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Deadbeat, deadbeat

Something cold in mid day heat

Suppressor, repressor, oppressor

Jus live according to your means

Ash of the cigarette

Reminds me I got time

Hours like the birds

Days when we trail the butterflies

The dope peddlers & product pushers

Newspapers still being sold in the city

Purpose of it all in the poetry

Live for the moment, die for the cause

Jus working the old railway

Waiting for the smoke break

Coffee shop & cute baristas around the corner

Ditch efforts, find peace minimally

The priest has heard it all

Spiritual confession, confirmation & communion

Disposed inclination, supposed reformation

Hunker down in a gold mine

Cherish soul’s internal wealth

Cherish the fountain of youth & good nature

Truth is karma, truth is dharma

Kiss in cool crisp air & the warmth she felt

Time deals a harsh blow

At some point, the poetry is out the window

And you’re busking for money

And the cat leaps up on the fence

And everything is down to split ends

The jug of alcohol is all gone

Girls still walk in pairs to the restroom

Gossip goes down like anything

And nothing was the same

Nothing was the same

The smoke curls around the stars

Moon still lights up the night

And the girls are out looking fine as all hell

Dope fiends & smoke billowing like a chimney

2 bucks for a shot & 10 for some dope

Never had all that much

Jus new ways to cope

The modern human is a complex creature

Everyone sells their souls for a price

Nobody reads this so who cares

I write to fend off the demons

Some eternal mother

Some deadbeat father

Smoke & take in your surroundings

Sip something stronger than religion

God will save us, surely, God will save us

Spiritual Richness

Depravity of the sexually impotent

Drugs & music, music & drugs

The dogs know more than we do

Eat, drink & be merry

Pimping up & down the block

I lost it all & came up from sub zero

Clothes all torn & frayed

Distress, dismay, distress, dismay

My heart’s been on ice

The girls in their summer dresses

Endless Vice, endless nights

Give up in the best way

Already All Been Written

The days go by

Wonder why we got to die

She lives the fast life

Always jus going to be the same broke boy

Starving artist

Don’t need no attention

Stupid online shit

Rather jus be offline

Send a text, make a call & i’m out

All we ever needed was cigarettes & music

Sad boy shit was always cool to me

Heart torn into a million pieces already

What’s the point

Bust quick & i’m out

Heart frozen on ice

No dice or bright lights

Mickey Avalon singing Hustler Hall of Fame

That shit made sense to me

Pouya singing Cruising in the MIA

That shit made sense to me

Always felt like i was jus pimping out nothing

Dead ends everywhere

Make ends meet somehow

The government’s alright

i guess, i guess

The fam’s been alright

no doubt

Jus dead without some culture shift

Don’t need no shit

Same thing i was doing yesterday

Never cared about the money

Been a bum boo, even with the place & all

Better with jus some poetry

Caffeine & nicotine keeps things rolling

Bump music

Who gives a fuck if your ego is hurt

Down below

Some deadbeat palace

None of the smoke & all of the smoke

Heater in the cold

Wasn’t ever that bad

Some phoenix in flight

Shit was tight

Bright Eyes & some red eye

Some moonlit flight

Drugs & girls fucked me up

In the best way possible

Still miss it from time to time

Come ups always worth a come down

Seems like world jus wants you in some cubicle

Pretty dope when you got something to live for

Nice when you got someone you’d die for too

Dumb shit… always in need of some reaction

Emotions get manipulated from time to time

But shit always ends up alright

Whole thing makes me laugh

Whole thing makes me cry

Need a dose of something

To feel anything

Shit jus numb, shit jus dumb

Crack in the heart, blacked out

Slouch, slack

Some Beamer, some Cadillac

Morgan needing a drink, a cigarette, anything

Some amphetamine blues

Montego Blues, hopefully nothing bad in the news

Dues never fully paid

Get them back

Guess they want a bag… fuck, me too

Down bad in my bag, but really jus the pack

Smoke stash, no time for relapse

Some girl ripped my heart out

Stabbed me in the back a few times

And ran off with the drugs

i don’t even know, i forget

She was cool, she could kill me honestly

i wouldn’t give a fuck

i’m jus some dumb broke punk bitch

Dead inside, anything jus something to do

Smoking out by the moon

Dip off, phantom howl dark blue

Truth in the littlest things

Void in the rest

Junkies always knew where it was at

Drugs the only love i ever really knew

Well, i knew love, but never really felt it

And if i did, i don’t anymore

Some fragile wounds, gone under many moons

Some cool lonesome blues

A cigarette, closing time at the bar

Reality sets into some comical truth

Fuck if i know the point

Guess we’re always jus right where we’re at

Side tracked & another track spins on

World spins, weightless in the midst of gravity

Cup of tea & some relief in nicotine leaves

The blues goes on for forever

Never felt any better than i did one day at a diner

i’d rather be high

Otherwise i’m always going to be down & out

Leave a pack of smokes & roses on the grave

Could do it like i did, some spliff in the rain

Same, same… same, same

Hideout

There she goes

Boots made for walking

Ski shops all closed up for summer

What’s the point of all this heat?

She’s got me beat

Some mini thing she got on

I’m the furthest thing from a poet

Jus like hearing the click clack clank

Boy serving time

Got his ass locked up

For what?

Maybe someone else

Got the piece of ass he wanted

Roll up a smoke & spark one

In memory of all those gone too soon

Legends, legends, legends

Breeze comes through nice

She came in hot & cold

Some people jus nice

My life’s on ice

Until i get some new clothes

Some deadbeat junkies coming up

Some cute trash queen coming up

Ain’t nothing for me to come up on

Going down, turn the record up loud

Heat of the city not for me

A trip to the mall with 1,000$ would cure me

She sits in ecstasy

She writes about women & their ways

The booze, the misery

Spliff couldn’t hurt

She takes off her shirt

And i’m lighting my 3rd afternoon cigarette

Because nothing feels quite the same no more

We all die anyways

Cigarettes & beer on my lips

i’m over it, she’s over it, he’s over it, we’re over it

i wonder, i wander

jus making moves in some city. someone’s about to light a cigarette. i light one up too. couldn’t be too hard to come up on & off something. typical person is jus getting back late afternoon from their daily hustle. you got to hustle, from the bottom of the chain to the heights of it all. still, this city — like all the others — runs on sex, money & whatever else. if it doesn’t get you laid or paid, maybe you should take a rain check. been living off social security & hardly ever have enough jus for smokes & beers. last time i saw a nice piece of ass was too long ago. i don’t even know what having a lot of money in the bank feels like, i’ve always lived day to day. some real pieces of shit out there. some wonderfully kind souls, too. i could be either, depending on the day. the best thing to do is get drunk, turn the music up too loud to hear anything & smoke until the universe feels pleasant & livable enough again. then you sleep it off & try again the next day. sometimes jus a coffee or tea will suffice. people need money in this world to live. i jus need the bare minimum. hopefully. i mean, i’m not trying to impress anyone anymore. jus throw on some old pair of pants, a shirt that fits good enough & one of my old pairs of shoes & i’m rolling with my beer belly over to wherever the Hell felt like the place to be at the moment. sometimes there is no place to be, jus me & my typewriter throwing words at the page & my books & my records & my beer & cigarettes.

On The Block

Cloud cover billowing in precipitous waves

Something to dispel bad energy

Cemeteries are so peaceful sometimes

No legacy left in modern age

Drunk off your own ego

There’s respite in literature & libraries

Comfort in laughter

Profit in a venture

Over consumed

We were never going anywhere

D.O.A.

Dead on arrival

Game of survival

Getting by on light beer & Turkish cigarettes

Smoke, drink, smoke again, drink again

The game’s to be sold, not told

Sorry i had to put the girls on hold

The drugs don’t work anymore

Numb, dead, smoked out brain rot

Brain cells down to a half one left

Look out & it’s so pretty, but inside so foggy

Two shots to the dome

Give a dog a bone

The dog hid his bone then lost it

i write to the degenerates

i wish the world was less technologically driven

Read a book & shut the fuck up or something

This whole thing’s played out

She rails a line to feel something

He’ll sell his soul for sex

The cemeteries & hospitals are all too crowded

Jewish lawyers saving the condemned

I’m over here in my beautiful cut of a wasteland

Drinks at casinos, sex in hotels

The good people of the world praying to God

Somehow got to get out of the mud

A spliff would set me right

Feeling jaded, hardly an intellectual

Smoke, drink, smoke again, drink again

Soccer moms in momma vans

Some asshole with a spray tan

Conversation sparked with the local junkie

Punk kids skating getting stopped by mall cops

Broken hearted sentiments

Half retarded essence

Pour me up 3 shots quick

Cigarette smoke at the old corner store

Old man about to meet the coroner

And the local junkie still pops rocks

Don’t show your cards

Grief is the underlying theme

Not sad, jus bored

Let them burn me at the stake

While i’m burning, i’ll light a cigarette

The girl crosses her legs at the DMV

The best smoke i ever had at 4 a.m.

Maybe i should watch more sunrises

i need a slit wrist tatted bitch

Get high off the sad shit

Nothing nowhere, nothing nowhere

Buzzed off substance

Most shit’s got no substance

Days Wear On & The Thrill Is Gone

most days, we’re jus trying to get through them. days roll past like the cars. the cemeteries are full. and we try to numb the pain of everything. rarely check the news… i jus brew up another coffee, smoke a cigarette, sit back & read, then play a vinyl or two. days wear on & the thrill is gone. the girls came & went like the cigarettes. too caught up in screens. art is all we have left. dog days ahead, hibernating in the heat. pop a pill, pull the covers over my head & hope the days disappear. nothing hits like a beer, a quick shot & heartbreak. i want to leave society into the snowy alps. i want to be high off one substance or another. is there anything after this life? coffee with half & half. coming to terms with some kind of Hell.

