...

whatever

hiccupping

i have been hiccupping for four to six hours straight two nights in a row. hiccups are annoying. my throat is tiredsore. now hiccups hurt. lame.

poem a day challenge

i participated in Robert Lee Brewer's PAD Challenge last November, and i'm thinking about doing it again this year. it started yesterday, open to all people, and he's very flexible on dates and participation, with only a final deadline for the month's submissions, and another for the optional chapbook. the only thing holding me back is a theme. it's not necessary, but i like the focus and challenge of trying to write thirty poems about the same subject; and i enjoy seeing the variety of poetry that comes from the different prompts.

so a theme. no idea. last year i jumped in the first day without a clue, but a theme emerged in the first few lines of my poem. 'fear' was a great theme for me, but this year i'm blanking out. i could take the first prompt anywhere, and the second, but for now they don't seem to intersect. i contemplated 'oilfield' or 'numb' or 'letting go'...but i'm done with the oilfield (mentally a few months ago, physically in a few weeks) and 'letting go' is far from consistent. i haven't felt much of anything lately, not strongly or for very long, so numb is the current favorite. but if the first two prompts are any indication, it could be a rough month trying to write around that subject. i might enjoy the challenge, but if nothing comes i won't write anything. i hate forcing poetry. luckily i can submit a few days at a time, so i might just play around with some more ideas for a few days before i decide.

egg nog

normally overlapping holidays upsets me...but today, two weeks before halloween, i saw the first egg nog of the season. most excellent.

and then joe and i split a quart of egg nog. that was kinda gross.

"hey, you made me think of this"

i am considering giving a copy of any poem/story i write about or inspired by someone to that person. i do not see it as a matter of fairness or deserving...i just feel they should have it.

However, there are some problems. i would want to include everything i write...or at least complete (for reasons to be explained later). Should i include the randoms that inspire me? they are often gone before i even begin writing, but what if they are still around? i want to avoid getting tased approaching a stranger. And what about the people with whom i no longer communicate. there are reasons for that. good reasons. or at least there are now. this project is not a sufficient excuse to try to bridge [most] of those one-time friend/relationships.

And there are more. My writings could be interpreted poorly. Some are not the nicest bits of writing. Some are mean. Some are angry. Some are passionate. All are my feelings (or my attempt to relate/understand a feeling i have never felt) but they do not necessarily represent how i feel beyond a moments wonder. i would not want someone to feel awkward around me because they think the writing a ballad of hatred/infatuation/apathy etc...

Some people will not care and some will not appreciate them. not the quality, i could care less what people think there. But the content...for my efforts to reach out, to include them in something important to me. that might hurt if we are friends. the ones i am not so familiar with will probably think i am creepy. even some i know might think that way. i have never been creepy; not sure how i feel about/would handle that. then there are the people who just do not like or understand poetry. Would i have to explain? Should i? Would they be open to the idea, or is the form itself so odious as to discount the conent?

i can only think of one reason to go through with my idea: i want to. i have never shared my writing (i.e. myself) on such a personal level beyond a few isolated incidents. i have never felt a huge desire for it...i am shy, a little apathetic and content writing for myself. And although the times i have shared i enjoyed the experience, those have been with a very few close friends, and it was sharing, not just me handing out words on paper and saying "you made me think of this." i also have some concerns about how my friends and other recipients might handle my writings. i am past the creepy thing, but i do not want to offend a friend because they misinterpret how i came to write these words. i am not sure they would be able to make the connection between themselves and whatever i put to paper. not saying this in a degrading way; i can hardly follow my own thought process, i think it a little much to expect of anyone else.

i really do not want to bother anyone. And this seems a wholly selfish idea to involve people (most of whom i care about to varying degrees) in an endeavor that appears to serve them with nothing more than a bit of nuissance and confusion. but thinking this is exactly why i want to share the writings without prejudice: to break free from the worry/fear that frustrates pieces of my life. i have always kept my feelings inside, and the more i feel the tighter and deeper it is held. but there are a couple recent instances where i have let go and opened myself up to other people. it was an experience...not entirely unpleasant, and although it freaks me out a bit, i feel better afterward.

letting go the things i hold closest--my fears, hopes and regrets--allows me to enjoy life without thinking so much. once i put something on paper, the worry that fades is tangible, and the calm i feel inside matches the calm i have outside. letting people in feels like that, but with a vulnerability that brings me closer to myself and closer to those people i care about.

still not sure if i will go through with my thoughts...

