K

You were a boy I knew in school
and the fall makes me think of you

I admired you from afar
and the fall makes me think of you

A smile that cured suburban blues
and the fall makes me think of you

You walked the streets just like me
and the fall makes me think of you

You died in the springtime
but the fall makes me think of you

You frequent my dreams
and still the fall makes me think of you

Don't speak to me in code,
Don't speak to me in symbols
Speak to me using words of emotion

I will hear you
I always hear you
I'm always aware

You're more alive today than ever
and the fall makes me think of you

I know when you are near
you bring the fall when I think of you

new song lyrics

Untitled as of right now. Any title suggestions are completely warranted.

The Carolinas are so old
I wonder about the soil there
As I toil through the day
That consists of nothing new

I want to do all the right things
Like not contribute to the system
So I don't own a car
And I don't buy stuff at the mall

Maybe in a year
I'll have a place in Baltimore
And let paintings of the sunsets
Unleash my steady bones

And if I walk off
Don't look beyond the sea
Leave me to discover
And sew what the future may reap

They have blinded us for centuries
But I don't mean to place blame
The recognition, it births action
And I am in the meadow, rising

crush

Butterflies are swarming. It literally feels like something is eating away at my stomach lining. It's most likely because I've not felt this way in a while. The intensity is invigorating and electric. I feel everything like it's the first time I've ever felt anything. This. Is. Bad. Badly written, yes, because it's tremendously difficult to verbalize a fleeting feeling.
It's been a week, and everyday I've uttered some version of "I don't want to feel this way" out loud to various people. I mostly scream it down the tunnels of my mind. It only floods the reverberated mess and increases my heart rate. Nothing helps. I can't even properly cry. I know the outcome of this, and it isn't a place where my hopeful, animated heart skips merrily down the path to Lovers Lane with her male counterpart.
Nay.
This is me making a huge mistake. This is me throwing myself against the wind.
I am developing expectations. You know how I know? Because I am dreaming about the future. I am never in the future. I am always here. I am always now.
It has been Tom for so long. Now comes this, this guy. This guy who doesn't want anything that I want, but deep down wants something. I don't want him to make me laugh, or make me think, or introduce me to his friends, or make me feel special, or drive all the way out here to see me, or call me back when he says he will.
Because it all makes me think ahead. And when I think ahead I'm not HERE. I'm off making plans in some made up world that will never exist. It will never exist because things like that don't exist for me. I know it. And that's not me feeling bad for myself. I love that it exists at all. I love watching it happen to those I know. Being a witness to such wonders is like seeing God. So I do not feel bad. I just get carried away. And I don't want to be swept up in this.
Even if he cares a little, a little is a lot to me, a lot more than what I have.

I'll update soon.

Rod McKuen

I stumbled through the door very late one Thursday night this August. The NYC air still on my skin. Strewn across my staircase were two books, and a picture of me dressed as a clown at the circus when I was all but four years old. I smiled at that pudgy faced Meghan and then glanced at the books. I flicked the light switch. In bold letters at the top of each book read: "ROD McKUEN" and I found myself wondering which one of my parents placed them there. They smelled old, and looked like books you'd only see on the shelf of an abandoned bookstore from the 1930's. I breathed them in, and skimmed the first couple of pages of the red book. I read it all the way through, not noticing the tears that were imperturbably sliding down my cheeks. It had been an emotional day. His words were so simple, and that simplicity struck the very core of me. I often find that when poets use very few words to convey tremendous emotion . . . I'm hooked. I doggy-ear'd my favorites, and then went on upstairs to read the next book entited "In Someone's Shadow". I had no concept of time, all I knew was that I longed to find some gems within the pages. As I settled in and began reading, I noticed there were markings on some of the pages. Some of the page numbers were circled, as well as the titles, and some of the words were underlined. Without realizing it I found myself going back to the discernible pages, for on them were the poems that spoke to me the loudest.
And then I found my heart splattered across page 20:

"May 17

I believe that crawling into you
is going back into myself.
That by the act of
joining hands with you
I become more of me.

