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Saturday, September 29, 2012

I have lived inside a clock –

My spine was cramped
And I sucked on empty oxygen
Got sick from it, had nothing to regurgitate
Except for tears which didn’t flow
And fear I didn’t feel
Instead I retreated into my dark, slick interior
Where were my flesh and soul, the same

Thought the ticking would drive me mad.
But the ticking was my heartbeat
My heartbeat drove me mad
And I was cramped,

And what must have been outside
Was not an ocean—not the world
It was.
Was what? I asked
It was.

Thought the cold would drive me mad
Thought the sunsets of my breaths, would drive me mad
Wondered if I indeed was mad
I was; therefore sane
My sanity drove me mad

I entertained thoughts of escape
Cursed everything and nothing, and my escape
Till I peeled myself off the clockwork
To find my spine was made of gears
And my heart was,
And my disbelieving fingertips

Only then did I leave—and was gone
It was. I was not.

And nothing drove me mad

Friday, September 28, 2012

and. marvelous melodies -sprung from musical fingertips

just listen.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

(small strings) of spirit stared through the sun

i think that the culmination of all nihilistic philosophies and ideologies and despair might best manifest itself in a poem that consists of a single word only:


or perhaps..


Sunday, September 23, 2012

saturn raced through 'dizzy cerebral' time

i feel like the ultimate theme of all of my poems lately have been my own philosophical and spiritual surrender to nihilism, which is useless and will lead me and itself nowhere considering that all poetry involved with nihilism negates itself -how long can I live my life and write poetry endlessly proclaiming that everything means nothing? where will that get me

on that note..

my life is an eternal temper tantrum
as i bang my tiny fists against celestial fabrics
and i quiver and shake with renaissance rage
cursing stardust and my internal star-parts
shedding the evolutionary necessity of a deity
we find ourselves spindly and naked--embryonic caricatures
shadows of our own depictions of the perpetual
'finding truth' is relative to spiritual solubility
i am resigned to recognize
by losing ourselves in universal torrents
we will find ourselves! -and then be gone

but the unending itch of this epic glitch
that makes me shiver and spit and surrender my fists
must be borne alone (i fear)
for we live alone! and die alone!
death defines us, in a way
alone. alone. alone. alone!
death defines us-
in a way

Saturday, September 22, 2012

Julian Schnabel

Friday, September 21, 2012

1000 Classical Recordings to Hear Before You Die

I want to start listening to more classical music and I have no idea how to get started.

I did what probably a lot of lazy, only mildly driven adolescents of this generation would probably do in that situation--I essentially dumbed down that statement and typed it into the Google search bar.

Here's what I found:


I think I'm gonna get started on this.

And then finish the whole thing.

Maybe I'll be a better person at the conclusion of it.

If not it should at least be an interesting experience.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Pablo Neruda: Poema 20

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Escribir, por ejemplo: «La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos.»

El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.

En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.

Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.

Oír la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.

Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.
La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.

Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.

La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.

De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos,
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Aunque éste sea el último dolor que ella me causa,
y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.

Saturday, September 15, 2012

"September ached with sepia."

That's a line from a poem my friend sent me a few months ago.

And I can't stop reading it.

Saturday, September 8, 2012

Afternoon Poem

the sun winks through tree leaves, -heavylidded

disinterested ..vaguely sleepy (orange)
the beautiful. spectacle of a sky: irrelevant
mosquitoes hungry constellations
forming around my bloodstream
lethargy tugging me... earthward
a sluggish sort of ‘second gravity’
and my body manufactures
humid heartbeats

theology. and death! and the
concept of beauty –other curious curiosities
reside somewhere in tibet or alaska
petrified in my (unconscious)
along with passion. and death

the homeostasis.. of my soul
and its vulnerability to change based
on weather conditions
-perplexes me

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Song List (Because I Haven't Done This in a While)

Black Rainbow, by St. Vincent with Andrew Bird

The King of Carrot Flowers: Part 1, by Neutral Milk Hotel

Rise in the Springtime, by Lavender Diamond

Child, by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros

Little Bird, by Lisa Hannigan

Elenore, by the Turtles

Inflammatory Writ, by Joanna Newsom

Don't Be Afraid You're Already Dead It's Only Love, by Akron Family

Now look at this:

Sunday, September 2, 2012


So so so awesome. Saw Adam West and Burt Ward, went to see Tales of a Celebrity Ghost Hunter, saw the parade and touched the original Bat-Mobile, and dedicated probably a collective total of three or fours hours just gawking at all of the fan girls in slutty costumes.

Also, watch this if I haven't already attacked you on Facebook and made you watch it. I'm in it! As...well I'll let you see for yourself.