Looking through these dusty old Photographs, I realize--
there was a point in my life where I was honestly, genuinely happy.
I can't remember those feelings, or the reasons behind those feelings---but what I'm assured of is their truth. The realness that transcends from these sepia toned photographs, like distilling raindrops from an April sky, are proof--tangible, perceivable evidence that I didn't always feel this empty.

J'adore--- 

Un. The sound of passing cars throughout the silence of the night.

Deux. Eating Chinese food on a Saturday night, while sitting Indian-style on the living room tile, while watching Disney Channel sitcoms. (I just described my past hour-ago to you.)

Trois. Cheesy intended-puns.

Quatre. Dusty dollar book stores. Public Libraries. The smell of books. The rough-yet smooth feel of book pages. I just really love anything that has to do with books in general.

Cinq. The refreshing sensation I get in my throat while drinking iced cold water.

Six. Driving to no particular destination with rolled down windows and high-volume playing music for the simplistic heck of it.

Sept. Odd enough, feet creep me out--but I can't stand socks. I love walking around barefoot.

Huit. J'aime écrire et parler en français.

Neuf.  Awkward, shy, clumsy, intelligent, interesting, eccentric people.

Dix. Learning new Vocabulary words.

Onze. Cold, right-out-of-the-fridge Arizona Iced teas. (Half lemonade-half Iced tea and Green tea with Ginseng and Honey, to be exact.) 

Douze. Watching free-online movies in the late A.M. (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Little Ashes, Good Dick, Remember Me, It's Kind of a Funny Story--if you haven't yet watched all/any of those, you definitely should.)

Treize. Breathing. Sounds silly, but I cherish the ability to breath (we all should, really). Deep inhale, slow exhale, my chest rattles a bit--there may be theological scientific reasons for it but as far as I'm concerned, breathing makes me feel better. It makes me feel--alive?

Quatorze. I love clapping my hands, tapping my feet, whistling little tunes, singing random words. It's as if  my body is an instrument--meant for me to improvise and make sweet playful music out of. The rhythmical capability a human body can possess is amazing.

Quinze. Having a chemistry-like connection with another human being. I don't get this sort of reaction too often, but when I do, it's just incredible. It's as if my body and inner pulse speak for itself. This certain person arises this strange unidentifiable sensation from within me. As a turn-out-- my face flushes in warmth, my heart-beat accelerates beyond necessity, and my stomach gets notably weak. It's similar to symptoms of illness, yet it's far from it. The eccentric feeling makes me feel well--it makes me feel a l i v e. 
I love how that feeling of magnitude towards the most unexpected person, and in some cases stranger, brings forth enough such significance-- in my particular case, to the point of a blog post worth of inspiration.

PRESS PLAY > >

Oh wonderful one why are you like that?

glow in the darkness that's how we do it,

Just like the stars upon your ceiling

that put you to sleep after--

You cross the line in the darkness of your room,
in your room,
There's your head, it's damaged from the talk-talk-talking--

in your feet, it's hanging from your tears.

Here, we are apart,

but not again, and again,

again, and again,

It doesn't make sense--

And in the end they ask you for your reply,
Don't you tell them what you found out--

there is time.

Citation du jour:

It's Kind of a Funny Story.

"Okay, I know you're thinking, "What is this? Kid spends a few days in the hospital and all his problems are cured?" But I'm not. I know I'm not. I can tell this is just the beginning. I still need to face my homework, my school, my friends. My dad. But the difference between today and last Saturday is that for the first time in a while, I can look forward to the things I want to do in my life. Bike, eat, drink, talk. Ride the subway, read, read maps. Make maps, make art. Finish the Gates application. Tell my dad not to stress about it. Hug my mom. Kiss my little sister. Kiss my dad. Make out with Noelle. Make out with her more. Take her on a picnic. See a movie with her. See a movie with Aaron. Heck, see a movie with Nia. Have a party. Tell people my story. Volunteer at 3 North. Help people like Bobby. Like Muqtada. Like me. Draw more. Draw a person. Draw a naked person. Draw Noelle naked. Run, travel, swim, skip. Yeah, I know it's lame,
but, whatever. Skip anyway.  

Breathe- - -L i v e."

- Craig.

For the first time in my life, I feel this inexplicable desire
to light up a drag.
Either it be self-want, or self-need--the reason remains uncalled for.
Revolved theory: Perhaps the fleeting smoke can fog up my sight,
at least for a few seconds.
I'm not seeing enough, but it feels like too much.
Perhaps the warm aroma of a transient life can subside
my internal cringe.
My lungs desperately plead for an interruption--
The more I inhale, the less I'll take in.
There's only so much a chest can let in.

and my mind-- If I reel one more selfless thought in my mind,
this night could be endless.
The moon and the stars in the glistening sky,
they'll divulge my repentance.
If this drag can dwindle this intensified despair, even most slightly,
I'll prim my lips against its tinted white tip,
in repetition until fume elicits from my eyelids.

Vague heart, tainted blood, cheap inspiration--

Life behind the veil.

"I want to speak to you. I've been cut off for too long from your friendship.

Tell me what you're thinking. Write me a long letter."
- Federico Garcia Lorca.

poème du jour.

