I am wasted, but I'm ready...

If you want to move it so, why don't you make it go?
Prove it to everybody who doesn't understand.
All the nights, all the fights, you are out of sight.
Some say more with their hands.
I'm running as fast as I can.

--Wasted & Ready by Ben Kweller

I see your eyes at the end of this tunnel vision we must be getting higher because the sky's reflected in the them and clouds made of cigarette smoke and fingertips of early morning hope are pressing us forward pushing me through you

I move over you like the sun falls from a window--I was bright and obvious and stupid--but you like the way I move you like the way I push you through

One night the start of a long day we talk into the AM and then you make me spin passengers on a one way train and then we enter into tunnels and

I see your eyes at the end of this tunnel vision colorless and shimmering the way we all look when we're intoxicated.

Art: Hands by Y0uiip

Good Things: SYTYCD Season 7

Couldn't embed the following vids but YOU MUST CLICK and EXPERIENCE THEIR GLORY!!!

Billy & Lauren performing to Boogie Shoes

Alex & Twitch performing hip hop routine to Outta My Mind

Lauren & Twitch!!! hip hop routine to My Chick Bad (yessss!)

Billy & Ade perform thought-provoking piece to Mad World

Kathryn & Robert contemporary: watch for the twist at the end!

Pocket
--Matthew Zapruder

I like the word pocket. It sounds a little safely
dangerous. Like knowing you once
bought a headlamp in case the lights go out
in a catastrophe. You will put it on your head
and your hands will still be free. Or
standing in a forest and staring at a picture
in a plant book while eating scary looking wild flowers.
Saying pocket makes me feel potentially
but not yet busy. I am getting ready to have
important thoughts. I am thinking about my pocket.
Which has its own particular geology.
Maybe you know what I mean. I mean
I basically know what's in there and can even
list the items but also there are other bits
and pieces made of stuff that might not
even have a name. Only a scientist could figure
it out. And why would a scientist do that?
He or she should be curing brain diseases
or making sure that asteroid doesn't hit us.
Look out scientists! Today the unemployment rate
is 9.4%. I have no idea what that means. I tried
to think about it harder for a while. Then
tried standing in an actual stance of mystery
and not knowing towards the world.
Which is my job. As is staring at the back yard
and for one second believing I am actually
rising away from myself. Which is maybe
what I have in common right now with you.
And now I am placing my hand on this
very dusty table. And brushing away
the dust. And now I am looking away
and thinking for the last time about my pocket.
But this time I am thinking about its darkness.
Like the bottom of the sea. But without
the blind florescent creatures floating
in a circle around the black box which along
with tremendous thunder and huge shards
of metal from the airplane sank down and settled
here where it rests, cheerfully beeping.

Q: All the lonely people, where do they all come from?

A: The fear that they are not enough.

And the people who aren't lonely, even in their solitude? Well, they feel that they are more than enough and that they have so much that they are willing to give.

So they share their lives with other people.

I looked into the mirror and I saw a glimmer breaking through. Now, I'm no shining soul, but give me time to pick the rust off and I'll feel brand new.

I shake the dust from tired limbs. I pull me from my shelf. I'm filled with love, I'm flowing over, and I won't keep this to myself.

Inside a bar inside a place with a language I don't speak, I ask for a light from the man on my right who says that I've taken his seat.

He came for the music, he loves the Doors, he's waiting to light my fire.

He's the perfect vessel to pour out my temper, this love that's too hot to hold.

Now some may call me bold but the best way to change your soul is to throw it the fire and shape yourself to another mold.

This started as a blog post but it turned into a poem. Some things shape themselves; all you need to do is watch them grow.

Most times I'm uncertain, but I'm learning to be less sure. I'm trying, motherfucker. That's all you need to know.

Life pulses...

Soooo, watching the blockhead vid reminded me of this gem that I actually have on my Ipod. If you haven't figured it out already, YES I actually loved Disney's Fantasia when I was little and never found it boring. I own Fantasia & Fantasia 2000. =)

Blockhead - The Music Scene

Dismembered colors and swirled beats present an unappetizing portrait of human nature.

Epic

see ARTIST'S PAGE, "Portrait of a Dying Atheist"

Hmm. It really depends on your point of view...but wherever I'm standing, damn, it looks cool. And it always means something new.

Selling Out, Pt 2

I am so selfish with your love, I can't risk fucking up.

Losing the slightest bit would hurt too much.

I am so empathetic toward you.

I comfort your afflictions.

That doubt, that insecurity--

it's piling up inside of me.

I pull at your knots so my own heart strings can breathe.

Selling Out, Pt 1

"How much is your integrity worth?" My mother taught by example and a few well-chosen words I assumed someone else passed down to her. Her lessons always stuck.

But a mother's lessons are much better than life's lessons. Those stick too, but they also suck.

I wish we thought of our parents during those times of intoxication and anticipation; all beating heart and flushed cheeks and lips parted, waiting. Just waiting.

OK, maybe not. No one, unless that person has got one of the weirdest skeletons hanging in his or her closet, wants one's parents (or significant other or dear friends) to come to mind the moment he or she thinks dirty thoughts.

Dirty, selfish, secret things. Stolen things. Stolen candy. Stolen kisses. Stolen recognition. I'd be lying if I said I never thought of these things. Yet I've always been so good at recognizing how bitter one person's sweet sin can taste to another.

Anticipation with all its pent up anxiety makes the realization, the release of a flood of conflicting emotions, so incredibly breathtaking. But when your heart slows down, when your veins retreat deeper under your skin, when that full-body pulse that smothered the sound of red flags and sirens stops its pounding...shit, that's an awful feeling. When you've been so drained, so emptied, every stray thought rings so clearly across the cavity.

And sings.

Guilt makes us remember its tune, and our mind hums it, unrelenting, like a Lady Gaga hook.

Fitness Inspiration

A.mazing!

Can't Sleep

Posting here because it's 4 am and my final draws nearer...Need to distract my mind from the harsh reality of this day.

A pretty poem I've loved since junior high, by E.E. Cummings. Each stanza is so perfect.

Somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond
Any experience, your eyes have their silence:
In your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
Or which I cannot touch because they are too near

Your slightest look easily will unclose me
Though I have closed myself as fingers,
You open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(Touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

Or if your wish be to close me, I and
My life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
As when the heart of this flower imagines
The snow carefully everywhere descending;

Nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
The power of your intense fragility: whose texture
Compels me with the colour of its countries
Rendering death and forever with each breathing

(I do not know what it is about you that closes
And opens; only something in me understands
The voice of your eyes is deeper then all roses)
Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands