from the dark

We've moved

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 10:42:00 +0000

Hey, for anyone still following this blog, i've moved to:

kevinthomas.wordpress.com

please feel free to move there too.

summer's past

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 10:58:00 +0000

severed dreams
deferred beliefs

i want to run into the ocean
paddle back to sea
watch the sun drop behind the blue
hug the point i lost what i know

dive down
through the green room
beyond the black
breast stroke with the fish that glow

land looks good from here
watery and magical
a different world a different time
come up for air

the moss grows on the east here
it comes from the north
it swells from my feet
and reaches the mouth

back then i could see
almost three days ahead
and smile and laugh with the rain
on my head

run back to the sea
back to the start
back to the dreams that reflected in mirrors
always so much closer than they appear

yellow lines and blue cars
green mountains and canopied trees
back to the water
come back to me

so close to living
dying to try
if only i could go back
watch the moon rise above summer eyes

was there ever a time i didnt run
i didnt feel like i wanted to hide
was there ever a time
like now?

rocky beaches and hideaway forts
patches of grass around dark wooded fences
nothing prepares for the thoughts that come
when you stop living in dreams and what’s already been done.

empy streets

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 10:27:00 +0000

water fills the cracks in the street
it would be impossible, the movement
upward and out, if it hadn't been done before
time and time again
every time the sprinkler turns on
after the people are gone, after the lights turn on
after the moon reaches the top and starts back down
it should be impossible, this crack should be fixed
tired streets filled with senseless babble all day
cars and feet, dog shit and running shoes
this should all be fixed

walking down this worn out street at the far end of beverly hills
it's not much different than anywhere else
except the palm trees
except the peace
except the clean
but i'm still wearing all black
i'm still wearing my hoody
i'm still wondering why i won't be able to sleep when i lay down

not much changes
cars still drive by at all hours of the night
the logos change, the rims nicer, more expensive
but people are still awake
eyes will still burn in the morning
just like they do now
and in the mirror i'll wonder what's happening
when will it happen
just like i did back then

only now, hopefully, just like the water
what will seem impossible
might become real
moving upward and out
towards...
towards, towards
something.

ended to begin

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 09:09:00 +0000

there are no bells and whistles
no sirens or flashing lights

not even a stuffed animal

it's finished without a way to begin
all you can say is, it's done

maybe someday someone will see

an empty theater with a few paying guests
i'd be there, smiling, crying, waiting

what would they say

would you think about it after you watched it
wonder why it ended that way

where
is
the
redemption

they always ask
it's hard to find, i would say

hard to see if you don't look
hands over eyes, slits between fingers

where's the hope. the truth.
it's in progress, i would say

on it's way from you to me
if only you could show me the way.

lost in it

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Fri, 29 Feb 2008 07:40:00 +0000

i can see you there
lying on that couch
black fabric, closed eyes, feet dangling
over hopeless edges

and i know it
the sense of loss

i sometimes sleep with it at night
awake to it and smile in the mirror at it
at times it can be warm, a blanket against the future
but other, longer moments, more pained breaths

all you want is to be found
to be heard by ears greater than yours

open your eyes and see if it's there
staring back at you with it's sleepless nights
holding your hand with it's calloused fingers
tapping against your mind with brittled dreams

i know it
i just don't know how to help you past it

deep breaths and nervous laughter
close your eyes and count to seven
your knees to your chest, fetal as can be
and one day your lost will be someone else's found

if i told you i can feel it
can you push it back to me?

big words

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 09:26:00 +0000

sometimes we put so many big words in front of small ideas. as i sit day in and day out, for what seems like for eternity, at countless training sessions at countless new jobs, i wonder what this is all about. how many ways can i "sizzle" the word salad? mixed greens, tossed, dressed, drizzled, topped, fresh, a bed of, crisp. quite a few. just eat it. you'll like it. that's the idea. those are the big words.

if something moves you. if something hurts you. if something is beautiful, ugly, or somewhere in between, why can't we just say it.

