MacKenzie, on a whim

fire ball 'cross the sky us flat on frozen corn fields it fizzles and fades

"Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition."          Alexander Smith

the sad fact of the matter is we have failed each other both becoming exactly what we feared most, what we knew about each other all along, the reason we pretend to have never known. because pretending not to know hurts less than knowing the plain truth: we have forsaken each other's trust in the worst way possible to the opposite individual.  i don't blame you, i can't blame you because i am just as guilty yes, i failed you. if I could regret, I would regret hurting you i forgot about you, as you had forgotten me so that nothing i was doing was to you, had nothing to do with you, i convinced myself you didn't exist at least in this, my, world. then i heard you singing and the weight of the world fell upon my chest strapping your grey t shirt to me, ripping everything open finally i could feel you again, in that way i could only feel you in our silence, in-between the electromagnetic waves of us you were real again how did...

Michael Muller

Happy Thanksgiving, pumpkin pancakes for breakfast in a foreign, dirty ass house. An angel let me sleep in her bed last night and I got a full night's sleep for once. Now we're miles away, stranded, once again, with the scent of chlorine and coffee. What am I thankful for this year? It's my most thankful year yet. I haven't stopped yelling it from the top of my lungs since the Bay of Islands. That was a year ago, huh? You and I, flannel clad in the rain, completely alone on the opposite side of the world. Then and now. Well, thank you more please for everything; the places we've seen, strangers we've loved, lands we've grounded ourselves on, support systems and the mattresses on the floor. But mostly thanks for you and me, for unrequited love and laughing at every misfortune that comes our way. Thank you for brushing it off your shoulders, for the package that saved our lives that lonely week, the emails I came home to. Thank you for showing me who you reall...

Congratulations, you have figured out the perfect formula for seeming too cool and uninterested to make everyone around you feel like shit. You've learned how to control a situation by just not giving any fucks at all; you suck the soul out of those around you who are trying desperately to seem just as cool, calm, collected, uninterested as you seem. Sounds like a deep, deep pool you swim in. You must be doing flips. What a satisfying life you must lead, always putting up a front, explaining that you simply just don't have that much going on up there. WOW, the girls must be begging to get into your sheets. Not her, not us. We want to get into your head, into your heart. But that's too much to ask, god forbid anyone actually know you. Why don't you try a real conversation on for size? Would it clash too much with your Hawaiian shirt and striped shorts? It's not fuckin' rad.

Hello old friend of a feeling, it's been a while since we've met. Time to pack everything up, this time though, we're leaving some things behind. I promise we'll be back, how many times have I said that. Yesterday in the fields of music and youth the sun shone on my face and it was all so far away. Today, wake up, smell the chemical coffee and start packing up, throwing out, gearing up. Smoke a ciggie out front with Alex and my hands are shaking. It's probably time to eat some breakfast. One week left here? Goodbye to the insane asylum, drunkards in the back yard smoking and speaking words I don't understand. Their eyes are piercing and they scare me. So here we go. I got this, I think. The calm before the storm is over, we're about to enter the eye. It's the moon, the sun, and the sky. Sometimes I wonder if my strength is a facade, a trick I'm subconsciously playing on myself. I am completely unaware and in control at the same time. Technology has...

Shake It Out demo

A postcard arrived in the mail today; beautiful words laced with love in tiny script. Like the many I have packed in a shoebox in my childhood bedroom. She read the words out loud and I heard your voice rattling that shoebox, spilling your soul to me from miles away again in my bedroom, in my mind, reminders of the silence we share Again I heard the words a foreign tongue speaking to someone else. Slowly, I was the dusty shoe box, filled with the emptiness of you, stuffed to the brim with my own silence. I see photographs of your face - I can hardly believe you're still real. You are but a character from a story I'm not even reading anymore

