Tuesday, June 28, 2022

owl

 this mezcal manhattan and a mountain.

i mean,

a fountain.

i mean,

we aren't in danger now 

and we don't hold breaths here. 




nammod

every day.

equal parts waiting, 

equal parts killing it all.

i carry a faint scent in my pocket, once in while moving it to the back to pretend it's behind me. 

sometimes, it gets taken out,

mixed with water.

sometimes, it gets thrown off a cliff or smashed into the dirt or set on fire.

but it comes back,

rematerialized

and rude;

gentle but demanding to know the

other names, 

the ones I want to be written because i want to love them.

and i stay 

disassembling the letters of a special one because 

it 


takes 


up 


space.


spaced in the space i don't have because the scent is getting fainter

and yes, i know. 

others have "U's" too.


Monday, June 20, 2022

"jd"

Produced in 2020. Visual essay adaptation of Horacio Quiroga's 1920 short story, "Juan Darién". Special thanks to Castro-Winter Studios, Dusty Circuits, Franz Bühler, and Nando Rivas for making this project happen (in a pandemic).


gspl

somewhere between suicidal and just really tired. you know this place, don't you?

the word is taboo. but it's not about ending living's lease.  what if your body were origami and i could rearrange it how i pleased? an empty cupboard. so lite. so new. unordinary and full of what used to be you.


somewhere between novelty and nowhere. where, where...where you get everything you wanted and messages don't make it through. well, some do.  but others remain suspended in silence. intoned by guesses and closed down cells.  resounding in grocery store parking lots like some playful hell. 

so. 

would it feel nice to be capsized then reorganized?

to fall into the version where you question if it happened at all. because now it's so quiet and it's nowhere and I went home to a wife and a life that is better or broader or bent in the right direction. would you sit in the questions? pine for a goddamn lesson? 


would you even know what to do? 


Saturday, June 11, 2022

ll

I’ll carve two lines in me if it means I won’t forget you

If it gives the tactile jog of who you are 

and 

may be for me

One line for M

The other line for M

Running parallel and raised

Streaming sangre and the daze 

of making decisions


Never not there


Two lines

Running parallel

Etched into my thigh

Ones that touched 

then exploded

Broke and imploded rules and people and 

things that were made to protect