that's moving. or, with a bigger word, that shook me. the english student: that unearthed me.

try and be smart. try and be fluent in all the words no one says, but only writes, unless you're reading from what you wrote. try to put big words to small ideas in order to make small mounds of mountainous meanings. right?

sometimes when the sun is high in the sky, and the car window is down, and the air is fresh, blowing in from the ocean, i drive in silence, and listen to the world, and think that it's the most beautiful thing i've ever heard.

sometimes, when the solar god of wondrous beginnings and eventual ends, hangs high in the noon day summery sky...

talk sexy to the customer, they say, sizzle the menu, make it jump out at them, they say. i will tell you what it is, what it tastes like, and if i like it, and maybe i am sexy when i say it, but my words will not be. but maybe if i unbutton one button in my shirt i will sizzle the whole restaurant, the whole menu, and everything on their plate, to the point where all they can think are sexy thoughts about their food. maybe i will be able to put so many big words in front of so many small ideas that by the time i am done with that table, with that sizzle session, all they will see when they remember their food is the sizzle that brought it to them.

pound away at the computer. make it say what you want it to say. and if you can't, right click and find the thesaurus and sizzle away, until there's nothing left but big words and and the smallest of ideas. or hypothesis' for that matter.

the worth of your beauty

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Sat, 16 Feb 2008 09:23:00 +0000

who decides beauty
whose job is that
what committee gets to make that vote

i have a definition that runs in my head, that chases me
wherever i go
whose to say it's wrong?

i have a thought as to what i think is beautiful, as to what i think is good
of value, of worth,
suitable for me and maybe not for you

do we have to agree
shake hands, sign a paper,
pen our names next to the x

or can i have mine
and you have yours
and let me love that smile that you refuse to see

because your beauty scares me
what you want to give me, what you think will work
makes me want to stay in my room, close my doors, and write these words

when i see beauty,
whatever it is to me
the darkness of someone's soul against the light of your world

i want to look in it's eyes
see how deep and far back they go
and find a place for me in there, for whatever you think that's worth

unrest

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Sun, 10 Feb 2008 08:47:00 +0000

attraction, if it were innocent, if it were pure,
what would it look like
what would she look like

what would the thoughts in my head say
how would they read
if there was no one dictating without reason from the back office

if life meets life
a spark starts a fire
consumes the dry leaves stored up, what then

what how
who then
soft voices can only say so much. but what's to be said

whisper to me, why you, why me
tell me how, tell me now, tell me never
morning sun can only shine, if only it could reason

sleepless eyes
over yelling lies to hands held
in a silent chorus, in a eternal melody

this is how we made me
full of gravity for the unrest
happiness in chaos, homeless in peace

if it were clean, if it were young
what would that look like
who would she be

decisions

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 02:09:00 +0000

everything feels bleak. trapped.
i knew it was coming.
i knew it would happen, at first i did.
then i got greedy. i was blinded by initial happiness.
forgot what to expect. forgot what i would feel.
but here it is. oh so prevalent and relevant. way to real.

the thought of failure is awesome.
overpowering, suffocating, and black.
you can't see through it
no energy to lift your eyes, to wave your hands
to see if your fingers still move when you tell them to.
but it's all expected. it's all reruns.

i wish it didn't have to be this way.
how good it use to be, before i left, at least that's how i see it
now. everyone is smiling, everything is sunny, when i look
back. a survivalist once said that when you are
lost and confused and don't even know where the sun set or
rose, to just make decisions. i decided to write this.

i knew it was coming. i feared the moment it would arrive.
so here it is. hip hip hooray.

ugly beauty

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Tue, 15 Jan 2008 09:35:00 +0000

the sun does shine here. at some point i forgot that the west coast is so beautiful. the way the ocean rolls off the end of the earth. the shade of purple the mountains reflect when the sun sets in santa barbara.

i just read a blog about what it takes to "make it" in screen-writing, one writer said it was like winning the lottery. another said it was as competitive as trying to make it in professional sports. i don't know if i have it inside me, but that's the beautiful part of this whole thing. pushing yourself to the edge of your limits. how much can you take before you quit?

i want to walk that line. i want to see how far i can go, if i can push myself past my limit and make it...

i'm watching a show on VH1 called "Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew," that's the other end of it all. so much ugly mixed with so much beauty all in one place, maybe that's what makes it exciting. that's what makes it so nerve shattering.

