It was midday and the clouds loitered around the edges of the sky as if they were suspicious of the sun. Beams of light ricocheted off of goggles and snow and beads of sweat that were caught in my oldest brother's beard.  The hike up was our way of earning our run. The hard work and constant determination to get what was important to us made the view and the ridge taste so much sweeter. Finally able to rest, I planted a granola bar in my mouth and squinted through a frame of icy eyelashes to see a sight I had seen before, every day for the past week, but still punched the air out of my lungs. The powder was up to my thighs and the snow lovingly seeped its way into my boots just to kiss my toes with painful numbing. I wiggled them to try tickling some sanity and warmth into them. I only hoped that my toenails wouldn't fall off, but they would inevitably be purple. I pulled up my balaclava to dodge the lunges of frostbite's ravenous teeth. Each nip of cold, the company of my brothers, the view, and the raw interaction with the mountain created a moment that reeked of a dream: a seemingly perfect balance between pain and pleasure.
      The hype of the day kept us from settling our thoughts and quickly my siblings were bounding down the mountain on tele-skis, skis, snowboards, and giddiness. My mind was simultaneously crowded and opened by the superfluous love shared between myself and the people I shared this moment with, the people I look up to, the people who raised me.  My four brothers' elated screams echoed off the mountain ranges that boxed-in the valley below. I joined their chorus of "Shred the Gnar!" and yodels, knowingly embracing the carefree and somewhat foolish mindset of Mother Nature's glee. My skis led the way and found fresh tracks. The lines of the songs that blasted into my ears were translated into the lines that I skied. The music shuffled from Wu-Tang Clan to the Tibetan Monks Of Gaden Sharste & Corciolli but the abrupt change of pace did not hinder my contentedness. I have gained a knack for happily going with the flow, knowing that what the universe hands me is often what I need. The peaceful bellowing of the monks allowed me to take a moment to appreciate that my life is this one on top of this mountain not limited by my economic state with this physically fit and capable body and this working mind. While just minutes before, the fearlessness of Wu-Tang's hip-hop allowed me to bring an angst and stoke for life into my current experience, while also finding the gangster within me. The random shuffling of songs only fed my innate addiction to change and let my enthusiasm multiply and blossom.
Although childish in our hearts and in our unpracticed aerials, we were not childish in our perspective. We had a shared mature understanding of the bigger picture. This was a vast understanding of the world that comes with being a small, overrated mammal sliding on some sticks down the biggest thing it could get its hands on. Each of us took our fair share of tumbles and we iced them each with cacophonous laughter that got muffled by mouthfuls of snow. To be atop a mountain, to go almost unnoticed by a mountain really teaches the skill of not taking things too seriously. In one instance, I grabbed some air and landed scattered into a disorganized pile of all my gear. But my commitment to the bettering of my skills, my world, and myself, let me rise from even my greatest wrecks and the most deadly of wreckage, not unscathed but changed and always for the better. With such a brutal fall, I gained the experience necessary for landing it next time...and the next time, I did.
         After reaching the bottom, without hesitancy, we followed our spontaneous urges to pursue more. Every run I took and every moment spent on that mountain came from a drive to experience and learn. It was based off of my ceaseless search for something new...or for the rad or for the gnar or for swagger or for living a life that could inspire. The seed of this search was planted in me by my five older siblings who all held within their bellies a fire of the same breed. And we sewed that common thread together on ridge lines and in powdered fields where nature is in perfect harmony with man and my head is in perfect harmony with my heart...where my intelligence and ambition trust one another and I trust them because they have gotten me this far and I know they are not tired yet.

My ascent into adulthood was just that, an ascent. It has come slowly with little consistency and massive amounts of determination, stamina, and a reassuring trust in the universe. But the idea of adulthood has slipped its way into my expanding comfort zone with ease, which I think has come from the preparation I received throughout my childhood. The importance of perseverance and hard work in achieving anything at all was beyond emphasized in the parenting techniques of my immigrant mother and father. They sent the babies straight from their unemployed bellies into the best forms of higher education they could find because
My achieving of adulthood was more of just a gradual shift in mentality and perspective that developed into my addiction to change and new experiences, distaste for dependence, and denial of my previous nostalgic tendencies.
With more maturity also came a more logical understanding of the world around me. The more I understood the working ways of my surroundings, physical and psychological, the better I could feel my drive to achieve. The achievement I sought was not economic or career oriented in any aspect. It was based off of my ceaseless search for something new or for the rad or for the gnar or for swagger or for living a life that could inspire a minimum of 3 people including myself. The seed of this search was planted in me during my childhood by my five older siblings who all held within their bellies a fire of the same breed.

