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creations

  • heterodox domain
    new words in old styles tracked on a canvas of brick scribbled by artists  who failed at art school. a presentation of names  ...
  • why hurricanes are named after people
    fear was quiet, she kept to herself.  she was the type of girl people read books about.  fear wore a cross necklace every day but she d...
  • until daylight apologizes
    we've managed to connect stars into constellations and feelings into words and we've memorized the night sky  based upon the l...
  • symphony no. 18
    at four years old my fingers touched the keys for the first time and i wondered why the only song i could play was called "chops...
  • dictionary
    in fifth grade english class we had to bring books to school. i always forgot mine so my teacher made me read the dictionary words on w...
  • tribute to rosyln
    i apologize mother maybe you've only seen black and white but god is the best artist   because hideous dangers are ...
  • a letter to myself.
    days are going by faster now, the nights are longer, the morning breeze is colder. the wind blows on my newly showered ears, stic...
  • because we are anchored in bones
  • what about track two?
    you know those songs in the middle of the album, the ones that people don't know about.  the ones where you really have to try to f...
  • ..and so i just kept writing to myself
    january 12th, 2014 : i haven't slept through the night in probably a year  january 19th, 2014 : alright. story time.  february 2nd, ...

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agnes obel
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agnes obel

[brooklyn chase]


Nobody taught her that she doesn't have to die with every unsteady breath,
And nobody taught her that "fuck you" doesn't mean "I love you"

She's watching herself go wild
She's watching herself go without any place to come back to

Her heart beats so deep beneath all the sheets of pain
I could give every tear she's crying a name
Eyes swollen shut and gut too anxious to take food,
She goes again

He cuts her up and looks inside
But she takes it lightly
And she speaks quietly

Because he will always be
Just another boy
Who takes what he wants from her

When he got what he wanted,
He says she's the right person but it's the wrong time
She has all the time in the world when it comes to him
But he has none when it comes to her

She thought he could save her
But he just drowned her
In alcohol
And long apologies after explosive arguments
And threats to break up
Threats to beat up

Mistrust became her gospel, fear her bible
She stopped believing in heaven
And she stopped believing that anything good
Could be beyond this place

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barbed wire coils itself precariously around the edges of the prison
it can be difficult to tell 
what they are trying to keep in,
and what they are trying to keep out

chain-linked fences standing upright as soldiers do.
only what they are told,
only what they have convinced themselves they are built for.
but is anything built for what it ultimately becomes

they have been defined as the single worst thing they have ever done
we don't remember that they are brothers,
husbands,
fathers,
friends.
we don't remember that they are people worth remembering.

it's the sort of thing that reminds them that they once existed beyond this place,
and they still do. 

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if the grow up committee asks,

tell them i still remember my first day of kindergarten 

and i hate spending money, 

because i'm afraid of letting things go. 

tell them i still use coloring books

and that i play with my food when i'm full.

tell them i haven't forgotten my favorite lullaby, 

but i can't remember the quadratic formula

tell them i'm old enough to see r rated movies

but not old enough to make that choice because

i'm no longer a child

but not yet an adult.  

tell them my heart is scattered on all sides of the globe 

and my mind can be a million places at once

but people tell me im a good listener. 

tell them my cap and gown are a few sizes too big 

and my dreams seem to be out of stock

but i haven't given up yet. 

tell them i'm taking bigger steps every chance i get,

and that im tired. 

tell them that you think i'm ready,

and tell them

well maybe don't tell them, 

that i'm not. 






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i apologize mother

maybe you've only seen black and white

but god is the best artist 

because hideous dangers are always decorated beautifully.

your words are only the stitches,

so i won't keep trying to immunize with avoidance

and i'll be better at distinguishing my dreams from 
my conscious life.

please hear me,

i'm burning the fears out of my head

because my prayers are only whispered after midnight.

so if you must bleed, your scars you must keep

and if you must die, die with the things that kept you 
alive.

because everything can be even more beautiful 
when they're dying. 

-rosyln luna grey
(emily moyle)






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we've managed to connect stars into constellations
and feelings into words

and we've memorized the night sky 
based upon the location of the north star

and we are all moving,
changing.



we are running back home to tell everyone about our 
trip to paris. 

but just remember,

wherever you are, i am too
just put your thumb to the moon

and even though the sun returns too soon,
darkness comes back. 

aquarius, orion, cornelia boom, harold miner
up there already.

they're reminders always above our heads,
of the six feet beneath our own

but i hope that someday, 
we will live among the skies too

so the next time you look at the stars,
know they look back 

making constellations of us too.











