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Jul. 12th, 2012

Hoppin'

(no subject)

I remember like a snake eats. Months will pass unremarked, lean times. Good times, or bad. Then one night I am night driving into rain, rain like thin fabric lit pale yellow orange in the sky ahead and drops timid on glass, growing braver until a sound like hard candy pouring onto metal. Resisting the discordant squeal of wipers, no music but this, the rush of air through cracked windows; a single or two drops reach through to skin and I am fed, senses gorged, skin registers humidity, warmth, patchwork breeze caressing like scraps of silk. The road slicks, glosses, immense columns of orange sodium light bloom in angles from the median, bend and shiver. The word for the smell of fresh rain is petrichor. The word for rain that does not reach the ground is verga.
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Jun. 21st, 2012

Hoppin'

(no subject)

You're like a trick
Birthday candle
Each time I think I've put you out
Of my heart
You flare back, sudden and bright
And I gather breath; maybe
This time, enough.


We are many, all of us and each
Yet imagined to be solitary and singular
We sell ourselves short, and for little.
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May. 29th, 2012

Hoppin'

(no subject)

I know the face of every player in my dreams
But the hearts behind them remain as strange as ever
Finger puppets turned toward me, with voices of their own.
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Apr. 5th, 2012

Hoppin'

(no subject)

I've made a lot of mistakes

but you were always my favorite

Apr. 3rd, 2012

Hoppin'

Driving, rain

The street is as black and empty as the night, lacking even lanes. Against the darkness, a procession of shimmering stalagmites hangs from the median, and a brilliant green fire burns down from the intersection at the top of the hill

Feb. 15th, 2012

Birdy

I don't need you to hear it. I need only to say it. Such is the power of my voice.

I don't need you to see it. I need only to make it. Such is the power of art.

The work I do is for myself, and in it I am accountable only to what is made. Such is the power of creation.

What I have made I give to you freely, to praise or fear or disregard, to cherish or discard. Such is the power of love.
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Feb. 10th, 2012

Hoppin'

(no subject)

God, fate and the Fibonacci sequence are all part of the same whole. I am a sunflower seed, a snail; I choose my own place in the world, build my life around me as I see fit. Free will? In traffic and crowds we move like fluids. Historically, we behave like beasts. The scope of any one man's will is so slight, nothing he does will deform the patterned spiral for long. We are governed by patterns. Patterns set us free to choose our places and build our lives.

Jan. 28th, 2012

Hoppin'

(no subject)

You'll need to learn to breathe liquid before you try to think deeply.

Jan. 24th, 2012

Hoppin'

(no subject)

Rain speaks
River whispers
Wind sings

The sky a canvas
I, a brush
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Jan. 4th, 2012

Hoppin'

City boy's almanac

You can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose. Some of your friends may let you pick their noses. But if you think you have any say in the times your neuroses pick to assert themselves, you are in for a world of disappointment.

You can lead a horse to water, but sometimes a horse just doesn't love you back.

Eat your heart out, Poor Richard.

Aug. 15th, 2011

Hoppin'

Maybe I said this before

The best things in life aren't free. The best things in life are paid for in a currency more precious than coin.

Aug. 3rd, 2011

Hoppin'

(no subject)

Change comes to the valleys of the mind as predictable as the seasons, rolling like tumbleweed, building slowly like the warmth of spring, the killing heat which makes a crucible of the air before finally shadows come silently to cover the valley and break over the sky and monsoon pours down with the thunder and lightning the serene white cloudtops would deny.

There are cosmos within, the swirl and dance of colossi and dust. Bodies slide into alignment.

May. 12th, 2011

Hoppin'

(no subject)

Fucking legit scifi novel:

War between humans and robots, but not along traditional lines: robo-equalists (robots & humans) vs. robo-enslavers (humans & robots) vs. supremacist robots.

Or some sort of ideological schism where the humans and robots aren't split on that basis at all.