"Wander a whole summer if you can. The time will not be taken from the sum of life. Instead of shortening, it will indefinitely lengthen it and make you truly immortal." John Muir

"we change. whether we like it or not."

There is a small stallion in me that kicks at my stomach linings when i remain stationary too long. Not physically stationary, but stationary in life. He isn't named because I have yet to fully understand him enough, but I know that his endurance has pushed me far beyond my limits and therefore destroyed them.
By taming that stallion, I am allowing myself to remain wild. I am using my understanding of myself to take the reins and pursue what needs pursuing.
It has allowed me to rise from my greatest wrecks and the most deadly of wreckage not unscathed but changed and always for the better.

I am a messy person. I find it difficult to keep blank pages clean and the colors inside the lines. I spill myself all too often into the things I create and the people I meet. I have lost myself more than a few times when looking for trivialities. But despite my lack of organization, I have a moral compass that does not flutter in the wind, pointing due north and I have a loyalty to myself and to the bettering of the world that is unwavering.I am using my understanding of myself to take the reins and pursue what needs pursuing.
It has allowed me to rise from my greatest wrecks and the most deadly of wreckage not unscathed but changed and always for the better.


I could go and invent a pizza pouch that allows your pizza slice to be easy access and even more portable and I would probably make millions, but what good would that do than just encourage people's laziness and immediate pleasures?

The only way to avoid criticism is to be nothing, do nothing, change nothing, and even then people will still call you boring. Let the criticism come, the hatred too, it means you're doing something.

I've found that the key to success in any endeavor is making the conscious decision to make it happen, whatever it is and no matter what may happen to you along the way. It is that and then to be stubborn about it, but flexible with your methods.


I was once dared to lick the ski lift pole in a -20 degree blizzard. Anyone who has been to elementary school is fully aware of the seriousness behind a dare. A dare is no joke, though we may laugh at it. A dare is a binding agreement with the gods and also the demons that you will fulfill your destiny and display your loyalty to your friends. Even more of a contract is the double-dog dare.
Dare's taught me the true meaning of going the whole way, of not backing out, of committing.
Through habitual practice, dares established a long-term mentality for me. As I moved away from home and was on my own, there were not always others to dare me to do things I was hesitant to do. I began daring myself and growing more courageous with each one. They got bigger and more serious as I grew older. From "I dare you to pick your nose" to "I dare you to climb that mountain" to "I dare you to follow your dreams"
Because of dares, I can go all the way with the little things and now I know how to go all the ******* way with what actually matters.
I dare you to never give up.




I entered with hesitancy, being so accustomed to the confidence that comes with spontaneity, I did not know how not to overthink my decision to leave home when given months to ponder it. I entered as a sheep, but I left a lion.

I've got intelligence and ambition that I trust in myself. It has gotten me this far, and I know it's not tired yet.  

I’ve been lonesome with the wandering blues many times, because I’ve got little birds in my chest playing the prettiest songs in hopes I’ll let them out to fly.

To start at the origin...At the ripe and ready age of zero, I learned my first lesson: how to swim. It was a skill that came quickly with the aid of physics and physical movement. My second lesson came moments after, when I realized that I existed and through existing, even some what illegitimately, I had an impact on the world. My learning how to swim brought warm hands to my walls and giggly whispers into my ears, which was a clearly positive response to my personal growth and an awareness of my presence. Even prior to my existence as a zygote, the knowledge of my potential future existence altered the decisions my parents made and the course in which they chose to steer their lives. A person cannot ever be limited or demoralized if there is the understanding that they have, and everyone has, the power to make an impact on a world they are not even existing within yet.
  Now all of this knowledge was contained subconsciously in my head somewhere, but upon its eventual conscious realization I then understood the reason behind the unwavering, childish, disbelieving enthusiasm that I was born with and that applied to everything I had ever and will ever encounter.

Let me reassure you on some facts:

This little **** we call life
Will *** on your carpet and
Have a weird obsession with trying to bite your boyfriend’s **** off.
But you will love it anyways,
Because it sometimes does nice things like
Cuddle up to you when you’re sad that your boyfriend doesn’t have a ***** anymore.

