Wednesday, October 16, 2013

In Retrospect

Life keeps finding new ways to disappoint me.

Wednesday, July 24, 2013


"Inside of this syringe
there are memories
of everything that
could have been."

Monday, July 15, 2013


What if . . .  you are as close to perfection as I will ever get?

Friday, July 12, 2013

Chasing Brightness

"As humans we all play host to vulnerability and imperfection. They are the universal parasites that infect and constrain us all. Admitting ones failure is, and always will be, the hardest part. Mistakes will happen despite our best intentions. Attempting to prevent them entirely is a fool's errand. What defines a person is how well they tailor imperfection and failure to their advantage."

Remember, there are always casualties when it comes to the pursuit of something greater . . . up to, and including, ourselves.

Sunday, June 9, 2013


"The truth is, we're all statistics, we're all numbers. Most of us don't like to admit it. We go on believing what we were told as kids: that we are special, we are unique, we have value . . . and worth."

Some of us are worth more than others, that's all.

Thursday, May 30, 2013

I Knew You Were Trouble

"Dude . . . are you listening to Taylor Swift?"

" . . . "

"I mean, it's okay if you are. I've been listening to her latest single all week."

" . . . "

" . . . "

"This conversation . . . never happened."


Thursday, May 16, 2013

Faded Like The Grace Of Long-Forgotten Ghosts (A.K.A. Hell Is For Heroes Part II)

It was these first desperate attempts at putting music to our misery, wailing away at words stolen from long-forgotten notebooks: "I save my money, but it can't save me / And I wish I knew just how it felt / To be free . . . " The overweight drummer pounding out a jagged reconstruction of a broken heart and a world-weary audience of the finest human wreckage around, laying witness to this, the fatal fucking outcome of our dead and decaying adolescence.

It felt as though fires were burning inside of our lungs, manifesting themselves as an army of syllables torn violently from the throats of so many black tie suicides. The kind of fire a man would gladly allow to burn him down to ashes and framework, if only so he may embrace the perception of hope and warmth . . . you know, the kind of concepts that grow dimmer in meaning as the years carry on.

Within the confines of this growing maelstrom effloresced a momentary union of reverie and understanding, lacing the crowd together in one final rapturous chorus. Within our hearts grew the singular notion that the echoing of our words would be enough to keep the outside world at bay, even as these walls continued closing in so fucking fast around us.

One by one, like the burden of dead leaves in autumn we surrendered our sweat-soaked bodies to the ever-present pull of gravity. Spinning out of control, bracing for the eventual kiss of concrete against my face, but a crowd-full of arms were ready and waiting to break my fall.

As the final strings of hope holding us together ripped away a growing fervor engulfed the audience. Soft yet malign it undermined the rhythm with a crystal-clear melody to all of our darkest fears: "It took you so long to find the words to write this song, a song that you could all still truly believe in, but even you don't truly believe that we can still start again."

Then the blood-stained guitar was ripped from my trembling hands, and . . .