Monday, December 3, 2012

Hello Goodbye

Oh hello,
and goodbye again.
For a while.

I'll be away for a year,
making art, travelling,
roaming, laughing, driving,
driving, driving, driving,
meeting people, etc.

Goodbye, goodbye;
but not for so long.

You can check up on me
on my new site:

But for now:
(Here's my website that looks shitty right now

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Jack Gilbert is dead &

Roman Ondák’s room of heights

I thought for a brief moment that this was a wall with people who have died, which I thought maybe had Jack Gilbert and now I'm sad that Jack Gilbert's name isn't written on a wall somewhere with his death date written on it that isn't a gravestone because there's something not holy enough about a stone next to an impermanent wall, that will one day be washed away with our names on a slab and replaced with someone new. It seems all together more fitting, I think, at least for a poet. Maybe I'll do that one day.

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Things you buy that aren't things

I'm looking at a belt I bought on a pair of shorts in China Town, and in the end I don't think I really wanted them, but the woman was so sweet. And when I was trying them on she told my mom, "You have two older boys? Boy, boy, girl. That's good luck!" and I always think about that & I'm remembering that now. And I'm just thinking I probably would have paid her 12 bucks to feel like we were lucky and worry a little less. This happens a lot. One night me & lexi were staying out really late, doing what? I don't remember but we had some of the greatest conversations, walking home, sitting on the steps of the whiskey bar, sneaking into school to talk out of windows, and I was sure that it would be more fun if I was half sitting in mine, her talking to my dangling legs-- but it wasn't and then my pelvis hurt. The bartender called us a cab and hated us for drinking lavender tea and we sat, now on the steps talking about everything, took the cab to our houses, but it was a lot more than a ride, because we talked about about life and work and fear and family and even death. We got life lessons from that cab driver, sometimes you do.

Sunday, October 14, 2012


It's very much a Kenneth Koch kind of day.

Listened to him in the morning (again) from the the listening booth,

I just really love listening to poetry...

I don't remember who or what exactly, it was something like
"Poetry is meant to live on the breath, to be read and heard."

No sleep

It's not just the Beatles but that's all I'm showing you I suppose

Making it a point to creep myself out tonight. not on purpose of course, but God, am I doing a good fucking job.
I defy anyone to watch this video and sleep. Like a fucking brilliant commenter said,
"Feel like i just survived an Exorcism"

--update about an hour later delving farther into the nightmare abyss.

....god damn it. I really just feel like crawling into fetal and crying right about now

Thursday, September 27, 2012

I just wish

wish I had a giant climbable book case.

I'm going to make that happen now.
My own personal, intellectual mountain to climb.
No hand chalk needed. No Cliff bars, but maybe a snack afterwords. 


Sunday, September 2, 2012

Years From Now When You Are Weary

by Julia Kasdorf

and worn out, wondering how you'll pay
a bill or make the rent or meet a deadline

set by some thoughtless boss—and kid,
such days will come—remember yourself

at five: hair light from the sun or just from
being young, new lunchbox pasted

with butterflies, how you hung your backpack
on a hook, then wouldn't let me take your picture

on the first day of school, sending me
out of that classroom, to the car, to my job

where a pair of bats flapped in the hallway.
Bats may be just bats, but one darted

into my office, quick as the boxer's head
that bobs and weaves and never gets hit.

It landed and hung from the drapes, upside
down, as you hung in my body for a while.

Bats are not the only flying mammals.
That afternoon in line for the bus, you cried,

so tired you thought you'd fall asleep
and miss your stop. Years from now, child,

in some helpless dusk, remember that fatigue
but how you made it home to me anyway

in the care of a kind farmer—bus driver.
Recall that once I arrived late, your bus

gone, and when I found you, carefully seated
by a coffeepot in a corner of a dim garage

at the school bus lot, you just said, Let's go,
Mama. Don't tell anyone about this. 

Sunday, August 19, 2012

There will come a time

There will come a time that you can no longer dance. So,
you should. Because watching this makes you smile, and it's because
dancing is so much childish exuberance and innocence and pure joy.
Because in that moment, nothing else matters. So if you can,
you should dance. &if you can, you should try to 
dance with someone else.

