Fires from Fossils Once Excavated from Birth

Bathing suits not bothered to be untied.
Gray coast lines, snapped bodies, sanded skins.
Wrap my heart in ribbons -I know you tried.
Prey for the past. Our fragments. The fog thins.

Pressure from our blood, steam fires the embers,
locomotive engine mapping our spine,
fire from fossils to coals and ambers.
Cover me in the seas, shells, and brine.

To become the love of bright and charming,
to ask for future reference of fate.
Be a beggar. Be a liar. Starving.
Float face up to say it's never too late.

I would die for you twice, but I'm no fool;
I held your breath once, twelve lengths of the pool.

silly little art world

i have a drawing piece up at this place and the reception is tomorrow night, friday. if you live in salt lake city, please come.

song # II

everything is alright, and
it looks like rain tonight
but i can't help myself these days
wondering if anything is ever just right
and this circumstance usually proves to be okay
just in case i'll sleep alone and
contort and twist my pains away

should we have never met eyes
i'd surely go blind
like a skill unpracticed gets forgotten
like a bridge unbuilt
is never walked on

what was born a dream stays

so sorry you swallowed stones in place of precious ones
my pearl is to your oyster - incomplete without them

sometimes the shortest knife is the sharpest knife

sometimes,
the shortest knife,
is the sharpest knife.
i stumble around towns,
with head down
cocaine sprinkled summits and wet wet cements,
flybys and drivebys and really short goodbys,
the city that sleeps with more anxiety than,
i've ever seen twitched and stirring
with every closing flower the winter rises.
let bygones be bygones,
and while i'm still here
i'd wish this time to be long gone;
colds and warms and vestigials and de stijls
red is growing greener everyday.
with every leaf breaking the expectance,
a new day rears its head, through the sheets
bells now float through windows and warn the day.
everywhere it is real, and it becomes nearer.
my love, my day, my night, more secure.
these leaves, the reddest and the greenest-
i'm no acrobat. i cannot escape though that window.
where the yellowest of leaves beckon toward me,
sometimes the view from the north sprays a light,
dust etched stainless steel breath-
and i know that i cannot count the times i've said,
one thing or another, and time after time never ends-
paint chips mouth fed fishes swim lap after lap.
i can cross my eyes to focus, but one too many never hurt so bad.
relaxing with arms folded in the sternest of positions
waiting for my legs to become limber,
for the trees to become timber,
and for the entire world to wait, and remember.

if you haven't noticed the question mark that contorts my face has grown sizably larger.

with no place like home, i am without.
first one's burned.
the next filled with makeshift plans.
if i were a builder
it would be made from wood and tied together
plank to plank
one by one with my carpenter's hands.

the boss

oh my. oh my. the boss. what is it about the apex of a season? the time when nostalgia seems to hit hardest. the time when a song makes you cry, makes it so you dream of lives past not present when asleep?

In the day we sweat it out in the streets of a runaway american dream
At night we ride through mansions of glory in suicide machines
Sprung from cages out on highway 9,
Chrome wheeled, fuel injected and steppin out over the line
Baby this town rips the bones from your back
Its a death trap, its a suicide rap
We gotta get out while were young
`cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run

Wendy let me in I wanna be your friend
I want to guard your dreams and visions
Just wrap your legs round these velvet rims
And strap your hands across my engines
Together we could break this trap
Well run till we drop, baby well never go back
Will you walk with me out on the wire
`cause baby Im just a scared and lonely rider
But I gotta find out how it feels
I want to know if love is wild, girl I want to know if love is real

Beyond the palace hemi-powered drones scream down the boulevard
The girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors
And the boys try to look so hard
The amusement park rises bold and stark
Kids are huddled on the beach in a mist
I wanna die with you wendy on the streets tonight
In an everlasting kiss

The highways jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive
Everybodys out on the run tonight but theres no place left to hide
Together wendy well live with the sadness
Ill love you with all the madness in my soul
Someday girl I dont know when were gonna get to that place
Where we really want to go and well walk in the sun
But till then tramps like us baby we were born to run

To Be Understood With You

Bylaws and structure the end point of a reform process started.

But the same is not true of the city this city and its local government,

which have an infection of rate or rate thereof.

