Mar 252007
 

effortlessly…
winwood

12pm. bright-eyed but a little sugar-buzzed. jellybeans and coffee breakfast, throw in an egg and some cheese. i’m in a perpetual dive. pike, pike, fly. my life is filled with endless steps on faith, because sometimes, the ground is nowhere to be seen. and i step, i take the plunge. wholeheartedly…and a little foolishly with fear always sniffing at my heels.

and there is a freedom in having blind faith. no need to sit down and calculate. no need to weigh the pros and cons. you step up, get ready, and go. it either works or it doesn’t…then you move from there.

and there is a beauty in abandon. no need to worry about proper technique. raw instinct takes over, cells know what to do, you KNOW down at your core. and there is where you see problems unfold. there is where you see the most humanly possible perfect curves and straight lines. there is where you see hands doing, what your brain has just begun to think.

then your life clicks in place. you find your schtick. you can stop walking, you’ve found the seat with your name.

Mar 202007
 

at 6:33 am. and quietly, things give away their shape and form. you make out the mugs on the counter, the dishes in the sink, the cats laying on the dogbed, and all of the empty chairs…

and it hurts just a little. living in a perpetual car crash. the dents don’t change, your feet know where all of the glass lies…

you eat. you drink. you wash out the kitchen sink. you watch a little tv. crack open a brave new world. and wait for the stretcher to get here, and take away your ailing heart…

but they don’t come. you’re left with a 3cc syringe, a bottle of epinephrine, and an entire U2 album of fucken sad ass songs.

so you swim in those dark colors that take you to places you’re too familiar with, deep cold blue, with fiery edges from when your heart was young. and you remember.

when there was no anxiety. when trouble meant you were 5 cents short. when you were filled with anticipation waiting for his knock on the door at 7:55pm. bursting. soaked up in pure heart crushing love…

then you begin to surface, slowly, reluctantly…you recover, snap out of it, try to shake it off. because there are appearances to keep up, vulnerabilities to hide when the light comes.

green like the fields

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Mar 152007
 

i have run through the fields only to be with you, but i still haven’t found what i’m looking for…u2

1987. joshua tree tour. and absolute silliness. so silly that i laugh every time i think about it. still it was a great show. i still have the t-shirt minus the sleeves.

it’s that time of year again. st. paddy’s day is just around the corner and i’ll be in the city to watch that wondrous parade of ruddy cheeked red-haired men in their kilts playing the pipes. the bars will be packed to the gills with “happy” people but i’ll head for home and have a drink and give a toast from my sad little beat up couch. why? because i’ve always felt a connection to these folk… even if my people come from way closer to the equator and tan better. maybe it was the early introduction to irish men….(high school and college) and then after college too. irish men have brought me immense happiness, loneliness, anger, and laughter. dark, brooding, gorgeous or blond, blue-eyed, dazzling… smart, shy, readers, great storytellers, and purty darned good in bed.

here’s a toast to You! Crazy Irish Men:

May you live to be a hundred years, with one extra year to repent

(franny holds a guinness complete with a shamrock designed in the head)

soma

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Mar 082007
 

fitter, happier, more productive…
radiohead

and you’re there. flying while the water slowly rises over your head. you laugh, you consider…the green garb she wore, his starched white shirt on the floor.

and it’s all so sterile as a new cul-de-sac complex. modern bare walls and windows, tan wall to wall carpet, and no obscene smells.

but all you want is red, and dogbites, flies, and meat off the bone, you want to brood, the melancholy, a messier sky without the neon, the quiet moon watching you from a distance considering the stars…

flow

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Mar 082007
 

slipping away, as softly as twilight blue goes to black. and you don’t want it to… so you hold onto a bit of corner, one last thread…but it still goes as you watch it.

the tail end of a moody song, the slowly fading away of a brilliant flower, the gradual aging of your mother. you try to hold onto the now…

but it’s all flow, soon to be gone.