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11 December 2015 @ 01:19 am
"In how many ways must I repeat myself?"

In ways that I count not with numbers,
but words,
with adverbs, in quantities
measured in a somewhat
approximate proximity

Sometimes forever


a premonition

and yet...

23 November 2015 @ 02:37 am
skies alight and bats in flight
soft whistles of thousands of faraway stars

whispers on breezes, the secrets of trees,
voice messages into empty glass jars

counting pebbles, counting stars,
counting distance, counting time

voices carried on the stream,
nonsense, nonsense, childlike rhyme

slither in and hold your breath
you'll find you will not, cannot drown drown

you'll hear the fish's melodies
(as silence is but darkened sound)

i've been dreaming for days
upon days
upon days
i've been walking liquid mirrors

i've heard a dozen stories from
the snail shells from the river

how to travel back in time?
i sometimes forget to remember

but then I sleep for days and days
and recall by every year's November

all that ever will be has been
that is how we read the future

the truths that crawl below the skin
in dreams, are gnawing at the sutures



and repetition

a premonition

prayers to my guiding stars,
my modest propositions

and yet

every wish i make comes true
beyond my modest superstitions

and yet

streets alight and bats in flight
the city's full of noise, and noise

smoke and sparkles, bright, too bright
the veil consumes to ash, destroyed

the map spinning 'round is a circle, remember?
everything that will be was

and what has been will be again
30 September 2015 @ 10:17 pm
black skies turn purple
turn pink,
orange, blue

how to travel back in time?
you lied, you never knew

you made a wish
and told the fish

and had it delivered to you

nights still heavy,
hot and haunted,
cal band

counting pebbles, counting stars


30 April 2015 @ 02:55 pm

how to travel back in time?
...I only ever played pretend



counting pebbles
counting stars...
counting little,
grains of

not with numbers,
not with words,
but the memory of infinite turns of the hand

days, white haze and dusty breezes
sparkles, glare, and seasonal sneezes

nights, so heavy, hot and haunted
by everything we ever wanted

I've lived a thousand years

I am the ghost of summer

I now
know how

to disappear


time folds

like paper

that is all it ever was:

a note tucked away in somebody's pocket
washed out by a swim in the ocean of tears


become symbol

of the universe alive between
the spaces in between our ears

hearts like anchors
hearts like wings

the undercurrents pull,
and stars
suspend our lives with lights like string

how to travel back in time,
hold the symbol (once the map)

the only route is a circle, remember?
there is no direction or track

Photos are mine, as usual, edited with several apps by Brainfever.
20 March 2015 @ 01:38 am
stars and salt water
in all of our eyes

flickers of static
stitches in time

in our hearts
and our heads

letters and letters
that won't always rhyme

I wrote ten thousand letters now
I tie them to my fish's tails

I drank the river, cried the sea
set tiny paper ships a sail

tied anchors
on ankles

tied strings
around scrolls

tied bows on my fingers
and bows on my neck

tied charms to my hair and words to my ears
so I'd remember not to forget

typed symbols, in scrambles,
a message, in code

tied language
in scribbles and nonsense and noise

and sang
into a bottle.

a telegraph
from a distant star

a memory
only in melody recalled

you loved like the ocean
you loved like the sky

hearts like anchors,
hearts like wings

the wave, it pulls us down and under,
the highest ice clouds sings

in my lungs
salt water

and sand in my eyes

weeds and stars
and letters dissolved

...but I do know what it's like to fly

I wrote ten thousand letters
and have thousands more to send

how to travel back in time?
...I only ever played pretend
14 December 2014 @ 01:48 am
A list of things I've learned this year.
Some learned through practice, others, only realized in theory.

I'm 30... I have been for about a month, so this is due.

1. There are moments in life that feel like an end... with transitional periods of mourning, then the slow, gradual adjustment to change, dragging tails and strips and braids of melancholia and longing for the past, just because it's the past most of the time.
Feeling unlike oneself.
These seem like periods of stagnancy... as if we've become a lake instead of a river.
But there's the rain, and the fish...
In these moments, we are collecting... experiences, memories, lessons.
Until we overflow and take course again.
Lesson: ends are not The End.

2. Hence, we need to update our concept of Self.
Install the necessary software, uninstall the obsolete, delete junk files.
There are awkward moments during adulthood that we are not prepared for, especially for those of us who were so self-aware in the recent past, so mindful of being the best person you could possibly be - when we had the time.
We engage fully in our new responsibilities, projects and relationships.
We are constantly becoming, as always, but might experience embarrassing program errors... awkward moments when we act automatically, then realize a moment later that our values or perceptions have changed.
Similar to putting on a plaid miniskirt and deciding to change it (and get rid of it) once you remember you're almost 30.
Just because it's yours, it's your closet, you rocked it, and you loved it once... you don't have to keep wearing it.

