A knife and a hard-on, I'm not expecting him to be asking for donations to the Red Cross.

Blah blah blah it's all been said before. I know you believe in me. I want you too. Take me in your arms. I'm in love with you.

Come away and search the scene fro something more than what's been said or evidenced or witnessed or seen touched felt. I am yours for all taking and all time. Yes. Believability is in question. But so are you. We will be together. I know it to be true. We catwalk and skirt around the issue. But it's meant to be. I've never felt so whole. The scariest things are usually the rightest things. And distance is as scary as height. We know too much before the sound has begun .
irte
Carry away the body. I'm listeing to your footsteps coming down the hallway. You are barefoot you look like a model all downdressed and sweatshirted beautiful. You're beautiful. I know you are. You know you are and it's just a matter of time until we're official and we're perfect--we're already perfect. It'll just be a little bit longer until the ahh and the realization set in and the sea is ours and we will be married.

Marriage. There's a lonely beautiful concept. What must be done. We must meet the killer. We love you and we love each other.

Gates like Titans

Reticence. Afraid of losing it all. Broken blistered and tired. She. The all. Break this bread in remembrance of me. I feel like a liar. Disrespectful. I told her and then ran the table the other way. Reticence. I'm so sorry. Apologies going towards echoes. Trying to be sensical. Be sensical. We're one. And I need to respect my desires. Because they're her desires. It's that simple. Cuddle. Not Kiss. Kill yourself. Amazed and awake and Reticent.

Tired. Broken. Apologetic.

Walk into the jaws of hell

I can't seem to think of much anymore. It was so cold this weekend, I think my mind was flawed into submission.

I'm not much of a drinker at all. Vein and Channel and varicose Kurt Vonnegut. I believe in humanity, but hell certainly is other people when they act as if they know what want even when they really know that it contradicts all within them.

I think I'm ready to be outta here. I think I'm prepared to face the cold and the darkness and the clouds that seem to hang over Arcata on a daily basis. Apparently, it's one of the most remote locations on the West Coast. Yea, you try getting there. Damn.

I start my final photo project tomorrow. I'll let you know how it goes. Maybe.

I think it's interesting how much alike fire and ice are. Consider this: they're polar opposites of temperature and yet they can both burn you, turning your limbs black and hard and unusable; they can both keep you temperate--if you are cold, you can heat yourself up by the fire, if you are hot, you can find the ice and love it to death. It's almost as if the hotter something gets, the colder it really gets--and when something gets colder, it's really getting warmer.

Maybe temperature isn't as linear as we'd like it to be. Maybe temperature is cyclical.

Makes me think of politics and how that's less a spectrum and more a circle. You've got the fire of Hitler and the Ice of Stalin--two opposite ends--and yet they're synonymous with the same brand of fascism. Strange, eh?

Maybe 3rd degree burns are really frostbite?

And don't let time slow you down--don't let clocks and calendars run your life. This could be three days ago, but it's today for the simple reason that we think we can control nature and we need to break it up piecemeal so that we can create a control in our lives. But the control never comes. That's why calendars and due dates and everything is bullshit.

Because it's yesterday. And tomorrow.

Today never was.

Daddy's ghost behind you, sleeping dog beside you....

I think you're crazy. About me? Yea, I'm crazy too. I can still taste your smell against tobacco. I love the way you taste and the way you feel and the way I hold you with outstretched arms.

What? That's silly. We both know that's silly.

We've gone deeper than this, but our dirigible must stay afloat and we've only got so much rope. I apologize. we can't go much farther.

I'll even let you hold the remote control. I told you I love the Wedding Singer.

My dogs are better than your dogs. And Alvie could definitely kick some ass in a drained pool Amores Perros style. I ain't getting stabbed and he ain't getting shot though.

Why did you get involved with these people?

We think a lot about nothing. Happiness can only be real if it is shared with another person. Don't go Into the Wild. I promise that you'll regret it. Though i do want to take a road trip cross-countr. I think about it a lot. Driving to NYC then leaving my car on the outer city limits and meandering around there for a few days, trying to find places to sleep--like the subway. That'll get you mugged.

I'll miss you, kiss you, give you my coat when you are cold.

Terror and nightly envisionment of all the greatest things imaginable. God EXISTS.

I realized that the toughest part of writing is the beginning. You can tell when it's supposed to end because the energy runs out, so you start over and add during the editing process....

But I always seem to want to start in the middle, with everything already structured. I hate it.

I'm watching the wedding Singer. I love this fucking movie.

Then the Oak Tree and its Resurrection Fern

We are caught in a still life. This our life. I have no faith in this country or human kind that we'll ever get this planet back to normal. It's already trying to kill us. That's how AIDS came. Evolution fucked up and it's trying to repair itself. It was like, "Damn, we shouldn't have created a being with a free will and then allowed it to speak, discover, and torture."

We're fucked. Let's fuck.

