Fractured Consciousness

No. 45

2009-01-04T14:15:00.000-05:00

Things I'm passionate about tend to go hand in hand with things that terrify me.

No. 44

2008-08-06T20:20:00.002-04:00

late at night i listen to her cry
after she thinks ive fallen asleep
quiet muffled sobs from her side of the bed
a long intake of breath says shes trying to silence her tears
shes so close and so far away
i cant help but wonder what makes her so sad
in the darkness beside me
i just want to reach out and touch her
but i cant
and exhaustion finally drags us into a restless sleep

No. 43

2008-07-14T23:35:00.003-04:00

the summer air was thick and sweet, the flowering vines dripped down into the water, creating a veil around where she stepped up the the creek's edge. the honey scent she could almost taste, flowing in her nostrils and sucking deep into her lungs.
water. dark and deep. envelops her in its icy hands, the stabbing cold tightening in her chest, then caressing her skin with an unimaginable coolness as she sinks to the bottom. stones. smooth under where she lays, fragments of sun flicker through the green depths. finally, she can be alone. nothing but her own heartbeat throbbing in her ears, the rush of blood, the magnified sound of bubbling stream, everything feels so far away. she's entered another world. one where she can simply exist, with no time, no schedule, no to-do list. just body and soul, silent and free under the blanket of water.

No. 42

2008-07-13T19:50:00.003-04:00

"I've thrown away all the hope I had in friendships"

No. 41

2008-07-11T08:16:00.004-04:00

She might as well been in love with a ghost. The man she'd known didn't exist anymore, he was so changed, unfamiliar, a complete Jekyll and Hyde turnaround. He might as well been dead, because he was long gone, transformed into something she didn't understand. But she kept hanging on, grasping fragments of the dream they used to live. Hoping and praying that he would wake up one morning, back to his old self, and they could resume their beautiful life together. But you know what they say, if you lay down with a dream, you wake up lonely. And that's what she was, every single day, just hurt and lonely.

No. 40

2008-07-08T03:14:00.002-04:00

You were scared. Just admit it. You got too close and in too deep- then ran away in terror, hoping you'd escape before it was too late and you were sucked into that great, unpredictable black hole of the unknown. Well, just in case you were wondering, you can't run forever. This messy life you're hiding from, it'll all catch up with you sooner or later.

No. 39

2008-07-08T03:10:00.003-04:00

The problem with you, darling, is that you spend twelve hours a night lost in the most beautiful dreams and then spend every second of your waking hours trying to reclaim them. There has to be some separation here, there has to come the time when you wake up and accept that those are just dreams and they're never going to happen. It's the only way you'll ever be able to get on with your reality.

No. 38

2008-06-22T23:32:00.002-04:00

Why is the beginning always so much better than the end?

see No. 16 for today's words. that post has been on repeat in my head for the last week

No. 37

2008-05-22T23:30:00.000-04:00

Nothing hurts more than unreciprocated affection. You should have known.

No. 36

2008-04-03T00:02:00.002-04:00

her room is a wreck.
and the more she sits there staring at it, all that shit piling up, the more and more it seems like a metaphor for her life. a complete and utter mess.

No. 35

2008-03-29T13:51:00.000-04:00

I can see a lot of life in you
I can see a lot of beauty too

thank you sufjan...

No. 34

2008-03-29T13:50:00.002-04:00

She didn't eat. "Fasted," she said.
Like maybe if she could experience true physical emptiness it would overshadow the hollow feeling in her soul.

No. 33

2008-03-29T13:44:00.002-04:00

I want to create something with meaning.
So sick of these mere 'pretty pictures'
Shallow visions of the world. all beauty and no soul.
Give me depth, life, powerful emotive response.
An image that will change the world.
A photograph to redeem mankind.

No. 32

2008-03-29T13:37:00.002-04:00

a little disillusioned with humanity today. walking down the street, the heavy scent of pavement being dampened by the soft spring rain. a tension in the gray morning air, buzzing in my ears, making my skin tingle like electric shock. there's something looming on the horizon, I can feel it, taste it sour on my tongue, yet filled with an unnatural calm left over from a dream I can't quite recall. a preoccupation with sleep, the need to go back and find the answers whispered in my nighttime imaginings...

