Crater in the sky

I'm searching for you Mr. Drake.
I know you're here somewhere, hiding under a vinyl glare, laughing in those measures that came out such sweetly phrased and so darkly heroic. Like this head is wrapped with this warm blanket and these hands are feeling its way through this velvet padded room-- however soft, your heart still skips a beat. You are who I want to be. Mysterious and doubting, I will find you one day.

I Built this Treehouse in the Ground

Chp. 4: A Letter From Outside

I Too can hear you.
This is what you miss.
This is what I teach.
Only because you ask.

I Built this Treehouse in the Ground

Chp. 3: The Pocket of my Past

Before this day, before this hour,
is something blinded by light--not dark.

My mind conceives a simple verse
and over and over it plays.

Those flashing lights and gapping mouth is all I find you see.
Along I slip across your walls.
Alone I do believe.

And once repeat this subtle creak--against this floor you sleep.
As light a step, a breath, I fret--no longer belongs to me.

After this day, after this hour,
is something missing by chance--not fate.

My mind receives this simple verse
past 1 and 6 these days.

I Built this Treehouse in the Ground

Chp 2: Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head

It's 11:01 A.M. and both eyes are open.

"To look around is just silly talk," they told him.
"Find your feet before you fly," They told him.

It's 11:06 P.M and both arms are moving.

"You're a fool to touch the flame," they told him.
"Find your face before you smile," They told him.

He sank back into the mud.
His bed was soft.
It was something he could remember.

I Built this Treehouse in the Ground.

Chp. I: Map

Up the stairs, to the right--you will find me.
Through that sliver in the wall.
Makeshift lights and sulking wood make up this fort I built.


Turn right, turn left, below this arch
Look up, turn down, behold this march.

Towards the moon I look, alone I walk.
Down the halls a glare, through walls which talk.

And alas, this knob--with fear I turn.
And although I bite and twist--I learn.

I learn to breathe just once then die.
You walk, you learn, you seek, you sigh.

Down these stairs you will find me--to the left.
Past that sliver of a cloud.
It sits with me in this hole in the dark.

In desperate times, comes faulty measures

Reaching deep into my jeans from last week, I found it--that lingering dollar. I wrapped my fingers around it in glee. In the darkness, I turned around and dug blindly through my drawer for a flashlight. Feeling over to the right, I paw it on my bedstand. Click on-- swoop through the second drawer, full of pennies that will never be used, I took great detail in not disturbing my silent, sleeping roommate. Like a grave of copper is how I can describe that drawer. A home for scraps of receipts and the occasional scribbled doctors prescription, I was now digging through this whirlwind mess of spent money and money never to be spent to find that silver gold. A nickel, a quarter, a--dime, glee! A dime dropped down from an old folded brochure for whatever organization may have tried to peddle into my liking. But a dime! I was 15 cents sort of that cranberry raspberry minute maid drink that my tounge and its fellow tastebuds desired. I had the pennies, an unsurmountable amount of copper lying there idle, Abe looking the other way just to spite me. A snort, I turn to the short unconscious outburst of my fellow roomie. And on his bedstand was a cup containing unused Mardi Gras beads, old ID's and the dark shiny quarter I desired. Yet, how could I pull off such a bonanza? I stared and pondered, ever creaking closer with my back bent slightly and my head cocked upwards. I reached, yet it was too far. I look and he is asleep, but what if this was a stunt! What if he was really awake, fully awake, and noticing my ever devious moves towards his pot of silver gold? I shifted to the left trying to find an angle, one hopefully removed from his decreased eyesight due to his slitted eyelids. I reach--but to no avail. His knees kick up and I suck in what is my gut deep until it feels as though my insides straddle my spinal cord. I hang my head in shame as he snores on, unconsciously safeguarding his treasures away from the bandit that sulks in the darkness. In a final attempt to buy that cold, frosty drink from the vending machine for $1.25 I search denyingly in the dark with my flashlight. Click off-- I walk out to the water fountain and hang my shameful head to sip the spouting tap water.

This is my friend Elch.

I went home this weekend. So many lovely people I saw. I came back today. So many lovely people I saw.

18 days until I meet my first final of the semester. I will swim through these next days like they are tubes filled with gelatinous red goo.

And yes, my hair is tied back.

Due to the lack of time I believe pictures will be sufficient to provide to you my everyday doings in this crazy, crazy town.

O boy its late night banter

It's 3:14 and I think you're lovely.

It's when your day becomes night when my mind rips off its mask to defeat the evils of every dark corner.
My brain cells fry and all that's left-- I don't want to know.
My laser eyes penetrate brick walls and I sniff out the cocaine in your dirty suitcase.
My hair flings out like its calling out for someone's hands to rip it out.
My right eye has a pocket of fluid slowly filling the right bottom corner.
It's when your sound asleep when all I hear is sound.
It's times like this when I cannot do anything but write mindless gibberish and hope that someone else is up reading it.

