Sunday, May 17, 2009

Cranberry Bowls

Just drop it. Kitty kat staring at the feet of the V shaped vessels of harmony. Don't dissuade to see why we may not even like the hot stereos. Bit by bit I know that even within the growing towels that no one will ever love me. Professional use of karma may indeed load us with agreeable perversions of autonomous vestige. Like all deals, neither you nor I can pop out the cans because sound waves are ever effervescent. Vibrate like the toy you hide within the secret cave. I want it. You want it. So drop it. Drop it and sit down. Pink cubes float around all of us and yet you say you can't see it. Don't you smell the tinge of fiber within the books. Their spiral bound greatness intrigues only the mice. Squished tomatoes and socks with holes the mexicans can't triforce. Just say it's over. It's all over. Close that door and forget. Raise that glass and toss it on the stove. Beats push forward and flush the room of awesome craze.

Thursday, May 14, 2009


a contrived coincidence catalyzed the uncovering of countless more

each candid kiss unveiling improbable serendipity

cautious optimism

Friday, May 1, 2009


But hark! Yet do I see not yonder forth a light?
It be-eth a last shimmering hope!
Just slightly out of grasp and slowly, ever so slowly falling away.
But I do not reach out.
I stare as it blinks. As it flickers. As it calls out to me.

All I do is stare.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

That Is All

I can see only shades of grey.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Click to enlarge.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

I'm not a ParasitE

It's just all symbiotic!
Just two separate entities
Living a lie

I Can't do much without you
You can all without me
But you still insist on being infected
and taking me along for the ride

I know I can survive on my own
just barely
You can do fine without my help

You could say we're commensal or maybe mutualistic
But we know we're FLUX

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Suburbia Scene

FLMST 102 - Scene assignment #1 from SubUrbia(1996) -

I feel this one. It's about having and losing. About people and what we let them do to us almost against our own will. Open, again and again but goddamn I knew your actions maybe before even you did. I almost want to laugh at the repetition, floundering pathetic and I wish it was not me. Not you.

I'm worried. Insecure. I hear myself say the memorized words and know they sound fake. I know that I'm fake. I want to succeed but to let your strange topography touch me deep is an invasion of privacy that I can't stand. The past lets me relate to this other person's fantasy but keeps me from letting you see that I know, I understand. Is that ironic?

"Six-fifty" becomes a plea for understanding "come with me" I LOVE YOU and "new ground" becomes everything I ever hated about you.

It's not really acting anymore, is it?