Mozart and the Whale

picture of the day

whale in the sky
look there in the stars methylcyclobutane

to find a moon

image that made my day today

this is what it's like to find the moon,
i shall count it as my first moon rock

for more click here
here

Neopentyl Died

Neopentyl
died saturday.
fish can't even depend on me,
i don't know why people do.

he did however have a stylish fish bowl
but that broke from the coffee machine heat
he lived in a red vines bowl for a while
swam in muck , much like me,
his last days were spent in a flower vase with that same philosophic monument

a girl of the streets

rag girl
of the streets
rag doll

lady madonna cries
for you

darwinism displays
its color on the red of your lips

oh how the holy water burns

acid that sinks
to burn
their skin
into the pores
of your
owners

you work those streets

in that flood storm

call over your friend
that man is looking for two of you
to take with him
on his ark

the right and the left

when asked to draw the stimulus this is what they drew:

right damaged hemisphere still gets detail but misses the global

left damaged hemisphere still gets global but misses the detail

i am damaged

but not in the hemispheres

no i dont think

but...

if you have left neglect, then you draw only what is on the right because to you that's the whole picture

so then what do you call it when i am fully satisified with random scattered happiness in details? i smile at the perfect pinkness of the cheeks of my russian professor, but wouldn't smile that way for world peace. is it global happiness neglect? if there is such a thing ?, then yes i have that

dr. , i figured it out, you no longer need that mri of my brain.

[untitled]

girls can kill
women date boys
ladies walk the streets of Yonkers

i took the 7

boys aim perfectly at bush
men can fall in love
gentlemen walk to the unemployment office

i got off onto the platform
from the express car
with a wink from a julio

i told you i wasn't stardust
im just broken glass
broken beer bottles

you breathe slowly.
i'm reckless.

Glimpse: comfortably numb

Pink Floyd

this is my favorite pink floyd song. i listen to this song with a 2.95dollar bucket of icecream just as i listen to bob dylan.

good stuff (that's an understatement)... this is amazing.

in fact, i wrote self perscribed medication for this song (and other reason as well).

jimmy

jimmy smoked the ciggy
he cradled it
forward
and back
sitting on the rocking chair
kept it warm with his breath
it was the fire within his eyes

jimmy
loves
me!

more or less

it rains on his porch
our porch, i mean

come inside, jimmy
excuse me, i have to go fetch him
again

the cold sinks into his warm naked back
he never wears the shirts i bought for him

jimmy rescued me from the screams
of a dysfunctional couple
mother and father, i mean

we aren't dysfunctional
we aren't screamers

we are runaways
we are engaged

jimmy said we'd be a happy couple
jimmy promised me no harm

promises, i mean

yes, jimmy promises me no harm

he speaks rarely
he does not curse
jimmy is a quiet man

peaceful and smart
he only corrects me when i am wrong
he laughs on occasion
at the figurines on his computer games

jimmy is kind
he does not touch me

excuse me, i have to go
to the liquor store
jimmy ran out of ciggys

Today, this made me happy

Felix, the cat

I found this levis ad today while i was browsing. Felix.
men in levis always steal a girl's heart.

the story of a letter

i had written a letter for Someone* about two and a half years ago. i couldnt send it, so i turned it into a short story. i hope at least someone finds joy in this, because i am over it. i found this lost in my computer somewhere, maybe published it will turn into the beauty it once was.

Dreams die, hearts are dark, white is bad and black is good.
Peter Pan is my boyfriend now; he and I will never grow up.

I read to you in the dark, and tonight I thirst for another sweet escape. What others find in a cigerette, I find in you. And even if you check out, I stay at your side.

But somehow you lost me in hallucinations. And i misplaced you among ideals.

The world is stuck in the id, but we moved away together
...into this cave.

To discover ourselves.

But if we come out of the dark and into the light will we still be a ballerina and a drunk poet.

...