Despondency

Down bad

Overcast settles in

Smoke jus something to do

Coffee on my breath

Dog days of summer ahead

Hibernate until it’s cold again

A shot or two

Anything to numb any feeling

Broken hearted

Dearly departed

Seems like you have them & then you don’t

Ghost town cigarettes

No brain cells

Jus a degenerate

Light goes out & sleep forever

Light comes up & sip black tea

Back to doing nothing

Back to bumping music

Back out going to the corner store

The drugs don’t work anymore

Used to nothing

Clear the head

Better off dead

Left on read

Vape in bed

Drain out bad energy

Take my meds

Suffer on

Fade away

Face the black days

Tow the line

Find the hidden meaning: some secret essence

Zach Bryan at the bar

Someone playing 8 ball pool

Dead ends everywhere

All we needed was space

Dwell on the space within everything

Godspeed

A writer’s mind is not cluttered

It’s almost blank

And the next things to come up

Get typewritten by God in their mind

I sit & stab away at literature

Maybe not a stab, but i heavily sink into it

Whether to some avail or none

Helps to clear things up

Some song plays

& i write

Because, if i don’t

My head either withers like a dying tulip

Or blows up like some girl mad at me

A drag is jus relief from the static

And this vinyl softens the blow

And the coffee heats up my cold heart

How comfortable are you with doing nothing?

Really, are you alright with being nothing?

Who am i kidding, we can’t go back to nobody

It’s 2003 & Postal Service jus released Give Up

Good Cheers

Iced cold beer & good cheers

To many more through all of the years

Karma holding up, bodhisattva dharma

Medusa seduces you

Her eyes speak in slithered seductive tongues

Window peering into the soul

Pier 39 & the bread & cheese, sea & ecstasy

Reefer skates next to the forbidden reef

Focus your mind on something

Let her take your mind off something

Thing one, thing two… do you, do you

Smoke to subside the daily faults as they lie

Who you are is the truth like a flower in full bloom

Sucked into the void… exploded mind dissipates

Chipping away in the valley to find the way out

She looks angelic… pretty little graceful creature

Smokes some spliff & settles into the universe

Takes you down, takes you around, brings you up

The taxi in the distance heading nowhere fast

Stops here & there & back to the crash pad

Flowers on her door step & bedside letters

I’m right here baby, i’m always right here

Porch Smoke Blues

Death wish coffee

Death wish rhythm

Somber skies

Graveyard blues

Nothing lasts

Corner store loiterer

Bitter sweet reminiscer

Lost in the wave

Girl from the rave

Save your soul

Rid yourself of your oppressor

She’ll steal your heart

He’ll criticize your art

Vanity of life

Banes of existence

Any last words?

At some point your heart dies

Skull is bleeding out

The world fades to grey

The blues is all i know

The blues is all i know

The future is now

Find your place in the scheme of it all

Even when your car breaks down

Even when you break down

Shameless motherfucker

i’m jus a stupid deadbeat gutter rat

A fucker in a trucker hat

Society moving backwards all of the time

And we don’t even notice it

Music dialed in, medicine on call

Sin brought about the fall? Maybe…

Phones are a means to an end

We are products of our environment

Outdoors calling & internal combustion

Smoke a cigarette & read a little Bukowski

Because they’ll never ever get it right

Beat the system or escape it

Traffic piling up

Sex workers still making their money

Bartenders still calling the shots

Drugs hit quick when you need them to

Girl’s out the door before you know it

Old heads playing old card games & dominoes

Once a hoe, forever a hoe, all alright though

Late night show & a glass of wine

Kentucky bourbon, scotch & moonshine

Smoke a little, give up the charades

Little back alley fights pave a way

Find peace in a soliloquy

Bird flutters away from it all

And you’re nothing except a bad withdrawal

The future is now

Futile media landscapes

People still tuning in

Maybe the best way out is in

Ego is not your enemy & pride is not your friend

Come up on nothing

Glow in the dark

Nothing was ever that bad

Nothing was all that noteworthy

The future is now

And we don’t even notice it

Worldwide web

Slow down a little

Wake up, create, absorb, go to bed

The future is now

And nothing’s changed

listening to The Moon & Antarctica

gravity rides everything

guess that was released

by Modest Mouse in 2000

wild to think how different it was

simply from 1998 to 2000

like we all change identities

one decade to the next

still the same people but the trends switch up

sometimes i think about this

hyper focused social media age

from 2008 on

when Facebook went up & MySpace went down

a monumental tragedy

but at least the late 2020s

starting off better than the early 2020s

X seems cooler than twitter originally was

& insta so popular it almost feels dead

wild how everyone falls for the clout on insta

like Snap is quick which is cool

i’m not against socials in any way

they help you connect & all that

despite losing nearly all of our attention span

the whole world suffering from A.D.H.D

unless you’re not preoccupied

and actually still listen to analog music

while also reading books… not doom scrolling

anyways, the show goes on

X really be spot on… on the ball if you will

if used right, socials are highly relevant

but i kinda miss the days of ‘98

like some Morgan Wallen song

in One Thing At A Time

about chipper, Andrew & the ‘98 braves

watching the World Series on a T.V.

with maybe 32 channels

ESPN, ABC, Disney, MTV, etc. were still there

things were so simple

before even the iPod

i always thought iPods were the coolest, though

i’ll probably invest in one again

for fuck’s & nostalgia’s sake

20 something years after the release

but didn’t a Walkman

and all those cassette tapes & CDs

we treasured so much in the 90s

didn’t that spark up pretty much the same

if not more resonant & impactful feelings?

but now that iPhones exist

i think iPods are kind of a rare collector’s item

i still remember early Apple commercials

they were revolutionary

now they can barely outperform their last iOS

thank God for iPhones though

a purely genius invention

but smart phones have their limitations

in theory & function, smart phones are limitless

like the pill taken in that one movie

i think it was called limitless

where you can pretty much do

anything you ever dreamed of

if you have some sort of visionary idea

everything is right at your fingertips

exponentially more practical than flip phones

but low key, I kind of miss having a blackberry

back in 2008 & a Nokia all the way back in 2004

in the simplest terms, things were jus cuter then

you’d download some music on your phone

& text your friends wassup

short little messages

typed little longer ones on the blackberry

but still… guess i liked writing even back then

as i typed pages & pages of text to my ex

i don’t do that anymore (i was 17)

now instead of texting someone

i jus write an article instead

and maybe write a tweet or 2

and send out 3 or 4 so snaps

of benign, really almost meaningless posts

hoping they’re still at least the least bit artsy

but really all i ever wanted

was to send a quick text or call someone

check my email

or maybe make up some gossip girl type blog

in the end we must remained focused

on hobbies that could turn into revenue

dreams could potentially become a reality

when you do something you’re decently good at

but absolutely love doing & do it so much

you almost inevitably end up profiting off of it

maybe cash in your wallet doesn’t stack up

but hopefully in the case of artistic ventures

at least your soul feels rewarded & wealthier

In Joanna Quinn’s debut novel, The Whalebone Theatre, the artist Taras & Rosalind, basically the queen of the estate who admires art from afar, discuss this concept:

“Money is the greatest destroyer of art,” says Taras.

“Is it?” says Rosalind. “Many artists I know consider money to be a great gift.”

“A gift that gets heavier & heavier, says Taras […]

“I’m sure every family has boxes in the attic. Family treasures packed away for a rainy day,” trills Rosalind.

(Joanna Quinn from her novel The Whalebone Theatre, page 133)

so maybe in some sense, with the iPhone & new age technology, we let go of some of the clutter & threw our treasured possessions to the wayside preferring the lighter, modern thing.

but somewhere along the way

we lost some of our artistic ignition & spark

like Mac Demarco conveys so deeply

in songs like Preoccupied

on Here Comes The Cowboy:

“Passin’ around

You blacken your body

No conversation

To ease up your mind

And nobody seems

To see the outside of it

Preoccupied

And nobody’s hiding it

Preoccupied

Nobody’s hiding it

Preoccupied

Nobody’s hiding it

Open your mind

Filled it with bullshit

Locked up your heart

Without even knowing it

It must be a sign

The days that we’re living in”

in the end, at all costs, we must realize one thing:

phones are not limitless end all’s to everything

they have their restrictive elements

it’s important to use them accordingly

but as sparingly as possible,

even if that’s 6 hours a day instead of 14

or just not stare so blankly at it so often

so we could look around & take things in

reflect within & without

not so much on things at our fingertips

but on something that goes beyond

something divine we are called to

to make art in this universe

is to make something out of nothing

even if you can’t invent something

like the iPod or Walkman or this & that

as writers or maybe you just read or make music or whatever you do artistically

we don’t write & make art for attention or money or some sort of societal approval,

we do these things to reveal to us some sort of mystery deep within us that, like a bird in the cage of our souls, must be set free on paper, film, recording, or canvas

“Sun don’t shine in the shade

Bird can’t fly in a cage

Even when somebody go away

The feelings don’t really go away

That’s just the wave…”

(lyric from Kanye West’s song ‘Waves’ on his LP The Life of Pablo)

new age technology could be the sunlight sprinkling in through the curtains or it could be the shade clouding up the bright spots.

so too, modern technology could be the bird, but could also hinder oneself & act as a cage.

