Drowning in blue, the colors I can’t see.


Note 787
The season rolled in over me, kind of caught me by surprise. I like that at least right now there is a feeling of shedding skin. I don’t look at the haze that was in the foreground. It’s shallow. It’s unbecoming. I’ll let that disaster find its way somewhere else.

Note 790
I will never understand the hearts that can’t portray easy math. Go fast and go fucking far. If spray painting it across your forehead will not aid you in anything than I guess everything really is lost. It is the falling over and over again, even myself finding and attempting to retell myself lines of the written past. Wanting to figure out where I leaped when I should have walked, swam where I should have dove, broke when I should have been strong.

Note 799
There comes a dawn when you will have to find the path that is distant from it all, and you will have to unravel things that once kept you driven inside of your salted sanity. The moments that were once warm, they just became too brittle. You would think it comes easier after time, and sometimes it does. Eventually you see it just kind of slips through the parts that you sew up.

Note 804
This month took me to an island. Like rain hitting the pane. A drop of strawberry jam that has fallen into a tall glass of milk. It’s a soft rope, that binds but is very delicately placed and tied. I enjoy this comfort, I enjoy being able to feel everything shower over. I drown in the deep blue where it’s quiet and safe. As an artist I anxiously find adventure pouring methodically into this new chapter. It’s telling and penetrating. The ferocity in it all pulls like an undertow, unyielding to the fierce and only allowing moments to breathe. I take all of those moments in as I can.


Lamp Lock and Star.


It feels good to miss you for the best reasons. I tend to analyze the output and the direction of feelings that you can’t control. Some hugely obtuse and even some finite. I enjoy broadcasting strong emotions in bursts to watch them land. I want to see them soar off over the horizon and wait for the others to bounce off that narrow eye. I like to long for the good things. I like those missing connections that I know I will soon find comfort in again. It creates a warm hearth that can be constantly kindled into a rare, penetrating heat. They are building stones that you should definitely procure, and make sure they have their places – so that when the time comes, they are readily able to find their momentum that they so deserve.

I don’t like thinking about certain ‘missings’ as the result of loneliness. It’s not so real. They rapidly spiral into a series of hoodwinked thoughts. They turn what you ‘thought’ you needed into what bleeds a dark obsession of what you ‘thought’ you had. You are not missing what was there, you are merely missing what you believed you wanted. It’s like how concrete turns to sand. Once that contained substance, now no longer has its strength. My chest doesnt crave the enduring of that, what would become a feeding will soon fell a drowning.

So I breathe in the swells, as they come. I hold them in and allow them to imprint and to flourish. These are the things you want to remember. Because as that tide ebbs and flows, back and forth, you will find yourself falling into that shallow well. A well that towers prying overhead. You may be able to breathe for now, but you know the tide soon arrives. The hearth that you have been tending, all of those words that you stapled to your skin, you will need every ember of that to keep you above. You will need every subtle emotion to lead you to that next rung.

It binds and burns at the same time. It lifts and leads on to places you feel you have never been. It’s desire and an ending all enfolded into one.  It’s what turns the familiar into the unfamiliar.


“I look at the stars, in all their beauty and grace, and I still like you more.” – Jakob Dakota Sauer

“What I admire most about you – the bloodiness of your heart” – Margaret Atwood

Touch this angel in a clutch of snakes.


“When man is happy, the meaning of life and other eternal themes rarely interest him. These questions should be asked at the end of one’s life.” – Andrei Tarkovsky, Solaris 1962 

“I wish I would’ve screamed fuck you more often instead of being considerate of your feelings while you failed to give a damn about mine. So…fuck you, better late than never.” -Should Haves, R.H. Sin

Kissed once by wax.


Art by Camille 2016

Note 762
It resonates after all, even after all this time. If you don’t think I absolutely know the trail that is left after all of this you are completely wrong. And it’s all delightfully refreshing, where I am right at this minute. Today. Right here. Right fucking now. I do remember what it’s like to have my chest begin to swell. You take a small part of the person every time it happens.