Los Angeles

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Thu, 10 Jan 2008 08:54:00 +0000

'you can still turn back. you can still drive somewhere else. you can still go back to d.c.,' I thought as the grapevine came into view just one-hundred and some odd miles outside of LA.

I am finally here, but yet still so far away from being anywhere. Without a job and without a permanent place to stay, I still feel like a traveling salesman, selling my idea of who I am and who I hope to be to all who ask what it is I'm doing.

I tell them, they listen, and they invariably tell me they are proud of me, they think I am doing a good thing, a great thing, that no matter what I will come out a better person for having tried, for having moved all the way back across the country for a dream. A dream. Maybe more an idea than a dream, a thought of what I would like to be someday, five or ten years down the road.

This transition from DC to wherever I am now has not been easy. To be honest, most of it has not been fun. The whole time feeling like a constant battle between being in the moment and thinking about the past and the future, the latter usually winning convincingly. My nieces and nephews clamoring around me, tugging and pulling and smiling and jumping, the oldest at the age where she is beginning to notice things outside herself. A girl at school doesn't like her, and therefore doesn't want to play with her, a huge deal in a little girl's brain. I want to be there. See them all grow up and become real humans. But I can't sacrifice my deisres for them, can I? No. There is something else I have to do, I should do, or more simply that I want to do.

In Sacramento I felt the world pulling at me. Things from the past not able to be kept as the past anymore. It seemed God, or the world, or my inner-concious, or maybe a combination of all three, thought it was time for some closure on things that may be left in my way. They all bubbled to the surface brilliantly, horrificly, but definitely not coincidentally. Just another part of transitions. You can't really move on to the next thing until everything from before has been dealt with. What a shame. It's so much easier to ignore the past.

Los Angeles. The next five years. Holy shit.

Sometimes you have to make some changes to see if you really are the person you think are. This is my attempt.

between unknowns

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Mon, 31 Dec 2007 07:35:00 +0000

because there's so much to say
because i don't want to talk about it anymore
because there are so many words at fingertips filled with anxiety that wait for the surreal period of transition to stop...

because everything seems to lead to this, to nowhere but somewhere very specific at the same moment.

because everything and nothing makes sense.

because i hate thinking about. i have nothing to say.

except that i am so tired of all of this, i am so tired of being in the middle, being between here and there and having left there with tears and tremors in search of an unknown that awaits on the other ocean, the left side, so far from where it seemed things were good and bad and ugly and beautiful and will surely be the same in time whenever that time is that i feel at home again in los angeles...los angeles, the city i vowed i would never live, the city i promised my sister and my friends that i would never call it my home...except that i know this is what i want. except i know this is going to be hard. except i know i can do it because i did it there and i must be stronger because of it, right? right? i'll soon find out. but i hate waiting to find out. i hate this time because no matter how good it should be seeing family and friends and having time to wind down and relax and think about what was and what might be, i can't. too many words and worries and what if's.

i hate thinking about it.

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Tue, 11 Dec 2007 08:22:00 +0000

i don't want to sleep. i don't want to waste a second.
i want to be wide awake for every minute.
i want to run through the streets, the intermittent pools of streetlights
endless

i want to remember everything
everyone, every look, every word, every brick in every building
i want to breathe in the smell of the city
breathe out the exhaust

change must come
cosmetic or real
this is real, this is for real, this is my life
choosing to change life in pursuit of life

you only write when you are...down, they say
you were to be married by 25, i said
how many times can life begin again
how many nights can i stay awake, refusing to awake to the future, to tomorrow, to one step closer to the next day, or the next change, or the next decision that needs to be made, how many nights can i string together to make up eternity, my eternity, my life, my consistent constant change, moment to moment, second to second