People are always telling me I think too much about things. Like there's some magical switch in my brain I can turn off, like my thinkometer can reach a certain level and all of the sudden my mind will shut down and think about nothing, or something else entirely. I guess I try to believe that you are in complete control of your thoughts at all times, but are you in complete control of how much you think them? I'm not sure I understand how I'm supposed to not think about things so much, or why I'm supposed to not think about them so much. Maybe you should think about things a bit more, did you ever think of that? Maybe thinking so much isn't a bad thing, maybe it's no better than not thinking at all though. Do most people not think a lot? Does it make me strange to think? To say conversations are beautiful and to want to know people's innermost thoughts? What else are we here to do? Human beings are the most incredible species in the world because we have th...

I've become quite fond of my spot on the bed. The internet connection is strongest there, right on my bedside table, below photographs of all of us as children. I can see the corner of Bridge Road from my spot, there are a few trees, some oddly placed palm trees outside of the window. From here, I see endless airplanes arrive and take off. I imagine the people on those airplanes, where they are going, how happy they are to arrive here, the tricks their minds have played on them by creating false pretenses of what this island should be. The sun falls with the night, making room for a moon that's been visible all day. Shadows lie on the tree canopies, warmth fades from the building facades, another plane goes by. As the minutes pass, I get closer and closer to my favorite part of the day, soon she will be home, we will fill this room with smoke and words, the scent of 5 dollar vegetable curry from down the road. Not much longer until she arrives but in the mean time, here I sit, ...

(artwork by Adonna Khare )

Do you remember when Irene came? You reminded me of my silliness and played music with your friends until late. When it was time to go home, we drove through slight flooding and parked the van out in front of the house. The power was out so we just sat there, each of us drank a beer, we listened to the radio, the wind,  we spoke to each other. I'll never forget the frogs, the toads? They made that unbelievable noise, the one that got us out of the van and into the flooded streets up to our knees in rain water and mating frogs I couldn't believe it was real and so beautiful. I remember putting my boots on and walking through the river in the woods it was late, we had flashlights, and I was utterly terrified but we were doing it together and no one else had wanted to come with us. I couldn't back down on you and eventually you realized we should stop. We caught an eel in the street, kept him in a Mason jar on the dresser He was there for such a...

"You need to have someone in your life that appreciates you and who you are all of the time! Don't settle and sacrifice your happiness. I know, I've been there. Use your strength and stand up for who you are and what you want...everything else will fall into place. You deserve to be happy and be at peace with everyone in your life. I love you too. Be well and stay safe."

"When someone is searching," said Siddhartha, "then it might easily happen that the only thing his eyes still see is that what he searches for, that he is unable to find anything, to let anything enter his mind, because he always thinks of nothing but the object of his search, because he has a goal, because he is obsessed by the goal. Searching means: having a goal. But finding means: being free, being open, having no goal. You, oh venerable one, are perhaps indeed a searcher, because, striving for your goal, there are many things you don't see, which are directly in front of your eyes." This is one of the great truths of my journey. It's always when you're searching that you find yourself further and further from what you are longing to find. When you give up on searching, exactly what you need presents itself. As a minor control freak, it's extremely hard for me to give up trying to find a path for my life. Hopefully with time, I will get b...

"It means you are home," I've heard her say countless times, "It means wherever you are is your home." that's the truest thing I've learned on this trip, You are your own home and it may be lonesome and cold, uncomfortable at times but damn, it's the truth.  You are your own home and I am on the other side of the world wondering why people are still people Drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, stealing people's laundry from the wash room  My darling, though this may be true, you are me and I am you, I'm living in half of a home, there is no roof, no walls, the rain drips in and down all the time I'm listening to you sing, wishing I could write like that, wishing to contribute to it all instead of run away from it if that's even what this has been Oh home, home you are me and I am you.

