ダンス、ダンス、ダンス

something is amiss.

rent by dogs and other wild things, scraped clean like a melon, i have never been consumed by so much self-doubt. i feel as though i'm before some passage, before some gate... and no part of me may pass thru. every turn i take, i do my head in. i am a man split from his ghost and losing his shadow. a lemon squeezed and grated.

my mind fades. it slips out like smoke thru clasped hands.

i am tired. so tired.

but i wont give up.

i will not give in.

as flaccid as these words fall, i can not release myself to this deafening self-pity, this tape on endless loop. i have to reconcile that i dont see, think, or feel the same way as anyone. i am laying this thread alone thru the serpentines. there is strength in me still. there is still some light. some ember not yet snuffed.

i can get thru this shit even if it's blind.

one foot in front of the other. one foot in front of the other.

Farming the Oceans, the Moon and Antarctica.

got a chance to catch modest mouse at the grove in anaheim on saturday. while it was a bit daunting to mix with the bros... at least i had a little sanity with me in the form of rebecca.

sirens.

audio quality is not superb, but it was quite stellar never the less.

this gentleman dancer was more than pleased to catch some tunes.

i did not initially agree, but probably the longest wait for an encore since the pumpkins in '96. cigarettes take time... cigarettes take time.

colours.

vanish/songbirds.

with a
dull thud
a patter
of heavy fingers

the click
click
clicking
of a spent cassette

i dream of
jungle cats
and
oysters

every parasite
in that
salty
musky

opal liquor

can
run from chin to toe
from palm
to crook
to elbow

i curse
the waking songbirds
pulling the red
from
reverberant
ashen skies
pulling the distance
unfurling the ghost sheets
that find your
fingers
drawing circles
in honey

and the songbirds
purl
with
quavering silver threads
that i will
vanish
vanish

v . a . n . i . s . h

pollen.

it spreads out
thin as
a cloud
of swooning monarchs
on the lip
on the hip
of
tall
afternoon grass
lazy with southern dew
a murder of white crows
gather
to nest
in my chest
empty as
morning
kitchen cupboards
dusty
with pollen
and other
wild things

winter/summer

flickr.