My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

I formulate infinity stored deep inside of me…

Archive for June, 2009


June 08th, 2009 | Category: Life

My head’s full of fragments of things I think about writing, but it’s just fragments, and nothing more. I can’t find my writing space, let alone decent inspiration. I’m obviously not finding the right experiences, and it’s experiences that feed my sort of writing.

I suppose I don’t have the imagination to just make stuff up. I have to make love to the right woman, or see the right tableau in the right bar, or a thousand other things that I, apparently, can’t find. I have to figure out what I’m not doing, and start doing it. I have to fight like Goddamn fucking Hell to get my life straight again. I’m twenty-eight, and I’m smart, I have no good excuse for this undeath in which I’ve been drowning.


Creative Flash updated

June 07th, 2009 | Category: Life

I finally gathered all my flash pieces and poetry into the Creative Flash section. So, if you missed anything, or you’re really bored, it’s all in one place.

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She’s all

June 07th, 2009 | Category: Attempted Poetry,Creative Flash

She’s all dark clothes, and dark hair, all goth at a glance from across the bar.

She’s sitting under a palm tree, fake and plastic, ugly against her beautiful, her pale skin, her cool blue eyes.

In all her darkness, she’s the brightest spot in the room, a shooting star in a lifeless place.

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June 06th, 2009 | Category: Life

So, I write with the intent to be honest, completely honest. Even when I’m writing fiction, I open my wrists a bit, I bleed into the writing. I write whatever’s in me. I like writing the way I write, with such transparency. I write to be known, and maybe understood. I don’t write to make people like me, or love me, or hate me. Elliott Smith once said about his writing that he didn’t write songs to make people feel a certain way, he wrote descriptions, and those descriptions could be interpreted differently. It’s an idea that really stuck with me, it’s exactly how I feel about my writing. I don’t write to inspire people, or depress the Hell out of people. I write the noise in my head, to paint something subjective, and to use my craft well.

The thing is, while I like transparency, and I’m definitely committed to it, it’s not easy. People are fine with writing about puppies, unicorns, turtles named, Kurt. Happy is fine. Suicide, depression, drugs, liquor, sex, those things are often too honest for people close to me. People want to fix me, or save me, or avoid the writing. Sometimes people get angry, frustrated that I’m often so dark. I don’t want people close to me to react badly. I don’t write to upset people, to scare people. It’s hard for people to understand that I’m practicing my craft, I’m writing what I feel until I feel something else. I don’t want to wear a mask, to write comfortable half-truths, happy lies. I used to write that way, and I hated it, it didn’t suit me. 

Transparency is difficult, but I can’t go back to anything less. I think that at the end of everything, I would regret writing differently. Darkness is all I have right now, but writing darkness feels better than writing nothing.


A Spark

June 03rd, 2009 | Category: Life

I’ve always had a spark in me, something that lights up and shoves out the darkness. For a long time, however, I haven’t felt that spark. It’s like there’s nothing in me, nothing good. I’m sick of feeling this way, and I’m getting sick of writing about it.  I just want it over, this empty feeling, but I can’t find a way to make it over. I’m tired of killing time, and going nowhere.


Tattoo #21

June 01st, 2009 | Category: Life,Tattoos

So, I’m now up to twenty-one tattoos. It’s funny, to me, how my tattoos have evolved since I started three years ago. Images that are metaphors, then words that reflect the noise in my head. Tattoos that show the light and dark in me, the last three years, pleasure and depression, written on my skin.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about why I’ve marked myself this way, to this degree. Much of it is my odd devotion to transparency, the idea that anyone can look at my tattoos, and my writing, and see the most honest parts of me. Part of loneliness is wearing a mask, pretending to be something different than what’s inside. A person can be lonely around friends, lonely with a lover, if they’re wearing a mask all the time. I want people to be able to “see” me if they want to look. I never felt lonely around Sara (the ex) when I could be transparent, and she loved me anyway. It’s a better feeling than any drug, to be known and loved without a mask. Unfortunately, with me and Sara, she looked inside and didn’t want some of what she saw. I admittedly tried to hide things I figured she wouldn’t like, as I honestly never wanted to be without her. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. I think part of me doesn’t want that to happen the same way again. So, I write the way I write, I wear my insides on the outside for anyone who cares to see. Now, I have twenty-one tattoos, twenty-one acts of transparency…

Tattoo #21 by Colt, hardcore motherfucking badass at Doc Dog's, Ybor City

Tattoo #21 by Colt, hardcore motherfucking badass at Doc Dog's, Ybor City

This tattoo is another Elliott Smith lyric from a really elegant song, A Passing Feeling. I love the song because it so perfectly describes what it’s like when life absolutely does not feel good, and no matter what, that feeling will not go away. The song is so spectacularly honest, and plainly put. It’s very much how I’ve felt for so long, I’m stuck here waiting for a passing feeling. I think the song also describes the idea that a person doesn’t start out feeling stuck, astonishingly depressed. It’s a result of things quickly and steadily going to Hell. It’s not how I want to feel, but it’s honest to say that I feel it. The feeling will pass, or it won’t. It’s kind of odd, I’m struggling and waiting to feel right again, both at the same time.


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