This life will stalk you on a seemingly pleasant night
And this life will hit you.
Hard.
When you’re least expecting it.
Then as it is flashing in front of your eyes,
Your life will mug you
And take all of your money.
After it all, you may be scarred, you may be hurt, you may be bankrupt…
But that pain may get you thinking, learning, questioning
And someday you may realize that
In life,
The kisses last much longer than the bruises do.
The laughter is much louder than the cries.
And the boyfriend is much better than the *****.

He fired cannons until the dogs barked, and then he would shoot one more just in case a chihuahua missed the first 5 shots and still wanted to join in on the chorus. He owned fate and destiny, they did not own him. So much that he could pull me through time and have everything his way. He spoke a language no one in town knew and it made him lonely that no one even tried to understand, but by god I am trying to understand...but it takes time, he is not just from around the corner. I have never felt the tug of mischief and spontaneity so strongly as I did when he pulled my arm. I was in love with another boy, but if I had had my heart on me I would have given it to him that night, and then asked for it back in the morning. I know he would not have known what to do with it for much longer than that, he might misplace it and i don't want that. He doesn't need to feel guilty for anything. I want to tell him thanks for stirring my soup before I boiled over, but I couldn't tell him that without wishing that he would stick around to try a spoonful.

Grab a hand
There are many searching for yours
reach down,
your hand will find nothing in the clouds
pull them
the sky is blue because of you
you yearn
but asked for it to be easy
but help
and you will find it reciprocated
see them
so much potential if only they had you
bring happiness
theirs will bring yours
smile wide
there's no reason for half-assing it
dont worry
not all rewards are immediate and when they are hard
cry loud
what did i say about half-assing
but hope
because it's all just a wheel and you will be back on top
dont fret
you'll be just fine

I forget what I look like on a daily basis...
I forget what I sound like even more often...
and I don't think I'll ever know what I seem like.

I once lived in a town where everyone was me. I was everyone.
Everyone spoke words I thought of,
Read the same words,
believed in the same gods,
wore the same clothes,
and loved everything we differed in.

I now live in a town where I am no one. No one is me.
I have not heard a word of the languages they speak,
I do not know the names for what they wear on their feet,
or how to stand on their soil,
I have come to cease existing.
I have become everyone else,
I was so used to it being the other way around.

please knock on my head
I do not know who is home
But it is not me

the three of us sat with music playing and the tires rolling and
unplanned adventures in front of us on the road.
With a few bucks in the bank and a bunch of ideas floating in our skulls,
the aches and pains to escape the mundane were finally being treated.
My best buddies and I spoke only out of true stoke and excitement over our lives.
Laughter carried the weight in all of our conversations.
Each of our words were hardly coherent because they were beaten through
giggles, coughs, and mumbles.
Nothing was to be taken seriously and
nothing was to be judged.
We were free to mumble whatever words we pleased, so long as we laughed.
The car muffled its own contribution to our discussions about cats, rebellion, pounding Mountain Dew, and jumping off of ****.
Those things are our only cure from monotony,
so we spoke of them often.
But we also shared thoughts on intellect, society, passion, and time;
however, we took them out of their limitations.
To be friends means to leave the judgment to the strangers,
and to help each other grow.
We followed these guidelines as an unspoken constitution.
As friends, we understand that there is much more to a person than can be expressed in words,
so words take the short end and we do not care much for their maintenance.

