There are things I just can't say

Oh, someday soon I'll fly away

Indeed

Huh.
a wry thought
You just never know what might be playing out behind the scenes.
I'm Houdini and there is. no. key. this. time.
Panic! because
Sometimes I am furious and convinced that I've been wrong all along
Other times, I'm sure that it's all about everyone else's misunderstanding.
Maybe the point at it's crux is that it doesn't actually matter
And in that case, I accept and even embrace the error in my paradigm, and the rest of the world's indifference is not a crime at all.

I brought people together! I thought of others! I set plans in motion! I listened, and I was mostly honest, and I was present,
Yet I feel like I wasted a lot of energy today
With any luck, it'll be one of thousands of days that doesn't make the cut onto my mind's hard drive.
Thank goodness I'm Batman.

Chilly creek flows, placid
Chestnut slicked-back fur surrounds two smaller chestnuts gazing confidently
At the rooty sloped bank
There is nothing to see
And noiselessly
She slips under once more

Summertime makes my feet hard
Dirty
Perpetually covered in a dry film of dust, shower be damned
On this summer night, when all that I have yet to accomplish for the week is to rest
I read this letter that someone handed to me earlier, and muse:
I wish I knew more men who would chance to speak to me in this way
With grungy toes and a face not yet washed of the day's sweat
The bedspread beneath me all but cries out YOU ARE GONNA NEED TO WASH ME SOON
No matter- I am entirely charmed
And I know that I deserve this, and more of this
And then, like a tactless and blunt and out-of-place punchline, I remember
Life is waning.

I

Escaped

The Rain Today

Only By Minutes

And Just By Chance.

Today Was A Day Set

Aside To Celebrate Others

And I’m Learning That I’m Ok

At Celebrating Others, And That

I really Enjoy Tackling The Creative

Challenges That Come With Having

Such an Aim. Joy Is Easily Transferable.

Plan It. Make It. Share It.

Smile for the camera
C'mon, give us a smile
You're prettier when you smile
But grief is tugging hard at the corners of my lips
Walking along falsely through this week
I've watched fifty different people dodge my sorrow in their own ways
It's tiring to drag it along behind me like a runaway's sack of dear and worthless belongings
And then to tug it out of the way to keep it from tripping anyone else
There's no end to this piece
Because the end isn't in sight.

Something happened tonight
The world slowed down
Life changed
One moment, everything's as it was- the next, there's no going back
I find it entirely strange

Impact,
and then like a mushroom cloud after an explosion
New knowledge ballooning out into thought

But... everything is quiet and I don't know what to think
I don't know what's going to happen
To me; more importantly, to you

I think... I think that the sky must be weeping for you
Clouds' tears are pattering gently upon the skylights in my room
The heavens rumble and sob passively

Will you cry, too, tonight? Will you lay in your bed and stare blankly at your ceiling?

There is fear, but there's also a sense of inconvenience
The realization that life is going to get a lot harder

That life is going to have to change entirely
Or that it may end before it gets the chance to.

What am I doing here?

I mean what the FNK am I even doing here?


They talk of their aspirations
Musical exploration
Creative computation, wanting excellence out of this new situation
And I'm in such a different place
Don't even feel ashamed or want to hide my face about it
Because they know it well enough and they ask me to tag along anyhow
Like a baby sister, like some not-quite-hipster
Who sort of gets the look, the style, the rules of the game
But all the same
Can't quite play, has novice aim
Something that more years of experience, practice might tame
Yet it remains
I'm just not there.
I'm the weakest link, a tear
In an astronaut's spacesuit
I'm the leaky pipe, and I think, buoyed by their collective ability
They'll say it's silly of me
But actually it's silly of them
To pretend.

Justin McRoberts

I am comfortable with deconstruction
I am comfortable with doubt
It's the assurance that "I'm right" about the mystery, the assurance that "you're wrong"
That I can do without

So everything
Everything I knew about You
Everything I thought I knew
I tear it down 
Yes I will leave it all in pieces
If finally what it means is that I'm left with only You

-Deconstruction



Some dreams are far too small to hold the soul, to hold the soul, like
My life, my land, my money
My family, my country

-America and the Soul

I don't believe in nothingness

And of that, I am quite sure

But the Great Hall of my mind echoes with mysteries that I can never expect to solve

Questions, they're alright, I suppose

But my mind's voice, hollow, bounding off its own walls, unheard by any other being outside of myself

I can hardly endure it-

The empty cacophony is far worse than would be complete silence
Is there anything new here, anything being birthed?
No, I think that I am still laboring to strip away the old weathered and worn planks that once fortified my soul

Chapter Two

Nightfall was still an hour or two away, and while the sun gave the air less of its warmth at that dwindling hour, it warmed the color of the sky and the earth in a quieting, delightful way. Doug and Spitzy walked side by side at a casual pace as they passed the first houses and huts at the outer edges of the village of Glen Illyan. This particular community was known far and wide for being quite a progressive place, where canines and felines of varied breeds lived together in intentionality and peace. Spitzy was  on the small side of the spectrum, as far as her species goes, but she always felt like a giant when she visited this particular place- with obvious reason, of course. And she had visited before, several times in fact, with Doug and his sister Tugg (Tuggetha, if you wanted to elicit a sharp bark and a smart nipping from the lass; safer to stick with her nickname). The siblings had gone through a phase of serious interest in their family tree, and had taken several trips to the village to learn more about distant family members who had lived there.

A home here and there quickly turned into bunches of dwellings all around as they continued onward. In no time at all they had reached the center of the village, which was a smaller-than-large expanse with a firepit and gathering area around it; also contained in the center's open space were grass patches as well as places where tiny paws clearly trod often in play, reducing the ground to dust and dirt. And in fact on this evening the small community was abuzz with activity, kittens chasing puppies, dogs and cats preparing picnics for their families. A group of females sitting around the fire had taken up raucous song and dance, singing at times both in English and in their ancient tongue, Caéttish.