The city is swimming with swimming pools covered for the winter;

and thus, we move our salted homes left, to brine and move for warmer waters due west.

We come home to our highly reformed and pickled houses in the summer when the salt on our bodies likes to shine.

often the effort of living is too obvious.

as you were (a song of sorts)

you hold out to keep 'em holding
spread out across the lake bottom floor
hands clasped from the ceiling molding
don't drown - don't let me down
geographic mirroring
connecting as you were before

you hold out to keep 'em holding
action points plot the curve
squares combining circles bothered
don't drown - don't let me down
geographic mirroring
connecting as we both learn

social suicide set to slice us in two
bring bodies of water to keep us connected

keep us connected
keep us connected

365 pounds heavy. 365 pounds of days that rest their weight

foreshortened symmetry
of two destine to wrestle
made to disappear with bated breath.
waiting for the scale to tip, waiting for my issuant of compromise,
slowly counting
down the hours' minutes' seconds of our final exhaust.
when tumbleweeds resemble the tangents of a life once lived,
we'll walk in the long shadows of buildings never built,
we'll talk of times past, we'll satisfy the bleak landscapes
with dreams of lust and luster
when water was a wealth not a want.

so much SEXIE!

with so much sexie in the world, my heart grows big. i must share. i love the coming of fall and september is just a prelude to a tease of what we call fall here in the great place of utah. also, fall isn't so glamourous here because fall fashion seems to fall by the way side, in part because of the short season and also because of malls, sandy, and well, let's face it - we're in salt lake city. perhaps you are not and for that may your fortunes of fashion be brighter than mine. in any case, here is what i am looking forward to dreaming about having/wanting/wearing/measily replicating with my terrible seamstressnotness:


jen kao: click here
jen kao's debut fall line is amazing. it's rich, full, it's airy, feminine, masculine, the embodiment of what should be happening right now....ok - so i'm not a fan of the MJ jacket - other than that, i'm sold.



hemistone: click here
holy shit - how cool is their little menu graphic. . . earthy, cold, bundled, fall perfect.

ok. so, i'm a little overwhelmed by these two collections. other things that overwhelm me, in that weird i-don't-know-if-i'm-liking-what's-going-on-here sort of feeling:

purple
grey
high-rise skinny wide leg peg leg bleh
art school
graphic tees
mother fuckers

goddamn instincts

i take much better photos of you,
much more than your self portraits could prove.
but who is there to take all of my glorious portraits?
i'm left with nothing but my own perspective, my own bias, my own. mine. me.
i'm selfish. i'm wasted. i'm convoluted and contrite. i'm sorry and there is nothing i can do about it.
this one is for you, but you don't seem to know much about yourself anyway. so, i'll go on, live my life wrapped around your insecurites - like a moth to the light. like the flipping of tabloids at the check stand. we live in this age and we shall die because of it.

things that move digital destroys

things that move digital destroys
from a locket to a wooden box i wish these things to move and this must be the place overflowed with deceitful ploys
also, i´m not sure if it´s the swamp cooler or the dead flowers blowing in my living room smelling like vinegar
an ode to my careful plié to show my submission

my curtains hang dead from the window´s skeleton scaffold
i can only sourly and coldly clamp the molded dusty fabric with one fold folding upon the other between my fingers
i climb high and well above tree line and they´ve sent out their army and i´ve got my knife and an anthem in a satchel on my back
one day i´ll learn to curtsey with grace and finesse

sometimes i wish that the little yipper dogs next door were really the coyotes that hung so close to my front door of the place i was before.

you know what i find so interesting is the level of adaptabilty inherent in the subjectivity of an unstated statement. these poems could be about me or you or me and you and someone else could think the same. except this: no one really knows but us.

something

i want to be connected, frequencies, conversations, auras, something real, someting from fingertips, lips, connections through a network a million people deep. people seeking people seeking love seeking life seeking meaing seeking being seeking living a life that isn´t thier own, seeking something, coming down to nothing.

