Thursday, February 25, 2016


if there was ever a crowded room, you cleared it. you walk in and only left enough space for you. you didn't notice me for hours. you didn't know i was there or my name. but you had my full attention on november 7th. and every day after that, you had it again. 
and if you asked me, i'd go right back and make a complete fool of myself in that terrible casino bar. id let you barely talk and pass me off to your friend. i'd struggle for another 15 minutes trying to leave an impression. i'd drive home alone through that big dark valley if i knew five months later i'd hit some god damn deer driving back through it on my way home to you. id do it all over if it meant i get to call you my man. for one night, for half a year, for the rest of time my little life spends, i'll let an entire crowd go quiet, i'll barely pay dwight yoakam attention, i'll grab your arm and say something stupid as a last minute attempt… if it allows me even one more minute to watch you walk in.

the little bukowski

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

The Capacity to Be in Love

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Wood & Electricity

Friday, April 4, 2014

Salt & Sea

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

race car drivers

we grew up in a town that was always 10 years behind the rest of the world. i used to hate it for that. for the way it lulled on. the way it wasted its days knitting tumble weeds and rusting cattle gates. but now that i'm older i have so much adoration for that mountain valley. i love that it allowed me to stay little for longer and made me better at living.when you grow up in a place the reaches 105 degrees your bones fuse together and become more difficult to break. you pluck flies off the backs of horses and swing your skinny kid arms around their thick necks. and when the sun starts to set you take baked earth trails back home with the jack rabbits. you count the broken shards of beer bottles the indians left. and all your friends are descending on liquor store porches and empty school parking lots. you are like little freckled rulers of a very small forgotten country. and when that same place freezes over in the winter, you become race cars drivers. everyone drifts into intersections. everyone learns what it means to float. black ice coached us. kingsbury grade was our race. and even when you lost control, you were met and buried in a forrest.
so that is where we spent our adolescents. he was blonde and blue eyed. wore sea water glasses. his eyes constantly looked like they were at the bottom of a pool, blurred and hard to see behind the rims from such a strong prescription.

Monday, March 17, 2014


i used to catch pollywogs down in the ditches of harbor blvd. in empty plastic paint buckets. we'd tote them home in a red wagon back to where my cousins and i would watch them grow legs. summers were spent learning everything.

- no title -

the moment a man grabs your by the waist and lifts you up is the moment you fall into something deep and terrifying
when you turn around from putting your things in the car and he's there in the dim lighting of night time, smelling of wild fires.

i've spent these past seven months working my ass off. making ends meet. taking care of everyone else's happily ever ending. and i come home with just enough energy to brush my teeth and read two paragraphs of some book that's already tired of looking at my face. i come home with just enough energy to barely sleep. you get so used to that. to surviving off momentum. even your dreams take over and you're busy answering phone calls and getting your oil changed in your sleep. 
i hadn't noticed the loneliness that had pooled at the back of my eyes. little stormy seas capsizing cones and rods. to be held felt like a foreign language. it felt distant and confusing and beautiful, like something that would leave. to be held was dangerous. to be kissed was death.
but everyone wants a little death sometimes.

-the little bukowski
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