no title: this is no fairy-tale

the jealousy is negligible; the blatancy of how much things could never be that ridiculous fairy-tale with which we're bombarded and brain-washed is logically comforting. myriad tenuous beginnings afoot with a comical vehemence pacify my reckless tendency to plunge into the decadence of full-on co-dependent romantic assault. maybe this time it will be real for you; the tenderness is genuine each time, I can sense this, am sometimes the recipient. maybe this time you will understand the oracle cradled in your heart. I wish this for you. someday. not necessarily right now, because I want to fuck you.

what do you need so badly that you chase and chase and chase? why do we flicker on and off for each other knowing that we're just practicing? with each disconnect, I await a new moment, a second or third, 463rd first. I collect firsts. it always seems like a first when nothing is expected, when the last "first" could always be a "last." and it lasts.

what do I need so badly that I chase and chase and chase? nothing, I just want. I linger in moments so fragile and pure that I do not notice the seediness of the misconceptions inadvertantly planted until the impossibility of it all blooms.

in a word, I'm sensational. sensory-overload starved, craving, mad. I only want moments because ending eras are a kind of drama I can't sit through right now. I only want now. I touch myself to get over it, I create my own experience and get off. there is a harsh safety in the knowledge that certain things cannot be, and it fuels the engine of my wandering lust.

I gather that you sometimes cram your foot into shoes that fit as well as our tongues fit into mouths, for a moment attempting a fairy-tale that ultimately becomes grim, reaping when you only thought to sow. I know this because I've cultivated a garden of magic bean stalks by being ripe to the notion that I can always leave when clouds prove not to be comfortable ground.

this is not a show

late night snakes and jam noisenoisenoise radiator annoying overlay accent dirty fingernails incestuous friend massage creepy voyeur this is not a show

late night early morning quiet and smoke roll your own fallen guitar cluckcluckcluck annoying overlay accent cold hands exes and excess questions creepy interrogator this is not a show

blanketed not eye trapped radiator conversational fucking hathathat excuses for the sun faithful at Gethsemene annoying disciple sleep this is not show

rooted?

collabo with emily c-d

my mother

delicately handling
the fancy fabric on the bolt,
my mother imagines her creation.
years of underpaid menial manual labor
have literally broken her back
and rendered her hands
barely useful,
so the elaborate dress
she has in mind for her granddaughter
becomes a simple sundress,
something she can whip up,
ignoring hand spasms.

her whole life she has spent
waiting for the luxury
of personal discovery,
and I fear she will never
achieve her heart's desires.
her resources -- financial, physical,
emotional, et. al. --
diminishing.

I believe the American dream
is a joke,
but she can't see the humour.

verses

life has been many words for me
inundated with language
sometimes I seek the gold of silence
but don't know how to spend it

easy coercion

so few of us leave ourselves open
to the possibility of the divine
we curse the innovation of creation
conjuring demons from the darkness
cast from the shadows of our own light
I worship the devil sometimes
because God is a fuck
I didn't enjoy

faking it
I spread my legs to disconnect
I close myself off to intimacy

hungry

the world's in your belly, honey
feed it, feed it
the world's in your belly, honey
watch it grow

your eyes are bigger'n your belly, honey
you think you need it, need it
your eyes are bigger'n your belly, honey
don't let it show

reach

this is the precursor to the line drawings I've been doing recently, featuring another motif in my current artwork: trees that double as people or body parts.

if we set up a screen printing room as has been discussed, I would like to screen this and my other line drawings. I think they'd make good fabric.

I completed a new one, but I can't seem to rotate the image, and I can't find photoshop on this computer. I almost uploaded it anyway, but I think it would bother me too much. it's a collaboration with emily c-d, she embedded a characteristic drawing of hers and I really like how it turned out. my next piece is going to be an experiment with watercolor pencils, and if it turns out, I'll be donating it to Clean Water Fund to be auctioned off on ebay to fund shore cleanups and such.

distraction series (I'm a novice)

these are my first scanned images. I've never used a scanner before, because I've never really considered anything worth scanning... but I've been drawing a lot lately, and am becoming comfortable with a couple techniques that I will be honing.



there are recurring motifs in my work, and I accept that now. the quality of the scans are not so good, but I'll get better. I kinda just fooled around impatiently, and once there are people home to show me what to do, I'll have better images.

these are a series of line drawings that I've been doodling the past couple of days. I like the asthetic. I'm gonna start doing water colors for these, but I can't use them in my notebook. I've been experimenting with different mediums lately, and I'm excited to see what I produce.

misconception

you nailed me to the door that you walked out of
you thought I was your neighbor's cat
I'm not the messiah that you had thought of
I've never pulled a rabbit from my hat
I'd be your saviour if you were more willing
but your head is full of thorny crowns
it's three days past Easter, but I'm still a pagan
I'm so busy rolling tombstones around
so tell me, dear, how's your angel?
has she grown any more horns today?
I heard she was caught picking pockets
but there's no real evidence, it's only hearsay

I thought I was you too many times
Judas Iscariot, you've fooled me again
I can't hear, I think I am blind
because I cannot seem to feel my feel my friends
how can I know where I'm going
if you won't tell me where I've been?
why do I ask? you have no way of knowing
assumption, yes, is the original sin
so hold me close, my sweet devil
tell me, have shined any more haloes today?
I need to divine a shovel
so I can dig my own grave
my very own grave

too many times I've run around
too many times I've been cut back down
too many times thought I was you
too many times is much too much
what can I do?
what can I do?

I need to divine a shovel
so I can dig my own grave
my own shade of grey

[song, complete with chord progression, circa 1997-8] I just relearned/refashioned this one. there is a part of me that is slightly bothered by the beginning of the first verse, ending with prepositions, but I've decided that the flaw just wants to remain there, and who I am to judge how the song wants to be?

when I walk alone

today,
I'll allow the decadence
of sadness and introspection;
after all, most days
I'm so fucking cheerful.

days like today,
I equate
my need to relate
with the need to spread
myself thin enough
to avoid getting heavy.

today I'm heavy.
I'm Freud's bastard child
trying to figure out
who's my Daddy,
so I can raise him
all over again.

I need some space,
some drum 'n bass,
I need someone to need me.

no.

I need to save-face the reality
that I should provide
my own rhythm section.

when I walk alone,
I like the beat.
when I walk alone,
I like the beat.
I like the rhythm
of my own two feet;
when I walk alone,
I like the beat.

hawai'i rebound

no dreams to remember
but there is a rooster
I hear him and think
this is not real

but casually
there's an honesty
the hope in our reverie
is not to feel

late at night
I understand my mother
sometimes it's hard to wrap
your arms around alone

biologically
there's a tendency
to fill the vacancy
under the pretense
of just getting some

held hands
hold answers
and the answer this time
is no

there's an urgency
the conversation's deep
but our talk is cheap
when words are all we know

didn't want to wake up alone
so we shared some pain
in each other's arms
it's nice to pretend

that the ease with which
we leave each other
will ease the pain
of leaving them

you might comfort me
temporarily
but in the end
I'm left with me

and I might help you
some kind of peace might get through
but in the end
you're left with only you

it's hard to say
but as I walk away
I know we'll both be okay
when all is said and done

this is not vulnerability
it's solidarity
distraction can be the key
to moving on

one day I will be as wise.

I hugged this tree in Hilo. a lot.