she watched me shave
i nakedly blushed
and accidently cut myself
because i was conscious
that my life had become a show.

i wrote myself in
as the tragic hero.
adopted a dark mood
for other's sympathy.
and carried this fiction in my head
clawing at reality.

inspiration from a fantasy.

you look me in the eye on accident
we both turn our heads
and when you catch me, you wink.
you fell asleep again
routinely, earlier than me

and i drove around the city. the city.
and now i'm too tired
to pretend
that i'm in a good mood.




well.
i blame and economy and shit.

i feel like
i'm in a
constant
state of
waiting

i debated about a late drive
against the cars
coming home from bars.

came back here instead to wait
for morning.

and just as i've accepted
that you will not always be here,
i, too, have accepted
that i won't always be here either.

i don't even know
what i'm hoping for here, exactly.
i lose sleep in this city
thinking about it.




i need a fucking break.












anything.

fuck it.mini.mix



phil collins. you know what i mean
the beatles. long long long
antony and the johnsons. fistful of love.
cartola. acontece
smashing pumkins. i of the mourning
u2. sunday bloody sunday
bjork. hyperballad
incubus. pardon me
green day. basket case
the evangelicals. skeleton man.
wilco. kamera
+
third eye blind. background

e.

a new guilty pleasure.



santogold, les artistes

losing something

you dared me to make a move.
shocked.
i stood still.
then talked about it
when you weren't in the room anymore,
to myself.

others' assumptions
built an identity for you
incapable of saying otherwise,
your moved towards defense
and knocked all mine down.

written in my moleskine
was the time: 3:52 am.
at your request
i made the decision to pay
for my ticket into the real world.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
song: cherri
artist: suicide

i think
i see gender rolls differently
from how everyone else sees them.

which makes me honestly believe that..
perhaps i am just a little different
from you.

portraits for ian.
by joey tran.

mother.

beginning with myths as history,
i could see myself staring out the front door
while you called me outside the gate
in the rain.

music tied me to fragile memories,
the growth of my defenselessness in empty homes
and i was too young to recognize
what it meant when i heard you crying.

on a car ride on the five
you announced that your recognized
just how strong you were
all these days.

i agreed calmly on the outside
and screamed out loud inside
as i began to recognize
my inheritance.

i avoided the facts
and played ignorance,
dodging any further
complication or involvement.

i avoided wanting
to be around you,
running from the powerlessness
your sadness caused.

i avoided telling you
that i loved you,
because i could not
handle your dependence.

i built this
home without you.
in hopes that you can get
own life together.

i loved you.
just not as much
as you did.

empathy.
sympathy.
compassion.

not you.
Me.
not i.
We.

a weekend that marked a lot of changes in our lives.
without us even realizing the ripples we would cause.

beauty. the shivers.

thursday morning i had my last interview lined up for now.
it was at the fahey/kline gallery off la brea and beverly.

i had to take a taxi back so that i could comfortably vomit some place where i could not be audible.

working on this.