suspended warmth.
havasupai (vicodin + dehydrated meal packs)
seven floral pillows.
The first installment of a yet untitled film poetry series from Dane Cardiel and I. This particular piece, “Chasm,” doubled as a promotional film for Manor House Quarterly’s Summer issue publication entitled “She.”
SHOE GAZING REFLECTIONS OF CUMULOUS CLOUDS.
Huge thank you to Dane Cardiel for featuring some of my work in Manor House Quarterly’s Summer issue entitled “She,” but most of all for creating such a motivating and needed publication/website.
Piece title: Reverie
Photographer: Elias Sidney Blood
Above photo credit: Marissa Parsons
me, by map (best girl).
baseball season began two days ago. Giants just lost, again. expect these to be short and random, like my relationships.
modified version of a teenage dream fulfilled.
This is my friend Cody, a Mississippi guy who’ll tell you he’s from Baltimore. He’s got nicknames like CeeCee, ChoCho, and Chody (8=Dy), and although I make fun of him incessantly I actually do like him a lot. I can’t help it, that’s how I show affection. I think it derives from having siblings, or something. Anyway, he’s a 23 year old who looks like a 36 year old who acts like a 15 year old. Cody’s special, in all connotations of the word.
To be laconic, he’s the kind of guy that’ll for no reason at all throw an orange at the back of your head (and connect), and as you riposte with said orange connecting with the front of his head, also known as the face, he’ll fervently call you a dick and openly wish for the death of your first born child. And although he doesn’t mean the latter part, he won’t take it back no matter how fucked you tell him something like that is. Shit, maybe he does mean it. Maybe the fact that he’s a close talker like one of my ex girlfriends translates into him potentially being a psychotic whore that’ll fuck your friend as a means of declaring his maniacal love which he presupposed would bond your two weary souls together forever and ever, and evvvveeer. Fuck, Cody, you craze, fool. If that is the case, please skip all that other mad bullshit and just jump right into brewing herbal tinctures and talking interminably about energy alone in a motorhome in the middle of the desert, you son of a bitch. (Omit that “son of a bitch” part, it just made me feel bad, like it was too much). (I guess not bad enough to omit it myself though). (Whoa, maybe I’m a psychopath too… That’s heavy).
So I got off track; girls will do that.
I made this video for Cody, a solid guy, my best friend, my lover. We’re both really smart idiots so I made no money and he still hasn’t said thank you, but whatever, I also made it for Kreayshawn in an attempt to woo that swagged out hottie. Don’t fret, you’re pretty tight too, Billy Joel.
Job well done, ChoCho. You got some wonderful talent and a tear inducing sense of humor accompanied by a plentitude of extreme deficiencies. All three of which I hope to enjoy for many years to come.
elias.
fully swobbin’ in no-comply nation. thanks, Marissa.
this is how much people love me. next week: how much I love dogs that shit on enraged neighbors’ lawns.
superbowl slumber party massacre.
Moderately tired. Awake just long enough for a stomach to recognize a beguiling somnambulation and that hunger is real. An epiphany of humility that now regards the sun as an unrivaled privilege.
P.S. I’ll be attending the game but I’m rooting for the bean dip. No sour cream, please.
I spent the summer wasting
The time was passed so pleasantly
Say cheerio to books now
The only things I’ll read now are faces
I got nothin’ right now, nothin’.