There are places I have found. There are places that I have gone. People give strange looks with laughter in their eyes when a child walks off on her own into where the ground is not covered with cigarette butts and nothing is paved. Because of them, I go more often and I laugh louder. I have many of these places that are just for my brain and me to inhabit for a while. When I find a less temporary escape from the sickening truths of my own humanity, probably in an UFO, I hope to find others like me tagging along with the aliens that comes to destroy us. And we will all be laughing our ***** off; we saw this coming and packed our thoughts in airtight containers. For now, my thoughts are packed in a backpack with music, a hammock, and some seltzer water. I am walking to get out of here. I find myself getting lost in cornfields and peeing in the woods. It’s rejuvenating. Fresh air and headaches are a perfect match.
                    I am sitting, swinging, hanging from the dancing trees of the crack ******* forests. I think about how every time I chase a squirrel it attacks me. They are fluffy and cute but they want to get inside my house; they want to pry away at my poorly assembled pieces. I’m so unused to that attention and curious affection. I think about my subtly strange mannerisms and my lack of cautious paranoia. These things have had a tendency to intimidate, to make people leave the crowbars in the basement and eliminate any sort of prying. My attributes are intimidating to all but the squirrels. They only seem to see them as weakness. I am still swinging, but my hammock is slipping from the branches now, clinging onto them, a child to its mother. The instructions told me it could hold up to four hundred pounds but even I can hardly hold the weight in between my shoulders. Heavy thoughts are pulling me down. Ropes are slipping more and I can already feel my *** getting sore from this drop. But I do not get off. I keep swinging. My brain is telling my legs to move, my heart is screaming “Save me,” but my legs are not replying. I stay on this hammock, praying that my legs will pull me off before I fall to the ground. I am afraid of being even near to this littered ground. I want the heights. I call for help but only a sigh leaves my mouth. There is no one around to save me anyways. I chose a place in the woods; I chose a place that could grant me the illusion of seclusion…an escape from the trivialities taken too seriously. I cannot wait for someone because this slipping will not even wait for me. I will crash if I do not save myself. I try to coast and the swings get shorter and shorter until they have stopped and I am stationary. In moments I will have more broken parts than I can count.
                     I lie there silent, unmoving, not thinking any longer. Only waiting...finally, I hear snaps of the branches falling and breaking. The ground came up fast. It punched me. It crowded me. It abused me like a misguided lover. I do not wish to be in its arms any longer. But the ground is holding on to my bones, pulling me in. I hit it hard. The drop was farther than I expected. I have no feelings anymore. My nerves have shut off. I am scared. Someone take me some place safe, some place sound…no, take me some place wild. Lying on my back, numb and careless, my eyes are glued to the blueness of the sky above me. I am so relaxed. I hear screaming. I see blood, but I don’t feel pain. I don’t want to know what’s going on, I keep my eyes staring straight up at the view. I ignore everything but the wind-shaped clouds. My mind is gone, lost like all the rest of time. It wore away because I remembered too many times how my father’s hands smelled of sawdust and how they felt like the sandpaper he that used to make it. I try to avoid addressing the situation at hand, things are turning redder. My eyes are filling with blood and it is hard to see. I think about life and the lack of it. All it is really is just memories, without those the only thing that exists is right now. Which doesn’t exist anymore, it’s a different second, and now another. Life is nothing but the time we are losing. Maybe this view of the tree tops framing the sky will be the last thing I see, or maybe I will lay below them again tomorrow. I am glad that everyone must die. It is more beautiful that way.
                          I gulp, a gust of air fills my stomach and it feels like floating. I am still lying down. The smells of illegality, fire, and cut grass fill my ears just like music. Everything mixing together, all into one entity. I am the only thing alone, still lying on my back in the middle of some trees. The same trees I have been crowded by for all of these years, but dug up and replanted on the other side of the country. All of a sudden, I hear something pop. It is the elevation still stuck in my head, the headache I couldn’t defeat. The pain persists and all throughout my head the places and the people that I had made my home were telling me to stay. I am glad that I did not. There is no place or person who could carry my weight. I am my own constant. I am on the ground, just another fallen leaf,  and I am finding a place inside my brain in an attic of ideas where I can peruse the shelves and maintain my insanity. No matter if I am here or elsewhere, I must maintain. They will not make me sane, I won't have it.  Even the pain I feel now, sticks jabbing into my ribs and fear everywhere else, will not be enough to dull me.
                     I had dipped off the path to find myself away from what was familiar and now it pounds in my head, the lack of altitude. Without it my brain doesn’t know what to do. I am worried what I will become when I am alone here. I hear the chapel bells chime in, four rings and then they fade away. I still hear it ringing in my ear, though minutes have passed since it sounded…
                  Ringing…
        Ringing…
Ringing…

“H­ello?”
“Finally you pick up your phone, I’ve left three voicemails today…are you okay?”
“…”

I am an open book, set out with spine cracked, anyone can read me.
I am a long book, with uncountable words,
But you have learned out to count me.
Tell me how many I am,
No one has take the time to finish me.
Finish me, and read me again, and rip pages from me to be saved and rewritten inside of you.
I am an open book, no one is interested in reading me.
You are not, and I only wish to be part of you.