My legs are itching, twitching in the night time, skin's falling off into all my clothes, bones in my mouth, I'm spitting on myself in my sleep. I wake up to the knocking on the doors. I still can't edit anything I write, and I'm running from every Zombie and with every TV character I know. They know where to find me; in abandoned theatres, dusty garages, underneath every piece of summer clothing I own It's winter here, the tail end of cold seasons dark rains and girls in boots. And why did I wash my hair? Should be dressed in black, holding your fingers in mine, walking in the morning in my underwear among bottles and old cups of tea. I promise not to mind the dust any longer, the smell of the carpets that I just want to lie on, yellow rings in the tub, the cat in the sink bottle caps in my toes Your sweet voice, your small appetite, your puffy eyes in the late morning light in the early afternoon shadows, "Hold me, hold me,...

Today was a beautiful day in Fiji. The sky was grey all morning and it rained from the early afternoon, through the whole night. But we were surrounded by people who like us, who care for us, who take good care of us. Matt is from England. He is tall and hefty with a bit of a receding hairline, blonde hair and blue eyes, and the most familiar face you've ever seen. He speaks the world of his father but never mentions a mom. Back at home he lives in a huge house with all of his siblings, their significant others, their children and, of course, his father. He loves cooking. In fact, he cooks for us often. He asks only for a few bucks towards groceries and refuses any help. He's a good cook. He talks a lot, and often about himself, but he explained to me once, on the mattresses on the floor during movie marathons, that he isn't bragging, he just wants people to know who he is and what he's about. He is very genuine. This morning the three of us walked up the road to Je...

They've been telling me to find the light since I had the nerve to stand up there alone. They say that not all those who wander are lost, But most of us are. I'm still chasing the sun, following it all the way around the world; burnt cheeks and stiff skinned. Chilled under the glow of Fiji's full moon It's a different one than you see and it doesn't feel so close. Home is just a thought, but what of unhome? neverhome? What of love, what of you? Forever the girls, they all know what you mean Well at least he isn't drunk and falling off the stool this year.

Kenz,       It is good to hear from you as I am a worry wart and worry about all my children. I read your blogs and your words are so beautiful and I can picture you in a wonderful place. You sound happy and at peace with where you are and where you are going. I know you have been struggling for a while with decisions of the future, but you need to live your life for you and no one else. The answers will come, be patient and listen to your heart and your sound mind. People will give you a lot if advise and you can listen but they don't know the woman behind the face. You are beautiful, smart and such a good person with a kind soul. I miss you for the person you have become and the beautiful butterfly that is forming. Love you so much,         Your Shirley mama

Pitch black living night waiting up past the party goers for a paragraph or nothing at all salt water down my cheek in my hair soaked into my skin here, they tell me it heals all Shaking scared at the voices in my head or is it only the voices in my headphones that aren't yours frighteningly foreign. playing with my hair pretending to watch your hands feeling mine twist the curl behind our head salty, sandy, similar heads smelling like dirt softer than that sing me a song? there at the end of the day waiting to sit in silence together can't you please make me feel safe again during this thunderstorm? I'm all alone in the dark, been waiting too long wrap me up in the back of that truck I need to get home safely. I never even noticed that your grammar was bad. hear my laugh in the background there's your whisper through the song our secrets permeated. The song ends and they disappear.

"I just feel lost. I don't know what I want to do with my life either so its hard, like, New Jersey just doesnt seem to have much to offer. But I guess if you want to make something work you make it work. All normal things I suppose. Just the timeless question of Who am I, what do I want to be, what do I want to do." "Yes midear.. those are always the doosies. I would say that you are love, you want love, and want to love; the unconditional, non-witholding kind."

How did we get here from forever talks to never return? Didn't you mean it when you said through the hard times? Where have you been since they began? It seems neither of us know anymore what we want or mean, but please don't lose me. I guess you can't settle down without settling. I don't want those nightmares coming true, a world destroyed, you're no where to be found, I already can't find you December is months away. The love that they grew in the summer Froze.

