Birthdays & national tragedies....

Today is one of my best friends birthdays. His is never forgotten. Although I forget many other birthdays, a habit I am not proud of given the breadth of technology available to remind you, his is my second thought of the day.  The first is reserved to 911, the American Tragedy.

It's been 13 years, a fact equally astonishing to realize the unequivocal changes throughout the world since. Their was no youtube, iphones, gopros, twitter or facebook.  We didn't personally document everything like a desperate hoarder, grasping to no avail at a slipping life.

The memories now of that horrific date are living and breathing ones.  They feel tangible, and although they might not be accurate given our subjective and changing memory, they can be as raw as the real thing. In this case, that's a truth. It burns. The heart.

the never ending story....

Sometimes creative projects take a very long time to finish.  Especially in these modern times, when you can control the flow with new tools and without the same financial pressures of previous times.  Storage is cheap. Film stock and processing is not.

But, process changes with technology.  The context of creation is the factor.  Creativity is not an internal force exerted unto the outer realm.  It is a reaction to the outer realm.  This is our rebellion against the ambiguous rules set force, by unforeseen energy, into human order.  

We try to mimic nature, or in our esteem, to conquer its beauties in words and visuals, to make sense of the chaos.  But this chaos is our flame.  This chaos is our master.  

melatonin days - some type of way

the day was filled with heaps of molasses
brain function, enslaved by an under the influence and angry source
a day where "you just can't fucking do anything"
except think of the scattered-ness of everything
and all worldly things
like an old, cool nikon lens you found in your grandma's attic
that just doesn't focus 
and even though it's kind of hip with that softness, deep down you know
it's only producing shit
but where do you take it
are there such things as camera stores anymore

statics...

Look within
the noise
the constant stream
penetrate by watching
silently
intensely
as the cacophony melts away
it will resist with monsters like you've never seen
and then
and then, after the beasts lay dead
you can breath that last breath 
you don't need anymore 

wanderlust

"way to go", was the last thing I heard from her.

it was over, like the proverbial blink of the eye.  no closure, nothing.  the pain, it was excruciating for a bit, but you know what, it was bound to happen anyway.  and I've always wanted to travel.

i was a Sagittarius and she was some other shit.  i forget which it was, maybe the crab or the bull, or whatever, but i know now, that we weren't compatible.

how come i didn't know that at first, like right of the bat. what a shame, a real life shame?  
she was real pretty though.  that part hurts the most, because, well, her personality wasn't as pretty.

days of yesteryear.

the thing is, time evaporates.  and this is compounded, unjustly, with the cumulative gathering of it's fleeting essence.  so, it's probably best to keep your days completely full, or, just the opposite, floating on a hammock. the middle, you know, that 9-5, clock in clock out, the thing that the entire industrial age was built on.  that's the fastest ticket onto the bullet train to older.  here in the middle, grey haired the next. 

making plans

whenever in doubt
times it by 2
whenever you're sure
times it by 3
because time is not yours to keep
after all, it doesn't really exist
anymore then 
that diploma you're holding onto

horseface

the image of that pure black horse lingered for days

and Tanya couldn't do a damn thing about it

except, ponder that animals perfection

and the gaping whole between IT and her life

dot dot dot

three days, out of a routine
and it seems like it will never work again
that blank screen
agonizing
blinking
white
a story-less story
a myth
a trope
loveless as a Bloody Valentine

technology.

the woman worked at a bar in little tokyo

and she loved her phone so much

and one day, on a cold and rare rainy night in Los Angeles, she made love through her phone 

but the very next day, the phone broke

and it broke her heart

"love is fleeting" , she concluded

but I think she's a bit immature

park.

he looked straight ahead, as far as his eyes could see in the middle of the warm summer night.  this was where he spent his childhood.  a park, in the middle of the quietest suburb on planet earth.  the grass felt nice.

it was here that he tasted alcohol, and it was here that he first tried marijuana.  It was here that he saw his best friend Arthur body slam Robbie the bully.  it was here, that he and Arthur would discuss what they would do to girls, had they had the chance.  and this certainly changed from year to year.  drastically in fact.

it was at this location that he lay, sprawled out on the grass, looking up at the sky for countless hours, wondering if life would ever change.  It was here that the legion of emotional experiences tickled his bored soul.

and now, if only he could crawl back into that tiny space, and feel those feelings once more, everything would be ok.