I am sitting, swinging, hanging from the dancing trees of the crack ******* forests. I think about how every time I chase a squirrel it attacks me. They want to get inside my house; they want to pry away at my poorly assembled pieces. I’m so unused to that attention and curious affection. I think about my subtly strange mannerisms and my lack of paranoia. These things have had a tendency to intimidate, to make people leave the crowbars in the basement and eliminate any sort of prying. My attributes are intimidating, but the squirrels only seem to see them as weakness. I am still swinging, but my hammock is slipping from the branches now, clinging on to them, a child to its mother. The instructions told me it could hold up to 400 pounds but even I can hardly hold the weight in between my shoulders. Ropes are slipping more and I can already feel my *** getting sore from this drop. But I do not get off. I keep swinging. My brain is telling my legs to move, my heart is screaming “Save me!” but my legs are not replying. I stay on this hammock, praying that my legs will pull me off before I fall to the ground. I am afraid of being even near to this littered ground, I want the heights. I call for help, only a sigh leaves my mouth. There is no one around to save me anyways. I chose a place in the woods; I chose a place that could grant me the illusion of seclusion…an escape from the trivialities taken too seriously. I cannot wait for someone, this slipping will not wait. I will crash if I do not save myself. I try to coast, the swings get shorter and shorter until they have stopped and I am stationary. In moments I will have more broken parts that I can count.

I lie there silent, unmoving, not thinking any longer. Only waiting...finally, I hear snaps of the branches falling and breaking. The ground came up fast…it punched me. It crowded me. It abused me, like a misguided lover. I do not wish to be in it's arms any longer. But the ground is holding on to my bones, pulling me in. I hit it hard, the drop was farther than I expected. I have no feelings anymore. My nerves have shut off. I'm scared. Someone take me some place safe, some place sound…no, take me some place wild. Lying on my back, numb and careless, my eyes are glued to the blueness of the sky above me. I am so relaxed. I hear screaming. I see blood. But I don’t feel pain. I don’t want to know what’s going on, I keep my eyes staring straight up at the view. I ignore everything but the wind-shaped clouds. My mind is gone, lost like all the rest of time. It wore away because I remembered too much about the times my father’s hands smelled of sawdust and how they felt like the sandpaper he used to make it. I try to avoid addressing the situation at hand, things are turning more red, my eyes are filling with blood. I think about life and the lack of it. All it is really is just memories, without those the only thing that exists is right now. Which doesn’t exist anymore, it’s a different second, and now another. Life is nothing but the time we are losing. I am glad that everyone must die, it is so beautiful.
I gulped, a gust of air filled my stomach and it felt like floating. I was still lying down. The smells of illegality, fire, and cut grass filled my ears just like music. Everything mixed together, all into one entity. I was the only thing alone, still lying on my back in the middle of some trees. All of a sudden, I heard something pop. It was the elevation still stuck in my head, the headache I couldn’t defeat. I had dipped off the path, away from what was familiar and now it pounds in my head, the altitude. Now without it my brain doesn’t know what to do, I only worry what I will become. I hear the chapel bells chime in, 4 rings and then they fade away. I still hear it ringing in my ear, though minutes have passed since it sounded…
Ringing…
Ringing…
Ringing…
“Hello?”
“Pick up your phone, I’ve left three voicemails today…are you okay?”
         "....."

They tickle my heart
The butterflies in my stomach who has slept for years are only napping when I hear of them.
They may even blink their tired eyes.
But they have each other.
They, together, are something I have never wanted.
And they are everything I have ever wanted.
Now they are all I need.
And I have no one.
It's been a lifetime since I have had that.
Dora has Harry.
And I have no one.

You are everyone and everything that has ever existed.
You are every *******,
every ******,
every murderer,
every psychopath,
every person you have ever done any wrong too,
and every person full of bitter hate.
.....
But you are also every lover,
every hero,
every leader,
every activist,
every philosopher,
and everyone anyone has ever loved.

You are even me.
And you love yourself,
no matter how many cuts are on your arms.
Because I love you.

