February 27, 2014
February 27, 2014
I am no believer
in the power of faith,
wishes and goodwill.
Some would say
I’m of an older caliber—
duty, honor and practicality
for the sake of life—
duty, pride and sacrifice.
Hunched beneath my covers
tapping away at words
in the cover of the night.
Abstract designs in the margins
of algorithms and code,
of probability and statistics.
I tuck away my good pens,
hide my leather journals,
sit up and try to pay attention.
But the scribbles leak out
from behind the rational
mind hiding a dreaming heart.
October 14, 2013
can we talk about this
he only has 5k on Twitter can we change that
yeah can we http://twitter.com/zachlilley
Tis five o clock in the morn.
To study all night I have sworn.
Indeed this long night I have slaved,
for that godforsaken GPA must be saved.
Yes, many numbers have been crunched,
And many snacks have been munched,
But alas it may be time to admit
That it may in fact be time to quit.
So I shall now bid thee a sad good night
Before night turns to day with dawn’s light.
Be wary of bad luck in the great or the small,
and a happy Friday the Thirteenth to all.
Does love exist? I’m not being facetious or rhetorical. I mean, how is it that some people are so sure they’re in love (although sometimes they’ll later admit it was lust) and yet some people can’t fathom what it is supposed to feel like? Some people say it’s effortless, like falling, and some say it’s a commitment, an effort you choose to make every day. One could argue that this means love is what we each believe it to be. In which case, love would exist only because we have been told it does and so we bring it into existence by convincing ourselves it exists and trying to live by it. What’s the point?
It’s been a long time since I’ve done realism.
Monday, Dec 2, 2013
~ 4:20 - 5:40 am
4th portrait I’ve ever done after a blown up self portrait in 2010-11, mini portrait Dec 2011, and digital portrait June 2012.
I thought of haiku,
what seventeen syllables
could be made to do.
There’s a little piece of you
that you’ll never talk about to me,
and I guess I understand
because there is a piece of me
that I’ll never talk about to you.
The difference though, I think,
is that the piece of me I keep
hidden from you is the piece
that you already own.