digging illegal meat

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April was a month of seduction and cocaine and loss.
I'm not sure what May will be, but I'm graduating in less than a month, so I'm sure there will be plenty of happiness and fucking up.

I've realized that sometimes, all I want to do is play free cell with my Shakespeare playing cards, sitting on the sidewalk with my legs folded, staring at the face of Mr. Bill Shakespeare with a cig in between my teeth. Other times I want to run until I collapse from the duress. Other times I want to wrap presents for people whom I've never met, so I can imagine faceless beings filled with joy when they open gifts sent only with the best of intentions.




Covenant
This is a recent sculpture of mine; inspired by the covenant Moses and his people made with God after receiving the Ten Commandments.

i want a subwoofer system on my time machine. boom.

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moshi moshi everyone !

i haven't been around lately. sorry. i just haven't been on my computer lately, or home lately, or quiet enough to actually sit down and write a blog entry.

i still love you, though.

so, since the last post, i went to coachella for all three days and back, went to the railroad tracks and back, went to half falling in love and back, and called mary and chris and tried to tell them in my own way, how much i love them both.

since the last post, my throat has been fucked up from the sudden increase of cigarettes, my mind has been wired from adderall and other lovely delicious things that go boom inside, and my journal has been sitting all by it's lonesome; it's hard to write these days.

how have all of you been, though ?










you'll go home. you'll find that home is not home anymore; then the sky will break... but as long as you stay here, you can always think to yourself: one day, i'll go home... no?
fantastic logic, love--so i have a home to go to as long as i don't go there.
exactly; you don't really have a home until you leave it, and then, when you've left it, getting back is impossible.

Message from the dirt floor. Message from the E crazed and the fucked face.

It has been a while, my friends.

How is everyone?




So, haven't been home in a while. I called Jon yesterday and he was rude. I had a cream puff today and I had lemon sorbet today and I had a drunk boy today.

Alright.
I feel so shitfaced and fucked, but who's keeping track?
I miss Mary, and I want to see Lily. And I want to go to San Francisco so that I can see Domo.
I need to start finding some girlfriends that I can actually hang out with often. Damn. All this testosterone is really getting to me.





Love. Me.



The thing is, he encounters. He ENCOUNTERS. At times only witnessing, but always moving through events that can not be, as they are with others, separated from his life so that he is constantly carrying several lives with him at once that can only be perceived as a collection of partial narratives too bright and complex to be absorbed and understood in one lifetime--except that he has, is, carries, only exactly one life at all times.
It's too much. Really. Sometimes it's too much.

He's leaving me to falter before a spectacle whose mystery and unbelievable beauty is distanced, fading precisely because I keep backing away from it, thinking with every step that it might pull me back with a question in his eyes: Where are you going? Why are you leaving me?
But I falter, and he is ever the spectacle.