There was chatter reflecting off the water just like the moon. The Milky Way was swimming with us, wrapped in algae and moss. We had no swimsuits, only spontaneity and laughter. We were far away from trivialities where there was no light pollution, you could see so far outward into everything. We were not looking up, we were looking out at what we are part of. Light, so much light. When our thoughts were finally chilled like iced lemonade, we ran through bushes and flailed in the mud to the car. We drove. Once sitting on our bed, a delicious thought bubbled into reality.
              We discussed it, unanimously deciding on this nights adventure...we'd enjoy the first rays of the morning while seating comfortable at Sacajawea Peak.
              Eager legs kicked and finally slept…too soon later, a buzz of a telephone awoke us, then another. I bounced out of the covers and to the kitchen to prepare a hurried breakfast of peanut butter and fruit roll ups for us, nutrition was priority. Then the clock blinked 3 AM.
Whines squeaked from tired mouths, but excitement prevailed. We packed into our seats and struggled to keep our eyes open, but the drive was bumpy and our sore butts kept us from forgetting the purpose of our trip. We were there to make our lives radical, and you can’t sleep in moments like these. 4 AM screamed at me, we had to hurry. I plowed my way up that mountain as the sun painted the tips of the mountains red. We crossed streams, tripped on rocks, marveled at climate change and the disappearance of the snow we had skied on just a week before. As the incline increased to nearly vertical, we met up with the mountain goats. Their tiny hooves danced on the faces of cliffs and I stood on the trail not more than a meter away. They smiled at us, said good morning, and we went on our way, huffing it up the face. As the sun’s light began to engulf the sky, we watched as the snow capped ridgeline shined pink and gold. A mountain shades us but as we reach the peak, the sun splashes our face, I felt godly. The sun has risen, and so have we. This is why we are alive; this is why we are happy. The valley below us still dozes, and we sit on top a mountain wide-awake. There is no item I could ask for that could ever give me this happiness. I do not climb mountains so that the world can see me, but so I can see the world…and it is so beautiful.

To be in love with you…I can’t imagine. You and I are separate nebulas; we are our own universes even…yet we are part of the same picture. You are made up of the most mysterious of stars. I cannot travel to you; I’m not evolved enough. Give me one thousand years and I will meet you on your own horizon. I am uncountable suns, yet you are infinity. I want to be the same. I want your infinity to count me. To join me. So that we may be one, and grow. Someday, I will not be standing so small watching as you expand, your light blinding me. One million years from this thoughtless time, you will have become me, and I you.

If you think I am sane,
Just know that I am far from it.
I am swimming in disappointment and lies
I will splash in it and get drunk
I am only nostalgia and déjà vu
Not a real person
They say crazy people don’t know they are crazy
But I am not just one person
Someone told me I was crazy
It was me
So I guess I am
I’m not very okay with it
But I’m fine with it.
I’m the smartest crazy person,
Because no one knows it but me.

I'm a fine head of lettuce
A handsome romaine.
But I haven't a cranium
Made for a brain.
I am simple and shy,
I remain on my own...
I am known in the garden
As the lettuce alone.

When I hate something
When I loathe something
When I feel uncomfortable about something
When I am angry with something
I like to be with it
I like to read about it
I like to surround myself with it
I like to plunge into it
So that I may understand why it is that it makes me so
And so that I can be sure it is not for me
If I do anything but that
How can I be sure?

52 i love you
34 ***** boar
21 you are fun
83 you've seen me ***
45 let's do a jive
22 i miss you

The top of my head is open
My scalp lays on the floor beside me
It is open to the world
Every germ and every human
(if they are any different)
But the gods drilled the holes in the tops of my skill
To sip from my moods and my thoughts
as they went on tropical vacations
They cut me open to find me empty
And to fill me again
They shaved out the insides of my skull
So they could sprinkle it onto their yogurt with granola
And they left me to dry
But I awoke with an ache of ruin in the back of my neck
I went about my daily life
I bought groceries
I met with friends
I chatted about politics
But I couldnt help but feel a bit empty
I took Advil to calm the pounding of my head
It could not be avoided
Until the day I looked up
My brain was gone
And the top of my head was left open
And all I had now was the rest of the world filling it in.
I did not need a brain.