Something with a short edge--mildly conniving--it digs deep. Gets at that greater meaning of everything we once knew before operations had us maimed for good and scarred for life. Close your fly were you born in a barn of animals we are animals caught like sheep in the rose bush should have been sheared days ago because the summer months are so goddam hot like a skillet after you've fried pork belly. If only the rains would come and wash away our sorrow. I want you to come over. I'm addressing this to you. I'm crazy about you but it seems that love doesn't spurn in a drought--it flounders and hopes and hopes and hopes and waits and waits and waits and hopefully finally the precipitation will fall and everything will be okay and the weather will be cool and it'll pat our windows like a coach patting our asses for a job well done. And we'll be together. And we'll be in control. And you'll be wearing your bathrobe with the hole in it where your dogs found something good and I'll be under the covers in my underoos, we'll be watching CourtTv. and we'll argue whether or not we should go to bed or switch over to the Game Show Network or watch the news. And then I'll turn off the TV and there will be the great silence that explains our relationship. And i'll hold you hand across your body as we lay side by side by side by side by side and our dog will be content at our feet, so beautiful and small and budding. We sit in the silence and the rain is obviously telling us that we did a good job for turning the TV off. Its rhythms put you to sleep and I hear your breathing go shallow and follow along with the slaps on the window pane. I could never sleep before I slept with you. And now I can. Now I don't spend hours upon hours awake, thinking, wondering, worrying. I've got everything I need right here next to me with wet hair and beautiful tinges of darkness. We work, we play, we come back around together at the end of the day. I love you sweetheart, and I'm glad that we ended up in the future.

Will is my friend.

Here's a good word: marzipan. It's like marshmellow. Mmmmmarzipan. But I can never find a stanza, a line, a sentence to put it in. Because it's one of those pretty independent words, but it's ugly around other people.

I'm scared about leaving for HSU. I'm leaving, that's settled. But, damn, am I scared. I know I have terrible social skills and that I'm paranoid. These two things don't combine to make a sexy friend. They combine to make a paranoid and reclusive friend who pisses you off a lot because he thinks someone is following him home all the time and won't be nice to your friends because nice is so goddam hard sometimes.

I've convinced that I try too hard to write everything on here. I think too much and everything stutters under the weight of all the things I'm trying to say but can't say and the things I can say stagger, stray, and aren't as impactful because of this shaky weight. Scary, isn't it, that I could be better. I know, because I'm so fucking great now. < /sarcasm >

I want to be a Youth Pastor but I've never worked with Jr. Highers or High Schoolers. And that scares me because maybe I HATE these age groups and am wasting all my time. I hope to connect with a church up in Arcata that doesn't have any people I know so that I can work with the Jr. Highers.

But these are worries. And worries are God's. I have a lot of'em. You guys stay safe.

This is Reckoning.

"No matter how corrupt, greedy, and heartless our government, our corporations, our media, and our religious and charitable institutions may become, the music will still be wonderful." --Kurt Vonnegut.

Read his book, A Man Without a Country. It's short and it's interesting.

--

It's disheartening when all my favorite writers or directors (Lynch, Beckett, Vonnegut, Klosterman, Steinbeck, Hemingway [granted that those latter two pricks lived when it wasn't unhealthy but, rather, helped with indigestion]) are smokers. Whatever. Lick my ashtray. Viva Zapata.

--

I sincerely think that baseball is the greatest sport because of how far removed it is from daily life. In football, you're stuck with the constant realization that 300 lb. defensive ends are going to take your soul with every play. In baseball, you've got finesse and running and return. It's cyclical in that you hit a ball, create an action, in the hope that you return to the exact spot where you started, as a better person and a winner. Or a loser. Sometimes things just don't work out and you're stuck at the plate for a little longer, then in the dugout, then in the hallway where you take a piss in the sink. That's life. Piss in the sink sometime. You'll know.

And in the same way that I think every sane person should seriously watch and enjoy one baseball game in their life, I think that every theologian and ontologist should read Beckett's Waiting for Godot. We as humans are caught, wondering where God is and why we're waiting here for him when we're not even certain that he's coming or even is where we expect him to be. But then it's not about that, it's about something more--just as religion and life aren't completely about Christ as God's son, praise Allah--something completely absurd like being stuck on a grassy knoll. We know nothing, we only have the guidelines. Estragon and Vladimir know nothing, they only have directions.

And they too hope to return to Home.

We pile the tired. And dig up the poor.

I am me.

Sink deeper.

Thanks Jasmine for listening and commenting when I need it. You're a great friend to have. And Alycia, too, for the multitude of times I've come to you as a needy bitch of a friend.

And Kelley, I'm so sorry for everything I've done to you. I'm impatient.

JP, I miss you. Things are different now that you're not around. I'll live.

It's amazing how everything I write on here seems to get me in trouble. I should probably slipp backk intto crypticcs.

Everything is so bloody. There's been a war. Are you listening to me? There's something wrong. But don't deplete my resources, I'm going away as far as I know, I've gone to chase the horizon. I face change and it rears its ugly head into me. I fear change and I need duplicity. I am a wayfarer lost in the tag of incendiary complements and imminent threats. We are domain. We put our selves together to be how we we are depending on who we were, but all that changes when we circle back and realize that e are the same and the same is the we within the you within all my present past and future new thoughts old time again we are linear caught within but always without. Know yourself. Please don't go. I don't understand why there's so much blood. The idea just lives on. Give me wisdom, give me peace as I raise my arms to accept love--the love of a lover. I have God, I have my friends, i have my words, I have my feelings and my emotions and my problems and my controls and my deviant needless concubines. But I need a lover. I need You.
from home, the closer I am to getting home--the earth is flat. I may have to run back from where I am to find you again--the earth is round, we may meet up again one day from the point which I started--but I heard that you're still probably with someone i heard from a friend that our distance will change something I heard that when I return to the original horizon that I saw for 20 odd years, that we will be okay. I heard from a friend who said that you are probably still with a friend who knows that you love him. I know too much and yet I can't find the words to explain all this thick blood that's steeped in past trenches and early morning tirades. I will return. I will hold your letters with me wherever I go. i will sink down and let everything toll away from the sound and i will toil but something will be okay within the nothing. Everything will collapse.
but i am chasing horizons and trying to find you out. And the farther I go away--