Wednesday, March 28, 2012

goals for the next two weeks:

- read more
- write new lyrics for the intro track
- draw something every other day
- get all stem packages up so that i can
- make all remix requests
- go to the eye doctor
- find specific moments to pause and feel gratitude
- outline current beats to write to/next album
- clean room
- buy groceries so that i can eat slightly better
- believe that i deserve the opportunities i am being given
- set a loose calendar of goals for album writing/production/recording/etc.
- get to work on time more than not
- work extra hours next week
- reach out to the people i miss
- including those in plain sight
- figure out a tentative plan for paying medical bills without going broke
- don't be bummed
- believe what other people tell me
- do myself in

sorry, i couldn't help that last one.

Friday, March 23, 2012

an old prince with a fear of the crown:

once i finally catch up to their eyes,
they are staring a thousand yards farther.
i just want to catch their gaze,
so i'll keep chasing that vanishing point.

forgive me if i'm behind.
but, then, it's so much clearer up there.

Friday, March 16, 2012

To paraphrase:

I promise you solemn,
I'll be back tomorrow.

So this is what it's like on the other side. Seeing the pain clearly in every pixel. Trying to add up the letters. All the while knowing there's nothing to be done.
All there is to offer is mere presence.
As if that could mean much
in times like this.

Thursday, March 15, 2012

a (very) short story:

so he said,
"we all need fixing, darling.
if we waited for
perfection we'd all be
sad and alone.
you know,
like now."

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

What they don't tell you is that three weeks and seven hours later the tin man tried to give the heart back.

But the wizard turned him away.
He was glad to be rid of it.

Monday, March 12, 2012

Who's at fault?
The one who offers scraps
As if it was all they could give
The one who accepts them
As if it was all they could get?

Thursday, March 08, 2012

It was cold out. Too cold for this kind of nonsense. This teen-aged residency. Too cold to be up here feeling the grit of the roof under his boots. Too easy to see his own breath. Like he needed proof it still existed.

But he hadn't visited Orion in years. And the moon may have never been this full in all the history of words.

He wondered where he had gotten such a foolish sense of romanticism. And couldn't decide if he was well or poorly served by it.

He glanced up while she looked down. Full figured glowing siren. Who decided it was a man up there? She's so easy to see.

He couldn't quite feel his fingers anymore. But he's always been a sucker for the wide eyes. So he lay back, paid his respects and thought, "I'll give it two more songs."

all the same:

he liked the way her handwriting looked. the motion of the lines. the curves. the meaning hidden in something as simple as the shape of an i.

he wasn't sure that it mattered in the slightest. but he felt it all the same.

Saturday, March 03, 2012

a (very) short story:

he can't shake the feeling
that he's playing every hand

but it's not his fault
he keeps drawing

sometimes i just have to lie still
and wait for my pulse to go back to normal
and for the heat to stop rising to my cheeks
and for my breaths to return to their proper depth
before i can hope to begin drifting to sleep.

if only the same method
worked on the madness
of my mind.

a (very) short story:

not all stories need multiple characters.
despite his longing for a female pronoun.

besides, maybe first person is more honest.

a (very) short story:

"i don't know what to do,"
he thought during every other inhale.

the saddest part was
that thought hadn't been new
in decades.

Friday, March 02, 2012

a (very) short story:

the ink from the stamp always lingers on his skin. and he can see a metaphor in everything.

While I was putting it
back in its cage,
I think the other one
got back out.

I'll have to compare
the bite marks
to be certain.

Just wait
for the
fresh wound.

Thursday, March 01, 2012

a (very) short story:

"you've taken what you gave away," he said.
"what exactly do you think i gave?" she replied.