Gemstones aren't always that pretty.



I go to sleep and plug in my toothbrush, my electric razor, my phone, my car, my dog, my wife, my blender. I wrap up all the cords and make this bird's nest in my attic that I read Calvin and Hobbes in and think of the abyss. 
It's not empty.
It's empty.
It's not empty.

It’s been a weird couple weeks, where all the mirrors on the wall are crooked, but I’m still standing straight. It’s a weird thing when you realize how much static and absolutes are just a movie seen at a slow frame rate, speed it up and the water is always rising, the mountains are always beingn worn down.

There’s this great movie Flow about a cat waking up and trying to figure out the world it lives in: the water around it is raising as it looks at giant stone monuments of itself.

It climbs and climbs, up and up, these representations of itself before finally having to head to sea as it’s the tips of its stone ears disappear under the disinterested surface of water.

I’ve realized that movie is the loop of our lives.

We all stand gazing in pure, dumb satisfaction at what we believe is the best and most complete vision of ourselves, and we build some equally dumb monument, until the inevitable biblical event wipes surface of the Earth clean.

I’m thankful I’ve been a good swimmer for years. I think of exes that have taught me to swim. I think of failures with work. Of artworks of sucked and I didn’t show up for. But I’ve thought through it a lot.

I’m a good sculptor (I can rebuild monuments easily)
But I’m also happy in silence.

With the right background biblical events can just be a good wave to surf. Or a lot of bugs to eat. Or something else from Exodus? I don’t read the bible.

to whom it may concern

In the corner of the room there were postcards of highway scenes; dark expanses of asphalt under stars and moons, but no sun. Every once in a while, in one of the postcards, there would be a street light to give the impression that the roads were in use.

All the postcards were blank, except for one that said "see you at the party!". There was no address on it, just a little drawing of a sunflower where the sender information should have been.

When I left the room, I stacked up all the postcards and left the one with writing on it to the side for the next person to find more easily.

the man through town (or why there are strange shadows at sunset)


There's a man who walks through town with a large piece of driftwood stuck to his back. No one knows if he fell and it is impaling him, or if he has somehow sewn his clothes around it; fabric becoming a holster for future firewood. His hearing is quite bad, so to approach him with questions regarding the origins of the wood, poses a danger of him spinning and striking your person in his startled state, so all in town leave him be.

The only time we hear words from his mouth is when we sit near to him during sunset. The sun slowly wraps his face in sheets of glowing stories that speak of cosmic darkness and her children. 

Of the beginning of it all. 

The sheets hang off his body, til they touch the driftwood on his back, spreading strange shadows across the sand to his side, causing him to look and mumble, "what a strange looking bird."