hands down

you do this. never feeling whole because there's a hole somewhere. music resuscitates and keeps the river from drought. wake up. eyes open. the matter of how high to pull yourself from the mire. like a mother dog biting and lifting that part of her own neck. you're not a puppy anymore. but when you create. when you create. if you're lucky enough to find it's location you expose that newborn soul over and over again. and the world comes crawling into the best untouched and mixes like paint. sometimes you wanna put it on your wall. other times you want to drown in off shades.

all rivers at once

on the other side of pain is gratitude. there are so many brilliantly good people in this world. often we're just one brave hello away from meeting them.

beginning through dirty window

dawn

nobody's watching. the sun must light up our eyes indefinitely if we get enough of its unblemished morning rays. no one knows when you're gone. the liberation of spirit is beyond compare. the exchange is only stroke of blood in heart. life becomes a phantom right? memories crystallize into present behaviors, some good or bad. indifferent or meaningful. a bunch of handsome people move about abbot kinney now, but before it was just us, wasn't it? insulated in worlds and worlds, that google+ thing has it right with it's circles. circles and circles of perspectives, we lasso the reality we choose for now and grip it like it's everything. sometimes catching something god damn beautiful that drags us like an infuriated bull. hands bleeding from rope as long as we can hang on. everything certainly becomes repopulated. i'm not sure with what? a lot. this morning i walked the beach with a lot more people than i remember. and the sun was writing all over my face. the sand hitchhiking in my shoes. birds travelling like neurons. giving thoughts. pleasure ocean. pain boardwalk. both contrasting forces inherent in one another. i took a left along familiar streets. a vagrant face reflecting back at me in car windows. or just another affected one prone to reflection. it's something.