Friday, November 11, 2011













We could of have a house
a place to call our own
you would be in the living room
watching television
stoned.
I would be in the bedroom
or guestroom
or garage
playing guitars
or drums.
Every day, I would serenade you with noise
and you would get annoyed.
Soon I would join you
and feel you warmly in my arms
your hair would sleep on my chest
my chin perched on your skull.
This gentle embrace could last forever
to the soundtrack of my noisy serenade.

We might have had a dog
and named him some incredible name
a husky or a terrier
lazy and untrained.
He'd lick our noses
no matter where we've been
no matter what we've done.
He would have been our first child
a hairy son.
We would have moments in the kitchen
lingering around the fridge
microwaving many dinners
until romance inspired a home cooked meal.
Some wild soup with corn and beef
paper thin cornbread.
A metaphor for casserole
passed down by many of your Mothers.
I would take your hand, dear
and stir myself in with your recipe.
Laughing in the oven.

Saturday, October 29, 2011


 It's a lot like this
sometimes.
I feel the need to (just)
do.
And I do.
Not just
but,
because
I can
and I should
so,
I do.

 There's never really
a stopping point.
(But) If there was
I would not stop there.
If I did
(however)
I would not want to
stay there.
I would not want
to want
at all..
..and this is me


a lot like this
sometimes.

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Buried

 Meet my Demons
 Haunting me for years






 I buried them



at my feet








and left them to the sand



to one day wash away

Monday, October 24, 2011

San Francisco

If you
asked me
what
San Francisco
was like
I would
respond...






Add caption
























Sunday, October 23, 2011

Butterfly

This is a butterfly
inspired by the phrase
"biracial butterfly"
A phrase deemed
onto me by
a very attractive brown skinned
girl.
I think she's crazy
though.

Me

This is me.
This is what I look like when
I am on break
taking photos of
myself.
My head is
always
in the clouds.
I like it up there.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

The feeling that I'm searching for something has yet to leave me. There's this constant want that my thoughts are pulled toward. Love, friends, money, my own apartment. My mind lingers in this state of wanting. This wanted is partnered with fear. Fear has been fed to me, as if to replace supplemental nutrients. I live in a fear based reality. Everything scares me. Things scare me because I let my mind wander down paths that aren't necessarily true. And for the first time, I spelled necessarily without using spell check. Twice now. I read a poem, it taught me not to identify with my thoughts. I am not my thoughts. Mostly, they are ideas. It's my choice to become the idea. Another program helped me realize that my mind isn't healthy. This is probably because my body isn't healthy. I'm a junk food addict. I eat shit, I become shit. I need colors. Colors to help me breathe. Colors to help me relieve this want. Replace the want with the food from the soil. Replace vanity with rich herbs. Subtract silence, multiply laughter. I am in the room. Where is my mind? The term "losing your mind" seems to take a more literal shape the further I reach. I feel that even in my attempts to not search, I am searching to not search.  I am looking to not look. Change must occur within me. 

Oh tonight.

In this moment I am self conscious.
My back is arched forward
bringing my head closer to the dim
back lit computer screen
Cozma, the love of my life
the cat
is at the foot of the bed
her nights are calm here in my room
This place is her haven
the warm fortress of peaceful rest and solitude
a luxury for most street cats
who am I to disturb her from her slumber?
her life seems so much more important than mine
Moments ago my room went black
like a dark sheet suddenly blanketed my walls
there was no light
and in an instant the light returned
only to be taken away again
returned
and taken away
I sprang to my feet curious and
deeply terrified
the other day I thought that I had been victim of
an alien abduction
"Could this be the conclusion?"
I thought
A strange static sound could be heard outside my window
so I ran to the kitchen to catch of view of the street
Street lights were flickering on and off
Lights outside of house and apartments teased on and off
I sat and stared in awe and utter confusion
Is this some elaborate robbery?
The idea wouldn't settle in me
I hadn't the idea
I glanced over to my Mother
who was asleep on the couch
and returned to my room
that was moments ago
Since then I've experimented with an online
dating site
and realized I'm terribly afraid of dating
What do I have to offer?
Surely there are more interesting people than me
You deserve to talk to them
I'll keep to myself
I'm a fly on the wall
a bad habit I get from my Mother
I observe and buzz around
The fly is scarcely welcome
is swatted at, killed, for doing what it does best
Flying.
A purple tarp lays on my floor
Atop it are containers of paint tubes,
paint brushes
and a few items I've been painting
A couple canvases
A couple soda cans
A couple of guitars
and a milk carton.
This is my life tonight.
Closed off in this tiny world I've built,
relishing prophecies I've foretold
of myself.
How I'll die, mostly.
My heart has been bothering,
I get so deep into thought that I forget to breathe
my temples blush with pain and I know I'm close
So I breathe slow
and feel my heart skip beats
wildly.
Pumping in no sort of sequence
and then in sequence.
It feels as if my heart has been pumping harder than usual these last few days
I'm happy it beats at all.

Monday, February 7, 2011

Hello again, blank page.
Freewrite begin now. This is Monday. I am awake. It is 3:18am. I'm awake because I was asleep and then you woke me up to tuck me in. And now I'm awake. Usually when people are getting tucked in, they are being prompted to go to sleep. Of course, my body chooses to resist. Had another vision last night. These visions, only in the darkness of your room, are fun, magical, little adventures. 
Last night's vision-venture started here on Earth. Where I was pulled from where I lay, through the roof, and into the sky. Above the house, the town, the county, the region, the state, the country, and eventually the globe then out into the vast black and colorful space. Here patterns danced. Patterns of rhythm and melody bounced along this astral plane as I soared with them. Red, green, gold, squares, triangles, stars.

