Posts published in September 2006

so, there’s this song. not any ordinary song, but average, nonetheless. i don’t know. i hear it every day at work, and i never remember the words, nor do i listen to them. they’re just background noise to thoughts i can’t really get over. every time they start up, i think, “that damn song; fuck; fuck; fuck. why that song? i can’t stand it.” and then, later, another one plays, and i bob the head a bit, ‘cuz the beat is so rhythmic, so carefree. as always, though, this third song plays, and i’m stuck thinking again. i hate that. that’s, i think, what hurts the most; knowing i always think and knowing it never does any good, because i keep it inside, and i don’t really let anything out, until i’m tired or angry, and then i open up and lash out or close up and keep away from all i could never take.

blahdeblahblah. the commercials at work are overbearing. from the grease medley that all the girls come in and dance to, to the shins song, “new slang,” from garden state, and fiona apple’s from the last kiss. the only outlet i have is one playing of blur’s, “song 2.” that’s all i have, all day. grease, shins, fiona apple, and a single track i actually listen to. oh, and rv’s random preview, which i always laugh along to, and the wild’s. so, i guess it’s not that bad, but i don’t want to tune out those three, the grease/shins/fiona songs, because i know they’re playing for a reason, and if that reason is obvious or hangs around, then i’ll eventually know why it is.

shit. i’m sorry these take so long. i like hording things. especially writings and words. you’re probably not reading this, or one of you is, and you’re thinking, “what’s he doing?” i’m setting you up to read. i like that.

i like the whole, “this won’t be good.” i revel in it, for i do the same. it’s how you can come away satisfied, no matter what; you either feel as though you’ve pre-scripted life, which is somewhat of a rush/a sense of control, or you feel surprised, shocked by what’s transpired/what’s gone from, “this won’t,” to, “oh.” hah. k.

watched a youtube of leonard cohen. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLq7Aqd_H7g. he’s a good writer.

you should check ferlinghetti, william carlos williams, or john donne, as well.

so. life is all in the timing, and the timing is what life is, so, doesn’t that mean that you can make whatever you want into whatever you want, because if what you want is what you want, then isn’t what you want what you want? just be careful, because you may get what you’re wanting, and realize it was only what you wanted, and not what you want.

if i’m just words, then let them sew themselves within your thoughts, so some part of me is lasting, and not just a disease with an easy cure.

have you ever just sat there and thought, “what the hell is that? what’s keeping me here? what’s anchoring me right now and making me be where i am? what keeps me on the ground? what keeps me where i am? should i leave? but what would make me leave, then, if not what is keeping me here? i’m here. blah.”

what keeps you ever-here?

what is removed is as important as what is kept, and you’ll love what you remove far quicker than what you keep, because you only love what isn’t there, for what is there is far stronger than love, it’s experiencing, and you can’t beat that with just a thought, no matter what, unless you can.

i practiced wordings, words,
similarities, symmetry, worldly
clues to the way i’ve come to
understand things, with
the roar of thunder and
the twing of a chime in wind, but
all of that is meaningless
without you to read, so,
i thank you, and
you mean everything to me;
for, without you, i would, surely,
envy everyone else
who may live so free
as without boundary
or
occasion to be trained
for you, who read, who
see knowledge in these words
i know not the meaning of.

thank you,
thank you,
thank all,
thank you.

given life,
he chose walk
and
, wandering,
he fell, and
lest he rest
, he put foot forward,
wishing ground
lay there,
to be
stalked in drunken twist
of hips and ankles,
thighs,
to bend and ‘stend of knee
in dance, in worship
of the land’s many niches
yet to be filled.

what world is this
when life, lived,
told, is given a reason
and this reason, known,
holds but a clue
as to what this reason, known,
may be, but– to guess– to guess–
to guess is to give in, and to
forget, to lose the reason,
to long for what
may be
is what may be’s
only way of being.

may you hoop around these
and dribble your thoughts
to know they are but all laughter.

Same old same sorry. And a hummingbird cries to be let out, and rides a broom to the opening of the garage before flying to the tallest tree at a distance they can travel while under such stress.. and that funny string of dust/of cobwebs from their tail.