I got nothing today.
Happens.
Tried prose.
Tried poetry.
Tried character writing.
Just isn't my day.
I could blame it on the yankees.
I could blame it on the strange
terminally ill people I've met in the last 24 hours.
I could pretend it's about a girl.
Fake it's about a woman.
And there is a difference.
Beats the hell out of me... and nothing is particularly on my mind.
Exotic things.
Tan women.
Spicy food.
Orange sunsets reflected.
The burden of being naively earnest, and intentionally empathetic...
Love could fix this.
Love and cigarettes.
And I'm looking for new blog names...
Not exactly ending on a high note, but keep your fingers crossed, and I'll keep watching my mailbox for news.
In the world of food, I'm stuck looking forward to liverwerst first thing in the morning.
But there's a part of me that kinda misses eating once a day
in a house with no climate control, and filthy faucets that drip
and possitively no better place to be...
I really don't know that coming here has done me any good...
... yeah I do, I'd just hate to admit it, in my embarassingly outdated room, with my well-fed snoring dog, and my swank new computer...
and of course
work.
I hate having a bed time... oh to peck and meander until dawn again.
We'll conclude on "Devil Will Ride".
While I continue to burn love letters.
What did I really want to say?
I miss who I was... the anger was strength... now I have temperance and endurance...
And it just doesn't balance right. My eyes and voice are so hardened... but my manner is gentle.
it's weird being measured and soft spoken with dead eyes.
I can kinda see it when people make that first contact, and they kinda step back. Is it the booming bass, or the resignation in my eyes?
Like they're worried I'll burn them, or they're wondering where I came from...
I'm just tired.
In a lot of ways. Try not to be alarmed.