This is New York
SCRIBBLED ON A NAPKIN, A LIFETIME OF REGRET, SEXLESSNESS ON DEVELOPMENT,USEFULNESS TO OTHERS, DEPENDENCY, WORDSPLEASE, PLEASE, ANYONE YOUNG WITH A MIND, MORE THAN PAIN, A PROCESS AND INSANE LANDLORDS THE HEALTH OF OUR SOULS, OUR BRAINS THAT IS, THE COLOR OF OUR SOCKS, GLANCES CAST AND CAUGHT, THEBUSINESS OF ART, THE VIBRATIONS OF A PEACOCKS FEATHERS, ALL TO IMPRESS, I’M LISTENING

SCRIBBLED ON A NAPKIN, A LIFETIME OF REGRET, SEXLESSNESS ON DEVELOPMENT,USEFULNESS TO OTHERS, DEPENDENCY, WORDSPLEASE, PLEASE, ANYONE YOUNG WITH A MIND, MORE THAN PAIN, A PROCESS AND INSANE LANDLORDS THE HEALTH OF OUR SOULS, OUR BRAINS THAT IS, THE COLOR OF OUR SOCKS, GLANCES CAST AND CAUGHT, THEBUSINESS OF ART, THE VIBRATIONS OF A PEACOCKS FEATHERS, ALL TO IMPRESS, I’M LISTENING

windows within windows. commodoties of commerce commiserating community. sharing unity, the boundary between self and other destroyed! truthfully, seeing reality lucidly, cleary we’ve a ways to go. awhile later, all of this is forgotten, never read, caught up chasing someone else’s dream. giving pregnant housemate peace in the AM. the morning, the dawn done risen on this opposite coast, keeping in mind the sun is both setting and rising elsewheres as we speak. got his lady to make his meat for break fast, what better way to break a fast than with the processed carcass of an animal whose life i wouldn’t want to live?

deja vu on the repeat. living the dream, being and becoming, focusing on what’s great and what’s next. getting lost, falling in love, letting go, taking the path of least resistance resulting in the greatest creation: the birth of your child.  possessions enslave, giving all away, nothing sacred. let’s microwave some oatmeal and toss some raspberries on top. write the story. brb.

after radiolab, bleeding the madness through the night, stillborn and unkempt, anatomical illustrations illucidating discovery of very distopic disco. sacrificing meaning for sound, the brain is wider than the sky. polysyballically meilifluous always. beef for breakfast, without gorilla is there hope for man? Li, like the woodgrain flows, smoke illustrating the breath, dynamics of life, patterns in existence, coherence and superstition about what is worth marveling. chances took and choices— the church bells are broken so they threw up an amplified recording of bells on the hour. a pen abandoned in a threshold, a counterfeit handstamp hastily scribbled for admittance, wondering if my drunken genius of a friend made it home safely. 

windows within windows. commodoties of commerce commiserating community. sharing unity, the boundary between self and other destroyed! truthfully, seeing reality lucidly, cleary we’ve a ways to go. awhile later, all of this is forgotten, never read, caught up chasing someone else’s dream. giving pregnant housemate peace in the AM. the morning, the dawn done risen on this opposite coast, keeping in mind the sun is both setting and rising elsewheres as we speak. got his lady to make his meat for break fast, what better way to break a fast than with the processed carcass of an animal whose life i wouldn’t want to live?

deja vu on the repeat. living the dream, being and becoming, focusing on what’s great and what’s next. getting lost, falling in love, letting go, taking the path of least resistance resulting in the greatest creation: the birth of your child.  possessions enslave, giving all away, nothing sacred. let’s microwave some oatmeal and toss some raspberries on top. write the story. brb.

after radiolab, bleeding the madness through the night, stillborn and unkempt, anatomical illustrations illucidating discovery of very distopic disco. sacrificing meaning for sound, the brain is wider than the sky. polysyballically meilifluous always. beef for breakfast, without gorilla is there hope for man? Li, like the woodgrain flows, smoke illustrating the breath, dynamics of life, patterns in existence, coherence and superstition about what is worth marveling. chances took and choices— the church bells are broken so they threw up an amplified recording of bells on the hour. a pen abandoned in a threshold, a counterfeit handstamp hastily scribbled for admittance, wondering if my drunken genius of a friend made it home safely. 