whatever you do, find the poetry in it

the endless expansiveness of consciousness in it

and never live in a shell

without ever healing the internal

& genuinely feeling connected to the external

switch things up

watch an art film on TV

then listen to a vinyl off the record player

then go on a cute lil walk to the lake or mountain

maybe with your headphones in

then record yourself on guitar or piano

then produce some beats on Ableton or Logic

then draw a cool picture in your sketchbook

and read the next two chapters of 3 or 4 novels

sometimes we get bored

but arguably, in this day & age

endless ways exist to enjoy ourselves

we just can’t get stuck in a loop

habitual routines are perfectly cool

but it‘s important to set aside time

for all kinds of things under the sun

and reflect on everything by moonlight

to sweet dreams & blessed moonlight

waking up to a fresh batch of coffee in the a.m.

morning sunlight, bright eyes & peak vibes

we are limitless creatures

limiting ourselves in a preconceived world

each day wake up with gratitude

and take time for yourself doing what you love

never look back

and know our soul gravitates

towards alignment in relation to the universe

and that there are new waves of understanding, optimistic light & positive energy,

as well as endless fulfillment & contentment…

jus waiting to be awakened within us

sometimes we jus have to exist in ways

beyond jus conventional modern day ideals

and explore the finer things within ourselves

the soft spots, creative interests & subtleties

a piece of art making sense of this universe

whether it’s something you created

or something you love coming back to

sometimes a simple melody or poetic writing

can enlighten us & return us to a Heavenly state

an artistic skate film or foreign film, etc.

could change our whole perspective

and simplest treasures like tending a garden

or cuddling with a kitten or puppy

could help us remember

the value of pure existence

PS: hopefully you go out & buy an old flip phone, typewriter, old camcorder, a ton of vintage books & vinyls & listen mostly to analog music… well, iPods are pretty cool too. And don’t worry… yes smart phones are the dopest too. without them i wouldn’t be able to write this whole thing right now & post it online so keep the phone on you too, for so many reasons this generation knows too well: jus remember, there is a life beyond the screen. trust me, i need to remember that, too.

i don’t know, i think God & the devil made a deal

seeing the kind of shit we go through on the daily

that they’d bless the earth with coffee beans

and bless the earth with nicotine leaves

the best things in life are sober & bitter

they bring you back down to earth

and then make you realize life, too, is bitter

smoke herb & i may as well be in a slump

take in bitter aspects of nicotine & caffeine

and i’m 6 feet above the moon

head floating so high i feel like a cloud

empty & reassuring

ADHD making it feel like a sedative & stimulant

we are one equal dose in the cosmic universe

we were meant to feel warmth of ash & ember

guess i’m wanted dead or alive

but i’d rather jus be both

feeling released from overwhelming pressure

except it’s not overwhelming really

sometimes you jus got to reflect, process

and decompress in any way, shape & form

from a coping mechanism with a sort of vice

to feeling your self, so to speak

getting in your bag, so to speak

dancing like some devil child & angel on the moon

and smoking out on the pier with your girlfriend

having your late night coffee in the big city

skyscrapers pouring over thick concrete

little groups of families flying kites in the wind

the orange blaze flaring up off of the cigarette

the 6 dimes in the fountain, drain & gutter

we must always jus engage with the moment

because sooner or later, it’s still all happening

you’re right where you’ve always been… in motion

we go with the tide of universal friction & Tao

and accept & embrace life in its swell, ebb & flow

it was my first day at the hostel. so many people packed in to a relatively sizable residence in a small town full of ski bums, gossip, decent blow & alcoholics. i let them know i had talked to the landlord & agreed to rent out a room & signed all of the necessary housing agreements & paperwork. one of the guys said he’d give me a little tour: big living room, TVs, pretty big rooms with scenic views of the mountains & lake. we went downstairs & i got to chatting in an amicable way with one of the guys in the corner spot. the window let a considerably nice amount of light shine in & it looked right outside to the basketball court serving as a parking spot also & place where some of the guys skated. this ended up being my room as one of their roommates jus dipped out so the top bunk was open. some pretty cute girls who still looked like they weren’t quite out of college were walking around & i made acquaintances with a few of them in passing.

i was stoked on this new living arrangement, especially considering the fact that a month prior i had no money for rent & would’ve been forced to be homeless after spending a few months in a mental hospital somewhere in Northern California. But once i got out of the mental hospital, i stayed over next door at some crisis residential center where you could stay a month, go on the phone whenever, eat free nicely cooked meals, attend groups & smoke & vape whenever outside. it was nice & i met a guy who had found a loophole to getting unemployment money. i told him i hadn’t had a job in years, but he confidently assured me i could still get it. so we filled some things out online & since i made music that was on Spotify, we claimed i made 2,000 a month off streaming revenue. i ended up getting about $900 a month off my unemployment check that would last a few decently care free months & would help me bide my time & do little things & shop at the local snowboard outlets & coffee shops & restaurants.

i had originally gone to the mental hospital since i had jus got back from a stint of visiting family in the Midwest. i was getting pretty manic & staying up until 2 going to bars drinking every night & skating around town with reckless abandon. i was chain smoking cigarettes & not giving a fuck. it wasn’t until after my 51-50 that i realized how out of touch i was. every morning, they would give me a benzodiazepine — my favorite pharmaceutical — while i was in there so i was quite content. but eventually i met a girl on the inside as i always do. i wouldn’t say i was in love, but we kissed a few times & almost fucked if not for staff interrupting us. they’d give me Bluetooth headphones that played music off their computer & i could request any artist. and there was a basketball court outside with a portable stereo system that played any radio station. we always listened to Hip Hop. so this was far from my least favorite place i’d ever had to be at. even though that’s all mental hospitals really were to me, thinking about girls & listening to an album on repeat & finding a way to get prescribed Xanax or Ativan or Klonopin… the same things i do anyways outside of the hospital. the girl i liked & kissed & almost fucked somehow got into some disagreement or drama with me & we stopped talking & i ended up starting to get down bad & bang my head into the wall pretty hard until i knocked myself out. some kind of way to cope with trauma. but eventually they gave me an inter-muscular shot that would hold me over each month & i started getting a lot better (more balanced moods, less voices in my head, less irritability & anxiety & i was in better shape) so they let me go next door to the crisis residential & within a month i made it to the hostel in early Fall.

i unpacked most of my things in the corner spot. within a week, i got my record player, speakers & subwoofer in there. in our room, there was an old PlayStation or Xbox — i forget the exact console — and weed was always strewn about the coffee table with rolling papers, grinders, coffee mugs, packs of cigarettes, rolling trays, books nobody would ever read & anything else you could ever possibly think of. the coffee table was sacred. in fact, coffee tables everywhere all around the whole world are sacred. everybody’s coffee table tells a different story & conjures a unique feeling. come to think of it, i spent more time around our coffee table, sipping coffee, watching TV, listening to music & all that than i spent in the whole entire rest of the house combined. that is, before i got a job & ski pass for the season & started getting out of the house more to visit my girlfriend at the time that i ended up meeting my first day in the hostel. we’d fight a lot, but the sex made up for it & she liked most of the same music as me & sometimes brought home some kind of drugs after a long shift as a waitress at the end of the night & we’d sit up in bed getting high. it was a fun, carefree time & people would be drinking —heavily drinking & partying — with music on full blast all night. it was nice on the days i wanted, or even needed, to let off some steam, but our room was directly under the speakers in the upstairs living room so i’d be tossing & turning all night. Eventually i’d just give up, go upstairs, take a swig from the handle, do a bump or two & rage on.

we’d take trips to the lake beach & play music & drink the days away. i’d be lounging, smoking cigarettes, talking to whoever & the days went like that in pure bliss, each night a repeat of the last with a spliff to wake you up in the morning & a steaming cup of coffee to cure the hangover with day trips to the snowy mountains & pretty lake. it felt like we were the lost boys & girls in Neverland & we’d never get old, no matter how much drugs we did or how much we drank & smoke. within a year or two, everyone went their separate ways, but for a moment in time, it was a ski bum’s wet dream, paradise & Heaven. it’s funny how what you’re looking for could always be right around the corner. One moment, you’re going through something tough & the next you’re living the dream. Maybe it’s all perspective & manifestation. Life is an evenly balanced karmic distribution of highs & lows. we really never know what’s around the corner & jus got to keep going along with it all & staying optimistic & looking forward to at least something on the horizons, reflecting & learning from our past & accepting everything at hand.

We’re always closer to the light than we think.

