Monday, August 24, 2009

I've moved

Friday, July 17, 2009

Hold your Peace

Got some new stuff to bore those few readers.

A new song:
Summers nearly half way through
And rarely with content you grew.
Instead the wasted days are fond
Only of those morning songs

Which intoxicate and blur the mind
But greater are the dreams that find
Your way in words which, awful still
Create illusions of life fulfill’d
So productive, hopeful too
The weeks you spend will find you through
The many worded vows and tongues
Those speak to you across and from
Forever less, and ever more
The countless tunes you heard adorn
The empty mind you handle from
And darker thoughts that never sum

To hopelessness, outright and bleak

You listen to the ceiling creak
For you’re awake and they untrue
Summer’s nearly halfway through.

something bad:
hardship’s year His dragging eyelids rested listlessly beneath his lining brow. Average years could not account for age garnered through hardship. Graying hair left itself in hopeless fringes along the bolder outline of his rueful scalp. The man frowned as his less than perfect appearance crossed his mind, and the murky pools passing beneath his feet. He was handsome once. Yes, with a great deal of success and kindly promises for more. “But things change,” croaked the repulsive image below him. The longest of his years had come to pass. And though infancy's eon is beautiful, his birth year’s novelty was never again. Instead, he was left a year of hardship, whose own novelty was bitter in dying light of his previous life. No dried call for help would aid him now. “Nor will anything for that matter.” A thousand reminders now spoke below him in the rain swept street. “If Hardship’s year has any lesson, futile are my empty words.

Maybe I should write mystery novels.

Sunday, July 12, 2009


my scanner has kicked the bucket, I think. Which is sad, I have so much stuff I'd like to upload.
I'm nearly finished with Volume 3. What a run it's been!
Other than that, nothing too new on my end save the same ol' artistic pursuit.
I received full scores on my AP 2d portfolio though, which is encouraging. So many other lovely individuals from the 2008 CSSSA animation department received full scores as well.
And to think today marked an entire year since I first stepped inside the palace. Miss you guys.

I've been reading quite a bit of fantasy as of late, too. I enjoy a good tale or two. But I understand why Tolkien is so revered! He paints such lush pictures in your head, with his fascination of myth, geography and botany. It'd be neat to do a series of drawings based on the world that he so masterfully brings to life.

Monday, April 20, 2009

April 15th

Buried deep, in steppes of rain,
the springtime showers never name
where flightless bird give way to ground
whose loss of life is never found.

Yet, we swallow, whole and real
the thickness of the snots that fill
each swollen nose, and blistered tongue
and dying airs that wilt the lung

Of all you held so close and dear
not through love, but out of fear.
'Cause anxious gust and baleful wind
dance beneath our feet again.

So gray across the skies we stand
with falling birds that never land
with drifting sail and misty frill
we the clouds, forever spill.

Springtime showers which never fame
the buried deeper steppes of rain

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Three birds

are dead on my walks these days. April's still wonderful, though. I'm glad its here.

Spring showers, windy sunsets and anxious gusts are reason enough.

Monday, March 30, 2009

With Opaque Eyes

She'd reawake
The loving ties,
He once would make.

Spring time crushes; awe maaan.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

It's easier this way

We'll wait patiently as the tide shifts to the ultrasound of your beating heart. It bleeds through sand covered lots where obligations withhold tired, compassionate tendencies.
Instead, waves crash and your voice shrinks, while sea froth pools across the sand. Their bending refractions paint infant rainbows on your falling eye lash. And as the dust settles from its short fall, so too does a single tear whose significance you have not yet deciphered.
"I love you though, dear friend," said he, as stars of sand skitter across footprints left behind days before. "And through the opportunities missed so often, imply a safeguard of ignorance above every misdeed you hide beneath."

It's easier this way.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Therein lies

the garnered wisdom that is all around.

Therein are the lives forgotten you would find profound.

Therein lies the truth you speak in every word that's said.

Therein lies the beauty in the emptiness ahead.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Of cookies and airports

I had a really troubling dream last night, about a friend who moved down my street just a few weeks ago. Every weekend, she heads back to her family in Tijuana, which is kind of crazy in my mind. I can't help but feel sorry, being so whiny as she goes through more each weekend then I do each season.

Anyway, this kind friend whom I hadn't heard from since the dawn of last weekend wound up in a super vivid dream of mine. She always tells me stories about her kin back home, so I conjured up interesting characters alongside her.
But it was sad.

It ended with our last exchange in an airport. She was leaving back home for good.
Where most of my dreams, including the vivid, feel rushed and hazy, this was of a different breed. The acute details of her face, the words we spoke and the overall vibe was overpowering. Its final moments will be confused with legitimate memories in the years to come.
She smiled sadly, saying "See you around, Kit."
I woke up kind of weepy.

First class of the day is Japanese (the class in which I met her.) Her seat was empty as she had switched out.
But on my desk were a box of cookies, and a quickly written note: "Thank you for everything. I'll See you around, Kit."

Nicknames can make a grown boy cry.

A Poem

Beautiful, yet unnerving
his families tendencies,

Drive down a world still revolving
Still there are the discrepancies

They'd handle each every morning,
with shouting fits all exploding.

Then the son would step outside
where his thoughts would glide

Of how he loved them all so much
With smoky rings he'd stoop to touch.

5 Months later!

It could be worse. I'll pretend nothing has happened in the time between this post and the last. Makes writing this a whole lot easier.

I miss you fellow (yet distant) bloggers! Hope to hear from you soon.

Love, Kristian