Oh I once saw a lass,

With tadpoles fer toes,

Who wore a glass

Upon 'er nose.

Ay, Meowmers O'Quinn

She'd tickle yore feet

And when y' jumped up

She'd steal yore seat!

Meow-mers, Meow-mers,

Meow-mers O'Quinn, bless me hat!

Meow-mers, Meow-mers,

Meow-mers O'Quinn, wot a cat!

Sometime during the verse, a poodle had joined in with a fiddle, and as the singing dissolved momentarily to laughter, hollering, and silly dancing, the fiddle continued on. Spitzy and Doug had absolutely no desire to join in, but were having a considerably lovely time witnessing the spontaneity of the scene. Soon the singing picked up again in that ancient speech that was nowhere near recognizable to the pug, nor to the llama. 

Mrrrrow, meeeow, mew MEW, mew

Myow, Yow, Yow, mrow mrow purrup....

Smiling, the friends wandered toward what was commonly referred to as the GIGH, or the Glen Illyan Guest House. These days, free guest houses were becoming more common, the GIGH had been a beacon of welcome and hospitality for many decades, pre-dating any current trend. The cabin, as it appeared, was completely free to travelers, and was kept up in a joint effort between several village residents and the visitors who made use of it. 

An otter turned his head over his shoulder in acknowledgement of the newcomers as they entered the cottage. He was quietly chopping some watercress, and as Doug and Spitzy stood reacquainting themselves with the place in the entryway, which opened to the right, into a kitchen and space to eat, he retreated to the rustic porch off of the front of the building to be alone with his thoughts and to watch the coming dark extinguish the remaining light in the sky.

A quick stroll through the hallway served to inform the pair that it was a rather empty house on that evening. They claimed a room, pulled out Doug's choicest marbles (he had had to leave so many behind...), and began to entertain themselves. Since entering the village, they'd been quiet in the way that close friends will often feel comfortable being with each other.

Clack!-snort.

“Didn’t mean to do that,” murmured Doug as his play pushed one of his own marbles out of position.

“Ohho, Dougie boy, youuuu’re done for,” Spitzy said matter-of-factly, largely trying to push her friend’s buttons, only half paying attention, and not at all in a particularly competitive mood (after all… they were playing at marbles).

The pug licked his nose in consternation and wiggled his rear as he repositioned himself ever-closer to the floor for maximum… balance?... and, finally set up to his liking, flicked forth his paw to hopefully recover some of the ground that he had lost. A second later it became clear that the damage had been done, and that Spitzy would be the victor in another few turns no matter what happened. “You’ve basically won,” he said, as he lifted himself into standing position and trotted toward the door. “I’ll grab us some grub.”

Walking carefully on his hind legs, Doug returned carrying a tray with water, a mess of greens mixed with a variety of fruits and vegetables, some chicken, and two small dishes of berry trifle. (One of the most notable ways in which the GIGH served its visitors was in regularly stocking the kitchen with fresh food, the accumulated extras from farmers around the village. And this was a land of abundance, and there was always more than enough.)

It was night, now, dark enough outside the two windows in the room that nothing could be viewed from inside. Spitzy went to town on the salad while Doug gnawed at the meat, unable to surpress tiny grunts as he ate. A minute or two into their meal and conversation, Tap. The two looked in near-perfect synchronicity toward the window, where something – bird? rock? branch? – had caused a sharp rap against the glass. It was impossible to see anything, though, and the tap did not repeat itself, so the two carried on noshing and chatting. 

“I’m just saying that I didn’t sign up for any sort of life-threatening excursion with this book report research,” Spitzy joked. They were again discussing the poetic directions (specifically the line about the winged guard) that promised to get them the help they needed to succeed in their quest. For the land in which the eagles existed was a place that was generally thought of as most likely real; but many, and probably the majority of folks, in fact, would never venture there in the entirety of their lives. And the ruler of this land was said to be a watchful king, brutally just, honorably protective of his subjects and exceedingly cautious and wary of foreigners.

"Don't be anxious over that line; I think if the Bette family had dark murderous tendencies, we'd know about it. They're pretty high-profile."

"Yes..." (munch munch munch) "....But people with money have the power to cover that stuff up!" She sounded almost excited at the prospect.

Snort. "Whatever," and the pug smiled into the chicken leg that he was gnawing at.

Spitzy, sitting down, kicked playfully at Doug. "You wont be saying "whatever" when we're fleeing for our lives and you can't keep up with me. Something about how you don't have to outrun the winged harbinger of death- just the other guy...."

There was always something to tease (or be teased) about, and always in good humor, but eventually the pair lost interest in such verbal sparring for the time being and turned in, their stomachs full and their minds largely free from burden.

Chapter One

--I began to tell this story in May, as an exercise. It is still in progress. I am not practiced or talented when it comes to telling long stories and I hope to just.. see where it goes. Haven't really tried my hand at this kind of writing since grade school. Here's ch.1--


Snort. snarfle.

It was the best he could do to express his desire to enter his old friend's house - knocking was certainly out of the question, and he tended to feel a bit rude kicking at someone else's door. No, as long as he projected a bit, this should do the trick.

A moment. And then, from inside, the distinctive (and on this day, especially excited) thumping of Spitzy's feet as she pronked her way towards the door. Two seconds more, the door began to open, rigged up to a button on the floor that only needed pressing to allow admittance. Home ownership as a llama came with its own set of challenges, but nothing so far that couldn't be handled with a bit of creativity. 