I fall asleep in order to remember a day in where we danced to Dylan's harmonica. Perhaps, eyes have their own languages; maybe we just didn't understand what they were saying. i feel tired of these aviodances we find ourselves in, but I can't seem to forget those mornings in the winter it was only a year ago when those flowers grew on the spring tree that winter.

what can we possibly save now, if the glass of dreams turned into pieces of us.

______________
that was the end
el fin

self prescribed medication

the red button clicks.
and it begins,

the heat and noise.

the white strainer
there to block
the Columbian grains
as purified water sinks in
from an uphill journey.

black contraption of wakefulness
of which from black blood drips;
odorless until the first black leak,

filtered strength streams down
into a
mug.

staining a brown band.
(that later serves as a measuring tool
for the next fill)

a
bitter brewed stream slithers on in
barely burning the lip

with a swallow
it shoots up into the veins
of an aspiring insomniac.

the refill is pending now.


*
(still in the rough draft stages - gmb)

[photo credit to adamthebeerman] <------ how funny is that.

a lesson in photography

from

guy aroch

living in a bottle

living in a bottle has to have some relief, right? why else do people spend their nights in the bar or by the liquor cabinet. never going to be a solution, but it feels good after that first shot. right.

i hope you enjoy this song as much as i do.
i couldn't stop watching the music video last night.

my favorite part of the video (about 1:34min into the song ), the line "there's nothing like living in a bottle", and you see this beautiful facial expression from the older man in the white t-shirt; his eyes are so powerfully embodying that line. his eyes are so beautifully captured but its scary (in a way where you feel like you are disconnect with that person). my grandfather does that a lot (after so many years of drinking even without drinking he does that), maybe thats why my dad ran away from home after middle school.

this song keeps me awake, thank you Cat Power.
i love her voice and lyrics
so take a listen and enjoy.






lived in bars (lyrics)- CAT POWER

we've lived in bars
and danced on the tables
hotels trains and ships that sail
we swim with sharks
and fly with aeroplanes in the air

send in the trumpets
the marching wheelchairs
open the blankets and give them some airs
words and arches bones and cement
the lights and the dark of the innocent of men

we know your house so very well
and we will wake you once we've walked up
all your stairs

there's nothing like living in a bottle
and nothing like ending it all for the world
we're so glad you will come back
every living lion will lay in your lap
the kid has a homecoming the champion the horse
who's gonna play drums guitar or organ with chorus
as far as we've walked from both of ends of the sand
never have we caught a glimpse of this man

we know your house so very well
and we will bust down your door if you're not there

we've lived in bars
and danced on tables
hotels trains and ships that sail
we swim with sharks
and fly with aeroplanes out of here
out of here

le love

le love:

it fuckn' hurts

la opinion

la opinion




“If a man isn't willing to take some risk for his opinions, either his opinions are no good or he's no good” ~ ezra pound

it happens on a train

you find purity in strangers
sometimes they dont steal your purse

sometimes you just need to feel with someone else





this song is by kath bloom, its called "Come here". i think its one of the most beautiful songs, ever sung.

my goal is to one day sing it to a stranger and be awkward with him (my stranger).

it'd be a one-night thing of wine, gypsy's, books, cows, and blushes

and it would end with a waltz

я не знаю куда я иду

if you ask me who i want to be that's easy : bob dylan.








if you ask me where i go at night, come sit with me.








if you ask me what i want do: nothing more than everything i love.








if you ask me how i feel, let me show you.









if you ask me how i live, thats a trick up a sleeve of an owl with a HOWL .

but how i hide it? ... in black

sometimes i loose it . but insanity is my last outlet of fustration. is it a show i put on, with a smile ? the last string holding together a lost nobody. when i laugh and smile, don't think its real. i'm just a glance away from blowing in the wind.

is there hope?

there better be

i'm waiting for it

butterfly stains

III

Midget man.
Crippled blind pimp.
Foul smelling poet of
vulgar rhyme.
Drunk silent sex-addict;

ill show you my scar,

if you show me yours.
Gambling lying cheat;
i saw your IRS 1040A.
Sterile bearded bore.
Gaudy childish smoker.
Tattooed and scared;

voice to me your sultry lines.
Runaway thief.
Come,
To bed with me.

