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Saturday, March 31st, 2012
12:38 am - drink deeply pilgrim

the things i have with me now and the things i miss from before. ah, is there ever a balance? i suppose the grass will be forever greener. like dickens, i am the nonstop nostalgia junkie, the flava sava. i find myself thrust into experiences i am sure to find beautiful, changing, and fulfilling- and yet- i long for the chords of so many consonant yesterdays. do you? tell me i'm not drunk and alone (or at least recovering and in good company). grant me a chord to lean on. tell me the straws i paw at aren't phantoms of a three finger glass, but figments, nigh figures, of a well fed mind and a fondly gilded heart, attuned to the bigger band. god knows i miss the last one. long rides and good nights, tall drinks and pretty women, solid tunes and sensitive souls- civilian nights amore.  i miss you myrtle beach. a blues for you. 

I   IV   I   V   IV   I    V :||



current mood: tired

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Tuesday, December 28th, 2010
1:49 am - don't blink

 first of all, natalie portman's fiance is in for a rude shock when he finds out she's leaving him for me. 

next, i wish i could be this perky in the morning. while thankful, i only feel this way at night. late at night. i could be dangerously productive if i had this much 'umf' in the day. 

for instance- i'd like to see about 200 movies (10 of which about dance). and i need a record brush for all this vinyl. plus, why have all the instrument companies stopped producing silver lacquer polish clothes? also, i'm all about rediscovering my e.e. cummings books- but where is my t.s. elliot tome?! 

gift shopping, q-tips, zombies, unsecured debt, new york city, snow, cats, dogs, lingering notes, women, diet, film, skin, whiskey, windows, authenticity. 

danny boyle. 

beasts. 

abide. 

 

 

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Tuesday, December 21st, 2010
2:39 pm - eclipse night

  in twenty six years of life this is the second time i've seen a lunar halo. the first was in ithaca, on the way to late nite (the 'fourth meal' of college) by the towers, near the top of south hill. the ring of light appeared some distance away from the moon and shone with a crystalline intensity. so brightly and so perfectly round it hung there and stopped us all in our tracks, just suspended in time and awe. the weather then, as now, was crisp and chilling. it gave the view a kind of body buzz from the shivers. 

in stocking feet on my patio in south carolina, the view is much the same as it was in ithaca. the moon hangs further over head this time, and the halo seems thicker or fuzzier. larger and less defined. it's cold and shivers come quick, giving the same effect as the body buzz of old. the ring turns the moon and sky within like a deep iris and blazing pupil. i've seen eyes like this before on few people, who are at the gleaming moment, ignited. 

this is the prelude to an eclipse. where bodies beyond my ability to measure exchange light and shadow, appear both small and grand, floating briefly through the sky, lingering in my memory for years to come. i keep looking for the eclipse to fall dark, but it's slow. or maybe the cold plays and stocking feet are playing tricks with time. so impatient for this endless little time to pass...

eventually the crisp night becomes dark, light from the moon extinguished by our own earths shadow and weather, stars dimly following the moon. the halo has disappeared, and the clouds seem colorless and still. how often do eclipses come in a mans life? 

 

i'll write more about this in a bit...

 

 

 

 

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Thursday, November 11th, 2010
3:31 am - hiccup

 aw, shit. i'm not even remotely tired. i should not be this awake at this hour. i feel pumped. i'm hopping up and down, without bending my knees, thinking about what meats and cheeses to combine for my late midnight snack, ready to take on any foul adolescent that crosses my call of duty black ops bad ass path. i have been on this earth longer than you and shall teach you what it means to be a virtual warrior. gnosh gnosh. 

marines. weird. alright though. good money. a path to playing music professionally with health care. saving my family. yea, alright. pretty much done anyway. spent nearly an hour and a half filling out preliminary paperwork regarding my terms of service. down the rabbit hole i go.

great gig tonight! terrific highs, splendid lows, beautiful people, free whiskey. to top it off, our lead singer found my borrowed (and lost) 'wish you were here' while our guitarist lent me 'where the light is' on dvd. did i mention black ops rage? 

g'nite. 



current mood: awake

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Wednesday, November 3rd, 2010
3:23 pm - · · · — — — · · ·

 things that happened to me today:

i met with a woman from adult protective services today. we met at the house so she could evaluate mom. nursing homes are expensive, and dad and i don't really have any money left.

the application process involves a lot of questions about moms habits and medical history and was difficult. i couldn't remember her before she was sick. the woman told me she would want me to move on. she would and wouldn't. 