May. 1st, 2011

Hoppin'

(no subject)

There is a point where the technical aspect of performance surpasses the audience; when it is done for the sake of doing, that the artist may say "I have done this"; for his own soul more than for praise, or applause or reward.

Death is easy; sleep is hard.

Apr. 24th, 2011

Hoppin'

(no subject)

Moments move as they will, the rapids and pools of a stream, without an attentive mind to order the march of seconds. Slate gray mottled cloudbellies towered above the mountains this morning, and the sunrise was conducted along the west horizon.

Posted via m.livejournal.com.

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Apr. 3rd, 2011

Hoppin'

(no subject)

Wu Dan trained gorillas chased us across the rooftops of the Forbidden City.

Posted via m.livejournal.com.

Mar. 27th, 2011

Hoppin'

(no subject)

The more you lose, the more you find.

Feb. 26th, 2011

Hoppin'

(no subject)

I am ready for the madness and the flowers. I am ready for spring. The wind carries echoes of the rains not yet come, twirls them through the thirsty trees and rustles them like snake rattles in the brittle, sere grass.

Feb. 21st, 2011

Hoppin'

Don't take this the wrong way

I

never fall
in love

I fly


The brittle heart breaks
but mine can bend and
flows like a river
without end
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Jan. 30th, 2011

Hoppin'

(no subject)

So you wake and find that you have returned to the womb. There is darkness and sound, and then there is light and sound, the light being a diaphanous glow, dim peachpink or brighter ruddy red. You hear the rhythmic pulsing hearbeat, feel the surge and flow of life in, around, through, between - and the muffled cadences of speech. You are discovering music for the first time. In the resonating alto of your mother's voice you hear echoes of the violin, French horn. Other voices are less distinct, separated by a gulf of air, but you hear low brass rumblings of men, piccolo lilting children and a thousand other instruments, bells and strings and always the double-tapped bass heart that pushes through you. The world is sound, you lose yourself in it, seeing no more than the veins and skin between you and life your eyes relax, see without looking, and the endless extemporaneous symphony paints images into your sight.

Jan. 5th, 2011

Hoppin'

(no subject)

Filling up with words again, like a balloon. Stopped taking Wellbutrin, deflated slowly. A cheap balloon left in a dusty corner of the ballroom for months after the festivities, the layer of dust shifting like plate tectonics over the steady decrease in surface area. Had to have my mom sit dowm in front of me and watch me schedule the appointment, I couldn't even do that much for myself but familiar guilt and obligation got me there, started me reinflating slowly, reading more, letting out controlled bursts. Then I popped myself. Broke my leg, sank into a haze of pain & painkillers too light to float on, too thick to move through. Now I'm waking up. I'm learning to laugh from my belly again. Like a bellows, inflating myself. I wonder how big I can get this time.

Posted via m.livejournal.com.

Dec. 19th, 2010

Hoppin'

(no subject)

Callous men with clubs of ice smile innocently and swing from the hip; my head feels like a bowling ball, each blow increasing the weight & diameter of the burden on my shoulders. Only by ducking into the aisles of the grocery store and puncturing my scalp on sharpened pastas do I find relief. But help is on the way, a group of friends who've faced this foe race toward me from the East, guided and goaded by an expansive presence unclear in my mind but felt in my heart.

Posted via m.livejournal.com.

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Nov. 23rd, 2010

Hoppin'

(no subject)

I think one of the cleverest things I've done lately is play music in the bath by turning off the water to the toiet, flushing it, and putting my phone speaker-down on the bowl. Lid.

That or learn to turn a square into an elephant

Sep. 28th, 2010

Hoppin'

Strange times call for strange men

Eat the fruit, seeds and all, savor what's bitter as much as what's sweet

Oh me. Where have I been l my life?
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Aug. 28th, 2010

Hoppin'

(no subject)

I lay awake because I lie asleep, show myself dreams of wishes too easily fulfilled, fears too absurd to ever be real. What good is flight without thick down to protect you from the cold?

don't question it! Fool, they will respect a man with wings; take them, embrace them and soar. If the sky should drop you to the ground, what is lost that isn't worththe memory od flight?

