Current Residence: When I live in a place for more than a handful of months, I'll let you know.|
Former Residences: Montreal, QC
Los Angeles, CA
And various towns within Massachusetts
Some of my favorite songs.
SpireblackDark maroon bleeds from the inky rock— formed of words unsaid— in Spireblack.Spireblack by Craazhy
The ground is a damp, incomprehensible mush where a manless boot remains.
He can see here. There is no safety for the still and dry of sweat.
Up above in the bleary white miasma from where heaven fell, a flat note echoes the last music.
Seventy-five-point-five percent falls from the cliffs and into its turbulent river.
In a silver pool is the reflection of the immaculate portrait she painted,
as rum soaks into its fibers and dilutes the colors.
A black voice whispers "isn't this better?"
A discomfort settles through the marrow.
A fire ignites on the tongue.
A hushed laughter upon you is the sound of death.
The ComedyMy ear is bleeding and the phone is ringing.The Comedy by Craazhy
Pale, east coast sunlight.
I can't imagine he's as good to you as I.
But, at least he's there.
Or, lucky enough to be born close enough to touch you.
The blood looks like dry dirt on my safety earplugs.
There's a metaphor to be had here, somewhere.
Been floating in space too long.
An old truck driver tells me "don't let them fool you."
He tells me "the guys are the romantics and the gals just find it fascinating."
It would add up.
Maybe devotion is nothing but novelty.
Maybe I amused you.
I find myself tolerating the vulgarity of blue ink today—
though, the paper: the finest sensation the skin could detect,
other than yours.
Mr. Williams is dead and so, I suppose, we don't need cameras anymore.
Smash the pencils and pens. Burn the paper.
The universe has reaped its tax and we are left in tatters.
You've never even seen Good Will Hunting.
You've never watched a movie with me.
My ear is still bleedin
Early WinterThere's just one Earth, but I can't breathe with the others.Early Winter by Craazhy
I'm not meant for them—
whether ordained by god
or tossed forward, into each other, by the raging indifference of nature.
Until they stop talking about weather
and the old men— what they wouldn't give for this misery,
wasted on the miserable—
I had said I will love you,
even if you don't love me.
PyramidsThe secret remarked in dead languagesPyramids by Craazhy
kept in pyramids for the greed of men.
The steel vaults—
all locks and deadly mechanisms.
It was so simple.
They killed each other before the sun
on rolling fields of red and brown grass.
They murdered each other in the light of the moon.
All the world's gold and holy secrets.
It was love.