BIG MILKY BOOBS

(untitled, from NÖCH, 2010)

Sometimes it's no wonder why my friends seem to disappear. My legs are tight, not the good type of tight you tend to describe an attractive member of the opposite sex or the sex you prefer, but rather the tight that is unhealthy, not good, and really stressing and painful to walk on. I've felt moments in my life where I felt I was going to collapse, and though no one around me knows any better of how fatigued I was, I felt it in every bone and muscle, and cell in my body. I'm tired. I am weak. And I am willing to do anything for something I'm not quite sure is. It was an image, for years it was, now it is more defined, more realistic, less imaginative, and grounded by experience, but it just makes it harder to bare, waking up with a sigh and wondering if this is the day (the day you meet something absolute and everything).

I like getting out in the country because you can see the stars, and you have time to take them all in. I like the sound of nothing but animals in the distant, and the sound of water splashing against rocks. Most of all, I like the sound of waves coming to shore, and the fuzzy noise of salt water bottling up and popping down.

There are things I miss the most, things that come to me when I am sitting, lonely and alone at the edge of my bed, what used to be the edge of my work chair, and before a city that never sleeps until that night, like tonight, where everything is chill. I hold on to these memories, to past loves, to good times, to faces I haven't seen in more than a decade, to all those I put in my best friends list, and to all those I loved, liked, and broken, or had broken me. Age and aging suck, or at least I blame the two for my diminishing memory. The other day I was talking to a friend, and today I talked to another about how the older I get the more awkward I am, and all I have to say is God, help me. Help me be a better person, help me be stronger, help me find someone nice so my folks at home can be happy for me, and for me to be happy.

I would like to say that there is more than just companionship, that there is more to desire than finding this definitive other, but not for me. I am single-minded, putting reponsibility on an imaginary person, a shadow of doubt, and my only hope that one day things will make sense, or at least I'll be fallen enough for them that they could lie me to a calm and comfortable delusion of itsallgood.

At the end of the day, it comes down to living with yourself, however possible in whatever way possible. To grow, to gain strength, and to see as many days, as many good days, possible. It is easier seeing the solution in a singular answer, and easiest to reach for something that doesn't exist but is representional as the answer to all, the ark of convenant, where everything melts down until it is in its rawest form. Back to square-one, our happiest moments, the simplest of times, when each step was giant, and every discovery was fresh.

I look up to a quiet sky and all I see is little dipper and big milky boobs.

A Little Bit More

(Prince, 2009)

I had enough. So I kicked the kid hugging my left leg with a force that threw him across the floor and into the next room. I washed my foot of urine and left. Two days in the country was enough for me, I was on the fence about the whole thing, Uncle Henri is a crazy fool, and smells, and it comes to no wonder why no one visits him from my side of the family.

With children running a muck in the yard I slammed that screen door like there was no screen door, I stepped down the stairs to the drive way, walked right up to my bike and realized I left the keys in the house. I took off my shoes and tied the laces together and left them on the seat of my bike, and ran towards the woods. The children ran after me with fireworks. Smoke and loud ruckus surrounded me, and the forrest soon laid upon my foot step. Darker and darker I went, louder and louder their menace came. I screamed, and they screamed louder. Pop, POP, POP! Schhhhhhhhrrrrrr...POP! I hated every child at the moment, even the one I used to be. I cut the softness of my feet off on stone and pebble, I ran like the rest of them, and I cried and danced like the rest of them. I cursed everything I knew, I cursed with every curse word I knew, I wasn't going to have it. And soon even the children were cursing, cursing with words I never knew existed, words worse than my own, and when I looked towards them speeding through the trees all around me, they were no longer children but foxes, wolves, and eagles, all with red burning eyes and black fur and feathers. I told myself it was the way shadows form in the woods, that they were still human, they were related to me, but fear would raise and it would consume me.

A gun shot fired into the sky, and I could hear nothing following its sound. The beast children had stopped, and when I looked down to my feet and saw that they had stopped too. I saw the urine run down my leg, and wondered nothing. I hadn't a thought in my mind, as if the piper had spoken with his seductive tone and had taken me with the children. It was my time, as I floated back to the house.