what everyone feels

she said, "it hurts, can you feel it too?"
she said, "it felt like grabbing at a wall you knew would crumble down."
do you ever think about these things at all? she said she had a good life before it all, filled with wonder and all.
he said, "you must be mistaken because you know i'm worth it all."
he said, "i've got a lot on my mind right now, even you can't help me work it out."
they sat together. cried together. left each other. no one knows who controls this push and this pull.
he said, "don't you feel at all?"
and they came together just to split apart.
she said, "yes. i feel it all."

pulling closer

tie my hands i know you can't turn me down
you're so close i need you more
can't have you more than before
i see it coming
i feel it coming
the leave
the sight
the disappoint

the moon has her pockets bloated with silver
she spills some into the water
and keeps the tides greedily pulling closer.

women

us women are so easy to love
with softer curves, softer than most everyone
how can i be upset that you love someone?

little red catamaran

if only i were stoned, this would all seem so much more profound. at least to me. at least for now. there is a folder i keep labelled with your name. i've noticed that this little red vessel on my cheek isn't going away. it's things like this you have to come to love. it's a level of accepting a level of believing and unbelieving. believing that everything must change, everything changes. maybe one day this little red vessel will be gone and once i've become attached i'll have to become proficient in living without it. maybe i'll never get anywhere with this apathetic approach that some anxious people wish they had. they see the grass as green, the grass to them is called adaptation and learning and loving. i call this grass going nowhere. since anywhere should do by this standard, i have no desire to get anywhere. nothingness. look - i've already achieved it. enlightenment, hello. mmm, plastic surgery, no thanks. saggy breasts, dialysis, odd jobs, meaningless rubbish, donation centers, burnt out lightbulbs. i've burned my bras accidentally since using all these fucking candles.

secret box

I had to open the 'secret box' tonight.
the time felt right.
with wine flushed cheeks.
don't worry i forgot all the secrets.
i forgot all the important parts.
the notes about loves still longing
the parts about hide and seek
i'm sorry.
i'd rather let the world spin its axis away
till we lay flat together
unable to breathe from all these blankets of secrets

summer song

Summer is approcahing. I can feel the breeze on my neck dissipating. Disappearing from bone to blood, from dust to nothing.



With that said, I am listening to my current favorite song, "Reading in Bed" by Emily Haines. Bravo. Here are the lyrics.

Who's in a bad mood, who's in a taxi?
Turning the clock back, avoiding a fight with this man he is meeting
Stands in the lobby, counting his questions in the neon light
Sinking under the river, sewer line touches the edge of the suburbs
back to the beach where a family is waiting on rumors of summer
lay out a blanket, bring something to feed the birds

With all the luck you've had
Why are your songs so sad?
Sing from a book you're reading in bed
and took to heart
All of your lives unled, reading in bed

Supremes

These are some badass ladies - period.

this won't always be true

this won't always be true.
when we don't say words anymore, things will be made right
when we can shave the days with wandering eyes and walk away.
those were the days. countless and crying we laid on hot cement sidewalks
nothing is fragile and this will not always be true.
green is the tree that grows in my yard yellow is the air that surrounds
this won't always be true.
when we walk past something like an understanding in a way
when we can speak our names and tame the horses that ran away.
those were the days. enumerable textures flew past our faces as we became so near.
i used to live in a big big house. now the birds have flown south and ash covers the awnings.

Here is this House

Normally, I reserve the mp3 posts for my other blog, stereoke, but in this case everything goes hand in hand. . . and this is where i shall start:


hand in hand ,west to west we start.

again, hand. hand and hand, hand to hand this is what it is.
i am invisible. i cannot see myself.
this is one's own countless moment, countless days.
if you cannot do physical activities, you can learn from some deep breathing exercises.
this will help you relax.
i wish.
hand in hand, under this roof is you. under this roof is me.
flat on your back with your hands flat
against your back. mine on my stomach. what can we do. we're both tied back?
i have the divergent wood above my head hanging from a nail and i cannot look back.
countless, and beyond this address you came. and i cannot turn back.
under this roof- in the house is you and me
and what are we to do?
but be you and me.
i feel like it is fair.
here is you and me.
where it is close to the moments that we feel.
disconnect yourself from everything.

Depeche Mode - Here is the House(mp3)

sexie

i want this dress. this dress is sexie. i like sexie.
the end.

Miles and Miles.

Half a mile of defensive brains;
hard miles,
fast miles,
long miles,
One of us will die.