I have seen you in various stages of madness

"I neither look forward, where there is doubt, nor backward where there is regret; I look inward and ask myself not if there is anything out in the world that I want and had better grab quickly before nightfall, but whether there is anything inside me that I have not yet unpacked. I want to be certain that before I fold my hands and step into my coffin what little I can do and say and be is completed."
-Quentin Crisp
Just visiting:
Tried to figure out the way to writing a perfect love story. I thought it would be much easier down on the paper or there flashing up on the screen. all lollipops and rainbows. Alive. romantic. at least if you say it. It might make it so. I keep starting and stopping and then end up putting it away. I keep thinking it's because the attraction is always more about sex than anything else. At least in the beginning. But that's not always true. maybe just with me. maybe it's more like chasing dragonflies. where have they all gone? I haven't seen many lately. I haven't seen many bees either. honey but no bees. I have these arms for her to fall into. To hold her after. and I have these words.....and that's why I'm all screwed up.

the friends first thing and enemy later. maybe not so much enemy as regrettable and not so much regret as disappointment and not so much......Hoping to be more later than sooner. love. The dome around me. hoping you' ll come visit. love. not love. just saying it. to say it. say it. hoping the hooks sink deep and the storm flurries are like someones worst winter.

the SAY ANYTHING part. A pen so I can write about you and then someday you won't even miss that. Was there a failure just because i couldn't keep you? I don't think so. i never read her journal but I already missed her writing about me.

all the normal exaggerations of the remember and the way i had hoped things to be. The way I saw things but not in the same way as you. my passions and obsessions. meditate on this. pray on this. Our sun is the same and perhaps our god. The way if I still talked to her even when she was gone. the oh so crazy about you, with you, in you.

who does that? who waits. who cares.

some people when you leave them, they are still on your skin. you wash them off and try to cover them up. But it's like a scar. a good scar , a bad scar. There isn't much difference. i still believe nothing is perfect. Just safe. Just easy. It's not always where you want to be. and when you aren't sure of it, I can feel that. you. me. just visiting.

600: The 600 dollars promised by the government magically appeared in my checking account today. You're supposed to spend it on something you don't need. stimulate the economy. Okay. I have a sleeve of ink in progression. That's where I go with it. I also need a few things for my garage gym\music cave. I picked-up a used Pearl drum-set. Because I've always wanted one. I have a Fight Club poster on the wall. A jump rope- various weights and it's been totally cleaned over the weekend so even with my Element inside, there is plenty of room. 2 weeks into the drums, work-out, writing , eating cake. I Started running at night again. Started drinking wine again too. Sleep. little of it. no hair-cuts. no string alongs. and not to many lies.

2.A.M went for a walk. So quiet. I got to feeling meditative. I felt as though my inner self was much closer to the surface than it usually gets. It’s a nice feeling. It takes quiet to get there.

Soft as snow but warm on the inside

I meant to tell you nothing. Instead I told her the story about how when I was little I stayed up nights terrified of the migration of the Killer bees. Earlier in the evening I watched IN SEARCH OF... on T.V.. And scientists predicted they would reach the United States in 4 or 6 years.

Then there were horrible dreams of swarms of bees attacking me and my dog and my friends and our school bus. My Mom said I "think to much" and that just like the space ships that we all were supposed to be flying around in by the year 2000. "Don't count on it." Think good thoughts she told me.


So I had nightmares about tornadoes and witches and no place like home. I wondered what happened after we died. A little kid with all these big people problems. My teddy bear, CoCo talked me down from scary dreams. From the darkness. Coco, he told me to think about Wendy the girl next-door. Her pink Huffy bike and riding to the Little General store to get cherry cola slurpees together. Her pink girly bike with the playing cards shoved through the spokes so that it was loud as thunder rolling down the street. We were thunder and lightning and she wore pink bunny barrettes in her hair.


Sometimes I wish it would snow and never stop. I wish it were Winter all year long. So i could love you again and there would never be any killer bees to sting us. Scientists say they can't stand the cold. Scientists say don't worry. It's nothing. I don't believe in nothing. Everything is something. WE are something. Only today: Nothing.

I like to fork, she likes to spoon

"The Sad Truth Is This Blog, It’s What Happens When One Day You Don’t Have That Person You Talk To Everyday Anymore. They Leave. And You Get Desperate. And Pathetic. And You Don’t Know Who To Talk To. Life Goes On Without You. That Is What This Is. This Is A Horrible Loneliness. I Hate It. I Hate It So Much I Do It Every Fucking Day.

so i quit. i quit. i am an excellent thing to quit, my own self, actually.
obviously. so obviously."

