laughing cadavers.

laughing cadavers\\9.23.14

some people laugh in the faces of the dead, their demeanor feeble
a wretched dog in the grey of their days, numbered, one, two, three, four
how many more before their eyes shroud in the distant light?
their bones crumble and their teeth fall out, pieces and pieces of cadaver.

would you kill your soul to see them go? your soul was dead to begin with.

some time in the absence of the light the boots of men—brave! brave! brave!
like thunder clap against the empty universe, drowning inside the brainless curse.

if i had a penny for every time i fell down died, i’d be giggling too
too nervous to see it to the end, their graves marked by the devastating edge.

their emotions convulse over the empire, too many dead to see the ocean
colorless so be it.

colors must die when a good man drowns in war.




his knuckles are bruised. they cover varicose veins.
his bones wilt under the impact.

metal against grass, skin against concrete.

a gasp in the width of an uncaring crowd like
teethy foxes in place of the justice league.

revenge, except it never worked.

a jet in the air for the fairy winter solstice.

something pops as she suffers.

his watch might leave an imprint seared like from branding.

she closes her eyes and imagines red iron against red iron against him.

his fairytales were never false and it tore at her limbs,

creatures of satanic descent.

so she ran into the forest, they say, and the day was so hot

her atoms burst and she became the young willow tree by the river.

a thousand years and she’s still young. 

writing is the universe.

Writing is the universe: it’s vast and complex and infinite and it sucks. How can mind-blowing things like nano-diamonds exist in the same dimension as my smelly socks? I cannot even fathom.
How can the slight difference in the structure of a molecule make the difference between an asthmatic medicine and the meth college-dropouts snort? I cannot even fathom.
I listen to Cobain and Grohl and Filter and Momsen and I’m happy and I cry. Why are emotions biologically explainable and yet still so so incomprehensible? I cannot even fathom. Sometimes I don’t want to.
This isn’t even about writing; this is about me because I am writing and I am the universe. Every single atom in the universe is the universe. I cannot—well, you know.
Here’s the paraphrased version of something someone said once: we learn that when our solar system was created, 99.99 percent of everything was sucked into the Sun. So everything else, the trees and you and me and spiders, are all the 00.01 percent that survived. And so we’re pretty freaking lucky.
I think I made a mistake. I said that everything in the universe is the universe, but actually, I think everything that cannot be touched, like our souls and our minds and our fears—that is the universe. Because those are the things that science can’t explain and Einstein can’t prove. And they are very scary because we cannot grasp them in our hands and call them mine. We cannot hunt them and frame them and showcase them in our houses. We cannot put price tags on them—we cannot even define them.
So why is this called ‘writing is the universe’? Because writing sets our souls and minds and fears free—and that makes writing so inconceivably powerful. And so yes, writing is the universe: it’s vast and complex and infinite and it does suck, but it is us.


No, it’s not a type of drug, albeit that would be a pretty cool thing to name one.

Morpheme, infact, is another way to say word.

[technically, it means the smallest meaningful unit in the grammar of a language, but same thing]


Today, I want to talk about words.


I’ve always had a sort of fascination with words, and how if you put the right ones together they could create a beatific melody and everything just falls into place.


It’s one of the reasons I wanted to be a writer. Another one was because I didn’t want to go to waste. I’ve always had a sneaky fear of leaving this world without doing anything productive. And being a fanatic reader, lover of stories, and having a head full of turbulent ideas, I guess it just happened.


But back to words.


They are so eloquent and persuasive. Sometimes, I admit, words can be worthless, ruthless, or dismissing, but most of the time they are crucial. Not just for living things to communicate the basic needs and wants of one another, but to let people express their emotions, thoughts, and ideas.


I’ve been recently thinking about the most important word in the universe. I first thought it must be the word used the most, but that would probably be I and that’s too selfish, or it might be and, but that’s too trivial. And then I realized that maybe the words used more often are the most meaningless exactly because they have been said so much, in all manners, in all contexts, and of no real essence.

So I think that the quintessential word of all, the one that matters most, is the one that encompasses the thing or things that are so mind-blowingly incomprehensible that words cannot express them.


I know that basically means that words only describe the basic, comprehendible parts of being, but that makes the words that don’t exist, that we’ll never hear spoken from someone’s lips, so much more precious.


And I know now I must be rambling, so on to what I originally meant this blog post for:

The beauty of using words to express ourselves.


Weird how writers find their biggest passion in that, but as one, I completely understand. I imagine to non-writers it might be like how I feel about track & field.

I don’t get how other people could possible devote their whole lives to doing it, yet I know to them it must be freeing of the soul.


And I’ll never understand why someone might absolutely despise reading, when that’s all I can do, but then again they want to become video game programmers, something I despise, so what am I being a hypocrite for?

I know listing here the words I look up to would be too tedious, so I won’t even try.


Another thing I really enjoy is making words up when you can’t express yourself clearly, or if you don’t like the words presented to you on your tongue. This is where artistic freedom really comes in handy. I’ve described crowds as braily or a sound as a whisp all the while fully knowing that those words did not exist in an English dictionary.


And I really do hope that I’m not the only one who appreciates words and their utter prowess when it comes to captivating us.

dead thoughts.

I went to the cemetery today.


I had it all planned out. I would go there during the day with my mom as company, we’d find some place under a tree, shaded from the blazing sun, and all I’d do is write.