Doug the pug immediately sprang up towards his friend's back with the typical grace and majesty expected of his breed of canine, as she flexed lower to the ground in a wobbly manner, and then the two were nearly at eye level (though unable to face each other). Once mounted, Doug rode with an posture of victory, pride, and dignity, though he felt none of these things in any conscious way; this was just a smart logistical choice so that the two could talk and keep up with each other. A typical arrangement. "Hey Dougereedooo-oo-ooo!" A small uncontainable extra little bounce.

"Hello," with a chuckle. A bit less effusive, perhaps, but then tail-wagging told a different story.

Spitzy bobbed towards the kitchen. Laid out and ready to go were most of the necessary provisions for the professional-grade adventure that the two now prepared to embark upon shortly. Indeed, they had both heard tell of a foreigner-than-foreign land where giant eagles - eagles the size of more than several llamas laying on the ground in eagle configuration - soared through open skies. It was for this place that llama and pug were bound, for the friends had a class presentation due in two weeks on the subject of aviary predators, and perhaps if they could bring one of these fabled birds to school that day, their teacher would be distracted enough to overlook the fact that neither had written their mandatory reports.

And so, all hope rested on the success of this journey.

"Rice krispie treats... 'nilla wafers... kumquats (have you been burglarizing Farmer Maggot's crops again?)... capri suns... yes, we may as well bring every last one of those," Doug rattled off the items as if cross-checking against a mental inventory list. He tugged and tucked each into a pair of saddle bags, and soon the friends were maneuvering them into a position of balance over Spitzy's back. From a small rucksack hung about his waist Doug pulled a pin, the background image of which were a pair of wide bloodshot eyes, and the foreground text which read YAY! Pinning it to the saddle bags, he shrugged and with a hint of defensiveness qualified his action by saying, "I think it's funny." Spitzy hadn't asked.

A few last-minute items made the cut- a small bag of marbles, for passing the time; a few packs of beef jerky; a harmonica, which one of them owned and neither knew how to play in any meaningful way; etc, etc- and within 30 minutes they found themselves standing outside of Spitzy's lighthouse home, surrounded by sounds of ocean and gull, cricket and rock. Wordlessly they set off, pug perched atop of pachyderm.

Spitzy navigated the glorified pile of rocks that lay in a jumble, heaving out of the ocean and bearing the lighthouse she called home, with familiarity and agility. Only once did her feet falter, resulting in a startled *spit* and, from Doug, a sharp fart-toot. The friends sniggled simultaneously, but said nothing, their minds largely preoccupied with what lay ahead. In a few short minutes, she reached the mainland where a breathtaking expanse of grass stretched out for miles with no end in sight, only showing its finiteness in spilling over sheer cliffs that made way to ocean.

Doug settled in on Spitzy's back as she found her stride. The day was clear, the air was slightly warmer than crisp. Faltering every now and again, the pug began reciting a cryptic rhyme, speaking in a manner as if exercising his memory so as not to lose any of the words:

'Neath Bette Manor's bricks

Tiny Grandfather clock ticks;

Behind it, another existence.

The clock at 2

Will let you through

Without any resistance.

Through darkened lair

to find it, there,

Just step into the closet.

Hark! do beware:

The winged guard there

May be your death, or cause it.

The fortunate soul,

Once past first goal,

Best hasten towards the throne.

The gift he shall bring

As fit for a king

Will cease a dying ruler's moans.

Now Traveler, go,

For King shall allow

Peaceful presence in his domain,

And assist in your quest

Royal Guard at your behest

For as long as you remain.

"I'm really impressed that you remember all that." 

A tail wag from Doug.

"Well, we know where Bette Manor is. Have you parsed out what some of these lines could mean, or were you too busy memorizing?" Spitzy grinned a tiny impudent grin.

Indignant snarfle. "The Manor is easy, yes. Detective Bette and his long family history of Detectives as masters of the house, and all that. The bit about the grandfather clock is complete nonsense of course; it must be a riddle, because tiny grandfather clocks don't exist. Seems pointless to look too far past that because until we figure out the clock conundrum, we're nowhere." Doug yanked a Fruit Rollup out of one of the saddle bags and tore into it as he spoke.

"My best guess is that the line refers to a small-sized Grandfather clock, essentially as written. If they don't exist, they should! How incredibly hip would I look walking around town with a tiny Grandfather clock tied around my neck?"

"You would look... so... hip. Incredibly hip, Spitzy."

The llama spasmed her back a bit, to playfully throw the dog off of his balance. Noontime and the afternoon passed in similar fashion, with the llama trotting along with her pug pal perched alertly on her back, banter flying every which way. Their path took them through beautiful but largely featureless terrain, where they encountered other travelers only on a handful of occasions. Afternoon faded to evening, and the pair set their sights on the pursuit of dinner. Glen Illyan wasn't far ahead. Soon there would be hot soup and crusty bread aplenty.

High overhead, the mechanical hummingbird drone that had been trailing llama and pug for the entire day veered suddenly and noiselessly away from their course.

Purrrup
Headbutt
Nuzzle, pull back, sniff,
Pull back... not done
Sniff
Sniff
Nuzzle
Knead - ouch
That actually hurts, you know
Knead
Examine
The spot! Climb
Claws
Ow! Just sit in my lap, not the shoulders..
Higher, must
Must.
Purrr, accomplished, balanced, settled, sitting
Perched
A NOISE DOWNSTAIRS!
INVESTIGATE!
I'll stay here and inspect the claw marks you left me.

There's something new over there,
and I can only bring myself to look in side glances,
Out of the corner of my eye
So I suppose it's hard to give a fair report of what I've found so far
But what I've found, I've become a bit fascinated with, and am simultaneously extremely skeptical of
This tugging at my sleeve,
This exuberance and direct-address
It's not safe, I tell you.
It's not safe.

