Blessed are the guardians who dare to produce reality from the fantasies of the kept. ~ Barbara Ann took a gamble on her child. A computer programmer fronted the expenses for a dreamer’s two-week trial period in the west. A poet’s mother booked a hotel room at the Holiday Inn LAX. D.J.’s parent paid for […]Read more "– credit –"
This realm belongs to the gallant, setting examples without sitting in the cage waiting for approval, waiting to be recovered. Once a grey-winged dove, always a grey-winged dove. Soar swift and robust with conviction; defiance is your name. ~ ~ D.J.W.Read more "– what is normal anyway? –"
Tuesday morning at the Kawada Hotel, DTLA: The love of my life, for now, and I awaken from slumber. We play around in bed, discuss this dirty thing and that dirty thing, play around again, discuss taking a shower, and play around so more. I profess my adoration for a special Albanian-English woman, magnificence in […]Read more "– dancing to dua lipa –"
Any weather in Los Angeles that is not sunny and/or blisteringly hot has become a bit unsettling to me, a bit abnormal it seems. Imagine one Sunday morn looking out of a window to view the most fog-filled day seen since you first stepped foot on California soil. You hear the alarm bell in […]Read more "– foggy sunday –"
Let me make you ill with delight. I’m bizarre, humble, love to sing and dance when there’s no music playing, will pass you tissues when you cry about issues, and I dream like no other. Take the cotton candy from my clouds of magic. Devour them when needed, most especially on your days filled with […]Read more "– infectious –"
Vain, vain, vain… filters can only filter so much of my adoration for selfies. It’s the most worrisome of validation for me. It’s the most shameful of glamour shots for myself. It’s the messiest of self-love for I. Good lighting and great angles have become significant confidantes to me… almost like the names Victoria […]Read more "– i just might be an instagram model –"
Hear them on the streets, in the alleys, on the Metro… conversing solely with themselves. Laughter. Ire. Discomfort, with a gibberish only a toddler would understand. I once read on a conspiracy theorist webpage that they are allegedly communicating with the demons of Los Angeles, chosen and tormented because they’re homeless, and who would believe […]Read more "– the language of the unstable –"