Open windows let in a breeze.
Memory swoops in and right to mind.
Flashes, blurs and feelings.
Times and westplaces.
When you gonna find the time to go back there again?
To when you thought it would never end.
The same people, the same places all of the time.
When you gonna find the time to go back there again?
You realize you're so far away from it all
Ran away mostly for yourself.
For her, the miscommunications still linger in the air.
Don't kid yourself,
When you gonna find the time to go back there again?
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Poem I basically copped from William Gibson but Frak it
The pain stopped the instant he woke up.
It all seemed to run together but the details were all there. Every sight, sound, smell and sensation. He was 12 again. The summer in the south when the AC died and every window in the house was open for a breeze.
Pools, laughing, playing. He'd wake up to the smell of his mother cooking breakfast. His dad hammering in the new fence in the backyard.
He'd go to sleep exhausted from bike adventures around town and laughing. Bad movies in crappy theaters with good friends.
Then one morning he woke up and was back.
Not 10 anymore. At least double.
The doctor told him his eyes were new and so was his left arm. They'd tingle, but not to scratch. He'd been in the program for two weeks. All he could think about was eating. We don't have food here. The doctor said in thick Irish. Mean.
They kicked him out into the market with his things. Cold; just rained. June. Los Angeles. His memory hazy, the hustle and bustle of the hundreds of people packed tightly together going about the market felt so uninviting. He bought a $10 plate of shitty Chinese food. Finished it anyway.
All he could think about was getting away. He found a bus heading for the beach.
Threw away his phone in a public trash can as soon as he got there. Sunset.
The quaint bed and breakfast was made of smooth concrete. They took his cash and gave him a room with a balcony and stunning view.
He slept for days.
In the morning he ate breakfast at an almost empty patio cafe. Good coffee. That's where he saw her. Tan skin. A surfer probably. Curly sun bleached hair. Greek, he thought.
They walked the beach and talked about what they wanted to be as children. Soon she was in his room and before long the days started blending together again. They'd make love in the morning, the breeze coming through his balcony doors propped open. She'd sing to him, softly, sometimes at night. After lunch one afternoon he found a beautiful handmade guitar on the bed. A gift, She said. He couldn't tell if it was a question or not. It didn't really matter.
He'd strum chords and she'd run her fingers through his hair as he'd make songs for her.
I love you. She said.
He kissed her, looked her in the eyes and would whisper.
Thank you.
It all seemed to run together but the details were all there. Every sight, sound, smell and sensation. He was 12 again. The summer in the south when the AC died and every window in the house was open for a breeze.
Pools, laughing, playing. He'd wake up to the smell of his mother cooking breakfast. His dad hammering in the new fence in the backyard.
He'd go to sleep exhausted from bike adventures around town and laughing. Bad movies in crappy theaters with good friends.
Then one morning he woke up and was back.
Not 10 anymore. At least double.
The doctor told him his eyes were new and so was his left arm. They'd tingle, but not to scratch. He'd been in the program for two weeks. All he could think about was eating. We don't have food here. The doctor said in thick Irish. Mean.
They kicked him out into the market with his things. Cold; just rained. June. Los Angeles. His memory hazy, the hustle and bustle of the hundreds of people packed tightly together going about the market felt so uninviting. He bought a $10 plate of shitty Chinese food. Finished it anyway.
All he could think about was getting away. He found a bus heading for the beach.
Threw away his phone in a public trash can as soon as he got there. Sunset.
The quaint bed and breakfast was made of smooth concrete. They took his cash and gave him a room with a balcony and stunning view.
He slept for days.
In the morning he ate breakfast at an almost empty patio cafe. Good coffee. That's where he saw her. Tan skin. A surfer probably. Curly sun bleached hair. Greek, he thought.
They walked the beach and talked about what they wanted to be as children. Soon she was in his room and before long the days started blending together again. They'd make love in the morning, the breeze coming through his balcony doors propped open. She'd sing to him, softly, sometimes at night. After lunch one afternoon he found a beautiful handmade guitar on the bed. A gift, She said. He couldn't tell if it was a question or not. It didn't really matter.
He'd strum chords and she'd run her fingers through his hair as he'd make songs for her.
I love you. She said.
He kissed her, looked her in the eyes and would whisper.
Thank you.
Friday, February 5, 2010
AO
Tomorrow's Friday YAY!
Jess Lowe is comin into town so me, her and Caitlin mos def have to go out and party this weekend.
Lets see an update you say?
I work an assload. But I love it. So perfect right now for me for sure.
I don't have cable at my new place or a tv so I've been watching many a thging on dvd or on the interwebz. I came to realize that my favorite comic character is Hellboy. I know Cable is badass and all, I love the guy but Hellboy wins. Cuz of this...
How cool is that shit?
Plus he fistfights monsters.
I'm tired.
I need to get bored enough to actually write a decent entry in this.
Jess Lowe is comin into town so me, her and Caitlin mos def have to go out and party this weekend.
Lets see an update you say?
I work an assload. But I love it. So perfect right now for me for sure.
I don't have cable at my new place or a tv so I've been watching many a thging on dvd or on the interwebz. I came to realize that my favorite comic character is Hellboy. I know Cable is badass and all, I love the guy but Hellboy wins. Cuz of this...
How cool is that shit?
Plus he fistfights monsters.
I'm tired.
I need to get bored enough to actually write a decent entry in this.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
HOLY BALLZ ITS 2010
Hey there.
These things are few and far between huh?
Well I'll probably get that to change here soon.
I won't spill too much info now cuz this is the interwebz and people are crazy.
I'm enjoying my new place and my semi-new job alot.
The only thing is: I'm actually for real super busy now. I work 9 hour days. Then IU have side work to do on top of that. It's getting rough. I'm looking for a balance. I'd like to keep a real social life available too.
I'll update this in a bit with a plethora of weird/ nerdy thoughts and pictures somehow related to robots or space fighters or guitars and hopefully find a common thread between all of them and sound smart in the process.
Ooops.
These things are few and far between huh?
Well I'll probably get that to change here soon.
I won't spill too much info now cuz this is the interwebz and people are crazy.
I'm enjoying my new place and my semi-new job alot.
The only thing is: I'm actually for real super busy now. I work 9 hour days. Then IU have side work to do on top of that. It's getting rough. I'm looking for a balance. I'd like to keep a real social life available too.
I'll update this in a bit with a plethora of weird/ nerdy thoughts and pictures somehow related to robots or space fighters or guitars and hopefully find a common thread between all of them and sound smart in the process.
Ooops.
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