Camera Lens

Camera lens for a mind.

Unfortunately, most people's lens are stuck in one position - either zoomed in or out, unable to adjust.
People either focus on a minor detail and forget the bigger picture or just glance at the picture and fail to appreciate the finer details. It's rare to  find a functional pair of lens.
I often get immersed in trivial things and use those to justify the picture before me. It's like whenever I find one piece of the puzzle, I lose another, sometimes on purpose. To truly understand a situation, the mind has to be constantly zooming in and out, and most people either do not have the energy, capability, or will to do so. Sometimes it's just a lot easier to focus on what you want instead of the real picture. The truth will set you free and denial will keep you blind, but sometimes we need the lies to help us through another day.

Price Tag

One of my own piece. sketched this one when I was 14
Sometimes I wonder how many cents I'm worth. Nothing is free, you know, even friendship is costly.
We deposit secrets like cash but people always seems hesitant to withdraw. When you receive,
they always expect something back, and when you give, they always ask for more. People are so fickle, they want this then they want that and nothing is ever enough.
I don't need their gifts or compliments, I just want the thought and sentiment behind those things. Friendship does have a price, you know. The currency is measured in time and care and efforts and sacrifice and warmth and time. What you are willing to put in is the amount that you deserve back, though
it's rarely the amount you get.
I know that often I do things for others that go unnoticed, and that I go out of my way to help when it's obvious they would never do the same. I would be lying if I said I didn't feel a nagging sense of unbalance but I think it's always better to do for others what I wish they would do for me because then at least I can be proud that my side of the friendship is a good investment even if their side is getting me broke. And I know a lot of times I don't express my appreciation for the price others pay for me but I try, I really do try to remember, especially the little things. I may never bring it up but I have a secret tally in my head all tucked away safety at the back of my mind, of score or to determine  how much I should give back to them. but it's there to remind me in tough times that maybe, maybe I'm worth a little more that a few cents.

A Perfect Heart

On a sunny Sunday morning a girl walked into a vintage shop, smelling of coffee and tobacco, and said,
"I would like to buy a heart, today."

A boy, dressed in a grey vest and plaid shirt, smiled mischievously from his book
He was the type of…indie vintage boy. Type of prince perfect you found on the covers of a magazine, though not as flawless. But his crinkling emerald eyes were so intriguing, and his ruffled hair was attractive.

'We have many hearts; which type do you prefer?'
The boy's voice was low but sweet, like rich flowing honey.
First there are the big, loving kinds---;
Translucent and sunshine streams through it when you hold it up high to the sky
But they shatter like glass, breakable, and brittle.'

'Then there are these small ones..
Gold painted and still beautiful, I would say
They are lined with metal frames and a silver, unbreakable cage
But they are so heavy, and worrisome, and easy to lose,
But don't get me wrong---they never break.'

'but oh…' the girl hesitated. 'I want one that is big and loving, but unbreakable too!'
'sorry,' the boy grinned again, and walked her to the door.
'I don't have the kind you're talking about, in my store.
But you can always make one yourself,' He said, opening the wooden entrance.

The Zurich traffic and beeping cars awaited her.

Stars shot through his eyes again, a mysterious thing that held her gaze.
'Don't try coming here again, too.' He said. 'I'll be closing down this shop, my most expected customer has already come.'
Then, still holding the girl's curious gaze, he walked to the cupboards, where the hearts were kept, and showed her its emptiness, its inexistence.

'here is the truth- I don't have any hearts to sell to you at all. we already have one of the hearts that you're talking about,' the boy pointed to his chest. 'it's in here by nature.'

'but they are not strong enough, and they need experience and they need to be broken many times, before it is strong and beautiful, and it's something money can't buy.
Some people get so unbreakable, but their hearts lose their transparency and illumination…and others hearts shatter altogether because they've let too much harming causes in, and too much light out.

Almost no one has a perfect heart, but you can be close to perfect, if you try.'

Correspondence Prose


Whenever she's hurt she will shut up, shut down and shut doors. Learn to pick locks. a joke will press her ear against the door and her laugh will echo like a caged mockingbird's song against your eardrum. she will come out on her own with time and patience, but if you find yourself with neither, use the key. it lays hidden, veiled and always kept close behind her heart; her "Mon Petit Prince". ask him and she will open her window just enough to whisper tales of joy. Listen through the sill and she'll leave the space ajar for you to enter, but be sure to wipe your feet. The floors are coated satin and it will retain every step and word you leave behind.

Find her when you feel most alone or doubtful; with an embrace or clumsy segway she will deny your every fault. When you're far, call her at dawn to look out the window and share the sunset. She will reward you with a tiny locket she calls pandora's box. Her love buried six feet deep in the sky.

Her love brilliant and fleeting as a match. Strike her heart to a tender phrase and see the sparks. She'll deny the flare, through glistening eye luminous as a bonfire. Her tongue will whisper "stupid" to mask the curved lip's radiant smile of rainbow methane and promise of eternity.

Be quick and gentle. Her past is a jaded wind of misplaced trust and disenchantment, quick to snuff the momentary gamble of happiness. Shield the fragile thought with an assuring hand, but not with words, she finds too many of them ephemeral.

Hold her close instead, but be warned, you will feel the ember ignite something in yourself you may never known was there. the spread is feral, wild irrepressible. It can fester, consume your dreams like fuel to fire, burn long after that tiny spark has elf your arm and leave nothing but a crippled empty shell. A human cigarette butt. Just enjoy the smoke that follows.

Happy Birthday Mon Petit Prince

You ❤
shine more light in my life than I've ever known.

Your smiles warm me no matter how cold my bones have become.
Your eyes sparkle true happiness.
And your "I love you"'s escape your mouth with a fierceness only nature could battle.

You ❤
bring me more happiness and hope with your compassion and love than I've ever known.

Your genuine concern reminds me that good people still exist; I see it in you.
Your laugh surrounds me like a blanket and gives me strength.
Your determination empowers me.
And your cuddles recharge me.

You ❤
are Mon Petit Prince.
Stubborn,
Sensitive, charming, smart, compassionate...
The list is endless, as is my love for you.


Adam + Piano + Ipad + MacBook = Make some noise

S.O.C.K.E.T


She is an electrical socket that he can’t resist — poking with the fork of his curiosity. It takes such little effort to penetrate her, but you’re in for the kind of shock that makes your hair stand up on end. The kind of jolt that can knock you back against a wall. The kind of spark that will burn you from the inside, out. Electricity is not a toy; her desire is not grounded. She’s a real live wire — she’ll knock you out cold.

Times like this move me, when the moon is full and visible while the sun still shines.  It’s as that precise moment on a see-saw when both sides are level.  Like a heartsick romantic no longer satisfied with admiring its lover from afar, the moon reaches out towards the sun, beseeching its warmth without apology as it offers up a love letter - one that’s written in the language of its craters, celestial braille.  And despite the sun’s lack of affection, it’s nice to know the moon won’t surrender.  It will gather itself and try again, for it understands the nature of what it is to be truly in love.  It doesn’t matter if the other feels the same, so long as they give you a reason to keep on shining.

Short Note

I scribble you little love notes about plots of galactic domination, and the end of the world. I pin them to your body with sharp tacks, like love bites of tender assault; aggravated affection. Each tiny puncture wound is a written confession, a testament… to my literary obsession. Just a little taste of fiction… like a jelly-filled blackhole — a bite-sized submission. I’m just a tiny treat, but I stain your fingers red… when you give me an encouraging, sadistic squeeze. Your sticky prints, all over my sticky notes. Tell tale hints, like your hands wrapped around my quotes — that you enjoy my penned attention.