they do! been inspired to write about writing and art since i’ve been diving deeper into the works of Charlie Kaufman. i literally looked up shades of brown and they’re names and they were meh so here ya go lol

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all shades of brown sound ugly

i used to think in quartets

now theyre everywhere

and after three laps around merrion square

wild suffering

writers blocking the way

paving the way for destruction

nothing is happening

the writers make the nothing into everything

in a movie where nothing happens

tomatoes rot and stain your original mind

look for it

the art is within the banal

we drown in singing voices

the better the voice, the deeper

maybe the best songs are buried in the ugliest of singers

and yet the trees keep changing their look deciduously

yet no choice

but to keep telling this story

theres no foliage of paper

you just keep turning

and the writer writes

as though willpower is the only way to overcome the robots

and coffee with extra sugar

two cubes

when, now

the peace disturbed by my sanity

your clock is ticking

tickticktickticking

searching

researching

the banality of greatness

boredom and other attributes of me

to you

i am no longer caught in the past

those purple golden lights can no longer entice me

with crystal clear eyes i pierce through the dark

beaming yellow

staring at the mirror now the fog has cleared up

foggy age

the sounds fade away

fatigue crawling up to my eyes

words in clusters dont make sense

the simple soul songs

working class folk songs with easy repetitions

smooth chord progressions

classic guitar

lets sing along

the masterpieces keep getting printed

in this day and age rampant with “information”

entertainers and writers alike

we claw for art

and yet high art is somewhat foggy

who appreciates the unknown

dreaming of avant garde capitalism

i’m too spoiled to write my poems on the back of fallen leaves

i’m on my phone

airdropping my feelings onto my macbook

recording them

posting them online

gotta make a presence

the artist is isolated and yet so connected

the world does not allow for complete isolation

the writer must live amongst the people

write and tell the tales of those around

one must write

one must create

one must put forth his writing

one must keep writing

speak to an audience

while in my creative coccoon

where no one can influence

unless i let them

in this coccoon i interact

i socialize

i express

i perform

and in this coccoon i amplify my emotions and carefully spill them

splatter them onto my page

one must keep writing in this foggy age

My good friend Malika joins us for the first episode of Unreal City: Citizens. We talk dolphins, travel, and our friendship.

Audio version from my Youtube video! Just finished watching the Tiger King documentary and just wanted to share my take on it. Enjoy!

New Poem! Spreading good vibes and good times.//ambages

the ambages tumble all the way to colorado

la and vegas

and lost time zones including hawaii

mostly pain

swimming across oceans

flying through radars

never making it back

jealousy and pettiness

we wrestle aside the uneasiness and compromise

we cant go outside

yet the introspection is minimal

it hurts too much

the ankles cracking we try to find a purpose

no mornings

no weekends either

just mostly mid afternoons

dreamy midafternoons

the sunset reminds me of nostalgia and retrospect

and the romantic ideal

i suppose

what now

sometimes its cold and it feels like the sun never rises here

and yet it does

not so much on the green

much of the city is rubble

not from broken dreams

but broken lives

in search for the dreamless dream

in maniacal psychadelic fashion

the people of this city shed their dreams for the collective dream that is this city

if the famous wall was a mirror

in what shade would it color the ugly reflection

what time of day

for a city so well known for the darkness

which person

cause you can get lost in it too

and that seems to be the charm

yet all is quiet

and the broken lives are left to be picked up by sobering insomniacs

without any names

Starting a podcast! I write and record a poem a day so decided to put them in audio format as well! Enjoy! Text to follow/// stop motion mondays

the writing seems bleak

the wall is tapering off

the yellow sticks no longer

the phone calls are not charged

and this connected word seems lonely

at least to me

the dawn sets on darkness and the sun doesnt rise anymore

weve lost our touch

living room to living room

stubbing our toes on musty silence

documentaries and narratives

the prose doesnt flow anymore

weve questioned art and automation

the infinity of infinities

truth

and lack there of

the whiskey messy

we set this night to rest

in another of these flowing moments

we stop while the other walks