Saturday, December 26, 2009

rainy sundays drunk at noon

"Well I'm not braggin' babe so don't put me down
But I've got the fastest set of wheels in town
When something comes up to me he don't even try
Cause if it had a set of wings man I know she could fly
She's my little deuce coupe
You don't know what I got"

- The Beach Boys, Little Deuce Coupe

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Thursday, December 3, 2009

vacant complexities

Sometimes when we are together - and we are always together- I think about all the doors I've ever passed and never opened.

some things are fine

It's a darker place - a Saint's belly, perhaps, a deep sea cave or some inner chamber of a mountain temple - only it's not so dark once you're really there inside. She's like a syrup when you find her, a formless sweetness that reminds you that it is - has always been - about the blood. And it's the hollowness that resonates in your bones; the edges of the echoes that drain the wounds. After a time (and nobody can say how long- perhaps you will lie down or even sleep a while). After a time, something in you fingertips will tell you that you have begun to breathe again.

how do you know?

You are a bird in the hand and some vital education, poetic syntax, words on a wall, a principality by the sea. You are a pistol, a picnic, a hot air balloon and the roaring forties, the bass drum; the five am rain in my spinal chord, the dewey decimal system, a furious trip.

lodestar

Hier soir, notre conversation s'est tournee au sujet de "happy place" - cet endroit dans sa tete auquel on peut retraiter quand on a l'envie d'echapper a la douleur ou a la banalite de la vie reelle.

Et moi, mon 'happy place'? C'est simple - un matelas sur la plancher, nutella, les chansons de Nashville... et toi.

tu me manques (comme toujours)

x x

ars oblivionalis

I wanted to show you the edge of myself. The things I don't believe in but do anyway. The desert that becomes a beach. But now that I am here I have forgotten how they go.

Relax. It's fiction, baby, FICTION. Look it up

sine qua non

Sometimes I want to kick you in the shins and run away