- From the tumblr of Ryan Adams Tumblr ( quit? obviously NOT)

I think I've been writing and keeping some form of journal or notebook since I was in Middle School. At first, it was only because it was part of an English class assignment. But I started liking it, then loving it.... To the point I was slightly obsessed and found I needed it. That's pretty much how all things work for me. writing, relationships, work. I'm willing to Crash and burn with something I enjoy. I don't really see any way out of it. What looks like chaos to others is calm and control for me. At least the writing. It made me scared sometimes. What would I write next. Where it would go. How many secrets told, how many lies, how many times wouldn't I say her name, but want to. Then I do. Then erase, backspace..whatever it takes. But there is control there. the repetition of saying the same thing over and over and over in different ways. All for one thing. To forget. To remember. To let go. Fuel and release. If she is a drug. Words. These words. If so, then I am her junkie. Maybe if I confessed, I'd be be forgiven. The selfishness of the truth. Maybe it's that by showing yourself you face either love or rejection. That fear. That feeling of fear. It's just so enthralling.

So, I've kept on doing it . Some kids back then -they would draw on desks, or maybe actually pay attention in class. I would write. notes mostly. what i thought to be the most brilliant and heart capturing prose. If only I were ever to deliver one. If only I could somehow slip one into her delicate hands, surely then....

One day I am in class and writing in my notebook. The speaker on the wall starts to static and crackle. An announcement from the schools sound system blasts out my NAME. Could I please make my way to the Principals office?. Tisk-Tisk the teacher looked at me suspiciously, everyone else ohhhhhhh'd and ahhhhhh'd me from thier seats. Some of the girls probably sensed a little badness in me as i walked past them in my Van Halen Diver Down tour shirt and feathered hair. Out the door and down the hall I felt like I did something terribly wrong, although I had no idea what it was.

When I arrived at the office it was the Principal and some other adults. They instantly converged on me and started to congratulate me on being voted 8Th grades MOST HANDSOME boy.
I thought either I was dreaming this or it was a joke. My Dad was a pretty elaborate jokester at times but this.....
Then I remembered a piece of paper passed around in Home-room with names , and you were supposed to check and vote. I just turned mine over and wrote a poem about how bad-ass I am at playing Donkey Kong and at kissing the girl next-door who's mouth tasted like Watermelon Hubba-Bubba.
Someone is talking to me now.. Focus -
The principal. Mrs Anderson, she presents me with a certificate. Official looking. My name, golden seals and Most Handsome 8th grade class. Nineteen Hundred and eighty-three. And so it was written. So it was done.

I walked back down through the maze of hallways and corridors, my heart pumping, and face flushed. How could this be?
When I walked back into class, the kids were apparently coached up to start clapping. The guys clapped and whistled extra loud just to be obnoxious. My friend yelled out.. " He's soooooo pretty " " Hello pretty one" then I think someone called me the Karate Kid.
"Thank you, Thank you one and all" I said. Now discovering some kind of confidence I never had before. If I was going to be a super-star might as well act like one. I went back to my seat, in the back of the room. The 15 minutes of fame, fading fast. Everyone settled down and I looked around at the girls. I kept thinking .. They had to have voted for me. right? I had to know. Who? Why? Would they date me now, kiss me, screw me? but everyone was back to doing their thing. No-one seemed to care about the most handsome fucking kid in school any longer. Wow. I thought, that was fleeting.

I took my notebook out from my Dallas Cowboys book-bag, opened it and wrote something of a story like I just did above. Then I got bored and started to make some shit up about this dog with 3 legs that I had befriended behind the 7-11 on my way home from school. The walk to my house from school was close to 3 miles and the dog , he followed me all the way. At home he would wait for me by the back door while I put on my "play clothes" and then we would head off into the woods together. Sometimes the girl next door would come along. She liked dogs and I let her name Him. There was more writing about watermelon gum and her lifting up her skirt for me to see her panties, while leaning against a tree.

Even when the best things happen , the real world has nothing for me.

The bell rang and I folded up my certificate and shoved it in my notebook. By the end of the day I had lost it. Somewhere between the exit sign above the Cafeteria door and the long walk home alongside Gum-drop.


Artwork:Yosuke Ueno
Photo 4:yyellowbird

Ryan's tumblr

let's just imitate the real until we find a better one

Good lies:
Enjoying this weather. Odd for South Florida. Windows open. I lit a Nag Champa incense stick and the cool air is catching the smoke and filling this entire room. It smells like books , church, wood, hippie fires at midnight, .... like burning.
So,
Mid 60's in April?. In South Florida?
"Well, enjoy it! " that's what everyone is saying. It will be the last cold air for awhile.
here come the hurricanes, here comes the fire-works, here come the good lies.

