Monday, December 30

Lightning Inside

The flourescent bulb above my cube keeps flickering, refusing to stay on or go off completely. Every now and then it sparks forward.. only to hesitate and fade again a moment later.

All the while midday sunlight pours through the windowblinds at the end of the aisle without interruption. Warmth stays on the sills, but there's something about the way the trees waver outside the glass that lets me know it's there.

Alone in my car I sing rudderless Dando at the top of my lungs.

    Together with you lately I seem to have no voice at all.

Thursday, December 26


What if everything you did or said was just a reaction, an instinct, or a reflection of the things that happened to you? What if every moment was nothing more than just a domino tumble to the one that preceded it?

     No way to remember, no way to forget...

Every song would be different. Every smile would be real...

A world without hesitation (or ...consideration?) A place that couldn't know fear, but a place too where crossing the street, swimming, or handling snakes might suddenly become that much more treacherous.

For every moment that I dipped my toe instead of diving under, there seems a place where looking both ways kept me from stepping into oncoming traffic. For every stranger that I remembered not to talk to, there was always another one that I wish that I had said something to.

You could never be addicted... but you wouldn't be able to stop yourself.

     Could we hate?
     Could we

Or would it be nothing more than lusts simply pointed one way or the other?

Part of me wants to find the answer, look at it from all sides, and see what makes these questions rise within me in the first place.

    ... and part of me just wants to find out.

Monday, December 23

Goodbye to the Brixton Sun...

Say it aint so, Joe. Say it ain't so...

    Esta indecision me molesta
    Si no me quieres, librame
    Digame quien tengo ser
    Sabes que ropas me queda?
    Me tienes que decir
    Me debo ir o quedarme?

Friday, December 20

Riding On The Top Of A Cop Car

For a large part of my life, all I ever wanted to be was Warren DeMartini.

    ...Some days it still sounds like a pretty good idea.

Thursday, December 19


Five in the morning, shadows on the floor.

     There is no spoon.

I find myself wondering if it ever was there at all. It seems like it should have been there, once.

Whatever the case, it's not there now. In its stead are two separate pieces of silverware carefully spread out on either side of some unseen plate. One could move without disturbing the other. One could get up without the other knowing at all.

Five in the morning, shadows on the floor.

     There is no spoon.

Wednesday, December 18

The First Mistake of the Morning

Was listening to the wonderfully haunting sounds of this Norah Jones CD.

The next was thinking of the night that the sky over Jacksonville glowed red like an Aurora that had lost its way, and of the girl with green eyes that stood beside me watching it.

We looked at that strange crimson wash through the grating of a radio tower that stood near her home for what seemed like hours. I wanted to make some sort of joke about the red light that sat at the top of that giant antennae

...but I didn't.

Tuesday, December 17

Letting the days go by... water flowing underground

There is comfort in the blur. Strange as it seems, it is soothing to feel the proverbial indecipherable whirlwinds of anarchy as they blow by you. And yet there is this sinking sensation underneath, like watching the sun go down on a beautiful summers day, knowing that winter is just behind the next rise.

    Snowflakes, Rain
    delicious shivers
    on my tongue

    eyes closed
    to the sky

    in the knowledge

    I can stop
    this storm

    ...with a word.

Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...

Friday, December 13

Like Thorn

Looking out the door i see the rain
fall upon the funeral mourners
parading in a wake of sad relations
as their shoes fill up with water
and maybe i'm too young
to keep good love from going wrong
but tonight you're on my mind
so, you never know

broken down and hungry for your love
with no way to feed it
where are you tonight, child
you know how much i need it
too young to hold on
and too old to just break free and run

sometimes a man gets carried away,
when he feels like he should be having his fun
and much too blind to see the damage he's done
sometimes a man must awake to find that really,
he has no one

so i'll wait for you... and i'll burn
will i ever see your sweet return
oh will i ever learn

oh lover, you should've come over
'cause it's not too late

lonely is the room, the bed is made,
the open window lets the rain in
burning in the corner
is the only one who dreams he had you with him
my body turns and yearns for a
sleep that won't ever come

it's never over... my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder
it's never over... all my riches for her smiles when i slept so soft against her
it's never over... all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter
it's never over... she's the tear that hangs inside my soul forever

well maybe i'm just too young
to keep good love from going wrong

oh... lover, you should've come over
'cause it's not too late

well i feel too young to hold on
and i'm much too old to break free and run
too deaf, dumb and blind to see the damage i've done
sweet lover, you should've come over
oh, love well i'm waiting for you


lover, you should've come over
cause it's not too late
    - J. Buckley

Tuesday, December 10

Actually Spoken During the Course of my Evening

    "Why am I watching a movie about gay robots?"

Monday, December 9


The sky here is this heavy, mist-ridden gray. The wind makes it feel colder than it actually is. If this were anyplace else in the world this sky would be snowing.

    If this were anyplace else in the world it would be.. winter.

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