new found love for

NOM NOM CATS!

homeless at your wake

Leave your shell for the men who roam. 

Pick up sticks, the coffins of the playground.

Like mankind through the ages 

you've moved,

leaving behind frail porcelain figures

that wane at your wake. 

Poems follow you like rivers, 

writing your path in the sand.

Hands draw your reflection as they whittle away the clouds.
Camels sip at puddles as they form 
behind you--

drinking your thirst for their lives.

After this they'll go without water forever;
their tears forming tunnels in the molten leftovers of your design. 


Some would fight time to pull you back.


We follow your coffin like lost soldiers on the Saharan plateau.

Photo Contest

View - Travel tips and inspiration - British Airways High Life


I entered a photo contest! head to the link and vote for me.... first contest ever. thaaaaanks

Brigitte Bardot live from Creature on Vimeo.

P.K

Today my world is crumbling a little...maybe just breaking off around the edges—falling into obscurity. The granite that held it so solid has shifted, and underneath i only see black nothingness.
The world is so grotesquely unfair.
I wanted to see you—i needed to see you, to tell you i love you, to tell you i see you. But i couldn't or i didn't try hard enough and now i never will. You aren't hiding around the corner on the wet cobblestone streets. You aren't waiting for me to find you like a big game of hide and seek. You just aren't anymore.
When i think of you, i think of light. I think of the universe and all the little pieces that become so inconsequential when you look at the larger picture—how they seem so irrelevant from far away, but up close they're integral to all that we know. This isn't a comparison. You always were relevant you always made something, said something, did something to love. With a gin in your left hand, you conquered the world with metaphors and assonance—you drew parallels to vertical eternities and sipped with a lemon.
You have changed the world and I'm so frightened to see it wither away without you. You are a beauty beyond ages, stronger in spirit than most are in ephemera. I'll miss you, along with so many—and those who didn't meet you will never understand the magnitude of what they missed.
Bonne chance, à bientôt.

friday night

it's 9pm. i'm drinking a beer and doing my fiction homework. i'm completely naked under a bathrobe after taking a shower that's been due a couple of days. the giant owl on my desk stares back at me over his right shoulder, unflinching, while the sun never manages to set behind him.

i occasionally open my mouth to curse tess, the new teacher who assigns too much homework. i haven't yet had the chance to tell her that she shares her name with my dog.

underwhelmme

i am underwhelming, at best. a classic underachiever. coasting on passable talents, cultivating--nothing. i follow whims for a couple of footfalls and get distracted by paw prints in the sand. they lead me to dead ends dammed to all heights, waterfalls on every side. even when i turn around, something is stopping me--"a person who can't even regress?" it's absurd, but i'm her.
to everyone else in the world, i'm full of potential. untarnished, unbridled, bursting potential...that never seems to dissipate, but never goes anywhere either...that one who is plugging away at things as they come.. working her way toward something, never sure what. still, after all this time, not sure what. i could... so many things. i do.... nothing. not yet, not ever it would seem. those fucking beavers in my head building walls so high birds dare not cross, nor snowflakes, or clouds or any manifestation of great height that might overcome these walls. nothing may pass.
i lull in my cradle full of porcupine spines and thorns with no roses, i rock so hard i cling for my life, though never manage to fall out. i twist in nightmares of dreams gone astray--plundering angels searching for prey--never me, but always almost... like a curse that hasn't quite worked out the kinks, trying to wreak havoc but only managing a mild form of blindsided torture. i exist.
underwhelming, at best.. and for what? who wants to procreate with an intellectual circus--undecided and untamed, unruly, unkempt and potentially disastrous. these things are fun to watch, from afar. but from inside, a whirling dirvish of dissolution. of unknowing, of fruitlessness and laziness. going nowhere but round and round caught in dust, disgust and indecision for ever and ever. and ever.

what happens...

here's zipper looking regal:


here's me taking a picture of myself in a mirror:


here's april watching me take a picture of her in the mirror:


here's a lame sign: