April 17, 2014   68 notes

Intentionally Lost 
Untitled, 2014


Intentionally Lost

Untitled, 2014

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April 17, 2014   289 notes

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April 17, 2014   41,023 notes


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April 17, 2014   30,973 notes

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April 16, 2014   401 notes

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April 16, 2014   120,440 notes

“Just Good Friends” by James Needham

i’ll never not reblog this


“Just Good Friends” by James Needham

i’ll never not reblog this

(Source: charmtheworld, via masturbathingape)

April 11, 2014

and again

"I’m glad you exist and that i met you"

I’m a block away

I’m having a pleasant coffee-drinking experience.

It may have been enhanced because I was thinking of you

Miss you

No I miss the sweet positive energy you emit

Be nicer

Where r u?

Hey you awake

You finish you shit?

I will! Love you!

Haha love you

Ahh don’t give me heart attacks 

Doesn’t he usually?

You’ll like me in time.

She’s known me for like two weeks.


April 11, 2014   1 note

txt msg poems again again



That’s my ass tattoo

April 11, 2014   1 note

txt msg poems again

"9 nigga"

Also this is where I am

I’m having coffee at La Boulange for the first time

Near Montgomery Bart, market, 3rd, Kearney

Maya is hanging out because its her birthday! At one

Usually first Friday of the month—in Oakland.

Maya will barter for matching skirt

And spend some QT

She’s known me for like two weeks.

Anyone who uses the term burn (still) and calls their own burns a burn AND uses hashtags? Is way too trendy for my social sphere……………..

Most likely the art school grad who lives in ‘the loin’

I was mostly commenting on her being hella rude.

Do you see this!!!???

She lying if she said that

I’m a horrible racist

Ok sure


Okay fine

Actually I’m great at being a racist 

April 11, 2014

text message poems (all received)



My friend Casey killed himself today

He texted “yooo it’s E”

I won’t as long as no one offers me free cocaine :)

Haha I promise I’ll really try not to

WHAT. what happened

I’ll take a cab

In cab on my way

It’s ok. It was late 

Fighting off demons everyday

We miss you

You weenie

But why 15 min later

I feel ya do what you gotta do but if you change your mind let me know

I don’t know what to do

I’m out here tryna function

Hey you awake

Hey you awake yet?

April 11, 2014   1 note



sandy feet bring home seagull feathers

but I’m afraid to touch them

I’m afraid of the diseases birds carry

so I leave them at the door with my happiness

the beach is cruel

unlike the softness I’m used to

a tunnel ends in gray concrete adding to the scene

of gray skies gray sand and gray faces

I feel no happiness here

where the buses screech to a halt in the empty streets

and the cold crawls into bed with you

Jackson got into my trash can again

and my roommates cry on the other side of the wall 

they are washed up

with the crab shells I found as I took an empty walk

and tried to hold onto something 

that I was afraid to touch


the babies cruise past in their carriages 

their virtuous mothers blossoming in yoga pants

"sugar free vanilla"

croissants and granola

life didn’t give them lemons

life handed them lulu lemon

i’m a youngmoneydowntowntechfinancialplanner

and under awning in blue

tinted eyes concealed by ray bands look through us

as we smoke our cigarettes after mopping the floor

and take a tall boy to allyne park

where we talk shit by the dogs running after their balls

and then head to the other side of town

to our homes

where we belong


the water beds swept our hearts through a rocky tide

as porn kicked up heels at the kozy kar

and the fruitcakes in on polk street 

are not the spectacle you gawk at 

"you’d suck our dicks anyway"

the tenderloin bursts with urchins 

who stick on the slab of sidewalk outside of home

where inside candy dribbles

cigarettes singe

vices litter the streets

as I march from my door 

inhaling the overwhelming stench of saigon sandwiches

which mixes with stale piss and dirty fingernails

and you can’t sit at the bus stop

because the couple is fighting again

as women walk past in their bathing suit tops during december

and fight at the taco bell

rotten teeth and sleeping bags

the liquor store eyes watching from the glowing doorway

and I’ll never eat a saigon sandwich again 


There could be a palm tree

but rather there is a hot dog

cloaked in bacon

blistering down the dirty street

where I once strutted 

smoldering with curiosity

of a life I didn’t know yet

we started a revolution

when I sat and talked with Anna in front of the cafe

she always brought her own cup

and wore a powder pink barrette

the old men call you pretty if you’re blonde

and you’re strutting down the sloppy street

where I had a make out room

filled with devotion, detestation, and deadeyes

it would follow us where ever we went

and we always went to the mission