i need a clean slate:

I AM DONE HERE

“headcase" seems appropriate.
for faking futile and laughable attempts at creativity,
when i am so obviously made to be a destroyer. even these words taste stale as i form them; repetitive, unimaginative,because what it is i have to say i am unable to.
i can’t build what i want with this concrete language when what i crave is fluidity.
but
if you were here, you could see my sideways glances, my cracking knuckles, my exaggerated laughter, how i clear my throat after turning the page in a chapter entitled "the day i burnt the coffee", and watch me losing my voice singing along to radio Aretha,
and you’d understand.
track seven being my favorite, naturally,
the sun stole my heart away and wednesday was worth the wait.

everything always infinitely better. (more simple. more difficult. more bizarre. more beautiful.)

one of many reasons i should just go to bed.

what if the trees moved of their own volition? -the same action my mind attributes to the presence of wind would just happen. i'd look through my window at the outstretched armsof the trees, shifting and creaking, leaves fluttering violently as if there were a gale or a thunderstorm, and i'd step outside to be greated by utter stillness. i'd stare at the moving giants, looking like branched, land- loving anenomes swaying in the ocean of the atmosphere. it would make perfect sense- they'd create their own breeze with each intentional movement, swallowing the air thirstily.
i'd sit beneath them, face upturned, the wind rushing through my hair.

side effects i've noticed from the violence of my youth:
i'm infinitely waking up, but never seem to fall asleep.

sometimes, when it's early, it almost seems likes april.

i miss.

the lazarus chronicles continue...

yep. someone shot him.

OYFMW Promo "Open Your Face and Make Words" from impactist on Vimeo.

i don't want to sleep.

i know the drill: self control.
if my life is just one ridiculous attempt to be alive, maybe i'm winning.
i can fend for myself.
my love is perennial, but i'm not that patient.
waiting for when i remember, i need to remember.
i need to wash my hair more often.
i should try answering the phone. I was sifting through some old writings today from what seems like a self completely unrelated to the present version of me, feelings I'd forgotten and weights I thought I'd never drop, all which I felt honestly and fully and held as truth at the time. I read them, I saw them apart from myself, I saw myself from the height I've grown to instead of from the dirt. I read them and felt like lazy summer afternoon sunlight, I felt like the excitement of running through nighttime streets, I felt like waking up dreamily and having the freedom to get up or just keep sleeping and the peace of not having to decide immediately, I felt like getting a voicemail from a missed voice. I was young, I am still, I've gotten more second chances than most, and God, I'm so grateful to exist presently alongside the most incredible collection of misfits imaginable. My vision is colored by the prismatic souls that surround me, the view from here is just too good, and I swear I can see forever.