Happy. Lover. Fun. Sweet sadness. Sun. Boating. Company. Shallow, innocent, smiles. Immovable, balanced, aimless beauty. Salty rocks and dark, clear, water. Gross, impressive, sail boats. Lighthearted, short-lived, jealousy. Virtuous, incorruptible, happiness. Minimal, intense, natural color. Neighbors. Shipwrecks. Wild, mountaintop, cactus fruit, thorns and all. Those endless clouds again… Fish flowers, dumb and delicious. Everyday a new view. Squinting, purposefully, purely.

Too many people looking for prestige in their performance. Ya’ do it cause you gotta do it, cause it’s the thing you should be doing. Prestige and power is us and them. It’s isolation. More of the same. Music for music’s sake is a reminder that we are more of the same. Temporarily separated, but barreling back at break-neck speeds to the abyss of togetherness. We’re going back there, to where we came from and where we’re going to, to spend an infinite multitude of time, peacefully balancing wi

When the cliff hanging over you is so dense that you’re eyes need to adjust to the sudden darkness, you know you’re in it heavy. A building, in the middle of implosion, falling toward your back, and you’ve got to out run it or die. Each direction chosen in real time, each bump dealt with through a combination of light like reflexes and weathered wisdom, all the while traveling faster than you though you could think. No options, just momentum. Perfect flow. Perfect immediacy. Truly continuous

Abandoned ruins appropriated as valuable, no one asks why they were abandoned in the first place. Typographic diarrhea, shallowly swooned over. Overused, under-thought, in-cohesive spew masquerading as appreciable underneath a king’s cloak of fog and smoke. The same people evangelizing detoxification, living in asbestos lined buildings built on top of broken bottles and cigarette butts. It seems something is wrong, practicing yoga in a town with no trees. Loglo selfishly employed, naively sol

It’s a tragedy to see a show sitting down. Watching some nostalgia machine pump out its product in a room full of dead women and lazy boys. A single suit stands, his tie long gone along with his hair, but he doesn’t care as he dances in the open aisle. Most ignore this dude’s craziness, pretend he isn’t there, because they’ve been dead so long they don’t remember what life looks like and they are embarrassed by the void. That guy dancing in the aisle, though, he’s eternal, he’s the light of

A little girl, ice cream covering everything below her nose, walks past a sitting me, makes eye-level eye contact, and beats me in a race to make a funny face.

Puddles. I know why they’re here, I accept their existence, and with effort I can enjoy their company, in moderation. But they’re bland, and bore easy, and I don’t care for them when they linger. Most of all, they remind me of why I can’t play outside. Puddles have their place, but it is not here, not anymore. I guess I’ll just have to wait for them to evaporate or learn to live uncomfortable in the overcast.

I’m looking out at the clouds at eye level. They remind me of some forever deep mountain, and I imagine myself skiing, or flying, or maybe just the feeling that comes with both. I like how they never end and always change. Time passes, and now I see a beach, or perhaps it’s just sand, but it never ends just the same.

Until you’re dead, you’re still alive, so what does it matter which side of the divide you ride. Not morbid, but relieving, to know you can play by whichever set of rules you choose to abide.

I step out of my procrastination and onto the road, ready to pick up the run I’ve been putting off. The moment I finally make it from the trap of my desk chair to the threshold of my front door, that same smell of summer and spring hits me all over again, and the motif of my life is reaffirmed. Immovable laziness floats away, replaced by motivation and lightness of mind. I’ve transitioned perspectives, and now I’m ready to ride. Ditching my headphones, I’m hoping to hear something I might of

I’m walking down the street, trying to clear my head before bed. It’s 2AM, and I happen to hear this crazy ass bird, lost in its own home, eerily echoing its ramblings off of the brick and concrete confusion that is the city I have just moved to. Not the town I grew up in, but close to it. Anyway, I keep walking, and my attention shifts. The sweet smells of summer have begun to descend in the form of spring, bringing with them a hybrid nostalgic excitement. A feeling so familiar you can clo

Lying nose to nose, I look into your pale, blue, bright eyes, and see them smiling at me. And I make an effort to realize that you’re a person, not just a means to satisfaction. Understanding that makes me smile, as I realize that the moment is mutual and that I am happy because you seem happy. The hand I’m holding isn’t a pawn played toward another unbuttoned fly. It’s the hand of a person, just like mine. There’s purpose, and perspective, and longing in that hand, just like in mine. And I st

They feign curiosity, but their only intent is to unrelentingly criticize with hollow arguments and offer unsolicited advice with unsubstantiated authority. They do this over and over again, permuting arbitrarily through unrelated topics until you are disoriented to the point of craving escape, or until every reserve of your patience has been exhausted, or both In the former case, where you feel the need to flee, they blame you for your lack of participation and the subsequent degradation of re