dinosaur poems. sneak peek.

DINOSAUR POEM #1

here is what i know about

dinosaurs.

it isn’t much at all.

they are big.

probably reptiles.

possible feathers.

DINOSAUR POEM #2

i just remembered

i know something else about dinosaurs.

or at least 

i think i do.

i’m not a scientist

or from oklahoma

but i think their dead bodies

fuel my car.

DINOSAUR POEM #3

my ex-boyfriend was obsessed 

with dinosaurs.

he could pronounce

“Tuojiangosaiurus”.

he knew that there was a dino

with the name “Drinker”.

he had fluid ideas about

whether or not they had feathers

and how they evolved.

i could have learned so much

about our prehistoric friends

if i had wanted to...

but it’s hard for me to 

focus on dinosaurs.

READ THIS: "dance with snakes" by horacio castellanos moya

“Baile con serpientes”, or “Dance with Snakes” is both terrifying and magical. You must read this book. The only other novel i have read by Castellanos Moya is Senselessness- also incredibly enchanting- but i am on the prowl for more. I am charmed by his outwardly simple style, and i am yet to find someone who can write paranoia like quite like him. It would be impossible to explain the reasons you should read this book without revealing the whole erie plot, but if you are into surprisingly innocent violence, creepily awesome personification, and disturbingly unorthodox sexual experiences...read this book.

inspired by spiders

I have succeeded in having a more positive attitude lately, the result of a typical self-help-style life cleanse, you know, out with the old and in with the new, more me-time, plus a few changes here and there in day-to-day organization. I have also given myself a purpose, albeit a short-term project if you’re looking at it from a long-term perspective, but it is fulfilling, which is what I need. The Salon gives me something to work for, and it means something to me because it is affecting the lives of others in a positive way. I think this is what art should be. It should shake us awake, out of our everyday routines, and make us consider new ideas and experiences. I want to be stimulated and inspired, and i want to be able to give others those feelings as well. I have made new friends and strengthened my friendships with old ones. I have an outlet to support not only my creativity, but my drive to help others as well.

Do i still want to leave town? Not immediately. This is new. I have a reason, for now, to stay and see what happens. To move away was supposed to be me leaving one hollow void to enter another.

What i need to decide is what i want to get out of my art, my writing specifically.

Lately, the idea of platonic love, love for friends, those who are my family, has really inspired me. I wrote a song ("Ode to friendship") that I played at the salon that was written for everyone there, and everyone sang the chorus with me. It made me so incredibly happy. But do I want to play music or do I want to write? I feel like the past year or so a lot of my solo creative time has been poured into collaborative work (all music) or other people's projects. That isn't necessarily a problem, i think i just need to learn how to make my own art my priority sometimes. It's something to work on.

what now

I just recently returned from a two-week road trip in the Rockies with my best friend. For the most part, it was fucking awesome, but I'm back now, and already once more slowly and quietly going mad from the lack of structure in my life. One more month and I'll have a semi-stable job again, but what I really need is to get out of this city. This state. It's too hot here, I know too many people, I am tired of the bars and the lifestyle of being here. I want to be somewhere no one recognizes me. I am tired of second-guessing the quality of my relationships. I am always wanting to do so much more than I am... is it fair to blame this on location? I am too restless to complete projects. Too tired to write. Too wired to sleep.

book excerpt

We wander the landscape like tired wolves eager for a fresh kill. This city isn’t new anymore, and it’s too small. It is full and empty. It is crowded and lonely. I am a deformed brick, broken at the corners. Making sacrifices to fit. Waiting to crack.

there is a light

something like ambition

I am a fit of mania followed by a pit of despair. I envy truly crazy people. I want to lose all inhibitions. I am always wanting to live more furiously than I am. I feel I have not yet discovered what it is to live, but I am striving, reaching into darkness hoping for handfuls of something that will shine light on my illusions. I want to experience brilliance and violence and excitement. I want to be high on something, anything, all the time. Instead I am often restless, fretful, unfulfilled. A caged animal dying.

My body is not up to the task. For instance, I cannot fly. I cannot stay awake for weeks on end. I must occasionally pause to eat or bathe myself. I cannot scream for even an hour without losing my voice. I want to walk everywhere I go. I want to hear music, every second. I don’t want to shut my eyes, for even a moment. I want to create endlessly. I want to think about and consider everything, large and small. Live and let live.

But I have bills to pay, letters to write, hypochondria to keep in check. Jobs. Pets. All that matters to me is experience, adventure which I fail at procuring to the extent that I crave it. All that matters to me is art, but with a lack of confidence I fail to create it the way my heart requires. All that matters to me is love, but I get lost in the logistics of emotion and desire: where do you procure it, to what extent do you carry it, and how does one keep from being destroyed by passion? Why are we addicted to pleasure? Why doesn’t anyone say what they mean, why don’t we ask questions?

I want what everyone wants. To be happy. Harmless. To live in peace, having everything and nothing. To jump without fear. To step a little closer everyday to the person I imagine I can be. To do good for people, to build relationships that will last lifetimes. To love passionately, openly, honestly, and freely; to be admired, loved, and cared for in return.