lara simon.

just clicking through pictures, i came across a photo of myself from a few months ago. i looked at it and remembered what day it was, who i was with, what we were doing. i looked down to a comment from someone who i haven't really spoken to in quite some time. she said, 'i miss you'. she misses me. 

she misses me?

she doesn't miss me...

does she?

maybe she misses home. maybe she misses what her life used to be like and the comfort of what she used to have. now all that she has is moving from apartment to loft across the sparkling los angeles.

maybe she just wants to come home. she wants to feel some familiarity. she doesn't want to have to cope anymore. she doesn't want to drown or inhale so much that it makes her nights a distant world when she wakes up in the morning. she doesn't want to see her memories fade away when sunlight breaches her weary eyelids at 10 am. 11. am.

she misses me?

harvest.

i spend so much time trying to find a loose skull. a head that i can just place my hands on and remove. i finally found one. i found a skull that just came off. 

of course, i had to take mine off first, because who wants to be the only one with the top of their head missing? 

there was so much inside her head.

it took a few moments to get past all the blood and lining, but it wasn't that thick of a barrier. once i got inside, it was beautiful. so much raw energy just resting on that brain.

i'm speechless.

i want more of that brain. i got to see the past.

ocean drives & paperclips.

paper clips,

they hold together dreams.

dreams of all these,

flying winged things.

staple all your

hopes and wants and needs.

to watch them burn

into obscurity.

ask your self,

what you're doing here.

or do you somehow,

know the answer dear?

the skin is peeling,

from our summer woes.

the ocean drives,

the nights, the screams, the shows.

I watch as the Winter slowly makes it's way into this small town. It's not completely evident in these beach cities, but this Winter I can feel it. There's something here.

Things are starting to speed up around here. I can see it. The grass is growing taller, the people are getting older, and the milk is getting sour.

I'm waiting.

1-2

I wish that I could stay here in this bewitching hour. I want to be able to stare at my ceiling and just sit by myself. I want to sit still and just be, without having to be consumed by the feeling that time is moving moving moving. Can't time just take a day off? Even an hour? Doesn't it ever get exhausted? I sure as hell do. Or is it that time has no ceiling to stare at?

10 minutes plus

a careless gaze falling on shimmering tile lets my mind wander and do what it does when i stop paying attention. the red looks some sort of imaginative beauty, stricken by the overshadowing power of that white slump, slippery with water. blood has dripped from my mouth. from my gums. 

let this gaze be broken, let me snap back into reality and breathe again. let me wash this imaginative sequence down the sink, accompanied by the toothpaste.

i wonder how i'm going to break it to him.

i wonder if he'll be angry.

i hope he won't be angry.

i hope he'll be himself and shrug it off with a smile and careless laugh.

i wonder, i hope

does my wondrous hope mean anything anymore?

i wonder...