btw,iloveyouifyoudidn'tknow

I started to talk to myself
but I pictured somebody else
someone who looks like
what I feel like

Someone who told you
what you needed to hear
the man who became what you dreamed
so kindly ripped out the seams

In the dark light
he just passed by
all these lost fights
Because I wish I could talk to you on the phone
but instead I am searching alone
trying to find
a reason to fight

all that remains
is a memory of a girl
some shades of shame
and a world full
of regret and passions lost
lovers turned into ghosts

friends have become memories
just pass along,
nothing left to see...
a prop to make the world
seem a little
more real
the bus fare in your pocket
makes it more real, and so
i told you so
the world will go
fade in and out
if that makes you believe
i love you
less than i do

I can't top anyone, not even myself.....

I honestly don't usually like anything I've written.

I think it's happened maybe twice in my life that I've gone back and read something I've previously written, and actually liked it. One was a short story about a flying squirrel named fudge (yes, Fudge the Flying Squirrel). Another was another short story, about a guy seeing a girl running from something - but that doesn't really count, as that was only half finished- and I've yet to actually finish it.

But tonight, I was feeling depressed - and therefore, creative - so I decided to write something new in all 3 blogs I currently have: here, the one linked to from here, and an ancient, decrepit myspace. I did the one here, and the one at the other place - but then I went to myspace, saw a post I did not recognize, read it, and decided that should stay as the top one for now. I remembered what I was writing about - a love so true it can only be experienced by a child - and it made me feel like whatever I'm feeling now is completely inconsequential. I actually kind of liked it. So this is that. Well, what follows this is that, I should say. This is not actually that. NOW this is that:





"A man's work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened." --- Albert Camus



A smile.

I remember a smile.




I have been happy, gloriously, unflinchingly happy. Without regret or remorse. Without doubt or introspection.
Living in the moment, existing for the only thing that truly exists - right now.




The first image - an innocent smile. A smile given freely, without expectation of reciprocation. A smile given without thought, but with cause. A smile memorized, seen only in the depths of dreams - too fragile for consciousness.
Seen through the rear window of a moving vehicle, seen disappearing into the quickly disappearing dusk.
A smile as haunting as it was beautiful.

And so long ago, it can only exist in the vaguest of memories.





and after reading that - and the quote that is included therein - i guess that's what everyone who writes does. We just try to capture those two or three beautiful moments in our lives, and share them with the world.

I promise, I'll try to do a better job of it. You, and those memories, deserve better than my feeble follies.

Dusk in October

I saw your naked fingers
clamped around his neck
your eyes weren't wet
you kept your head

The aftermath was just
shadows and shapes
they called it fate
never said your name

I kept your secret
hidden in my head
buried with the dead
but could not forget

Paths of right and wrong
seem to dance and intertwine
and under that cold moon light
all i could think was that
you looked divine

When we wake from this coma
maybe we'll feel some regret
maybe we'll wish we could forget
until then let's share this cigarette
watch the night become day
and pay no attention
when we run out of things to say

somewhere in my head, buried in back
a thought still lingers
when will i see those naked fingers
around my neck?

only when the clock stops does time come to life

I've been waiting
watching the clock's hands
wave another day past
wondering if this
will ever
happen

I just sit in my dark car
watching the smoke die
so perfect and lovely
before it just
disappears

So maybe there's some
meaning hidden somewhere
in the clouds we see god
or maybe just a
butterfly


Ever so slowly
I'm starting to believe
there is just energy
we are just beings
bursting and floating
connecting and expanding
fading and then dying

So when I see you
on that lonesome interstate
I won't wave
No, I won't satisfy
that urge to say goodbye