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Tue, 11 Dec 2007 05:44:00 +0000

have you ever poured water in the dark?
watched the water fill the cup by the moonlight
spilling through the kitchen window
have you ever watched your hand hold the cup
that holds the water
that bubbles in the dark light?

i did. and i don't know what it means
but i watched it
and i noticed it
and i wondered what it meant
if it meant
if it would ever mean anything
if, in the grand scheme of life, it would ever mean
anything

there

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Mon, 10 Dec 2007 08:51:00 +0000

only 9 days left in dc. it could be 8 or 10 i guess, but 9 seems like a better number. an odd number, four before the middle, four after.

my head is full. no more thoughts please. no more sayings. no more hopes. no more what if's. no more looks. no more hugs. no more kisses. no more anything. i have had my fill of waiting to leave. of not wanting to leave. of wishing i never had to make a decision. never had to look forward to the sun resting on the ocean line of the horizon. never had to regret not taking steps in the same direction to go the same places everyday.

no more. i want to be where i am. no matter where that is. i want to be there and only there. in my head. i want to feel every moment that passes. that lives. i am tired of looking past them, having to, being forced to, preparing, packing, looking at my cluttered room and wondering what, besides my clothes and my books, i should keep. what pictures should have been trashed a long time ago, what walls should have been decorated with art, but now never will.

i want to be there and only there. not in LA or DC or Portland, but there. exactly where contentment is. exactly where nothing else exists except, life. life in every heartbeat, every breath, every blink.

life in context.

in need of a moment

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Mon, 26 Nov 2007 08:55:00 +0000

have you ever wished someone would be able to say something to you, something simple and eternally profound, that would make you feel okay about everything for the rest of your life? maybe even for the rest of the day?

a song, a movie, a tv show, the way the clouds look at dusk on a cold day, a bare tree in front of a tree that still has it's leaves...if only those feelings produced by things like that could last...

have you ever hurt someone unintentionally? but you knew it was coming, in the back of your thoughts you knew, you felt it, but you couldn't stop it, because it was just that time. it was just the time for something like that to happen, that hurt that you knew was going to be there, it felt almost as if it had to happen?

is there anything anyone can say to make things feel okay for more than a moment? moments on top of moments...

living inside those moments when they are there...when the crack in the pavement looks artistic, when the passing row-houses look beautifully thought out, when the lights of the bus coming towards you at night, the bright yellow against the black sky, when even that looks good, it's those moments i wish i had a little book to keep them in, pressed and dried and preserved like fallen leaves in a journal.

that's what i would give someone who needed a moment.

black cat

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Mon, 19 Nov 2007 06:57:00 +0000

a black cat crossed in front of me as i walked down the middle of the street on my way home from work.

how cliche, i thought.

the leaves have begun to fall, most are bare, a few still hang on to their spring and summer friends. some hang on hoping it will turn warm again. some hang on, hoping they will feel alive again.

that stupid cat taunts me. everything will be bad luck, it seems to say with the sway of its tail as it saunters across the black pavement. it's one in the morning, what are you doing out here stupid cat?

crossing your path, i thought it would say.

sometimes everything seems dead. looks dead. feels dead. sometimes the road seems too dark. the trees letting their leaves go could be seen as beautiful, but now it looks ugly. they look naked and opposed to being naked. they looked stripped.

how are you doing, he asked. i said i will be okay. what i should of said, what i thought about after he left, was:

i have been okay and i will be okay again. i should have said that.

i thought that was profound.

i crossed over to the sidewalk, towards the steps to my front door, and that black cat crossed my path again. maybe that would undo it. maybe when i wake up tomorrow morning, or afternoon, everything will look alive. the trees will look like they are sending their leaves away lovingly, awaiting their return with fond memories of what had been, but not harboring any ill feelings because of their separation.

maybe the trees will look content.

i don't play games, cat, i don't play games, i thought.

i walked up my stairs, wanting to feel alive, wanting to feel content like those naked trees.

