A slow poem of daily life scenes. Imagery is intimate and biblical. Could watch a 20 hour version and never move
May 18, 2024
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a couple months ago I'm out behind the gabled house with dregs of home still seeping through its edges, a sharp sort of newness ripping the seams of who I am & who I was, sweaty fingers slipping from between each other with the bloodied grasp of desperation - it is a spring day, and I am here again. the leaves are new and the blinking infant furled in the strands of my chest takes a breath and every time I trudge through these vine-ridden woods I feel her grubby hands trace the creases in my ribcage. there are ghosts here, the soulmate-friend across the ocean and I and the way we'd take axes to the already-fallen trees like our anger was spraying away with the bark and we were left with only breeze. there are the phantoms of our hands stuck in the mud, ripped leaves beneath our fingernails as we unclogged the flow of the creek and watched the water dig its trenches deeper, and now i'm watching it capture the light of a new year in my hometown alone. through the leaves and over the tinny chorus of water-on-rock I hear the echoes of a mother calling to her children in a game of hide-and-seek, her children laughing, the clamor of it like a memory captured on tape and played back. there is a hole here, radio waves rippling through years folded back and punched through, I a bystander to the reminiscence of a stranger years down the line when some part of that laughter will be lost. it is here. it is here now, in the backyard of a house I sometimes call home.
May 5, 2025
A gorgeous meditation on the passage of time and the many little moments that comprises it.
Dec 9, 2024
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I find myself lingering, in front of the sun drenched window feeling my body glow gold in the languid warmth, under the sweet shade of a magnolia flower - encumbered by its beauty - in the shower for just a bit too long, pittering pattering weaving in and out thoughts that circle and circle endlessly until they scatter away like the little drops jumping off of my arms in a free fall. I don't leave until the water has its fill of me.
There's a clock inside, or not a clock, a phrase or phase that sets the motion of each act. I try to hold every moment as long as possible or it slips away. why is life so fleeting? The more I do the less there is.
Less flyaway cast shadows that peer off of my body, the obstruction basking in a heated glow. Less time for my thoughts to finish their race and half jog back exhausted but satisfied. Satisfied. Am i satisfied?
Apr 16, 2024
Top Recs from @jacques_joseph_
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Instead of just meeting up for dinner or whatever they fit into the nooks n crannies of your day and it’s like microdosing hanging out all the time again
May 20, 2024
We use eyemasks to block light and headphones to block sounds - use a roll-on essential oil under your nose and on your temples to block unpleasant smells, and thus unpleasant vibes. I like lavender for its calming effect🪻
Aug 7, 2024
Pop masterpiece that gets the energy up, makes everyone feel like they’re in the driving around scene of a 90’s teen movie, builds to a huge falsetto finish.
A mellower crowd would also resonate w “Jumper.” If you feel like they know the whole album, “Losing a Whole Year” or “The Background” will body them.
Jul 8, 2024