Sometimes I sit at bars and write. It’s good inspiration. Whether or not this is any good is a different story, but, here it is.

I can replay the night I met you
Word for word
In my head and to anyone who’ll listen
No matter how drunk I was
Under the haze of…


Like Joel in Eternal Sunshine, I rush headfirst into women that show me affection. I’m particularly hopeless if they fit into the ideal of a woman that I have created during the last decade of drunken nights where I’ve fallen in love at the bar with someone new over a glance across the top of my…


people may say a women studies degree is useless, but i cannot stress how much i have to combat misogyny and racial & sexual stereotypes on the DAILY in my workplace. ranging from crass usage of “slut,” snide comments about trans* people, casual “that’s gay” remarks, or stating how a certain race…


her veins were the poetry
under her skin,
and her eyes
the starry expanse above me.

i wanted to take
her still-beating heart
from her chest
gently, oh so gently,
because it was the most beautiful thing
i had ever seen.

if only my hands
could grasp her tighter,
and if i could map
the highways in her head,
i think she could love me.

(via pen-names)


hardwired into our minds
are parts we often try to hide.
the dusty, the dirty,
the violent, the pathetic.
we want to appear as aesthetic
to the rest of the world
as is humanly possible.
but what happens,
I dare to ask,
when we come across a person
who begins to tear down our…

Inspiration. #words at the Red Bull art gallery event in Silver Lake last night. (at Mack Sennett Studios)


It is no secret that a song can take you back to a moment. Think of how many times you have heard your favorite song on the radio and you remember that night you were at a concert and the band played it. It transports you back to the moment instantly as the faulty camera of your mind does its…


"great writers are indecent people
they live unfairly
saving the best part for paper.
good human beings save the world
so that bastards like me can keep creating art,
become immortal.
if you read this after I am dead
it means I made it.”

- Charles Bukowski, The People Look Like Flowers at Last


Your flitting nature, in, out, here, there, and nowhere at once. You, too afraid to let go. Me, wanting to to disappear into your lies. It’s easy to run when you refuse to want, when you treat it all like it doesn’t exist. It is your greatest talent. That ache in your chest you desperately want…