The ocean's powerful dark waves
Spit in the billowing winds
Splash onto our already tearful faces
The ocean is big
We went for a dip
But found ourselves out of land's sight
I feel these pinches
and bites
of the world's stammering mouth
surrounding the waves and
preventing us from resurfacing
shaded by the sails of the drowning boats
the drowning economy
the flailing political states that forgot how to swim
the last breathes of human rights
the Earth is frightened as a child
as the disease of humanity
quickly devours her
and we race her to our own deaths
As if it was a friendly game of Marco Polo
We can see blots of our trivial goals
as we come up for air.
But oxygen doesn't visit us so frequently anymore.
Maybe because we didn't invite him to our dinner party and took him for granted.
And my dreams of being part of the things that happen on a big scale
Are realized.
We are in the center of the whirlpool,
and our toxic boats are pulling us down with them.
No matter how small we are,
what we have built was too big
To avoid.
I tried to climb the trees,
take my loved ones to the tops,
but any attempts to salvage were useless.
The trees were not on our side,
even if we were on theirs.
I would prefer to drown in water
Than this.

regretfully, hello
happily, goodbye
time will fly
we will carry on
i will see you soon
love,
gone
My head will **** me one day
but for now
We will all carry on
And happiness will be ours

I just sit here
Enjoying the worst day of my life
Wishing my death could live
Where do I want to live
In the city or the mountains
Just as long as I have love and I am very happy
This is a choice
A choice I can't make
With my head
Cause it stopped working when I pressed play
Oh where is this voice
To tell me what to do
Oh, my life just seems so **** bare
Since I left
I am just too fragile for this
Oh just as long as you are swimming there with me
I just want to be happy

I've got to die today
I will say it every day
When the sun rises it is time for me to go
When it sets i must leave with it
I was never meant to live
I was meant to die
I need to die
My life is a mere burden on everyone else's
**** Me
Or Let me **** myself
But I will say everyday
Today is the day I die
And I will live forever

What if this was all bones bones bones
Rocks were nothing but bones bones bones
What if I was all bones bones bones
What if we were just bones bones bones
When I go, leave no trace but our bones bones bones
Oh home is where I'd like to lay my bones bones bones
What if cemeteries were more than just bones stones bones
What if cemeteries were just forests

I am a yeti
I am the mosquito king
I am a continent
I am a too hot hot tub
I am Batman
I am a tick on a deer
I am the fourth of July
I am short term memory loss
I am a corpse
I am nightmare hot dogs
I am a bad dream
I am a billion kajillion bucks
I am Big Country
I am parachute pants
I am hatred
I am everyone else
But myself.
I am the mountains and trees,
a growl of the wind even.
Where are they, where is everyone?
I'm right here.

I am made of the ocean
There is salt in my tears and in my sweat.
I cry them and work for you.
But darling, I am made of the ocean.
And you were made of rivers and streams.
When you come a'rushing down, those rapids sing to me.
Because I am made of the ocean
And darling, you are made of rivers and streams.
Running wild and free you'll come to me
Cause I am made of the ocean, my dear.
And you'll always be coming to me.
I will always be big and blue
because of you.
Darling, I am made of the ocean,
Darling, I am made of you.

I wrote this poem with oil, vinegar, and fine foods.
My pen did not.

I drew this picture with eyelashes, mustaches, and tears.
My paintbrush did not.

I thought this thought with lip balm, pine trees, and mosquitoes.
My brain did not.

I do not dream with REM but with caterpillars and manure.

Oh, Jack Kerouac, take me to bed and ease my itching.

Listen to that bluegrass play...
Fall asleep...

They were fighting here
Living here
Enveloped in a life
That none have since seen
And I work here
I watch as they fight
My nose drips
My eyes water
as I see their bodies
fall to the ground
Their brothers, fathers, best friends die before them.
I wade into the shallows of time
I push against its thick film
But i cannot pass
I can do nothing but watch
as they fight, suffer, and lose.

I have faith, yet I struggle.
I understand, yet I receive no enlightenment.
But it makes sense.
All I ask, and with my faith I know you to be capable of this.
I have seen the past and the future and travelled beyond all there ever was in my mind.
But so fleeting is time, it makes me so sad.
Humanity so dull yet so bright.
I dont believe in you, God.
I believe in people, and they believe in you.
People are my religion.
But can I see it all?
The past is present in my mind.
Why can I not live in that reality?
200 years ago, I can see it in my eyes but why can no one else around me?
They are caught up in the trivial, when I see our own skeletons dispersed around this world
Just as we heard of the skeletons lives that we dig for.
We are no more important that each small child that died thinking themselves to be.
Presidents as forgotten as dead fetuses and just as unimportant.
And what do we even matter, God...?
Can I live until there are no more days and can I see the days that have long since passed?
No.