Traipse into the bathroom, flick on the switch
Tug off your clothes, get your shower-song starting pitch
miiiiiiii mi mi mi mi do re fa re sol mi do.....

the water's up to temp, steam's filling the air
pull back the shower curtain but HOOOOOOOOO beware!

there's a bug in the shower!
what did you say?
there's a bug in the shower!
get out of the way!
tryin to crawl up the wall to escape; (HEY)
but he doesnt stand a chance, this for sure is his last dance

Sooooo

Here’s a rhyme for all the softies out there

A tale of caution, buyer beware

It’s-bout my pull up bar, way up in the air

First problem- Gots to stand on a chair to get UP!

I can’t reach it, yo

Just one of many issues that’s really stopped my flow

Of enthusiasm, now this rigmarole

Is for sure the only thing tween me and getting swole

All I wants to get buff but it’s a lot of work

I bought a pull up bar and now my elbows hurt

You'd already done enough for me today
-As if you were obligated to do anything for me on any day!
But before turning in and out of habit I checked, and I saw
The place in your space that you dedicated in silent fashion to me, on this day

You'd already done enough for me today
-Your friendship is a gift in itself!
But after you invited me in, fed my stomach and my heart
Your final correspondence fed my soul

You'd already done enough for me today
-You want so badly for us to be close, and we may get there if we keep trying!
But a night in Newburyport wasn't enough
And I was not safe from your affections! For your sent flowers, and messages upon messages of love to me

You'd already done enough for me today
-You're so, so far away, and I feel it acutely!
But you met me and you sang to me
And I was assured that we are still sisters

Unexpected day
The moon and my heart are full
Smiles give way to sleep...

I had the thought today,
"Is this what life is?"
And yesterday, when contemplating giving up Saturday night to my parents,
"Don't walk away from people who want to love and celebrate you."
I am malnourished
The net beneath me is weak
And I am ever staying out of the way,
Or being put off to the side.
I had answers, once
Now I seem to be asking question after question
And what good are questions on their own?
There's nothing to be done about it tonight.
I feel quiet
I am still
With dry and tired eyes
And a stomach that noisily insists:
"Ice cream is not dinner."

Kate's Song

Kate's Song

Tonight was a little weird, a little bit dull, ultimately not a disaster
Hadn't played those songs in weeks; guess, as much as I ever will, I've got that book mastered
Though the same old struggles, always- drums slower, brass faster
Do you see what it is that I'm getting after?

Oh, I don't even know. I'm bored with this band.
(Band, what rhymes with band?... sand... hand.. manned... bland...
I have a headache. Goodnight, jeffbugs.)

Alan and Alan And The Domestic Issue

Accolades for Alan and Alan And The Domestic Issue:

"I had no idea that Alan was a monster. Chilling."

"Sent a shiver up my spine."

My Happy Thoughts

A mind that's free,
Just being me.
The reality that you can't disengage, retreat
Revelation, transformation
Familiar smells and sensations
Evening walks spent making plans and prose
Holding too much in my head all at once as the creative mechanism that is strung between my brain and my heart buzzes and whirs actively
Black-eyed susans and soft grasses
Bike passes
A group of strangers amasses to watch a duck and her ducklings glide around the pond
It's taken me long enough to choose this path, to explore this way instead of that
Guess I saved it for the perfect night, when that bunny and her little one would be sitting just there
Didn't run off as I approached, weren't scared
Smiling on impulse when no one's around to see
Nearing home, confidently knowing that you've grown-
I grew today.
Summer's not over,
In fact, it's in full-swing
Heat and gentle coolness, but even when Autumn comes
Parades and festivals, the delicate crush of leaves underfoot, the comfort of a light jacket, of crispness, of clearness, and of course
Flights to distant places
To see beloved faces
The promise of something new coming soon

See, I know just how far I have to go (somewhere between really far and infinity)
I hear more or less what I sound like
I pay attention to the quality of what I'm putting out into the world
But I'm telling you that when I take the stage-
Or the street, or the sidewalk-
...I don't know, it's like I was meant for this stuff.
If only I'd started sooner...
But those thoughts are useless, because without him, there'd have been no me
At least not the me that I am now
And the me who isn't the me that I am now, well... she's not really me at all.
And if it was truly necessary to find him after 27 years of life had passed
Then it was well worth the wait
God! Take me back to that day when sweat and glitter that was not my own covered me
When we were nose-to-nose, strangers with squinting eyes and cheeks tight with intensity, as he screamed into my face and the afternoon sun-
He was saying, Come Follow Me.
My life veered sharply off its course. Captivated, I was captured.
For all the self-deprecating drivel that dribbles out of my mouth on impulse
My sense of pride is fierce, my sense of purpose firm, my heart swells with passion and self-belief
I don't think of him so often anymore,
But when I do, I love him again for a moment
My eyes close, my fingers fly uncharacteristically over the valves, and melodies ricochet off walls of surrounding buildings
The people around me look at me, betraying for a moment with their faces just how surprised they are that I have these songs within myself
As for me, I'm certain that I can do anything with a trumpet in my hands
If not now, someday.

