being

A kite at night

is a solitary light.

It plays amongst the stars.

mmmmmm

I can't write in the morning.
It's fairly painful. I am confronted by so much
noise and motion, that I just seem to make lists.
talk.
talk.
shock.
shalk.

I want to move somewhere far away. And I don't really know why. I really have lovely people here, and I would love to discover more about them. I want to know the world, but I am afraid that it is simply a pursuit that will end in rejecting it.

Wanderlust: "an ache for the distance"

I'm not sure how to say it, but I feel like there is not only a distance between me and countries, which I do want to explore, but there is also a distance between myself and people, which I crave and shy from in a strange sinusoidal behavior. Island. New york. Antartica. Austin. Blue Ridge. LA.

GoodWill said to live life to the fullest, and that is what I agree with. Completely. I think that whatever I do, it will be my way, or I won't believe in it/myself/happiness. That is comforting, I suppose, that I will tend towards living for my dreams, and what is my fear? Still searching for that. Perhaps I should just live like a fearless lion-man and my fear will show up later.

MOTTO? I am gonna live this day as sexy and dangerous as I can without getting a disease or dying foolishly.

do. do. do. do. do. I am gonna ride my bike today. I am gonna fly a kite. I am gonna eat soup. do. do. do. do. do. I am gonna speak the truth today. I am gonna shake hands today. I am gonna stop thinking and email petr matacek. and jana svoboda. and that hat maker in new york. do it, you mother. I am gonna sing, and play music, and purge my soul with sound. yes. yes. yes. yes.

gone.

ciao.



'I sat before a moving painting,
And thought about my love.
I saw many a sculpted angel,
in the sky above.'

explanation

I can't say everything, frankly,

because I am f***ing afraid.

to whom it may concern,

you are trouble. Lots.

and I want you.

that's all,

ciao.

!

sway

sway.

sway.

sway.
like some crazy beat.

you hear it through walls at a motel late night during a road trip.

you hear it through the walls at your dentist in the strip mall.

you hear it through your feet punctured and pulsing.

you hear it through a fist in the back of your heart.

you hear it through the earphones of the spicy latina at your right on the plane.

you hear it through the hallways of the abandoned school, someone is learning about the strangeness of life.

eat.

eat.

eat.

eat.

I always forgot to sit down and shove my abilities. 

My throat swells with foul, foul, foul.

I figure that there is something wrong with me. 

big surpise! Stop the presses, boy has revelation!

'But ma, I'm a lone wolf! I gotta hunt, and hide! 

Dig and run! sniff and howl! Ma, I'm a lone wolf! Haaaoooooooooooo!!'

If I'm hated, people are still thinking of me, righhh...??

I started out with servitude in mind. Be that man with the helping hand.

Demand nothing in return, accept little.

I wanted that. I needed that. I lived that. I think.

But when it comes to love, love, love, I ain't gonna hear it from nobody.

She better not love me.

If she don't love me. She won't hurt when I leave. 

I'll just roll on.

cowboy.

thief.

nobody.

But home is where the heart is.

I'm bleeding, 

stammering,

barely moving forward,

looking for the home that I

moved 

out of reach from. ended that one badly. moving on.

point A: boy with brown hair.

point B: victim's home

note the delineation of staining between the two points. looks like there was a struggle.

box it up. tape it up. fold fold. thump, stretch, tear.

lay it down. 

bury.

bury.

bury.

berry.

barry.

bare-E.

Keep it going small fry.

If she love me, 

I gotta love real.

Love real.

Love forever.

One.

(change of pace, p.s.)

Obviously, that is what I want. One soul. To love. forever. Or as long as I am allowed. And then I will love in vain, most likely. Will I allow it myself? shit.

I care. I care. I care. I care. hmm.

Good intentions. Good intentions. Good intentions. Good intentions. wha------

crash. crack. bang! springs. coils. smoke. dust. curses. scrapes. 

"shoot, he's some kinda bad boy. Didn't used to be. My, oh my. (gee thanks, agnes)"

To the fearful leader:

You don't have to be so worried. Say what you feel. No one is gonna get mad. Expect the best. I know I haven't done what you wanted, so please say that. Or not. But let's work, and experiment. I believe in you, and I want you to believe in me. I am a little boat.

I am off to sleep. I really love this chance. this struggle. this, and this, and this. Someone take me sailing. I'm'a'g'may'money. 

