M A R C H 2 0 1 1 - Beyond Twitter ...

the fish swim; music swims in my head;
thoughts, fleeting, inappropriate, come, and they go.
everyday can't be a masterpiece
even though you wish it.

and one more here before i awake to the public world...
is there something i believe in more than this...

To give my life to you and to this feeling
That's alive today
And never let it go, never let it go away
No matter what this is
No matter, no matter what this is
It's everything that is

m a r c h 26

my facebook playlist, playlist of mylife
it's a miracle, my love miracle my love
ron sexsmith

quiet girls;
quiet house, disquieting;
headphones for an old lady;
music circles me,
understands me,
comforts me;

This is what I wanna live for
This is where I wanna live
To give my life to you and to this feeling
That's alive today
And never let it go away
No matter what this is

This is, and how can I deny it
This is, and will not be denied
And you don't have to give an explanation
For the way you feel
I only wanna know it's real
No matter what this is

To give my life to you and to this feeling
That's alive today
And never let it go, never let it go away
No matter what this is
No matter, no matter what this is
It's everything that is

jimmy webb

nuts, brownies, and libya.
my head spins and the bright red cardinals swoop outside the french doors.
if i sit, unyoga'd, focusing, waiting for the caffeine to infuse my being, time passes.

it is tax time, two neat piles of papers sit to my left. one will bring me money. one will cost me money.
it is my fervant hope that the former will win out yet again this year. only rosey rose knows.

this time of year, i smell all the other places i lived.
when the jets use runway A, I'm back in LA, driving early in the morning up Sepulveda boulevard...
and when the air is stilll and the sun shines early, and it's slightly colder than normal for March,
i smell both the entrance to the Alvik residence and the running trails outside Balingsholm, not far from where the taxi dropped me off
after arriving from Arlanda. his visa machine wasn't working and we had to go back inside to have the hotel give me some cash.
that was a long time ago, but i smell it still, and i'm quite certain that the coffee they served upon arrival from the large silver carafe
had been made in the morning and kept warm until my very late arrival.
i can't remember if simon was there, but i also can't remember having any fun, so i guess he was not.

can i really call this a blog?

a star is dead
how is my liver
tiny snow falls
the twitterverse awakes..
why is carolyn hennessey following Me
and who is she anyways

you don't get me, but you don't get 'IT' either
you certainly won't get me on twitter.

the little one counts showers;
she is becoming a citizen;
"On est jeudi maman?"

and poots, her coffee, and two newspapers unopened,
afixed liz taylor's glaze, in bad print, staring at me from beyond the grave...
will she ever really die

other thoughts encircle me
i'm wrapped up in myself
AR is nowhere to be found
and i wonder about his divorce
from his italian wife

work, a duty, but singing and writing are becoming imperatives
can i make myself into an artist
while walking around number 5
in a grey flannel suit?

fakers, insecure fakers, every one.

just tryin' to wake up here. 7:42.

stephen fearing beguiling into my ears; not my eyes;

music is a lovely way to wake up, as well as go to sleep...

allowing myself a rare second coffee, i've shut out the world...
i slept really, really well, and that's mostly dangerous...

wednesday in poot's world; mid-week; meetings; singing
and all there is to say is sleep.

sleep means i can focus. it means i can prioritize. it means i am in control.

berdj once explained to us the difference between zero and one.
and that, is all there is to know about math.

between brownie badges and bad budgets,
i tweet.

and all the proclamations that i have about life; and death;
are all here.

monday monday

a day in a week, wakey wakey poots
dark eyes and careless hair you were fashionably sensitive but too cool to care
sip more java, poots, this isn't twitter...

i am, i am looking for words to form a thought
the little one, getting bigger, will call to me soon;
7:23 is late, even for her

i found some nice art
newyorkers are friendly
and i think i've nearly had enough of facebook

finally, the dream is over.

pirogee moons and tacky noise, i simply cannot think.
i'll pull a dance from somewhere - as life grinds through me -
through my aching feet, my wavering heart, and my eroding hope
i'll continue to move, to parade; to never sharade;
making my opinionated point
my tiny little spot
and believing, always, that i am important.
No matter who isn't listening.

does my subconscience really think someone hates me?

his clients leave after they say 'Wow!' because it's at that point that the balance starts to tip
is that what i do with people?

i am drawn towards people who are smarter than me;
most people like people who are not smarter than them;
the cross-section is small
when there's no Wow.

adele soothes the mind, the body, and the soul in one fell lyric

it doesn't all have to be thematic.

the theme,
is life.

late...

many many thoughts!
archandroids (janelle monae) to quiet fish
screaming adele in the car, bad for the vocal folds but oh, so good for the soul: it's always a trade off.

a web page is archaic now, but the silence is deafening and i still like it...

and so, after a brutal singing lesson, here i am, late at night, able to sing anything.
notes come out; i'm not cocky, but the notes are coming, and the higher the better
it's a bit mad ness.

on the Ides of March...poots made the correct choice,
and that choice was the counter-intuitive one.

it took every single one of my forty-five years to make that choice.

life can be very, very strange that way...
learn to love...
learn to feel...
learn to be alive...
...
then learn to live...

