Here's some videos of me doing what I love. I hope you like them:
At Her Feet - Leave Me
At Her Feet - Your Move
Monday, March 24, 2014
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Growing Up
Feet pressed to mess,
I stand at my bedroom window--
across the river
better apartments
better lives
will I ever get enough?
Will I ever say
"I'm happy with what I have"?
When I'm 40
visiting my second home
soaked in California sun,
will I remember
the clunking Pontiac Sunfire
that never quit?
the feeling of constant hunger
and the satisfaction of a
home cooked meal?
the feeling of the world
shoving up against me
and reveling in it?
Will I remember
the steady winter of youth,
the cold desolation of a life
before my life,
the momentary mirage
of good things to come,
the gradual but unnoticeable improvement
through broken backs and sweat lines,
until one day
I wake up
middle aged and satisfied?
Is there really more to youth
than preparation for old age?
- - -
I missed this place. I missed my words.
I stand at my bedroom window--
across the river
better apartments
better lives
will I ever get enough?
Will I ever say
"I'm happy with what I have"?
When I'm 40
visiting my second home
soaked in California sun,
will I remember
the clunking Pontiac Sunfire
that never quit?
the feeling of constant hunger
and the satisfaction of a
home cooked meal?
the feeling of the world
shoving up against me
and reveling in it?
Will I remember
the steady winter of youth,
the cold desolation of a life
before my life,
the momentary mirage
of good things to come,
the gradual but unnoticeable improvement
through broken backs and sweat lines,
until one day
I wake up
middle aged and satisfied?
Is there really more to youth
than preparation for old age?
- - -
I missed this place. I missed my words.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
The Foundation.
When you feel
those bloodshot eyes
sliding down your back
or the cold slithering hand
of another
busted relationship
brushing past your ear,
do you feel
scared
ambitious
or
lost?
I feel all and yet nothing
broken
and yet
I am rebuilt with each shattered brick--
a testament to who I was
and who I am
but
what will I become?
those bloodshot eyes
sliding down your back
or the cold slithering hand
of another
busted relationship
brushing past your ear,
do you feel
scared
ambitious
or
lost?
I feel all and yet nothing
broken
and yet
I am rebuilt with each shattered brick--
a testament to who I was
and who I am
but
what will I become?
Sunday, June 9, 2013
A Stranger Once.
When we knew each other,
did we really know?
And when we kissed
did we bare it all?
And now that you've left
I feel this familiar haze
creeping in
I think we're strangers
again.
did we really know?
And when we kissed
did we bare it all?
And now that you've left
I feel this familiar haze
creeping in
I think we're strangers
again.
Monday, June 3, 2013
Rain.
Today I feel like the rain:
grey
and cool
and impartial
to the life that happens
with or without me
before and after me
and during me as well.
My problems
will spill over into next week
an overflowing gutter
of rain water,
dead leaves and twigs,
a cigarette butt
disintegrating.
- - -
It's been raining a lot here. I like it: the chill in the air, the damp air hanging off me like silk, the way everything goes green after a day of heavy downpour. I keep my window open because the sound of raindrops smashing into the ashphalt is soothing. When I hear it, I breath again. I forget how tired I always am. I forget my money problems and how all my friends are travelling and I'm stuck here working two jobs and barely scraping by, barely affording to pay my rent and eat and save money to go to school. Just so I'll get a decent job. Maybe.
I guess I just feel stuck. More stuck than I've ever been in my life. And I feel miniscule and unimportant and beaten down. I don't even know why I'm writing this here, but I guess it's times like this when my writing is in some respects at its best. It's a catharsis I suppose, a release for my tired soul.
grey
and cool
and impartial
to the life that happens
with or without me
before and after me
and during me as well.
My problems
will spill over into next week
an overflowing gutter
of rain water,
dead leaves and twigs,
a cigarette butt
disintegrating.
- - -
It's been raining a lot here. I like it: the chill in the air, the damp air hanging off me like silk, the way everything goes green after a day of heavy downpour. I keep my window open because the sound of raindrops smashing into the ashphalt is soothing. When I hear it, I breath again. I forget how tired I always am. I forget my money problems and how all my friends are travelling and I'm stuck here working two jobs and barely scraping by, barely affording to pay my rent and eat and save money to go to school. Just so I'll get a decent job. Maybe.
I guess I just feel stuck. More stuck than I've ever been in my life. And I feel miniscule and unimportant and beaten down. I don't even know why I'm writing this here, but I guess it's times like this when my writing is in some respects at its best. It's a catharsis I suppose, a release for my tired soul.
Roads.
The road moves
in a slow methodical dance,
each twist
each turn
each spread of the shoulders
only to contract
with the next cyclical movement.
I lose myself in
her body
her hair
that black as coal stare
as she rips down my walls
piece by piece
and I watch
the road go by.
in a slow methodical dance,
each twist
each turn
each spread of the shoulders
only to contract
with the next cyclical movement.
I lose myself in
her body
her hair
that black as coal stare
as she rips down my walls
piece by piece
and I watch
the road go by.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Chromatic Scale.
I'm not just some
diatonic scale
you can fit into
your rhythm.
I won't just work
in whatever key
you put me in.
I'm more
chromatic
than that.
diatonic scale
you can fit into
your rhythm.
I won't just work
in whatever key
you put me in.
I'm more
chromatic
than that.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Trash
When the sun burns out,
what will we have but our premonitions?
and when the oil runs out,
and we reach the fallout
and people drag themselves from the gutter
to the trash heap
what will we have?
When our time on earth ends,
what will we have but our preconceptions?
We won't comprehend
when we reach the road's end
and there is nothing left to lend
or take to the trash heap,
what will we have?
what will we have but our premonitions?
and when the oil runs out,
and we reach the fallout
and people drag themselves from the gutter
to the trash heap
what will we have?
When our time on earth ends,
what will we have but our preconceptions?
We won't comprehend
when we reach the road's end
and there is nothing left to lend
or take to the trash heap,
what will we have?
Monday, March 18, 2013
No Good.
Restless
anxiety
I'm no good
No sleep
fidget through the night
need to
build
create
but
I'm no good.
anxiety
I'm no good
No sleep
fidget through the night
need to
build
create
but
I'm no good.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Let It Go.
I thought
I buried those thoughts
in a 6 by 6 grave.
I thought
I sealed that box
and hid the skeleton
in the closet.
But now that it's here
in front of me
staring me down
with daggers
for eyes
I'm wondering
can I let this go?
- - -
It's been a long time. Sorry. I've been so busy dealing with my band and school and work and the future that I just haven't had much time to write for myself. Even the nights when I'm free I find more and more that I just want to curl up and sleep. Forget about everything for a few hours.
I buried those thoughts
in a 6 by 6 grave.
I thought
I sealed that box
and hid the skeleton
in the closet.
But now that it's here
in front of me
staring me down
with daggers
for eyes
I'm wondering
can I let this go?
- - -
It's been a long time. Sorry. I've been so busy dealing with my band and school and work and the future that I just haven't had much time to write for myself. Even the nights when I'm free I find more and more that I just want to curl up and sleep. Forget about everything for a few hours.
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