Friday, July 15, 2011

Hiatus OVer

These long stretches without writing can be so debilitating. I sometimes forget my writing persona and that I was ever writing for an audience. I only have one person following this blog. I don't even see this person anymore. (That doesn't mean we're not still friends, Brad!) Its just that I am probably not writing to anyone else but myself. (And Brad) Still, I feel like I am broadcasting to ubiquitous audience.  I am going to allot myself this exercise this once, just until I find my groovation.  I'll just continue typing until I can shed enough rust to get back into the swing. I went quite a while without writing. 3 weeks actually! Beside writing prompted journal entries that were pretty sterile and time efficient, I didn't have much time for creative output.

I went to Thailand about a week and a half ago to study sustainable tourism. I learned a canterburytales's worth of content. -I'll try to write about it later. 


The blond strings of protein,
attached to your head that
lay flat by your ears, past your shoulders,
are slaves to the winds tug
and caked with oily perspiration.
You sit outside sipping tea
watching your primate species
 meander about.
You picked up a couple novels
from recycled books
over sociology, your field of study.
"One day I'll understand them," you say
and one day you will understand yourself.

My friend Richard stopped by the coffee shop where I'm sitting now. I felt inspired to write about him while he was in sight. Then he left explaining the brevity of the poem.

Monday, May 9, 2011


I received reiki the other day. It provided tremendous insight into myself.

My soul is a well
where I fish
for the hundreds of monsters
shifting and slimming.

I feel their claws now and then,
scrape the arched walls
of the serpentine gape 
itching for absolve.

I toss chemicals into
the brick cylinder
wishing for their death.
I wouldn't dare look.

Their faces--too hideous,
at first, but as become
familiar. I see a likeness.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011



Prism mind, speak me something.
Speak something hard and fast
past this dusty comforter
where my foot dangles, the cobbler's last.

I dip my fingertips into
hot wax candle pools,
let it cast around my nails,
then peel it away when the warmth cools.

I refuse to give myself credit
for such paltry desire
 My flesh sulks in atonement.
“It was just a harmless fire.”

Bewildered suit when will you
mature enough to rip
from each limp seam
until your fabric slips.

The haze of “needs”
amuses my focus
like a cat fondling string
vapid and useless.

I just want my mind.
I will leave my body .

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Music on the Radio

The music I recently recorded will be playing on 88.1 KNTU this Saturday between 7-9pm if any one in this grand universe is interested.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011


Stuarts Wilt

How did you and I become so insecure?
Why were we drawn together
like wilted flowers
barely thriving under the shade?

Am I not rooted here
in permanent denial
of my strengths?
Rain pities us in excess.

Here we are clinging to one another,
despising pieces that are familiar;
parts that remind us
of ourselves. 

Will you always listen to me?
"Always, until the day I destroy you."

Too afraid to disentangle
we slowly cave under toxicity
Our fleshy stems
languish, darken and bend.

This is so depressing, but I think it is a huge issue among People in relationships... err..

Thursday, February 24, 2011


I am feeling present. there is a serene look on my face. My eyes are closed. I am listening to the sounds and conversations around me. Soft, slow descending debris erupt by my ears. I attach color and light to them. I am so unsure. I feel blissfully ignorant. I am not searching for answers to explain the experience. I do not regard it as extraordinary or significant. It is a feeling of being on the verge of understanding and being right beneath the surface. I am content with this status. I do not need anything. I do not want anything. I have much farther to run, but am patient in my walk. I am, which can never be accurately depicted in language.  

You lanky thing with erratic hair
You androgynous angelic portrait
Though your body construct is to that of David 
Your demeanor is admittedly feminine
Masculine in shape and delicate in motion
I look at you like an optical illusion
I see a man sitting adorning a bandana
and a women with braided lengthy locks
You speak to me as if you were like me
At the same time knowing you are entirely different.
Do you long to be like me?
Do you appreciate the swiftness of your male figure
and the almost hyperbolic femininity of your nature?
I am delighted by both of your characters.
What does that say about me?
Do I  not too, a women, share characteristics of your sex?
Do I move with grace or coarseness?
Who is to assign and categorize these characteristics?
Is it more common, a construct or some of both?
Do I not lead, bend and take?
Can I not objectify you and abandoned you? 

Monday, February 7, 2011


Last night I went to Seryn's Album release show. The night started with a forceful push from myself to talk to the gluten of people inside. I picked faces I recognized and recited routine how are yous. I pervaded aimlessly asking, "what am I doing?" I made awkward exchanges with people I knew that knew me, but couldn't remember my name... I don't like speaking in groups or being asked how I am enjoying the last couple of days of snow. I don't want to have to peddle through vapid topics just to keep a person interested on the off chance that we might actually relate on something. Why do I continue? To build relationships? Relationships, company, friendship, community, family? People to experience life with? I guess never putting in the effort to clamor with others will never allow you to sift through the multitudinous crowds to find people you identify with. If it is necessary to chew the fat sometimes, then I will do it. As much as I hate feeling the slimy bulk between my teeth, I know it leads to FRANDship.  

I am happy with the "family" I have accumulated thus far. I have some really beautiful friends whom I am learning from everyday. Still, I feel a need gather and reach for more.  I want to be interwoven with the walls and the seats that support me and let the words she or he speaks be mine and vise versa.  I think that is part of why I have this acclivity to write music. It is a way of moving through people.

When Seryn started playing there was no need to be received, seen, or revered.  There was sound and an acquisition of shapes and hues that a few seconds ago I would have perceived as a crowd of assailants. Each stepping over the other to reach the pinnacle of ascendancy, mounting a giant human pyramid. Instead, they all became part of one conglomerate body functioning in oneness.  

Vocal Therapy

Smoke transpires out of incense.
The aroma finds my nostrils,
but not the wispy white exhaust
that spirals upward to dissipate.

Light softly illuminates
the ruddy wood floors, casting reflection.
My sister's paintings cling to paper walls
as I sing with her, ascending and descending.

My spigoted mouth is stretched agape.
My larynx reverberates and pours tremor.
It floods rampant with movement
and becomes placid with control.

Like foals footing rocky cliffs
we leave imprints in the snow,
encouraging anyone to follow what we found
along the arching palisades.

Poised and angelic become our
our tawdry nature, now playful and wise
Renewed with enduring grace,
We ride the sweeping hums.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011


I sat at a coffee shop today. I sat there for four hours reading a satire by Voltaire for my literature class. I conversed with my friend Daphne, sitting across from me, who is also studying the Western European Enlightenment. (That was when people started using reason to disprove themselves). In between reading I contemplated relationships and their insignificance, sometimes, and how they seem to have an inestimable weight over everyone. Our innate desire to reproduce is probably one of our most incommodious facets and our ability to overcome it may be one of our most profound.

Listen, I know what you think.
I can read you. I can read anyone. 
That grossly exorbitant man by the water pitcher is 
obviously thinking about the baked goods in the display case.
Double chocolate, cranberry banana, or both.
The girl with bubble glasses and wittily phrased T-shirt
is definitely shopping online at "Threadless."
That the guy to your left 
wearing the vintage Gabardine jacket
and the unkempt beard is an undeniable pedophile.  
You're indisputably interested in me 
because you asked me to get coffee with you.

I passed someone I recognized yesterday, but couldn't immediately place their face. Then I realized that it was the sandwich maker at subway. If I was to say something to him, what would I say? "Make any interesting sandwiches today?" He would {eat} that up. Every interaction I've experienced with him has been imponderably {cheesy}.