She was always cool

She did her thing

I didn’t mind

More than you could say about a lot of people

But she didn’t get caught up this way or that

Sometimes life has a way of wrecking us

But if something broke down along the way

She’d smile & laugh her little laugh

And pick up the pieces

Sometimes things got deep

But she’d stay climbing her way out

Acceptance of life how it comes

Not anything more or anything less

She worked as a barista at the local coffee shop

And smoked cigarettes on her break

She liked to go to this one place for flowers

She’d buy herself some & perk up

Lighthearted soul & soft light in her eyes

Wearing flowy dresses & skirts

Hair down or up, she always looked cute

Boys liked her the way she was

And she had lots of girlfriends

The way she amicably approached things

Open to whatever the universe threw her way

Nothing more, nothing less

Grounded in some earthly truth or understanding

Like a rose bud without thorns

A succulent that could practically live forever

She loved love & always found a way

Gracefully navigating little detours

And finding things usually ended up alright

I walk in the ashes littered on the cement pavement down over at this abandoned graveyard. light up my 7th cigarette of the hour, the hour nearly coming to an end: 2:59 a.m. had been at a music festival about two weeks earlier & had enough molly to last me the month, even after all the point pills i passed out at the festivities. the festival was cool… took place a little before Christmas. the artists performing were pretty popular in the Dub Step & EDM scene. the whole time high at the festival. i looked around & everyone was all but losing their mind, going off, on their way up as well from what i could tell from the dose of whatever it was they, too, respectively took.

the subwoofer & speaker system at the venue were cranking & everyone was at a loss of words, music turned all the way up anyways, so nobody could really hear each other anyways… there were guys doing light shows & girls hula hooping. i don’t know, there was a few faux mosh pits where people jus danced like crazy. but as far as i went at the whole thing, the high levels of MDMA i took had a way of sedating me into a trance of almost pure music bliss & euphoria & an acceptance for the little bit of time we get on this Earth, our existence as human beings barely even a blip in infinite time. i looked around & everything felt so so chill & the music sounded so so dope. raw MDMA like pure bliss to my soul.

now two weeks have passed since the music festival & i’m at this old abandoned cemetery, still coming up, still hardly ever coming down. maybe i’m here because it was an appropriate place to appreciate a cigarette — in fellowship with & accompanied by the dearly departed. it was an extremely brisk & not so lonely January morning, smell of flowers on gravestones on the tips of the senses, a light frost on grass & stone. i sat on a bench at the end of one of the rows of graves, which had engraved “this bench is dedicated in loving memory of Don Coats (1963 – 2017), the best dad, brother, husband & above all… friend to all” on the ground directly below the bench. i thought about this Don fellow as i smoked my first 3 a.m. cigarette of the day. i wasn’t really prepared for the sunrise. i was quite enjoying the solitude basking in the bright eyed early morning hours. the sun would mean being bothered with a thousand new complications, text messages, interactions & responsibilities of the day ahead. for now, everything felt perfect.

sitting amongst all of the goners in their coffins at this cemetery who had passed had a unique way of calming me down & enhancing another high. i took two points of ecstasy over the course of three hours before skating over here with my headphones playing out a mix of rave energy & cloud rap, emo trap & some indie punk albums or whatever i was into at each exact moment.

let’s be honest, all music sounds a thousand times better when you’re high… the genre doesn’t really matter so long as you vibe with the sound. specific music sounds perfect at different times… timing is everything. there really is a time & place for practically every song & kind of artist.

i continue to sit on the bench & grab my Yeti coffee mug i had set down on the ground & take a sip of the medium roast drip i had made before coming here skating, music in ears, coffee in hand. it was a smoothly paved road on the way over so i never took a spill. neither did the coffee.

i think about the 27 club & artists like Lil Peep & JuiceWRLD & overdoses & the overwhelming nature of music celebrities that have fallen to drug use & disenchantment with societal systems, from Elliot Smith to Kurt Cobain & 2Pac. we all got to die sometimes, in youthful angst or elderly bliss in a rocking chair… we all must move on at some point. i think about death as i sit sipping coffee slowly & smoking a lil cig.

Thank God for both life & death. i’m all down for the idea of eternal life, but not if it means losing my soul. nothing but a hollow shell at that point. And I’m hollow enough, numb & jaded. This body is just a cage i can’t wait to escape to the next realm. Our souls will remain always. Forever.

these may as well be on a napkin…

…some notes (March 10th – March 16th, 2026):

slow, steady drumming

the undercurrent of trendsetters

falling into the abyss

the things a parent does, the lengths they go to, never ceases to amaze me

coffee & cigarettes for breakfast, lunch & dinner

maybe if i jus sit at the typewriter long enough, something will come of it

those hot dull afternoon hours… i almost miss the feeling of being sleepless at 2 a.m.

he wasn’t much of anything except for his writing

bitching… always bitching & moping around

three shots of Hennessy & a half pack of smokes will help most men face the day ahead or day before

i listen to the environment & read

what would you do if you had everything in the world & yet nothing at all?

loose ends to tie up… birds chirp & i know they’ll chirp again tomorrow. loose ends still to tie up.

a blessing would be weighing 169 again. i weigh about 198. we’ll work on it.

all i ever wanted was to hear the typewriter… clink clink clank clink

blink 182 on the radio & things feeling like 2016

turning on a record feels far more personal than shuffling music on your phone

guess it was all cool

nice spacious room

the records, the books

the kitchen & queen size bed

nice bathroom

nice neighborhood & all of that

maybe i’m already dead

and my heaven is here

deciphering knowledge is wisdom

the art of learning is in the intention

a good album is good for years on end

you can always come back to it

a day in the life:

wake up, take my pills

put a record on

& a snowboard film on YouTube with the sound off

write whatever, make lots of coffee

smoke throughout the day

play another record, this one then that one

write some more, read as much as possible

jus getting by

sometimes euphoric the boredom

depending on how i feel that day

go for a walk to 7eleven or Starbucks

it could all be so simple

wanna smoke this spliff in the backyard

take a hit, pass it then dip

sit in someone’s whip, cruise on the strip

then watch her strip

down the hatchet

one last go at it

nothing left but the dull middle zone

jus a bag of bones chilling at home

can’t even get stoned

phone stuck on dial tone, cell roams

sitting at the crib & hardly peaking

jus steady sleeping… up to nothing really

sedated off the pills

these days i’m hardly ever in my feelings

trickling of water in the shower

missing the days of Rocket Power

nothing hits like it used to

smoke a cigarette because what else should i do

i’m used to it, the feeling of being old news

all worn in & warped like this vinyl tune

place got some nice views

see you & wish we both knew

the bliss of each other’s warmth

cuddled in under the blankets

spring showers giving into harvest

your shoulder a place to rest

we escape down the old side streets

away from the formal exchange

to our secret spot out by the park

seemed a cool enough spot to smoke a cig

then we stopped by the corner store

picked up some coffee & a doughnut

whatever, just something to do

it was always whatever,

it was always jus something to do

listening to Elliot Smith

my life is all but over… my life has jus begun

where do i go from here?

maybe i should fast more often

give up porn, i guess, for spiritual reasons & to hopefully heal some of my chakras

i’m on a spiritual journey that requires me to stay off of my iPhone if i’m not writing

in my bag for you

reading more & sleeping in

listening to field medic at dawn

life’s such a feeble little romantic thing

rattling train tracks

the solemn brisk night

nowhere to go

lonesome crowded west

less is more

but sometimes more is more

either way

i jus want what’s needed

she was a dream

he never wanted to wake up from

you never had much to say

brewing coffee quietly

in the dozing morning kitchen

basking in the first hints of sunlight

you never had much to say

you jus conveyed everything

with a feeling

a deeply gentle, serene feeling

you never had much to say

to you, words were never enough

you’d look at me

& i’d instantly know how you felt

comfort of your sweater covered hands

as you rest them gently in mine

for a moment, a moment within forever

your kind of bond

the kind that never fades away

spoken into existence

not through words spoken,

instead almost purely via feelings

girls who rock dad hats almost always cute

bougie feminine nature

Jus Getting Started feel like OG Project Baby 2 Kodak

4evrglades4evrglades4evrglades4evrglades

nicotine, cash, rain falls, pitter patter pack

around the corner, loiterer

jus another fiend & a fifth

six hours later, nothing’s changed

six days later, nothing’s changed

six months… six years later, nothing’s changed

still about a bag & a bitch

still in my bag about 1000 of them

i miss you too much

numb my feelings cuz this shit all too much

over this, dust to dust

smoking till death,

smoking after it too

guess i been dead

what else is there to do?

nicotine, cash, rain falls, pitter patter pack

hit me up with the stacks & racks on racks

work on myself

save up to top shelf

sex sells, art doesn’t always

shit don’t matter if they don’t see the vision

let everything jus slide by

focus on the vision

pure gold, flash of crimson

the lord’s tears & ultimate redemption

we going up, don’t let nobody tell us different

glowing pains, adrenaline flow through veins

styrofoam cup of coffee & benzodiazepines

some light music, a little something to read

shows at night, cigs on the balcony

walks to the lake, coffee shop & gym

some late thing to crush on

expression of thought through art

the slow gentle ebbing flowing .wav of life

a good thought stuck in your head

God & family above all things

little smirk from a girl, kind words of a barista

space to breathe, create, process & decompress

meditative habitual ritual routine

igniting the spark to the match

unlocking spiritual consciousness & awareness

connection with humanity on a universal level

what else is there, if not experiences?

experience of the senses & mind, body & soul

creating an ecosystem

revolving around a calm nervous system,

chemical balance,

& universal alignment…

& jus vibing internally

with the universe externally

this life to the next, ups & downs are a certainty

we simply need to hold on & ride .wavs

catch a vibe,

cultivate & nurture whatever it is

so you peak more often than not

simply on atmospheric quality

innate sensitivity to energy

& a spiritual intuitiveness & insight

as well as self awareness & acceptance

with regards to the moment

you’ve arrived to & continually experience

jus existing as a key part of the whole cosmos

we are all keys to a universal portal

harnessing pure energy — eternally generating —

& a vibrant, high level collective consciousness

we are all beams of light

jus waiting in the wings to shine

glow angel baby… glow.

