i still believe in choice (looking for corners and finding hope)

it thunders across the sky like large ships through the sand. it implodes in rooms and sizzles on wires. this is what fuzz and mellotrons are for. the whole measurement of here to there. marked bit by bit. recorded in catalogs and almanacs.

so we lift the fallen fruit. we take the tender ripened labor of another year. the sum of falling rain and drifting ash on a hill. on a hill sliding to the sea. does it call, does it shine, will it last the winter.

but,

and this is important.

there are rumblings, there are mumblings of;;; a slowly cresting silver dawn for crippled children and wounded sloping memories filled with golden apples in the glen. if there is the will and if there is the stay it,ll be pianos calling you softly, warmly from an early grave... to dance once more upon this earth we are bent to till again and again.

honeycomb & wild apples & starships

like fiery-eyed troublemakers
running through the thick
of
an early morning dream
a faint taste
like
dead batteries
at the top of my throat

maybe,
the bitterness of honey

rub your wrists together
strain your fingers apart
the amber
running to
the crook of
barely splayed
fingers

one knuckle
two knuckles

dancing with your feet locked
with your knees locked
hinging/unhinging
its your neck that does the
rocking
like
wild apples
on tender thin branches
like starships
'round
black holes

two knuckles
three knuckles

no tooth has loosed itself

so many dreams about loose teeth. chipped. uprooted. rotting. spitting them out. one. spittouh. two. spittouh. three. spittouh. they fall before i can catch them. lost in grass. down the drain. swallowed.

your face is a blur. an amalgamation of sky and skin. strands of hair across your face. only a mouth and chin. but i know its you. i assume its you. i question if its you. i dont think its you. but i tell myself, its you.

where does this toothless hole and that eyeless face meet? where does it all come together? where are the lines drawn? a promise made on the riverbank is still a promise before the forgotten kings of the cold and trembling caverns.

sometimes i wake in a sweat. sometimes i wake with an erection. usually i have to piss. with an erection.

the point is.

the point is.

the point is... is that this verse chorus verse is killing me almost as much as im killing you.

porcelain nails

in stuttered shutters
a well rehearsed genuflection
breathes in
breathes out
the olive oil
across your palms
between your
breasts
and across your
temple and tabernacle

you beat me to the punch
caught me hands up
reclining in a wooden chair
over lacquered concrete
waiting to fall
and split the prize
one for me
two for you
salt on our tongues
preserving our languages

///LINE///

my sky is black
my shoes are red
just a mouth full of loose teeth

hold the phone
pump the brakes

crack the glass against
sleeping shoulders and doubled knees
hands done up
hands done up in
pink and blue bouquets

if where ive been
tells me who i am
i lost my way long ago
and i am
i am my kingdom come

less and less and less

the windows are down and the arms are out. the drops cascade in blankets of plush. a summer rain offering gardenias on the warmth.;

several minutes and my hands are numb. the maze of my ears waiting for/ the pulsing of/ the rhythm of/ the needles in/

your heart
your heart
your heart

your voice, your feet, the sheet wrapped and translucent pink between our limbs, under the arms of, leafless trees.

the sparrow on the bough sings the rain that streams into us both

me/without\you
in a cloud at the bottom of a well

(yeah, im the only one here now)

gonna shake these spirits right outta my limbs

and falling through the trees. scratchety scratch scratch; that tiny place at the corner of my eye. the crook where my memories glow like flies.

its better up here
its better up here

///than down at the bottom of a well\\\

when you see the moon once a month, and you hear the crow(nine times it caws),,, you want the water, you want the sky, you take the kaleidoscope of stars [forgetting how far,how irrepressibly radiant,] you take it for yourself. into the hollows, but lose it to: the yawning, the purple and green of morning. every. last. time.

id rather to the pink and blue. the brown-red-blonde. a remembered sigh forgotten before its over. lose it all to the hand on my chest and your breasts drawn (in dawn) against these ribs

years years years

i dig through the earth (between the open,crooked roots of the last willow). shining somewhere below, i can feel it, like sweat collecting on the coast of your spine. cool. salty. despite the summer sweetness of nights tumbling under unbroken clouds.

what was i saying?

where was this going?

must, must, MUST watch

i think i caught a bit of this over on [adult swim] one night... and to be honest, my life has never been the same. i see things ive never seen before and i feel things ive never felt before (like... love).

if you ever intend to speak with me again, you must watch all 6 episodes of garth marenghi's drakplace. here's part one of episode one. after this, youll have to do the rest of the digging yourself... but its well worth it... WELL worth it. you NEED this.

and heres a little gem that pops into my mind every now and then... ENJOY.

youre welcome.

belly of the beast

chris invited me over to his senior show in laguna. he's graduating from the laguna college of art and design in a couple of days and this was essentially the culmination of his artistic education. beautifully inspired (to say the least), i cant wait to see what he does next.

yeah, he really cant bitch about his commute.

the pretense began immediately.

luxurious.

"i may not know art... but i know a good ass." well, he didnt say that... but he would.

been here done this.

2 of 5 (notice... the bastard on the left...)

talk of the town and priced to sell.

yeah, you know... it's gonna be a masterpiece.

he said i could have it when he was done... yeahYEAH (and now its in writing).

bask much?