There are no whisky bars
for dancers like ourselves,
and so we move into each other
like drunkards into open doorways.

My need for you is near addiction.

No sailor ever had tattoos
growing on his forearm
the way your smile
has willed itself back behind my eyes.

It will not dissolve.
It will not divide.
For I am nothing if not you."

I read that piece of brilliance at least a dozen times before feeling satisfied enough to move on to the others. However, my mind wandered. I was overwrought by that haunting poem.
Alas, I fell asleep with dried, salty tears on my face. The next day I asked my mother who left them for me, she told me they were her books, and explained 'the man behind the verse' a bit further. In those moments, thinking back on the circled pages and underlined words, I realized my heart had a twin. I will always love her more than she'll ever know.

dreams of the end

It's 4:29am. I just woke up. I can't even begin to describe the dream that I just had and how it tossed me into this lucid state, leaving me with only questions and fears.

The world was about to end. Supposedly it was going to self destruct in a matter of hours. My family and I were at my grandparent's old house joined by scattered relatives from both my mother and father's side. We were all gathered in and around the front room. TV on. Only a few people stuck out, like my mom, and dad, and for some strange reason . . . my cousin Darlene (my mom's brother's daughter). My mother was cutting Darlene's hair, and then she was going to cut mine. For some reason it just made sense to not have so much hair, when in all but a matter of minutes we were going to burn.
I called Tom in England. We spoke. I told him that we would find each other in heaven. He was silent. I told him I would find him if he was lost. I could sense his fear. I was mad that we weren't together.
The television blared. I could hear George W. Bush say "we're all in this together" and located at the bottom of the screen was a timer. It read "00:10". I looked at my mother in the kitchen, her beautiful blue eyes were all I could have wanted to see, and I told her we had to go. We went into my grandparent's bedroom and we got on the bed and held each other, she called for my dad, and then I woke up.

A taste of what's to come . . .

Hello Blogger universe! It's nice to have a new place to call home. I currently blog on Myspace. Only. And, well, I never really go on that site for anything else nowadays. So. Here. I. Am. Thank you for having me. I chose a snippit of an old blog for you to read. I'll post my latest entry after this.

12/14/08
I could devour an ocean worth of liquid love right now and (maybe) it wouldn't even be enough. It wouldn't be his hands on my skin. Other men look at me in wonderment, loving what I expose to them. Their desire strikes me, and that happiness . . . well . . . it lingers. There's something false about all of it though, and the pain of that realization negates the aforementioned happiness with a subtle precision. I love what I've grown to love. I will always want that. It's more desirable than curiosity.

6/6/09
Dear myspace,
I am ever so sorry that I have abandoned you for such things as Facebook and Twitter. Sometimes hanging out with cooler logos is nice (God, I love that Twitter bird). And, like, we've known each other for almost 6 years now so I know all there is about you, and when I see your name I think that you're a little played out, and a feeling of being trapped in a dark hole washes over me. So, I venture off to other lands that just have a better look and feel, because that's just how it is on the interwebs: like high school, with better graphics.
Ugh, it's been ever so long. Gah! I guess times are a changin', and my feet are less swollen, and I can eat Fritos at 4am if I want to, so life is good. There's no beginning; no end.
. . .Do you know how happy I am that I can write blogs again? That I can read whole books til the morning comes, that I can watch info-mercials!?!?!?! No, why would anyone. Alas, Freedom at its best is the accumulation of the little things that we forget we long for . . . being . . . accessable again. I've pondered things that my mind has been warned to stay away from for over a year. I no longer have to conform, or feel like a trapped rat running in circles for an ultimate goal that doesn't exist. My mind can formulate its own routes, and end up wherever, WITHOUT your fucking programmed GPS system, thank you very much.
Going to the movies with Adam tonight. Shaaaah, the movies! :D