My Happy Thoughts

Doing good work, and seeing the payoff;
Berries, and berries, upon berries and berries.
People who are far away,
Still know my name
Love me the same;
When I think I look beautiful,
When I think I've done well;
Easiness and awkwardness and on top of this a past
That makes something that is less than what it was still worth holding onto.
A new delicate necklace;
And how I'll never forget this
longing though it's reckless
for people and places and things, my checklist
Of passion, of experiences
Think of anything, anyone on it, my heart tenses
I miss her like I knew I should've done all this time
She taught me about freedom.
Cowboy songs, he sings unexpectedly like my Grandpa used to;
The talents of my friends, the way living eventually must end
Motivates me not to pretend that I'll be here, as I am, forever
Rhymes and rhythm together
Feeling silly and mildly clever;
These stars, my stars, on my shoes, and the ones over my bed
Hang across the world above her head, too;
Not knowing exactly what's next, what to do
Overuse of the word "coo'"; Marco, my boo
Friendships that are brand new,
#9, #10, #11,
Blue.

Music is healing me
These notes are saving me
This moment is the highlight in a week of cavernous valleys- rays of sun peek playfully at me over the top of an ominous and looming mountain
I've lost five pounds in the last seven days, none of them shed in the name of health
I'll gain them back when I start eating again. Funny how some struggles come around and around, no matter how I grow, no matter how I increase my awareness of my own special recipe for self-destruction
But right now, for the first time in days, I don't feel weak
Headphones hug my ears, my feet slide across the weathered wood floor
Trumpet in hand, I alternate between dancing and trying to reach the pace at which these musical legends groove to.
What about this song- this song in particular- affects me in this way?
It always has (who's to say if it always will)
Heart pulses in time with that tuba,
Butt and back, calf and hamstring muscles contract and relax minutely, keeping my entire self in time to the life of this song as I sit perched on my bed,
Shoulders automatically shimmy slowly, head bumps forward slightly on the one and the three
And I genuinely care nothing about any of the sickening things that have poked at my brain and my heart all week long
I've no choice but to put this song on repeat
I've found a sanctuary
This is rest
This is my blanket fort <3

Jeff Is Staring At Me And I Don't Know Why

When people put you up on a pedestal, don’t come off the pedestal acting like you’re humble;

Stay up on that pedestal, because if they put you there that’s showing you how high they can see.

Stay there and pull them up, and they’ll grow faster than if you come down.

-victor wooten

i like it.

My Happy Thoughts

The smell of grass, intoxicating, blanketing, smile-inducing;
Freshness in taste and sound and smell, all sorts;
A toddler chewing on her stuffed bear's tag;
Robin Hood, Peter Pan, Calvin, Hobbes, The Doctor;
Watching him move after wishing for so long that he'd feel free to;
A boop on the nose;
Pushing buttons, blueberry lemon muffins;
Experiencing others experiencing something I've made;
Spontaneity and sunshine, lightness, her laughter,
Candles and Candy and cricket-song,
Dragons and his swagger,
Pink and black, gold and glitter;
Simplicity, and empathy, catastrophes that aren't too destructive, provide perspective
(like when I drop Goldfish on the kitchen floor);
Cats that play, the present, today,
Unique nicknames,
When he chooses to stay;
The city when it's dark, Roman water fountains and parks;
Valves and slides, coops and hives, cartoon asides,
People who love me and want to be in my life
People who love me and allow me into their lives
Barriers to intimacy that don't thrive, are undermined;
Stars in your eyes, Fenway at night, intelligent, bright,
When a solo goes right,
The well of love I have inside;
Naked arms, naked shoulders, kiss of the breeze, warmth after dark;
The safety of this place, the liberties that I take, the way that Summer tastes,
Faces that he makes.

Living is hard and good!
I think to myself as I sit in this anguish.
I should write about it.
Before long, my heart is still. An impish mound of black and white laziness sprawls at my feet.
I no longer hear cars passing by outside, and everyone in this house is surely asleep.
It's 2AM, and work approaches.
But I've created something new. There's hope, even though I'm stuck standing still right now.

Sound explodes into the air, into the square
It's a mess
But we're all smiling
And they are too

Song For John Hendricks

Song for John

Things are changing without,
But nothing's changing within.



Must be broken.

Song for Shuff

Song for Shuffles

Song For Jeromy

Song for Jer

Hey Candy!

Candy's Birthday

R.O.W. (Rich Old Widows)

Rich Old Widows


Accolades for R.O.W.:

"I'm just envisioning a pump-up playlist with music like this and it's already making me feel like getting out into the world and fucking things up." 

*Within the first 3 seconds of the song, she throws her entire body onto the couch and hides her face in a pillow to stifle laughing screeches*

"This is amazing. It has definitely got me psyched up to do some serious octogenarian hunting. Thank you."

"I really love the part about stalking her when she's using a walker. It's relevant to my life, and my work, and I'm going to propose to my project team (at work) that we adopt this as our theme song."

Alan and Alan, Apart

-Alan? Alan? I cannot find you, Alan. I am overwhelmed by the dark. Come back to me, Alan.

-It is as if a very piece of myself, an organ, a limb, hast been removed from me. Alan, ho! Do come soon and be at my side once again.

Tisbury Lane

Tisbury Lane cover

Your suntan-
like a sunset.

Sometimes The Only Place To Go Is Inside Yourself

Sometimes The Only Place To Go Is Inside Yourself

D.Ells

D.Ells Remix

Nothing Big, But Something

Nothing Big, But Something

Sabrina, Paste, and Plato snippet

Sabrina, Paste, and Plato snippet

Not the best day
Not the best week
Better worlds exist-
How are they not mine?
Mine should be the best, by rights
It's the one I'll know most intimately
But then again
It's possible,
It's probable that everyone feels that it's all falling short
At least sometimes
Maybe it's that I'm stuck and still stuck
Maybe it isn't my friends' job to get me up
Maybe that's on me
Maybe they're throwing a rope into this pit
And I'm choosing to stay put

If I'm sure about anything
It's that I'm really not sure;
That things are uncertain
That once I start to assume something (good) about someone,
They break the pattern

He's an itty hedgehog
And I can't take my eyes off him
It's all quite unfathomable
Bumbling around, stumbling, tripping across a vast emotional meadow
Beautiful everything, everywhere
Life and living in action, unfolding
Small creatures flying about him
Pterodactyls and time machines, stardust and musical notes that you can see dancing by
Whimsy in sight, touch, smell, sound
I am a rock, and he is running into me as if he can't help it, or he can't tell
I am a pool, and he is running into me for safety, refreshment
Either way, drawn to me, whether I be a magnet or an obstacle
But either way, more likely than not unable to know which
Tiny self, tiny eyes for tiny sight, large world, tall grass
Either way, he gets his way in the end if history is any indication;
There's no compromise, consideration, no heed paid to any wiser understanding, or a freer heart
And so i remain, and so, the story is likely to tell, he trundles by.