No. 31

2008-03-29T13:25:00.002-04:00

"everything is a diary. every work is a self portrait."
the photo of the tree is really a picture of what the artist sees in the tree, how the tree makes them feel, recalls a memory, or a fragment from a dream.

it's a borderline-subconscious need, to photograph. like maybe sometimes we take pictures not to create a visual experience for an audience, but as a means of self-discovery. maybe by analysing our own work we can figure out who we are, what our subconscious is trying to tell us.

or maybe we photograph to create a life, to justify our existence through rigorous documentation. the photographer, the Lone Ranger, the life of solitude, maybe if we take enough pictures we'll have everything we need. the world. it gives life meaning, we can't die until we have enough imagery to satisfy a long life. only then can we be at peace.

or maybe we photograph because it gives us a chance to play god. to create. to control what people see. to have power over emotion.

do what you have to do.

No. 30

2008-03-24T12:36:00.002-04:00

Stay out late. Drink too much.
Everything, anything to stay under just a minute longer.
One less second you'll have to spend
One more minute til you're forced to come to terms with your life.
Your sad, twisted state of reality.
Have a little more
It's safe in here, where the world can't get you.
Maybe you can hide forever
Behind your mask of illusions. delusions?
Covered in the soft blanket of addictions
No one will ever find you.

No. 29

2008-03-16T22:34:00.002-04:00

The tea was cold
Icy and bitter on her tongue
To match the words swirling in her head
The controlled rage
The pain. the pills.
Her mind double-exposing all the thoughts
Layering them one on top of the other
Until nothing made sense
But one thing was clear:
Art never comes from happiness.

No. 28

2008-02-01T11:31:00.000-05:00

It really killed her, to drive by the airport every morning as she entered the city. Watching the planes soar into the sky, hundreds of people en route to exotic destinations. She envied them. All those strangers heading to their foreign locales. She'd do anything to just pull off the highway and board the next plane out of the country. She couldn't take one more day of this mediocre life. With her ordinary job, her uninspired apartment and her average boyfriend. Why was everything just plain satisfactory? When was she going to get a break and rise above the normal and mundane?
No one ever answered her questions. NPR continues to mumble out of the car stereo and she keeps driving, 'til the airport is no longer visible in her rear-view mirror and she's relinquished her life to yet another day.

No. 27

2008-02-01T11:16:00.000-05:00

She loved to ride the train to work. Watch the countryside roll past her window, catch up on her reading, listen to her walkman. She didn't really want to admit it, but half the fun was the possibility that a devastatingly attractive man would sit down next to her on the daily commute and proclaim his undying love for her. Well, alright, perhaps 'undying love' is asking for a bit much, and would be kind of creepy coming from a complete stranger... but she still secretly hoped that Mr. Right would at least sit and chat. That would be nice. God she really is a hopeless romantic isn't she. Drugged by a childhood of empty promises made by fairy-tale picture books and Disney movies. Well honestly, anyone would be a better seat-mate than the usual bloated businessmen barking into their cell phones, and ancient ladies smelling of nursing homes and dead roses.

No. 26

2008-02-01T11:13:00.000-05:00

the desk is cluttered
scraps of paper
lined, yellow, napkin corners, post-its
the rubbish bin is overflowing with them
wadded, wrinkled, double-folded
all lists. things he's done. things he hasn't.
scribbled down and checked off
a cut and paste diary of his existence
crossing off each task
taking him just another line closer to his end

No. 25

2008-02-01T11:04:00.001-05:00

I wanted to go to the city for New Year's Eve. Have a legitimate party with everyone from everywhere. Except it's so darn expensive. I always set out with the most frugal intentions- pack a nice lunch, some snacks, bring my camera and plan a few free galleries for entertainment. But the air never fails to be filled with the most enticing aromas, inviting me into an uncomfortable-priced restaurant where you pay extra for ice in your drink and the sales tax is almost as much as your entree. Honestly, it's like you can feel the pennies dropping out of your pocket, the second hand on my watch ticking away nickels and dimes for every minute I spend simply wandering the streets...

...needless to say I did my champagne toasting from the comfort of my own home and watched the free version of the city via satellite.

No. 24

2008-02-01T11:03:00.000-05:00

you said it doesn't make any sense
but sometimes freedom from reason is exactly what we need

No. 23

2008-02-01T11:00:00.000-05:00

At night the tv was her only lover
it's gentle blue glow lulling her to sleep
Muffled voices speaking in her dreams
whispering all the things she ever wished to be

No. 22

2008-02-01T10:58:00.001-05:00

How dare you. Don't you go killing my dreams before they've even had a chance to get off the ground. Hunting them down while they're still fragile figments of my imagination. The poor helpless things.