yesterday we hung out with grandma, who knew about the meeting i had today. after we said goodbye, as we got in the car, she asked me using my full name 'would you call me afterwards to let me know how it went?' i said i would. so i did.

the phone rang several times, which it normally does. before she answers she has to cross the room. before she speaks she always takes a deep breath. the phone kept ringing. she must be out grocery shopping, i thought. the voice-mail kicked in. and for the first time since he said 'goodbye' and 'i love you' before he died, i heard my grandfathers voice speak to me. grandma left his outgoing message, announcing we've reached their home and they're not available right now. he spoke clearly, with a steady pace between thoughts. he had an inflection that made you feel like he was talking directly to you, right to you, not making a  recording. he sounded like he was sick, which he was at the time. but still strong. 

now.  
 

 

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Friday, October 15th, 2010
2:08 pm - lyric help

so....i need some feedback: 
----
-moving out-
i set the alarm clock across the room
so I’d have to rise to hush it.
instead I just learned to pretend 
or sleep through its crying out.


I hope the new york you find
is the one you were always looking for
it wasn’t when I was searching
but it should be now that I’ve left

----
-war and peace-

oh, the war is over. yeah, the future won.
the machines declared, didn’t know how right
‘this has happened before and will again.’
who know they meant it was peace?

the math added up and they calculated
god was in the loopholes and the paradoxes.
so the riddles ain’t worth solving soon abated
no need to think if someone’s there.

the past fought hard to gain ground, it thought
as the future lost it would grow (on and on)
but the past won better than it’s foregone conclusion
turns out it and the future work in collusion

-----wedding photos-
you were so pretty at the wedding
smiled like I’d not seen in years
wish I was there to enjoy it with you
but glad you never saw the tears

the photos showed you up and dancing
you had bright flowers wove in your hair
more often than not I sit and think of
where vacancy crept into my stare

couldn’t I just see?

I hope it’s alright to say ‘I miss you’
I know it’s not alright to feel
I guess it’s wrong of me to love you
after skipping out on all the bills

I don’t mind if I am your weapon
in the war against my heart
but I can’t stand the silence
bearing down on me now that we’re apart

couldn’t I just see?
this is for the best
this is for the best
----

are they moving or thoughtful or disjunct and off the mark? 



current mood: blah

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Thursday, October 14th, 2010
3:37 am - things that make life exceptionally good

home made guacamole. shared terrible movie experiences. being a blues musician. cuban women. straight whiskey. long drives on curvy, familiar roads. autumn weather. being with good friends. writing well. staying up late. orange juice. 

 

hope this is what being zen feels like. 



current mood: giddy

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Thursday, September 23rd, 2010
4:27 am - hmpf

for the things i wear on my sleeve vs. the things i can't say to you, or on facebook, and hide in my heart and on this page.

 
damn longing. damn your eyes. damn alcohol. damn me. 

damn trips we took and things we said. damn all the times i saw you without you knowing. damn all the songs i play wishing you were there to hear me. damn every day i've hugged you since you left, and damn every kiss and damn touch i've imagined with them. damn your youth. . damn my father and my mother for being sage and kind. 

damn this writing and this sleepless, listless me. damn your long ivory neck and your mind above and your heart below. damn your naive love. damn your horn and damn you.

damn our children and our music. damn your christmas and your lies. damn the presents you never sent and my still believing eyes. damn this stubborn hope and pilgrim soul. damn your heart for granting my wishes. damn my heart, and my horn and  my coals. 

i would still say yes if ever you asked. damn me. damn me. damn me again. 
 

 

 

 

 

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Sunday, August 15th, 2010
3:49 am - the truth about knowing and doing

to know the hammer is coming is one thing.

to hear the hammer fall, and feel it's leaden weight, is another.

