franny
bananafish

and i've wanted to write. there is so much of nothing i want to convey. same old same old, different versions of the same in every workplace, in every city, and state. the same angst with mellowed out edges. it's like punk goes pop with a healthy slathering of van morrison's into the mystic. life has been happening. long work days, feet screaming, back aching, mind fuzzy from the lack of a good dose of hot caffeine...

the city is still here. carrying its heavy burden of indifferent masses from this train station to the next. it's full of dirty ambition, wanting hands, and cool jazz saxophone's echoing through the tunnels. it's full of old ghosts wearing dayglo green, mohawk haircuts, listening to temptation, oh you got green eyes, oh you got blue eyes, oh you got grey eyes...

i'm still here. my life a revolving door. of people and places. long lost friend, gone and no more. but it only seems to put things in perspective for a short time because i find myself still getting upset at the lack of parking or hauling massive amounts of laundry while i curse under my breath "no more 3 floor walk-ups". it's tough to be tender in such a hard place...

but there are moments so perfect... when the sun shines brightly and warm through my bedroom windows early sunday morn... when the city is still and quietly considers its past transgressions, its slight stupidity of being so hard and cold, when it's so much nicer to be soft and fuzzy. it's those moments, when you lay there, thinking...watching...time tick past and aren't so afraid life is leaving you behind. those short deep moments of realizing you are okay...