She is.

She's the love,
and I dreamt of her
while walking,

And I think of her
upon sleeping,

And I yearn for her,
even now.

And nothing as sweet
will touch these lips,

And she in aesthetics
crushes all form.

For men didn't make her,
Women didn't shape her;

She was shaped
by billions of years
of coincidence.

Or a very careful hand
with brilliant love,
and a passion for perfection.

She is my love,
and she is benevolence,
and she is absolution,
and she is.

BH

In America

I've never heard
of your home,

where you toil

under burning stars:

to breathe,

to perfect,

beautify,

this tiny stronghold;

still waving flags,

and traditions,

long ago rejected.

Your life

is of devotion,

to save

this miniscule fortress

of charm

and desolation,

and you smile

with hope;

but little spirit,

I've never heard

of your home

or your savior,

who you call

Freedom.

BH

Thoughts

Where I've been: I left my Brooklyn Apt back in late May to go on the rd, I guess that's why I've been so bad with posting.

What I've been doing: Performing mostly. I'm an actor you see. A friend and I have been doing a touring show for the past two months and driving around the southwest. Most of my summer has consisted of debt, cigarettes, awkward hotels, even more awkward situations, love, alcohol, and a new found respect for both the city and where I grew up.

Hows the writing going?: I finished my manuscript, and am working on some stand alone submissions. You guys have no idea how hard it is just to post on this thing, sending entire books to strangers is TERRIFYING. I have no desire to become a member of the writing, acting, directing, or songwriting communities even though I love doing all of those. I do, however, feel I owe it to myself, and the people who support what I do to at least try to take it all a step further.

When's the next post?: Tomorrow maybe.

Debt?: I don't wanna talk about it.