 

 



current mood: crushed

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Monday, August 2nd, 2010
1:38 am - late night list of good and gets

i can't sleep because i keep thinking of these things...

saw the professional marching music dci southeastern classic this sunday. i wish i could travel, by way of closing my eyes, back to that time and stick my head in that sound, feel it like a bucket of water, surround me. lean forward a little like there was a field suspended in space that when immersed in would fill me with the same feelings that sound does. the music is so powerful and the force of will of the performers is so strong.the collective efforts of so many, their unity of purpose and sound.  it's as close to i've come of feeling soulful.

the trip was big time memorable too. like getting caught in the dust and rain and traffic, finding doors to secret places with secret sounds and secrets, planning impossible journeys that we will take, shared awe, felt moved, fell tired, pressed on, laughed more. i stole glances the whoooole time. holy moley man, i can't tell you more! 

tomorrow starts the first day of camp for this season. the new instructor is extremely knowledgeable about marching music programs, and is a superb technician in the class room and on the podium. i'm stoked that i  play a part for this school and these students' legacies since 2004 through this programs next evolution. i keep thinking of various parts of the camp and how to teach them. like warm ups and calisthenics and tough licks and leadership moments. my heart pumps a little harder and i feel a might bit dorked out. 

by tuesday i will have my vintage silver lacquered cleveland tenor saxophone. i keep thinking of how the lower register will respond, the ease of the key action (once oiled) beneath my fingers, how i'll lament if the broken octave key is beyond my ability to repair, the first pitches i'll try to play, the scale, the first music. i wonder if the case will look as hip (but still timeless) in person. i suspect it will.

i get angry because of how expensive moving trucks are and how stupid the rate structure is. i want to be excited about my transition out of new york, not only because that's the only way i can stay sane, but because i'll be saying "see you later" to so many good friends. it would be wrong of me to go up any other way. i become incensed thinking of how i've been treated. i suppose she feels justified in her silence and neglect. bitter taste all around this sadness and pieces.  

closing my eyes and leaning forward, i play the videos i took of the different corps warming up before their concert performances. goosebumps and shivers run through me up and down. i uploaded them to youtube like a fan vigilante. the clips up now are seldom tagged well, making specific exercises and dates difficult to find. lo, that mine are not so, but totally bitchin'. 

ah, fleshed and flushed out some. much better. now, to sleep. 

 



current mood: tired

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Friday, July 23rd, 2010
10:45 pm - "what's the deal with..." august rush?
yea, i'm going to rant and it's gonna be pretty self serving sort of. 

you know what i din't like about the movie august rush? the film watered down an idea central to the protagonists' gravitation to music.  it's a big idea. i tremble to articulate it; in that faith, ashes and cautious whisper kind of way. "i believe in music..." is the first part of a quote that felt right.  i identified with this. i believe in music so desperately, so blindly, as my only avenue of escape from terrestrial prison, absolution that i may find if i do it right enough, hard enough, with as much truth as i can, believe that music can bring together people and forces like no other attractor...
- short hand-     you could see how this quote starts off great in my oft twitching perspective. 

but haley joel osment, in that insufferably earnest delivery, finishes the quote with "i believe in music the way some people believe in fairy tales." i felt guilty reacting as i did to his delivery because of the audience i was with: the extremely rare, adored and revered in laws (though alison and i were never officially married, we all behaved as such). to this day, i miss them. they seemed so steady and calm. anyhow, i snorted pretty loudly...

"fairy tales?" my sarcasm and nasal issues aside, there was something about this moment in the fairy tale that hired and fired the film in one fell swoop. stoked because the germ for the film was something i hold so true. and damn angry because it didn't feel like a genuine threat at anytime in the film. in the best fairy tales (and august rush is a fairy tale, albeit with a romantic sub plot) like grimm's, the threat of mortal or eternal peril is always very real. this conflict, this vulnerability, this truth is what makes the fairy tales so respected by their audience.

robin williams, bullies, institutions, and peers are capable of being threatening i suppose. but they weren't here. and even if they were written to be more dangerous to august, they don't combined warrant the largest threat that a believer can face. belief is treacherous if it's ever shaken. on second thought  a crisis of faith is perhaps the largest threat a human mind can risk, but to one devoted this void is to great to acknowledge. 

which is why we skirt it with art and songs and writings, relating it to things of microcosmic familiarity to our audience. so that through the feelings that develop experiencing the work, they feel it being skirted. they brush against it and feel the power of this faith or void. touched. moved. stirred and awake.   

or at least hope so. 
 



current mood: melancholy

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Sunday, June 20th, 2010
1:52 am - Terrible Son
 She is so repetitive.  No poetry can convey that as hard as it happens. 


She is stuck, tormentented and confused in every moment. Chewing her lip upper lip in an exaggerated overbite, eyes wide, wringing her hands, tapping her foot. She slowly rocks her head back and forth. 

"Sometimes, truthfully, I feel like an asshole." "I'm such an asshole, that's just how I feel." "Well, I'm an asshole, nobody's perfect." "Such an asshole." "Truly Truly Truly True-lee feel like I'm an asshole!" "Pssh, asshole." 

