Notes to Self:
Sometimes there is no sunrise, just a slow gray fade.
In a gas station bathroom somewhere, a child watches a cockroach struggle on its back while she pees.
Nietzsche can't save her and neither can I.
Like the sky, you lean on nothing.
You need a schedule to be successful. Wake up, stretch, fuck self, meditate, dance hard, brush teeth.
Say bless you after every burp.
I asked a man for a cigarette and he told me that he switched birthdays with his dog.
You are slave to those who make you react.
The air draws colder near New York. My airplane rides parallel to a highway of cars. I’m leaving you in England this time.
$89.91 in international transaction fees. The water makes sense of her laugh.
2016 spring sex count: 157. Streams slide into streams. Pink eyelids speak.
I pooped in the shape of your dick and it reminded me of you. Whoever invented the toilet paper roll is a genius.
The skin is a bridge and a barrier.
Viewers are no longer held captive by the clock. Short people love to say, “I hope all is well” at the beginning of emails.
A homeless man spends 10 minutes cleaning the train station floor with a flimsy stack of napkins. The janitor rolls her eyes.
She who sees a difference within and without goes evermore from death to death.
An old man asks his neighbor to borrow a cup of sugar every week but never needs it.
Desire less, love more, eat well, be present. Grow to give. Watch life like a movie. Go to Stanford.
Paper faces peel. Elements of Seductive Logic Tuesday at 12.
I can’t carry all of you. Can’t fly with a 150 battery, has to be 90.
Every wall in America needs the number 45 painted on it and only one man can do the job.
Tonight in my dreams I am going to stretch out over the placid water and swim because I feel free.
Languid arms, languid heart.
A black cowboy hat and a pair of medium-scandal underwear. Glass interrupting glass.
Hurt your little savior. We get what we tolerate.
She moves the table towards herself instead of scooting the chair in.
A match snapped in half.
When do we get the new brace? How long will it last?
Let her solve something for you. Quietly solve something for her.
What did Jesus do between the ages of 12 and 30? New music from a dead man.
I watch a stream of wires whiz by the subway car window and imagine the electric impulses of my own nerves.
The following pathways of my busy veins.
Hallucination, not accompanied by delusion.
I am a part of many worlds, but none feel real until I plug in.
Is it voyeristic to stare as a crab switches shells?
Bite more hips. Support your own spine. Make a shit ton of oatmeal and sink into a Teletubbies YouTube hole.
Orange, yellow, green, baby pink, sky blue, a bit of blood.
Notice the Chiaroscuro. Give thank-you notes to everyone.
You can’t fill up the space inside of you with someone else.
*Tapes scab to love letter.*
There is a guy at the dinner table next to me reading the paper with a headlamp on.
I made a rainbow happen driving away from my house.
Are we water poured into pure water?
Wake up to the buzzing alarm only to realize it's a vibrator that never got turned off. A scene where Ella misreads a text from her grandmother, assumes her grandfather is dead, then proceeds to call and console the whole family (dark comedy).
She is a day early.
Infinite growth within a finite system is impossible.
It is the limitations of something that give it meaning at all.
Your name is the most permanent thing about you and even that may be slaughtered with a signature.
Love is standing patiently by while she throws her tantrum, intervening only to prevent injury.
“Art is like a disease. Anything can be art and anything can be a disease" - Grandpa.
The leaves fall stems-up. Crimson spikes carpet the sidewalk.
Sweaty coat sleeves. Shivering heat.
Be like ash. Give to grow.
Interview flight attendants about their relationship with time. Write simpler stories. Water your plants.
Stop inventing difference.
Unpainted lashes. Cold ankles. Lulls in music.
Headphones, no sound. A pair of closed lashes cross the street.
What about waking up having never gone to sleep?
Loosely wrapped. We are. Two spongey brushes.
The co-creation of form and underlying formlessness.