Memories of Her

Small circles swirl
Expanding forever outward
Held close but losing focus
And farther from the past
In a clandestine dance
Like the galaxies
Hidden in plain sight
Among the starry sky
Seen only in contrast
Though rarely exposed
Mingling with one another
In one way conversations
Of rippling space and diluted light
Tossing their eternal farewells
Out into the endless nature
Of possibility

perfect morning

today is the first perfect morning of the north texas fall. must have been high sixties, clear skies and still a little damp from last night's rain storm. days like this make me happy, for a few minutes at least, regardless of whatever else is happening in my life. everyone enjoy...

words cannot describe the feeling

my thoughts wander
through worry and elation
and the sensation of no regrets
addressing my fears and hopes
celebrating in life's simple joys
but always return to you
to wonder about yours
and wish we could share them
without speaking
our feelings unbridled by words

some mornings at work

the sky always seems bluer
the morning after working all night
and i wonder
is it just blue, or all colors
that find themselves more alive
when daylight peeks through the trees-
or am i still dreaming

horseshoe casino

considering my last post, i should be fair and say that my trip to the horseshoe was awesome. still disappointing, but awesome in ways i did not expect.

we got there sometime after dark last sunday. busier than i expected, but i guess monday was some holiday. at the entrance was an aston martin convertible to be given away later this month. aston martins are gorgeous...even if i don't like convertibles. the security check was a little harsh, but i'm used to that. then the walk to the main floor was down a hall with:

the million dollar wall

a wall of 10,000 one hundred dollar bills in sequencial order. yeah, it is as cool as it sounds.

onto the floor of the casino, there were machines surrounding tables games of all kinds. i sat down at a blackjack table, watched for a few minutes, then threw some money down to enter the game. i was only there about twenty minutes, won some money and took off. a great success. we decided that we would go to a pool bar and spend my winnings on a guys night out...

...but on the way, glory happened. after stepping off an escalator, my friend joe, messing around, held the rail for a second and the entire escalator stopped. he let go in a mock panic, but the escalator did not move. it had become stairs. sorry, patrons of the horseshoe casino, for the convenience. [r.i.p. mitch hedberg]

and as one final farewell from the place where paychecks are squandered, we passed by this thirty-something man with a budlight bottle in one hand on a cellphone saying, "look man, i was wondering if i could borrow some money..." with a rather hopeless look on his face.

mostly a great adventure, but i still didn't get a free drink, or any drink. next time though...

working in louisianna

i've been working in shreveport, louisianna for almost two weeks. it's not my favorite place. and though there are some redeeming qualities, everything good about this town seems to have a downfall that makes the whole experience...less than what i would expect.

bike trails--i bought a bike right before this job and, not wanting to wait to ride, brought it along. the trails here are great, but all next to bodies of slow moving water with extreme mosquito populations. and they're crazy hungry. oh, and gators. i see tracks and dens and dead animals all over the place. gators weren't so scary until i watched a discovery channel special on them and saw how fast they can move above ground. now they are up there behind bears, hornets and kiwi.

bars--some of them stay open until 6 am, closing until 7 am for cleaning. sounds like a good thing? no. crappy people, crappy service and lots of smokers. really, non-smokers are the minority here. i can almost say that for the whole state.

casinos--i was crazy excited for the casinos here. i'm not a gambler, not with money at least, but the idea of a casino intrigued me: free drinks while gambling, nickle slots, lots of drunk people making a fool out of themselves and people foolishly losing money they cannot afford to lose. fun times yeah? again, no. i did not get a single free drink while i was there. i couldn't even buy a drink because i couldn't find a bar. lame lame lame lame. and the nickel slots are a sham. one nickel per credit, but you have to play a minimum of thirty credits per pull. that's 1.50...do they think i'm an idiot? and there's no pulling either...it's all push-button electronical crap.

this state offends me.

betrayal

a smile of disbelief
is the only reaction
to a conversation not meant for me
but the brief upturn does not last,
depressing, expressing my pain
as it slowly fades

because even wincing a little more
as each word drives deeper,
riddling me with emptiness
and answers to questions
i never thought to ask,
i feel a calm embrace
and become a little more numb

end of a boycott?

i swam twice this summer. once at tyler's house after i tackled robbie into the pool (might as well swim around a bit now that i'm here) and once at kat's apartment. i wore whatever shorts i had on and whatever i borrowed from robbie, respectively. i own board shorts but i have no idea where to find them. and those situations weren't planned.

