spell bound

piled a lot of others' mattresses beneath me, trying to cover that which bruised my ego
aligned myself with monsters to feel beautiful, closed my eyes so i would not witness their actions
rode white horses to others' rescues, trying to escape myself
a damsel in distress
in denial

climbed to the highest turret in my card castle
seduced by the spindle, the solitude
cursing myself, i locked the tower and cut my hair
ready to hang myself with the rope, rather than bind myself to another
fell asleep, dreamt that i was kissed with no expectation placed upon me

awoken only by dawn
and the nagging sensation of buried troubles

slowly peeled back the layers of my worries
bundled the many beds i had made and laid in, despairing
dragged them out of the castle to be carried away by white horses
exposed the vile little pea of doubt

a sigh and the cards collapse
grounded, i can sleep on clouds

raw.

raw. i want to bleed on someone, want to have arms bandage me. i've been so contained, i want to leak onto someone, be the mess on their clothing. i haven't been alone for such a long time that i don't know what to do with myself. i have a memory of wanting solitude, but i can no longer relate. i realize how much of a luxury it is to have a specific external emotional presence in one's life. it comes with responsibility, and unfortunately, i am not prepared for that. so i must deal with these moments quietly. alone. it's okay. it's something i must respect.

i am not a part of this tragedy

what do you do when someone looks into your eyes with so much pain? i just hugged him and breathed into him and told him that i could do no more than be his friend. he told me that he loves me. i'm not sure of the context, not sure where his mind is... i'm not sure that he knows these things. i know that i'll make mostly good choices in this situation, and not divert too much energy from what is good in my life, but i feel a heartache coming. the kind you get when watching someone deteriorate. he used to be a creature of light, but he's forgotten.

second chance...

you're not supposed to recycle partners... once it's over, it's over.

and you knew he was moving away.

I told him that I wanted to be his best friend so I could visit him there. fucking him was not payment for the trip, it was just an added bonus to the renewed friendship. I felt liberated, was fresh FRESH out of the relationship of my life. I wanted it to work, but...

you were rebounding.

of course.

so you moved thousdands of miles away...

it was fucking Hawai'i! the Big Island is named Hawai'i. I lived there for 2 1/2 months, painfully repeating history on a lush, active volcano-island. it's a lover that kisses with teeth, it punishes you while pulling you in deeper. it took 24 hours for us to re-utter desperate heart murmurings, we wondered what to do. I had seen his eyes reflected in a mirror, at a time when I had forgotten about that particular shade of green and what it did to my sensibilities. I wanted to be single so much, wanted to cleanse myself of the saccharine being-involvedness that was creating cavities in my ego. you may catch more flies with honey, but no one wants to kiss a mouth of rotten teeth. who wants to catch flies? they eat shit, too. I ate it.

I knew it would be an act of God, a gorgeous disaster, watercolor streaked with ink -- delicate, reckless, over so fast... but sometimes you need a particular color in your life. I needed that pale shade of green... I wasn't an artist then. I wanted to be. I bit his lips, licked his teeth, tried to breathe into him. I wanted him to be my muse. I looked at his reflection again, this time in the Hilo Bay.

what color is the water in Hawai'i?

green, then blue, then green... clear. warm. cool. pure. I needed that color. I became an artist. he remained pale. green.

I couldn't handle the permutation, his eyes were muddy in the water. algae. I wouldn't dare mix the shade. he was content in his wretchedness, in his stagnation. as he outfited himself in misery, I wrapped myself in lava, coral, sun. bliss.

Hawai'i punished him, I enjoyed the teeth. I bit back, licked the waves, breathed into the place, always deep breath. it's waiting for me to come back.

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.