Love and be loved. Dance and be danced with. Live and be lived with.

Friday, June 15, 2012

Mexico wanderlust

So I'm reading this great article about traveling to Mexico and how it's safer than Texas, and then i'm feeling all pumped to go to my mom/grandpa's hometown, Durango. It's not that bad, lonely planet says and I reeeeallly want to go. 
Then it says, "The US warns against ‘non-essential travel’ to just four of Mexico’s 31 states (all in the north: Chihuahua, Coahuila, Durango and Tamaulipas)" GOD DAMNIT.

I'll never be happy in my home town.  

I just want to get my travel blog up and my feet going.
So I can share it with John and everyone I care about and actually make a good one. Cause I haven't seen any. ARG.

This weekend is going to last forever

Endless party
till I die

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Wednesday, June 6, 2012


Just watched the most depressing fucking movie ever.
Literally, want to kill myself. That's what it was all about.Way to take away the pseudo inspiration I got from that Chris Guillebeau talk.Jesus christ. I guess I should have expected it, it all being about Yukio Mishima. But God, now I just feel, to quote the movie,


Maybe I should stop watching recommended movies I don't know about.
There goes my sense of adventure along with my will to live.

That's the line of my life.

Monday, June 4, 2012

Sunday, May 27, 2012


the slow reveal of Jesus' face.

something to be

What the fuck is wrong with our culture?

Everything is saturated. Everything is shit.
Not so negative, just numb.

Not related:

Saturday, May 19, 2012

So here's a story

I get angry every time I don't get to hear a song I like on the radio.

Which might not make sense,
because I can hear music when I want.
I'm a 21st century human in the modern world (redundant).

when I know I missed Billie Holiday
on the radio
I'm infuriated.

Which, shouldn't make sense,
in hind sight it doesn't make sense to me,

even though I listen to Billie Holiday every day,
I can't help but want the spontaneity,
it is she entering my life,
not me seeking her.

It's like,
even if you work at the pet shop,
there's nothing like a new cat
to bring it all home.

( What a prolific way to end. )


“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom”

Saturday, May 12, 2012

I just found the worst

list of "Reasons to live"

You can laugh at them with me, they also picked a crimson theme to their website...not a good choice.
They should have called this, 
"Things people don't think when they're going to kill themselves."
I'm feeling particularly cynical, which I didn't think could happen, but here I am. 
I better do this instead of killing myself.

Reasons To Live When You Are Thinking About Killing Yourself 
Things people don't think when they're going to kill themselves.

1. I care enough about myself to live I don't care about myself, I want to die.
2. I believe I can find other solutions to my problems I have so many problems with no hope of solving them.
3. I still have many things left to do If I kill myself, all those things I have left to do will go away.
4. I have hope that things will improve and the future will be happier 
I have no hope, things will never improve and I will never be happy.
5. I have the courage to face life I'm afraid to face my life.
6. I want to experience all that life has to offer and there are many experiences I haven’t had yet which I want to have
I don't want to experience the shitty things life has to offer, I've been through a lot and I've had enough.
7. I believe everything has a way of working out for the best  I believe everything has a way of fucking me over.

8. I believe I can find a purpose in life, a reason to live I have no purpose or reason to live.
9. I have a love of life I hate life.
10. No matter how badly I feel I know that it will not last I feel like shit and will continue to feel like shit forever.
11. Life is too beautiful and precious to end it Life's a bitch.
12. I am happy and content with my life I hate myself and want to die.
13. I am curious about what will happen in the future  My life has only gotten worse as I've grown older and I'm afraid for the future.
14. I see no reason to hurry death along Death is my only option, I can't die fast enough, I hate myself and want to die.
15. I believe I can learn to adjust or cope with my problems I can't deal with my problems anymore.
16. I believe killing myself would not really accomplish or solve anything Death is the only option.
17. I have a desire to live I have lost the desire to live.
18. I am too stable to kill myself (This one is just ridiculous...if you were stable you wouldn't be fucking thinking about killing yourself.) I do not think about stability because I am unstable and just think about FUCKING KILLING MYSELF.
19. I have future plans I am looking forward to carrying out I have no plans and no future and am aimless
20. I do not believe that things get miserable or hopeless enough that I would rather be dead
I do believe that things are so miserable and hopeless enough that I would rather be dead.
21. I do not want to die I hate myself and want to die.