beam me up. beam us all up…

pick me up quick in the old ford bronco

bumping tunes smoking Marlboros

girls in it for a lil blow & a lot of dough

pull off the side of the road,

quick break, quick smoke

we used to feel better than the old folks

now i jus wanna be sitting pretty all alone

the rocking chair with no thoughts on the dome

nowhere to go

because i’m stoked

i’m doing my thing & feel at home

Over & over, playing an age old song

Looking around like what else is there to see

I’ve seen a lot of pretty faces in this life

Some not so pretty ones too

And i feel worn out from all of it

Weary of popular media

The whole thing’s played out

Of course, a lot of things

Can be seen more than once

Felt more than once

Heard more than once

I jus want to experience some things

For the first time again

And not feel as though

— As much as i’m through with the whole thing —

So too, the whole thing’s also through with me

dwell space, save face, first date

what’s with the rat race?

tired of the chase

smoking a cigarette

phoebe bridgers, ace of spades

you in the crowd

smoke signals, calling your name

aloof, standoffish vibe

sorry for being kind of an outcast

in it on the ride home, music blasting

you were everything, everlasting at the time

now i’m jus left with this cigarette

& all of these Dylan Thomas memories

damaged, broken brain

listen to Jelly Roll to ease the pain

jus want the drugs

because i ain’t ever had no love

sure i’ve had love, in reality

but i can’t feel that shit

i need something i can feel

vast open space high up in the mountains

find some shade to rest your mind in

zen isn’t about what we do

it’s about how empty our head is

finding relief in an empty mind

clearing out space, rid of clutter

awakening the inner sanctuary

Huddled over some vagabond newspaper

Muddled in the overflow

Coffee on the airplane ride

Flight attendant looked like Britney in Toxic

The girls tend to their wounds & kiss yours

Sometimes spread too thin, wearing out

The con artist pulls off another trick

Some young kid finally pulls off a kick flip

And the older kids are kicking it

Means so much to me

Yet it seems like i don’t give a shit

Some things matter more than you could imagine

Some things matter less than you think

Concentrate ambiguously on a singularity

To expand on a microcosm hinting at universality

Never ending paradox of endless existence itself

Release & relief from tension & preconceptions

Leisurely skill of doing nothing with a purpose

Achieve what’s necessary & decompress

All we ever wanted was to fill some purpose

All we ever wanted was to feel at home

Be what you be, in all that you are

Angus Stone sung that on a song long ago

There’s space for us all above the stratosphere

Coexistence is key

Never mind the gutter

Never settle for anything less than stardust

Glitter ain’t always gold

Key to the heart, longing of the soul

All roads lead back home, to the crush

& in the center of everything is a heart of gold

Radiant in glints of light,

Shining shrouded in bright waves

Glowing tints from ethereal moonlit hues

She slips out of the dress as she slides through

Wet drips muddled in the soft nuzzle anew

Smoke sets like a blank fog out the chimney

Trailing a line down pillars of rocks by the ocean

Sea mist, misty eyes that missed her eyes

Demise could be quick, rise could be slow

The dip & drift of her thighs & shy little glance

Sinking back into contentment like a falling leaf

Rocket Man high up all by his lonely

Lonesomeness is not so much a hassle

Basking in solitude potentially subdues the blues

She comes over & melts me down to the core

Skinny love… just make it through the year

Tides of a teardrop… somehow staying afloat

I’m a nobody to anybody

Or maybe i’m jus lost in my mind

Reality jus a figment of imagination

To lean into our own creation isn’t all that bad

Genesis & Revelation to all of our stories

Our souls guided by light

The light ignited by a spark in the dark

Sometimes at based levels

We see life as it really is

The genius of our oblivion

The pleasure within pain

The pleasant humor within life

She’s taking a cab back to her apartment

Then brewing a late night post-cigarette coffee

I remember the early morning hummingbird

Fluttering by the little makeshift terrace garden

And the girl walking by talking about the slopes

And the yacht rock off some guy’s speakers

And the local bus always making it’s rounds

The 3 o’clock beer instead of an afternoon nap

Lou Reed singing on the Transformer record

And Mac Demarco saying she’s best in dreams

Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming

Of an early morning cigarette in a grey daze

And black coffee at the Vienna Bakery & Café

Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming

Of some God forsaken art

And the girl who stole my heart

Bright side in the twilight

Feather’s so light

Helps to glide

In it for the ride

To walk away

Stranded on the borderline

Sullenly in flight

Or fight some bullshit fight

Loosened bar stool inhibitions

Jus a look at the bartender

& your usual is poured

Resistance of prohibition

Light on the edge of the tavern

Ring we used to draw around Saturn

Dragon flare & beat up blues

Guess who flew the coupe…

Train rattling

Traffic battling

Some shackles in some makeshift cage

A way out in some underground cave

A double shot for the black eye

Two shots & a pack of ice

Not a lot to offer

Profit off of the wave

Water flow, cloud drift

To catch a drift is nice

Back alley smoke,

Some slow burning joke

Moonlit owls & moonlit howls

The riff gets played

The bill gets paid

Some go home & get laid

Others hit the hay

Dawn breaks away

Steady as she goes

Tea brewed & a kettle hiss

Morning slowness

She floats along like the breeze

Half naked in the kitchen

On the ledge hops a kitten

And i’m barely up

Jus awake enough to sip some coffee

She throws on her tight baby blue jeans

She’s headed out the door

And after a smoke on the porch

So am i, headed back to the tavern

A little beer to wash down the coffee

Guess i’m jus trying to open up my eyes

And let the world slip into coolness

To jus let the day get to where it’s going

She’ll get to where she’s headed

i’m sure of it…

they come around from time to time

i’m jus trying to waste away the day

in the most pleasant way

To porch smokes, ledge kittens & baby blue jeans

A little kiss & sip of something real

Grey fog smoke & the blanket feel

Guess i’ll have another & close out

Back to pavement chasing

Finding ways to both spend the day & waste away

Reading paper & rolling paper

& the tavern stays open

the girls do whatever they damn well please

Still throwing away loose change on a vice

Pleasure seeker, abode meditator,

to feel something, to numb the same

to catch the fleeting moments

guess we never had to chase

Waste, waste, waste

Embrace, embrace, embrace

Slow your roll

Guess we can’t get too caught up anyways

They don’t make rockstars like they used to

They don’t make punk like they used to

Cigarettes & The New York Times for $5

Whatever the cost was

Maybe i was born too late

Maybe we missed the revolution

All i know is things are still somewhat the same

Despite inflation, despite desensitization

We have easier access than ever to it all

Now we jus got to decide what to do with it all

Look around every once in a while

Preoccupied with some screen

Step off the grid

Listen to some rare sound

Find the hidden gem stashed

And believe in the spiritual being

Jus waking up, amused yet despondent

Enlightened beyond superfluous noise

Society is a broken record filled with nonsense

Take a step back from the scene

Yearning for noteworthy art

& noteworthy conversation

With first class cigarettes

Cheap beer

& drip coffee at the diner

So good you have to drink it black

& they keep coming back to fill your cup

Sip some wine

Grab some beer

Sorry i sound like a bitch

Vice cope, the crutch, the hit

Thinking about ska

Sublime really popped shit off

At least 40 oz of Freedom & Robbin The Hood

Skaters tearing up the streets

Never knowing the lyrics to Slightly Stoopid

Getting drunk on rooftops

Looking over the city

Feeling so small in the scheme of it all

And to think, do they really care?

Here I am, the center of my own universe

Technically speaking

Yet i’m hardly the type to play a lead role

I’m the guy in the back of the club

Smoking a cigarette, fading into club lights

Dark nights, high under the moon

Morning remorse the coffee helps reside

The hangovers were always worth it

I never minded the come downs

Stay forever high off ideas of old

The whole thing goes on for forever

A little thing makes the universe make sense

Big things make you want to end it all

So i’m not worried about tomorrow or yesterday

The moment you want to stay in the moment

You start over analyzing

Whether you are actually present

I’m hardly even here, some ghost being

So what, i’m drinking before noon

So what, i lost it all in a thousand different ways

So long as the record still spins

And the girls still exist in this universe

I’ll be fine, i’ll be fine

She was fine & her friend was fine

And i’m lighting up a cigarette

Because what else is there to do

Sip a coffee in some interrogation room

I don’t know nothing about that, sir

I don’t know nothing about anything

All i know is somebody tore my heart apart

Been trying to figure out how to salvage it

Every time i buy new clothes, i feel better

Trying to sift the gold in this muddy river

The river flows, it‘s pretty & nice to look at it

So hell yea, i’ll sit here & try to make the most of it

Currency flows abundantly

Yet most of us are relatively broke

Teachers aren’t getting paid enough

Considering they still have to sit at school all day

Peaceful sleep, some sort of relief

Sipping coffee & everything in between

our minds half gone half of the time

half asleep, half confused, half amused

It’s good we can find this shit amusing

Sit at the bar…

Liquor never hurt you like she did

But did she really hurt you?

