dear, in the morning let me put on your make-up for you. i’ll be loading your gems with mascara then i’ll tell you the truth…

earlier when i was reading i was filled with ideas,
now that i've sat down... not so much.
i almost did a lot of things today but only read.

unique experiences or
thousands dreams of success
put down.

chipmunks
fattening their cheeks
then running home.

i put my head down,
wait for it to get tired,
listen to something slow,
hope for a breeze in my face,
think about open places,
eye wide
dream about starting fires in emergency...

poetry.
etc.

its about
who you listen to music with
in the dark.

completely.

when i shuffled on back home i made sure all my tracks in the snow were gone

the ocean is completely blurred
you are nice and sharp

when i said you were remarkable i said real marketable.

i bought born in the year of the butterfly knife by derrick c. brown

read a bunch of it while killing time in a basement waiting for a show to stop / continue.
its pretty much the best thing ive read in a while.

dusty dirt roads throwing dusty dirt in the air
dark brown legs crossed
boring boring lives
working for health insurance
leaning and shapes.

i dont have enough style
n you dont have enough life under your belt.

i need someplace to go soon. can i come visit you?
i'll cook you dinner and do the dishes.

one fast move or i'm gone

i think
these words
that are meant for letters
are meant forrr loooong lettteerrrrrs
that im not going to write or send.

who the fuck knows.

but the back-to-walking-headphone-west-coast-callin
still works n sweats for miles n
the music still plays at demand
feet in effed streets
moving faster through harmonic resonant
beat beat shit

shit shit

empty this shit out
and start it new
havin fun
makin fun
havin fun

just fucking do it.
jesus christ.

things i did when i was dead and everyone loves you

im going to suggest you listen to / download the paper castles ep.

tonite when it rained...
...the second time
i sat on the floor
stuck my head under the curtain
n let the screen shattered drops
cool me down

the summer is shaking
harmonic tremors
nerves and disaster
thick thick flows

every nite
the same
thinking about what to write
n remembering
everythings-tucked away for later

Rough Francis This Friday 8/21 @ Nectars

9pm with the Vacant Lots, Blowtorch and the Cave Bees

Also:

Aug 29 2009 8:00P
242 Main St. | With: Death Is Easy, Vultures of Cult and In Memory of Pluto Burlington, Vermont
Sep 25 2009 9:00P
The Magic Stick | With: Death - Detroit, Michigan
Sep 26 2009 8:00P
The Empty Bottle | With: Death - Chicago, Illinois
Sep 27 2009 8:00P
Beachland Ballroom | With: Death - Cleaveland, Ohio

Come say hi. We'll shake your hand and great you with warm smiles.

when the night comes and you lay by the one you love the one who knows you and the things you do

how dirty is the fucking sea?

who knows?

who is going to know?

mystery, i guess.

given the opportunity, i'd try to solve it.

lots of shit going on
i haven't been updating my blog because of a conscious effort not to assign more meaning to /
think about things in ways other than how they are.
how is this working out for you?

shooting stars still break her heart and sunsets make her cry

would say
hes like a neil halstead song
or maybe someone else
where acoustic plays simple compressed notes
with space filling hall
power
and silent eye sleep inducing shit.

pressing for a power of indecency
a privilege of seperation
a strength in admission or neglect.

just find the energy
from space
to move shit
from place to place
n laugh
laugh
laugh
in secret
while keeping straight
out there
wherever.

sits to home
and kneads the sheets
to heaping masses
falling to the floor
n countless
glasses nite to nite
for the windows
shit light n air
n ac hum
counts like
long numbers not in our language
to the end of nite.

laugh
laugh
n laugh.

the spawn of the volcano is thick and impatient like the people around it.

sun rubbed dark freckled skin
makes the white
dress like
frozen wind
swept arctic tundra.

the unprepared will die
a horrible detached
burning cold
death.

nite.