22. Life is all we have and is better than nothing Anything is better than this/
23. I believe I have control over my life and destiny I have no control over my life.
24. It would hurt my family too much and I would not want them to suffer I am suffering so much that I would rather be dead.
25. I would not want my family to feel guilty afterwards Maybe I have a shitty family or no family.
26. I would not want my family to think I was selfish or a coward Same answer.
27. My family depends on me and needs me  Same answer.
28. I love and enjoy my family too much and could not leave them  Same answer.
29. My family might believe I did not love them   Same answer.
30. I have a responsibility and commitment to my family  Same answer.
31. The effect on my children could be harmful 

I am definitely not thinking about my children and/or think I'm a terrible parent, they're better off literally anywhere.
32. It would not be fair to leave the children for others to take care of  Same answer.
33. I want to watch my children as they grow  Same answer.
34. I am afraid of the actual “act” of killing myself (the pain, blood, violence) The pain of death does not compare to the pain of life.
35. I am a coward and do not have the guts to do it That question seems like judgement. You're right, I should just kill myself.
36. I am so inept that my method would not work  Better not give up then. On giving up, that is.
37. I am afraid that my method of killing myself would fail I'm probably more afraid of living.
38. I am afraid of the unknown I know that my life is terrible.

39. I am afraid of death I hate myself and want to die.
40. I could not decide where, when and how to do it None of these things matter as long as I'm dead.
41. Other people would think I am weak and selfish Fuck other people.
42. I would not want people to think I did not have control over my life I do not have control over my life.
43. I am concerned about what others would think of me Everybody hates me. I hate myself and want to die.
44. My religious beliefs forbid it I am not religious.
45. I believe only God has the right to end a life My God has betrayed me.
46. I consider it morally wrong Not thinking about morals...
47. I am afraid of going to hell My life is hell.

Their list definitely made me want to kill myself. 

Sunday, April 8, 2012

To Make a Dadaist Poem

Take a newspaper.
Take some scissors.
Choose from this paper an article of the length you want to make your poem.
Cut out the article.
Next carefully cut out each of the words that makes up this article and put them all in a bag.
Shake gently.
Next take out each cutting one after the other.
Copy conscientiously in the order in which they left the bag.
The poem will resemble you.
And there you are – an infinitely original author of charming sensibility, even though unappreciated by the vulgar herd.

Tristan Tzara

Monday, April 2, 2012

"We are very cruelly trapped between what we would like to be and what we actually are. And we cannot possibly become what we would like to be until we are willing to ask ourselves just why the lives we lead on this continent are mainly so empty, so tame, and so ugly." 

Sunday, April 1, 2012

I just died

on the inside.

I missed Hubble. I MISSED HUBBLE. And it stopped playing yesterday. &I want to die a little more than usual.

What I really want right now, is an extremely nerdy boyfriend.
Who will take me to see NASA movies and knows when they're playing before the last day.
We would get a discount and sit in the front, I'll cry at the end and fog up his glasses.
But he'll be sweet to me and tell me about science.

sigh, Today is a very Sagan day.

I'm going to start COSMOS and I don't think I'm going to leave my house ever again.

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Thus begins

Food week. It's finally happening.

Beginning with Friday I don't have pictures because I only had my film camera, (that I sort of broke) and then exposed and ripped the film. By all accounts, it was a success.

This story is too funny to tell. I'm sleepy. Sorry. This story sadly cut short,
I am obsessed with diners. I am on a constant search for adventure.
Ke'Shayla is amazing and wants to adventure with me. She also wants to make strange friends.
We complete each other.

Avoiding responsibilities makes everything 10x more wonderful. Honestly, the only reason I wanted to come in was for Black lipstick's amazing stories.

This was quite the food day. We had a milkshake and a bowl of fries.  Stole an orange from whole foods. Went to a bookstore. Bus, off off, now now. Wandering through the street looking for another milkshake. I wrote a letter to a stranger and dropped it in their mail slot because it reminded me of my Prince. I wrote about that too. I also included an illustration of my lunch. Avoided responsibilities. Bookstore. Went to Denny's. Time warp. Eight hours of diners and wandering adventures. You should have been there.