"Baby I'm afraid of a lot of things but I ain't afraid of loving you."-Karen O (is a lover of mine)

Days of the Week

Maybe I'm a cynic, because everything that leaves your mouth is just so fucking hilarious.

Maybe I'm a romantic, because i stole this bit of your sweater and I sleep with your sheets wrapped around me at midnight.

Maybe I'm a masochist, because a bit of your bootprint still stains my wincing smile.

Maybe I'm a hero, because my face is on your magazine cover.

Maybe I'm an artist, because all I see are your colors across my canvas.

Maybe I'm a reject, because I was never invited to my suprise birthday.

Maybe I'm a narcissist, because I know that this face never fails to please me.

Maybe I'm a liar, because everything that leaves my lips is a fucking lie.

Back.

So, it's been awhile.

My suitemate just took a dump and didn't wash his hands. And really, I was just about to eat.

Three times this week I have made my morning trek to Einsteins to wrap my insides with a toasted Asiago Cheese bagel with--no more, no less-- the amount of plain cream cheese that I aspired for.

For the past week I have been stricken with what seems like a nasty infection of one of my sinuses. It seemed like each day the bacteria or virus--or something else...-- chose the nostril that it desired and had a boxing match with the respective sinus.

That was my lame excuse for not posting in awhile.

Now that it seems that I am over it, I am almost positive that I have passed this infectious nose malady to both my roomie and my suitemate. If you are reading this guys, I somewhat apoligize for the inconvience.

I've missed some valuable sleep. Let alone that I have woken up 2 hours before my scheduled bleeping of the alarm clock-- 5 am, 2 hours before my 7 am awakening-- my larnyx, pharnyx and anything else south of my palate was clogged, choking, and pissed the fuck off.

As it is now almost thirty minutes past noon, I have been awake for six and a half hours-- the reasoning of my lonely, old, senile chemistry proffesor for scheduling such an early exam time? Go ask the Dalai Lama or something. But now my stomach acalls to calories and such, so I beg of your pardon and I will return in--no less, no more-- a spanning period of hours [most likely (maybe{yep})].

'Bout today

In the shuttle I had a choppy and interesting conversation with the Gillman Nissan driver, whom was driving me back to Jester down I-35. He told me that he liked Biology, yet did not follow his dreams because he hated memorizing the periodic table. I responded by laying the news down--you didn't have to do that anymore. He went on to discuss the different things he's picked up from different customers that he has had to drop off. Oh by the way, his job is to send people back home after their car is left with the mechanics. He told about bioinformation; I told about how neurons will be connected to computer chips in the future. He told of an organic membrane used to surround oil disasters in the sea; I told him about my biotech internship this summer. Then he told me about his bike. Then we talked sports. He dropped me off, and I will surely never see him again.

Other things that happened today:

-woke up at 5:15 in the morning choking on phlegm
-blew my nose so hard that blood came out instead
-learned about absolute convergent series
-Finished my THREE f-ing labs
-dropped off my car to get the damn window fixed again (leading to the above paragraph)
-ate at freebirds by myself
-watched the rockets beat those stinking lakers
-went to texas revue and enjoyed the Potheads
-thought Adrienne was asian again
-drank over 10 glasses of orange juice
-listened to a gospel choir sing the Eyes of Texas--and SANG ALONG
-watched a buddy dance on stage
-kicked ass
-listened to a gospel choir sing the Eyes of Texas--and DANCED ALONG
-kicked some more ass
-laughed out loud
-stared blankly into that blur that used to be your face

'bout it

no diggity.

Stranded on the outside of a club in London, 2:33 am

So what can I say?

I'm completely emotionally drained. But I'm okay now. I was in a box but now I'm out. I wish I was a starving musician. Then I would feel as though my life had purpose. Instead of a four year plan, I would have a dirty setlist in my backpocket. I would save for guitar strings instead of buying bags of chips and cans full of vitamins and other shit that fucks with your internal functions. I would write lyrics on napkins instead of jotting down notes for something that is completely irrelevant to me. I would find purpose in living day to day, instead of trying to look forward to the future. I would dance anywhere, anytime, anyhow to the music that would feed me, instead of nap from a stomach full of grilled cheese and processed plastic pills. My guitar would be me course schedule. My bandmates would be my roommates. The crowd would be my weekend party. All of them bouncing, turning, dancing, jumping, moshing and letting whatever senses or stress or angst or ecstasy pour out of their limbs and their sweat and their pores. Then I would sleep on the side of the road or on your couch. And I would breathe for the beginning of the show. I would laugh and smile and be completely different as me and my bandmates let out our lives onto the vibrating strings. Our lives would be transferred into wavelengths and shot like a stream of bullets out the end of a speaker. Our lives would pour into that girl, that drunk, those hips, those punks, those conformists, and those left out. And at once we would all be one living, breathing, shouting dance machine. And all of our bodies would touch so we would become one mass of emotion. The lights would blind me--but at least I would be able to hear you cheer.

