this is not what it really looks like.

old things i found in sketchbooks, belonging to stories and paintings. number two:

Jack.

if there is a middle 

of nowhere,

knee-high indigo grass ripples there around the body of a boy

bent and perplexed in the face.

and one gloomy tree leans over

casts shadows over

sketches patters over

his gray complexion.

the grass shivers in a ravenous wind

stealing the red leaves from over his head

and throwing them into the 

white sky

imagining the earth turns over in its sleep,

disturbed maybe

little worms crawl away

and the beetles seek refuge in his straight black hair

fish swim away in his fool green eyes

a top hat sits on his chest

and his fingers drum abstractedly on its aged brim

slowly and softly decomposing

holes to china

I hate this story and the way it's so full of one name..

one long rabbit-trail I have been stuck in my entire life

growing pains

welcome to the future

all your friends have grown and gone,

time to get some taste

time to spend some cash, time to make a name

time to get a job and ride the train

time to love the things you hate

welcome to the future

this is all too strange to be real, too

real to be strange

and I fall asleep again and again

but I never wake up from this

I dream about time machines and ladders

that could stretch to you,

stretch far enough that I could get my life back.

When I wake up I'll find it, I know I will. Everything will be

just like it used to be,

when we were young and life was okay

we were okay.

June '08

you and I

these are our trees, hannah.

dream in early spring '08

pity isnt fun for anyone.

hello old new friend,
lets pretend.
you can be normal, and I'll be the wallpaper and
-oh i thought we were just pretending
lets keep bending
or i will at least,
bending my personality
to fit comfortably into
whatever
september
lets count count down
and talk about school.
TV shows and
how it goes when
the weather changes like us
like you became all grown up
and i just keep shrinking on the inside
and expanding on the outside
and everything rattles inside the shell
thats so much bigger than i need,
for such a small slice of personality.
doctor can you show me how to
stop being,
for a few hours here and there
so I could stay out of the way,
its just a nowhere
that i could go,
when my birthday comes,
I dont want them to know.

--

left: Colossians 2:2
right: Colossians 1:13

shell

the most interesting part of my life right now..

rabbit trails

Every day is a new way to chase rabbit trails
New places to sleep so the old ones
Don’t remember me.
I can be clever,
Pull the wool over my own eyes
[there’s two of them]
Us. Two of us.
Like I can dinner dish her all my blame
Keep this one clean,
Keep this one sane.
But I’m quickly running out of hiding places,
She’s catching up like a rolling wave.
And no matter how many hours
I white-wash these walls,
Like clockwork I wake up to a newly painted room
In whatever colour she happens to choose.
I’m tired of tripping on
Falsehoods of free
So give me an excuse and a weapon to wield
Rage against the Villain in me.

4/29/2008

I'll find something better to put here,

--

click tap tap
wake up, what's that?
oh self, why are we in this blinding place?
in this blinding room with our chest so sore
and our organs heaving themselves at the
patterns of yellow and gray on the floor.
come, collect yourself, to bed
i drag the body back to her room
and prop her up where she might see the window
a glimpse at the moon
so gently, now
whats all this,
with your skin too tight and
your aching ribs?
you can tell me, self, if you know.
but she doesnt think, so she doesnt know, and
i cant make her be where i cant think to go
so i crawl back to sleep, and I cringe when she moans
and I'll never wake up from this

isnt this how everything starts

i cant really imagine myself writing on here frequently.