 If we, together, could
row to Eden, slip back
tipping
up to Eden
and there trick time
reel
it
in.
We'd back them into
paradise
step by step to
paradise. Undress them
tenderly--
return that
skin to sun's kiss
and
rain's
bliss.
He hands the apple
back to her,
whole
and
plump.
And she accepts, a hand
on his wrist, to
stare transfixed
while
it
rises
from open palm into the
tree, groaning green
hanging
heavy
trembling.
Fruitflesh to branchbone
hand holding hand
undone the endless damage
cell to cell's first home.
If we can row to Eden
let us row in Eden
four hands
on pleasure's oars
this bed our boat
to the farthest shore.

LET IT PLAY > >

Time that heals and destroys
Your wristwatch sparkles and shines
Dance to organized noise
The beat, a moment in time
 
Synchronize tonight
And you've timed your move just right
Synchronize tonight
And the hands of time simply your hands held in mine
Synchronize Yeah; you've timed your move just right
Synchronize

And the hands of time are just yours held in mine
It's high time, you were cursed
Make your move here and now
A wristwatch falls to the ground
And time stands still in the heart of the crowd

And the lights flash in time with the dream
And your heart beats in time with the drums
And it's only a matter of time
And you've timed your move just right...

And it's only a matter of time...

Synchronize.

Morning tea,
Late night coffee,
On-the-go oatmeal,

Oh heck, even out-of-the-carton orange juice !

I'd use any excuse to press my lips against these
lovely, delicate, irresistible porcelain cups. ♥

London's Calling.

 

Darling, you must know,
 I'm an equivalent measure to London's weather.

Sometimes I shine... mellow and warm.

At others I'm mild... and when I rain, I pour.

I'm unpredictable to say the least, 

but worth holding onto, to say the most.

So stay...if you choose to stay,

bare with me as my seasons change.

If my winter lasts throughout the spring,

and my summer sun decides to stray...

Keep me with you, hold me close.

Expect the best, as well the worst.
Like London's weather, so be this heart..

unpredictable to say the least,

Worth holding on to, for the most part.

PRESS PLAY .

Steamroller

Massage my shoulder

She turns to me on the drive

and says this city is alive

See the necklace of light

Over the bridge tonight

The city's alive

Hear its sigh

Where the semis drive through your veins

Dog walkers of the new age

The city is alive

It blinks its eyes

When you turn on and off your lights

Skyscraper

Sense of humor

You who grew up through the pavement

With butterflies in your stomach

Skyscraper in your eyelids

Fingers lost for words

Phantom floating things

The city is alive

If the light is due

If the light is due

If the light burns front

burn with you

you are a fallen star

pick yourself up...

An old e-mail.

"My favorite colors are purple and red. I love the winter. 

it's a season that is somewhat like a conclusion of the year. 

and you get the chance to just recap on everything that has happened up to now. 

everything good and bad has led you to where you are. 

I love the warmth and kindness people lack during the winter,

because I feel that one of my purposes is to provide it. 

purple and red mean a lot to me. 

so do the numbers 4 , 7, and 3. 

And any combination of those put together. In any order. 

=) smiles are sweet. also ambiguous. =( . 

The direction is funny. Imagine if things were opposite.
To show we were happy we would have to frown! hah. anyhow.. 

I like going to you-tube and typing random locations, and then! 

I would find home videos people take in their neighborhoods. 

 ... because I want to know how beautiful other places can be. 

I've done this already with many unspecific states and cities.

 and one or two countries. Iceland... I find Iceland too amazing.... 

if I could ever save enough money. which I'm sure someday I would, 

that is where i want to go. Also, Alaska.

I ... I don't like to say things cause it feels weird, 

but I am a musician. I study Music. play it. 

 i'm working on an album with my other members in this ensemble I put together. 

I'm very happy with our sound. and have very big plans for us... 

jeesh... it's kind of sad that you have no idea how I sound when I type this. 

I pause when I talk.. make gestures...breathe... make faces. 

My eyes are brown. you're something else to me. 
Or at least I'm turning you into something. A ... confession ? 
You're someone that I dont know. and I think I'm using you as my journal in a way. 
hah.. is that okay? you can use me too .. I think I'd like it. 
If you ever need someone. I hope I'm here and you'd like to talk with me. 

Maybe I could take your mind off of it. Your personal stranger :p.
It's windy out... I'm passing out candy. I love flannel. lets talk soon?"

Citation du jour:

"I didn't pay much attention to the whistles and whoops, in fact, I didn't quite hear them. I was full of a strange feeling, as if I were two people. One of them was Norma Jeane from the orphanage who belonged to nobody; the other was someone whose name I didn't know. But I knew where she belonged; she belonged to the ocean and the sky and the whole world."

- Marilyn Monroe.

quien eres tu?

"She Drinks Tea. Hot, or Cold. In a cup, in a can.

Is in love with: EL MUNDO ENTERO.

Feels like a creep; odd, out of place.

yet cherishes this feeling as much as possible lets.

Should have been born in the jazz'n roaring 20's.

Is Fascinated by smiles, words, hands.

Personifies objects more than she should.

Often speaks in third person.

No, she's not crazy.

Yes, she's just G l a d y s.

Simple, Different, intelligent, stupid...

believes you are beautiful, truly she does: G l a d y s.

She loves you so; her heart is made out of honey.

(cos' apparently times are too tough now a' days,

and GOLD is just too damn expensive.)

Dawling, dearest. VOUS.

Yes. Oui. Si.     Y O U.

Please, Remember to always stay:  GOLDEN."

Esto va a doler

todo se va a torcer,
si te vuelvo a ver.
todo se va a torcer,
si lo vuelvo a hacer.
cabe preguntarse...


cuanto mas?


cuanto mas?