| 5/25/2004 12:44:00 AM |
[ taking things for granite ]
hrm... i definitely gotta make some new oatmeal.
there's so much wonder. i can't understand why people would want anything but that. to be close to the mystery is all i really need. when i drift away, even a little, anguish comes a'knockin. i'm too polite to kick it out. so i wander the rooms of my dusty house as it panders and patters about good and evil, chained to logic and looking for company. you can't mistake looking out the window for going outside. you just have to go. no matter how fast it follows you just run faster. infitely fast. light has nothing on me. when you aren't bound to logic you can do things that anguish can't. you must, to escape it. with adventure or invention or dreams or love, you just have to keep going... and do what you can to keep things from getting you down... the specifics are a little tough but they're waaay over-rated. |
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| 5/21/2004 01:07:00 AM |
[ an extraordinarily impatient buddha ]
hehe, hehe, it's pretty weird to read all the old stuff i wrote back when i first realized (how much). all the images and symbols and magic are as crystal clear to me as they were when i wrote them (which may not be very much). all that stuff which i can barely keep in my head at one time, but which is terribly beautiful in any light. as much head/heartache as writing sometimes causes me, i'm really glad i wrote it all down because it's really all i have. my own world where the things that don't make sense get put together. when you organize all the things that don't make sense patterns emerge and rain falls again to wash everything clean.
and i get to fly tomorroooow!!! *dances like a flyin' foo'... then passes out* |
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| 5/19/2004 12:50:00 PM |
[ every little ting, gonna be alright ]
the mystery! that's what it is! looking in the same direction and making eachother better and being close to the mystery. yes, yes indeed, love. so many bridges. where do you go? |
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| 5/18/2004 12:08:00 AM |
[ on turning twenteen ]
it is definitely strange. though i'm not sure quite why. the sun will rise like any other day. limpid and warm through the foggy trees. and i'll stretch my arms behind my head when i wake up. i'll step into the shower steam and look at my toes (so far away). then i'll hold out my hands and it'll hit me. i will no longer be able to count my age with my silly little digits. crap.
but i'm certainly calm enough for such a dreadfully round number. i have lived well enough. and strange things have happened to me. happening to me all the time. and i love it. hehe.
oohooh, and i found out what i'm working on this summer: nanosprings... i'm excited. :) |
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| 5/14/2004 12:06:00 AM |
[ whip van wrinkle ]
i feel... funny. like there are lots of things stuck around in my heart and mind that i just can't express. i want to understand... everything. there's just so much to be mindful of. busted luck. the desert. the lilypads. the enchanted forest. the flies in my eyes. the tigers. the second-hand ideals. the gutter and the stars. the path. the dragon with uneasy dreams. the rub. how do you make yourself come to terms with all of that and do something useful? where something useful is just something that makes you happy in a meaningful way.
tv told me that no one is happy. that there are only good days and bad days and some really good days and some really bad ones. everyone's just trying to get by. and love's a cold and broken hallelujah.
i don't know if i can agree with that. i just know that that's the way the wind blows. but seems more like love's a warm and flowin' hallelujah. mr cohen needs way more agua.
*sigh* er... psych! 8b |
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| 5/10/2004 02:26:00 PM |
[ diamonds on the souls ]
Among the Haida Indians of the Pacific Northwest, the verb for "making poetry" is the same as the verb "to breathe."
Tom Robbins, Another Roadside Attraction
oy, i like your poems. they remind me of the ocean: unknown and known at the same time, deeper than i can swim, leavin' me short of breath. hrm...i guess i'll breathe now. er... after i brush my teeth!
the light trickles through
in wisps and whispers
through leaves as green as god
over the hills and through the clouds
it tugs me back to dawn.
i was dreaming you were there, m'dear,
singing softly in my arms,
but the wind had come and swept you away
to places where only dreams may tread. |
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| 5/08/2004 12:46:00 AM |
[ dia de los madres ]
ooh, my dad just got back from truk (micronesia) and showed me all the cool pictures. he worked really hard over there, but the first picture he shows me is of this airport. the palm trees and lush landscape are just too much of an invitation for accusations of slackerdom. then again he do some diving, so maybe it's justified.
home feels so alien. stranger in a strange land style. but i'll get over it. and i have no idea what i'm doing for mother's day. maybe mosquito eating fish... yeah.
oh, desert. we meet once again. to cross and be crossed.
to whisper and sing how i love her so, that nymph of nymphs. |
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