when i know

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Sun, 11 Nov 2007 09:04:00 +0000

when every possibility, every smile, every number, every improbable situation makes you want to stay, makes you re-think the last two years of buildup, that's when you know it's time to leave.

when everyone says you are right for leaving, but you fear believing it yourself, that's when...

when the hem of her dress, the touch of her hand, makes you want to give it all up...

when the cold and the dark and the tiny clouds escaping from your lips seem to form words...

when everything in you wants to stay because the fear of the unknown is so great, so powerful, so all encompassing, that you feel like the only sensation you have to look forwards to is that of a huge, empty, black void...

that's when you know you're making the right choice.

impression by the sink

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Wed, 07 Nov 2007 05:30:00 +0000

turn the distractions off. the tv. the music. the book. the thoughts. the heart beat. the fingers on the keyboards...

turn it off.

live in it, the silence inside. what do you think of? who do you think of?

fear. do you know me? do i know you? do you want to know me? abstractly. literally. can i see your impression of me? do you want to see mine?

turn it off and sit. wait. hear it. the hum of energy in the house. the hum of electricity. blinding.

how can you be better than me? how can you learn from me? from this version of me, this instant, nothing is constant, nothing is eternal, nothing i can touch will last forever. how can you be better than me?

so much bad and good at one time. what is the hope here? what is it? that more good will show itself than the bad? that we will choose the good more often than the bad? is that the hope?

fear to try. fear of eternal failure.

do i know you? do you want to be known? known for all the bad you don't show anyone but the mirror? do you want to know me? the mirror even says no, scared of the truth. scared of facing fear itself. this is me abstractly. this is the mirror's impression of me.

glass is always moving. the water in the sink will always try to go down.

how can you be better than me?

on loneliness

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Tue, 06 Nov 2007 04:58:00 +0000

a little girl sits at her mother's feet, playing with the hem of her red sun-dress. the little girl squirms and giggles at the thoughts that dance through her head.

"what are you thinking about, honey?" she runs her fingers lovingly through the little girls' dirty blonde hair. the girl pauses, comically inquisitive for her age, and then looks into her mother's eyes.

"will i be happy for ever, mommy?"

for a year? for a month? for a day? for an instant or two that chain together to make a moment? how can we measure the amount of happiness that exists in our life?

it seems a constant void, something missing, something that needs to be found, that will take away the loneliness. some say it's a God-sized hole, so you search and search and put God in that hole, you put him there and let out a deep sigh of relief, and moments later, loneliness comes back. maybe you aren't loving God correctly, perfectly, some would say, maybe your love for God is misdirected love.

imperfect in every way. imperfect in beauty. how can imperfect beauty correctly love beauty itself. a statement.

do you lay awake at night with God in your heart and your other at your side, asleep, beautiful, and still feel it? still feel alone? or does that go away? does that go away forever? or just for longer moments of time?

eyes burn with sleep. it has to be filled with something. that void, that hole, that imperfect place inside. it has to be filled with something. what would you say to the little girl if she sat at your feet, at my feet, and looked at me with those eyes.

i would lie. i would lie until she had to find out for herself. imperfect beauty is still beautiful. maybe that's what i would tell her. maybe she can find hope in that.

the wind would blow, the chimes hanging from the roof of the porch would clang together, reminding her of this moment for the rest of her life. for the rest of her life she would remember when her mommy lied to her so that she would have a few more happy moments to live in. loneliness can be beautiful sometimes.

after you hide

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Thu, 01 Nov 2007 18:25:00 +0000

will you know what love is when you feel it?
I'll know it when I want to run from it. I'll know it when I fear her touch, her kiss, her body. I'll know it when every word and look lives in my stomach.

where do you hide? where do you run? where do you hide? how will you know love?
When I know how much she can hurt me, and I still want to be there.

how will you know?
When I want to run.

what will you do? where will you go? where will you hide?
Inside myself. Where else do people hide? Where else can people hide?

