722 N 40° 40' 38.39" W 73° 57' 50.27"
724 N 40° 45' 7.95" W 73° 59' 7.34"

724 N 40° 42' 54.12" W 73° 59' 3.38"

the way i'm sucking at this bottle reminds me of how we'd go out in the woods when we were little kids, poke the sharp ends of sticks deep into the ground, wiggle our fingers to displace the dirt, pile it somewhere behind us. we'd talk about making the hole deep enough to crawl through, deep enough to come out on the other side of the earth. i'd carry that loam under my fingernails all day, bring it into the bath with me, my mother scolding for the way it clogged the drain. nobody bothers to scold me anymore when my hands are dirty. sometimes i wonder if i can ever get them clean.

you say my tongue makes too many promises, but i always come through, don't i? well don't i? when i keep my promises you always come too, don't you? well don't you?

my name sounds better when it's dripping from your lips, your name sounds better when it's trapped within a kiss. these words, our voices. a whisper in the quiet dawn sounds like a tired chorus.

go home, break your heart. reconstruct it, take it apart. that's the cycle when you're trapped inside your head, a laundry list of tawdry trysts, you're better off dead. let it go when she strays. you're used to this, you're used to this, no one ever stays. but you love the way she tastes, love the way she'll slap your face. strung out on the floor, admit you only love the chase.

all these lyrics are shit lately, no? not drinking enough. not smoking enough. not fucking enough. need something real, something i can feel.

the trouble's starting already, days running together. faces bleeding into each other, one touch two touch (s)he'll touch you touch.

sometimes i think about making a list of all the ways one person can tell you you're not good enough. sometimes i think i can fill the pages of this notebook and the next two after that off a dead romance, ride the what if's into the sunset.

sometimes i think i could swim out into the horizon and just keep going forever. sometimes i don't think at all. i like that, the silence. slowing my brain down enough to just exist in the moment, hanging over the void. from 17 stories up, the wind creates a tunnel. you can scream and scream and scream until your air runs out, until your lungs collapse, and no one on the ground will hear you. all my secrets, every one of them, the wind keeps them all.

i'm naming my album (in bed).

every song will be named after the fortune from the center of the cookies i've been getting from kung fu ramen.

ideas
i. a new voyage will fill your life with untold memories
ii. it's over your head now. time to get some professional help
iii. love is like sweet nectarine, good to the last drop
iv. first they ignore you, then they attack you, then you win
v. it is not the strong but the responsive that survive
vi. your spouse's bills are yours and yours are yours
vii. a pound of pluck is worth a ton of luck
viii. about time i got out of that cookie