This morning Stiff back and sandy carpets A Scott sleeping on couch cushions in the common room As the married man sneaks out of a private room. Folded flowers and phony phone calls Why did you want to waste an hour and a half Giggling with us on the floor? Happy Saturday night and all I feel is more confusion. My brain is swollen from too much salt, we skipped cake for this and now that old song is on repeat again. Technical difficulties, man, you're telling me. The room is dark and I am watching your face and sometimes mine on a small screen Just trying to feel closer, stale mouthed, I am dying to feel your hand on my cheek as it was just there in that moment. But you won't even go home for me You'd rather the drunken Moose and I'm left, not alone, but with helpful voices of men in the places I want to be So who will the fault belong to when I don't return?

The truth is I could fall forever continuously losing my breath as I see the water approaching. Its a matter of whose at the bottom waiting to catch me, swim out, carry me ashore, push me off the edge again. It's all about what you do with it whether or not you ride through the rain around the bend even when it seems your tires won't make it. How long until I'm yours or mine what can I be in the meantime? Besides endlessly falling And I still don't understand what I am besides in transit Who I'll be when I stop running from myself Everything else, and everyone. Maybe that's what everyone here is, sleeping on bunkbeds, showering in cold water, singing songs at the kava circle. I've realized it's what I don't want to be I don't know how to escape it. I've been down for a few days now I don't mind it down here, it won't be long until I'm up again,  laughing downstairs wit...

On our second day here in Nadi a tall skinny beautiful blonde woman arrived. Alyssi, or Alison, I'm not sure which to call her because she goes by both. We were already in a low point coming down from the best 4 days of our lives in Haliewa and had felt a bit intimidated by the unwanted attention from men in the airport and on the beach.It is very easy to be afraid of the unknown. Anyway there we sat in the office of our hostel when she walked in. Right away she began speaking to us about going to the disco tonight, Adam would drive us, and it would be fun. She told us about living in a Fijian village and warned us against the dangers here. She told us to never use ATMs, not to wear jewelry out in public, and never look men in the eyes. She said not to smile at men or out in public and scared us away from even walking across the street to another near by hostel. She told us stories of almost being raped and beheaded in her village, and that she always had a body guard with he...

"The thoughts, they come like waves, sometimes heavy and intense, and other times light and calm. I am here always." "So in Hawaii I learned to respect the ocean, which meant diving in and letting the waves take you as they wanted to, you can't fight them. You have to accept that the ocean is infinitely stronger than you and it will take you where it wants. Do you do the same thing with those thoughts? And if so, how do you let the heavy and intense thoughts overcome you without sulking in negativity?" "Absolutely. Except, once you realize that you can float..the waves sort of just carry you. You don't have to assign value to them, good or bad, just another wave. Some people can do more than float.. they ride those fuckers. I've yet to find one powerful enough to carry me as far as I'd like."

Blew my mind. I don't know who I am anymore, what I want, what I know. The North Shore was unlike anything I ever experienced and now that I'm not there anymore, all I can think of is getting back there. All the comforts of home but you're in paradise. Who am I when I'm not there? Part of me is missing, so many parts of me are missing. I want our little family, papaya banana smoothies every morning, doing yard work in the rain, spoil me with bread and a swim in 3 tables. Haleiwa is heaven and that's all there is to it. How could I be happier than hurling myself off Jump Rock in Waimea, hiking up the Boy Scout trail and picking my own strawberry guavas, trying to keep up with ya'll under water. I belong in the back of a pickup truck because it is a wonderful life and I deserve skies of blue, clouds of white. Surrounded by the people from home who all got out. I am not the kind of person who stays, I just am not. I'm the kind of person who walks down to S...