Breakfast consisted of a redbull and stress

So I got my lip pierced.
























Just kidding. At least I got your attention.

So I'm learning about high school all over again--while in college. I learned today that sitting by yourself at lunch is cool. I learned today that you can slave away at a science booth for a week, sit there for six hours and win first place ($500 may I add). Then you can go to the gym and not get picked to play 5 on 5 basketball. Then you practice by yourself and after your last airball you walk back to your room and turn on your favorite song for an hour and rinse all the dirt off your grining face.

I'm either partial to what they think or I'm just juiced on b12 vitamins. I'll be able to tell in 3 hours.

At the Bottom

No one can tell that you're crying at the bottom of the ocean.

I sit here before the screen in grey shorts, no shoes and a white tee shirt. I write this manuscript for you to read. My eyes are bloodshot. I sit here on this friday watching you in my head dancing on that crooked floor. The floor is tilted to the right. And I am strapped to this belt clinging from the left.

You asked me to go, but I had a sleepy head.

I sit here, in the dark, and watch you sleep. I watch you flow into that dream that feels so real. I sit here and wish for that static sound to surround me so I can feel like I'm under this digital waterfall. Synchronized thunderclaps, vibrant pixels fill the morphing screen shot.

I sit here and wait. But no one seeks me out.

I sit here and contemplate what next move to make. When I should turn on that powerstrip so all these fluorescent lights blend into neon. Then the digital droplets will form around your bed so I can stare at you. And your body dances on that crooked, shifted floor. A floor of code and infinite love.

I sit here and I love you. I watch you smile at me while your eyes are closed. I watch you tilt your head back and laugh at me when I have a silly head-- I don't have a silly head, I have a sleepy head. I sit here and watch you swim up and up, waiting for that gasp of air; and I swim down towards you losing my breath after each stroke. Your eyes are still closed but your mouth screams out into the freezing water calling for my hand. You claw and claw until you cannot claw anymore and I swim faster and faster and faster. My muscles tense up and my head feels light. My blood swells and my body kicks into shock. My spine stops talking and my body goes numb. I float upwards and you float downwards. But then I let all my air out-- bubble by bubble it comes through my nose. Slowly you disappear into the darkness but I'm right behind you. And when I hit the seabed I will watch you sleep again.

I sit there and wait. But you never wake up.

Wrap around me

You know maybe pressure is good. Maybe it allows you to clear your mind of all that
other shit that seems to crowd this head these breezy days.
I wish I could block out what you said and then blur the borders around you.
Then I could focus on your eyes and play a track through my ears.
It would be like a movie. The camera would make circles around us.
And nothing else would matter. Someone in the audience would sigh.
When you hear that song, you just know it. You know that it has changed your life.
Not literally for the rest of your life, but a piece of you is now attached and that
bit of your time is significant enough for a sliver of memory to form.
I want to be your significant piece--just enough for those slivers of your memory.
I want to be your walls so I could push in and raise your internal pressure.

Oh Okay.

There it is.

There is this sudden stinging in my right fore finger.
Oh wait, its gone.

My mood is too shifty to be good, bad, no, yes, hate, love, boring, fun--see.
The week is beginning to eat me alive. I say that everytime but still I claim
that this is worse than last time.

My head is beginning to run out of ideas or maybe I've just found no time for reading.

I have that strange feeling that I always get when I return a library book without
finishing it.

Kind of like somehow it will be lost in that huge building full of those old paperbacks and
greasy plastic front covers. That it will make its trip back through the cycle of book karma and
somehow will end up in someone elses hands in the next 20 years.

I like that sense that runs through your mind when you see someone that was you a few years ago, an embodiment of your former self. Whether clothes, strut, or slur you can take a
quick glance and smirk--I was there once.

And if you feel a little left behind, trust me, you shouldn't.
Give me a call, no wait, don't. Love me, wait no, I'm not in the mood.

Mood shifts are for hosers.

Rick I'm disappointed, 3 posts does not satisfy this everybody-loves-an-asian-boy boy.

By the way tonight 3 fat white guys and myself beat down the chinatown crew in
a lil' four on four action.

I know I've been pushing them a lot but listen to Bloc Party.

Wait don't.

Do well tommorow, although I hate that you will.

Don't worry. No one knows what I'm talking about.

I'll be up in 5 hours. Hope to see you by my side. Wait no.