nothing ever surprises me. i can always predict the outcome of everything, relationships and encounters. i could have written the story of my life from start to finish on the day i was born. i wish, just once, i could be blown away by how something turns out. i'm not saying that good things don't happen. i'm just saying that even good things are tarnished when you can see them coming. and the bad ones too. impervious, unconcerned, unimpressed, unresponsive, unstirred, untouched, indifferent.

timing is of importance above most all other things. i'm trying more and more to rely on its jurisdiction over all matters. whether the underlying current be divine or coincidence...makes no difference to me. nothing brings me more satisfaction than something just happening because i happened to do things in a certain order at a certain time with no real clues as to the result of my actions, premonitions notwithstanding. i'm trying to find a beauty in the organic and natural order of stuff. yea. i said "stuff".

I drew you pictures of my pain.
They were so pretty.
They were so vain.



a lot of people consider bivouac to be one of jawbreaker's worst albums. i think it's alright. and i've always loved this song. sure, they have better songs, but they have worse ones too. it's indulgent. like most jawbreaker songs.

tonight i asked a girl i work with if i could photograph her in her underwear. she seemed confused and said "for what? ...like, art or something". and i said "yea, art....or something".

an old bike in front of the barn near the house i used to live in. some old blacktop over the earth where i once saw a snake coiled, moving slowly and deliberately but with little effort. lying awake at night hoping to awake to the sound of feral puppies crying underneath the floorboards, their mother killed in some tragic accident. reaching, scared, needing and not knowing how to take. old houses breathe around you. my father once expressed the utmost disgust for people who try to install insulation in old houses. "they can't breathe anymore if you do that" he'd say. my parents' house has this room that's always been called "the no-no room" for as long as the house has been in our family (must be something like 100 years by now). I'm assuming it was once a formal dining room where no children were to be caught. at this point it's just filled with memories no one has time to organize. there's an old piano in there that doesn't fit out the door. i think my grandmother said they had to break a wall down to get it in there. i think i consider it the heart of the house, but i don't know anymore.