Thank you for the time we spent in the dirt needing nothing except each others sticky hands for reminding me that I don't need to look like anything, or feel like anything,  or be anything except me, before I even knew it You wanted me to cover myself in tattoos wear the same clothes twice, thrice, dare I say 4 or 5 times more Now I get to remind you that we can be separated for any extended period of time the immediate physical experience isnt necessary you are in my head and heart from the time the sun rises for me to the time it sets for you and I never knew what you meant by that before I'll travel all over because, like you before, I have no idea what else to do maybe someone will give me a banjo, or a voice, courage,  some tricks up my sleeve. What do you see in me yet? How did we become each other and ourselves together? are you even aware of it? Everyone has the same name as you but that isn't even close And thank you for coming back ...

Thus far through our eyes

I'm already blaming myself for leaving, not sure what the blame is for not sure why. But I'm saying goodbye to the man on the moon, I'm hoping to God I see you soon Back on Rattlesnake Mountain close enough to touch the Big Dipper far enough, always too far from you I'm passing parking lots I called you from, clenching childhood friends sitting where parked cars should be That was years ago and only for the first time

Austin, TX Backpack Yoga Gypsy Video 1

Philadelphia was 24 hours too early breakfast at the Mariott (where we learned you never get to eat the apple turnovers that you stole) and backseat fourties I don't want to see your drunk chataranga truck stop incident chin bruise but we can smoke this weed drink beer and eat chicken wings. Seeing my reflection when I turn to you we are constantly cracking up. The pear doesn't fall far from the tree, but anything in excess will attract the flies finally Thursday made it to the airport too many hours early but at least on time.

The problem is that there is no problem. None of us know what the fuck we're doing. None of us want to be held accountable for our actions, our thoughts, feelings, fleeting though they may be. I read Joe use the words "falled tree." Words I've used and thought different enough. But they weren't, not different enough to set us apart. So we may drive each other crazy, we may live such intimately intertwined lives that some days it seems it can't go on the way it is, but it does. We love each other. We are a family. There is some underlying attraction  between us all, maybe it's creativity, maybe it's that we're all outcasts, or maybe it's just that we're all madly in love with the world and each other. Regardless of what it is, it exists. And it will continue to exist, no matter what continents we reside on, how long we go without touching each other, hearing each other, drinking together, rolling around in grassy fields, or bathing in teal c...

I woke today feeling empty; maybe it's because you're across the ocean, maybe it's from eating too late at night. Either way I rolled onto my belly felt a pang in my shoulders hugged a pillow and wished to feel your skin your body mass on me. Everything was so still in that moment where I saw golden spider webs spinning and spending their energy, just silence and black black black black black black My own breath didn't even exist. Now it is all your sheets with someone else's skin, too much shit in the carpet a spirit playing me lullabies. Dirty dishes in the sink pine needles in our toes shoes that hurt more than just burning my soles on concrete. I am still sitting in the children's section of the library I guess some things never change. Accused of fevering, dropping, dehydrating. I guess some things never change. And where have you gone? Days ago you were attacking me for a lack of interest now you've disappeared. Sti...

It is impossible not to imagine some sort of future for yourself. I know that nothing I concoct in my mind will come to fruition, life doesn't work that way. Or does it? How far does manifestation go? If I think long, hard, and enough about my future can I somehow create it into a palpable reality? I often tell myself that life doesn't care about my plans; it throws you in whatever direction it wants you to go in. However, I have always dreamt of traveling the world and here I am now, about to be embarking on the most epic adventure of anyone's life with my best friend. Is that coincidence or did my hopefulness and optimism somehow push the planes of reality to form my desires? What is the best way to live your life, hoping for all the things you want or opening your soul to whatever the world brings you? Maybe the trick is finding the balance between creating your own destiny and welcoming your reality with open arms...

I saw my brother at the Lorimer stop As we approached the platform, my face held with a cupped hand against the glass, looking for graffiti and half for the people that BJ talks of who live underground, eating rats sending messengers making babies living with large eyes underneath the city ground. As the train rushed against the station I saw him walking wondered what the chances were thought about if he'd see me or not. He was headed towards Manhattan and I don't know where he was going or why but I placed two open palms against the glass window patting it in opposite times told myself he'd look up and see me riding by and eventually he did and we both smiled I laughed a bit out loud and though I had my headphones in still made noise. I waved and laughed again as the train rode by him onward towards Bushwick and Jefferson Street, I saw the men on the train look at me wonder why I'm laughing or so happy to see someone on the platform edge. ...

