My hakama came in and my roommate made me pose.
Its so good.
Seriously this is higher quality tham the one ive been using for years and ill likely switch to it.

Random office mirror selfie.

Going out tonight.
Semi casual.
Im digging this midpart look, its just trixky to get looking righte

Walk into my my apartment like WHATUP I’m- oh shit my ex girlfriend is here with her boyfriend shit don’t say anything and just do what you need to do and go to your room because you can’t use the living room while she is there because hell will be had since she has no room in her room or his whole apartment since it’s full of stuff not like I’m one to talk because my room is a bit of a clothes explosion, but easily cleaned because I don’t have that much stuff but oh my goodness she left it out overnight and no one could use the living room all day,and oh man is she pregnant because she is definitely looking more rotund, anyways shit I forgot to grab my aCen money again tonight. Time to grab it tomorrow after class before I come home so that is one less thing she can bitch at me about. Even though she through my goddamned towel on the floor again . Seriously bitch I don’t touch your stuff if I don’t have to, but I”m respectful to you. I ask the bare minimum from you. I sleep with a knife and a hatchet because I don’t trust you or your boyfriend.-HOME BITCHES LETS POP ON THAT DARK SOULS

Selfies from today:

Red for the wine I ended up drinking plenty of. What else would I do in wine country!

[this shirt also doesn’t fit my arms sadly…]

I recall how she always said, love you, but never that she loved me. Except for that last goodbye. It was always the same though, she’d close her eyes and tilt her head with her arms together, and while it was nice it didn’t seem to feel right. Who could refuse affection from one such as her though, caramel eyes that moved effortlessly into the black hole of her pupil. This made getting lost in her eyes extraordinarily easy. She always called them, dirty eyes, because she hated them. Dark, boring, dull, and other adjectives that she found distasteful, but to me they were the most fascinating pieces of body I had ever been fortunate to bear witness too. I still remember the first day I talked with her, we had a substitute teacher, is Isaac Iwwerdon here today? Yet it was not me voice that corrected her, some other words sounds came from my open mouth that were not my own, but hers. Somehow my name had been mispronounced, but she pointed it out before I. It seemed odd, but I let it slide, because who would bother with a minor detail like that, but then we were partnered in class. She had a very specific manner of speaking, but I can’t remember it now. It was specific, but direct. The rest is a blur though, like an old memory or dream. Foggy edges and skewed colors bleeding into one another, sinking into damp fabric. Long sleeves. I remember lots of sleeves. Pulled up, always to her palm. She spoke faster then, and stopped looking up at me. I always trusted she’d tell me something was wrong, but no words were said. She let me go, and I fell, wet, dark, and cold. My hands were red and slippery. She couldn’t hold me, grimacing from the fabric against her skin as though it were straw against naked skin. She looked at me with those caramel-black hole eyes and said my name, Isaac Iwwerdon, I love you. She fell back into her water bed, bouncing and floating in the impact. Dark. She always had a specific way of saying things, but why that and why then. I can’t even recall her name now. Only those two words, and caramel-black hole eyes. Inhaling and bleeding colors.



I am starting to feel better and better about myself

My mind is a landfield of bad ideas
Streaked across my arm
Poured forth screaming from my     >mothers womb

You are the world war part of me never >returned from.
With shattered streetlamp eyes
And two dozen red letters
Doused and dripping from seas I’ll never >see again

Treading through trenches and tear gas
Advancing one day to only retake the >same three feet the next day.
Month’s time on my wrist for a red letter >day

The safety of mothers embrace and blind >memories
Aged past flavor and recognition

You are the cog in my memory missing
Preventing proper clockwork
With your shattered pieces
Moving over again
Preventing proper clockwork
With your shattered pieces
Moving over again

Empty my mental clip
Clear the field
Fill each hole
And find not a clocksmith
But a sundial

Streaks fade white in sunned skin
Tempered steel in heat and stress and time
Growing deep from within

My mind is a growing garden
With deep ploughs to burrow
To birth forth crying youth
That too shall mines and streaks and streetlamp eyes

Bored at work but an hour done.

And still looking good.

Why the fuck this didn’t post earlier I have no idea.

Dance Gala 2013- aka that night I decided to dress up and still wear jeans because I don’t own dress pants.

America the Beautiful

Star spangled eyes
      and Red striped arms
Blue splotched guise
       on a Saturdays charms
Pledge allegiance to this blanket

Pulled and stretched over tender skin to fake it
      red rows of tended farms
white marks upraised admit
      tally marks don’t cause alarms
One nation, under debt, hiding flaws, with ignorance, and lies for all

Tuesday woo enjoy.

It’s enjoyable that people start talking to me when they remember that I’m hot.
[Insert sarcasm gif]