No pics, didn't happen.

P.S. I had Sunday and Monday ready to go but fuck you, this is tomorrow is yesterday. Not today is today, for that would imply I am not some kind of lazy fuck. You must be mistaken.

Sunday, March 18, 2012

I just found

A new place to go before I die...why is This font weird? It's like...morse code. Is it just me?
Okay then........

Now I have a reason to go to Denmark. WOO

To somewhere I’ve never heard of,ARoS Aarhus Kunstmuseum, Denmark。。。

t-t-t-turning Japanesey. I guess that means I have to stop typing now. 

That will be all.

"Kids are cute and weird."

I read this line and for some reason, it is so extremely profound and beautiful to me. So true and round-about, on point and ultimately, it is perfect to me. This man, in one moment grew empathy and beauty in my mind. He was at first charming and human and then all together insightful.
I love you Zack P.
I love strangers in excess. It's a problem.

It reminds me of this times article I was reading about the power of a sentence, "For surely it is a magical thing for a handful of words, artfully arranged, to stop time. To conjure a place, a person, a situation, in all its specificity and dimensions. To affect us and alter us, as profoundly as real people and things do.My Life’s Sentences

On the note of empathy, I'm thinking about it especially (now) now. Last night I fell asleep reading Kurt Cobain's suicide note. That's probably not a good sign of anything.


Thursday, March 15, 2012

The truest thing I've read

in so long.

Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.

Ira Glass

Monday, March 12, 2012


Max woke up late into the morning and got out late into the afternoon. He laid in bed for hours with his thoughts. He would do this until he felt something. Sometimes he stayed in bed all day, numb, but he had to face the world. Not feeling anything or anywhere. He walked to the only coffee shop he liked and ordered the same cup of coffee he always did. He sat in the back of the crowded room surrounded by people, by disconnected voices and inhuman laughter.
He wondered how he could feel so lonely among so many people. He drank, ate cups of coffee in the back booth by the blocked off window. There wasn’t any feeling to the casual touch of the stranger or the girl behind the counter who smiled at him with sweet intentions. He looked at the people in the coffee shop and wondered how human they all felt. He watched as the people came and went and came, time was spanning in and out as he watched them, age older and older as his heart beat with every cup of coffee. Somehow it beat slower with each drink. He didn’t feel like any time passed but time came and went without him. The warm touch of the coffee kept him present. When music played he became further lost in it. In the space of one song the woman behind the counter grew older each day, her smile faded and her sweet intentions died. He wished that he could feel with her the pain of old age, the wisdom of heart break, the fire that slowly died each day. All he felt was his fingers, tingling; burning as his cup refilled, emptied. Filled, emptied. Filled, emptied. Filled, emptied. Filled, emptied. Filled, emptied. It was this tedium in the back of the coffee shop that reminded him that he was, indeed, human.

He  walked up Bleaker street to meet with his other band in Forman’s garage. Today Max couldn’t feel time. He pulled his bass over his shoulder for the 7856th time. He looked out the garage window and stared at the flashing red light, on and off. On and off. A cold drop hit his face and brought him back to life like the jolt of a defibrillator or the kiss of a stranger who just saved him from drowning. As each drop poured over his face he felt more alive. A cold rush poured over him as the drops turned to floods of water, he walked out toward the red light that stayed still, everything was still. He closed his eyes and it continued to blink but only it continued to blink. Everything else stopped. He continued to play his bass as it vibrated the still water around it and dropped. Everything was distorted with a clear stratum of water that made him want to weep, with no idea why. As he walked through the walls of water that covered him and fell to the ground. He continued to strum and walk towards the light. The light continued to mesmerize him, something about the rain reminded him of home. It made him feel a bitter sweetness that made his heart sick with pangs of memory.
He shut his eyes; felt a heaviness as his arms played. Sound came back into his life. Warmth replaced  the bitter bite of the cold, the last thing he heard was “gone” and that was his cue to stop. He stopped playing and felt lost again. Max walked out the door, dripping. As he walked home he felt like he would never be home again. He thought about the red light and felt a longing for something he couldn’t even imagine.