Aug. 4th, 2010

Hoppin'

(no subject)

Blood spilled upon the ground, and where it fell the earth grew, each drop into a hill, every splash a dark-soiled, fertile peak.

Breath sighed into the air, and where it blew great clouds formed, blue-white monoliths floating among thin gray traces.

And the body, the vessel, became the sea as it fell, containing in itself sacred impurities and dark secrets, full of life, and of death.


Lightning falls crookedly from the bright gray disc of its own impression upon the clouds; one, two, three times touching on the horizon. It's too far to hear but there is thunder in my head. Storm clouds ring the sky in three directions while the moon peers yellow and pregnant through the power lines.
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Jul. 23rd, 2010

Hoppin'

(no subject)

Beneath the waning moon and towering clouds, the wind plays my head like an Aeolian harp.
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Jul. 10th, 2010

Hoppin'

(no subject)

couldn't sleep. she murmurs as i sit up

back cool against the wall
in the dark hearing more
than the wind not listening
hands warm on her side her
breath and heart
my own.
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Jul. 2nd, 2010

Hoppin'

(no subject)

Sunset: so sweet, so slow;
The sky's sweet nothings
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Jun. 26th, 2010

Hoppin'

(no subject)

Gloaming rolls across the valley and up the mountains trailing dusk behind it like a cape.

A motorcycle guns in the distance like paper ripping through a megaphone.
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Jun. 14th, 2010

Hoppin'

(no subject)

All my mail is addressed "to Resident"
and still I feel like I'm just passing through
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Jun. 5th, 2010

Hoppin'

(no subject)

Temperatures in excess of acceptable parameters result in a substrate inhospitable to mycelial growth and instead conducive to bacterial colonization and fermentation of substrate nutriment.

Feb. 2nd, 2010

Hoppin'

(no subject)

the bare limbs of a tree hold the colors of sunset as a glass holds wine, as a heart holds beauty.
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Dec. 11th, 2009

Hoppin'

(no subject)

Fever falls delicately onto the brain
the way snow powders the western face
of the Sandias turning subtle purple ridges
and prominences into a starkly exaggerated
bas-relief landscape, as intricate as the lace
of a dragonfly's wing. The air on my skin
is both hot and cold, and my fingers, sensitive
as tongues, echo with a faint tremble the waves
of goosebumps running along my arms.
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Dec. 5th, 2009

Hoppin'

(no subject)

their weathered mouths wear
complicated smiles,
they laugh and embrace
as their hearts
break through their eyes.

she was our mother, grandmother,
sister, aunt, friend.
why does it have to be,
we only see all the cousins
at times like these?

Nov. 29th, 2009

Birdy

(no subject)

I have cultivated the patience of mountains and
lain fallow for what feels like many seasons.

I know that I will find my way.

Until then, I've painted a sunny day
and a cool breeze on the backs of my eyelids.

Nov. 21st, 2009

Hoppin'

(no subject)

For my next trick, I will climb inside my own mouth and live there for six months.

I wonder how many people are even aware of this thing? It's linked on my Facebook profile, but nobody every says anything about it, so don't really think anybody is meticulous/stalkerish/profile-oriented enough to find it.

Nov. 19th, 2009

Hoppin'

(no subject)

I'm like a tree falling in the woods; it's enough to say it, and whether anyone hears is immaterial.

Nov. 5th, 2009

Flight

(no subject)

blaaaarrghle blarrgghh bork bork.

i'm falling back into music without words (esp. techno & its many progeny) and long peaceful nights by myself, the predictability of gentle mood swings, good books, presque vu



with subtle changes. i am same old sam(e), the human spirograph, spinning out a mandala in the back of the classroom.

Oct. 16th, 2009

Window

(no subject)

Today I realized that I can't remember what it feels like to cry. I shed a few tears at my grandfather's funeral, partly at seeing my dad cry, and partly because his eulogy was absolutely beautiful, but I can't even remember the last time I had an honest sob.