We only ever hurt ourselves in this universe

Let the world spin madly on

And do whatever you gotta to make sense of it all

Make some room for the magic

Leave some room for stillness

Some small talk helps like poetry

There’s sound that drowns

Then there’s a sound that bathes

She wanders about like a hurricane

I’m sipping from some eternal fountain

The pharmacy of the weak

Some feminine need

Space within the moment

Nirvana despite the pain

Embrace feeling, distill wisdom

Eve sits with the serpent

Adam went to look for God

Nowhere to go, nothing to be

Vanity seller

Hole in the wall

Staying out of the way

Kurt Cobain under a bridge

I’m stalled somewhere

Lit cigarette & broken dreams

Sober drug of atmosphere & sound

Play to your own rhythm

Pray of your own volition

Really only ever needed to ignore it all

Beat the system, break the machine

Comfortably numb, somewhat dumb

The whole thing’s conniving & manipulative

Manifest solace, ethereal release

Less sex, better clothes, more music

Smoke to remember, drink to forget

Nirvana despite the pain

Embrace feeling, distill wisdom

i sit here

bad credit, yet bills still payed

debt collectors still after me

i don’t care about the money gone honestly

i’ll keep lighting money on fire

smoking cigarettes till the ash tray is full

dogs are so cute the way they bark

girls are so cute the way they bite

a lit fireplace while the snow falls

the mountains look cozy

i want to slump into oblivion like the mountains

country music & the Bible

is sex altogether unholy?

maybe most of it

some girls pick you up just to put you down

sometimes i like getting treated like dirt

a girl stabbing me in the back feels right at home

we never had anything

it all goes for a price

the queen is dead

the trash piles & piles

some mattress to crash on

the bank never hears from me

i’m smoking down by the railroad tracks

it’s all some foreign film

we’re in some dull comedy or divine tragedy

throw a newspaper on my porch

oh, right… i’ll stare uselessly at my phone

poetry is like a girl

poetry is like a spliff

minds like balloons filled with smoke

beatnik era: jazz & Kerouac & Ginsberg

there’s a lot to go back over

the future is already here

who needs anything when you got Wi-Fi

they should burn the internet

maybe burn some old CDs while you’re at

whip up a coffee for your head

& be alright with this modern wasteland

sea change… put Bob Dylan on the radio

folk music to cure political evils

i don’t have any agenda

besides trying to light this cigarette in the wind

pimp some butterflies… dog & his bone

she never really ever needed to undress

the way her legs looked as she tiptoed & swayed

did the trick…

her legs, her hair flitting about

the way her shirt flowed over her thin wrists

that said it all…

it was all more than enough

i was always already

at some distantly known peak

somewhere a spliff takes you

with a 6 pack of beer in my hand

on the way to nowhere

slowly, slowly,

quickly, quickly

honey, i’m home

finally made it & i never really ever had to think

little makeshift garden in the coffee shop corner

bloom within & without

the angel dances on the moon

frost dwells on her lips

cinnamon scented leaves

the farmer waits for harvest

a little tune travels the midnight air

basking in misted dew

little shoulder slumps

backstreet alley way spliff hits

and the whole town never sleeps

first hints of dawn sun to chilled 3 a.m. air

all the same… someone’s always up & going

the newborn baby, the dying man

grandma still smokes even with lung cancer

nothing was ever going to get her down

secret not so secret little cherished treasures

the boyfriend’s hoodie she never takes off

cigarettes lit out on the fire escape

falling in love in mental hospitals

everyone’s half delusional enough to live

been to the bar so much in life

jus for pool, darts & coffee they had in a pot

now i want a dart board & pool table

maybe it’s all show, some sort of ambience

like the initial vibe you get anywhere

MTV & ski films on the television

skateboards & vinyl records on the walls

it could all be so cool

find your sacred space to cultivate

cleanse the space with incense or whatever

christening a makeshift abode to dwell in

all we had ever was our senses & environment

some enemies & some friends

little stupid substances & little stupid thoughts

infinite space in music & poetry & film

cozy love forever more, cozy love forever more

we sat back of the theatre

she cried a bit

we’d make out in the car later that night

something to find comfort in

guess she found some solace in me

one moment she’s crying into my shoulder

the next moment she’s nuzzling into my cheek

her kisses are soft…

light as a feather angel kisses

the film was about some girl & her brothers

how she was always their rock in hard times

she was the glue that kept everything together

but the brothers were always preoccupied

one with girls, one with drugs, one with work

she felt like the one with girls kinda replaced her

with the girl he was into that week… that year

the one with the drugs overdosed, nearly dying

the one with work lost his job & was giving up

she felt the weight of the world on her shoulders

as if she couldn’t live for herself anymore

she was so busy consoling her brothers & others

her love life fell through the cracks

almost nonexistent & dead on arrival

she worked a double & tried to keep in touch

but she ended up breaking down half way through the film & spent time in a facility

for the first time, she couldn’t be there for others

she lost herself in her empathy for others

surely selfless, but at what expense?

taxing on the soul, mind & body

seeing their sis suffer opened the brothers’ eyes the one with drugs went to rehab & recovered

the one with girls broke up with his girlfriend,

taking some time to focus on himself & family

and the one always busy with work ended up settling down, taking a more casual part time job

the day their sis got out of the hospital, they all were waiting for her in the car with flowers, as well as some chocolate & chai tea from the café

from then on they spent every weekend together

over at one of their places watching shows, reading magazines, listening to music, etc.

she looked at them during a game of cards…

drinking her wine, feeling so cozy & warm

almost sleepily content deep in her bones

thinking, “i missed this… even while it’s all so perfect, it feels like i could miss it. i’ll always miss this. i hope days like this last into eternity.”

coffee stains on my shirt

cigarettes in the ash tray

holy bible on the dresser

no longer need a girl

drug scars on my face

baggie hoodie on me

music helps the process

another day to make the most of it

altar to the most high

wear something nice

do little nice things for myself

everyone working a 9-5

and i’m jus sitting around

with my disability check

nothing’s on TV

love of all things simple

maybe it’s hard to love me

maybe there’s not much to love

me & my carhartt & vans

i hop into the corner store

pick up my pack of smokes

maybe a nitro cold brew & i’m on my way

merry sort of folks down by the lake

morning strolls

afternoon strolls

evening strolls

they roll by & they’re all the same

existence goes to the flow of each drag

life is a blessing

unlock new levels

write more poetry, make music

wear cool shit, do dope shit

operate at a high frequency

jus meditate on nothingness

acknowledge your higher self

divine energy always desired

reject all forms of lower level energy

the mountains call out to me in stillness

glacier snow cold invites me into its arms

the palace of Heaven awaits

but first i must give up all forms of sin

sloth, lust, etc.

art is our way of praising the Lord

my druggie era is hung up to dry

liquor jus stays on the shelf

feeling like an old dog

all of my tricks used up

used to like smoking cigarettes

now it just feels cliché

like something i’m forced to do

i remember the feeling of getting high

yea, i miss that feeling a lot

used to always chase the high

now i don’t know what i’m after

truthfully i don’t really want to do anything

i jus toss on music to have on in the background

and read or jot down some thoughts

life jus moves too slowly

like i’m waiting for something to happen

and nothing ever does

lonely feelings trickle down

i want to go on some dirty site online

but i’m over it

it’s best to avoid lust for spiritual reasons

fuck if i know those spiritual reasons

maybe cleansing auras & enhancing chakras

plus God detests sin

and to attain any semblance of Heaven

we must act in accordance with God’s will

sin may seem like a vague concept

but we inherently understand its meaning

sometimes we ignore momentary pleasure

in pursuit of a higher long term purpose

energy shifts as you make impending moves

no doubt music festivals happening all year

jump into the orbit of high energy high above

when way up in the clouds, find eventual balance

coexistence with this higher state is necessary

to attain a sense of serene euphoric Nirvana

the miracle lies in creating space within space

Smoke Cleared Air

draped in its dewy undertones

the early afternoon asks nothing of us

no smoke & mirrors, no games played

jus smoke & clouds, fade in the shade

counterparts nowhere to be found

the earth in its early genesis

some zen monk would wish me well

this deep seated contentment in anything

peace found only in symphony of sound

drugs were always a topic of conversation

so was the condensation dripping off the roof

cigarettes a moment’s abiding sanctuary

guess this is the beginning of newfound celibacy

life is nothing without God. Most High.

the only way to be even a fraction of who He is

is to honor Him with every waking move

find me at the graveyard smoking, sipping coffee

odes to a billion things at once

she didn’t need much, jus a book & tea

i don’t need much

…jus coffee, smokes, music & decompression

i found God in music & an overcast day

GPS DEAD ZONE

we walked aimlessly through the streets, rain fresh glazed on the concrete. we weren’t going really far. he smoked a doobie. the cops were on patrol. i lit up a smoke & bought a coffee at the corner store… anything to do something yet nothing. no money besides $9.08. no loitering signs outside. The women came out & gestured us to move on along. a cute kitty came up to us next to an abandoned house. hopefully he had food & a place to crash like our hapless homeless souls. this girl at the bookstore was dressed to impress, gothic fishnets & all. jus sitting around now… nothing on the agenda. life is starting to come together — moving into my own condo in a month. two packs of Marlboro Reds, some benzodiazepines & i’m set. Come & smoke with me. Come & die with me. the birds are all hibernating. i hibernate too. in my hoodie. i wash up. smoke. sip some coffee. listen to music. life’s alright sometimes when you don’t look too deep into it. winter break & solstice beckons good cheer. i sit in vague hopes for a spot to call my own, music booming off the subwoofer. call me what you want, but all i ever needed was to write to music. the boys are all telling war stories, watching some show. i’m out of sight in the back room, cranking listening to loud tunes. nightmare through back alley streets ends here. she smokes, the air trickling out the open window. i’m sipping another coffee after popping two pills. nobody’s mourning me. i sit at the table, inhale morning air & say a prayer to the Heavenly Father. why is everyone so preoccupied. i am too. i really do need to head to the mall for some retail therapy. it’d do me well. but i been broke. at least my music bangs. this is all so futile, they said. what are you so mad about. Rollie cigarette & some tea. The film has no place here. maybe i’ll start filming aesthetic shit on a camcorder. life’s about the little things. hydrate.