-gmb

picasso ideal

[the beginning to a play i wrote a while back]

A PICASSO IDEAL

Characters
ELLE- Awkwardly mysterious, but genuine heart. She reads to keep time from scaring her. There are no clocks or watches in her room, and she avoids the sight of them in public. She’s smart but all her intelligence is not invested in school. Most of her life is spent on the subway on the way to Rockaway Beach, and her nights are dedicated to the music life of New York. Music, it’s the only thing that makes her smile. She knows most everyone of New York’s underground music revolution, although she most of the time goes unnoticed by them. Her eyes hide strength in them, but her delicate hands give away her fragileness.

COLE- Nervously chaotic, but not in a purposely destructive manner. He lugs around his life in an old beat-up army messenger bag. In his right back pocket he always carries a book whether it be poetry or a novel from Bukowski to Hardy everything except the stupidity of Jane Austen. Once a year his black converses look new, but come December they have holes, that’s where he ends up storing his paper fortunes when he finishes a Chinese fortune cookie. His voice harsh but its deep nature attracts you. He’s the guy with whom you lock yourself in a closet with and listen to Bob Dylan while you share a bucket of ice cream.

SETTING- New York City dock on Little West 12th street. Black sky, time is around 2AM. No snow, but cold. Lighted factory buildings and houses seen across the water, its New Jersey. Dock it relatively abandoned, except for the occasional boats but for it being New York City it’s relatively calm.


[to be continued]

europe

i will be back france
until then
i have snapshots

what i found over break. old photographs. good times. being able to leave was the greatest thing ever. i can never afford it now, but i am glad i got out (if only for a while).

these photographs were taken by me back in 2006. you can even see the date in orange.

searching in a dress

Searching in a Dress by insearchofmoonrocks


my first outfit. now i will need to get a job to afford this.

black

Polyvore Presents:
style - the black edition

what id dress in if i had money.
no i am not fake broke.
i dont get money at the atm when i run out.
and now i have to save up my quarters because a laundry wash now costs $1.













[click on the photo for more info on the stylist]

butterfly stains

II

Something so beautiful
The things you knew as a kid
It took fifty cents to buy you a drink
You were losing the house
Three hundred left in the bank
Apple juice for Father
And Mother was playing vocabulary games
You were the guard of three little girls
One of which was you
Running on a wet black-top
Kicking up the mud from the sand-box
Didn’t eat much back then
This is the cue:
Laugh,
At the memories of school girl days
Your brain never pounded on your head
Your eyes never blurred
Doctors never asked questions.
Tonight, though,
You are fucked up
Drunk
Under stars
In the pain killer weather.
Take ecstasy with me.

butterfly stains

I

accused of the lies you plotted for yourself
dealing with the drama
in a theatre
you take on a character
more real than yourself.

the script says to cut
cut
the lines

and you can no longer stop
what comes out.
the red of your face
blanks you of the pastel colors
[colors you painted on yourself]

aggressively embarrassed and angered
you are left by
a false stranger's truth
a stranger going by your name.

say your monologue
the curtains are up
lights on your speech
gradually displace the air with your tales.

young actor, congratulations on those awards

good for you.

because when you were a person you only gave a mediocre performance

Poets of the Magazines

THE BURBERRY ADs Winter 08

Sam Riley and model Rosie Huntington-Whiteley.

[Sam Riley, was in the movie inspired by Ian Curtis and Joy Division Control. ]

This is my favorite Burberry campaign. Its rock'n'roll fashion with elegance. As we know rock'n'roll can never be tamed and that is why i love Sam Riley's face. Its rough and mysterious. And together its poetry.