more rooms, no doors

random thoughts for today.

need to renew my passport. i have no plan (other than fantastical daydreams), but i feel the need to escape. the air must be getting thin. im craving france. im craving spain. im leaning toward london/japan. maybe just leave for a month and hit them all? reinvent the jet-setter. buy some hand tailored suits in italy... fuck it, maybe africa. find our real home. haha. somewhere where i need shots and full medical.

i need to fix my protools computer. i need to work on music. my brain feels like an overfilled water balloon longing for an untrimmed blade of grass. i hear nothing but fuzz and bleeps and bips and acoustic reverberations. i cant find the music i really want to listen to, so i guess i have to make it, fail miserably, and be sick of it by the end anyway. but i also need something like these (crosses fingers).

i want to read something new (even though i have several books started...). im still trudging thru the iliad and reading a book for a friend (shes adapting the screenplay and i think it would be a little difficult to offer useful notes unless i read the source material... i think. maybe not). i havent read a novel i cant put down in quite a while.

but most of all, i really want to be able to get thru all these small things so i can get back to writing. ideas are slowly moving for 'the self portrait of a pretentious bastard,' i still need to find an ending to 'marathon' that doesnt make me cringe, and something is brewing in my head for 'gaia.' i dont know what it is, but i feel bits working themselves out in my head. who knows, i might actually get a draft out of myself by summer? (woah, lets not push it there buddy).

i think i need to make this place more into an actual blog. i think i need an outlet. for some reason, it seems rational and expected to actually over-think things here... like why i want to type "over-thing" instead of "over-think" ... must be some muscle memory bullshit in my fingers fucking with me. stupid fingers, why cant you remember your own songs? i guess thats another story. ha.

ok, im done. im shutting you out now. happy winter solstice eve pagans :)

toes fingers nose

it's 4am and it's singing to the dark
it's 11pm and it's shiny waxy vinyl
it's 3am and it's mending thru fog
it's 1am and it's fingers spiraling thru hair
it's 11am and it's longing. already.
it's 2am and it's lost hands and it's closed eyes
it's 5am and it's dawn tumbling round its bend
it's 7pm and it's a smile, it's a laugh

it's not being able to say enough
it's worrying about saying too much


it's time stretching out like a bow to play two notes together
quiet
subtle
quaking
piercing
tremulous
hushed
and returning

the catch of a cresting breath

2008 in a line (or less (or more))

this will likely be updated as i remember more... so chill.

radiohead at hollywood bowl - underwelming... until (edit) the gloaming.
m83 saturdays = youth - yes, they do indeed.
m83 at henry fonda - why couldnt we dance all night?
portishead 3 - perfect album, perfect timing.
why? alopecia - still feels like it was made for me.
titus andronicus / no age at the troubador - a storm of interesting events.
garth marenghi's darkplace - new to me and saved my life.
myspace - hello facebook.
christian's graduation/show - a big bright shining star.
audi r8 in person - thy name is lust.
rock & roll acid test - LA cast and crew = most glorious bastards ever.
dark knight returns - i MUST do an entire film in imax.
indy 4 - limp-wristed, at best.
rambo - hahahahaha. so much blood!
wall-e - i hate it when robots make me feel.
the happening - still want to see it and laugh my ass off.
hellboy ii - sorry chris, i was non-plussed.
tropic thunder - tom cruise almost undid it for me.
star wars: clone wars - could not be bothered.
academy awards (yes, i know its technically FOR '07) - paul thomas anderson was robbed.
playing live at the viper room - im soooo sorry.
playing live at the el rey - we'll be good next time, i promise.
betty i am - couldnt be more proud of jose.
election - obama not bad, still was hoping for mckinney.
proposition 8 - some things still amaze me.
the greatest love letter ever written - took way too long to get together.
sigg - everyone should have one, not just the hipsters.
love - putting one foot in front of another.
finishing moleskine sketchbook - next one will be even better, more worn out, awesome.
the orange box - i know im late to the party, but portal is the best game ever.
mlg national championship - str8 rippin FTW, next year walshy, next year!
summer olympics - glorious HD... MUST go to the 2012 games in London... end of story.
the curious case of benjamin button - can. not. wait.
new friends - from the strangest places.
finishing the photo-a-day project - SEE i can finish something.
food / cooking - pork-chop with radicchio and apple... god came in my mouth.
turning 28 - friends are meaning more than ever.

. . .

looking forward to in 2009:

finishing the greatest love letter ever written
spain
london
japan
film work
a studio
more cooking
finishing: the self portrait of a pretentious bastard/marathon
new music: whatever i can find/am given and the camerahead/and the holy roman empire
taking time

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