Friday, April 28, 2006

c'mon. it can't be that hard.

I am

...thinking, today.

seemingly incapable of developing a dependency on cigarettes
but never more than three days away from caffeine addiction

so overcommunicative
but always fighting the fact that i'm scared of what you will or won't say back

constantly surprising myself
but wishing those surprises weren't so questionable and dumbfounding

in love with visiting my hills in the morning
but hate shaking myself out of bed to greet them

selfish as hell
but so ready to give, it consistently scares me

the proud possessor of a really sexy job
but always thinking about the next challenge

determined to get my gumby on
but too poor for the classes i need to make my downward dog less upward

willing to admit that i know next to nuttin' 'bout 'nuttin
but not willing to use that as an excuse not to learn

the world's biggest fan of albacore
but vegetarian

cruising for a bruising
but totally unwilling to strap into my protective gear

a total rock-show fiend
but secretly ache for somebody to drag me out to them, not the other way round

better than i was before
but overarchingly aware of how very far i have yet to go

a big talker
but full of listen

Thursday, April 27, 2006

Wednesday, April 26, 2006


I am going completely nuts.

I had the dream last night. Again.

It started like it always starts - I'm walking alone on the endless expanse of a frozen lake, dusted with fresh-fallen snow. I'm not wearing enough. I can't see the shores from where I'm walking, under a silver shroud of cloudcover and grey skies.

I feel something under my feet. It startles me. The ice is thumping.

I drop to my knees and wipe the snow away. It's my sister. She's under there, pounding the ice with her fists, trying to get out. Her eyes have had a cartoon-puppy poignancy since the day she was born - so wide, so sharply emotive - and I'm watching them on fire with desperate terror.

I pummel the ice with my fists, legs, arms, feet. It hardly shivers with the impacts. My skin is red and raw; my bones bruised from trying to save her. Her struggles are slowing; she's getting tired, and the cold is getting to her. I put my palms on the ice where her hands are still scratching underneath, and try to tell her I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry it wasn't enough.

She slips down into the darkness. She looks like a mermaid falling asleep. Something tears under my solar plexus.

Then I feel it again, behind me. And beside me. And, suddenly, everywhere.

They're all there, trapped under the ice. All of them. Everyone I care about, and I can't save them. I crawl around the ice, wailing and pounding and stomping. And watching everyone's inexorable disappearence - the loose undulation of hair over closed eyes as they drift down below the light. I can't say enough to them. I don't have time. I can only say I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry.

And then I'm alone.

Every time I have this dream, I wake up with my fists still clenched.

Tuesday, April 25, 2006


Turn off the phone. Turn off AIM. Turn down the cigarette. Turn away.

Reread your life, starting from its earliest recent records. Reread some older records, too. Reread other peoples' records. Reread lyrics.

Play music. Play mental dominoes with remembered choices. Play dead.

Want to share. Don't.


Donde hay amor, hay dolor.

Sunday, April 23, 2006


"It must so bittersweet," she said, "To have these people in your life, but all the way across the continent."

Yeah. It is.

I was so lucky to stumble on you, and something in me changed irrevocably (and unquestionably for the better) for the meeting. In any case, part of me lives in Boston now. And runs along the bottom of my mind like a TV-news ticker, always wondering how y'awl are doing - and wishing I were here to join in, to share this city of cobble streets and flower petals and unlikely pronunciations and hour-long restaurant lines in the rain that end in yet more laughter and lip-biting scrumptiousness.


I've spent the past couple of days having things pointed out to me - dorm rooms, dining halls, patches of grass, rooftops, libraries. Of course this is important. Perhaps it's my DoD upbringing, but geographical intimacy is a major component of understanding somebody. I know you better now.


I feel like I've swallowed mercury.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

with your feral little secret scratching at you with its claws

I learned some things today about secrets.

A secret should be respected for what it is.

It's a mistake to think that a secret is a gift. Sometimes, it's like pulling the pin and handing someone a grenade. You're not doing anybody a favour by passing it around.

When someone says they'd like to know all your secrets, they're lying.

Confession is a lonely art, and understanding is a farce.

Monday, April 17, 2006

not with a bang

"APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain."
- The Waste Land, T. S. Eliot

Saturday, April 15, 2006

imation in southeast asia

They were the first flowers he'd ever been given, he said. If I'd known, I would have picked up more than just a handful of garden daisies - but they looked so comely in the florist's window when I was driving by, all lipstick-red and strongly drawn against the field of nondescript roses. In his vaselessness, the daisies took up residence in a blender.

Later, on a lark, I looked up the meaning of the flowers I'd given him. And it gave me a chuckle, 'cause it was as true as it was chanced upon.

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

to know the pain of too much tenderness

I feel like I've been awash in words in the past week or so - every moment I'm left to myself, I'm sifting through them. But they always crystallize into silence when I draw them out.

So I'll summarize. I'm happy. Messy. Open. Curious. Sappy. Overserious. A little off-balance. Changing. Fast.

I'm at a loss for words.

A little less conversation, a little more action. Please.
i'm sure everyone sees the light seeping out from between the cracks of my ribs i can't hold it in or the nubs of the wings i'm growing as they creep creep creep from the crevice of my shoulderblades every breath that fills my lungs pumps me full of the iron lightness of choice after choice after choice and you're holding me together with your bare hands again as i try to find us on this burning map

Wednesday, April 05, 2006


I've been dipping into this wonderful wine blog that makes me rue my current beeraciousness and finely fuels my growing desire to do that thing.

Y'know, that thing - in which my world reverts back to the rhythm of windy vineyard springs and the crush and the release and the burst of tipsy weddings over a few dizzy months. Summer days spent in the cool womb of an oaky cellar, listening to the slap of my sandals against the stone floor as I smell the inexorable push of the wine on the old wood. Everyone loves cheese; everyone cooks; everyone wants to come with us to the grass under the big oak tree, pluck at a bottomless basket of treats, and tell stories - 'cause we use real glass on picnics here, and there's this great new bottle from the fella up the road.

What if everything changed? What if I really wanted it to? What if I didn't stop it?


I'm sad about the persistence of rain. Actually, I'm bummed that I'm sad about it. Wasn't there a point when I was one of those people who loved rain?

Oh, yeah. That was in Panama. And it was warm.

I miss you, tropical thunderstorms. And coatis. And ferry trips.


I'm a war of head versus heart. It's always this way: my head is weak; my heart always speaks before I know what it will say.