my mother went away for a week and a few days to film a documentary she is trying to make, about a science called radionics. so for that week and few days i stayed in a room that was a grey-blue color at the epstein-crouch-ratter home, where i was fed breakfast every morning, and where i listened to a lot of the rushmore soundtrack at night when ( Read more... )

all that i want, and all that i need, and all that i've got is scattered like seed. and all i that i knew is moving away from me, all that i know is blowing like tumbleweed.
and the mealy worms in the brine will burn in a salty pyre, among the fauns and ferns.
and all that i've got, and all that i need,
i tie in a knot that i lay at your feet.

night falls on hoboken is a good song. and i found a book of ghost stories from england in the alley. i miss my dad.

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what were we when we waited? we wailed, wishing while we waded we were whole. waves' wake was what we wanted. when width was won, we were weighted with wonder.
we waved wands whenever we were wishing.

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full moon.

( to further avoid english homework. )

a few nights ago, dad and i went to a restaurant for some soup, and i met a very peculiar man. he came in with a big, black umbrella, wearing an aged cowboy hat, humongous circular glasses, a ratty pony-tail, and a red sweater that said 'no war' in white lettering. he carried with him a large satchel, with which i don't know what he carried ( Read more... )