When will our actions match

When will our actions match our ideals?

I love hearing the kitty

I love hearing the kitty water dispenser make bubbles as the water moves into the tray. It reminds me of when I worked in an office all day and then I laugh and think of my kitchen as a kitty office. I couldn't say the word ventriloquist today. We shouldn't take the small things for granted.

as christian says, we must

as christian says, we must discuss. yes indeed my beloved~ i am reminded of grafitti displayed on a Parisian wall in 1968, that read "only the truth is revolutionary" ~ i too feel an impending sense of doom. a mouthful of broken glass, that i woefully conceal beneath my tongue. out in the world today, i saw people mowing lawns, the wind running off with their piles of weeds. i saw children playing tag and hiding behind trees. rich mothers, driving to lunch in their SUVs. shopping. the same trivialities while people in Baghdad flee their homes. i cannot even begin to imagine. but i write from another angle this evening...one that is of such dire importance my own words seem to rest amongst the soiled glass, so i part with this~

"realize that for every ongoing war and religious outrage and environmental devastation and bogus Iraqi attack plan, there are a thousand counter-balancing acts of staggering generosity and humanity and art and beauty happening all over the world, right now, on a breathtaking scale, from flowerbox to cathedral...resist the temptation to drown in fatalism, to shake your head and sigh and just throw in the towel...realize that this is the perfect moment to change the energy of the world, to step right up and crank your personal volume; right when it all seems dark and bitter and offensive and acrimonious and conflicted and bilious...there's your opening. remember magic. and, finally, believe you are a part of a groundswell, a resistance, a seemingly small but actually very, very large impending karmic overhaul, a great shift., the beginning of something important and potent and unstoppable."

~Mark Morford

i feel as though i

i feel as though i should write something. anything. but i am mute...wondering what it must feel like to be a thirty year old man, living in Iraq right now.

"bodies decompose beneath the city clocks,
war passes by in tears, followed by a million gray rats,
the rich give their mistresses
small illuminated dying things,
and life is neither noble, nor good, nor sacred.

man is, able if he wishes, to guide his desire
through a vein of coral or a nude as blue as the sky.
tomorrow, loves will become stones, and time
a breeze the sleeps in the branches"

~federico garcia lorca

may we all send our love off to the other side of the world.

www.protest.net

sometimes, i am so confounded

sometimes, i am so confounded by my life that i feel myself falling backwards into a state of utter despair.
a pile of dry leaves on fire, musky as they make their smoke.

but then i feel pathetic complaining of my feeble woes at the dawn of this staggering tragedy about to commence.

so many things i do not understand~

i step through the heavy,

i step through the heavy, wooden door into the night sky, and stumble.
the door feels thick and solid, like granite.
clandestine in its fortitude.
my clumsy feet, catch against stone.

friction.

my eyes are tired and my heart weary.
the black lines run thick their course, and the fences surrounding the ball of crimson flesh aren't worth tearing down.

it is late.

a thirty year old man, humbled by the weakness of his body.
the house was far too warm, which brings to mind another time.

but the grass felt cool upon my hands.
a stray moment of a straying life.

i stop and glance up at the sky, and see the bright moon cutting the clouds with it's knife.
they spin out in a circle around her, and cast golden light on the billowing sea nearby.
a pack of wolves they are.
playful.
hyenas perhaps.

a star shoots across the dark mass, and this thirty year old man tells himself that he should wish for something.
anything.
but he doesn't know what, and doesn't know how, and doesn't believe in wishes sometimes.
and he has wished them all again and again.

he drives home, wishing he was walking.

he wonders what you're supposed to do, when it often feels as though your art is all you have in this life, and yet your art is failing you.
betraying you even.

he he he he he.

say i jefferson, say i.

If I were a cat

If I were a cat I wouldn’t be the one who monopolizes the cat scratcher, or be the one who gets sent to jail for tax evasion. If anyone in the IRS is a big fan of Above the Orange Trees I just wanted to let you know I’m going to do my taxes soon, but not today because it’s Saturday.

I like the feeling of

I like the feeling of putting lamps in your back yard. Kind of like an outdoor living room with weeds. Today at work I ran up and down the stairs about twenty times in a row out of sheer boredom. I thought if I was going to be bored I might as well get some exercise. It's been warm .....I haven't turned on my heater for two days and in the morning I sprung out of bed in my underwear not thinking about putting on warm things.

I walked into the

I walked into the right living room. This could be the night of healing......wish us luck.

If I had a sail,

If I had a sail, I would let the wind blow me away.

and i, my dear christian,

and i, my dear christian, will be given back approximately $200 from the government, as i made less than $10, 000 last year. oh how woeful this business of art-making can be. maybe i should tell them to save my two hundred bucks to buy more fuel for the planes that will drop the bombs that will potentially kill millions of people. fuck you america [tm]. oh but there is hope jefferson, there is hope. independent media center

extended arms. i apologize for

extended arms. i apologize for my absence of late. i've been lying on my couch reading Garcia Lorca at night, daydreaming of Spain. the heat and the general sense of listlessness, though nothing jejune about it. but mainly, i've been obsessed with my new digital camera. oh the possibility. this will change things. things that you will soon see. i have been soooooooooo excited. and then i check christian's journal and he tells of reading Cold Mountain. i am transported back to my parents house after my return from New York. i am house sitting with conlon in that big place by the ocean. i am mesmerized by one of the best books i've ever read. memories are the language of eternity. angels.

Well here I sit. 2:49am.

Well here I sit. 2:49am. Wishing my head would let me sleep or my eye would stop twiching. Either one would be fine. Both would be a miracle.