It doesn't happen extremely often, usually on the train ride back to the city, after talking to my father in the car for an hour, when I realize nothing has changed;                 I was just further away from the sameness. Talking about technology of today and what it will be in the future, chips in our wrists and google computers on our eyes. It happens when I think too much about society, pop culture, the 2012 presidential candidates, graffiti in the subway, how unhealthy my dad is how little there is to talk about between us. When it happens it's never an overwhelming desire to die, it is merely an indifference to disappearing. Often on my way to work after a few days in bed with Gary, watching the cat run into the cemetery, the chime of the church bells before I open my eyes in the morning, premature reminder that my bliss is temporary. Really the best solution is to go across the world         ...

If we all come from stardust, it would make logical sense that who we are is defined by the stars and planets and where they were at our birth, right??  Restless, cheerful, and friendly, Sun in Sagittarius people are generally on the go. They have a love of freedom, and a disdain for routine. Generally quite easygoing, Sagittarians make friends with people from all walks of life. They love to laugh and tease, and get along well with both sexes. Sagittarians have an often blind faith in people, and in the world. Their optimism is infectious, although it can get them into trouble from time to time. These are curious people who love to learn. Their idealistic nature is hard to miss. Although generally easygoing, Sagittarius is a fire sign. This gives natives a generally quick temper. Fortunately, they're usually as quick to forget what got them angry in the first place. The need for escape is generally strong, and some Solar Sagittarians come across as a little irresponsibl...

I shrink in the shadows of the skyline, the subways make me sleepy and each late night walk makes me miss you more. I never stopped, I can't. My shell may have hardened but I am  a shrimp inside, selfishly (shellfishly, haha) in love with you. Cities can make you mean, make you do things you'd never do. Survival mode overcomes the simplest of souls. Take me back to the woods, I am withering up inside without the lakes, the fields, the parks of my home. What I wouldn't do to be smoking in the tree farm. Remember when we used to wake up early to look for frogs? I'll never forget the awe I felt from seeing that uprooted tree on the path. That is all so much more beautiful, amazing, intriguing to me than metallic monsters towering above, strict, stern, hard and plain. There may be many lives inside those buildings but there is no life. I yearn for Turkey Swamp, my shoes getting dirty, tall grass itching at my thighs, a joint in your hand, and a dog barking nearby. I...

Approaching a fog covered city is like looking at a dream from above. It is hard to be certain where the thin line exists between it's reality and imagination. Is it there? Or are those shadows and silhouettes tricking my mind? It's how this whole life has felt; is this all actually happening? And if it is, how? The closer you get the more sure of it all you are, it becomes more palpable, and suddenly there you are, standing in midtown, surrounded by colossal metal structures towering above your mind. Perspective is everything. I feel as though I've woken up from a childish dream. The last few years I didn't understand talk of this imaginary world and now it's as though a curtain has been pulled from over my eyes, the sunlight is flooding my room and it is finally spring.

I will always remember standing in the crowd looking up at you in that jean shirt. I've always loved you in that shirt, especially since it's from the Gap. I will remember little smiles affecting your cheeks, the way you looked at me when you realized I was so close. Most importantly I'll remember you singing to me the words that you first said to me in the beginning. Most of the time you don't pay attention to me during that song, but you've looked at me at the appropriate line twice. Once on our anniversary and again the other night. It feels like so much inside when you do that, when I really believe it and it seems for a split second that this may work. Vividly I will see you tugging the string around your neck from under your navy undershirt to hold the wooden ring between your teeth. Smiling and dancing and feeling so happy, I will always remember the greatness of us. The issue is what I never seem to remember, like talking to you for a total of 5 minutes afte...