3. Friendship means more.
Staying friends with people requires more of an effort than before, back when you could see them in college or social events (events you now have to write down on your schedule or calendar and plan for).
If your friends are in the same age range as you, most of them are in the same position as you (particularly those you studied with)... which, to summarize, means really busy.
Those friends who have managed to stay in your life nonetheless, at this point, feel like partners for life.
I'm not even talking about the people you spend real time with - but those who reach out in any way possible, whether with text messages out of the blue, a response when you needed it, or asking something from you. Sometimes favors, sometimes company for unimportant events, like lunch.
These are people you knew and who knew you (before the updates), people to feel proud of and who in turn, are proud of you.
Or people you weren't close to before, but become close to now, with shared bits of the past.
These are the people who make you feel connected, never alone.
They don't even have to be there to be there, and don't expect you to, either, but they know.

4. Breakups are like death.
We're haunted by loved ones when they pass away. We hear their footsteps, feel them in a room, have conversations with them years after they're dead, see them in dreams which are mostly comforting... I've often had to use this analogy in order to understand my own thoughts and feelings.
I've mourned for probably longer than people should. But I've also been haunted in the best possible ways.
Relationships end because they have to... when done with love and respect (and, at times, out of love and respect), you have a world to go back in time to when you want to remember what it felt like to be loved, in love, and happy.
And you also just might love this person forever for who they were with you.

5. People die, and so will we.
It's important to be good to people and give as much love as you want to them, in whichever way you can. Even if in words only.
The single most important thing that matters when someone leaves us is being sure they knew how much we loved them... and I think it will be the same most important thing when our time comes.
(Also: when I say "people", animals are included.)

6. People are strange.
We tend to use our own logic to evaluate others' actions, and maybe come to judgmental conclusions.
People will surprise us with insanely fucked up behavior.
It's important to realize that some people are simply incompatible with us... and we may analyze situations a hundred different ways, and understand them in one way, maybe a few. Maybe revise our opinions and theorize further... but just because we understand, we shouldn't have to accommodate people who do us any kind of harm (slight or serious).
Some situations may seem too incredibly awful to actually be happening, or people may be awful beyond immediate belief... but these mythical awful people exist - and they are among us. Be aware.

7. You will adore unexpected people.
You will meet new people in specific circumstances, such as bosses, colleagues, people in the same line of work as you, and in my case, many, many, many students.
You get to know people through situations that will probably not end in friendship, but are still valuable in your life, even if for temporary periods.

8. Love yourself the same way you love others.
There's a brilliant moment... when you hear yourself giving advice to others, notice your altar full of pedestals, put others' feelings before your own, notice how you forgive unconditionally - but only when it's someone not-yourself... that you realize how you're reduced to an erased page in your own life and are just a medium for good things, instead of an actual good thing.
It seems obvious... but you rarely look inside your own heart for reasons other than evaluating how you relate to people on the outside.
You rarely look in the mirror for reasons other than how people on the outside will perceive you.
When neglected, in solitude, with the lights out... you don't want to think of yourself, or else you will see a tangled mess of flaws and neuroses, one you rather paint over with a calm and smiling face, one you rather keep busy doing the good things you know how to do well, avoiding that which will bring out the worst in you just because you don't want to see it.
When neglected, you will cram crowds into your heart, but when the noise is gone, there's nothing in that hall but garbage and an echo.
You know others see greatness in you, yet you are still in the habit of getting stuck in a negative loop as some illogical means of improvement.

9. Making memories is also a priority.
If you're the kind of person that remembers everything extraordinary (yet sometimes forgets the routine), when by yourself in the empty, echoing halls of your own heart, you'll find that it grows with you. You'll find that all of the above, as well as your time alone (which did not make it on this list because I've been all about alone time since I was born) is as important as your books and music.
Memories is what enables everything I listed before... so sometimes putting off sleep to go hopping over cemetery gates with a friend at 3 in the morning is worth it.