how will you know?
When she looks at me, when she knows me, and she stays. When I let her know me.

timing

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Wed, 31 Oct 2007 05:26:00 +0000

don't think about it. try not to. don't. no don't. ok, go

the thing about timing, the thing that makes me want to not ever wake up in the mornings, the thing about timing that makes me want to live in those dreams that last for days it seem, the ones that run deep in rem, is that when the timing is right, whenever that instant is, it's just that, one instant, one singular instant that you have to pounce on and make it yours. if you don't, that instant will pass.

sometimes i feel like i am on different planes of existence. that everyone is. and the timing is only right when those floating planes happen to cross, and if you don't realize it you just go on floating by, wondering what could of and should of and might of been.

in the end though. all you can do is look forward. all you can do is hope.

the only words

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Tue, 16 Oct 2007 16:51:00 +0000

depression. depression. depression. depression.

when the hot water in the shower fails to feel hot on my skin.

when the hunger in my stomach is a welcome sensation.

when my eyes burn with the need for sleep.

when nothing gets done. over and over. and over and over.

when thoughts compound on thoughts and weigh my body down.

when the only time i feel like smiling is at work, when it's fake, when i say hello and what would you like to drink?

when thoughts of the future, the uncertainty, the imminent change required, needed, is the ONE thought taking up space, all space, in my mind.

when applications lay unfinished, books unpublished, scripts half-dead.

when these are the only words i can write.

that's when i realize i am depressed.

it comes and goes. october seems to bring it more often than not. the good and the bad and the everything become one singular thing, indiscernible objects heaped on one another like the dead leaves laying at the roots of forgotten trees. brown, yellow, red, slightly green on the edges.

have i ever been so certainly uncertain about what i am doing? yes. that's why hope is present, in the smallest form, somewhere down the long hallway hope peaks out from underneath the door, hope dimly lives in that crack between the floor and the bottom of the door. breathes, but only softly. quietly. waiting. one foot in front of the other until i reach that door. the door knob cool, refreshing, alive. behind it, dreams. bright and eternal. almost blinding.

depression, precursor to creative expression. a biannual event in an empty conference room. one chair and a thousand mirrors. no microphone.

when these are the only words i can write.

on leaving

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Tue, 09 Oct 2007 06:41:00 +0000

On leaving, on gathering your things, be them as little as they are, and leaving. leaving everything behind for everything in front. or everything that you hope is in front of you. of me.

i could leave everything here, everything physical, everything i can see and touch and sit on and sleep on and watch Real World on, and i would be fine. i can find all that wherever it is i am going. but it's the uncertainty of how i will replace all the rest, all the rest of the things in life that make it worth living for, be them as little as they are.

wherever it is i'm going.

wherever it is i think i'm going.

when leaving becomes too much to think about and consumes every thought you don't want to think, every thought that needs to be thought in order to make the actual act of leaving doable. that's when leaving becomes a thing, not an act, not a decision, but a thing that feels and acts unlike any other time you leave, anywhere. that last time you walk out the door, of work, of home, of your favorite bar, your favorite restaurant, that is a thing. that is not just leaving.

wherever it is i'm going.

notes before sleep

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin Thomas) — Wed, 19 Sep 2007 19:10:00 +0000

the day i realized i only had three months left to live, in dc, in seclusion, in self-contained captivity, was today. tonight. in the mirror, shirt off. i saw who i had become. am i ready to show the world? to accept and move forward? today i realized i must. who will accept me? who will smile and wave, from afar, from a distance too far to be traveled? a bridge unable to cross. who will accept me, who will they love? can i be your lover, can i be your friend, can i be your child, your brother, your cousin? two years. has it been long enough, too much time or not enough? irreparable damage or beautiful growth? journey to death, too black to see, trapped by my own nightmares, no air to scream? or life giving light, transformation, and obstacles conquered? movement forward or recession, receding to places they will not want to reach me? choices made, friendships lost? choices made, family forgotten? am i ready to move back? would it be forward? scribble this upon my heart, in the morning show me where to start.