walking through kohl's yesterday i saw some cool board shorts on sale, so i bought them. i realize my recent lack of pool attendance and the end of summer approaching but i was sold on the 'cool' and 'sale' parts. they're also very comfortable for the everyday (these and board shorts in general) and have pockets--two things i should have with me at all times (unless laura's around, then pockets are less the necessity). and who knows when robbie will dole out some payback.

looking around the store, shorts and a fila shirt in hand (also on sale, but even more awesome that they still make fila...who knew), my coworker randy asked why i was buying nike shorts. we had just been in a sports store, where he suggested a nike shirt, and although it was a nice shirt, i refused because of my hatred for nike. well, more disapproval than raw hatred. he asked, and i explained that aside from a free brazil soccer jersey and a manchester united jersey i bought at a game in seattle, i own nothing nike. i don't like their soccer shoes, and some of their other soccer equipment is shotty, as is a lot of their advertising, and i've developed a distaste for the brand. he didn't get it. i had a hard time justifying my feelings beyond "i like some of their stuff, but it's nike, and i don't buy nike."

back to kohl's, cool cheap shorts in hand, when BAM, nike happens. i'd already committed to the shorts, and this revelation made me rethink my feelings towards nike. why didn't i buy from them again? they have good equipment, comfortable apparel and quality training/sportswear. i just don't like their shoes. and really, their casual shoes are chill, just their soccer shoes. well, maybe all their cleated shoes bother me.

i know i know, ridiculous. so i bought the shorts and i might be open to some of their other products (like the shirt randy showed me, and this sweet pair of kicks that are probably discontinued by now). i think i've reconciled my feelings...or at least forgotten the reasons they were there. either way i have some new shorts and more freedom (physically unrelated, the short have the inner swimming liner and are rather supportive without being too restrictive).

generic food

i've been sampling generic food lately.

growing up with access to farm fresh everything for most of my life made me apprehensive to grocery stores when i first started buying food. eventually, the need to eat (and love of food) prevailed and now grocery stores are my friends. i started buying what food looked good, and upon confirming at home, continued to buy the same brands. lately i've decided that if ibuprofen is the same as motrin, maybe generic food is the same as name brands.

sometimes that is true, sometimes that is a huge mistake. food is something i am not willing to sacrifice quality for quantity. i have time to shop for deals, or drive to a wal*mart or h-e-b for better prices on quality food. but if a generic is just as good, why not save some money.

recently, i tried some wal*mart brand peanut butter i found in my cupboard when the jif ran out. i've been a jif kid all my life because that is what my parents always had around (adam's is better, but i can never find it). but i wanted a pb&j, so i tried the wal*mart stuff. disgusting. awful. i spit it out. now i know why my parents always had jif, despite generics of many other foods: you cannot mess with peanut butter. even some of the name brands are bad, and wal*mart destroyed a good product (and a potentially excellent sandwich).

so i'm a little more cautious now, but i will continue experimenting with generics...albeit in smaller packages.

naga tournament

last weekend was my first brazilian jiu-jitsu tournament. for more information on bjj, check out robbie's blog for videos (mostly of moves he wants to try on me). it did not go well. i got injured in my first no-gi match, and pulled out of my gi division. most unfortunate. i'm still upset. that won't change for a while...probably december when the next naga (north american grappling association) tournament is held in dallas.

on the plus side, that has motivated me to work harder and set tougher (and at times mostly ridicilous) goals. more updates on those later.

sleep deprivation

It's day time.
I'm not sure what day
But we're behind schedule
And it will be night soon,
Not that cycles
Of the sun and moon matter;
They happen so fast
My eyes cannot adjust,
Just register the change,
But that's enough
Considering how they shake
Trying to keep up with
Pieces of each
While I move in slow motion
Around this location where
Colors turn gray
And all sensations fade,
Replaced with scenes of
Yesterday and tomorrow
And like tripping on my own conscious
The comedown and high coincide
Constantly, for days sometimes,
Creating a three acre singularity,
Where even sleep
Is often just a dream,
Stealing my life
One week at a time
Before I realize
It might still be Monday
And maybe the last few days
Of hallucinating
Was really all in my head.

