May 03


sleep hangs on my eyelids, a dark oily sleep, waiting to drip all over my face and body. i’ve got these feelings coming over me and being nebulous clouds me. there’s always time to kill, and i do; eradicate it like a group of frenzied crabs clawing and gnawing, with my unprejudiced scythe of indifference.

the days are like blurs, visions inspired by koyaanisqatsi, an erratic transparent line of red and white on a canvas of night and asphalt. ticks rip and suckle at my brain, schedules falling and defeating, and overcast skies sing their sweet lullabies postulating my movements from here to there. pollen sheets us, mixing with the sporadic weeping of the grey above, making me sticky, uncertain and wondering.

we curl under the covers, reminiscing and loving each other, our voices dancing the humid air we’ve created while we communicate, lost in inebriation. lands tremble and shake, and we make the distinction between fantasy and reality, realizing and dreaming and everything in between.

it was a good weekend.

May 03


i am reactionary.

house party, 3/15/00

invertebrae, 3/08/00

design house , 9/11/99

portfolio 1 , 8/11/00

portfolio 2, 8/11/00

contact, 8/11/00

philosophy, 8/11/00

pale spider, 1/10/01

i am reactionary.

May 03


feeling particularly useless today. i have no car. i haven’t slept in my own bed in two days. i have 20 cents in my pocket. i am wearing a black shirt with satan’s head on it, drawn by the illustrious k3n. i have my green cargo pants. i am wearing a hat i bought at american eagle of all places, and it got lost on halloween, was stepped on by billions of people at the logan house, and was found again. i had to do some minor training with our new intern – she seems very timid, yet enthusiastic. sounds of the empire came in, and i popped it into the computer and ripped it immediately. i have work to do, but don’t want to do it. i want to go back to new york. i want to go back to austin two years ago. i want to go back to toronto fifteen years ago. i want to write about god.