressed to somewhere else. of all gods jokes, i am the most cruel- i will make you forget your head and your rules and your friends and your faith. can we go back to how it was? before there was a world out the front door that got off on being down. stockpiled good fortune and i am ready to wait out the storm. i want you in my after 12am veins. lately it all just feels like looking up through ice in a frozen pond at red cheeked families skating, carefree. to be honest, even though im nodding off in airport lounges-i'd rather lay my head on a curb somewhere with you than any of the rest of it. and the universe doesnt care about luck or headlines. someone whispered "make yourself" in my ear once. steal me away from all of this. make yourself.

how ive been feeling is sunsets everywhere.
everything i write is just history from my perspective-a bit off of how it really went.
giving up from the heels of my shoes all the way to the beating in my chest.
"are you in or out?"
talk some sense into me
im reeling from the altitude and from not being able to get through.
the truth is strange and chaotic. nothing hurts quite like it.
but i am addicted to it.
"ive got a big big mess on my hands " (youll know what im talking about soon).
happy people find happiness in the gutter.
if you are unhappy it doesnt matter how many zeros are added to your bank account. you will find unhappiness.
i find that its alot easier to find faith than to lose it.
though there is always a singer, preacher or doctor who acts like they are the lost and found bin for faith.
when i think about you i want to be subtracted down to a particle that runs through your veins.
i want to run through your body.
sprint.
i want to make you dizzy.
i want to give you headaches.
i want to be a part of what you need to get by.
were just like a movie based on a book-almost. but not quite as good.
i feel shut out in the cold.
in my head only.
its dark and my eyes have not adjusted yet.
brand new girl, brand new year.
i want someone or something to believe in.

caged all the free spirits.

lets make them shiny so we see them glisten on the ocean bottom.

we'll take your flaws and polish them as good as new-that is except for jealousy, theres been a recall on that one.

turned the corners of my eyes out as though they were my pockets, as i pass by men sleeping in boxes looking for loose change.

fix me or forget me. at this point im going for whichever is easier.

im guessing i look like i just got off a bender cause everyone keeps saying "you really should get some rest".

like that was the problem.

it feels like a surgeon who cant cut himself open to save his own life.

going AWOL from ghost towns.

look into mirrors-"wipe that smile off your fucking face."

and whatever happens in between just make sure our plots are matching and next to eachother.

its kind of tough being a people pleaser when you arent too fond of people in general.

its hard to imagine a time when any of this made sense.

after awhile when you bounce back and forth between different hearts nothing gets old. you never really have to mean anything to anyone. i have intimacy problems with the world.

her eyes are blackened around the edges so much that she looks like a racoon. they look like permenant black eyes- the consumate victim. everybody loves the victim. he can’t put his finger on what it reminds him of but the closest he can come are old zombie movies. she’s made-up to look half dead- which still beats most of them who are just half-alive anyway. her hair looked like rows of shark teeth dyed over dye jobs like she was running away from her natural color. no one wants to be what they are. she looks independent in a very vulnerable way. the safest kind of dangerous. they drove around the city so she could alternate between cigarettes and coffee. they talked about the kids they hated just so they have something to agree about. they used to be just like us. they're sitting on the edge of her bed. every single inch on his body is filled with millions of nerves. somewhere inside his brain neurons have fired to synapses and put them on alert. when his hands brush hers it feels electric. every movement has a meaning, either yes or no. its getting later and later. the conversation and the possibilities are running out. last call. this is a war. every time she moves her hand to her hair she is sending him signals. stay or leave. why can’t he figure them out. don’t strike first. wait until he is tired enough to make a move. lean in to kiss her bringing an awkward break in conversation. as he pulls back she keeps talking about writers and bands she thinks will make her look cooler. but he's fooled if only because he is worried she has found him out. her sheets smell like stale cigarettes smoked by boys who were him on nights before. imagine the chemistry of swallowed DNA. she has a scar that runs down her back right along the spine, like somebody tried to steal it. he joked her like this: “someone must have ignored the blue prints, look at all the structural damage”. but he stuttered and trailed off. the smoke curled off of her lips. for a second he was dying to be it. dying to be as clever and kissable as her. there she was sitting in front of him, knee pulled up to to her chin. smoking a cigarrette thinking of something or someone else. and thats how she will be stuck in his mind forever. two explorers in the dark, mapless and hopeless. alone together. its funny how easy it is to sleep with someone, but how hard it is to sleep next to someone. it’s too intimate. it makes his heartbeat race and pound inside his head. it is deafening. he slides his arm from behind her head and slip out the door. the pavement on the sidewalk is watching him go over every moment in my head. it’s watching him remember her. mistake by mistake. frame by frame. we’re not just taking trips down memory lane, we are broken down on it.

my friend told me, there are veins in brooklyn sick of the constant knocking on them like a door.
if i look up the lights in houses look like stars in the sky, only if i squint hard enough.
if you had told me where i'd be three years ago i would have laughed it off.
i am sure i will do the same in three years when i am making wishes from some gutter somewhere.
i want to be the last thing you think of at nighttime.
i tapped out, i blacked out.
you knew we couldn't last.
it's funny how we only focus on our flaws.
"please tell me the truth, i am addicted to it".
i got new boots so i'd never get cold feet-on thin ice or at the altar.
"when you are very old and very lonely you will understand".
it's designed deep inside of us to be the opposite of what we are
i thank god for the bands, movies, and hearts that make me want to become something better than i am.
your heart beat gets me through the day.

"i'll take the machete, they never run out of bullets..."

the cats got the canary spinning in its ribcage
did i mention i came dressed for the intervention
(and if you were dying soon would you try to find snow in the deep summer, the june bugs dancing in wonderand, i still wonder now if my words will stil turn you inside out)
he's a honey jar with that pretty face, lets never lose the lid
and keep those rosey lips in
(he breathes wet through insect eyes)in multiples of four, no less than sixteen
mr. sandman's been showing his beam when he walks into a room the walls lean in to listen
keep a calendar this way you'll know the last time you came through
oh."i know what youre going through"
well i dont- its more of a "paper or plastic" grocery store choice to me
but i'll sympathize with anything to get through to you
do you know what its like to watch reruns of yourself night after night
to offer nothing and expect everything in return
to cock your head just right to appear arrogantly humble
if we hurry we'll make the morning edition
cause everybody likes to read the bad news
they've tapped the phone, be very careful what you say
speak in code about singing birds and sleepy eyed women
autographs only taught me how to conterfeit signatures on my prescriptions
his head's a junkyard for rusted midnight thought
she's criminally carefree when the pills swallow the worry
he's digging like forty nine, he's making you press rewind
he's a thunderstorm so bright you shut your eyes
he is a hurricane