No. 21

2008-02-01T10:54:00.000-05:00

She always loved books. For her, they were an escape, a way out. Some place she could run to, hide in. Gobbling them up, one after another, anything, anything to keep her from reality just a moment longer. For while her mind was buried in words, stories, adventures, she could forget, she could pretend, and life didn't seem half as bad. If only she could tuck herself neatly between the pages and escape this world for good. Just whip out a pen and write herself into someone else's story. A better one, perhaps.

No. 20

2008-02-01T10:53:00.000-05:00

You're afraid. Scared to death that if you let them into your life they'll steal a bit of you, and take and take until there's nothing left and you're just an empty shell of a human being.

No. 19

2008-02-01T10:51:00.000-05:00

At the end of the day, she couldn't help but admit that she was tired of being that girl who always faded into the woodwork... they probably don't deserve her anyway.

No. 18

2008-01-07T18:53:00.000-05:00

Sick of thinking, over thinking
Tired of dreams not running parallel with reality
Clock's ticking, meter's running
It's hard to take hold of your life when it's slathered in butter, constantly slipping out of your grasp, no matter how tight the grip

No. 17

2007-11-13T23:24:00.000-05:00

Every morning she stands before the mirror and asks "who are you?"
Staring into the reflection, two pairs of grey eyes meet and she wonders what secrets lurk beneath the polished silver surface
If she watches closely, maybe she'll discover the imposter's true identity... but it's hard even for her to see past the stranger's carefully constructed facade. Prepared for yet another day of masquerade.

No. 16

2007-11-12T21:22:00.000-05:00

The Future.
the word was thick, heavy on her tongue, a sticky glob of porridge that she just couldn't swallow down. all the uncertainty this word entailed. six little letters that had her bound up in a straight-jacket of anxiety. two of the most migraine-inducing syllables ever uttered in her presence.
she couldnt do it. didnt want the responsibility. she thought maybe it would be nice if someone else made the important decisions for her. took care of the details. she was far too indecisive to do anything, and ended up with nothing.

so it goes.

No. 15

2007-11-02T12:49:00.000-04:00

in a bit of a haze today. floating just a few inches off the floor

watching the world go by, muffled voices, muted tones, playing in my ears like a mechanical symphony, ambient and melodic.

watching his face. lips moving. eyes searching. words? oh me. speaking to me. asking a question. the sound of my own voice startling me with a reply. what did i say? i missed that. sorry.

a faint blur around the edges. the light is so bright. blinding. eyes comfortably half shut. my warm winter coat, an aura of warmth emanating from deep inside. pull my head below the collar like a little turtle. shut myself away in this pleasant place. silly like a child.

you could wake, but then the dream would end, much better to stay suspended in this realm between the sleeping and the conscious

No. 14

2007-11-02T12:42:00.000-04:00

so unsettled tonight. can't sit still
twisting. turning
floor. chair. sofa.
something inside just itching to break free.

No. 13

2007-11-02T12:41:00.000-04:00

jealousy taints my life like the sour milk i poured in my coffee. just a drop. and it's still sweet on the surface, but with the most bitter aftertaste.

No. 12

2007-11-02T12:37:00.000-04:00

driving again. late night. windows down. cold. finally
maybe even icy. you're going too fast. watch for deer.
a screaming zeppelin rift shatters the still night air. consumes your consciousness. you can feel it reverberating down to your bones. heartbeat syncing with the thudding bass.
road and sky blend to one, endless black expanse stretching away from the feeble glow of your headlights.
rain. streaming in the open window.
spraying your face with an icy glaze
hair slapping, stinging whips
across your eyes. where did you go?
hands freezing to the wheel, to the road. numb.
breathe deep. suck it down to your core. hold it in.
drive faster.

No. 11

2007-11-02T12:35:00.001-04:00

ten years of theater training and all she ends up with is a knack for accents and compulsive lying. so much for her Broadway career.

never underestimate the power of a little method acting. it's so good. no one will ever know. never trust an actor, since lying's their profession. is there any truth in all of this?

so many secrets. so many words left unspoken. and her greatest fear was that she'd die and no one would ever know. the greatest story left untold.

No. 10

2007-11-02T12:32:00.000-04:00

She was 16 today. came home with a fresh flyer from the Marines. no more dreams. we're all dead here anyways.