The next day he laid in bed with his thoughts, the same he did every morning. He stared up at the ceiling and felt a particular heaviness. It weighed him down, and kept him there. As he was forced to think about the state of his life, he grew more still. The heaviness grew and grew and eventually overtook him. He sank heavier and heavier into himself. His heart felt more sick with each second, he couldn’t face the day today. He couldn’t face the week. He couldn’t face the year. He couldn’t face–

He wondered if his life was just a moment or an eternity.
He wondered for a moment if his life was an eternity.
He wondered for eternity if his life was just a moment.

Things that broke my heart

this weekend:

this Neruda passage

like a shipwreck we die inward,
like smothering in our hearts,
like slowly falling from our skin down to our soul.

Not getting to talk to you, 
not adding my abuelito to my graduation list,
knowing he will never have a story to tell me, that I remember.
Not being present. Not being able to help you.
Seven Pounds. Thinking about death and blindness and all the beautiful things in the world.

This letter. 

I’ll Never Give Up


I loved you with everything I was, and I still love you with everything that is left. I never thought the day would come where we did not speak.  I no longer really live; I just go through the motions of life void of emotion.  I walk around this town like a ghost because it’s where we met, and there isn’t a day that goes by I don’t think of you, and look up the sky wishing you were looking up at the same time thinking about me.  I’ll never forget that day you told me “I love how you never give up on me”.  No matter where you are or who you are with, just know that you have a piece of me and I carry you with me everyday. I will never love another person with the genuine, innocent, true love I loved you with.  If only you wouldn’t have walked away and listened to your heart.  I love you always and forever.

E, age 23 

(From "Things I would have said" a blog that breaks my heart every time I'm on it.)

Last of all, and perhaps the most heart breaking to me is not the closing of the Satyricon, that broke my heart a long time ago. (I think about that over thirty Dandy Warhol show all the time, too.) I was thinking about their disgusting beautiful perfect bathroom walls covered in graffiti, and I really wanted to visit again. When I realized I couldn't even visit the ruins of the Satyricon, empty and beautiful in all its glory, and write something on their perfect walls, that moment broke my heart.
It was only torn down January 27th too. :/

Things that bothered me: Not doing art, getting rid of all the broken glass
that lived on my floor. Not dying of my concussion on Saturday,

Not ever getting to relax do nothing without anxiousness.
Not doing all the things I was supposed to do.
Not being happy for one second out of these 48 hours.

Friday was super good though. They always are.

Actually, this photo didn't break my heart at all. I thought it was beautiful and it sort of feels like the triumph of the human spirit. Funny things make me sad, but sad things sometimes make me happy. Like sad movies and cold food and broken dreams and slandered walls.

One last thought: I really want to live in a motel. Really, really.

Saturday, March 10, 2012


is a perfect day,
to make perfect
chocolate chip cookies.

Why does that phrase and 
everything reminds me of the lyric:
To die by your side 
is such a heavenly way to die.

What a cliché thing to think, so often.
Cliché thoughts...even our minds are not free of our trite fears and insecurities. 

I miss making cookies. I used to make them all the time, and they brought so much joy!
But then I slowly stopped, and it's so hard
to get back to things you used to love.

Saturday, March 3, 2012

This can't be good

Looking for a copy of "I hate myself and want to die"
Because I saw this and it made me laugh out loud.

I would say this is my theme song
but this song doesn't even make any sense.

Runny nose and runny yolk

Even if you have a cold still
You can cough on me again
I still haven't had my fulfill

In the someday what's that's sound? 

On that subject, that book, subtitle 52 most depressing songs,
the most disturbing song title's cover was Touch Me I'm Sick.
So much grunge hate!

I disagree because that song is so fucking great, plus
it makes me feel so good!
You can't hear this song and not feel good.

Maybe it's because I'm so fucked up?

God, Mudhoney. Why couldn't I see you when you came to Portland?
Me and Sus would have had such a great time.
I remember how heartbroken we were when we missed you.
Jeez. Everything I write is like a lovenote now.
I have stories to tell you about that, dear single reader.

I'm convinced

the secret to a perfect morning is waking up in a cold,
uncomfortable bed.