For like ever: felt weird. felt scary. feels like I should be with her. hear her. feel her. talk to her. forget her. It's just the weather, and I know it, but fuck. The darkness tells me different. Where I am still blind. It's all about the words and how they make me feel good. Safe. beautiful and crafted and mine, so mine. But again, I liked the days of hoody wearing, blankets and the arms wrapped around me from behind. And I like to touch her when she doesn't expect it. I would say it was in the kitchen but I don't remember. I know a girl wearing an apron excites me. So maybe there.

I am kind of grateful it didn't last enough for it to get boring. Skip through it all and save that part for someone else. the best chapters are the beginning and end. Save the wondering and wander back to me. Just a close your eyes and bite your bottom lip away. Just a "thank you". Like sunshine. Like the fucking moon-glow. Like for Ever. ago.

The sweetest tooth: Sometimes I want just to converge on the quiet. Pretend the real and then really pretend. If I kept my mouth shut would you come lay beside me? If you were addicted to something and you couldnt get that feeling from anything else. you know it's bad for you and all that. But the alive. But the chemicals. in the darkness you think you can get away with it. fight through it, minimal scarring, less words. just the high. Just what you do best. what we do best.

Hurt: where I am the sweetest tooth and you'd ask me something for the pain. You looked up to me, just because. and I have always, will always like you..just because.

maybe the words are more important to me than the relationships ever could be. people come and go, they kiss and tell secrets, lie and destroy empires. but the words endure. If Ive taught you nothing else. be careful with them. I send them into space. Send them back to the place where she found me, where I met her. In the instant of a key stroke, where just for the fuck of it. where just because .... I could love her and lose her again and again and again.

artwork:Yosuke Ueno
photo 3: apoetsdream

Watched: A beautiful, meaningful documentry:
INTO GREAT SILENCE This what you take from it. Don't ever watch this if it's not something you really want. To just try and be quiet. If you ever wanted to see inside yourself. Ever wanted to be still. 3 hours. no sound-track, no narration. only natural sounds, lighting and the simple diciplined daily life of Monks in the French Alps.

That night.. (that night) you made everything alright

Just finished re-watching Thursday nights new episode of THE OFFICE. ( thanks to Dvr) Now I have that stupid song stuck in my head. Speaking of which.....

Here's a Mix- tapeI put together to start your weekend off. Muxtape is a pretty fun and easy way to put one together. Go there and make one. (Don't forget to send me the link to it).

click for a GoodWinter musical adventure: http://goodwinter.muxtape.com/

artwork:http://tamaxxx.egoism.jp/

The darker sides of us

Last time she held her breath it was under

water.

This time I put my hand around her throat.

want to feel it squeeze? I

didn't ask.

and if you want to remember the marks i put around

your pale neck?

she is touching

the red

against snow flake skin

reflections in a broken

mirror

When I am inside her

I tell her that I love her

even If I don't mean it

but I did -

I do

our doors are shut

her windows closed for me

why is she always

waiting?

I'd let her up
but not let go
I'd let her breathe
in attempt to save her
I'd take the punch
I'd take the knife
I'd take the pen
and paper

eventually words
even stop breathing


artwork:
audrey kawasaki

When said he Never said she

may I feel said he
(i'll squeal said she just once said he)
it's fun said she (may i touch said he

how much said she

a lot said he)

why not said she

(let's go said he
not too far said she
what's too far said he
where you are said she)

may i stay said he
(which way said she
like this said he
if you kiss said she may i move said he
is it love said she)
if you're willing said he
(but you're killing said she

but it's life said he
but your wife said she
now said he)
ow said she
(tiptop said he
don't stop said she
oh no said he)
go slow said she

(cccome? said he
ummm said she)
you're divine! said he
(you are Mine said she)

- e.e. cummings

photos:
http://breebitch.deviantart.com/ (picture 2)
http://www.flickr.com/people/yyellowbird/ (pictures 1 and 3) http://heliumglow.deviantart.com/ (picture 4 is mine)

Nessarose's ruby slippers

But it was those striped-socks that always got to me. So I went to see my other girlfriend the wicked-witch of the East. I wondered what she looked like (before the barn incident). I knew she was the pretty one. Elphaba (her sister) being green and all. Misunderstood. I suppose that is the theme of WICKED. I had purchased pre-sale tickets back in December. It was well worth the wait to see now in April. It seemed tailor made for me. Always the Wizard of Oz fan. Always thought Dorthy was a whiny little brat. I was glad to see The Witch finally getting her due. The play is based on the book of the same name. I'd hate to tell you what it is about, because it's really great to be surprised and there are many. If you liked Wizard of Oz and it's characters. You must see it. I can only say that if it comes to your town, Do whatever it takes to get tickets. I enjoyed it even more than I thought i would. I'd see it again and probably one more time after that.


