weeeeeeeks.

Simply stopping will never make you feel complete. You’ll always ask for a moment to catch up, until you’re years and years behind. At what point are you going to realize there is no former you to return to? You aren’t restarting, you are rebuilding. Keep rebuilding. Readjust you’re life every morning, letting the things that went wrong yesterday sink like sediment down to your feet, acting like a pendulum that swings you out of bed, and you’re off. Spend many minutes staring at the ceiling, trying to remember what you think of God. You don’t need to rest, you need to move on, keep moving until it fits just right and all the feelings you crave are just a shift of gears. Gears clicking and the reminder to hold onto this, hold on. But, oh God, how do we hold on? When something is so beautiful, a moment, how do we handle it? I feel like a parent who doesn’t know what to do with a crying baby. So much beauty, but what then? What more can we do but cry, but feel? Oh, hold on, but pass on. Not a man for sex and love, but a man to turn to and say, “this! this is beautiful,” and have them think, “yes, yes it is!” And he cries and the tears hit your face and the sun hits your face and you know that God is in all of us and that warmth is learning to look into someone’s eyes and know there is something there and it isn’t just you. Don’t stop; rebuild and share. 

a quick prayer.

“Kintsugi”

You found how to fill like gold to hold

together the cracks of my broken body,

an art form that requires destruction

of the formal self

followed by the acceptance of others

in order to create

completion.

Now in the land of

whites of their eyes

I hope I translate well.

For even though Asian pastures that

we’ve never touched

can pin us with exactness,

in farmhouse we have made our home,

and I have set my vase upon hope.  

Now That You're Not Looking

My love for you is hidden in

every shirt you own,

every movement of your lips.

Now I know what you sound like when you’re angry.

Now I am looking straight at you,

your smell isn’t sticking.  

Show me my place

                               carefully.

Here, I won’t touch you. 

But the glass is already shattered,

so let us not sigh over it.

My favorite smells are covered

with sunlight. 

What do you taste like?

I could still be yours for 2 hours.

wait.

And we climbed a mountain,

lied under night’s blanket.

I need to ask you,

will your chest be warm again?

you're dear to me.

Shall we get intimate again?









I think so, I think so.

technology is wrong

In another life, I think I would have seduced Johnny Depp. I think I would’ve been a rock star, The Tubes world tour. Holy shit, I would have been friends with Kevin Bacon. I wouldn’t have known you.  I wouldn’t have told you, with my eyes, why we must stay on earth. Erase it all. Is that what you want?  I want to know the new you, but the new you does not want to know me. What a shame. I forgive you, just like you have taught me. 

And I looked for that answer in everyone. In the movies, music, eyes of strangers, words, quotes, books, everything. But, I have yet to look for the answer in myself. What is the solution? The solution, above all, is to forgive. He doesn’t love you? Forgive. You messed up? Forgive. Forgive. Forgive. And through all this forgiveness, love will be found. But do not mistake love for images. Love is not a picture, nor a word, nor a set of rules. Love is, at least what I have found and believe it to be, seeing yourself in another and recognizing the parts of them that are not you by adapting them. I thought that was the message of Fahrenheit 451, with the mirror factory and all. Not so we can see ourselves, but so others can see themselves in us. I used to think writing is what made people immortal. That only the writers would live forever. But I was wrong. What makes people immortal is loving each other. We can all be immortal. We can hide ourselves in one another. 

I wonder if you remember this exists.

winter.