+Collapse )
22 November 2014 @ 06:03 pm
Last night I lead through the river bank
I visited my family of trees
Weightless sounds of autumn and
Blue and blue, and green

Some of us
are not
like you

We carry black bits of the void in our hearts
Our hearts beating backwards from no-one knows when
The sky calls us back home with the gravity of stars
(Remember, and pretend)

hearts like anchors
hearts like wings
the bottom of the ocean pulls
the highest ice clouds sing

I've carried black bits of the void in my heart
Since I don't-remember-when
I've tried to fold time since before I was born
But it as too late, even then

Pushing worlds between teeth
Pulling words in our sleep
Signifying everything
and nothing between dreams

I've carried phrases for weeks
But it's the phrases that carry me
Through days and nights of noise, and noise,
Like waves under my feet

There are memories where only melodies take us
Melodies we can only recall in our sleep
There's a certain way light can creep in and then wake us
And corrupt the truths we'd just earlier seen

Don't forget to remember,
Remember to sometimes forget...
How to travel back in time?
Unfold letters, and pretend
23 August 2014 @ 09:48 pm
stars and salt water

(glitter and blood)

omens in mirrors,

black clouds above

echoes of thunder,

a flash, a slow burn,

a spreading red ember

invites a return

lighting, lighting

setting winter aflame

burning through time

snuffed and melting in rain

flesh into ashes

ashes, to mud

mud to dust in the drought

(this is what we're made of)
18 May 2014 @ 10:22 pm
stitching up fabric
cutting threads with our teeth

tearing holes in the patchwork
to reveal what's beneath:

the blackness of space,
of a room with lights out,
of eyes closed and shut tight
under a moth-eaten shroud

stitching up phrases
pushing words
between teeth

pulling worlds
between dreams

pulling stars

from your eyes

stars and salt water

the drought, then the flood


through glitter and mud
11 May 2014 @ 11:37 pm

Not sure whether my spirit travels here while I sleep,
haunting the forest that used to be mine.

I've had episodes of sleep paralysis where I see the rooms of my old house,
floating close to the ceiling,
soft and slow, like a balloon,
the rooms empty, but still home.

Sometimes I float above the hills
sometimes low, close to the grass
sometimes on the surface of the water
sometimes on the bank of the river
sometimes facing up, towards the stars
and the worlds I imagined among them.

And every time I manage to wake from paralysis
(if and whenI manage to)
my memory lags
and my eyes, my physical eyes, wander,
and my senses are all mixed up,
so that waking up feels like falling into a dream, but in reverse, (which is not like waking up at all,
or is it)

Or maybe my unconcious is asking to go home, like a child that doesn't understand.

Current Mood: here and there
15 January 2014 @ 11:49 pm
in all of our eyes
stars and salt water

flickers of static
stitches in time

in all of our heads
noise and noise and noise and noise and
letters we write as we fade in to sleep

casting words disappearing in sand
writing our names with crushed insects' wings

stitching up fabric
cutting the strings

voice messages into plastic bottles
ink on paper pushed under the earth
pictures of skies in silicon chips
and stories remembered since birth

this is the way to forever
the only way there ever was
the one true map is a circle, remember?

Current Mood: sleepless
24 September 2013 @ 12:41 am
A translation from a memory of a dream, read in a non-language.

"I know you're sad

so I brought you the open sky before dusk
when it's soft
and the clouds are thin
and yellow and orange and pink

do you remember
the first time you tried to paint it
in crayons
and you used a fuchsia one
because you were so fascinated that clouds could look that color
but it looked nothing like the clouds
and you felt really angry and sad

it's ok if you can't color clouds
you know them

I brought you sparkles
like the ones that go off in your eyes
and real stars

you feel bad often
you've forgotten to forget
to pay no mind

so you close your eyes with your head high and walk

on a highwire
through broken glass
rusty nails
scalding asphalt
gentle grass
and flowers

you close your eyes and walk in an out of dark rooms
and bright rooms
and houses

as one who knows the way
always unafraid

but you close your eyes and hold your breath

because you are afraid

that the tears you've been holding in may run down your cheeks like waterfalls

instead of welling up inside your eyelids
of swelling them
and sealing them shut at the lashes

so I brought you
an ocean
with lazy waves

because you've kept your eyes shut,
your other senses are exhausted

and you've forgotten to see your reflection

you are the sky
you are the sea

in your eyes
stars and salt water

and I know

your real voice breaks
your real voice disappears

so you write letters
and letters
and letters in your sleep,

where you tie them to a fish's tail

and somebody knows

whether somebody cares
shouldn't matter
doesn't matter

whether anyone cares
shouldn't matter
but it matters to you

to flicker,
in an out
of the conciousness of the world

but you will never be invisible, you know
not while you have a body

so you can only hide it
hide your body between walls
between fabrics and colors

when all you ever wanted to hide was you
when all you ever wanted to expose was you

but your soul is invisible/but your soul is not invisible
not while there are people in the world

but your soul is customized, altered, mis-reconstructed
as long as there are people in the world

and now you know

that somebody knows who you are


you tied them to a fish's tail"
Current Mood: sleepysleepy
19 September 2013 @ 01:57 pm
You know when you always leave your lj client open, forever...
and you started writing something, intending to finish it sometime,
but your computer restarts automatically, so you lose it?