I knew a girl who had a wonderful cat. A fluffy bunny cat - shiny black with big green eyes and when i asked - she told me the cats name was Elphaba. I thought what strange name. She never explained that was also the Wicked Witch of the Wests name. I found out much much later.
After she was just a ghost of a girl I once had kissed. I could hardly remember the taste of her mouth. But I do remember the smell of her room. Laundry soap and candles. How hard it was to let her go. How I thought we ruined each other for anything normal ever after.
Maybe she assumed I knew about the name. I wasn't passing off as an expert in the world of Oz. She was the first girl who I ever saw wear striped socks to bed though. It wasn't just magic potions. I didn't put two and two together. Striped socks and witches or the picture of a barn on her night-stand. I am often a step behind. Often take things for granted as to what they are. Not what they really are. I was surely bewitched and that little girl wasn't fucking joking when she called me Tin-Man either.

Spring cleaning over the weekend. I mean like floors and windows and ceiling fan blades. Entirely new bathroom decor and some kitchen pretties. The little scrubby guys and cutting board above. From Target'. Have that bright vinyl toy look. I expected to see Limited Edition written on the tags. Because everything nowadays are L.E. aren't they? I guess that's supposed to make us feel special. Individual. The special snowflake. Hey, don't worry you are to me. Anyway pink Octopus is awesome any day.

underneath it all

"The greatest gains and values are the farthest from being appreciated. We easily come to doubt if they exist. We soon forget them. They are, the highest of reality.......

The true harvest of my daily life if somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little stardust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched."
- Henry David Thoreau

In the letter I send, we are friends. I use your name. I am polite. I ask nicely. I don't talk about myself to long and not to much about you. Not to much about what, or if, or why. But hi. but hey, but don't our games seem silly now. Monday-Wednesday-Friday. meaning what? What days were mine or yours. Silly. Sweaty. Even kind of a sickness.

In the letter we are friends. I am your fan. You are mine. You don't hate me. I am happy for you and I say it with a smile. I use my funny words. I say things you don't mind. I do it because you ask me.

In the letter we are friends because I didn't think you would. If I asked. If i wanted. Would you? I ask but only in a way so you'd know. not him. not them. not her. not anyone.

And you and I to be really in the same place at the same time. Alone. It wouldn't be any less dangerous. you and I underneath the same sun or moon and stars. Together. I'd want to touch you. To tell you lies and hear them back. To know you, like you are now. Not then. In all this time. and It took so long. I've learned. That in a letter. this. In that distance. Safe between the bars. I can give you happiness and love. Even if that love is not me.

Watched the documentary The Devil and Daniel Johnston. http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0436231/. See it if you haven't. His music has been covered by Beck, Bright Eyes, ..many others. I had heard of the cd covering his music and downloaded many of the songs here and there over the last two years. Didn't know much about the guy. Saw the dvd at the library and gave it a shot. I'm leery to go out and rent or use netflix q on documentaries. I think someone even wrote to tell me I might enjoy this once. I'm sorry if you did and I didn't listen. I'm tired of love letters and hip bones. post- it notes all over my walls and in my bed. reminding me of my faults and obsessions. I already know how to hold you down. I already know how to let you go. I already know neon paper and black permanent marker look best. Don't wash off. Don't wash off after I come. Don't wipe off my kiss. Don't anything. I want you just how I remember.

give them bread and circuses

all the starving artists with rich parents
sit at coffee house
tables
reading fat books by authors with fat names
and fat pockets

thinking up fat lies
and eating veggie
snacks
rhyming
shit words
in moleskine journals

except-
ORANGE
because you can't think of
one for that

rolled up skinny
ink
sleeved arms
i-pod
filled with
latest pitchfork
rave review bands
and there is probably a guitar pick
in your back pocket
blues
song

making up your plans with
text messages
and
phones set to vibrate
or the just be
silent
shhhhhhhhh
because i don't want him
to know

the hipster kids playing kick-ball in the park
something they missed out on in 4Th grade
i guess
probably picked last
and now they can kick
drunk
now
picked first
finally something-
bad hair cuts, poor vision and
shirts 2 sizes to small
no wonder
you are always
SAD

finally something
for the love me
daddy
boys and girls

a kick in the face
a phony on the
merry go round
tiger
round and round
whatever happened to keeping
your eye on the prize?

I'm not the catcher in
rye
nor the character
in a book
who sweeps
her off her feet

i am the taste of bitterness
and delight
and I am the nightmare
who ruined
it all

skinned knee'd and bruised
choking on that
last bite
of cake
she
waits
and waits

and

waits

** This is Re-posted from my LJ blogs: fightcake, heliumglow. check them out from time to time. Different flavors. **