in between dreams

in between dreams
of unpleasant things
i toss and turn
unsure whether
i am awake or asleep

in between dreams
nonsense constantly
invades my conscious
and i cannot think
only feel the sheets
encasing my soul's screams

in between dreams
they refuse to release
my weary mind
for a moments rest
holding me tightly
as a subverted being
the captive of my dreams

brickyard

a handful of houses
in pieces, in piles
different shades but all the same

driveways and parkways
in snowflake flats
stacked no higher than a man stands

a low steel fence
guards a gravel yard
where only dreams and memories remain

seeking asylum

bleach white walls that always smell so
lab coats, pristine, no wrinkles, no odor
milk in a plastic cup
and precisely portioned food
on paper plates, the sturdy kind
but still no more than cardboard

welcome to purgatory, for the insane
at least I've heard them say
this is our last chance to prove our worth
to the society that has already abandoned us
then banished us because we are different
or so they claim; i think we are the same
in my mind, we don't ignore
the voices, the sensations, the demons
or we can't, but is that so unnatural?

and what if we succeed in denying our fears?
I don't expect acceptance if we return
like a stray dog that won't stay gone
does hallmark even make a
'congrats on being normal' card?
even recovered, people would always see
the invisible asterisk over my head

I still don't understand why they need
a purgatory between two hells

senseless anticipation

screaming voices
cheered on by maleficent requiems
are not really there--
the sounds you hear
are just white noise,
but while you shudder
in the corner, remember,
the sound drowned out
by your silent plea
waits, patiently,
welcoming your cowardice
but offended by your reason,
getting angry thinking
its memory has been weakened
by tolerance, or disbelief--
the evils exists,
but have you forgotten?
you hide in the shadow of your fear
while your demons masquerade
as plagues of the senses,
cutting in
and fading out
but are not so easily escaped
because you are haunted by thoughts
of the future, afraid to see
where your decisions will lead,
but this is not allowed, so
close your eyes, tighter still,
so the light cannot shine through,
look ahead into your future,
now tell me, if words do not fail you,
what do you feel?

happy dances

On days that may have started yesterday,
reasons to celebrate rarely show until tomorrow,
and no one feels like waiting.
We want to eat, to shower, to sleep,
not caring what order,
and we don't often get all three,
before the alarms bring our morning.
But before we can return,
we have one more run to complete,
and already prepared to leave,
we stand in a group
with nothing to keep us from falling asleep
but each other's company.
And when the last shots fire,
we can finally see the day's end,
and cannot help but feel relieved
for a few blissful moments.
And before that feeling passes,
we celebrate in shared delirium
with our happy dances.

a pile of advice

wrote this in march, thought i posted it then. i didn't

never stop
running, stop,
drop,
and roll, stop
before you cross
the railroad,
do not lose control,
let go,
never apologize for how you feel
or for what is real,
do not be afraid to unseal
your emotion, or go
swimming after
you eat, laughter--
not aloud
at a crowd
of elderly croquet
players, a bouquet
of roses is never enough,
but a start, sort of,
not crying does not mean tough,
ask, it is rude to demand,
hold my hand,
now hold her hand,
stand
for what you believe,
it is best to give and receive,
share yourself
with someone else,
offer help
more often than you take it,
cherish your childhood, save it
in a safe place,
but it if you break it,
fix only what is broken,
never turn down a token
of appreciation,
or any reason for celebration,
attend at least one public demonstration,
every once in a while
smile,
do not give your child
a ridiculous name,
embrace change,
forgive, forget, skip blame,
you will have regrets,
but only one set
of eyes, ears and teeth,
treat each
like medicine does not exist,
resist
temptation to be
anything but what you see
in the mirror,
whether for fear or
whatever,
and when you see things clearer
remember,
pass some of this on--
knowledge must
never stop.

I question your faith:

Not in what matter you have it,
But what manner;
I don’t question your choice,
But the consequences;
Not your acceptance,
But your intolerance;
Not your conviction,
But your hipocrisy;
Not your mission,
But your means;
Not your humility,
But your pride;
Not the life you lead,
But how you lead it;
And I don’t question your beliefs,
But that you have them,
In place of logic and reason,
And not in addition.

Because you believe
And condemn without question,
I question your faith.