That night I smoked blunts with Henri, the kids would dance around the fire, in masks of their favorite animals, and I would grow to know this place for its magic. Every year, on that weekend, I would return, and lose a little bit more, and every year, on that weekend, I would return, and gain a little bit more. A little bit more.

An Ode to Strangers and Strange Things Doing

(James, Landfill of Maui county, 2009)

Ralph, a friend of mine, had this really good trick where he's accidentally fall on the street, and just lay there for a few minutes saying jokes. The people passing by would first just look at him, and longer he stayed there on the ground the closer they came until they were close enough to ask him if he was alright, but by the time they got there they soon realized he was talking. Since Ralph had their extra attention in this awkward situation they were surprised to hear humor, and when he got up he'd hug them, tell them they were good people, and his father would roll up with the car and Ralph would jump into the car and they peeled off.

I once offered a wrestling match to a homeless person for a few dollars, nothing like bum fights or anything because I have a home, but just to give a man money that was well earned. He just looked at me with his crazy eyes, and stayed frozen for a few minutes. I said I only weigh one-fifty.

Thomas tried that jumping out of the bushes thing once to a really pretty girl, she actually kicked him in the balls, it was awful.

Did I ever tell you the story about my days at sea. I just finished school and I wanted to let loose, change the landscape a bit, and what better way to do all of that than to be out in the open sea. So I signed up to work in a cargo ship, running the rounds to make sure all the freights were at the right temperature, and I'd get to just stand by the starport and watch the endless ocean roll by. It was pretty romantic, but it was also really real, I mean I was watching out for pirates most of the time, but the good sea breeze running through my hair and in my ears brought on a profound sense of being free. I lasted for two trips, the trip to Sidney and back, and that was it, my sea legs turned to land legs again, and I often forget my time at sea since it seems so oddly placed in a live life in a very normal way.

I'm often fascinated at how vast this world is, at the same time I'm also afraid of how small I am. I have friends that go off to all these exotic places, and I'm sure a few of them don't find it exotic anymore since they go all the time. I share a bed between here and Hawai'i, I don't really like mentioning my Hawai'ian connection because I don't like bragging. But most of all, I don't think of it as paradise, it's just a place I go to hang out, to escape the big city, and chill out. If you ask me why don't I live there, well I just say, I'm afraid to. There's some scary dudes there that don't like people like me, picking their nose on their land, I'm not even really sure if it's even close to their land, but they live there, and they seem to know what's up. I don't know what's up, I'm the type of person that once said clouds and blue sky when asked, what's up, nowadays I'd probably say satellites and blackholes.

We're going in circles here, you, me, we gotta get out of this place, we set a time, we were suppose to be gone a long time ago, we lived through quite a lot, and yet we're still young. Some days I feel younger, some days older, I often forget how old I am, who I am, and where I am, as I try to find a place to go pee. Everyday I get older, everyday I have more questions, and everyday I forget more and more. A wiseman once said that in order to learn anything you have to forget. That same wiseman said that it is journey that is value of all travel, not the destination. It's the thing you don't really expected, I mean, you're going that way but you often just focus on where you're going, instead of how you're going. So I say, in a Martin Gaye-ian way, what's going on. Where are we in relation to the stars, and have we really changed from the dreamers we were as children? If the heart becomes a cold and dark place, are you still alive, I'd say wisdom is not to know what not to do but to do it anyways because you know the language of your heart, and if your heart is foolish then be foolish, to be brave is to step first than see what happens, to be wise, yes, to be wise is to know what you feel and touch, but you first have to step forward and do the deed. Are you doing the deed. Let's leave it at that.

Artist Dialogue

(I'm Not There Yet. (Jorge's Last Words), Reminiscence, 2008 - 2010)

I don't write a whole lot about my work, but if you really want to hear it, you'll have to go else where, recently, a nice fellow named, Fabiano Busdraghi, on his lovely blog. Check it out! LINK!