A 1000 ways to Fall.


Note 1038
The Fall air is cathartic. I get it, probably more this year than the others. Kind of like having your elbows bent back as far as they can go, and the wind makes the day easier. I leave for 4 days out with a band from Australia over the next week. As long I keep moving I can untie all the bullshit that tries to hang on. Stay charged. Stay extremely direct. Remember that all of this will be overwritten.

Note 1035
Unloading gear last week in an alley outside the venue, a band mate approaches me and says “Hey dude your ex is here”.

I simply replied, “which one.”

Note 1029
Sometimes there is so much going on at one time you really have to marvel at the fact that you don’t begin to start throwing things. Armor up, big eyes on. It’s all in the center of your chest, that is what matters the most. When you achieve the right amount of momentum you will come to realize that in fact, all along, you will shed this. It’s ok.

Note 1027
You keep pushing and eventually it will break, and it’s only a mess if you see it that way. I’m ok with the fallout (even though it reminds me of swallowing glass), I’m pretty use to it. When you look back and understand that all the lackluster merit that was exposed in that personality, the layers that were pulled back, the whole underneath it all – it makes much more sense that you just go ahead and wire yourself to that street light pole, weather the strong air and totally observe that everything that is of any worth at all in the big picture will find its way to where it needs to be. Own your actions, wear them well because even though you may be good at playing dress up for the puppet show – people see the lines. They will read those lines. In between all of them it’s like a lit marquee. And occasionally that flowing story spilling out of your ears is more fitting for the grit behind your teeth than the polish on your nails.

The Strawberry Moments

Photos by Julia Iris 2005

Ran across this photo archive on my computer from September 2005. This is probably some of the best captured moments of experiences that I’ve had in a very long time. It’s funny how I don’t even remember anyone taking pictures that day, and you can tell that neither one of us even realized that we were being photographed. That’s probably what makes them glow.

This was literally the second time I had met JL in these photos, and I although our two-year experience didn’t quite end up how we both anticipated – I look back to this and I can literally feel the air in that room that evening. The open windows behind us, my one beer bottle on the ledge. All things that were perfectly going into motion.

We are destined to meet people, engage with people, and pick up things that we will carry with us for the rest of our lives. And I don’t believe in ‘destiny’, I believe shit just happens. Stars fall and people collide. Our lives move along and pick up fingerprints from relationships, friendships and even brief encounters. And although they slip off the tongue with ease at times, I feel the penetrating impact when I sit and look back at all the encounters that have drifted in and out of my life.

There really is no guarantee that anyone, anywhere, will stay by your side forever – even if they skywrite it one thousand times. Life doesn’t hand out story book endings often. But life sometimes throws you a few strawberry moments. Those times that just stick with you, linger in your head and always make you say “what if”. Or maybe they just make you marvel when you look back at pictures and say “yeah my life feels a little bit better that this person was in it”. Even if it were only a small part of time, in the big picture of happenings.

Some people will never get to find that giddy feeling that launches you to a place very far away. Some people will not get to feel the intensity of when they are together in a room full of people – it feels like there is no one else there. Some will never look back at a lost love and go, wow – looking at it now, it looks like it really was ‘lightning in a bottle’ (and perhaps it was). And even more true some will never get the chance to change, take that huge leap and grab ahold of the things that they want out of their life, finally allowing themselves to be willfully, and fully entangled in it all.

I fall a lot. I crash a lot. I’ve lost more times than I have won. But I am very lucky for a few things that have landed in my lap. Sometimes they tend to claw at my eyes, pull at my face and make me have one too many drinks. But they always continue to rally me deep inside my chest. They make my heart sing a bit louder, and remind me that doors are always in motion, opening and closing.

To feel that mindless wonder of not caring about anything else on the planet for just that one moment. It’s a phenomenal thing.  A thing that has taken from me countless nights sleep time and time again. But still, in all its ebbs and flows, all its wrecks and fires, it still can grip on to the hind side of your mind all the way down your road. And that’s something that I very much understand the worth of.

“The past is just a story we tell ourselves.”
― Spike Jonze, Her


Orbit drive by.



Driving today, as if I was spinning. Spinning lengths of memoirs across the road as I moved on towards the place. Waves of conversations and disasters gouging at me. I get closer to it all, while it just splinters more and more. Like film across the windshield, fast forwarding and stopping at parts, to where I can see just enough of an expression, the look towards something and then the look away.

You always have to move fast, faster than it. Or it will unwind you and all of your tape, it will untie all of your stitches so everyone can see.

The ridiculous season again. I still breathe it in and it goes straight to the rooms that it knows so well. Like coming home to a well made bed. They will always find their comfort, somewhere behind the rigid edges of what you wish you were all so content with back then. There will always be a hardwood floored room and a wall of screened windows that I know remains hinged to the back of my head until the day I die. It’s just something you can never undo or unwire, like years of old paste over a cigar box. It just will never go away. It’s one of those strawberry moments that are not even worth the telling because you know, you know that other soul will never see it as you do. I tell myself I’m lucky for that.

