dont believe

(no subject)

i see so far up & i cant look down. i see this 2048x1536 shrunk to a 400x300 with uneven borders. i feel so high that i could take this, yet craving to go higher. if you look in the distance you can see the moon. i sit there wondering if i could reach towards it. & if i could, how long would it take to get there? it seems eye level, the point that i am at right now. like i could just throw my hand out there & it would reach for me, too. the windows behind me & in front of me show the same picture, & i dont know if i want everyone to see it, or i want it all to myself. you know, the clouds being below me & all.

and she wore these shoes...

that looked like they had one big spring underneath each heel. they were white walking shoes, the big clunky kind that correlate strongly with those individuals who wear straight leg acid wash jeans and thick glasses. she had very short hair and was middle aged. her shirt was checkered. and she carried a briefcase.
i could tell she was pretty no-nonsense by the way she kept looking straight ahead when the bus stopped. she didn't even turn to see who was looking out the windows. i always do that.

his back was turned

it was dark outside and he stood their with his back turned. the porch light was reflected back off the cuffs of his white workshirt and he sorta slouched with his thumbs hooked onto his pockets. and he looked so beautiful, just standing there staring across the quad.


The chunks of ice fell from the grey-blue above & we could see them floating in the air... taking their time to land on the Las Vegas Strip. We had gone in search of snow & we literaly drove into it. The joy in our giggles said more than we could. We drove & we watched with child-like wonder. We parked & shivered. The white coat of ice on cars let us have a natural canvas. Beauty. Have a day. Your Mom... then pictures of our hand prints & foot prints... I'm short. It had been almost an hour & the dance was not yet over. Everything coated with icy paint. It was the first time in years it had snowed in a desert & I'm so glad you were there with me. Es tan facil sentir cuando estoy contigo.
pagan poetry

what you see before christmastime;

the children (three or four of them) stopped in front of a faded bungalow. the sign hanging over the gate dated back to 2001, proclaiming that "this gate is open to christ.". the christmas lights around the windows were blinking half-heartedly in the approaching dusk. the children were dressed in clothes the same color as the ashy windowsills, the cement sidewalk. they carried musical instruments -- tambourines made of bottlecaps, empty biscuit tins for drums.

their christmas carol was raucous. it was the same tired tune they sang at every cold and unyielding house down the block.

the tallest girl (who even then would probably only come up to chest-level to my five-foot-two) jumped up and down in an effort to reach the doorbell. i wondered vaguely why it was placed so high.

nobody came out after their first rendition of the old filipino song. they called out several greetings several times, but the door remained closed. the wind blew the plastic wreath askew. they sang again, this time their own version of rudolph the red-nosed reindeer.

the smallest boy banged his tambourine against the palm of his hand.

they waited until it got dark. finally a woman strode out and her voice was all sharp edges and crackling tin foil. i'm glad i didn't hear everything she said. the children turned and walked on down the street, but they didn't stop at any more houses to sing.

the wind was blowing again when i left; it lifted the "christ" banner and it folded in on itself.

thomas builds-the-fire

(no subject)

They weren't any older than twenty. We talked about suburban sprawl and police officers and drought, and they told me about eating Jesus' Weenies at a church shelter. Girl's face was weathered, but she looked like a ten year-old in the rearview mirror compared to Rob. Most of the people I see every day are carefully composed to hide the boredom and loneliness of a life being saved up like loose change. Rob's features showed the opposite effect. All the dirt and scars and dents worn shamelessly on the surface, and joy glinting out of the tilt of his head or the set of his jaw. His eyes were blue like reflected sky, with brighter specks in the centers that took over when he laughed. They both smelled of wind and rain and cigarettes and sleeping on the ground and long walks—like going outside after hours of sitting in front of a screen and noticing that the air out there hasn't been recycled.

(the rest of it)

thomas builds-the-fire

(no subject)

they all move so slowly. so slowly, and stiff, somehow, as if they can't quite remember the way they're supposed to move, taking the quarters from the metal tray and slotting them back into the jangling, beeping machines. and all their eyes are dull.