Letters from a defunct Myspace blog, circa December 2007 to August 2008
(Having recently re-discovered and unearthed some of what I thought were long-lost, banal writings, I thought I would share some snapshots of what I found interesting.)
#1.
We danced at the movies, in front of the barkeep
What number of different faces, going on in phases, what multitudes of facets
Consisting of sweets and maltreats—in my dreams, I’d seen
An unborn baby daughter I was holding, overheard you saying
She had deep, dark, almost blackened blues and obsidian hair
Fair skin, the look of obstreperous prayer, sentience with her mother…me…?
#2.
Praxis or whatever rhetoric, thanks to us, whom forever impersonally
That everything happens for a reason
The Doors movie was interesting—like proverbial waves at Brooklyn beach
Sun’s greying, clouds chalky and icy, water’s freezing
Are daydreams just wishes, wishing to manifest into reality?
Is it really future if it’s all uncertainty?
And while you’re at it, can you please pass me another Cuban coffee?
“Well, her love won't go unnoticed, trust me.”
#3.
(Ironically I met two vegetarians and saw the lunar eclipse as well, one of whom of which had ANIMAL LIBERATION on their computer.)
A smile began to crack before the epiphany and/or accident.
Catalonia is closer than we think? Somewhere out there, people are free.
#4.
So, without any advance or sequence entranced, left for Montauk
Looking out the train-car windows like they’re portals
It's how you do with just your eyes; a New Year’s ghost in New York
And my favorite quote (at the moment):
PJ Harvey’s, Good Fortune:
“And I feel like
Some bird of paradise
My bad fortune slipping away
And I feel the innocence of a child
Everybody's got something good to say”
#5.
Parades are people celebrating something—I thought, holding a copy of Leaves of Grass by Whitman
Were the words of someone since passed meaningful even if we couldn’t understand them?
Is this—might it be hypoglycemic, or maybe wishful thinking?
2007 into 8 with VIII being the fav Final Fantasy
(And don't think I've forgotten you either)
#6.
So without waste, and haste, there's no more time to take for granted. Or money in Manhattan.
Setting the sails of anthology,
Also, brown eyes are underrated!
#7.
Time takes the trances, enhances whatever it can
Says, make itself, thyself, to believe unto itself
Or maybe be, at-least, I would like to think…?
#8.
Drainage, chased to you forever by the train, the people go on and on and on…
The words—well, they were letterless (I suppose)
Lactose-free milkshakes, thankless I’m half an orphan, plus the handshakes
Train goes, it says it’s supposed to be here, but then again, what do I know?
Unless you count the coats, time goes upwards then falls down slow
Could you really be in-love with someone you’ll never get to know?
#9.
Believing and breathing the island's sound, southward of the Staten Island ferry,
Like a ghost, so…I wanted to show you a…special place—today
Never afraid, of what you meant, but it’s a little hmm standing here waiting to be kissed already
No, don’t say so, I understand people got their own thing going on…sure, right
But, I hope for your soul to find my ghost.
It’s kind of like, all that beautiful graffiti everywhere, lookie
Inwood, Astoria, Kingsbridge, Times Square, I mean, hey—just saying
Am I ashamed? I guess you could say it that way…
More like, I’m shy about being shy dude
Never ever, blah blah blah
Who would have thought you could be real.
So, let me…can I thank you?
I think I will—thank you? Alright, alright.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
(The Today I Lost My Identity)
Current mood: Unbelievable…?
Today. Loss of words, anything to say. But I'm your ghost. And I love the world.
#10.
Non Compos Mentis
Current mood: Living
Beautiful Lunar Landscape—My New Favorite Band.
And yes, Harlem is my home in NYC and here to stay.
Because I'm your ghost.
I'm your ghost.
I'm only your ghost.
#11.
(5-88-77-11)
Serene,
Surrender, behave
Remember, Rico Suave, to jump ship.
No, no. Whatever the notes acclimate to up in the heavenly word.
When one angel loses their wings in heaven, another takes them as as souvenir.
All of us, forever are a beautiful family of strangers.
#12a.
Serenity,
Sincerity, tabledancing, sober laughing, singing loudly on the subway
No more: blackout-ing, medicining, (past) slap marks and bruises, burning nostrils
Run, run. Till your eyes water tear full out all white can't see the legs beneath you, a hue or shade (ballroom) or contrast vividly across bony shoulders
That go crinkling like paper, voices are everywhere laughing can this be real
Now a bunch of us in the park like we all grew up together because…it feels like—I think we did?
Just then. Cigarette, your hand says, let’s go over here, skip and jump ship, have you seen this?
No, yes—but what I’m saying is we both have chapped lips.
#12.
Chy Town Is My Town
Current mood: Unlistenable.
There was family. And there was coffee. Great, in fact.
Being anonymous, and a stranger in the middle of nowhere retaliates greatness as it's expected. Reasonably, tangibly and poignant in-fact!
Plane is leaving Chicago, but I think I’m (finally) heading somewhere.
(Can I meet you there?)
New Pictures & Their New Receipts
Current mood: Undeniable?
Emackulate. Matador Records. Cat Power. Internship. Jobbing.
New Camera but old **sort of, they’re old but…oh, what the heck.
Last of the Phoenicians, no more photography in the desert tesseract cell shades!
Finally.
Speaking Spanish and Spanglish plainly.
Vanilla is the existential yogurt to the hardly yum-yum diet of the new 21st century.
And I wither wrinkled, sauteed.
Ciao*