Its momentum walks me through piles of shallow gestures. The subtleties that seemed so penetrating. Not so much anymore.

Note 760
I threw that key in the pool. If you want it, go fucking get it.

“Just close the door and let me do what I need.
Cause it’s better for us, If you just let me leave.”

How to Fix Everything

A million ancient bees began to sting our knees.


“Only by being silent, only in the darkness could we still become free for a short while, only in brief periods of distraction that the despair besieging us on every side turned into merely a momentary suspension of the torment.”

–Stanisław Herman Lem, Solaris 1961 // 2011 Translation


Like dreams, i’ll wait for the good ones.


Art by Camille Lackey // CVCAMILLE 2016

It’s just all about how we clean our insides up. Repair, walk away and hide from the outside world. You lean your face against a cold pane of glass and begin to decide about how to unwind everything again. Like pulling arteries out of our arms. The discomfort of being tied to things that wire you deep down. To dismiss it is like dragging sand paper across your face, and  finding that revealing reflection of everything just being ‘ok’.

How you let it go and how you let it slip out from under you, is the real challenge. It’s a crawl. I think of swimming underwater at night, the feeling of being totally surrounded but also being very completely alone. An inability to breathe alongside the quicksanding thoughts, overwhelmed and held down. And then knowing that you are standing awake right in the middle of it all. It’s a wonder ones’ chest does not just cave in on itself, and then we’d be more surprised at the face we have to paint on and later wipe off before we sleep.

Even anger being your tool, channel that. Sharpen that. Make it your instrument and let it push you. I find myself chewing on glass through it. And eventually you will reach that momentum. And the tide is so very fucking important. It is the heat under your skin. It launched me through a burning wall twenty stories high, through the distance and past the decent. And the jaw finds the ground, and jars the ringing in your head. It all never makes much sense and then you feel like you want to set everything on fire, everything that is being peeled off of you in your totally misshapen story.

I stood up. It was just me and the dark against the concrete. I walked and I could hear the rain on the leaves. I remembered how every step felt and sounded when I walked along pebbles and wood aside a towering staircase and orange flickering windows. It fades, and they all run together. The vivid turns grey, and all of the loudness makes me feel deaf and still.

We let go. It’s a gift that kills us when we hold it, and bleeds us when we cast it out. The skin shears from my knees as I erase the start and redirect the ending over and over in my head. I strive to find comfort in falling and knowing that each of us are alone and never owed to feel like someone has to be there. The stars do not always aim that way. And regardless of how many heads are in your ballroom, the inept ‘conscious decisions’ of yours are still, very alone.

Drive it away, warm your hands in it all. Don’t forget the ‘I’m about to fall’ feeling in their eyes. It’s more divine than all of it together. It means more to me that way, than how it was or how I thought it would be. The gaze in crumpled sheets two inches away from my face, that’s all I can really care about now. And if that moment counted, then that’s really the only moments that I care to find a home for anymore.


“I was silent, attentive, I made a conscious effort to smile, nod, stand, and perform the millions of gestures that constitute life on earth. I studied these gestures until they became reflexes again. But I was haunted by the idea that I remembered her wrong, and somehow I was wrong about everything.”

-Solaris (Soderberg 2012) 

A portrait bruised just like you.

Was a great last set of shows we did across Texas with C.O.F.F.I.N. from Australia in 2016. Lots of miles, lots of booze and lots of drunk chatter. You may wait all of your life to find some of these high speed moments, but I am totally flattered that I get to experience them much more often than others.

It’s a ton of sweat and work to keep doing this as hard as we do but at this place where I am, I would not have it any other way. It’s all I have, and if it destroys me then that’s just what’s in the cards.

Thanks for all the support, the laughs and the good times.

Scott // Worm Suicide & The Devil Club