777

i tried to tell you i’m worthless

find me at the local thrift shop

the cigarettes don’t satisfy anymore

all these things we do all day

nothing really does anything

numb, jaded, scarred

better off jus quitting the whole thing

but i’ll always write in hopes you read

words mean little unless written down

some poetry goes unsaid

some is in the way we move

when i die, leave a cigarette at the grave

i promise you it’s all worth it

jus reading a good book goes a long way

she told me to leave the light on

i left it on & went to sleep on a starry night

all was alright, all was alright

if i’m in any way a genius, so are you

Punk is on the streets

Grunge is within the attire

Everything died except for ink

Death is the new .wav

do what we can to entertain in this life

Yin & Yang on time for all things

BEAT DA GONG

we made it this far, didn’t we?

the trauma factory still runs

operating at full capacity

dress well i guess

die young i guess

fashion kills in a good way

spoils of war

why does the War on Drugs exist

standing on the corner

waiting in the midst of misty fog

i’m jus waiting for the come up

in the trap house with nothing

$100 & a dream

life has all but ended for me

smoke… smoke… smoke…

there is nothing for me here

we are rotten to the core

and there’s beauty to that

dead boy walking all haphazardly

looking for the next thing to hit up

cute girl hardly strikes his imagination

he needs a hit of something… anything

i need a new hoodie to die in

a new place to drown in

you really think i care about anything?

all i need is music & God & family

they got me covered

find a hole in the wall to bump

decrepit little loneliness of life

the musings of an old man

i promise you, a coffee cures the head

new pair of shoes to impress her

flirt with death, she flirts back

i’m otw… coming up

aren’t we all jus in a never ending line

at some stupid little convenience store?

what do you need?

some tobacco & a new lease on life

we got the tobacco

comes out to your life’s savings

i hope you’re okay all in on the bag

i’m okay with next to nothing

find me living it up in a ghost land

field of dreams, lake of stars

recession hits & the drugs do too

take me to the moon with you

take me to the moon

CEMETERY BLUNTS

sit there in discontent

where does this discontent stem from?

why is it that nothing ever lasts

blunt guts spilled on the soil

the garden blooms over frosted isles

she sits within winter’s lanterned park

scratches her initials into tree bark

along with her bfs

glances shrewdly back & forth

the star lights up the tips of all things

all around, embers of promise

she smokes some angelic spliff

almost took her soul away

she’s butterfly in flight

her boy comes & sits on the swing

they dance & howl at the moon

the world is broken

so laugh more, dance more, howl more

flights within… first class residential

there’s ways to bypass the bullshit

i see right through the deception

nothing but charades

players got to play or they’ll be played

my dear muse, don’t die

i’m all but dead underneath the willow tree

Voidspill

Intelligence is all who you ask

Books say a lot… say nothing too

Write so much for what

we’re all jus trying to pass the time

Good riddance

Get rid of it all

Good to catch up

She caught my eye

Needle in the haystack

this rubbish is all you’ll ever need to read

Jet planes overhead

The government is listening in

i hope i didn’t lose you in my folly

Excitement over things ahead

The tea pot is boiling over

You barely jus entered

i’m exiting

Iced gingerbread chai in hand

everything they sell u is a lie

BEWARE THE DOG

There’s this man comes off his balcony every morning without fail to collect his mail & pick up the paper the messenger sent flying his way. he reads some of the top headlines & heads out back to tend his garden. seems like everyone has something they do as if from memory every morning. i wake up & instead of the morning paper, i read a chapter of a book & listen to my playlist — all TeamSesh instrumentals (Drew the Architect, Cat Soup & Drip-133) — on repeat. i write the usual things, about girls & drugs & smoking cigarettes on rooftops & drinking coffee from the corner store down the street. it’s all played out. life’s played out. One long drawn out AA meeting. the old man walks on over & throws on the golf channel. he’s always watching golf, dressed like he’s ready for 18 holes & church. the girls down at the church can make even the most devout Christian boy weak in the knees. Hell, even the grandpa’s weak in the knees, mostly for other reasons. the books i read all try too hard to say something. Meanwhile, i’m trying to write the book on nothing. In the same vein, getting high leaves you without a care in the world for hours on end. i don’t need any new friends & i don’t need any new hobbies. i’m starting to sink comfortably & complacently into my depression. drugs would help, but they come & go. at least i got a pack of smokes & a thought that maybe all anyone ever needed was a good playlist, an iced out outfit they’re wearing, a little vice to take the edge off & one good thought running through their heads. i promise you, depression isn’t too bad once you sink into it. It’s okay to be sad.

It’s not your fault, son… it’s not your fault.

LIFE IS A HUMAN TRAUMA FACTORY

timeless beauty

aesthetic intricacy

absorbed, expelled

death, standstill

space to create

numbness treated

a cure to all things

broken telephone

we’re good for nothing

we’re all a disgrace

once you realize futility

you can move on up

ego void

solitude deep dwelling blankness

sheath of paper

burn all the books

save 30 of them

broken hearted celibate

this is all useless

i write to no audience

we all do

world full of ghosts

no soul death

gloomy atmosphere

where do the wild things go

down below freezing

smoke 22 more

sip water only

read what you can

wisdom is knowledge deciphered

we are human trauma factories

what good is money

light up a cigarette

toss your funds to the wind

we are death beds in waiting

toxicity abounds all around

write to fend off the white witch

she tells you that you will die

first let me sip on my coffee

smoking leads to death

so does living

broken half shelled frame

once you realize futility, the world opens up

The Way I Want to Escape

Useless fugitive on the run

This music gets me by

I’d rather talk less, say more

So many of the homies smoking dope

i’m lost in nicotine clouds

May as well be a million miles from here

Taxi driver take me anywhere

Anywhere but here

This really jus is shelter for the moment

You really are beautifully drudged

How could anyone care about me?

Why do my mom & sis love me?

There’s an epiphany to depression

Smoke something, sip something

Meditative states… sleeping in waking hours

99% of life is pure bullshit

i’m nothing without my typewriter, cig & music

soothing earl grey, trying to stay afloat

life’s beautiful off of the drugs

i’m off of the drugs… staying off

i died a million times already

someone asking me something

they want to bum a smoke

you won’t find the solution here

i’m jus broken… a broken sad machine

i’m sorry sir, i could care less about this

go hassle someone else

never stop learning, he told me

this whole thing’s going nowhere

but we going up

i need a bud light

i need a girl to tuck me into bed

i need the end to nonsense

speakers playing loud in the condo

typewriter jingling away

break your phone…

no use to connect to the external

reason we exist to find ourselves

they’re all leeches sent to drain

purity in energy

delete your socials

you never were good for much

damn you used to be so tough

soft skin, her auburn hair & golden eyes

drain me, drain me, drain me

i want to sleep for an eternity

patience little wounded grasshopper

tending pain caught in the loins

all these things so useless

don’t you see the futility in the game you play

the girl didn’t want a second date

she jus wanted whatever the first was

life drags on… need space to create

the wall goes blank

start anew

they know nothing about you

time to go to a lonely house in the woods

lightness of being, the sacredness of energy

i write because this shit don’t make sense

i listen to music because without there’s nothing

empty inside… the world’s cold

gold in the perfect spots

writing is like architecture. precise enough.

listen to Drew the Architect…

…you might be happier.

disappearance of a soul

the bridge to other lands

a smoke atop the lofty peak

i reach into the glovebox for the pack

unlock the safe to the bag & cash stack

what’s the deal with all the broken hearts

lonesome blues keep people a fuss

they broke me jus want loud tunes

quiet room… head spins & goes zoom

underneath the willow tree reading nothing

he played the tune that quieted the revolution

there’s no revolution here, jus me & my smoke

if you have to be blunt about it

settling in, the skies change minimally

the people still rambling on

about the same tiresome tired thing

take a hike to Everest in your head

nothing came before something

the decency of common folk

i get a coffee to heal my head

girls have always been the cutest

find me writing in my abode

already planning for retirement

with page after page

you cast a spell on me

hope i’ll be sucked in, out & dry

you wish me dead

i jus hope to take a trip to the mall

my writings aren’t much

i want doper outfits

the camo hat, the anorak jacket

the fleece hoodie, the whatever

what you wear matters & doesn’t matter

maybe i’ll jus shop at snowboard outlets

ski brands always made the best clothes

you tell me i’m smart & dumb at the same time

brain dead baby, i’m brain dead

i’m all but gone off the face of the earth

hunker down & stack up what you got

music bumping, words flying off the typewriter

excuse me if i’m repetitive

bubbling over like a tea pot

cold weather cigarettes & warmth of toasty mug

mug shot on the new license photo

bruh what’s the point of anything

i promise you, i signed off years ago

not a recluse, jus a loner without a fuck to give

Death in Some Forlorn Waiting Room

be sure to wash up

you never know who you might meet today

that’s what my mom always said

jus the basics: a shower & a shave

if i’m not writing, know i’m bed rotting

or i’m in the graveyard smoking a cigarette

she doesn’t want to jump my bones

but she does want to smoke my last cigarette

drug scars all over my face

i need twenty more tattoos… at least

there’s burn holes in my hoodie

and coffee stains on the counter

there’s nobody to confide in around here

a dearth of feminine energy

pack of smokes & benzodiazepines

anything to catch a breath & rid of this anxiety

the Rottweiler is always barking across the fence

life is suffering… i called out to you in pain

the stereo plays a broken record

this world spins so sadly & madly on

death comes to us all in due time

the reaper will meet me at my most willing

please take me, i’ll say

and he’ll say come with me in a friendly manner

the dogs are all bark, no bite

guess i jus need to hit the mall a few more times

the sun hides in grey mist shadows today

i was never too keen on small talk

drink more water & less coffee

if you want to stay alive

i’m wanted dead or alive

i’m nothing but a pile of bones

you could kill me whenever, i’m fine with it

my predicament is boredom & lack of dopamine

i walk, more or less hobble, down the corridor

castle walls rise up & flutes play a symphony

laying in bed like it’s a coffin in a trap house

the kittens scratch, purr, chase & hop up

hopped up on catnip

the wolves howl at the midnight moon

marauders basking in companionship

four horsemen & the angels of death

they call out to me in the sober somber cemetery

i never really wanted this life

i’d rather get high & i jus might

who drinks water cold anyways?