Let me post this before it happens again.

All that ever will be is,
all that ever was will be

it's written all over
all over the stars

too far, too dim for eyes to see

I wrote a million letters
I tied them to a fish's tail

they all disin
ted in

a glimmering


03 July 2013 @ 11:53 pm
Remember, and pretend.

An unorganized instagram-processed photo essay.

Current Mood: nostalgic (default)
11 February 2013 @ 03:57 pm
Time folds
like paper
of tiny

then all
the lost pieces
will fall into place

This is where we last left off
this is where I left my wings
this is where I left my sentence
and this is where I'll cut the strings

Because the map was distorted
because sometimes it's hard to see
because sometimes we're reading it all upside down
because some locked places don't have any keys

Because we must swallow our sobs
because we must tear out our eyes
because we must burn to ashes, to ashes
when we don't know how to fly

because then we are carried on warm ocean breezes
because then we forget who we are
because then we remember as memory pleases
because then we shall dance on the stars

and time folds
like paper
on thousands
of uneven shapes

folded and folded
and folded and stored
until we've again
lost our way

This is the way to direction
this isn't the way to the end
this is the way to the stars, if we fail
remember not to forget

you'll remember
and again
and again
Current Mood: deviousdevious
Current Music: Miyazaki - Absences
30 January 2013 @ 10:58 pm
Yaya (dead_eifersucht)
Ranking sexyness:


Anya (lukrezia)
Q!... NOT
Current Mood: amusedamused
Current Music: The Knife - Full Of Fire
21 January 2013 @ 02:32 am
Because this head is heavy with noise these shoulders ache

Because these fingers know not their way across the keys
they dance

Because these hands cannot make beauty they cramp and curl
they hold a pen and shake

Because words signify but do not feel, because they precede a thought
they fly across pages in loops
and ease the noise

Because stars have gone out while we were looking at city lights
they are forgotten

Because I flood this head with noise it swells

Because my feet know not their destination they dance
in circles

Because this reflection is the same
it must change

You will never step out of your skin, you know
you will never be invisible
not while you have a body

10 January 2013 @ 11:25 pm
I'm working on a book...
Attempting to.

This one is a poetry book of all those poems I wrote when I was a teenager along with a few prose pieces and,
(and I try really hard not to sound apologetic when I talk about it)
tons of ballpoint doodles. Some of which are from more than a decade ago,
most of which I'm trying to work on recently, not exactly as illustrations for the poems...
but channeling my old self.

Like these:

Drawing is easy (I'm sure you can tell by looking at them), but working on this book puts me in such a sad and desperate state of mind...
Which is why I keep putting it off, it's psychological torture.

Of course, being 16 all over again is torture.
This book is fucking torture.
But it needs to exist, so it will.

I started writing this with another purpose, which by now I've forgotten altogether, and it's become some kind of promotional post... of sorts. (Ugh.)

I think I wanted to share some lines I wasn't going to include in the book (maybe later).

I'll share this one instead, which is where I got the title from.


Broken mirror glass all over
All over my bedroom floor
Thinking about you and four o clock clouds
Thinking about before

I miss you so, I think and feel
I'd have you only if I drown
The sky is in the water, believe it,
That's where everything lost is found

In the sequins of mirrors
The mirrors that flood
My room and remind I miss you so

If I walk on them they will be
Stained red with blood
So I won't move
(I have nowhere to go)

Note: please don't base your opinion about this book that isn't, not yet, on that poem.
Current Mood: tortured
08 January 2013 @ 11:32 pm
The sky turns pink
turns orange
turns purple
turns black

every once in a while,
I grow tired, so tired
of myself.

who is this person i've known my whole life,
so predictable, so disappointing?

you will never step out of your skin, you know
you can never become invisible,
not while you have a body

only give names and voices to the people you want to be
become one
for a moment
and give names to the people you don't want to be
and destroy them

but you realize,
they all live through the same mess of a manuscript
of a person

looking up at the stars
to dream of stars
and write about stars,
to dance between walls
and on pages
to remember and pretend
that there is always something to go back to
that this body is home,

when you never even left
never even moved