most days i can’t 
take the favors

and no thanks,
i don’t think
i’ll need a filter 
for these sacred
rolling papers

come smothering applications
to be the new favorite savior

brushed off with haste
reeled back distaste
phrases carefully placed

to blast away waves
like they were space invaders


“I will let you down”


“I will let you down”

(via fartpiss)

i started working on a blog about drum stuff…

it’s something i’ve wanted to do for a while, and i think it will help me gain some momentum for this space.

the darkness


it calls me in the middle of the night. it’s 4 am and the darkness is shoving its breath down my ear, bitcrushed softly in distortion like a faraway scream. I ask why are you here? and the darkness it asks me why are you here? and I wait for the line to go dead.

the darkness follows me at a…

an accurate assessment, to say the least, and hits mighty close to home.

"Music is not about competition. If you think it is, then you have already lost."

unknown (via choirjokes)

(via blissfullylonely)

"The writer learns to write, in the last resort, only by writing. He must get words onto paper even if he is dissatisfied with them."

Paul Johnson (via writingquotes)

let’s give less density a shot
strip away the multisyllabic
layers of preconditioning
and allow ourselves
the simplicity of 
connecting directly

816 Washington Ave.

perched at the edge of 
thunderous locomotive traffic,
this slant floored relic,
butcher carved remnant of yesteryear,
is oasis and asylum, 
a haven of fractured passions

the distraction battle ensues
as regular as our rumbling neighbor
but that, too, has its rhythm

somehow, this quaking plaster
waylays cozy complacence,
and the dust that rises 
from swollen window frames
mingles with impatient breath

the lines here, they haven’t been
straight in a century

at the ragged edge of community,
self-sacrificing on the godless altar
of creation, this place remains sanctuary

- no, a Temple 

to all things aging
and aged, and to generative hopes
of newness too

same ol’ same…

back again, and of course to apologize for my absence (though i’m mostly apologizing to myself).

this wordmaking stuff, this poetic endeavor, too often seems painful - a hassle even - with very little return on invested effort (how economical of me).

but i want to try. i want to try harder (at all things), though i’m but a weak man with delusions of expertise, and somewhere, the selfish part of me needs to know that this counts for something. that it means something to anyone but me. 

i know it sounds paltry, foolish, and damn needy… but if you care, dear invisible reader, please take a moment to let me know. 

i’m lost at this. i’m losing at this. i can’t tell if it’s worth the trouble.

busted again
with this rusty voice

unfocused again
these days 
i make different choice

weeks become the months 
where i barely
sit and scribble twice

pursuits produce a deficit
and hours are the price