i’d prefer a hot tea or iced coffee

what is life without music? Hell

where can we find Heaven? substance… love

my family loves when i’m sober

i absolutely abhor being sober

the news & state of affairs really goes in circles

people are so ridiculous & not with the shit

they’ll buy & latch onto anything

My Bloody Valentine

that’s what i want to listen to

get lost in the noise drowsily

letting the sound soak in as i drift into the void

you ever care to think nobody really cares

this whole world factors down to a transaction

a mutual deal

must have sold my soul… for what?

one more hit of dope, maybe

this guy mentioned trap metal

i mentioned trip hop

all something to drown out static & white noise

what do you envision yourself doing in 10 years

prolly the same thing i’m doing now & always

smokes, coffee, tea, writing, reading, music

little ritualistic pleasures to escape the mundane

always dress like you’re going to a music festival

you’ll probably be happier in those outfits

everyday could mirror a music festival

channel a feeling beyond the utter standstill

i think i found Heaven

then there’s the Afterlife

i smoke a cigarette in the cold & feel like a ghost

it’s not as far away as one might think

DEATH LEADS TO ETHEREAL AWAKENING

AND YOU’RE WORRIED ABOUT THE MARKET

I’M WORKING ON DYING ONE WITH THE STARS

be as it may, your energy chips away progress

too tight for any kinetic natural flowing synergy

hold on sir, you act like some alien creature

robots & aliens are invading & i could care less

cute girl in the corner of the coffee shop

the usual: cold brew with oat milk

and i’m back outside… four puffs & a sip

the warmth somehow chills my bones

this map is of no help

the answer is being alright with nothing

and working up from there

stupid stupid cravings stupid stupid life

wasted before noon

wasting away as if this all matters

beauty to the enigma

a war on drugs has been waged for years

quick exchange from hand to hands

high for the night… the ride jus begun

my heart is in pieces no girl could pick up

the war has always been in my head

to get out, i jus take a walk anywhere

but right now… bedside music & tea

read what i wrote for the garbage man

some liquor never hurt anyone

get cozy, hunker down & bundle up

nothing else to do but dip out & smoke

find the will to do nothing & everything

black chai tea meditation

i hope she doesn’t expect too much

i’m not much for idle conversation

stuck in place, music breathes life

we never really die… my words forever

break the hex, witch spell & curse

to move forward, you got to fine tune the current

lots of pointless shit besides caffeine & nicotine

as well as music & written prose

write it down, nobody wants any bickering

nature looks pretty decent in its wintry skin

say a prayer for the homies we lost

smoke another one & wait till it’s time

until it’s time for something… anything

but nothing ever happens

i guess that’s the point of what i do

doing something that’s really nothing

music fuels the zen bits of Nirvana

we’re already dead

accept what comes next

death at the typewriter wouldn’t be too bad

this is death in some forlorn waiting room

I graduated from a cute vigorously little Catholic high school around the OC area in San Juan Capistrano — living in infinity pool paradise & so too an infinitely costly & extra altogether rewarding, relieving & hustling & bustling crib funded by none other than my mom & step dad, living with the spouses & my amazing sis

— mom & sis both infinitely & forever my angels — as well as two of the dopest step brothers around… with my dad a few cities over, never too far away, an intelligently sincere & humorously wise man who would always show me what’s important: to just have fun… my whole family showed me that.

My stepdad showed me life requires a dose of responsibility & being accountable for actions… that actions speak louder than words — as I write & write & then write some more. My beautiful best friend soul-linked kind of ex of mine once asked me: what do great writers do? I had no idea.

She clued me in with a simple response which I never quite understood until a realization dawned on me a few months to half year or so ago: ‘great writers write’

— I’ve had two girlfriends… so far at least, my ride or dies in their own way, the first lasting just under 3 years of ups & downs & a little over 3 years so far as the other went: they helped to guide me to my next shot, next kiss, next miss & back for another shot & maybe sometimes I’d sink a basket.

I played Varsity Athletics — basketball & volleyball — and earned a 4.17 GPA, studying Cultural Geography, AP Biology, AP European History, AP Language, AP Literature, AP French & Trigonometry or Calculus or whatever (I was failing math… badly, falling asleep on my book, drooling & knocking my textbook materials over off of my desk after early morning rises, not wanting to hit the snooze on the alarm clock & clocking in to hit the gym with my fellow teammates & coach Tim before the classes, the girls, the home made snack & lunch, hydrating on plenty of water), always carrying my Nalgene bottle around so I’d be able to dash on the basketball court & run dive lines on the volleyball court

— all the same court… just a different day, different game. Who’s to say you won’t get a kiss from your first true, almost more infatuating kind of love on the way back home after asking her out to Homecoming with one rose & a cute little letter with a picture of two little kids on a swing & all of that… she was all I ever wanted on my sweet 16th, as well as a car & a good game out on the sand volleyball courts.

Catholic school definitely poses challenges & some restrictions & not a whole lot of lax & leisure to say the least, but the uniforms & outfits always were kind of cool — the routine of it all kind of constantly a sprint from class to class saying hi to the homies who you saw everyday with maybe a little nun like ruler wrist slap every now & then… the best was behind us… a lot was in the near future, but the story was really just starting to be written & come to fruition.

Life was opening a window with a key to so many new experiences in the future.

Alongside of my first GF, I got the acceptance letter to University of California, Davis & enrolled for the Fall Quarter of 2012… ensuing concerts & maybe diving in to this substance & that, being hazed & faking like I really actually wanted to be in a fraternity. I sipped coffee & dipped out of Greek Life so I could focus on the little things — coffee, quiet reads & little walks & wine on the grassy lawn & working as a barista of sorts at the ASUCD Coffee House. My GF & I went to a Halloween Costume Day Drinking Party with white t-shirts on that said ‘Extra Virgin Olive Oil’.

So funny and yes… you guessed it. I was still a virgin. She was Catholic after all. Whatever, it was never too much of a priority for me anyways.

But the girls come & the girls go, like similarly eventual cigarettes would always come, the pack would run low & there I was making my way over to the corner store to pick up some more… a little pick me up, a little score.

I’d watch sports at bars, drinking craft beers, hazy, stout, IPA, but really just liked light beer — Corona, Pacifico, Bud Light & things of that nature. I started collecting vinyl records, CDs & cassettes, going to all the coolest record stores & coffee shops & dive bars & hookah lounges & matcha shops & farmer’s markets, etc. with my second girlfriend (there’s been about four, but she was the last lasting so impactful in her way in the span of the last 31 years… just two that lasted any kind of expanded, extended, seemingly limitless & life altering imbued heartfelt & eventually heartbreaking kind of way).

Quarter Systems were quick, but it took me 6 years to graduate. Davis ended up being the best time in my life from Ski or Snowboard Club in 2016 to the SoundCloud era of 2017 to graduating… 4.17 to about a 3.0 with a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology. I had experimented with about 2 dozen majors — so many options from Brewing classes to Viticulture to Advanced Journalism courses on the ‘next .wav of the degenerate generation’ to Landscape Architecture & Sociology. My girlfriend — my best friend & love of my life — went along on adventures with me from Orange County to Yosemite to Bay Area nights & New York mornings & Marin homie hangouts.

The whole experience was so cool.

A couple years went by & I was living on my own again. She got married… for the best — definitely ended up working out alright because I got a three year job as a barista & sandwich artist & flatbread chef at a market on the West Shore of Tahoe.

I believe my ex Gabs may have semi recently received a PhD. I guess she went after her dream of being in the therapy or psychiatry field after getting her Masters & Bachelors of Science with similar, almost even more refined success than my first girlfriend. She really did that. I’m so stoked for her. She really made that happen. We both did.

I produced music on the digital audio workspace Ableton while with her from 2016-2020, utilizing looped samples & audio clips from popular TV shows & classic films. I love you LS. I love you Gabs. I love all of my exes. I love my fam first & foremost & God & all of the day one homies. And I also love all of you for checking this out, whether you dive into the extensive readings — a poetry collection & fiction novel — or you decide, instead to come back some other day.

Maybe you never get around to my little writings or a piece doesn’t strike a chord or a note… cute little sentiment; hopefully these reach you well & at peace internally relative to all of the external surroundings influencing our day to day in the Galaxy & Universe, Mother Nature & the eminent ecstasy in Afterlife… elusive Nirvana no longer elusive anymore, moments away.

Thanks for taking the time out of your day to read. As a creative artist, I love to create art. The more the merrier. So the more the merrier take in the experience of it all with me on this little side project — not really even a hustle…just the hobby I would do forever if I could, probably would, and yeah… I probably will forever do indefinitely.

You can find me in Reno, Nevada currently, writing, producing, envisioning filming some grunge hood rat skate inspired film on a camcorder one day & playing guitar… metaphorically kind of skating by, skirting out, sipping, smoking & vibing. To those I love, thank you for sticking around.

Stay Blest