she loves me maybe, easily distracted, sillily attracted, desperately entrenched, gaspingly entreated, unraveled and revealed to be more than we’ve ever hoped for, even in evenings temperate and tumultuous, so splendidly confabulated i forgot to eat.

she loves me maybe, easily distracted, sillily attracted, desperately entrenched, gaspingly entreated, unraveled and revealed to be more than we’ve ever hoped for, even in evenings temperate and tumultuous, so splendidly confabulated i forgot to eat.

fall like we fell with the moon in orbit, like when we chose there’s no free will, like when we aged to stresslessness because we now know death ain’t no thang. I’ll miss you when you’re gone, so let’s dwell in the positive, giving all we can to this life, if only i could hold you in my arms once again when we were young. lover of guns i ask you to empathize with the lives you take, treat yourself better so the golden rule works. mellifluously our lips touch; happiness: anticipation with a guarantee of fulfillment. challenge your mind, leave the comfort zone, push yourself to greater heights. wear what’s bright like old ladies in purple, like Copernicus, like she who will explain consciousness and allow us to expand our minds to the extent that we stop destroying our planet and each other. weeping for those who didn’t make it, terrified i might not either, rejoicing when we do together and we can exhale and bask in brilliant silent sunlight.

fall like we fell with the moon in orbit, like when we chose there’s no free will, like when we aged to stresslessness because we now know death ain’t no thang. I’ll miss you when you’re gone, so let’s dwell in the positive, giving all we can to this life, if only i could hold you in my arms once again when we were young. lover of guns i ask you to empathize with the lives you take, treat yourself better so the golden rule works. mellifluously our lips touch; happiness: anticipation with a guarantee of fulfillment. challenge your mind, leave the comfort zone, push yourself to greater heights. wear what’s bright like old ladies in purple, like Copernicus, like she who will explain consciousness and allow us to expand our minds to the extent that we stop destroying our planet and each other. weeping for those who didn’t make it, terrified i might not either, rejoicing when we do together and we can exhale and bask in brilliant silent sunlight.

The noun of a convalesced. Hooves ground and reconstituted so college kids don’t have to taste their poison. Never hurry, never worry. The webs we weave by trying. Posthaste to the first date, now a hospital bed with bland spoonfuls. Who is profiting from my illness? Monocropped cornfields displacing this original indigeneous, bending with the mover to remove. A respect for silence and a tasteful use of vocal, exhaling exaltations, hierarchies crumble when the poorest are most in love.

The noun of a convalesced. Hooves ground and reconstituted so college kids don’t have to taste their poison. Never hurry, never worry. The webs we weave by trying. Posthaste to the first date, now a hospital bed with bland spoonfuls. Who is profiting from my illness? Monocropped cornfields displacing this original indigeneous, bending with the mover to remove. A respect for silence and a tasteful use of vocal, exhaling exaltations, hierarchies crumble when the poorest are most in love.

Westwood has not been missed, though photo-ops like these made it worth something. A testament to this greener (dirtier) pasture (concrete jungle) I hear a Schwarzenegger impression in the streets below : “Get down!” I’ve become addicted to street noodles, sometimes twice daily. At only $1.25 for a serving of MSG laden lo mein or mí fěn, I’ve found my most economical staple. I want to shoot the dealer (in the photographic sense) but I don’t want to sour our relationship. Will definitely yelp his merits once I can translate the name of his cart.

Westwood has not been missed, though photo-ops like these made it worth something. A testament to this greener (dirtier) pasture (concrete jungle) I hear a Schwarzenegger impression in the streets below : “Get down!” I’ve become addicted to street noodles, sometimes twice daily. At only $1.25 for a serving of MSG laden lo mein or mí fěn, I’ve found my most economical staple. I want to shoot the dealer (in the photographic sense) but I don’t want to sour our relationship. Will definitely yelp his merits once I can translate the name of his cart.

Where goes the time?

Where goes the time?