and why am i cheating with time

let's read the paper now
japan still needs us.

not much interested in the daily logistics of life,
but more with the interaction with raw things...
raw emotion - tell me what is in your heart; good or bad;
raw thoughts - tell me what you're afraid to say;
raw connections - connect with yourself, then tell me what you really know.

today i'm in the Middle:
the middle of a decision;
the middle of happiness;
the middle of the hallway,
and generally, in the middle of life.

it's true. it's my only real message, my only thought that matters.
be honest with yourself, and honest with me,
that's all i ask of you.

odd coffee, today only.
in spite of calamities, both piles of paper in front of me are dull, not calling me

more
words; coffee;
decision to be made -
grubby mind, heart and head; funk; will i stay or will i go

are you funky too, or do you let yourself wake slowly into a day

adsf
asdf
adsf
adsf
asdf
adsf
asdf
adsf
adsf

japan is sad

the world watches, what else can we do...

and now i must live my daughter's fears as well

calculating ages, lower math and higher ground

poots, in her time-lagged achy bones, stares blankly
at life
alone
for a child

acknowledge it; but move passed it; will piano lessons help
is there too much time for thinking;
is that what the 'good parents' do?

in choir, we used to sing:
"Strengthen all the weary hands. steady all the trembling knees say to the faint hearts, take Courage! for he comes, the Prince of Peace"
and what happens, in 2011, if no Prince?

asdf

early morning and there's a palm tree by my side.

the family sleeps, the snow falls.

i feel apologetic.
i dreamt two dreams; one recurring but with a conclusion, the other a first.
i was moving, physically and in my mind, between the here and now, the afterlife, and every state in between.
it was a psychadellic dream, but i did no drugs.
was it the macarons, or our debate of the existence of God?

it's an hour later, and i'm beat up.
however i'm having some original thoughts in my beatupedness.
the child is getting older; need to change the approach;
when the lease is up, should we go green?
do you ever wake up with original thoughts? i rarely do, so this is a good thing.

while painstakingly trying to spread gloppy cheese passed through the food processor after lazily no wanting to hand grate it,
i said, in my now familiar Indian lady voice...

"saving time is not always time saving"

and the second babysitter is now a second no-show.

have i written lately about unconditional love ...

it's the only real love, the only kind that really matters,
the rest do damage that no amount of love can undo
it has to be pure from the start

and it's rare,

very
very
rare.

the seventies are not coming back, are they.

can the Dalai Lama really quit?

music music music
and when i hear serena ryder sing "when i woke up this mornin', you were on my mind"
i can't help but worry that for all the trying,
the seventies are not coming back.

sitter quitter twitter.

twitter confirms that the world has only a ten second attention span
and for those who don't, will be converted
i've jumped on board the twitter train
because that's where the locomotive is going
and who, not i, the hell, wants to be left behind?

and i guess, the more people you can potentially interact with,
the shorter your interactions must therefore be.

the sitter quit, now i have to find another one.

don't bother reading the rest

smelling burnt plastic can't be good
however i lost my earrings too
and that can't be better

"I know it ain't easy, givin' up your heart" - adele sings that

wow, let's have placement here.- not possible to rush into a thought - especially if you want it packaged
the words can come out lightly, and then it really is stream of consciousness, let's just write the awakeness out of me.

it was a snowstorm, i didn't have a camera at the butterflies, my glasses are still upstairs, and, can i make the most out of this next six minutes because that's likely all ihave.
first i need to wake up. maybe i already sound awake.

extra fish in the tank, no one is ever going to read this.

the sitter quit, now i have to find another one.
i guess i might hear my daughter waking up now.

what would you say if exactly by the time your pc booted up
your time was up and the coffee was cold?

there's no time for original thoughts when one is interupted constantly:
so i'll apologize for that
and just slowly go insane
right in front of your eyes

a bit more brewing java helps:
the snow is coming down as if the creator himself was throwing it on a wedding

why bother for silence
it's a rare commodity
and why bother for anything else
if it's all that i want

do i feel better now

last day of frustration
tomorrow back to the normal grind
at least it's ground
and i get to keep my feet on the ground from 9 to 5

and the coffee only very slightly tastes of the ketchup stuck to the measuring cup that i used to warm the milk
because the woman who ran the dishwasher doesn't know that tall dishes block the soap dispenser

social network and never say never don't quite have the same message, it was a big surprise for me this not fuzzy story
however i like his alienation
it makes me feel less alone.

tweets are too short
and today i am writing late at night, i can't say why except that the only thing i care about is reaching out to touch somone
dont' ask me who cause i don't really know

and beyond twitter is this white space - quiet - lonely yet expansive - free paper - where i'm free to say what's on my mind, or at least what i would legally write down on paper

which isn't too much more than the fact that i'm lonely

wow, did i just write that

bitch.

and everyone i'm drawn to leaves...

am i drawn to people who like change
people who don't care about community
people who don't like scrutiny

if i can't have an hour, first thing in the morning, to go through all of the permutations and combinations of my mind,
then i am not fit to enjoy the day.
this activity gets interupted about 11 days out of 14.
such is my life.