These phrases accompany any action, invade every conversation, preclude all attempts to break this cycle.

Like I have a marshmallow hammer and her madness is a dull steel wall. 

We try different things, when we're not beaten by the weight of this disease, bolstered by all the things that in life made Mom such a force of power, loyalty, love and fire. We try logic- "Mom, assholes don't care. And you do. You can't be an asshole." We try compassion: "Mom, we love you and we're all here because we love you. Please know you're not an asshole." We try jokes and levity: "At least you're not a bitch!" We try changing the conversation. We try occupying each others minds with games and chores. We try pet therapy. We try movies and music. We try pharmaceutical drugs. We try pot. We try thumb wrestling. We try driving around and around and around and around until there are no more errands left to run. We try lying. We try screaming. We try antagonizing her. We try ignoring her. We try pretending we're asleep. Nothing will snap her out of, save her from this hell. We watch her, slowly, burn. 

She becomes angry at us inevitably. We can't cure her and she knows it, even if she can't articulate it. We can't try these things forever and we get tired mid day. 

Giant South Carolina moths keep slamming into the sliding glass door behind me. I haven't shut the blinds yet tonight. 

"Go to hell!" She screams. "I'll make sure!" "This is BULL SHIT!" as she punches her own chest wildly, emphasizing the animal and the action. 

I was a terrible son and now she is a doomed  wretch. 

 

Freedom and elation, this music is transcendent. It lasts for just so long. 

 

Where are you? Where are you. 



current mood: fucked

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Friday, June 18th, 2010
3:19 am - Handful

 Years? That's the increment of distance in posts, isn't it. 

 

As I promised, I'm keeping the space between us clear and wide- which leaves me this other virtual space to fill. Lousy agreement. I get avoiding stress. I get ensuring the ability to reflect by reducing the static. I don't get cold turkey quits on communication with the fascinating, fixation of your life. Commitment to share with you till the end of my waking days. Still, the news I would share with you is good:

I've become a professional musician. A contracted show, paid gigs, invites to jams, prospects for bands, people- in a only a few short weeks. I am the change I've wanted to see. All of this humbles me. 

When I play, the smear and murk of doubt, swearing, hate and rage is lifted leaving prismatic clarity and flow. The negative thoughts, the easy way out kind of thoughts, are - well it would be easy to say drowned out by the sound, daemons chased or muted by the music. It's not that way, they're just gone. Absent from me entirely. The urges to hide from others, to keep my cancers and curses concealed and safe is a necessity I know longer bear so heavily. I seek out conversation in our ensembles and after shows. And all of this tempers me. 

I may be using facebook...too much. Way too much. Like - I want ask if my frequency of use is freaky to others. But, the flip side of that spoon is I'm not hiding anymore.  I'd also like to take this time to reiterate that spell checker does not recognize the appropriate, lowercase spelling of facebook. 

Conflicted and pleased with it, I am happy to be happy and sad to be alone. While the choices I elected got me here, the choices I'm making now should get us back, damn it. Seriously, twenty percent of our lives invested in one another. No small digit. Horror awaits the undecided, preoccupation abates. 

OMG I want more ink. The scantily clad show their swanky body art in southern heat and I think of the needle. I have a few ideas of things I'd get and they involve numbers, the golden ratio, grey's heart with tweeters in place of ventricles, Inuit art, octopi. Funds, narrowing or prioritizing, further chapter developments will come first though :sigh: . 

ala bradley nowell, that's what i got. 


 

PS- I'll proof it in eight hours or so. 



current mood: good

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Thursday, May 14th, 2009
11:40 pm - Irish Jig!
Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

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Wednesday, October 24th, 2007
1:29 pm - 15 Minutes
it's the spare time i've got between burning seconds at this library computer and going to class and completing late midterm.

flash confession: (moments in and little has changed, self aware and cathartic) posts are rare because i don't think i write them well anymore. the urge calls me all the time: inappropriate, slumbering, traveling or otherwise away from a place to write it all down. i think "dude, if i get a man-purse to carry my moleskine, there's a (very) small chance i might transcribe my scribbles to online jaunts."

it does feel good to do this, though.

making sure she's happy is my top priority, but i wonder if the absence of feedback is to be interpreted as a poor review. Is the door getting tighter or my ears going foggy? Maybe it's just the cats (i can be the jealous type).

too long already and I might be late for class. studying, pay me in full.

