Critical Mass


When I was younger my mother would wonder what I wanted to be when I’m older. As far as I could see we were critical mass waste factories, so without hesitation, I told her. I wanted to be a garbage collector so that I could explore how other people lived, and to be an extension of our neighbor’s ejection of trash was, to me, intimate and productive. And as I tried to explain how cool the trucks were to my brain, she laughed out loud and proclaimed… something about something that I can’t quite remember, while the memory of her laughter remained.

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Being Creative


The burden of the creative is not to be persuasive, and yet to be convincing through our insights from existing. Celebrated or debated, poetry to me is molding diamonds freely, and until the verse is pondered, it is free to roam and wander, to breathe, to evolve, to be the problem that only it can solve.

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Quantifiable Immortality


In this digital age of information, we have yet to conquer communication. While seeking reciprocation we are met with indignation. Even if only to market love, we find emptiness and provocation. So we boil our blood to feel alive, in lockstep together we stride. Together we fight. Together we take flight. Together we dive into our humanity to explore our sanity.

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