The foolish bravely face the sun,

Icy shadows streaming across the sides of our faces

Looking to what strength it has left to provide warmth;

Then there are those who know it is too late,

That things cannot be the same,

That coldness will overtake it all

And we'll be left with mere dreams of the time when light held its weight

Why do you ask me what this all means?

Things come so slowly
…just let it be

Darkness

Darkness

Oh how the time flies 

When solitude lines these eyes

Aer Lingus, Where's My Food?

Pretty hungry
This movie's less than fun, see;
Never finish my pretzels 'fore they pass the trash bag by me
I need some food
Where's that meal they promised
I should be sleeping so I can run around, run around
ROMMMMEEE
Con mi amici
Instead I'm waiting to eat
Fidgeting in this seat
DAMN SON
2015
Word. Out

Old Orchard Beach

Drivin down rt 5

Window down, hand outstretched into the early morning air

Though we’ve parted ways I am imprisoned,

Captivated by your stare.

Now every fifteen seconds it’s all that I can do

To recall memories from our night

Or somehow think on you.

The fireworks show that just occurred within my ribcage 

Would have been something, if only you’d have seen.

It leaves me wondering

Makes me question your motivations

Currency exchanged, darkness shared, fears revealed, hands touched

Petals of magenta, smelling like us, forever preserved

I cant help but hope that you fall as fast as I do

On nights when personalities shine

As brightly as our smiles

This night, my life has changed.

I Believe You When You Say That You Know Me

24 hours ago we were sitting so close to each other that we were one

You held my hand, kissed it. Told me that you... well...

"Last night, I wanted to kiss you."

But you didn't.

You didn't want to hurt your heart, you didn't want to hurt mine

You told me that sometimes, often, you can't stop feeling, you practically drown in feeling

And I understood

You taught me a bit about the difference between a boy and a man

Che bello che sei.
I wish you a full life, amico mio.

your silhouetted face stares me down

as moonlight shines on through

this skylight window, lighting my face

my heart goes out to you

blue eyes gleam through thoughts' clumsy stream,

silently flooding the night

unblinking, locked blue and brown

lightheaded, they take flight

he reaches in, her face in hand

she'll always remember this:

the world tonight is come to halt

and with trembling lips they kiss

Splintered wood and plastic chips

Somehow mean so much in the moment

But what are they worth after the fact?

Pretty faces, skinny bodies adorn the stage

And I am not one of them

If I was, people would want me to scrawl my name

On a battered program, too

Or a napkin; what do they do with such keepsakes?

My own are merely stuffed away in some place I cannot locate

Nor will I ever have need to

God bless those who have become nothing more than a signature to the rest of the world

Gloucester House

This place is still, though marching along

To the beat of seconds’ time

Screens have long since turned black,

And even mirrors are empty, dormant

Seats unused to sitting remain vacant

From behind the glass

A powder-blue streak of sky jabs my eyes

In a violent attempt to escape the darkness that will reign in a matter of hours

Even cars pass silently by this house,

Preserving the quiet ever so politely

Fall is here

And the corners of my mouth slide apart slightly

A breath escapes, but no one can tell

Because the only sound to be heard for miles around

Is the flight of leaves that have had their time

It’s over- hot thickets of air and midnight swims will be forgotten until July

And not long after frost has crept across the morning-lit ground

White will keep us inside, looking out and sipping our cocoa, 

Donning slippers and down blankets

And forcing the darkness of the earth away with fluorescent lighting

Today I let two statements slip from my mouth

That were spurred directly by my bitterness

I am wretched, and I am undeserving

I am tired and I do not understand most things-

Least of all, I do not know why I am so angry that you agree that I don’t deserve you

there you are

walking to your band practice

it's a balmy tuesday night, and you're ready to make some music

you walk up the stairs to the church, tug open the door

inside the sanctuary, you hear...

PLAYING HIS TROMBONE

(j**** m******)

THERE ALL ALONE

(j**** m******)

SCREWING WITH THE REPERTOIRE

(there he is, there he is, j**** m*******)

WE'RE PLAYING A NEW PART

quiet! quiet!

IT'S ALL ABOUT MY ART!

quiet! quiet!

WHO WILL BE MY PROXY?

GOOGLY EYE SUPERSTAR j**** m******

A curious shadow outlines your chin

No longer does my head rest in its darkness,

And it wont likely again

I do not long for that curve in your neck

Where you would hold me in place as 2am became 3

Only rarely do I ever imagine that I am once more there.

Rather, I can still taste the scent of your hair

As it would blanket my mouth and nose;

You would fall asleep as I stroked locks of dirty gold 

And I would stay awake,

My mind whispering to yours that I was willing to love you

But I didn't love you as much as you deserved.

A bright, pale spider is hanging above

Overseeing my nighttime activity.

Keys click and where there is light, insects creep

I’d rather not think about where the glow dare not reach

Fingers and doorframes are unswollen with the absence of the day’s heat

I am almost comfortable.