...i'll add a punch line later.

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Sunday, April 29th, 2007
9:42 pm - st. jude, find me (to proofread)
i am still moved to drink strong whiskey. i don't believe in the reasons but my hand argues unthinkingly. it lifts the glass to less than protesting lips.
lets take this time to reminisce.

do you remember ithaca? before the chrysler was a stump of birch? humor me,

[ life in brooklyn is odd. while the reminders of life outside of 9-5 are not any more scarce my eye is not trained to recognize them here. trees and exposed earth are between concrete much in the way that i am between loose ends: an unfinished degree, an accepted job proposal out of field, an unwritten request for one in the field, a better half in a broken place trying to heal, and unintentional lists grow longer.]
bare feet on cool grass, or wet on sun baked stone, pinched or stabbed by that accursed drive way, sloped further still by winter. our porch. i miss it.

i don't mean to vilify this place, i love it here, too, and often it surprises me. i just keep expecting some jolting change, this moment of impact where it will be obvious that everything is different, culminated. i'm so caught up in wincing and yearning for this collision, i catch my self trying to reach people whom i've fallen out of touch with- just to see if they've been hit. phone calls that i force, e-mails that i think but don't type. i want to see if this bitter taste is part of aging, if it's just the drink and this stubborn cask, my head. and i miss them.

music that played endlessly, clocks that ticked timelessly. it was filthy, almost always (for my part). it's easy to go there in my head. it excites me, how palpable the memories are. i can not quite touch them. she left yesterday morning and i believe she feels the same way about what she's lost, even though the articles mentioned are different. i have never been so worried for another person in my life. the tissue damage, for something like home being hurt, never heals. i'm no help and this suffering i want to make my own because maybe that will heal her. despite all of this and how lame i am stunned
still her eyes-
they beam. steeples, doors, depths. i love and miss her.

i'm sorry, when things spill out it tends to be messy and unorganized. i think the pattern is pretty though, but i'm partial, being the spill-ee. natural? maybe. pure? i hope so. though if this was contrived it would be brilliant in its mess anyway. i like doing it.

song reference, tied to the aforementioned:
breath, the only living boy in new york, the evil needle (what the fuck are you talking about?), oh canada with your face sketched on it twice, in the waiting line, heard it through the grape vine, every song from 1990 (T to the ara), let's pretend we don't exist, papers, the rain drops, after all you're my wonderwall, kept in limbo, such great heights, i saw a film today oh boy, i could go on and on and on- well who cares?

i'm thinking about when she comes home.

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Thursday, December 28th, 2006
12:53 am - bits and odd hours
'and she said 'losing love is like a window in your heart' 
 everyone can see you're blown apart 
everybody sees the wind blow' 
  -a pretty penny to the audiophile who nails that one. 

i'm moving to brooklyn in roughly eleven days. we ( '' plus me) will be the apartments first tenants since it was renovated. it's beautiful and open and pensive and i can see my self in it the way someone imagines college working out before going to it. there’s certainty there. and i yearn for it. 
i'm transferring to brooklyn college to finish my degree there. the apartment is not far from it, in a good neighborhood off of flatbush avenue. we're surrounded by children- there are nursery schools and day care centers everywhere and we must not be far from a high school. everything we need is close save our families. this is not new but is completely different. we don't have jobs yet. we can afford february but not march. and we're not the only ones who re moving. again, and unhealthy. they'll miss this kitchen. it's where we ate.

 kennedy and presely (geckos) are getting fat. when we move, they get sand in place of carpet. i hope they like it. i miss parts of ithaca. i'm not going to spoil that yet. nostalgia is always premature. they chrysler is dead, or worse, dying still. i'm not as sad about that as i want to be, but the cold bathroom floor thoughts fill the chambers of my dulling heart.my grandfather is dying, and my father shows it only in his skin. gray hair. smaller eyes. shorter sentences. 

i told you this would be bits. you read the subject. you know better, if you know me at all. cohesion always disappears with stress.

forever technically hampered and uncaring (sound matters, technique is the bullshit they teach because that's easier) i need to practice more for auditions. march nine. haunting number, but not quite the ides. 

saw my students today in the mall. i feel like i scared them. i hadn't showered, i looked haggard. i hope they know i miss that time of my life. the majority of my worries then were being instep and in tune and aware of them. that time was how i have always imagined my life. a permanent state of excitement and awe. i really need to send those cards. they've been sitting on the floor for months.

i am not bereft of joy, only the words with which to write it. but i can tell you about the musical sound my dog makes with her head. it happens when she's just woken up and blinking. she stands on her four short, wierd legs and shakes her whole body snorting oddly all the while. her two front feet jitter about like chattering teeth toys. and her soft ears, unmatched by any cloth i've touched, wap rhythmically against the sides of her face. ten times, maybe twelve. i could be feeling more foul than the meanest garbage and still not resist the smile that sound calls forth. after her dance, she closes with a solitary sneeze and a wag.  huh.


