Every morning I jump out of bed and step on a landmine. The landmine is me. After the explosion, I spent the rest of the day putting the pieces together.

RAY BRADBURY

I love you crookedly because my heart’s been unhinged from birth. The doctors gave me strict instructions not to fall in love: my fragile clockwork heart would never survive. But when you gave me a dose of love so powerful - far beyond my wildest dreams - that I felt able to confront anything for you, I decided to put my life in your hands.

MATHIAS MALZIEU, THE BOY WITH THE CUCKOO-CLOCK HEAR

"I wish I had the courage not to fight and doubt everything… I wish, just once, I could say, ‘This. This is good enough.’"

—  Chuck Palahniuk 

People are always shouting they want to create a better future. It’s not true. The future is an apathetic void of no interest to anyone. The past is full of life, eager to irritate us, provoke and insult us, tempt us to destroy or repaint it. The Only reason people want to be masters of the future is to change the past.

You begin to ask yourself.. Which wolf wins?

The answer is simple..

The one you feed.

“A persons a person no matter how small”

—

Dr. Seus

What if clouds and lakes switched spots and every time you looked up you’d see waves being pulled by the moon and we’d wade through the clouds on a hot day. What if birds grew grass and the ground grew feathers. What if flowers were as tall as trees and trees as small as flowers. 

              "THE TREES CAN'T GROW WITHOUT THE SUN IN THEIR EYES AND WE CANT LIVE IF WE'RE TO AFRAID TO DIE."

It's that time. where the wind is cold. And we pull out our sweaters and cover our skin. But for me.. I cover my skin everyday. The wind doesn't have to be cold. I just have to look in the mirror. It transits into the same obscure feeling of cold. just from the inside out. 

You write so
beautifully, the
inside of your
mind must be a
terrifying place 

“And there should also be a word for when you’re just so tired of being sad, for when you are tired of being lonely but somehow don’t know how to stop. When you’re tired of crying, tired of thinking about that person, tired of missing them. You can’t yet make yourself recognize all the bad things; remembering how you’ve been done wrong doesn’t help. But the hurt over the good things, the things you still miss so much, is a dull twist in your stomach now, instead of a gaping hole in your chest. You don’t know how to turn that off, don’t remember how to be happy. But you sort of remember happiness as it existed before that person, and you want that so desperately. You want to stop this misery that drags at your ankles and eyes and insides. You know it will take time, but sometimes just the fact of being tired of crying makes you cry. Maybe we could co-opt a word from Japanese for that, since melancholy is a specialty of theirs.”

People are strange: they are constantly angered by trivial things, 

but one a major matter

like

totally waisting their lives,

They hardly seem to notice....

I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.

I think you could fall in love with anyone if you saw the parts of them no one else gets to see. Like if you followed them around invisibly for a day and saw them crying in their bed at night or singing in the shower or humming quietly to themselves as they make a sandwich or even just walking along the street. And even if they were really weird and had no friends at school, I think, after seeing them at their most vulnerable, you wouldn’t be able to help falling in love with them.

I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art — write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can.

- Neil Gaiman 

i’ve wasted pages on you

i wasted ink

and nights

that will never come back

except in the ways

of rushing headaches

and sudden nausea

when i think about all these things

the back-handed compliments 

and the way your voice would crack

when you laughed

maybe i do miss you

doesn’t matter

never did 

Oh good, 
THIS MOOD IS HERE. The one where I climb into bed. Fully clothed at 3pm and stare at the wall. 

FAN-TAS-TIC.

Me Back then. 

I never gave a damn back then, like right now. Only then had been a style, A way of existing. not a diagnosis or demise.

               I like when it rains hard. it sounds like white noise everywhere, which is like silence but not empty.

      

I used to think the worst thing in life was to end up all alone. It’s not. The worst thing in life is to end up with people who make you feel all alone.

- Robin Williams

It was so gorgeous it almost felt like sadness.

- Banana Yoshimoto, The Lake 

                                      My thoughts are stars I can't fathom into constellations.

From Left: My Sister, My mother and I

From Left: Bri,Myself,Mother and Sister

It's weird when I look at photo's of the past and recollect on all that has happened throughout this short but long life. It's sad and happy and time flies so fast. There are those you see and leave. Those you always remember, who leave an imprint on your mind and forever grow within it. Those are the people I will always love. 

You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place, I told him, like you’ll not only miss the people you love but you’ll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you’ll never be this way ever again.

- Azar Nafisi, Reading Lolita in Tehran (via caskade)

Can you remember who you were, before the world taught you who you should be?

       

                            My photography//

This is of the sky in Rainier,OR

The Sky in St.Johns,OR

This is the sky of Eugene,OR

The evening sky in Portland,OR

The Sky in Scappoose,OR

“The sky is that beautiful old parchment in which the sun and the moon keep their diary.”

—	Alfred Keymborg

I woke up in the morning and I didn't want anything, didn't do anything, 

couldn't do it anyway,

just lay there listening to the blood rush through me and it never made 

any sense, anything.

I see you in colors that don’t exist.

- Paul Matsumoto

“You remember too much,

my mother said to me recently.

Why hold onto all that? And I said,

Where can I put it down?”

—	Anne Carson, from “The Glass Essay”

              Lately my poetic mind has been blank. I can sing out loud. Scream out loud And whisper to myself. 

Every word drips from my tongue and it sounds so wonderful. But with a pencil in hand those words seem to fly away carrying themselves in the air. Maybe those word's were meant for the sky. I remember when I would write poetry all the time. Sit there and scribble out the things that where seeping in my mind. It seems as if I have no longer been giving that gift. Maybe it is for the best. but that does not mean I will ever give up. I will keep a hard grip on the pencil. 

    I had a few journals and diaries full of all my old thoughts. But when our house was engulfed in flames most of them were lost. Do you think it is supposed to be that way? perhaps they weren't meant to go on longer then they did. I wish still that I could sit down as I often did while cleaning my room and instead get lost for hours in my old writings. <3

“I’m afraid I’ll be a book that no one reads. Music that no one listens to anymore. I’m afraid I’ll be abandoned like a movie playing in an empty theater.”

—

Tablo

  

    

"Why are we embarrassed by silence? What comfort do we find 

in all the noise?" 

- Mitch Albom, Tuesdays with Morrie

Nostalgia

   One thing people do not know about me is I am usually trapped inside my mind. I am very outgoing don't get me wrong but most of the time when I am silent it is because my mind is flashing through series of images and memories of days past. I tend to get lost in my head a lot and everything around me seemingly just fades, as if I am there in my own universe. Nostalgia will be the death of me one of these days. But it is very much so bittersweet. 

    I am not sure what it is about me but when I hear something that is bad I tend to analyze it on my own life. 

I tend to dive right into the person's shoes even If I don't know them and grow from the in look of what I have felt or seen. I pry into every piece of this until it is ripped bare as I in turn become bare. It will linger on for days, weeks or even years. I have this problem in my thinking that I cannot let go of the past. Some say we need to let go. But if we do how then can we truly build from it? how can we just forget that which has made us who we are? That which gave us our pain.. our strength? Ignorance can be bliss yes.. But in the case of my memories good and bad. I would rather have them locked here inside of me no thrown away. For they have become so dear to me....

  “In Greek, “nostalgia” literally means “the pain from an old wound”. It’s a twinge in your heart, far more powerful than memory alone. This device isn’t a spaceship, it’s a time machine. It goes backwards and forwards, it takes us to a place where we ache to go again.”

—	Don Draper   (via amputance)