I haven't been alone for this many consecutive hours in quite some time. Not that I mind it, it's rather refreshing. Refreshing and terrifying at the same time. What is it that makes some of us so afraid of being alone? I opened up the bedroom window and sat on the sill. I lit my cigarette with solid and sure hands, inhaled, closed my eyes and listened to the city below. I am only on the fifth floor but I look down at the streets below, red and yellow, blue and green lights; cars driving too fast for small city streets. Everyone is in a rush here, they honk their horns, speed up at crossing pedestrians. I begin to lean back and realize the window is open behind me. Most people are afraid of heights. Most people get dizzy from looking down at the ground beneath them from very high up in the sky. Looking down never makes me feel that way, it's actually the exact opposite. Looking up is what gives me a slight fright, a shiver that shoots through my blood stream. Looking up m...

Today was a very beautiful day filled with beautiful things; snow falling on my face while walking with an interesting stranger towards the foggy and lit up Empire State Building, the smile on my sisters face as she leaves for a new job that she loves, the jazz musicians in the subway at Union Square and the crowd surrounding them as they play, and this video. This is beautiful. I love life. Some days the city makes me feel defeated, like I have completely failed. Today was not one of those days.

Life is awful hard boys, life is something hard.

There are very few things I wouldn't do to sleep next to the person I love tonight. To see every tiny freckle I find perfectly placed upon his back, I want to smell his sweat and feel his legs wrapped ever so effortlessly around mine. I want to fit with my other half. I want to sleep in too late and open crusty eyes to the ocean, I want to spin in the rain under the moon and stare with wonder and amazement at the peaks of the house he built with his two hands. I don't want to hear his words through tiny metal holes and feel the things I never understood. My dreams feel empty without warmth and comfort at the end of the day. I have a call back for an HBO series tomorrow and I still want to be back in the suburbs making silly mistakes. Some things never change.

I miss you empty and dry in the old black car raining through the windows You looked at me better then You watched me sleep then That was before I was pregnant with you, your mommy, your rock, You filled up my belly, my mind, my heart How can I ever let go now? I love you when I see your art When I feel it, hear it, the words you shared with others and never with me You would hate everything I do now is that why you can't speak? coward. And I don't think of you when I'm backstage, I don't think of how you'd be embarrassed of me dancing, say I'm making stupid decisions, acting like my mother I won't ever think of you while I'm living my life separate of ours I mean yours. But sometimes I lay on the futon and I hear your breath silly words you'd wrap around me say from across the van captain sir, you're in charge now, nothing holding you back except unanswered messages the words of dead stars dirty socks left on your...

I remember nights I would come home and find her in a smokey room, barely covered by underwear and a tight t shirt, tear stained and more beautiful than ever. I could see the scene as soon as I pushed my way through the front door, too many bags in my hand, flustered from a long day at work. I could hear her playing, could see the violin under her perfectly sculpted chin in my mind, the notes were all long and beautiful. They carried me towards her; I floated through the kitchen, opened the sliding doors into the large living room and towards the long table where she'd sit. She would continue to play for a moment as though I wasn't standing there and finally, falter. "Fuck," she would say out loud, throwing her arm down and spinning to see me. I would always tell her it was beautiful, she was so talented, she should continue to play even when she made mistakes. Once she felt comfortable she would crumble, like a building being taken down by a demolition team. I would ...

“ There is nothing you can see that is not a flower; there is nothing you can think that is not the moon. ” — Matsuo Basho There are two very important images that reoccur in my life, the flower and the moon, One blooms in the sunlight, one comes out in the darkness. These are the two parts of me and consequently I have found these parts in two humans. There is so much beauty in the world. Yesterday I went on two auditions and took part in a live performance in Manhattan. I am living my dreams. I have the best roommates, I am having the time of my life and I wouldn't trade it for anything.