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Monday, July 31st, 2006
12:15 am - farwell and forward
(abridged.)

simply digits.
in the past three weeks i've driven around 1,750 miles. i've moved three times. i have not slept in the same bed for more than four nights in a row. those are only numbers. thinking about this, the distance, across any space, within me or around me, is like eyeballing a broom stick through the printed label of a pilsner glass after draining it's contents and feeling their distorting effects. i've started the trip: that's constantly changing the way i see things. hell, i've even changed the way i look at things relatively, including space.

and time.
which is defined by the increments measured from the rhythmic functions of a clock (did you catch me? the words used to define constructs that share the same plasmatic meaning ). they're all wrapped in news paper, tucked lovingly in their cozy cardboard box (by hands neither mine nor not of my own body), leaving behind similar shaped vacancies on walls and in my heart. i no longer live in the rift (the void is home in me).
      moving is fuzzy. not in the 'i want to cuddle it' sense but the 'no clear definition or way to describe it' way. like watching snow melt and not being sure when a white pocket turned to earth or when all of the blanket is actually gone. you turn around you just find that it is, the transition seamless with it's ever existing state. the clocks will soon know other faces and hide other patches of poorly painted wall. they'll sing in other places and i'll call them home.
     that final evening is also fuzzy, but in both the above mentioned ways. hour departure was celebrated in the manner to which the house was accustomed, terrible excess of substance and character. there was a bottle of wine for each house mate (one from ithaca, three from the napa valley), spinning vinyl, bright fireworks, saber duels, catch phrases, clasped hands, and no sense of the finite quality that the star filled night surrounding us hid away     in plain sight. 

starred agape.
far and wide, travels or journeys or adventures yield sights and discoveries within and about which pale the light of port. they enlighten the small overlooked details that teach about the on going (i've gone so far but my car keys appear to have shrunk on their chain).
   would you like to know a secret? ___________________________ i'm a junkie. a helpless addict who is useless on or off my fix. I follow a feeling that has burned me, fleeting the sense that cherished it. the hormone high of a few simple memories can drive you to a career path, which can take you through institutions and states, organizations and teachers, toward love and inspiration around doubt and devotion. It tears at the stitches because it's tightening the knot. that is to say that pope band (the marching machine i helped to oil) was incredible, which is to express my admiration for the people who drive it. i learned more than i could have ever taught.
   dci doubled me over, called me 'ginger' and spanked my cochlea plentifully (incredible poetry in its shape). what makes any junkie's experience better than sharing the dose with a tender ear and a clever eye?
->                                                       loving the beholder  

      brief, heartfelt, rusty (as heartfelt things are) and leaving in my mind a sense of wanting, i'll simply have to do this again.


current mood: drained

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Wednesday, September 7th, 2005
3:54 am

i was productive most of the day, so i'd like to take this time to be random:

'the problem with liberals is that they see every side of an argument. what happens then? paralysis.'

'memories that turn your bones to glass'

'the medium is the message'

'i'd rather be a citizen of fallujah, it's a moral choice.'

future dvd purchases: 9/13 hitchhikers guide, 11/1 episode iii, and macguyver (childhood hero).

anyone know about cheap bikes or wheel prices? fuel costs are getting a little prohibitive.

sprint is evil... or their stock manager for the ithaca store is just oblivious. the model phone i was scheduled to pick up is no longer being manufactured, so i'm stuck with this one. meh, i still get my rebate.

i'd like it to rain so i can muck up my new sneakers. they need personality.

and lastly-
sweet dreams.

 

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Monday, September 5th, 2005
3:47 am - merit
trying to tell anyone about today would be like catching every drop of falling rain. instead let's just be wet, we'll have a better sense of the weather. cool, thirsty, loved and thankful for every puddle a thousand reflections deep (the water is shallow, our eyes make things bottomless). love with each full breath and searching hand

very, very much- oh, thank you from my happiest heart.

current mood: every wish granted

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