I had a great English teacher. She made us sit and free-write for 15 minutes at the beginning of every class. Just sit and write. "Keep writing" she would say. We weren't supposed to stop.

Wtf... I want to sleep.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

My mother taught me not to talk about issues at home to other people. I used to think of it as some form of respect for the family. Now, as a young man, I reflect on what my mother taught me as a young child.

It seems we've always had money issues. One after the next. A constant mountain of bills building higher and higher. Less income than outcome. She was a single mom, after all. There's only so much one soul can do.. She gave up much for Azhara and I. More than I know, of that I am sure.

I remember nights in San Francisco when she would paint in the kitchen. The darkly lit room accompanied by moody music and warmth. She would lay paints out for me and I would paint, too.

I remember being knee height and getting lost at the mall.

I remember all of my scoldings. She'd spank us if we misbehaved. She'd use her hands or a belt. I recall the use of a wire hanger as well.

Wrought by family dysfunction, Azhara and I were raised to be independent.

I have a lot on my mind. I bet my girlfriend is sick of that phrase. I've got a lot to say but, my lips are usually zipped shut. To me, talking is all about timing. Lately, I haven't found the time to really talk about what's going on. So, I'm reverting to writing again. A friend told me, "I don't like reading your blog because it's so depressing." Well cheer up, buttercup. Life isn't always a hand basket of flowers. So what's really going on.. I'm twenty-two. I share a bedroom with my sister. I supervise the stockroom of a glorified furniture store. I've been out of school for 5 years now..
When I was a child, I knew what I wanted to be. "I want to be a rocket scientist!" I would exclaim. Then I had no idea for a long time. Then I wanted to be a musician. Though I poses some musical ability, it seems the rock star life will have to be put on the back burner. It's turned into something dark. My mother encourages my talents but, I can tell she secretly resents it. I feel like my girlfriend does the same. I can't blame them.. I put so much time into something so surreal that I forget to care of myself and the people around me. Frankly I'm embarrassed. I've made a joke out of myself... I made it so clear that music was the only gift I could give. The sounds, the feelings, the enchantment, and the mystery of music. It's like black-magic. But it doesn't work on everybody... "I'm not giving up." I have to remind myself. Life has to happen.
I have a lot on my mind... I'm learning who I am whilst the girl I love is learning who she is. I'm learning of who I am to her. We've known each other for 2 whole years now and we're seeing the each other for who we really are. I haven't been impressed with myself so, why should she feel any different. I lack something that she craves.. a smile or a sense of humor. I used to laugh a lot. I still do. She wants a silly guy. I haven't shown her how silly I can be. She wants someone to protect her. I look like a matchstick. She wants me to talk with her openly, discuss what's on my mind when it's on my mind. But I look at her and lock up. I can't stand it and niether can she. We have communication issues. I read in this fucking "Sextrology" book that a characteristic of Sagittarius woman is that once they learn you have issues, you're forever a loser in their book. It said she seeks a self-made man, or an athlete, or some thing like a librarian with a huge dictionary... She told me she didn't think I'd fight for her if she was ever in the position of leaving. I told her she doesn't understand me at all. Sometimes she gets this look of... disappointment? Frustration? I don't know.. but she rolls her eyes all over me. Like nothing I say could make it right. I throw in some smooth gestures and tell her she's beautiful but, it's like she doesn't believe me. I tell her I don't care about the make up on her face, it's her I want. She's such a beautiful girl, I'm trying to keep it together before some man or woman sweeps her away. Since she's bisexual, I feel like I have to work twice as hard to give her what she needs; the strength of a man, and the compassion of a woman. She needs some sort of satisfaction that I don't understand.. I notice. Sometimes, it drives me up the fucking wall. Somedays, it's the only thing I think about. We have a communication problem. If it's not spoken, it will remain broken.
I have a lot on my mind. My mother has been asking me for money. I feel like shit because I haven't seriously helped out with finances. I've been watching her struggle.. Indulging myself. I feel like such a greedy, selfish child. My sister and I argued out how selfish of a person I was just a couple of weeks ago. Yelling, shouting, cursing at each other as we drove up to the sad apartment. This reminded me of the most recent Christmas where my mother, my sister, and I spent half the morning arguing and crying. Not exactly the Christmas cheer I had in mind but, oh well.. This is the hand I've been dealt. Where there is a lack of tradition there is an abundance of disappointment. My goal was once to play music, get famous, and buy a house for my mom. Now I don't know anymore.. I don't know what I'm doing or what I'm going to do. I've been spending my time trying to make other people happy.. So much that I forget to make myself happy. And if you're reading this and you're not happy, do what you need to do to get happy. Even if it means closing your browser and discontinuing to read my sad little blog. If singing makes you happen, do it. If dancing makes you happy do it. If stripping makes you happy, do it. If fucking all night makes you happy, be safe. If being miserable makes you happy... you might have a chemical deficiency or something.
I'm going to play my guitar. I'm going to sing in front of strangers. I'm gonna dance off and on rhythm. I'm gonna flirt. I'm going to pay everyone back. I'm going to go to school. I'm going to talk about shit that makes me angry. I'm going to punch a bunch of random shit when I'm angry. I'm not going to take any bullshit from any bullshitter. I'm not gonna let some douche bag call my girlfriend a "dumb bitch." I'm not going to let go even if you tell me to.
Today is a new day. I can start this triumphant pivot toward being a better me when ever I want. Truth is, it's started. I've fucked up soo much but, that's ok. Can't have the good stuff without the bad stuff.