Brooklyn Chase 

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at four years old my fingers
touched the keys for the first time
and i wondered why the only song i could play
was called "chopsticks"

six years old i was finally big enough 
to tell people i play,
without them thinking i was kidding

ten years old i wrote down 
"musician" when asked to 
describe myself in one word 

 eleven years old i learned to 
express my feelings 
in scales and chords

at thirteen i quit lessons 
because it wasn't cool anymore

fifteen years old i thought 
that the guitar
could make me feel the same way

sixteen years old i forgot
that my outlet contained 52 white keys
and 36 black

seventeen years old i played for him, 
because i never did 
when he was on this side of the country


eighteen years young i am playing for me,

and i don't care who's listening




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in fifth grade english class we had to bring books to school.
i always forgot mine so my teacher made me read the dictionary

words on words on words i didn't understand i'd always end up staring at the ceiling tiles.

there was a word for that. 

daydream [noun]: a series of pleasant thoughts that distract one's attention from the present.

at one point i felt sorry for all the other kids in my class with fiction books because i was learning more words 
while they were learning more lies 

maybe junie b jones just wanted to be smart. 
maybe nancy drew didn't figure out the mystery. 
maybe i picked the wrong path in goosebumps, well i guess you die either way 

and everybody has a chapter they don't read out loud i understand that,
but you. 

you left out chapter one,
and chapter six,
chapter ten, seventeen, twenty one

you left out the prologue. 

and when i said read to me 
you said, "just for a minute"

but to me it sounded like you just memorized the words 

 you said, 
you said,
you said so many words that i swear used super glue to stick
themselves inside my brain
and oh how i wish i had enough acetone to get them off. 

you said you were insecure because you weren't strong enough
but apparently you had the strength to lie to my face.

and i don't know if i believe the dictionary anymore,
my daydreams don't seem very pleasant


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january 12th, 2014: i haven't slept through the night in probably a year 

january 19th, 2014: alright. story time. 

february 2nd, 2014: okay this week didn't start off very well 

july 18th, 2014: yes i know its 4 am. 

july 20th, 2014: i've had way too much free time 

july 24th, 2014: i miss home.

july 30th, 2014: na yalo ni noda kalou 

july 31st, 2014: i never want to go home. 

september 26th, 2014: most nights at 2 am i wonder where i'll be in five. ten. fifteen years.  other nights at 2am i wonder if i'll make it that far. 

october 18th, 2014: thats it for this week i think... JUST KIDDING I FORGOT ABOUT WEDNESDAY

october 27th, 2014: this is too happy. it doesn't feel real. 

november 23rd, 2014: i had to wipe the dust off of this journal today  

january 15th, 2015: "what i said about us, was the truest thing i've ever said in my life" 

february 26th, 2015: he told everyone to come over asap, we all knew something bad happened. 

april 4th, 2015: i'm on a plane. 

june 2nd, 2014: i haven't written in so long and its giving me anxiety

june 19th, 2015: 11 days.  81 days. 

june 27th, 2015: i can't help myself but regret not spending more time with him. 

june 28th, 2015: man it felt so good to be back in his arms. 

june 30th, 2015: time is flying. 

july 1st, 2015: definitely not prepared for that. but anyways... day 1 of 730.

august 17th, 2015: i've had a really rough couple days, sometimes i think a couple weeks. 

september 9th, 2015: i feel broken. 

september 13th, 2015: the days drag on but they get easier.  they definitely get easier. 

september 27th, 2015: i'm having a writers block for my own life is that even a thing 











october 11th, 2015: another goodbye. 

october 27th, 2015: WHY

november 8th, 2015: i'm okay. 

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boys cry

cigarettes do kill,

parents lie

boats sink

flowers die

life goes on,

with or without you. 

be easy 

take your time.

you are coming home to yourself. 



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fear was quiet,
she kept to herself. 
she was the type of girl people read books about. 
fear wore a cross necklace every day
but she didn't believe in god. 

fear always wore socks, 
because she never knew when her feet might get cold.
she wore 3 rings 
but she would never put them on her middle finger.
and she never let her feet hang off the side of the bed.


her family motto was "live to the fullest"
they thought it was clever because their last name was ful. 

on her phone at family reunions,
head down in the hallways,
by herself in the lunchroom,
windows down but no music playing in the parking lot.

fear was never the type of person to believe in love, 
her wallpaper on her phone proved it.
and she believed that anyone would lose their mind trying to understand hers. 

but he was the type of person to call take out for her,
only every other time.
he forced her into thinking those monsters were inside her head,
not under her bed.

