Is that a stain on your shirt? No it’s just you.

Note 1325
I wish I could put my hand in my bowl of life disasters and hold one up in the air and say “hey I’m glad I got to experience this”. As in – ‘what we go through now, molds us into what we become’. I get it. I understand all of that, in theory it’s plausible. It’s just how many nails do you have to pry out of your limbs and face, over and over again to finally feel like your place in life is hanging where it needs to be.

Everyone falls, everyone fails. Perfection is just not how we are built. Inside or out. It’s knowing when your life begins to turn toxic that you have to decide what to distance yourself from, how soon, and how far.

There are a lot of gutless people out there. A lot of weakness and lies waiting to be served. And an even more amount of half-truths that people have to wake up next to every single fucking day. And why, why even fucking do it. Let’s manipulate and coerce so we can ultimately take over the love that we want. If that love deserves to be there, then you will find it there. The moment you demand it, is the moment that it is already gone.

I don’t understand. And I have no sympathy for certain behavior. I don’t expect to place myself around it, or tolerate it ever again.


“Until you’ve lost everything, you’ll never be able to truly love anything.” 




Your art looks very different from this angle.

.38 Special HP // Minolta SRT

I lack any sympathy for an artist whose creative center revolves around manipulation and malice. Be worrisome of the empathy and compassion you share, because when you hear someone speak and they believe no ones listening – you are apt to see what their head is made of.

I’ve seen enough people fall and never get back up. I’ve seen enough damage never get repaired because of the marks that toxic actions leave behind. Be mindful of how you speak and how you behave, especially when it involves what you think “would be love”.

It means not having to think.

I told myself today that if I have learned anything in thirty years of dealing with relationships it is that one day there will eventually come a happening that will spin you off your rails and decisively change you forever. It’s something that will shake your walls hard enough that every future decision you make, will pivot off of this one event. In most situations I have rallied through, it’s hard for me to believe that someone really understands the concept of loving until they have honestly ruined it themselves. Like how can I know how something works unless I tear it all apart and dissect it, to learn whats inside. It’s until you realize, and have this conversation with yourself – looking back, and saying out loud “what the fuck was I thinking?” and “what the fuck I have done?“. It’s really until you feel the ramifications and finality of your decisions spiderweb on, to digest that sense of losing a vital part of what had become of your life, I’m not so sure I trust so easily in hearing anyone say “I love you“. I’m not saying someone can’t ‘love’ someone at all. I’m saying that in time, the meaning of that word will change for them. It’s the person on the other end of that ‘love’, the receiving vessel, that I choose to challenge and warn.

Loving someone just doesn’t mean caring, understanding, and being able to bathe in a sense of well-being. It means being able to be kind, caring and understanding even when you don’t feel good. It’s un selfishness. It’s compassion and being able to feel grief in someone elses voice, it’s positively supporting the bonds when you know someone could fall apart. It’s being a mess and feeling deathly vulnerable, it’s to feel safe even when you are feeling ugly and destroyed. It’s you being there in their face even when maybe you “don’t understand”.

It’s hard, it’s all very tiring in my head. It’s like every day you are adding soft clay to a binding wire structure. Pieces fall off, some crumble and just wont stick. Some get twisted in overlapping fingerprints. Some never get smooth. Somedays you just have to chop off an entire fucking side because things are not shaping into what you want them to be. And that one piece of copper wire just keeps finding its way through, no matter how much medium you press against it. Days of piling shit on and grabbing clay everyday and pulling pieces off over and over again until one day you wake up and realize what? That you no longer have any more god damned clay to add-on when you need to just get by. Because one side of the relationship did what? They stopped. Because one side chose to no longer be there. Or maybe they walked off. Or didn’t answer the phone that day, or maybe they just woke up and something changed in them. Good or bad or whatever. When that clay is not there, all of that (your) support dissolves. Because you know for fucks sake every day needs you to be a part of that clay and what it holds together. If you want anything real, anything worth waking up to, anything just worth a second of your fucking time in the world – then you need that substance to be there.

Love or not, I just don’t bend like I use to – I know loss well enough. If you’ve lost it then ‘know why’. If you’ve never lost it then I say ‘prepare yourself’. And if you want to hold on to it – I say ‘make your choices smart’, smart like maybe that love that feels fantastic right now, might not be there tomorrow.


“I don’t want to hurt you” often translates into : “I don’t want to hurt you and then for you to find out about it”.

Insert reign here.


Note 1311
The air is thick this month. As usual it’s a flood of everything at once. Like film going in fast forward then slowing down at half speed. It’s the grain along the sides of the frame that remind you again of things that slip like razors underneath your skin. They are just there. I miss the cold beach.

Note 1314
I’m okay with a quiet, dark, arctic rest of the year. I’m tired of the waves. Consistency is king when you are tying the sutures. It’s the keystone of the arch. And we all know that, so let’s just keep our feet in the water. Ok.

Note 1320
Just give me a year of no spinning disasters. And a photo of that. Thanks.

“The thing with broken clocks is you can always tell exactly when they stopped ticking. With people, it isn’t so easy and sometimes you can’t even tell they’re broken.” – Anonymous

“Nothing” doesn’t suit me well.

I remember what it felt like for the roots to pull out of the ground. I remember what it effectively meant when someones face lit up for the first time. I know how important it becomes to trust in an idea that you hope and live with daily. That there is reason to any kind of fleeting whirlwind of behavior. But really there is not. It becomes rogue. And even though you may scribble notes to keep in your pocket as a reminder of what you are walking from – it’s just not ever enough. I grieve often enough for things that happened ten years ago, just as much as I grieve for something that struck two days ago. In my projection its really all the same. The same rewritten monologue rebooted for your new-found ambitions, and willingness to try again. You smirk, you fall off, and shy away darling – but be sure and check the liner notes to the soundtrack you play in your head. You’ll find it. It makes the run fast, and forces that run far.

I’ve seen faces turn from familiar, to people I have never even seen before. Shrug it away easy while everyone’s watching (because everyone in that town is), watching in the toxic, abhorrent, behavior they wear. It makes me sick to see and touch the back side of your painting – because it isn’t you at all. Maybe you just never had time to finish it, even if you could. It’s all broken, and I just don’t feel like I am capable of falling anymore. I am broken too.

Nothing is real, nothing is ever what you think it is to be. All eyes in that place are just holes in a dead skin suit that people walk around in. Even as I see you root for it, I see you root yourself into a well. And the people in that well, have tricked themselves into thinking that’s what everyone wants, even as it’s dry. Like tieing rocks to your ankles and reminding yourself that you have to swim.

Its deaf, sickening and dark – and five years from now you will find something that actually made it out, and then finally understand the clarity in the coals. Because I see it, it’s penetrating, and fierce. And you were always worth more than that to me. More than that place, and every type that broods there. But hey, what do I know…