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Messy Hearts Made
of Thunder

i sat to watch the clouds for a while this morning. they’re wonderful things, such organic dissolution and growth before our very eyes. but I suppose the beauty of the heavens is not an under-represented subject.

what I love about clouds is how much of a check they are on our perception of presence; a rebuttal against our natural tendencies of categorization. we see clouds as accents to the sky, colors in a sunset, impressions of our reality as it is governed by gravity; when really their size and nature is anything but subtle.

clouds are massive, even though they can appear as but tears in the canvas of the sky. they are facilitators of weather that confuses and destroys our attempts at creating order. the truth of a cloud is a reflection of our limited vision, a retaliation to the self-aggrandizing of human nature, an example of how our judgments based on aesthetics and scale are, at best, quite short-sighted, and how the systems of subjugation we create are just that—mere inventions. we are all subject to the clouds.

14:00 / 12 May 2019
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Day Eight

a mind too held up to process code, process words, process emotions. a constant feeling of being trapped has plagued me for years now; locked in a room in my own heart, observing the world through a body that used to feel familiar, a set of eyes that used to have vision, a mind i could control; my efforts now prioritizing staying away from the bottle, but at what cost to avoiding myself. i feel distant from the truth, which is the one place i feel content; i care not for sadness or madness so long as it’s honest

nevertheless, the good weather has returned, and people remain an inspiration. watching Antoine mix sounds in his studio, chatting with Adelina about the past and future; even a business call to Palo Alto across nine time zones leaves a sense of place. yet that place is for my shadow, while i keep staring at the sun, looking for a sign of light.

tourists pass through the house in cycling gear or nightclub outfits or other evidence of a more coordinated life than mine. i’ve ridden this wave of chaos for long enough for it to become nearly a routine; there’s not much space left until the edge of the world. i’m making friends with cats, waiting for any emotion to feel like the Mallorcan sun

13:00 / 24 April 2019
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the chest cavity

there’s a soft light flickering like a slow strobe on my table; the fan overhead interfering with the hanging fluorescent bulbs. three laptops are open, a woman with a foreign accent taps away on her phone and it’s all basketball on television. the traffic was atrocious and though it’s a Growing Concern, and more important in the public eye than either of the Wars have been in years, the general mechanics of day-to-day life will continue to force their way toward the will of quarterly profits. nothing will change for this or the clusters of tents under the bridges of the 405 outside Bellevue or the tax breaks for Amazon and Microsoft. we are subject to the will of a faceless system owned by vultures. everything in here is a polite shade of brown and i wonder if anyone else is using all of their willpower not to simply start screaming where they sit.

17:00 / 28 March 2019
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mute

i have lost my voice / it has left me wondering if i ever had one to lose, or if i was always just making sounds, impersonating the words and cadence of those who spoke around me, wrote down their thoughts or made conversation—i realize this is an opportunity, creatively and personally, to sharpen an edge, tho i feel nothing like a blade these days

one can drift surrounded by souls and still feel alone too easily in this world

18:30 / 18 March 2019
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(silence)

12:00 / 14 March 2019
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Clear History

(even though this web site has operated with a blog—in some form or another—since 1999, it has undergone semi-annual design changes and annual database dumps throughout the years. thus, the "Archive" is actually only evidence of what has not yet been deleted.)