That is not quite how it all went down.


First, as surprising as it may be, mom didn’t feel as excited as I was to go to a cemetery. I was initially gonna go at night so it was a good idea that I didn’t mention that option to mom. It would’ve been pushing it. After convincing her that it was a great idea, we drove there with a blanket to sit on and some snacks. We wandered around a bit, looking for a shaded, kind of secluded spot while also trying not to read too many of the tombstones.


The further we went into the cemetery, the drier and more lifeless the grass became. I told mom it must have been the dead sucking the life out of the grass. That was a stupid thing to say.


We chose a looming tree to settle under and lay down the blanket. Five minutes later, I was all into the scene I was writing when mom told me that the huge tree we decided to sit by had hundreds of ants crawling over it.


Needless to say, we didn’t stay long.

We ended up at a Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, mom sipping some steaming white chocolate while the guy behind me made me keep trying to shield my laptop screen from view so he wouldn’t read what I was writing.

We didn’t stay there long either.

And to top it all off, I wasn’t happy with what I had written so essentially the whole thing was a bust.



four (fairly) easy steps to dealing with procrastination.

To all you goody-two-shoes out there: yes, this is a thing. Procrastination is one of those horrible states of mind that carefully tiptoe behind you, grab ahold of your (obviously muscled, since you’re the hottie of the universe) shoulders and don’t let go until you’ve kicked, screamed, bitten, punched, and bitch-slapped the hell out of that thing. Even then Procrastination only left because he got tired of your constant whining (and farting) so he decided to torture someone else. Probably me.

So I have whipped up a little guide on how to look Procrastination in the face and say:

tumblr_inline_mpa66cD7HO1qz4rgp  (and also how to destroy him.)

Step One: The bloody Death of Denial.

You have to recognize that those slimy hands on your back belong to Procrastination. You have to aknowledge the fact that you have been forced into that despisable state of mind and you must do everything in your power to get out of it. Do not deny it and keep on watching Between Two Ferns on your laptop. That is not how you recognize Procrastination.

If I ever catch you denying that beast hanging on your back, this is what I’ll do:

No! No no no!

No! No no no!

You bet I will.

Step Two: The Why.

Now that you know that Procrastination is holding you hostage, and you are ready to get the hell out of there, there is nothing holding you back from freedom (except maybe that monster on your back but that’s what this guide is for).

Here is what you got to do:

Find out why Procrastination has chosen to torture you. You have to know the problem to be able to solve it.

Is it because you are unhappy with what you should be doing? Do you not want to do it?

Are you disgruntled because you aren’t doing so well with whatever you should be doing?

Does the idea of obligation send you running into a hole? Or is the reason something else?

(This step is kind of useless because no matter what your answer to that question was, the solution is the same.)

Step Three: The Fight.

This is the most important step. This is why I even bothered to write this step-by-step guide.

But because Procrastination is my friend (and also, I lost a bet), I’ll show you an example before explaining this crucial step of the process.


Say you are a writer like myself and you can’t get yourself to do just that: write. You have all these great story ideas but for some obscure reason you can’t get yourself to simply sit your ass on a chair and use that funny little thing called a pen.

You have already gone through Step One and you know that you have been teleported to Procrastination Island.

You have also gone through Step Two and realized that you can’t write because you are afraid of hating what you write.

Now you’re on Step Three. What do you do?

You freaking write. It doesn’t even have to be the thing you should be writing, it could be anything. Write a short story, a poem, a list of things you’d like to see hang, a grocery list, a letter you finally have an excuse to write, or even a simple scene that pops into your head. It could literally be anything you want.

And keep doing these little ‘writing excercises’ per se, until you start feeling this burning glow in you chest. It starts out like a little tickling sensation, then it becomes a swirling ball of fire, and soon it’s become bouncy and it’s hitting the walls of your insides. What is this feeling? It’s your desire to write that thing you should have been writing all along.

[end of example.]

Now what have we learned here?

To fight off Mr. Procrastination, you have to remember why you used to love doing that thing. Or if you never did, then you have to find something in that thing that you do like. No matter what it is, there must be something you enjoy about it. It could even be just the fact that once you finish, it’ll all be over.

Now, grasp onto that joyful thing and hold on as tight as you can. Imagine that you are trying to climb up a rope and you have to pull yourself away from the ground (Procrastination). Gravity (you know who) is holding you back but with enough strength and desire, you can do it.

So pull.

Step Four: The Happy Dance.

Congratulations! You’ve succeeded in fighting off Procrastination. You kick ass. Now don’t get carried away, Procrastination will surely visit you many more times throughout your life, but until then, let’s  do the happy dance:

tumblr_inline_mq5cz3CfNm1qz4rgp             tumblr_inline_mqd30pphJj1qz4rgp    tumblr_inline_ms6qaqGkxp1qz4rgp     tumblr_inline_mwnz5ulchK1r9avt2

tumblr_inline_mu7gdsbamW1rybgzk  tumblr_inline_myy2b1xzFy1rg0g8s  tumblr_inline_n0f7q72oC21rg0g8s


tumblr_myh8bicC0r1t2sdq3o1_250   and even with friends:       tumblr_ms3kpeTtRo1sbn4mio1_250


Disclaimer: I can’t guarantee to get any monster off your back for sure. I’m not a Ghost Buster.