she started to believe that it was okay to go barefoot,
it was okay to take the sheets off for once.
fear learned that it was okay to outgrow people.

she looked for him in the hallways, 
invited him to family reunions, 
and fear made sure to blast her music so loud in the parking lot because she knew he would hear. 

he taught her in ways no teacher could,
he loved her in ways no mother could.

when he left, 
fear changed. 
fear disappeared.
fear moved away, 
and she changed her last name to less.
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days are going by faster now,
the nights are longer,
the morning breeze is colder.

the wind blows on my newly showered ears,
sticking to my worn out, homework drained hands.

and i want you to think.

think about how the world is crumbling around you, one building at a time.
think about how guns ring in distant lands,
and how people are breaking promises more than they're breaking bones.

think about how that little nothing,
really meant everything. 

think about here and now.

and its the here and the now, 
and the there and the then 

but only two months ago i saw my nieces face for the first time,
and i couldn't help but think that maybe heaven is not something you need to die to get to.

and I'm still trying to hold onto this helium balloon called happiness, 

but remember, 

remember that we live for the sound
of the moments,

the moments that make us feel alive.

and i wonder.

i wonder if on the other side of the world,



on a dirt floor, 
with a lightbulb hanging from a string,

if they can hear it too.

and every day,
i'm learning what it means to be alive,
without being whole.

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new words in old styles
tracked on a canvas of brick
scribbled by artists 
who failed at art school.



a presentation of names 
written incredibly wrong,
plain to the system
that failed.

we pause at a piece 
written in beautiful paint
dotted so carefully
white streaked on black,
black streaked on white.



we might even pause 
long enough to take a picture
of the rebellion,
the opposition.



we let them loose.
but are they to blame?

they play their own part,

and it doesn't matter because

its all a poem 
the city writes to itself. 








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you roll out of bed eyes too swollen to see but your mother is cooking you breakfast, trying to ease the pain. 

your dad pulls you in for a hug and kisses your head but the only thing on your mind is the goodbye. the can't walk, can't talk, can't stand up, can't breathe goodbye. 

nobody will protect you from your suffering. you can't cry it away or punch it away or even therapy it away. its just there, and you have to survive it. you have to endure it. 

you have to live through it and love it and move on and be better for it and run as far as you can in the direction of your best and happiest dreams across the bridge that was built by your own desire to heal.


when your heart broke it was completely silent. 

you would think as its so important it would make the loudest sound in the whole world, or even have some sort of ceremonious sound like the gong of a cymbal or the ringing of a bell. 

but its silent and you almost wish there was a noise to distract you from the pain. 
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i want to write a novel.


a novel about silence.
about the things people don't say.

 i want to write a novel about your thoughts.
about my thoughts.

about the courage i never had,
and about the love that never left.




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mother don't worry, i've got some money i saved for the weekend
mother forgive me, i sold your car for the shoes that i gave you
mother don't worry, i've got a coat and some friends on the corner
so may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten
sons are like birds, flying upwards over the mountain
-iron and wine 
tell me this
does any of this love exist
or is it just a fire
keeping out the cold
fear of the unknown 
turning us to coal 
-whitaker 
don't want the world to know i'm by myself
don't want the world to know i'm on your shelf
there's no coloring around us anymore,
you either know or you don't
-kevin garrett
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18 months.
540 days.
32,400 minutes.
1,944,000 seconds.

created from debris.

only with the leftovers.
the rebounds.

the side we see is bright,
white.

but the surface is dark,
with only a reflectance to make her pretty.

showing the same face, 
never changing. 

when it kisses the light,

only then do we get a glimpse,

only every 18 months.
540 days.
32,400 minutes.
1,944,000 seconds.


don't wait that long. 


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this year has been the hardest,
the suckiest.

fine is the suckiest word,
its the opposite of here.

here is the only place left on the map,
where you feel safe.

you can feel your past, so present

so present that you can feel your baby teeth,
and you can feel the air just above the ground
because your feet can't touch the floor.

your pain has taken up the horizon and you feel
like you're taking up too much space.

but darling let yourself be the milky way


don't worry, alone is the last place you'll ever be,

and everybody's survival looks a little bit like death. 

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one. your dad's gonna be there when no one else is.

two. do not fear to lose what needs to be lost.

three. you can't be fixed by the same person who broke you. 

four. letting people in is a good thing. 

five. broken hearts still beat.

six. broken crayons still color. 

seven. go for it. whether it ends good or bad, it was an experience.

eight. answers don't come easy. 

nine. don't expect people to understand your words, when not even you can. 



ten. not all battles are meant to be won.
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