Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Broken Winged

(Somewhere in the Country, 2009)

Take a walk, fall apart and start it all up again.
From arrow tips and to deadly ends,
Poison darts to rough starts.
False beginnings and unpaved roads.
Unsettled waves and underground flows.
All of the above and a few who knows,
Counter balance who you were (for who you be),
For the future of prophecies and the most personal of legacies.
Like cookie crumble,
Jumble to be bumble, and ramble of the old ways.
For future days, rest for peace,
At least it ain't done.
Until winding suns, crossed-fades, and hey-days of hades.
A life time of maybes, the or to the yes and the no,
To be an outsider and to be in-the-know.
In-between the forest and the machine,
The manchete in the hand,
A strike for a stand,
To fall again,
True value is in getting back up.
Step up, broken heel to a limp,
Blood moist, damp, then vent.

Now saying what,
Now saying this.
Twenty-four years is this,
Too many years of that.
It's more than matter,
And it's more than a fact.

Each step, each break,
It takes more, and with each a shade, a split of core.
It gets harder, harsh, and tarnished.
Prism of shattered light vanish.
Into the thin and thinning,
Losing, taking, breaking, and fading.
Apart from this,
And apart from that.
Each a stroke, a failure, a joke, and a chance of fat.
Of mine, of yours, separate, equal, divided as we fall.
Knockle and skull,
For all and all.
Like a stranger and a friend,
We do this over (again and again).
Fragmented this, of bliss, of creation.
Phased out and phasing,
A peak in it's raising.
Soar like eagle,
Taunt like metal.
How I wonder how it all...

Now saying what,
Now saying this.
Twenty-four years is this,
Too many years of that.
It's more than matter,
And it's more than a fact.

Monday, March 29, 2010

For Other Things (i can't help)

(Aurora, 2009)

I try too hard (but if I didn't try hard enough then I feel didn't really deserve it). But that's not the world we live in, it's me trying.
I'll keep at it. With everyday. And soon it will be something else I try at. Because in the end, all that effort can be rewarded with either success or failure, and most of the time I feel like I had no say in the results (they just happen).
So I'll continue trying, if you don't mind, because if I didn't I'll just be sitting around with my hands in my pocket, kicking pebbles off the road.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

The Forest Where Trees Fall (but no one's around to hear them fall)

(Triangle, 2009)

1) My uncle Gaaaa once told me, "A fart in your room when no one's around is a fart that is no fun."
2) I used to roll around in a human ball on my carpet until I rolled over my sister's mouse.
3) Billy and I used to make fires down by the ravine until I heard my neighbor's fence burnt down.
4) I kissed Mary when she was sleeping, I thought she was faking it, but she wasn't.
5) I use the walls of my closet to write naughty words, but they're more sad than naughty.
6) When I grow up I want to be architect so I can build homes that aren't falling apart.
7) I wish I could close my eyes and disappear.
8) If I could have any ability, besides from flying, I want to be able to talk to anyone, in any language, and understand them.
9) I think there should be an encyclopedia of every scar there ever was.
10) I hope I don't get old and forget where I put things.
and 11) If I could fly I could never tell anyone about it.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Smoke, Mist, and SFXs

(Just. Like. That. (in sexy night mode), from Reminiscence, 2008-2010)

I keep telling myself, one of these days (with rolling fist). I think I just might be full of love, and once in a while it might just be too much for me. I am overwhelmed, I hit the ground, and that's probably how I really bum'd my knee. There's some songs that come into my ear, bypass my brain, and make their way to my heart. Your name, your face, your memory do that to me with some much force I almost poop myself. I'm sorry if that is crude of me to say, if it is naughty and nasty, I am a disgusting person, a pervert and a loner. But if I were to die today, please tell me you'd remember be as an honest person (I think its the only thing I really try hard at it).

Sing me a song, let me sleep in your arms, and let me steal some more of your time.

I wish I could just be a little voice for you. I wish I could be that voice from behind the curtain. I want to be all mist and special effects, in full echo and intensity. Because once you're behind, once you see my face, I'll be a smaller man who doesn't fit the part. Kinda like hearing your favorite book was written by a serial murder of kittens, I sometimes like just knowing someone by their words.

