spaghetti war crimes

Crying babes birthed from the mother’s flesh rejoice in glorious ecstasy at their own ignorance of the human condition. Light, in all of its fragments and rays, penetrate through each holy begotten iris and illuminate the geometrical intricacies that cover a barren desert of soon to be upside down images, things past and forgotten. A yelp of joy - no, pain; is it sorrow? - resounds off the hollow walls of the operating room.  Flesh on flesh. The spilling of blood. The groans of birthing pangs rise forth.  This is not a different theme but a second movement in the same symphony. Worlds collide and gather for mass, as mitosis takes effect.  I am he and he is she and we are all doomed to the same fate.  The fate of dirt. Even that bundle of flesh, bones, arteries, and all, that creature who has just graced the Surface must endure the same end as me and you.  So what? the apprentice asks her teacher. So, what is it all for? Look out before you, then look inside of ...

     My friends and I all walked through the door of the diner and were immediately greeted by the cool sensation of the A/C. The blood rushed to my face. I became dizzy from the sudden change in temperature. A warm front had met a cold front and my face found itself right in the middle of the two.      Before I even got both my feet in the restaurant, my eyes shot over the throng of heads to check behind the cash register. There he was. My throat dried up and my heart fluttered. Those friends next to me continued on to join the line, but I stood in the doorway a few moments, dazed.      Once I regained my bearings I followed. I spent most of the time in line staring at my shoes: beat up converse that had holes in the sides of them from my grip tape. I had cut them at the ankle, all the way around, right under the first eyelet. I called them three quarter high tops. I got the idea from an old skate video, Streets on Fire. One of the skaters h...

Long day for a minimum day. Subbed for Jana today. Her class is always tricky. They take a lot of patience and energy. Fucking talkative bunch. After work I hung with Hayden and that was fun. We went to Roosevelt Coffee, and it was good. Chatted and did bits and laughed; like always. That really cute barista was there. I think she recognized me despite the drastic haircut cause when we made eye contact, her eyes lit up a bit. I want to try and ask for her number or something but don’t wanna blow up the spot.  She’s real beautiful. I bet she smells great. Like fresh laundry and juniper and persimmons. Light and airy but flowery as well. I want to hear her talk more. I’ve only heard her say a few words. I want to hear her curse and be angry and shout and whisper and laugh and mutter and exclaim and laugh. Really laugh. 

Andy and I have been surfing a lot more lately. At least more this year compared to last. We surfed Doheny last Friday and had a blast. The wave was super weird; I didn’t remember it being like that, but then again, the last time–and first time–I surfed there was ages ago with Dylan and Emma. It was a very slow wave and continued to move towards shore without breaking until it crashed up on the lip of rocks about five feet from the receding edge of the water. Once while we were out, a couple set waves came in, not too big but still, they were set waves, and I paddled frantically to get over them. I did this once or twice and then for some reason, probably because of the tide and how slowly the waves were breaking that day, an idea popped into my mind: “we’ll get there eventually.” I can talk about it more later but all the thinking I’ve been doing on mortality kind of sprung up from my subconscious in this moment I feel like. Yes, I wasn’t talking metaphorically in that exact momen...

i stare into my phone and look over blonde hair green eyes a shirt that’s too big a running stride images from the past thinking i hope there will be more i hope that this is not the end i hope that all this pain will be worth something i can’t text and i can’t call we agreed space would be good if that’s the case then tell me why i’m falling asleep with your sweatshirt between my legs 2/7/22

Sunday, June 22nd 2025 – 3:58pm I’m not a brilliant person. I’m not intelligent, not even that smart. I’m just not proud enough to convince others that I’m some paragon. I’m not brave or honorable or anything of that manner. I’m just weak enough to admit this. I’m a child in the body of a small man, and I say that with no tongue in cheek or resentment to any soul living or passed on because I am not proud. I am me. My ego has died; I have a small bit left over, but day in and day out, I continually work to extinguish whatever sad dribble of it that exists. I am not anything. I am naive, naieve? I’m not even sure how to spell it. I wish for nothing but to enjoy my days in peace.  

sometimes you feel so low and you don’t know why you feel like the world is apathetic to your existence  and if you were gone tomorrow, nothing would change of course, you’d be right but, you’d also be wrong the stock market would still open and close at its usual times the tides would still come in and out the sun would rise and fall, and when the sun departed, the stars and moon would come out to take its place these things would remain the same, but your mother would not your father would not your brothers and sister would be changed your best friend would look upon their reflection in the mirror with blackened hues the light will still shine in your room, but it will be a different light different because it will never touch your skin again the world would be similar but not the same