I sometimes wish I was Sylvia Plath
But she hated her life and only wanted good
I am a lucky duck even without flight
I am the happiest person I have ever met
But that is the saddest thing to know

when you come to terms with the fact you are going to die
everything is a lot calmer
mostly you
less anger or angst or fear
just life
i consider myself an anarchist
but there are different types of anarchy
educated and impulsive
i understand
and i observe
and i learn
and i start the fire with breeze on the coals
not with a match in the rain
anarchy is not meant to be ignorant

Deadly dead bodies
Bring widows into this world
Loneliness to loveliness
Birthing them.
Nirvana plays
as nirvana comes
I dreamt once that Christianity was right,
But I never converted
God says don't advertise your love
God says do the dishes
God says that he's the only one
But I exist too.
Why does he fall so often?
Such a klutz.

Flames are burning the clouds to ashes

A hole, a perfect circle of light
was torn into the patchwork of the sky
and sewn back up by the burnt bits of thread
That were made from the sun's fiery goodbye

capture-able  
no camera
no words even

Help prevent wildfires
The sky's the exception.

The lizards sip tea on saturday afternoons
and discuss the bourgeoisie
and the effects of the French Revolution on their political stability.

Rabbits sniff their butts and eat their ****
because the sake of science calls for it,
they know that better than humanity.

The monkey's choice to live without clothing
was conscious and
involved their understanding of their roles in the delicate ecosystem.

Ants live without emotional attachment
Because before they evolved
Too many died from broken hearts
and they realized it wasnt worth it.

Trees dream every night of the places that birds whisper about in their branches
and cry at the corpses that go unburied at their feet.

As humans go,
they live lives climbing not to the sky
But social ladders leading only to unhappiness
and unfulfilled lives full of ignorance
and baths of political corruption and suicide.

Yet they say they are the superior species...

Put on your father's hat
Full of stickers
About nuclear war.
It Will Be The Death of Us
Send it in a package
as Thomas waits
He listens to Tom Waits
But only the old stuff,
the better stuff...
Waits for reality
To be as good as mine.
Snapshots of his jealousy flash from the screen,
I pity him and his envy.
Ridge lines could **** me.
I never want to sleep again.
I have slept enough, eleven days
Only dreaming for sixteen years
Now I could die.
But I died before,
This time it is only fun and I am only happy.

I am very excited to meet you.
But in the meantime
There are things to be done
Mountains to be succumbed by
Views to be gasped at
Trees to be climbed
Rivers to flow with
Pots to make
And friends to be made too
Out of clay
and out of love.
and out of adventure.
lots of adventure...
Sun to be soaked
laughs to suffocate on
happy times to be had
depression too.
And same goes for you.
In the meantime,
I will not wait
I will run.
And if you are ready,
you will not catch
you will run with me.

She reads five books a day.
And forgets her children's names when they call.
She works.
Hard.
But she plays almost never.
Only clapping games
With special-needs preschoolers.
She will try until she dies
To stay alive,
But she is quiet and she is shy.
Her thoughts get dusty
Pacing repetitively in her head
And never making it out of her lips.
Her mouth is glued shut...
She married a man
Who switched her Chapstick with glue.
But, Mother, let us dance.
Let the rhythm move your aching bones
And grow happier as you grow older
It should not be the other way.

I live inside a little boy's head
My birth day was the day he figured out he had an imagination
Last night he had a nightmare
His dream only lasted a few minutes
But I lived inside that course of time for 10 months.
He dreamed of suicide and manic depression.
Upon awakening doused in sweat and tears
His mother told him it was only a dream.
He thought up the shape of my arms
Because he loved how his daddy's looked.
And then he curled my hair to look like the girl down the street.
At age 3 he learned his ABCs and
He dreamt me to be a writer.
He couldn't spell any of the words
That he pretended me to write.
I sleep more often now
Because he forgets to remember his dreams.
The little boy is getting older
And so am I.
My life unfolds in REM
My entire reality was built inside this little boy's head...
I hope he sleeps well tonight
Because it's been raining a lot
And the weatherman said that it would be sunny.
Someday when we're older
I will meet the little boy who invented me
But for now I only live inside a little boy's head
Being forgotten as he falls in love.