phlwest - blog
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cool toned silence washes ashore and seeps into every part of existence.
summer days fly and night air comes to deafening halts. no wind, no movement.
birds have left for the north, insects need water and there’s none around.
cities speak tongues and i stopped trying to understand years ago. 
thoughts implode on concrete ground without sound. 

                i do belive in love at first sight,
it is no illusion.
you can make me feel better.
 
               we can get together, 
i really want to be with you.
come on check it out with me, i hope you’ll feel the same way too.
                                 get together.

               all work has to be excellent work.
quality over quantity.
i’ll take it to heart.
              all love is excellent love. 
quality and quantity.
i’ll take your heart.

it’s 1:26 am and my heart won’t slow.
i’ve been thinking about music and life and you.
grey matter don’t stop.
time tells me to sleep.
but matter forms energy,
so i’ll keep thinking.

here, still in my little corner of the universe. not found, not forgotten.
excited to see what life brings, the good, the better, the ugly. 
got people i can 1, 2, 3 on. they can 4, 5, 6 on me. 
 
making progress on project01; the working title for the big one.
taking pictures to build foundations for memories.
listening.

i love films about space. openness.
i am pumped for ‘first man’ to hit the movies. 

only knew i was falling once i hit the ground. feelings cut without warning, 
with no sound. time’s breaking, i am water, draining.
you were the rain and i came from you.

‘if i am an advocate for anything, it’s to move. as far as you can, as much as you can.
across the ocean, or simply across the river. walk in someone else’s shoes or at least 
eat their food. it’s a plus for everybody.’
 
— anthony bourdain.
it’s been a draining week; never once forget you’re loved.

i’ve been consumed by scents before, but it’s never been this tactile.
warm, light-blue liquor in my lungs distorts spacetime and puts me back
into your arms. cracks in the walls, i can see reality through them, but i am back.
time felt like a human concept, off its hinges when i am with you. faster, slower;
never ordinary.
the bedroom walls are crumbling, no debris, light seeping through.
i am back.

just finished reading a story i wish i’d lived. not in whole, maybe in part.
i like the way it was told.
there’s beauty to young love, i wish i had pictures of mine.
remembering the good times here. each memory a part of us.
love can move quick, hurt long.
we’ll get used to it.

my body speaks but my mind ain’t too good of a listener.
– feel like i’m dying – sort of vibe.
still alive though, still alive.
the light takes all rationality when it leaves, and it leaves every night:
i’m becoming more aware of the calm his body brings.
he fucking gets it.

i got the memo: robyn – ‘dancing on my own’ turns eight today.
what a record that is. jack made me aware and i can’t agree more,
shit is life-changing. go listen now, do yourself a favor.
i’ve been imagining being on stage, singing and dancing on my own
to that song for so long.
pure emotion in electronic settings will always have my number.
call it.

i’ll move in, right next to you;
won’t hang my art, won’t play your song;
be on the low, keep to myself;
look out the window every now and then.

i’ll hold my memories to higher standards,
honesty feels different and is felt different.
looking back, flipping through years within 
seconds; it gives perspective. much needed 
perspective.

dissect is dissecting a favorite of mine.

the hot equatorial sun keeps burning through my pale ass skin. i love it.
my place is heating up and ideas start cooking; the night comes too soon.
i’ve been working through 3 am. wake up at 7, every day.
routine over excuses.

i’ve been watering my plants. it’s been helping me water my senses and talents.
i’m becoming a good waterer.

i’ve been writing for long, deleting for longer. the artist roadbloacking art. it’s not a good feeling.
i like these short little windows into someones home of thoughts, collection of memories. it feels
real. if you’re reading this or you’re not – i’ll keep writing, stop deleting. i’ll make something good,
something that lasts, anything. maybe i should put more thought into these…  or less.
more seems good though.