I’m posting this blurb even though I’m not physically able to do it at this moment. Props to Tumblr. At this time (a very specific one) I’m strapped to a few tons of metal, ready to blast of into infinity. My girlfriends probably shedding some tears and my mom is probably already worried sick. My grandmas praying and some good friends are keeping me on their minds. Landon is in...
I’m going to Costa Rica. That really just fully hit me as I’m sitting in my bed looking at all the stuff on my floor that needs to be packed. This is the first missions trip that I’ve been on that I’m legitimately afraid of. I honestly have no idea why. It just feels different this time. I feel like I’m leaving behind a lot of things that need my tending. I feel like...
Some New Stuff On Wooster Collective →
It’s a lot like a bear when you think about it. It eats whatever the hell it wants and discards of the others. The men with the suits propose it to be a creature of wisdom. Perhaps with a methodical pattern that can be translated, followed, and predicted. But I think that’s shit. It’s just a bear. That’s all it is, wandering everyday. Carrying the livelihoods and poverties of every man in the...
The Silence of Pavarotti
My therapist once asked me to envision my life when I was 30. I couldn’t do it. “How about 27,” he said. “Nothing.” “Perhaps 25?” “That’s where it ends.” I can’t see my life beyond the age of twenty five. Anything after that is like a hazy dream. From now until 25 is tangible. There are steps. The steps end at 24 years...
When the whole word is against me, I know I’ll have You, Where I can lay in the grass, And scream at the yellows and blues, Nights creeping in, Bringing shadows on my face, Scars are boiling over, And killing all the names, You gave us, One by one, So now, My God, Let those damned demons come.
After Proper Sifting
They won’t go away. Until you ignore Them. Or kill Them. So aim the gun higher, Love. Right between my temples.
I am a jealous little god, but a god of none, with heart that’s won Nothing.
A Sleepless Schizophrenic (A Monologue)
A man in a wrinkled tuxedo sits behind a metal table. A glass of water is to his left. He has not slept for multiple nights in a row. Stubbled face and falling, wet hair. He is delusional and sweating. He speaks in a partial whisper, a wavering voice which is nearing tears: I hate every last one of them. Because they sleep soundly and will never know my name. Because they gorged themselves like...