Fault // Line

Rise Up! 

The season to weep bears no fruit. 

Boxcars blast by selecting the 

frame-by-frame of a dreary horizon. 

Fallow Fertility- what was bred is bad. 

Better believe you hold your hands 

too close to the Fire.

Barriers, fences, all to 

alleviate your eyes of recognition of 

Fault and Fear of Forever. 

Release the wrong which lives a life of luxury-

Lingering in lies, lost in an intricately interlaced

architecture of your own construction.

Dos // Rojas

Double // Time

Snapshots // Intentions

Snapshots of snapshots,
are these pictures anymore a
documentation of me, or a
parallel life
somewhere through the looking glass.


Little hands, little feet,
sunshine in glorious giggles.
Lost locations imprint soulshine with a
savored idiosyncratic intention.


Descent from one shell to the
next as
skin is shed and left for the
insects to ingest.


Transmutational metamorphosis, the
aphids take out the trash.
Another version of the truth is
born, and with weak knees, embraced
if only to seem less of a stranger than
the girl before her.


Built in the factory,
recycle and renew.
Fractious is fissured with
animosity. Melancholy moves in,
echoing in between the
poorly sewn-in polestar.

Long // Run

Local train; long run.

Slippery slope disappear

near the weeping willows.

Sleeping inside the riverside rowboat.

Hide and seek speak to me in

worried whispers the world waits for

her savior.

The box said no one else can leave.

Backwards seat sing along

Beautiful blunders, force fed fall

over the edge into predictable plummet

Surreptitious sunshine slips in and blushes

when reproached by the

horde of lumen-starved insignificants.

Lining the shores seeking the rain

we hunt and peck and

rabble rabble rabble.

Follow through the open door

check out and slip away

Reanimate to escape the elastic people

Vocal chords tied to tongue and grasping for goodness.

Vicious // Cycle

Sticky sublimation twisted trust twists security southbound. Take a dive to stay alive and associate with isolation. Run rabbit run. Reality reeks of reunions and regret. Rebound to write it out. Force out the facts and face frightening foe. Escape can't come soon enough. Sooner to be selective than reflective of errors and passed judgments. Suicide seems to sanctify those that reiterate resignation, but in turn burns the bridges from the benign.  Step aside and stop martyring the dead. Mysticism and melancholy meets moral methods and sends the sacred to speak of silent specifications.


Running out of the pathetic patience which has replaced furtive fortitude. Eidetic elegies of erratic behavior has burned a hole in an otherwise hopeful heart. Fear is a fortress whose moat knows no bounds, and the fearless have no map by which to navigate. Once inside all visible vitality is eradicated in order to proliferate the feeble faults of fertility.


Stitches simplify sentiment from whence wicked worries wake sleepy dragons. Moonlight masks waterfalls on faces so that forward motion can follow selective stills. Stuck on staccato. Spit your haughty high hopes on salted surface and see what grows. Fallacy fakes legitimacy. Shifting story lines show selective memory in your favor. Forces fallout to satisfy some security-seeking need. Thirsty for thoughtful recognition of reality. Rumble in guts glorifies the sacrifice, feeding of futile forethought. No determination to stay awake for the feast. Flood rush of released penance from postponed persecution of separation.

(Mouth Like a Machine Gun)

Mouth like a machine gun, heart like a hand grenade. Light brigade seeking solution sends the search dogs to sniff out their prey. Hooves pounding the ground hardened of the sacrificial lamb, storming like thunder through the fields, nostrils flaring swallowing the steam of perspiration.

Seek ye like hounds, like thieves, like the monsters of folklore and fairytale alike. Pushing the throe of discrepancy to the sea and forcing it into the cauldron to sink with the leaves. Mists and magic and things like miracles to run to and rescue the oddities; With pen as thy sword seek to alleviate the agony against the seldom seen sideshow.

Heed the country, heed the morality of monstrous capacity, the lemming like cliff dive from the rocks of humanity. Rush the rest of us through frivolity into the dangerous degradation of sympathy.

 

Secret // Liason

 

Shocked to see me, she looked lovely in that red coat. It's like time and space stopped for her; ghosts walked by her side, and her angels fled in cackles and screams. This is every-man's land, this city; it belongs to us all, yet at the same time none of us.  The same solid grid dissipates into the river with only the skeletal remains of our ancestors strapped up in cables to lead the way to the ocean. It'd been a long time, little red riding hood, but in this city apparitions are inherent, with the water walls, there is no escape.

Every // Corner

 

(The Rain Scene)

Languid lazy day-
You are too good for me.
I lie in the warmth of his
Resonating loyalty and swim
Under the puddles.
Cat calls and chatter
Lonely gloom sinks on set
Today is the day we film the rain scene.
Hot chocolate and marshmallows heave and sigh 

letting out a hiss as the steam fogs up the windows.
Chips fall signaling the 

beginning of a comeback.

The Jilted Generation's Manifesto

I am angry.
I am scatterbrained.
I am scared and scarred.
I am nervous that this is ALL there is.
I am an over-achiever.
I am anorexic, but I eat anyways, so
I am guilty.
I am an addict to something, but
I am not sure what yet.
I am lonely even though
I am completely surrounded by people.
I am selfish.
I am genuine.
I am capable of many things, but
I am careful in my choice of words.
I am empty and numb.
I am overwhelmed.
I am craving a musical outlet.
I am hesitant.
I am untrusting.
I am vulnerable.
I am diseased.
I am tired of having things to complain about.
I am sick of responsibilities.
I am a hopeless romantic.
I am blessed, but
I am lost.
I am so many things that you never see.

Somewhere, inside of me, is the truth. It is spectacular and overwhelming and omnipotent. I feel the need, repeatedly, to dig deep, “hunker down” and process. I also feel the need to scream, but cannot find the voice, nor the sentiment. Instead I sink down, and nest in, fighting the storm. This “truth”, this fossil which I have discovered is quickly dispelled by any new colorful distraction to my hands and mind in good company, or some newfound irrational fear. But it is there: screaming and silent, mischievous and melancholic. It is something I battle and struggle with- often overcome with grief. A frustrated restlessness overrides my senses and suddenly I’m thrust deep into my nest of temporary sanity. I dig and press and push, until it screams out at me again, and thus: I purge. So, there it is. I know the truth- in its terrifying entirety. I’m sure that you are just dying to hear it- this girl, this naysayer, what could I possibly know about the truth? And, you may ask, the truth of what? Your questions, I’m sure, are many, and your doubt heavy and hazy and thick. But then again, I know the truth, so….I must know how you feel about my own admittance. Well, I have disappointing news for you, and you may not choose to read any farther, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take. I know the truth, I know it’s there; I just haven’t found it yet- much to my own dismay, you might imagine. Trust me. (Although, if I were you, I wouldn’t- this is, after all, my story.) The time has come, though, to quit hibernating, time to stand up and dust off- as one would say where I’m from: It’s time to “cowboy up”. So this, my dear friend, is the truth in its horrifying entirety, and we shall discover together what exactly it is that we seek. The intention here, is to tell my story and to purge all existence until I stand pure and full of light, face forward.

AE-1 // F-1

 shot with an AE-1 and my F1

Fading // Stars

Skull // Dog

shot with my 1976 Canon F1, 35mm, various lenses, in Phoenix AZ