No. 9

2007-10-28T20:16:00.000-04:00

The world is softer now, around the edges. As a great lyricist once spoke, "comfortably numb."
Beautiful today, the brilliant azure sky revealing a sun that hasn't graced us with its presence in days... weeks?
Finally a chill in the air worth writing about. Deliciously cold, cutting through even the warmest sweater and piercing my bones, awakening a long dormant lust for the North, the ice, the winter dark, the smoldering stove fire. A child born in the snowstorm will always wake in the depths of night, when the coldest hour calls them back to their wintry Home.
I wore shorts. exposing every last inch of skin to the welcoming chill, inviting it into layers of soft skin, making every cell tingle, excite, a feverous steam rising from flesh.
The air smells of frost. The ground will harden tonight. I'm certain.

No. 8

2007-10-26T16:43:00.000-04:00

kicked up on sugar
hands shakin. teeth chatterin.
adrenaline surging, short circuiting my mind. stop stop go. cant see. cant think.
you drive too fast
stomach turning. acrid and bitter on the back of my tongue
want to go somewhere tonight
want to take you home
fear. gut wrenching.
cant move. every muscle locked in a throbbing spasm. scream.
"if you've got an impulse let it out"
his face, his face
i met the man with cyprus on his back, carried it around, etched deep in his flesh.

No. 7

2007-10-26T16:37:00.000-04:00

sometimes a soul just needs to write
forget for a moment all that you know about grammar sentence structure punctuation and just spit works out
breathe. relax. write.
a steady stream of characters trickling from the primordial soup of human consciousness

capital letters are rather pretentious [who do you think you are, that you can be so much bigger than all of us?]
and periods are just too final
dont commit me to a stop like that

No. 6

2007-10-26T16:23:00.000-04:00

I always walk around that little square of shag carpet in the living room. Tip-toeing, balancing precariously on it's edge, trying to grab a magazine off the coffee table without dipping a single toe in its fibrous depths. I'm pretty sure it's alive, small creatures lurking in the wool forest, waiting for a succulent foot, or a dropped potato chip. Whispering to each other when they think I'm not listening, placing bets on whether I'll reach my latest issue of Vogue or drop to the rug and be lost forever, like the countless pennies, paper clips and stale cookies before me.

No. 5

2007-10-26T01:04:00.000-04:00

all i wanted was classic rock. but i was obviously not in favor with the divine powers of the universe as the station crackled and fizzed on my way out of town. the air conditioner blasting out the humid air that fogs my windshield. my mind? i love my commute. the winding country roads, kicking up whirlwinds of coloured leaves, little tornadoes that chase my hatchback out of their humble forest abode. the black intruder humming thought the early morning stillness. the sunrises. the shafts of light breaking the canopy. the mist, rising. the heady incense of leaves and decay, moss and fire. the indulgent aroma wafting though the air vents.

No. 4

2007-10-26T01:02:00.000-04:00

Her notebook paper was uncomfortably pink. And she felt wrong, scrawling across something so fleshy and warm, her sharp ink pen leaving a harsh trail of crossed t's and dotted i's in its wake.

It's raining. a good soft gentle rain. comfortable like an old friend.

No. 3

2007-10-26T00:59:00.000-04:00

International Man of Mystery, you have met your match. You all know him. The husband who won't tell you where he spent his afternoon. The roommate who never leaves his bedroom door open. The mother that won't disclose the contents of her shopping list. All seemingly innocuous idiosyncrasies of human kind, until they begin to add up.

"If you can't trust, you can't be trusted."

I bet that's not even your real name. What are you hiding? And why does it all make me so nervous?

No. 2

2007-10-26T00:56:00.000-04:00

i looked him in the eye. its the chill you just cant shake. the awkward hello. the silence. the nausea flooding upward as you wonder if he's a criminal in another country, maybe you should google it later. but then again, you always watch far too much television. and you liked him so much better when he was on the other side of the ocean.

No. 1

2007-10-24T23:26:00.000-04:00

my mouth is dry, parched, a thick sticky wad of cotton hanging on the back of my tongue. clogging my throat, stifling my breath. swallow. swallow. gag. repeat repeat. repeat.
the air conditioner's on. whirring and clanking, trying to hold on while summer advances even further into october. coughing and sputtering, almost in unison now. a rhythm a song a heartbeat resounding in the dying autumn light