And I know you didn’t make me this way, I stood there and took it for much too long every time. I have grown strong in empathy with that. I should have turned back sooner in every case. Every year. Every time. I always kept telling myself just a bit longer and maybe it will make itself right. Maybe they will fix the scattered and worn pieces across the floor. They never did.

I tried. I really tried. I had countless conversations with you not in the room. Over and over in my head, me versus the walls. Like bullet points, back and forth, openings and closings – judge and jury. Debating to myself that maybe I could have flipped a switch and prevented one last disaster had I tried one second harder, one second longer. Or had I sent that one last text message that I hesitantly deleted outside my patio at 3am.

But really why should anyone have to do any of those things. Why should it even matter. I gave more than I have ever given to anyone. Sealed. Waxed. And in stone. Whether you read it or not. It was always there. It was always yours. You just never came home to open the box.

It’s late everyday at my house. My nights are long. I sleep mostly when I can’t think – and if I’m lucky I get a lucid delusional dream that puts me somewhere between me and you in a place where I just can’t touch anything but I sure am able find ways to feel everything over again, like the texture of the walls stumbling through a dark apartment hall.

I made myself forget most of the good things, just enough of them to make me not want to relive any part of it anymore.


“I felt myself being invaded through and through, I crumbled, disintegrated, and only emptiness remained.” 
― Stanisław Lem, Solaris | Summary & Study Guide

From strawberries under torture one may extract all sorts of things.


“We didn’t know each other well. I never had the time. Now I see that it doesn’t make any difference. The ones who hurry and the ones who take their time all end up in the same place. Just don’t have any regrets. No regrets.” 

“She was beautiful all right, beautiful in a way that was at once seductive, demonic, and raspberry.”- Stanislaw Lem

I left after that dance.



Note 378
Every day is like pressing reset for a juggling act. You have to keep focused. You have to water down everything that you are feeling so that you can just make it through the day. The constant rewind, fast forward, pause & repeat is like throwing a wrench into a gear. The unexpected jolt, and harsh landing are something that even though the moments are dull – that first landing, that first brash dragging of things over your face at the waking of the day, I just don’t like any of that anymore. Now, it’s becoming too much.

Note 399
And being here again, over and over. The retelling of a story. I sigh. I throw everything away I can physically touch. I’ve torn up every letter, every picture, anything that takes me and plays back things that are gone. I would eat them if  I could. Just ready for the ink wash to just run off of me. So ready for that.

Note 254
It’s like a hole on the back side of your heart. No matter how hard your chest beats at the moment, even when its full of everything positive that the feelings just flow directly forward – in front of you like a beam, they just end up spilling down,  spraying out the back side of that void. It’s just not closed yet. It’s not that time. That process has not run it’s course. The guilt, of opening up finally. I wish I hadn’t. Sometimes it’s just not worth it.


She reached out for the switch and darkness fell. I lay down on the cold bedding and felt the warmth of her breath drawing closer. I put my arm around her.

“Tighter”, she whispered.

Then after a long while: “Kris!”


“I love you.”

I felt like screaming.

Stanisław Lem, Solaris


Sight to sore your eyes


Note 1134

A discomposure, even the definition seems surreal (panic n.- sudden uncontrollable anxiety, often causing wildly unthinking behavior). Like an iron band torqued around my chest. I can breathe enough, but also not enough – to know that something is going wrong. I hate it. I won’t sedate it, I just have to lock things down when it comes. Sometimes more than other times. It’s like having a heart all filled up and at the same time layered with holes that lets everything spill out onto the floor. The more I fill it on the upside, the more it drops out on the downside. Again and again..over and over.

Note 1137

Dark winding arms of anxiety, I’ll always see it that way. Bending, constricting, telling you things in your head that feel like staples and bone. Always trying to foreshadow to you that the worst is on its way, and the weighing of your breath is just too heavy. Being tied to poles with bending hangars, being able to stretch just enough. It’s the giving up, to giving into the backslide, like a backwards dance into the streams of anger’s roar. And sometimes you need that push, that feeling of drowning and you don’t have any more air. That you have to pull your self up to breathe. And for that one short moment, when you forget all the damage on the inside, you find yourself ultimately feeling again, and it’s quiet. And calm. Until you have to fight with it again – not really knowing every time, the next time that you will be able to hold on to anything.

Note 1140

I only know what I know. I always believed to be what I thought was a good person. I can only choose what feels right at the time. I miss a lot. I miss feelings a lot. I drown myself in destructive memories. I pick apart every fight, I pull my own strings, I push my own buttons that open the doors to anxious thoughts. I don’t even know how to unwind the coil anymore. It just gets closer and tighter. I can only be strong so long, until something breaks. I don’t like that rabbit hole. I just don’t get it and I’m so exhausted from the fight.

“…what nobody seems to understand is that love can only be one-sided, that no other love exists, that in any other form it is not love. If it involves less than total giving, it is not love. It is impotent; for the moment it is nothing.” – Andrei Tarkovsky