Sweet dreams, my lovely ones. I hope that there is someone to coo softly on your pillow. Wake up to fresh air and a fistful of resolve. Today is the first chance in your immediate future to do what needs to be done, what has been dreamed of, and what your love will grow from. cherish.

ciao.

The Music Issue

Last night at the compound in austin. The lovely men of Picardy III.

AGAIN AGAIN! Listen to the wonderful Judas Feet.

Circlebirds. I saw them outside after their set had finished. Sad times. They were really sweet people, and Matt (pictured) had the most intense/wonderful, winter beard. Much larger than on his myspace.

Really wonderful set from Goodfellow. I really wish there had been thrice as many people at least to hear their set. They deserve Glastonbury-type crowds. Like, monster.

I fell for a girl again. Duh. 

I had bad wine in an awesome bottle. hooray.

I listened to my dears rend their hearts to people at a middle school dance.

Literally, I was listening to this while hearing/watching people talk about what the best 'cheap' beer was: "She was always Paris, and I was always Rome/ She was always caring, and I was never home."

That happened. Thank you lord for strange moments.

ciao

She's not like the other proctologists...

waiting around. we were at the King Tutankhamen exhibit in Atlanta.

respect my boundaries, justin. I would appreciate it.

coming home from work. this was peachtree center station around 6.

the careful search. This was a blissful night for me. I was a cowboy. I felt alive, living in my home town.

the 'co in the early evenin.

My birthday was this past weekend. To mark the very minute, we had a wonderful plate dance and littered/battered our kitchen floor. It was glorious.

"She has a vein in her forehead. Full of sorrow. It beats and groans as it attempts to free her soul. alma. Her heart sends up all the blood, trying to escape out the top of her head. straight shot to the sky. Let her go, please. Let her cry, let her stand, let her be silent, let her be still. You can't soothe her; you have moved on. 

I'm sorry, but she can't receive that love right now. It doesn't work that way. no puedes ayudar. 

I know this because I want to hold her too. I want to calm her. I want to call out the tears to feed my aches. I want to scream with her at the corners where you kissed. but that too, no, no it is not for me. "

I am buying combat boots for people tomorrow. I am going to meetings, finishing my work, and eating things that are good for me. my left knee is whining over something. I think it will hush if I sleep. so on to that.

Sweet dreams, all who need them. I think it is nice to be reminded, even if only in sleep, that there is a dreaming stone in our heads that yearns and will not rest.

I will not rest. Prague. Paris. Portland. Austin. Atlanta. Anywhere.

That will be me over head. My wings determined. determined. Thank you, my lover of lives before. I will find you. King me. King me. King me. I will find my way to that sweet nest. I will fix it up with guided hands and I will sing to the forest, and they will live on, knowing the song reached those captive trees and wind-ears. I will be that orpheus. I will rend that tree and find my earth/water girl, but she will not be taken away. Little promises. yes.

ciao.

This was near the top floor of a warehouse downtown. Very wonderful light - I really never wanted to leave. Alas. It was bitter cold outside, and I loved the dusty mountains of leftover furniture and case files. The dust was like chalk. years and years without visitors. I figured that I could live in and construct a stately stove out of the stray iron pipes that lay about.  

A nice winter mist descended on the parking lot of my apartment, and with the help of adria, this appeared.

And then with holden, I was fixed in cosmic-yoga bliss. I reached nirvana that week. Nothing to write home about, but I got a great swag bag.

I have been in the throws of designer passion on the latest show this season. I am working on Iphigenia 2.o from Charles Mee. I feel stupid being baffled and excited about shows. I feel sometimes that my art should always be effortless and nonchalant, but I also want a supreme excitement about it all. I live two lives. Or have started the process of doing so. 

But I suppose that's where I end up with all of my endeavors these days. Terribly excited and dreaming. just dying for fresh eyes and voices. like foxes. their ears prick at the alien shudders of a mysterious animal in the fields. in the fields. Snapshot: me, one year from now, in a field, brushing debris away from a game of othello and a portrait of you. bewitching. I am eating fresh fruit these days, and I have a great sunshade made of patience. It silently pleads for the elements to be kind on me. But I get what I deserve. I have a furrow of smile lines that reach from my jowl to the tip top of my forehead. I will be wearing a slightly worn double breasted number that, when I sit, brushes the ground. I am all about cravats and I use three at a time. one for my collar. one for my brow. the final snatch of cloth is wrapped round my left hand where I sustained a tragic wound from a lover/sword fighter. Left for dead, I was found by an ornery russian seamstress. She dressed my wounds with herbs, battery acid and eyeliner. She was a surprise.

she always is.