cheesy words might work for now, cause you dig some lovely bones.

it is three am and monica laura and i are playing songs for each other on video chat. she started with a smokey robinson song, then i played her how to disappear completely for the first time ever. she's now playing deep down in florida by muddy waters. we are awesome.
















ephraim lewis - drowning in your eyes

someone has a microphone.



she was pinching my cheeks

consistent updates at 8 am.

the first album of the day is whatever and ever amen. it was discussed not too long ago how this was a very "wintery" feeling album. piano makes me chilly. so do mornings these past few days. ironic i was recommended the record only a few months before fall came.

i'm on two hours of sleep, but a night past of a sugared coffee spun magical night, so that's real decent. now i'm big and imporant, one big angry dwarf. if you really wanna see me check the papers and the tv. kiss my ass.

i feel like monica will understand that.

i was talking with jj and katie, chain smoking and drinking mo...moldero? spanish imported beer, jj said, as they greeted me with an anti-semetic (or, the ending of an awesome) episode of american dad. (and my kitten counterpart!) we were discussing music in general and i was trying with great frustration to explain how i miss music in a sense and i'm waiting for new stuff to come out. i'm tired of dance music whereas i used to pay such fine attention to everyone's set. now i'm most excited when jj plays anything classic rock-ish and i went nuts when he and oz talked about a retro rock night for .05 seconds in probably passing conversation but the mere idea was heaven. i think jj laughed and said i missed "real music" which i suppose could be the right thing, i mean, folk music is still around and i started to tell myself rock and roll is dead, like everyone likes to chant or sing about these days, but i can bring up some pretty decent examples to set myself straight on that matter as well. i just miss something about... i wont say the good days. the ole' times. the era i missed out on. some movement or growth, some... shit.

that makes me feel like a better person for obsessing over an album i never really listened to completely that is from 1995 and i think is fucking genius. it's ok. i'm still cool. bitches.



oh look at that.

the counteraction of some photos above:







all photos by matt vigil. i just paint colors on 'em.

last night's dream in the wrong format;
I define my love with second hand smoke and nail polish flakes that fall into the wrong hands and mean the right things. I trace the curves of your shoulder with my lips and you still sleep because the night before has left you numbed and soothed and for a moment you’re still and beautiful and you always said I am too hectic for you, too passive, too aggressive and too much fucking power. It’s not the intelligence you claim I have that scares you, it’s the voraciousness of my appetite for your words and your touches and your explanations because I rationalize everything besides my existence so hearing you tell me the things I need most soothe my burned skin which I torch on a daily basis to make up for my lack of people skills and will power. I suck the words from your mouth and press finger tips into the dips of your hips and I can feel the bones beneath me and I can feel you moving - awkwardly, unsure, afraid of what I might do next even though you’re the powerful one here, don’t forget it - but I don’t stop until every last sentence has been yanked from you, until I’ve gutted your mind and you’re left like a shell and I’ve drained so much from you, but then you’ll give me that smile or give me one of those kisses and that makes me feel like everything is alright, that you’re willing to give up those train of thoughts to me because you’re sacrificing and we all know (well, maybe not everyone) I sacrificed enough for you