Sunday, July 17, 2011

"i'm almost never serious, and i'm always too serious. too deep, too shallow. too sensitive, too cold hearted. i'm like a collection of paradoxes."
- Ferdinand von Schrubentaufft

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

"biographies"

after awhile, the most intriguing strangers become a sort of fiction.
you begin to see them in diptychs;
the contours and lines of their pasts and futures
sewn together by the missing jigsaw puzzle pieces
currently hidden under your quilted couch in your living room,
by the negatives from the pentax disposable cameras you developed all too long ago
and filtering through alternating eye contact and brainstormed, ad-libbed dialogue
(a game of chess)
and their second-hand gazes.
(they’re only second-hand, because they’re all too familiar)
we’re always chasing and holding onto lost memories,
reminders and discarded post-it notes of all that we once knew
or the answers we’ve never known.
(they’re still pending)
we all suffer from amesia,
(don’t worry, it’s only temporary)
until we get struck by lightning
and our sight becomes cloudless.
we’re always trying to find our way home.
(checkmate)

Sunday, April 3, 2011

mia







february, 2011.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

blood - the middle east



listen.
the name of the song is deceiving, i can assure you.

"acrophobia"

swallowed beneath an azure, hazy sea of fog,

we became the mountains.

20,000 feet above all that we know, all that we are.

“we have officially begun our descent.”

firmly pressed against the facet of my window seat, you believed in respiration.

i choked on air, all white-skinned and ashen.

you knew i was chasing slumber,

to fall into a terminal coma;

until a voice spoke:

“welcome home.”