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had a kind of a circular fixation today i guess..

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Orbit

It’s that chosen blindness---

the whole world orbits on the backs of eyelids in the palms of hands. I skyrocket and disband and land suspended. Held fast in a path around your body. Uncontrollable velocity possibly, clearly, a theory. Pulled in by quiet vastness, the expansive essence of your efflorescence. Luminosity guides me to be a kept planet, and spend space and time in your infinitely dark eyes in your gravitating reprise. To universally absorb it, this trajectory, falling free. If only it could be that things looked the same

when we can see.

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“Oblivion” 12x18 watercolor and ink on paper

There is no up or down out here..

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Cut & Paste

I like to pretend that I’m rubber and you’re glue:

that when I thought you were bent and felt more than you meant that the sweet deceits you couldn’t or wouldn’t keep

that those words we never said on nights we spent in strangers’ beds that the collages of me and you that always stuck together in my head—

they spring right off me, free, to seep deep into you.

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aren’t we all waiting to be read by someone, praying that they’ll tell us that we make sense?

Rudy Francisco   (via thelovejournals)

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020717

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this week’s obsession.

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Caught

Rocked all white under bright moonlight Parked for free, illegally Vacant lot, you swore to me We won’t get caught Off guard, now I’m wondering Do you ever get lost in thoughts? Bout all the things you wish you sought?   Riding fast, wind at our backs No time to recall what we lack Perpetual in motion, feeling chosen You and I melting into dark ocean   I feel too young to die Too old to survive Faster, faster, faster No time to realize my own lies Said I needed inspiration Please don’t smell my desperation   Constantly regretting, always goal-setting And all the while letting You get to me, giving myself for free Just hoping you might see, I’m not as wild as I seem   Come here, drink the potion Let’s float away to where time is frozen Nothing matters, nobody asks why, And all we are is stars in a crystal sky  

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Innervisions

She loved to drive in a very particular fashion--windows down, music blasting, a cigarette dangling out the window while the California sunshine sun tanned her left arm another shade darker than her right. No exceptions. Her friends knew that this was the rule of her vehicle and so they picked her up most of the time to save their carefully combed manes from flying out of place.

Today, though, she was alone and free to do whatever she pleased on PCH’s long winding body. She lit an incense she had bought at the smoke shop and read the label aloud:

 “Invigorating.”

Smoke wafted through her little Honda Civic hatchback and she smiled out at the ocean that lay twinkling to her right. At the red light on Goldenwest she fished through her collection of old CD’s looking for the perfect thing to capture her mood: invigorated.

 “Fuck yes, Stevie.”

Click, beep, bzzzz. The CD clicked into the player and shifted into position just as lazers began to shoot their red beams in unison and Stevie Wonder blasted from her blown out speakers.

 People hand in hand Have I lived to see the milk and honey land? Where hate's a dream and love forever stands Or is this a vision in my mind?

Belting it out now, loud, so that the tourists on Main St. stop and stare. She pretends that she doesn’t care; that she just gets this much pleasure out of taking a drive on a sunny Sunday afternoon. But behind her darkened sunglasses, she watches their every glance and over-analyzes their every reaction. And how could she not? It seemed like everyone always had something to say to her about what she was doing: who she was.

Did anything even really matter? She thought this now, and often, especially on lonely nights without a lover when she had to let thoughts of herself creep into her brain. She lit a spliff and noted how the click of her Bic perfectly synced with the skip of the CD.

 I'm not one who make believes I know that leaves are green They only turn to brown when a….a…a…a…autumn comes around I know just what I say Today's not yesterday And all things have an ending

 But what I'd like to know Is could a place like this exist so beautiful Or do we have to find our wings and fly away To the vision in our mind?

“Nawh, don’t you worry bout a thing,” she says this out loud and resolves, as usual, that nothing matters. It was that thought that kept her moving through her days of ups and downs: that the world was just what she made it in her mind. This way, she didn’t have to think about how people always got reeled into her only to throw her back out once they’d taken what they needed. In her superficial paradise, she could be the one who didn’t want them. In her mind, she could pretend they were just case studies in her book about life: each assigned a poem, a character, a story. On her pages, people were just what she wanted them to be.

Numb and high, maybe almost Too High; she floors the gas and her little red hatchback whizzes past hole-in-the-wall surf shops and hoity-toity Laguna Beach art galleries towards no particular place to go. She lights a cigarette, and another, as the player clicks and the CD restarts back to the beginning. Tired of her own mind and the wind of the road, she pulls over to a look-out spot she used to go to with somebody she used to know.

She anticipates the skip of the second song before it even clicks on: this called for another cigarette. She turns up the volume knob and suppresses sobs because she knows just what she says: she’s wrong.

 Today’s not yesterday

And all things have an ending

 Today has an end, and so does tomorrow; she knows she has one too. So, she lets herself dissolve into the words and closes her eyes on the leafy green tree in front of her; the ocean beyond, the horizon beyond that. She goes into the throws of her mind and sees inside: the world as it should be, and Stevie croons:

 But what I'd like to know Is could a place like this exist so beautiful Or do we have to find our wings and fly away To the vision in our mind?

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