That's all I have to say.


b.o.n.e.r.s (which you give)

(I Wish You Were Here, from Reminiscence, 2008-2010)

Like all good things we had to put an end to this. Sorry to be said, without you I'd be dead. Set to stone, farewell you drone, now let's kick the road and go ...home. Bury me with a ton of trees, but not from ones which haven't fallen. Pick these (points to some dead trees), and if there's a house to be built, build it instead. For real, this time and the next, there's better use for waste, better taste for your haste, and sugary toothpaste (it hurts to tell you this).
I was never good at any of this, you know it better than me. I'm just, a just a little bit; a tweed and tot, havenot and forgot. I am history to me, and to you I am a past which is hidden by your shadow. For me, and to you, for I am growth that happens beyond your eye, like fungus, mushroom bloom and dances in your childhood room. Never to say what I am about to say, again, yes, with reverb and hiss, a little off the top, and always off the topic. I wish, you pray, one day, we, will, be this, transform to that, and grow like roots, digging toes into a sinking sands of a tide-washed beach. 1 and 2, a 3, a four, and a 1, 2, 3, FOUR, you know the score, let's do this to the fullest (let's do it hardcore).
Again my friend, you know the drill, with matching vannypacks and bootstraps. Panty hoes and low-blows. Oh! if anyone knows how this goes, it just has to be you, I know it is you, all blue, all red, all yellow, and all black (& white). For your delight, at your disposal, my face, your western front, and we're getting all quiet, before our storm.

Come on baby, hit me (just once, and again, one more time).



Sunday, March 7, 2010


(Kawaki & Lawrence and the rock the brings the luck, Halawa Valley, Molokai, HI, 2009)

I am so awful. Awfully shy, awfully awkward, and awfully strange; the only place I feel like I fit is when I fail to fit in.
When I asked my mother if I will ever stop being so darn confused about everything, my mother told me: probably never, but that's a good thing. You just get older, and things get more complicated, but it's all the same (really), just in adult-size. But this time I don't get a little toy at the end of this meal; a meal I had to pay for; a money I had to earn; and a wallet I had to steal (not really, that just sounded nicer).
THIS GETTING OLDER BUSINESS NEVER REALLY GETS ANY BETTER (at least I don't think it does, but if it did, that would be nice (even for just a day)).
I started biking a lot recently, even when I'm not on a moving bike (stationary), and when I'm really going at it, I mean, like going the distance, and I'm passing everyone on the street, or I'm seeing people come in to ride beside me, and see them look at the miles I got on my display, and they look tired, and then leave; I feel young again. Not a young that is found when feeling old, because I'm not that old, but a young that is found in childhood. I remember that kid, he was the fastest runner around. All the kids would look fat and unhealthy to this (points to his chest with the only pride he has) kid. Because back then; back in the day, it was all about that. It wasn't about how much you can bench, or how many holes you dug; it was about how fast you can run, how long you can hold your breath (I'm no good at that), and having the best ghost stories around (I'm still pretty good at that, I did live in a haunted house after all).
I'm talking that youth, that kid, and those times; in these times, with these faces, and all that I have as a human. THIS AIN'T NO BOOK, THIS AIN'T NO MOVIE WITH A CLEVER NAME, THIS IS LIFE ("AND IT IS ALL HAPPENING RIGHT NOW")

So check it out now, because THIS funk is your brother!

Monday, March 1, 2010

Learning To Love Yourself (More) pt.12

(My mother swims with a diver's weight belt and a knife, 2009)


What happens when the thing that once made you happy makes you sad? How do you deal with seeing their face, hearing their voice, and all of their gestures and imperfection that make them, them? Is it the contrast of who you once were, in a memory with them, in comparison with who you are today?
It hurts to know I used to dream more, that I saw a world with more possibilities, and had more enthusiasm. It is the before and after that gets to you, the knowing that the world was once greater and fuller of promise, and now all you have are memories with no real insurance of the future (oh, uncertainty). But what is left once all the cookies are crumbs? The answers aren't here today, and sure there is something to be learned from our past, but what I'm getting at here is that the future is where's it at. For shiny stars and futuristic landscape, where deer roam the field with robot-version deer, and where we picture ourselves happy again. Let yourself dream again, and escape this reality of today for another in future-tense. See the future as not something as far-fetch but as something that seems far-gone because it is that much different from today. And ultimately, see it as the opposite of how you see your past, and all your favorite memories to your detached present; letting the contrast fill you with hope.
Because it could happen, it could be true, and it isn't as ridiculous as wild as your imagination could be, or how your dreams see fit, because once we're there, in the future, it will no longer be the steps before us, and that once contrast will be the difference between yesterday and today. Once we're there, once we're happy again, and everyday starts with a burst of unknown excitement, we'll know we earned each and every moment of this and that, and everything; with each tear, and each fight, we earned the rite to be happy, to let our faces smile on their own.
Let the good times roll on.