Absolute darkness…

Is nowhere to be found, having seemingly retreated 

And now I’m left to another end, anticipating another beginning

Eyes have missed the inside of eyelids all day

And would rather be reunited than scan the blackness existing with-out

My mind would consider many things if it could function

There is no point to this night

But it begs to be recorded

I want flowers.
I want to see flowers on the dining room table, succulents on my dresser
I want to see living flowers, I never want to have to break them down
to size, to fit in our tiny compost bucket
I want to buy them, I want you to pick them for me, I want them to show up mysteriously on my porch
like they have once or twice, my friends gifting me something simple and beautiful and alive
Just because.
I want to smell springtime in my house, in my room
I want a simple gesture of affection
I want brilliant orange and yellow exploding out of green
I wouldn't mind soft pink or sassy magenta, pure white, even purer red
I want flowers.

Detroit Is Empty

I really love you. We're a part of something important.
I think I forgot that.



He said it unbidden, unprompted
And then he left.

I am hanging on the edge of tomorrow

And knowing that you will come.

I have waited this long; I can measure the time by the length of your hair

And how many times I have listened to this cd.

It has been four months since I’ve laid by you

And I’m thankful that our semester together was much longer than our semester apart.

For all the distance and time in the world, you are still now as you were to me when 

I was torn from your grasp in Boston by the traffic director 

With the hard eyes and rough voice.

We have three silver-lined days before you fly out of my life,

Before I know you only through a phone connection.

You are a rarity, a remaining piece of a home I shall never again live in

When bottlecaps and safety pins cease to be enough

Where will I go from there?

Eyelashes bat audibly

Yellow light from the lamp is unimposing and weak

And the staredown continues late into the night

As we decide our futures in a matter of hours

Was it ever meant to happen this way?

Last night I came to see you

On my way, I got lost in the stars

The bolder of which stood brightly unadorned 

By wisps of clouds;

The more timid of which held said thinly-layered puff close

As would a sleeping child hold a blanket up to his chin.

I wished-

But I knew that you would not share this with me.

I remember
We were walking as sisters do
Speaking in gentle tones, letting the end of that summer day caress our bare shoulders
Crossing the street a block from my house
and I told you, with a timid smile on my face, about him.
(Somehow, I'd never directly addressed it before, though I knew that I could tell you anything.)
Your instant reaction was of the sort that is your version of uncontainable excitement and joy
and you told me that the last time you had seen him, the way he had talked of me had impressed upon you
That this man is so deeply and truly in love with this woman, and I don't know if she knows... but it is about to the point where I feel like I need to at least make her aware.
With admiration, with respect, always; but sentiments had peaked at your last meeting.
Everything had changed. Everything had to change. Sometimes the people around us, who love us, see what we do not.
But this time, I could see it too.

Keeping Secrets

Keeping Secrets

The view from this bed is starting to grow mold

And I don’t think it’s all in my head

These walls, an irritating off white, mean nothing to me

And most flimsy rectangles of paper that remain as adornment

Are not significant anymore

They are curled at the corners

And their color has faded from years of stagnant sun streaming 

Through grimy windows which poorly display a wonderously

Freeing view of the world outside

Holes from tacks and putty that wont come off remind me

That I used to live here

Rejected posters and fliers beg to be torn down,

Embarrassed at how they stand out, and add to this feeling

Of disdain I cannot help but feel

When it comes, it rarely falls straight down on me

But it catches my cheek, blustering in from the side.

My head was out the window

Still I didn’t see your approach

Meaningless tears clung grimly to the whites of my eyes

Determined only to peek over the rims, to otherwise stay put.

Cold air puffed like a trail of downy pillows, forgotten instantly

Left behind.

A hundred miles an hour, we barreled toward each other, never on a path to collide

But set to cross close enough

And from the moment our eyes connected, slow-motion kicked in

Like a movie- it was like in a movie

While our trains bore us in opposing directions

Your eyes followed mine for a quiet, startling, illuminating period

Of 3 seconds.

Then you were out of sight, gone from whence I had come.

It Got All Mundane Up In Here

Thankfully,

Flurries stay outside, where I can enjoy them.

Warm overhead lighting-

Not like the fluorescents across the street-

Convince me that I can sit tight for hours on end.

I am lately persuaded that snow is for looking at,

No longer for playing in

And I wonder when i became an adult

And why I had no choice in the matter

..And how I’m going to get home in time to buy food,

To pay bills,

To clean the bathroom.

Disconnection, Missed Connection

Disconnection, Missed Connection

Lion-O snippet

I'm Lion-O

Secret

She is mighty 
Undiscovered
Still and waiting
Ever ready to move

Hanging on to everything that touches her
Latching on
Letting go only when
These things cease to bring her life

She's a secret
Like a looming concept
Like "I Love You"
Fit into a couple words
..Bursting at the seams

The truth
Is she's never been comprehended

Everything carries on around her while
She watches
Tired, now, of seeking to understand
Ready to finally be understood

Summer is a Visitor

Hot
But it could be hotter
Beautiful
But I'm here on my own
Alone.
Green
A short-lived chance for life
Dusty
Trundling along this winding lake road

Unflinchingly bright
Unapologetically vibrant
It denies me any form of melancholy-
The attitude I spent all winter cloaked in,
Perfecting.
The grill becomes my summertime fireplace

Maine is coldness
Visited by warmth for a short time each year
In other places, life and death
Are given a fair fight
A 50/50 split of time

But not here.