I suppose that's a good thing, but to be honest it feels a little unhealthy.

Oct. 15th, 2009

Hoppin'

(no subject)

Last night I dreamed I was a lion tamer. We were in a classroom and two thick-maned lions wanted nothing more than to cuddle and sleep with me. Later I was the pilot of a lego-spaceship, engaged in a fierce one-on-one dogfight.

Seven.
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Oct. 6th, 2009

Hoppin'

(no subject)

The Puzzle

Life and death are sorted
into cereal bowls, the whorls
of my fingertips exploring
their interlocking edges -

patterns are found,
connections are made, entropy
denied for a brief hour.

San Pedro Mountains

In a valley at ten
thousand feet, the wind
moves like a living thing;
an airy leviathan, a body
made of breath.

It wanders casually among the leafy tops of aspens,
and when it passes overhead the slender trunks wave
sedately, anemones dressed in white and gold,
and we feel the surf wash over us, the gentle pull
fore and then back on the canvas of the tent.
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Sep. 24th, 2009

Hoppin'

Embudo Arroyo

Life follows even the ghost of water;
miles of weeds, cactus,
sumac trees, an occasional elm
grow in the narrow, dry space between
cinderblock walls delimiting back yards
and the angled cement banks of the arroyo -

which itself is dry most days, or
holding only a feeble trickle, sprinkler
or car-washing runoff. The arroyo waits
for the rare days when heavy rains
pour along the mile-high eastern upslope
of the valley and come sluicing down
at once -

sweeping the concrete clean, pouring
the city's dust and detritus into the Rio Grande
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Sep. 23rd, 2009

Hoppin'

(no subject)

One day past the equinox,
second day of fall,
midday still holds
summer's heat, the air
woven almost solid by
threads of heat, tied
to the sun

And each day the threads fray,
thinning at morning and evening,
easily cut, if temporarily,
by a patch of shade, a strong breeze

And each of these days
seems more precious, held in the palms
of the river valley, fleeting,
like the first snowflake
or the last firefly.
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Sep. 18th, 2009

Window

(no subject)

So many different shades of white noise / so many memories glazed over with black ice

I'm not okay but it's all happening in slow motion, which makes it bearable. My head is screwed on wrong, it'll take at least $200 to fix it, and I've never been this broke in my life. It would be cheaper in Seattle, but that means giving up the small joke of a job I have, and most of my stability and comfort.

I dug myself a hole and now I am the hole. One day it'll get better but if one day comes too late and my mom has to sell the house I don't know how I'll live with myself. I try to keep moving but can't find direction; I'm not moving on, just moving around.

Lucy in the sky with
my heart in her hands
was the light that burned
the words from my lips,
lovingly brushed
the clumsy waxen effigies
from my back,
slowed my fall and set me
down among the lotus eaters
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Sep. 9th, 2009

Birdo

(no subject)

When the rain starts coming down it's time to sit on the back porch and smoke.
Hoppin'

(no subject)

thunder in the mountains / heartache in the river beds
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Sep. 3rd, 2009

Drummer

make-believe

It's a snap, she knows, and every time,
her best laid traps catch mice and men.
One drawn by bait, the engineered smell of succor,
then
           snap!
                      the thin metal bar;
or enticed first by the snap!
of a thin elastic band, then reeled closer
by synthetic scents, exotic or familiar, alluring and leading
to a similar little death

and afterwards, she is never afraid
to get her hands dirty
throwing out the detritus
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Aug. 29th, 2009

Hoppin'

a few of my favorite things

The momentum of consciousness -
simultaneous release and embrace
when the mind and body are worn down
to only a thin shell around
the expanding pressure of sleep.

Sunsets seen as the sky's final cry,
desperate violence and slow rage;
a creature straining
against the dying of the light.

As the rain starts again, sudden, heavy,
the tops of puddles seem to reach up
toward the sky with droplet-tipped arms,
extended in praise, or plea, or simple joy.
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Aug. 27th, 2009

Hoppin'

(no subject)

Five and counting.

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