I fell asleep watching Twin Peaks in Omar's bed.
I woke up, I couldn't even stay in bed,
on the weekend.

But I knew my bed was hoarder status so I would have to clean it
if I moved there.
Comfort overtook laziness so I got out of bed.
My feet were freezing.

My hair looks awesome by the way.
That was sarcasm...I always look that intense in the morning, p.s.

I woke up wanting to do stuff.
Whenever I hear that term I think of Tom because of a story he told me about his dad,
when he was young he wrote about his future son,
"I hope my offspring inherits my want to do stuff attitude."
We both agreed he did.

Anyway, I did a revolutionary water saving rinse-my-mouth-with-my-Spock-cup-thing.
It would probably just confuse you.

I have to keep a water log for my Mercy corps internship, it makes me feel just great.
I'm pretty sure that bite of ke'sheyla's egg sandwich with egg on the side took all the water from the children in Niger. Damn it.

I really wanted to do one thing in specific but sometimes things seem really weird when you type them out, suffice it to say, I am a creep. (Cue Radiohead) Old news.
But the lovable kind? If there is a kind, I hope I'm there.

This morning I want to talk to you, have muffins, watercolor, find my Alice in Wonderland book, get my lens cap, get a haircut, maybe take a picture I need.

Hopefully I just stay in bed.

This picture is how I feel this morning.

P.S. I try to play that song every morning.

Sunday, February 26, 2012

I want more


I want more pictures I want more love I want more friends I want more time I want more books I want more pairs of pants I want more talent I want more to say I want more art I want more paint I want more dreamy songs I want more pens to write with I want more dreams in the night and moments in a day I want more diners to go to I want more homes because I lost the one I had I want more things I want more ideas in my head I want more postcards I want more movies to have seen I want more intellect I want more good people in my life I want more pizza in my belly I want more people to add to my will and think about when I think about dying I want more seasons in the year I want more memories in my mind and promise in my future I want more socks I want more beautiful things, not bittersweet things I want more laughs in a day I want more people to wrap my arms around I want more fish to keep the oceans sound I want more people to make me feel like I should be alive I want more cameras I want more film I want more darkrooms I want more people to care I want more rain forests I want more surviving endangered species I want more trees to exist I want more children to live I want more of you, I want you to want more of me  I want more to love
to be loved.

Saturday, February 25, 2012

To all the lost souls,

I was busy being sad and hating myself today but it's time for me to care about someone who cares about me. That's all there is, really; there are just other people to love.

You once said that all it took for you to make you happy was if I updated this blog. In your words,
"I will be the most direct and content mechanic/father/artist ever." 
Well, here you are.
Midnight Flight by Ryan McGinley

You are precious. If to no one in the world, than to me. There is no one like you and there will never be. Nothing in life is easy, this is the nature of life. You will always feel lost, all you need is someone to be there, a voice to find your way. I love you so much. Even you, stranger. Because we are like brothers, we are both lost souls.
We are all lost souls. We are all the searching, wandering, aimless children of the world. We need only reach our hands out and feel each other, longing for something more.

You are so loved. 

and, and, and

I feel so empty.
My camera, leaves a space
in my heart. Not like sinking,
like a hunger, that grows heavier-
an absence that doesn't allow me
the beauty in the world.
Any beauty.

I'm going to order film right now.

Why do I have to do anything
that I don't love?
I just want to photograph and paint and write
what I want
and die.

Let's live in Spain together.

Everything I write has line breaks now.
After so many IMs I can't help but separate
my thoughts, into lines. It's as if
I don't have enough breath
to think in regular form, I don't feel like I do
anymore. Or
like I'm always writing poetry, but what I write is
not beautiful.

Monday, February 20, 2012

Heaven is

Heaven is a bookstore you never have to leave, and you run into your favorite people over and over again. And strangers recommend books to you. Heaven lets you take any book, sit on the floor and read guilt free, open an account and never check out. Heaven is waiting for you with a velvet chair and a sign, that says everything you wanted to hear. Heaven is always warm, it is in the nook in the back you feel special in, because you are
special. Heaven is waiting for you, next to a chair for you to rest on, and a copy of your favorite
paperback book, the cup of your favorite drink, still hot. Just how you like it. Everything is perfect here.