in a cartoon world

Through closed eyes
I see a cartoon world
Where the bluebird’s song dances
On long, whispy strands of wind
In tailed notes chased by a treble clef
And I submit to these comic sensations
Never wondering the origins of perception
Opening myself to the wondrous sights
Hidden from uncomprimising eyes

in memoriam, distracted opossum

Country roads at night
Without the glow of street lamps
Consume my headlights
Offering only last second reflections
Of white and yellow stripes
Curving sharply, inconsistently
Right and left
And signs stating empty laws and warnings
And, on occasion, two shinning orbs
Hung in the air
As if frozen in parallel motion
But as I drive nearer
They instantly thaw and disappear
Only a furry side showing
But sometimes I’m driving too fast
Or they are slow to react
And the brief moment they are entranced
Is all they would need
To scurry to safety
And when they hesitate
Long enough for me to see clearly
The face behind the eyes
(Though they still have hopes of escape)
I know that chance is lost
And fate runs its course

thunderstorm on location today

The sky split open
Like a windshield yielding
To a rock flung carelessly
By the oblivious driver ahead
Then instantly repaired
But in that brief moment
We were given a glimpse
Of our beginning and our future
Ultimate power and ultimate suffering
And I felt very small
But blessed

bonfire

Dancing flames reflected in translucent pairs
Flicker in time with a somber tune
From the acoustic guitar across the fire
Hope radiates into the sky like coins
Casually dropped into a wishing well
Echoing back a vestigial subversion of desire

But as you look deeper into their lies
You are surprised to find demons hidden
Beneath masks of inconsequent smiles and tears
And now embarassed at your ignorant dreams
That what you took for granted, once exchanged
Makes you wish you had what you were handed

jared the bee keeper

I just realized that I forgot the point of the last post. I want bee boxes. Well, I’ve always wanted bee boxes, but I have recently revisited the idea because I want to claim self-employed on my taxes this year. Not sure the requirements to make such a [legal] claim, but either way, I’ll end up with bee boxes. Good for me, because I like honey in my smoothies and tea. And I drink a lot of tea, and smoothies here and there. And honey is getting crazy expensive.

bee attack

Last weekend, on a gloriously sunny Saturday afternoon, I was cruising 180 out of Weatherford with the windows rolled down rocking slightly stoopid for all to hear. Just as the city streets gave way to county road…

A small cloud appeared ten or twelve yards ahead of me. It was just off the road, rising quickly out of the ground and into my path. I had no choice but to plow through the cloud at fifty-plus miles per hour. My windshield instantly exploded in a yellowish, chunky goo, and I felt needle pricks from the tip of my fingers up my arm to my cheek, and around to the backside of my neck

…the above paragraph took almost half a second. I thought my life was over. Well not that dramatic. But I did swerve a bit, getting a honk from the jerk in the next lane. Yup, still alive. And crap, still in Texas. I hit my windshield wiper knob and noticed some funny looking somethings stuck in my wipers. About that time, I noticed the tingling on my left side turn into a stinging sensation. It all came together in an instant: bees. Lots of bees. Probably five or six hundred bees, no joke. My windshield was completely covered with guts (which was a very citrusesque mangoish yellow with bright yellow chunks), and my lap and the inside of my truck were littered with at least fifty bee carcasses.

I was pissed. The actual bee stinging and covering of my truck (the entire front end and a good part of the left side, probably an entire hive; a little justice for my side) did not bother me as much as being allergic to hornets, and as of that morning, an unknown number of other species of stinging insects. And I hate finding out my allergies the hard way (hornets for one, and ask Robbie at kiwi’s (yes, kiwi, like the fruit, not the native New Zealander)). So I’m driving along, having just been [potentially fatally] stung by ten or so bees, I channel the final scenes from both My Girl and The Fast and the Furious, racing towards the hospital (conveniently, the same direction I was already going) for a few minutes, until the stinging subsided and I learned I was not allergic to bees. The rest of the day turned out just fine.

night terrors

in the waning breath of night,
when the air turns from harsh to crisp,
the streets flash with the last rush
of demons seeking refuge
from the rising sun’s stinging light,
fighting to not be left behind
to an uncertain fate
at the hands of their victims
with the roles reversed.
and to avoid the terror shift,
they escape beyond mortal conscious
to the world we call dreams,
and hide their existence
among the creatures of make believe.

no apologies

I cannot help how I feel.
I can try to fight it,
But will always fail,
So I hide it,
With a smile,
Or without—
Blurring the lines
Between doubt and lies,
And if I’m good enough
You’ll never notice,
But if you do
I’ll lose you,
But don’t worry;
You’re probably better off.

the rain washed my rainbow away

there was a rainbow
of trucks and iron,
hardhats and shirts,
some bright and shiny,
if not a little greasy,
some dull and flat
but freshly painted so,
each representing another job,
another service, another man.
then the rains came
and resurrected the mud--
nothing escapes the mud--
now all the colors of the rainbow
are spotted, sprayed, lined,
blotched, streaked or covered,
in all or part, by mud.
and the clouds covered the sun.
and the rainbow is gone.

