When You’re Not Living The Dream
A Collection of Photos and Poems From The Other 23 Hours
husetts c a s s a e To M
Driv s y a D t of a Portrai flecting hering e r e u l ld of b er gat The fie oplets of wat per dr ld wi e i h off the s d e he win f Nativ me because o n o i t below t odifica eels home to m m o c f The ulture oy guns c n a c i A m er h our t t i w t I t we s h o ately to r e p s e d I tried d n a d more ghe y u n a l . a e n o e n t Everyo ou clean shav , I don’t want y k picture ugh I could as o ratch E v en t h le and c b s s m i a h g y on a atched e r c n s o y m b s er near nd he lost hi ilure v i r d e Th et a k c i o n a fa t y y e r e n t o t o m off l d and losing e i e d r t a a e h t about s y d r i a k t here w e n of thos ed a docume d k n i h t h I e ecticut high and watc that they liv n n o C In s mad e got a w w t I h g d i n the n l i v ed a l l a y e s of the sky and nof n e e r how th g of the ds and s e y r a t r h g g The bri unteracts the ay die co we m h c leaves i h w e in the hom
onkers Parking Y A m o r F s n o Observati
Lot
st clothes I am in my wor ell is smoke And all I can sm ernacular v n w o r u o e v a We h w For smoking no lost all meaning e v a h s d r o w y And m d repeat them n a t a e p e r d n a A s I r ep ea t very syllable e d e d i iv d e v a And I h For content I feel content t a th d e id c e d e And I hav contentment d e r a fe s y a lw a Though I have orst clothes w y m ll a r a e w So I And I smoke
On Anxiety
o my world t in g in h s a I world is cr ’s e n o y uakes that r q e h t v r E a e y n re so m a and there a vomiting p o t s t o n n a c
the doors of your teeth are closing down on me and collapsing on my lungs until I can touch the incandescent bottom and they told me my lungs would collapse and I told them that my spine was weak and they loved me and I loved them but my teeth bore down on the carcasses of their young and I bore down on my young before their births and I cried at your alter and I cried at your shrine and I pressed my petals into your palm and I made the sign of the cross with my ashes I like the savior with more blood I like the stakes in the savior’s feet and hands they are low
we’ve bee n drawin g ourselv a list of p es on our ieces to b phones uild a fac my face n e ev er c o m es i don’t lik e the way out right it l i ike to be surprised ooks b i like forg etting tha y my reflection t i am me
thirteen is my lucky number and now thirteen days have stolen my appreciation of self
being surrounded by others every moment of every day is incredibly lonely you see too much of them up close you see too much of yourself up close you see what they love, what they cherish you see the little parts of the day that awaken them you see the love that holds them up I have started to watch myself disappear I used to disappear into my art my art has become trite it has become scripted it has lost any semblance of myself I have returned as the marionette of my past fears I pantomime the christ every day and every day I die for my sins no longer dying to myself just dying
I did not feel any larger
ance t m i r h o s f l B ul s Per d I M n g e a n k i a of Fa talgi That Liv s s o e t N a g n st twee erstandin n a Rock Inter e b e wher An Und ry Lines o ions e m o and ca t ina ht s Caug ive Truth een Imag ferent Lo t if w Objec here bet cture of D w i So m e e Sa m e P th And ism ystic
I r ea d t I read he sunligh t t I did n he weathe off of the su r ot loo k out reports on ndial of my m windo y glow bo x w at t h e pa ssing w
I did not feel any larger
orld
Lupe
My mother always says she wanted ten kids She was one of seven – one of six now She never met her goal She says it wasn’t the Lord’s plan for her But she didn’t meet me with the Lord She spent all her money on test tubes and hormones and petri dishes She tried to build me in hospitals and bedrooms and non-descript office buildings “The Million Dollar Baby” She sends me a lot of text messages about Where I am and when I’m getting somewhere She narrates episodes of Friends over my daily accounts I’m sitting out on a Nashville porch She hasn’t seen me in years Not a stoop like I’m used to I’m feeling the guilt of my live and my breathing It’s a comfort of home I suppose
to be resigned to death
i see the ages at which your parents passed i see the slowly deteriorating bones in your spine you can hardly speak without crying will i soon be your care
you say i’ve been places you’ll never see you say you want the pictures so you know but you know, and i know, that seeing is not real that a film impression is not the world
or is this our world?
our fun goes boom our heroes go boom too
a shallow sleep on your couch i awoke to clashing china i knew you smiled from your room above
i count the cans outside your window i count the hands wrapping my neck hours before i see another field of red and blue in the distance i left when you left, each toward our home towns i to stumble through my stories, you to stumble through your store i am fine and you are fine Everything Is Alright.