Too many things all in a row. I want a break from the world. If only the world would stop.

I can’t do this anymore.

Will return in July, hopefully not later.


I’m Doing Well


i used to be cute, what the hell happened?


it was a process to get here

it’s going to be a process to get back

once was called kawaii



i used to be tightly wound but now am

free! the world an oyster devoured in full

so content having had everything desired

wanting nothing is an easy burden

go where you want

do what who you want

be you, unconditionally


all this easy-going temperament

fails at the permanent connections

and if i could change

maybe even then

i wouldn’t


meet you in my travels

we’ll have good conversation(s)

that then fall away as seamlessly as

oceans that take back the glaciers


Too many bad things, I could find a way out.

con las letras mismo

Myself another form formed forlorn, neglected.

todas las horas

The waiting room, the very same wait.

sin amor

Dancing to upbeat beats beating this heart into the ground.

I could be another. Just let me switch the language.

同じ 文字

these forms another version of reflection

better meaning.

hello hi hey

.i don’t even no longer know how to piece words in the right order. Syntax taxes into confusion and creates no understanding .don’t want to fix it. That’s the problem internal not external. The world doesn’t care, I care. Should erase that habit until the mark is faint and barely breathing. Fuck .  fieckdncakdng.i.


I miss the energy of people. I lack so much.


pieced to gether like rained on p rint.

i run up to you and catch your breath in mine.

this post is personal

The past is too close for comfort. I thought the door could be kept shut on it, but it burst open like a cork instead. Pop. Here’s all the things you once thought buried. But you can’t bury what’s not dead. Ha.

Jokes. I make intentional jokes now. I am intentional now. They say jokester but I am the joke. It doesn’t even matter if it’s overplayed or if I don’t find it funny. It doesn’t matter if it offends or puns. This world can’t take a joke–so tell them all. I will until they cut out my tongue for speaking so well of ill.

Suffering is a choice, or so the religious say. I’m not, wouldn’t know. But if pain is constant and suffering is a choice, well, either way you’re fucked because the pain is still there. Constant. Always. Never-ending. Hurt is there to only be spread out among the collective until we’re all too numb to do shit all about it all.

Cynical. Pessimist. Realist.

I’m tired of the labels but that is all we have to define ourselves by and it sucks because I just want to float along like a cloud with no definite shape or clarity. No one labels a cloud gay and asks it not to associate with the baby clouds least it’s catching.

I am not a cold.

Put hands in my pockets least violence feels answerable. Feels like the answer. More and more as time goes by and the world dissolves into fascism, a punch in the face becomes the right thing to do. I will burn this place to the ground before this place is overrun by those awful ones crying for white supremacy like the world owed them the rights of others.

I owe no one my mind, my body, and least of all: my humanity.

The republic is clawing in it’s death throes. Spit on it and chop off the hand that grips my own. I’m leaving. Good riddance. Let that death be painful as all hell.

Karma has caught up to the colonizers. Heh.

take time

sit on the idea

let it percolate



don’t rush to conjure it upon the scene;

do delicately trim the fringe


I will let you know what is to be split

if the watch is kept


there’s more to emotion beyond introduction

constricted conception

language lackluster

deconstruct it, obliterate it

bit by bit

the rain forms


this bird is a vulture

suffering, struggling

we’re all out here the same

tangled collage of words

picked up by

you & you & you

to know I

but let go

all the words to tell

they’ll fail at all