muddy stuff

the first in an ongoing series of poems written under some or all of the conditions of the previous post, labeled 'oilfield delirium' for the sake of some continuity...

muddy boots-
lots of them-
and muddy jeans,
or pants at least,
but only half muddy,
boots and jeans;
the other half hidden
behind the other half
of the other muddy stuff.

delirium

an intense work week of constant schedule changes, weather fluctuations, sleep deprivation and a rather odd diet had my creative half floating between clinical abstraction and complete detachment. most of my brain was focused on work, but when i could spare some of myself to writing, the results were almost entirely incomprehensible. i wasn't trying to force the writing; it came out freely. i cannot decipher what exactly came out quite yet, either because i have not fully recovered or i am seeing things too clearly, but ...
...whatever, i'm tired

some of the writings may show up later...if some sense can be made, on some level at least.

dramatic reenactment actor

the need for dramatic reenactment actors might be dwindling, but i foresee an increasing share of those positions going to mediterranean/arab people, once the war and terrorism taboo of the last few years relaxes and the stories begin to be retold en mass. especially on the history channel; i've seen about as many events retold through dramatic reenactments as with computer generated graphics.

i'm thinking i could get in on some of that. although i don't like acting.

black history month

i didn't realize it was black history month until yesterday. i enjoy black history, especially the music and passion in literature rooted in its culture. i feel like i should have known out sooner, but my circumstances didn't allow it this time around. i am no longer enrolled in any form of school, which has a lot to do with it. the educational system, even at a private school, always throws things of this nature [holidays, historical events, celebrations...] in your face. being in the oilfield, which is more than a little racist, and not having time to watch television (commecials advertising shows, specials and events related to black history) plays its part as well.

to be fair, february doesn't make me think of the black community in any way. february, in this country at least, is usually the worst winter month. valentine's day, groundhog day, the end of winter...not really specific to any race. there are the winter x games, but that's more of a scandinavian thing.

february does mark the birth of W.E.B. Du Bois, the death of Malcom X, the founding month of the NAACP, and the passing of the fifteenth amendment (giving blacks the right to vote), so i guess it makes sense to celebrate the impact of black culture on our society during this month. but i do find it ironic that black history month is the shortest month on our calendar. i guess the big white hand of the man is always in oppression mode.

something i wrote at lunch

19.february 09

by the lakeside of a fantastic voyage
through syringes belated by withdrawal
lie seven gleaming onyx stones
broken from the same snow-covered hopes
that parade in a lone requiem
to the melodic submission
of the ground beneath weary steps
like morning toast dying bite by bite
in the greedy mouths of adolescence

innocence lost

a pale face decorated with apologetic regret
speaks words tainted by misplaced sympathy
intended to distract the feeling of loss
sinking deep within myself

i don't need your insults to praise my burdens
or your quivering lips on the verge
of betraying your delight with a smile
you did enough to raise my suspicions
without the stifled celebration

please just walk away
turn the light out
and leave me now
how you should have left me then

a simple town

a simple town
rests comfortably at night
after shutting its doors
in a tired chorus.
tomorrow it will rise,
orchestrated by the sun,
rarely ever before,
rarely ever later.

a simple town
who's names and faces
are never forgotten
but recycled over and again,
leaves no memory
on the passersthrough
and nothing remains
as the town fades away.

a simple town
perpetuating its existence
and nothing more

untitled for now

my angel’s tears always fall
at least three steps behind—
never able to keep up,
or keep a hand on me—
I live faster than he can fly.
he could ask for help,
maybe he is too proud…
do angels sin?
does mine?
probably not,
that would explain the distance
between us.

groundhog day

the groundhog saw his shadow today. so did i...because it's sunny. reason leads me to assume the sun also shone where ever the little ground squirrel woke up this morning. and what does it mean? nothing. the groundhog and his shadow have yet to alter time, create a tesseract or quantum leap the earth into spring before mid march. anyone who hangs any real hopes on this lame circus show needs a hobby, or an addiction...or to quit. better still, move to a climate that suits you.

thoughts on a friday

1. i need the internet at the bunkhouse
2. a bruise appeared on my arm yesterday, as far as i know...not sure where i got it
3. a cut appeared on my other arm, sometime, also a mystery
4. i didn't know it was friday until i named this blog
5. whatever
6. i don't see why televisions stations come through at different volumes
7. i'm tired of adjusting the volume when i change stations
8. my new tea mug is the highlight of the new year so far
9. i'm not sick anymore, much excellence, second only to my tea mug