Pushaw Lake

It is time for sleep- 

Well, beyond time for sleep-

But when the light in my room extinguished at the mere flick of a switch

Brightness from the night sky leaped through my window

Jagged, like tinfoil

Glinting

From sky,

To water,

Into my weary eyes

At first I buried my face in my pillow

But I knew I'd have to come up for air at some point

And so, defeated sleepiness turning to captivation,

I sit here, legs crossed, and let the light steal me away

Into the night, where the lake across my lawn

Looks like static that I see when I turn my cable-less TV to pretty much any station

Signal interference in the dark.

I lift myself from my nest of sheets and murmur.

I think I'll go kayaking tonight.

...and you're pretty as anything
I'm really serious
the ladies need to hear the truth
too many people lie to them

HeelFlip7M: well i accidentaly ran over your mailbox
HeelFlip7M: replace mailbox with son
relientkpvaulter: son?
HeelFlip7M: and accidentally with repeatedly

Maggie!
Are you living under a rock?
Because that would be pretty neat.

This is Exactly, Exactly What I Was Looking For

White ribbons dart through the sky
Trying to keep up with jets
Have you seen the desert through a mist?
Rock and sand stretch farther than my eyes will
They ache from sunshine like I havent seen in five days
But everything's hazy from 4500 feet up above
I dont understand how spits of cloud can linger in such a way
Have you seen the clouds part?
I hadnt before this day
But now I have seen majesty
Sometimes the barrenness looks like the ocean
Or a beach
Sands ripple and fold, swirl and flow
I've learned so much, and I've been gone for 5 hours
My forehead is pressed against this grimy window
Counting the ice crystals formed on the other side of the pane
Try as i might, I cannot see ahead
I can only watch behind
If there was a door, I'd step onto the wing and bask in the speed and the sun
Everytime the plane dips to this side
I see sand
I could pick it up, a handful, and fun the silky grains through my fingers
Have you ever seen a horizon?
I never knew what a horizon was until i followed a winding river past my mind's belief
And the best we can do with this world is to make grids upon grids out of it

I am less understood

(And more than I’d thought)

while your inconsistencies play monkey in the middle

with me.

The best and worst of all this

Is that you cant even tell

soon I will corner you

and you shall be my prey

I’m just a sketch in a coloring book-

You’ve shaded my face a dark crimson, especially around the eyes

A Battle

EMWWeasel: HIIIIIIIIIYAAAAHHH!!!
relientkpvaulter: you got nothin
EMWWeasel: (brandishes crazy sword)
relientkpvaulter: *shoots cannon*
relientkpvaulter: (boom)
EMWWeasel: (easily avoids lousy cannon explosion with acrobatics)
EMWWeasel: (sets of strategic chinese fireworks)
relientkpvaulter: ninjas are pansies!
relientkpvaulter: hahahahahaha
EMWWeasel: (burns your butt downtown hardcore style)
relientkpvaulter: ninjas arent hardcore
relientkpvaulter: and they dont go downtow
relientkpvaulter: n
EMWWeasel: dont push me
relientkpvaulter: *push*
EMWWeasel: (brandishes nunchuks)
EMWWeasel: (they are shiny)
relientkpvaulter: NUNCHUCKS
relientkpvaulter: AHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA
relientkpvaulter: numchucks
EMWWeasel: (see's that you are not even worthy, puts them away)
EMWWeasel: (brandishes ninja star)
EMWWeasel: (cuts your fool butt up)
relientkpvaulter: ouch. that's my butt.



(note: yes, i thought they were called numchucks. i recall the word "nunchucks" sounding weird to me for much of my early life. chucking nuns.)

You sacrifice my perspective

(Which is less than thoughtful of you)

Each time your intellect kisses my own

And the most cruel of jokes you play on me 

When you show me your heart, which cannot be mine

…I do not know if I would take it, if it were offered.

You are but a stranger in a friend’s body

My life is become a reel of film

With four frames cut out

Don’t fret- the plot will survive

As for my sanity, it’s another story altogether.

I remember what happened

And I’d have it no other way

I sometimes fancy that the parts are inversed

So that my life consists of those four frames

Elaborated upon and stretched out through the years

As the rest is discarded to the cutting room floor

Hollow directives crash off walls

Stuttering girl chokes and coughs

Humidity coats my clothes

Drenches my heart

Which by now weighs more than a (the) cinderblock 

(That holds the classroom door ajar)

Fall is coming

And rain has already arrived. 

For all my joy, my smiles,

Dramatic little girl inside

Cannot wait for the tears and melancholy that Autumn graciously allows.

the night is sleeping

morning has yet to rise

still there is light

in our eyes, in our eyes

Maybe I don't need a reason..

The people I spend time with inspire me. Some of them paint beautiful landscapes; some of them play their various instruments with a certain intangible something, or certain intangible many-things; some of them write music, or have harmonization ideas that stylistically tend to be different than the harmonies that my mind comes up with; some of them write things that touch me deeply, that make me laugh, that disgust me, that prompt me to ask questions; some of them draw things that actually look like the particular subject matter.

I've been writing and telling stories through word and song my entire life. If you search hard enough (and hopefully, you won't have the drive to), you can find countless blogs that I've kept dating as far back as 2002; any time before that, I generally had to actually put pen/pencil/crayon to paper. Unfortunately I haven't had a tagging or archiving system, and I think that a lot of really interesting prose is hidden amongst years of un-or-only-frustratingly-searchable blog history.

But I enjoy sharing. I enjoy exchanging and engaging. So here's the blog that I'm creating for this time in my life, an archive. My paper journals are scattered throughout various spaces, boxes, rooms, homes, states. My other blogs are interspersed with irrelevant momentary dramas, thoughts on spirituality that rang true "then" (...but this is now), and a few interesting and quirky stories. This one will have old and current creative endeavors (anything with a label of "the past" is from years ago, with the exception of one piece that I wrote just a year and a half ago after returning from Italy). This will be a new home base.