Photos · Poems

Beauty and Noise

The smell of plastic wrap
And CD cases
Old linoleum floors
Under squeaky converse laces
Holding the song in my hands
Excited to listen whenever
Excited to discover more
No more elusive mysteries slipping in and out of coffee shop doors
What other emotions and atmospheric worlds are in store?
Curious to finally see the lyrics
Curious to see the pictures inside
Wondering who they are, how they look like
The faces that hide behind the voices that bring me to life

They pile in the corner of my room
4 sided symbols of the past and all that’s in between
Collecting who I am and where I’ve been
Collecting the heartaches and friendships
The phases, fads and memories
Songs holding our names, our identities
Classifying you and me
Bringing us together
Bringing us apart
An art that’s more than beauty and noise
An art that gave us freedom of choice

It was a culture, a definition, a destination
It was dance, it was image
It was clothes, it was language

It was an extension of what lay underneath
It was an extension of you and me

Photos · Poems

Stay Young

Who was I when I was you?
Hiding your hands in your sleeves
Tucking your head in your hoodie
Shielding your mouth bashfully
Giggling and eating a chocolate chip cookie
Long hair, long limbed
Lanky lean, talking fast about little things
Chapstick and chewing gum
Hair ties and scented lotion
Sharpies, highlighters, and markers
Everything has a little bit of color
Converse and sweatshirt for every type of weather
The only difference is you’re pushing a stroller
Yet you don’t look any older
Dimples on chipmunk cheeks
You reach to give her a bottle
While listening to grungy innocence
Completely oblivious and invincible
Trying to stand out while being invisible
Dipping fries in your vanilla milkshake
Shoulders rolling forward
Slouching in your chair
Knees pressing into the front seat
Like you don’t have a care
She starts to cry
You don’t know why
You rock and coo
Pretending you know what to do
Trying to dodge the staring eyes
Self-conscious in their vicinity
Grownups whispering as they pass by
Who was I when I was you?
A girl who was trying to stay young just like you.

Journal Entries

11 Years of Thoughtprints

Have you read Big Foot’s book? It’s really good. It can be quite moving at times. His feet have gone through so much. And walking through a world where no one even thinks you exist…it’s sad. Lockness can definitely relate. That’s why they’re homies.

Unnatural and strange, his presence alters how I stand.

Crumbling mobility, brewing bitterness with a rattling breath of vulnerability. Creaking walls cracking hourglasses, doors shut, air is still,water dries.

I see the spider move in a windy web of dripping dew, open to the world, sparkling cool, shivering and scared of falling bravely down.

Where did the grown-ups go? Don’t let them be sad, the memories are still in the making and they can’t let stuff burn in the oven.

Me: “What time are you leaving?”

Muni 29 Bus Driver: “In two minutes.”

Me: “Oh, okay, I was considering walking.”

Driver: “In the rain?”

Me: “Yeah! I’ve been cooped up inside all day.”

Driver: “Well, they say the rain washes away the bad.”

Sat in the corner to eat bread and perhaps call people. Blue wig woman walks by telling me she’s a hacker-mom hosting a booth at “Bazaar Bazaar.” Couple minutes later another lady walks by asking me if I knew where the bazaar was. I point and say, “That way.” Couple minutes later, I start following.

The homeless in the Mission stand in line for food. A man and woman sing together in a tribal Latin chant. Birds circling in harmony to the music over the streets and people in the dim twilight of the setting sun.

I talked to Derrick, a 40 year old black man with a cane and a jutting tooth. He sat across from me on the bus and was on the phone mentioning that he just got done seeing the psychologist. I looked up from my journal and smiled at him, but went back to my journal feeling that I was being nosy. When he hung up, he asked if I got done with school. I told him I’m just writing in my journal. He liked that. It looked like he was wondering if there was hope for himself in that book. He studied theater and was in a couple movies with Denzel Washington and spent 4 years in Hollywood. He was able to function and thrive but in his 30’s a doctor told him he has paranoia. It seemed like he felt betrayed or confused because he was able to function just fine before being categorized. “Psychologist admit patients only with a diagnosis,” he says. “I am real with him, which gives him more experience with people and helps him learn.” In attempt to clarify his point I said, “Because some people may just want to tell him what he wants to hear.”

I come out of a restless dark room. The flutter of the sun softens every edge I see. A friendly haze shapes my frolicking thoughts and feelings and changes them from what they were in the cold mind molding cave I was in. Free to be what I was.

The pink sound of my 6 year old imaginary sister awoke me from my dream. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on the couch. It’s just that it’s hard to keep conversation with the sand man. The cloudy, powdery smell of his dusty clothes drifted me away.

It’s embarrassing when people see me sleep. Limp and pale with my jaw hanging loosely, not to mention delusional slurs of sleep-talking. Sleeping beauty, here I am.

I feel like the mirror you use to kiss yourself with.

Doing time travel in my mind. The season is back but there is no such thing as calendars. Feelings are remembered. They could be repeated if I let them, like a bad habit.

There are things inside of us that only love can discover.

What would happen if air particles didn’t move? Would air become solid?

Stars dreaming that they will meet the sun, not realizing that they are both composed of the same light.