|the m E p.com||
January 29 2003
"love is all i ever hoped to find here, true love is still the only dream i know" (John Denver)
of course i wouldn't bother to sit here if i wasn't feeling chipper;
i am someone whose deepest darkest thoughts rarely see the light of day,
or at least paper or a page of any kind. perhaps this is linked to an inextricable ability only to see good in this world, in this life, in spite of horrific acts performed by horrific people.
is that ignorance, you may say, or trees falling a forest that doesn't exist?
so many of the words that are meant to be writ here end up in la la land,
as my sleep-deprived mind zooms around the planet and my world and back
while both he and she snore away. all i can do is dream about when they will return here in their rightful place.
itchyness, dustiness, clutter surround me. i am thankful for them all but still long for the stinky days of summer. days pass that cannot be retrieved; cycles of worse-poo and better-poo days follow similar sleep pattern days; i have found someone to dance and sing for; years of practice notwithstanding.
moments to think are few - ! - but i won't ever stop writing. ever.
January 25 2003
in the dark of winter, my car comes freezily crunching over the superstructure and my eyes gaze upon the icy city ahead; starkly outlined in the night sky, the lights of the skyscrapers form crsip outlines against the semi-blackness of night. the eye can see for miles. can see frozen clouds of smoke, billowing from buildings and factories in slow motion, can see the ice that it can't really see from here, can see the warmth housed within these heated structures. can see disco dancing, can see candlelight dinners, can see the vista from a 12th story condo, can see an entire wintery city in one glance.
it's a sight that never, ever, fails to excite me.
January 17 2003
"Love is the only house big enough for all the pain in the world"
-tom douglas/buzz cason
it's a crazier world in restrospect: government cashing in on so many immoral activities while convincing us they're in it for us and taking half of our hard-earned incomes on top.
and so who's not a dictator? we'll see what time will tell.
garlic mouth at 11 am chewing on mealy green apples, in clothes that don't fit me anymore and not one chair that supports my back, i'm sleep-deprived but excited and thankful.
January 12 2003
i sit to write for company, mostly. on a cold winter's Sunday afternoon.
and three minutes later, without even time to ponder the piles of rubble around here,
the child awakes. it's not the missing time that bothers me now, but the frustration that comes with having too much time to stare at the growing piles and having only their potential disappearance as my main source of accomplishment.
some repose, and the life spirit returns!
planning to make plans, buzzing emails once again.
daily time routines are about-shifted now, nap-times and daddy-coming-home-times rule.
one-thirty doesn't mean just about anything else. it's amzing how quickly we forget.
a new year again with very little a-do, but inside us all a churning, a yearning, a doozer's little dance.
winter warmth, kindred moments talking to friends, alone-time, diaper-time, and finally tidying the myriad of objects that luckily still belong to us.
we're actually living inside these fleeting moments that we call life. sometimes they count more than others. i can't say we've ever done it any other way.
Poot's n' Toots Place