Listening to the tune of indecision while we drive the country side. Shared our stories and now we can make one or run away. It's easier to feel worthless than worthy of change. Do we really know the right direction? So much in life would be different these coming months if we knew what we were doing by now. Are the knots too tight for fingers to untie? We'll wait. Nearly packed my shit and drove, forever east.

The butterfly effect.

The sprinklers turn on in the front yard & the grassroots stance of self preservation is fed by dazzling sorrow showers. You know just what I need but instead you cleat the green in some awkward stance, wearing the patch until it becomes dirt or worse. A stare in the wrong direction is to forget the eyes that hoped for yours, keeping us from walking the course forward, treading the patch beneath until it becomes dust.
I go to the window and pull the blinds from the wall, they're the prefect size to fit into my eyes. A young girl once told me life would be easier if she could block out the world, this might be the best way. She said seeing was believing. So if I never see you again, what difference does it make? Until I believe, I can't afford the luxury. I rub from my eyes what feels strangely like dust.
Behind me, the shower runs hot. I'm scalding inside. I need equilibrium but the thought of losing a layer or question of "could be" causes me to catch a breath from several years ago. Am I the sum of all my directions, footsteps, locked lips lost in lust longing to lament the loss of loneliness, washed underwear, wandering eyes, water drank and pissed, and all the molecules connecting my eyes to the tear drop moon? Or am I the sum of a dry towel five minutes later? I lean forward to shake my hair free of dust. I'm clean.
The bed holds my body with wrinkled sheets and worse things have happened during nights darker than this. My mind is bubbles blown through a tiny eclipse of silver light that falls through the blinds left open wide. The scalding leaves scars, it leaves notes on the inside of my ribs, it leaves me behind me that only I can see. Close the blinds, how nice it feels to be held by nothing. I can't believe how strange it is to be anything at all.

Hurry.

Ever had those nights? The air thin and your limbs rocks upon a lonely place. What do we continue to choose to be so far apart? When do we adventure down the back streets, in bars and cafe's with lost kid posters pinned to the windows and free refills on coffee. The world was founded on problems to which there is no solution, but the structure is enough for nostalgia to grip our hearts and turn distance to dust. I'm tired of working so much and seeing you so little. I love her. It's not the place, the time, or the light in the sky, it's the sparks that glow at night in a dark room. The ones that can be seen from space.

Conclusion of Part III

"In any case, if the reader would have a correct idea of the mood of these exiles, we must conjure up once more those dreary evenings sifting down through a haze of dust and golden light upon the treeless streets filled with teeming crowds of men and women. For, characteristically, the sound that rose toward the terraces still bathed in the last glow of sole voice of cities in ordinary times - had ceased, was but one vast rumor of low voices and incessant footfalls, the drumming of innumerable soles timed to the eerie whistling of the plague in the sultry air above, the sound of a huge concourse of people marking time, filled the town from end to end, and evening after evening gave its truest, mournfullest expression to the blind endurance that had ousted love from all our hearts." - A. Camus

1:43 and I've printed nearly 50 banners and a stage wrap for Dancing with the Stars tonight. There's been about 10 times I've wanted to rip my hair out mainly due to the fact that a 15,000 dollar printer really shouldn't fuck up, ever. And it does. Continually. Somewhere in the ballpark of nearly 1,117,856 pieces of paper later, this is bound to happen. 1:45 Waiting for a new run of programs to load. Trying it from a different postscript file. This is taking forever. I miss talking to Christie. Neon Indian is playing, deadbeat summer and today is sunny and where I want to be but being in this office on a weekend kills me. 1:50 Program is still loading. I just want the pieces of my life to feel like a broken mug that someone took the time to glue perfectly back together. Or maybe a rock picked up from the beach, smoothed by the years of seaside tumbling, left on a shelf and felt with nostalgic palms. I want to get the fuck out of here. 3:42 The printer finally ran out of staples. Beer has been delivered and it's not all bad. Printing the rest of the banners should be a cinch and then I'm gonna get a jacket from stephen. I'm enthralled in de ja vu. 3:48 Listening to Animals as Leaders. Fuck. SO EXCITED TO BE DONE WITH THIS. ASLKJA:LKFJ:LSDKJFS 4:48 Just delivered the last of the programs, banners, and I'm finally done printing for DWS. Got a few beers on my managers tab (which is fucking rad to have) and am officially coasting for the summer. Thanks world, I am so fucking excited to go to SF.

Seems to me.

close yourself upon pressed flowers and marked pages suppose the ropes fell to your knees we never took too much time to drive anywhere but places we've never been. Have the nerves of faith and the breath of treaty if you ever want to fill the heart balloons and see us soar. Satisfied by distortion and quick connections elongated by loose knots. Soaked in the futile days of sewing sadness through the landscape shelves. Stems of an everlasting love rest their heads upon the leaves they birth. Shoot, I'm fucking tired.

Quick little cover for an english portfolio.

First two attempts at photoshop.

Just discovered some old archives of stuff I did in high school. These were among my first attempts at photoshopping something.

Still questions.

Instead of trying to get out of your head,
learn
how to sink further into yourself.
Practice self acceptance,

appreciation,

kindness.

Take the time to actively participate in doing these things.
You will sink further and further, and
eventually you will evolve gills so that you can breathe inside of yourself.
You will have sunk down to your center.
You will learn totrust yourself.
You will feel confident.
The questions will diminish and
the answers will become the air you breathe.
You will know yourself.

Sequential. (Sorrow is also a question)

I've spent the morning. I've opened the mind.
Closed the question.
Called you back. Turned it on. Spelled it out. Lost my way.
Got out of bed. Put on a smile. Thought for a minute.
Died for a while. Socks keep me warm. Cold in my heart.
Crossed the floor. Took out a glass. Filled it with water.
These times never last. Looked through the window.
Sighed at the sight. Heard the unknown. Cried in the light.
Stumbled to my room. The end's where it starts.
Covered the walls. Pulled on my jeans. Looked into my eyes.
This is all it means. Couldn't say no. The blinds are closed.
Darkness always under foot. Brushed my teeth.
Never new. Never discovered. Choked my way out.
Still missing my brother. Life lets us choose.
We often do. Buttoned the shirt. Fresh air is enough.

I might not do much of anything that's special to anyone.
But at least I can say I tried.

Passing

Some days, in the distance lost time angers
the impressionable out of my grasp and short
in the way it passed. It's easy to no I can't or
could because it's light when what wears on
the mind sinks to the center. A point could
also be interpreted as a period. It comes
by for out where where nobody then swept
up windless moodless in the open arena
that strays from hip to godless glass of
water. Everyone who was has gone by
way of death. There are moments in
my life when I don't care to exist.

How to live forever.