david-casasWhisper

American
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All the little scared people look so cute in their mislead, unshaped, self-righteous indignationDon't listen to me, I'm a copy too / I'm nothing that should be considered original / I'm nothing worth building a statue over
79
Dec 13, 2011
A Vague Memory of Someone I Think I RememberWhere were you on that day that I met you? / On that day that you leaned against the wind lost in thought? / Were you in the forest seeking a spot where the sunlight bled through?
36
Jan 2, 2012
Behind these mountains that protect me...I smile, run, jump, happy, shudder, cry FLY FLY / Don't want to learn to do anything else / Have no reason to do anything else
19
Feb 9, 2012
DadaI wish I could run to end of the cosmos / Just reach the reluctant intellectuals / Just so I could catch a glimpse of them ducking out of the limelight
62
Dec 18, 2011
House FireDo you think God can control the waterfall? / Can he stop it from rolling over that cliff and shattering into millions of pieces on the rocks below? / Everything's moving so fast
144
Dec 26, 2011
i'm not sureA *charred* frame / of something / that may have never
4
Jan 11, 2012
May 14th, 2012-Xalapa, VeracruzAdding moon and sunlight to the entire composition of something grandiose / Bigger than its old self / Failing to a find a light in myself
80
Jun 30, 2012
MediocrityI see her / I’m ignored / She’s looking for something
79
Dec 17, 2011
NakedWhat would've happened that day, if I would've asked you to come with me? / Was that all it would've taken? / Was that all that you wanted?
34
Jan 13, 2012
Rocket: July 18, 2013: Xalapa, MexicoBought out to the middle of nowhere and sent flying somewhere on some sort of shot, darted, pasted and sold, subterranean homesick rocket. Dylan didn’t approve, so he sent me the other way and I ran into a block of hammers or a hammer of blocks, either way it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that nothing matters. And the sound of nothing mattering is what makes everything matter. It’s what make the silences in between the edges of the bed so silent and so pure and so daring and caressing. That’s why I can say what I can say. Or at least that’s what I think it is, it could be a million things, of that I’m sure. But if I believe in no definite, how can I be sure of that? I can not even say that I know nothing. Because saying I know nothing, means I know something. And stating that as a definite. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe I know everything. And everything I have seen is everything. And nothing is more. But that’s too simple. It’s too anachronistic, it’s too cynical, too pessimistic and too run of the mill. Easier to be a clever pessimist than anything else. And that’s why the sunset I see only exists through the curtain, through the window, over the trees, sparkling the mountains. Until the fire consumes and the curtains and the windows call for me to send them to an existence of sharp grains, and that’s all there is. The idea of me becoming sunshine. Until it consumes me. Until I become sunshine.
19
Jul 18, 2013
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