runaway notes [12 Oct 2004|02:36pm] A blown kiss to Manatee Palms and the towering loquat tree, conquered and fortified, to ever-growing wild blackberries with their packed drupelets, filling the fences with dangerously plucked treasures, to school halls holding tightly coy kisses, intricately folded pages of yes’s and no’s and circles, mouthfuls of yells and shouts, to the metamorphism of old friends into strangers, who trade wondrous glances in-between grocery store aisles as memories carve around the checkout lanes, pouring into aisle nine, dragging with it cashiers and packaged goods, pulling it all into a time-warping undertow. Goodbye to the streets I’ve backtracked, traced, and mastered, to fields slanted, laps ran, drills defeated, touchdowns scored, yards upon yards sprinted and sweated upon, the might mighty bulldogs with their losing records balanced out by unwavering cheerleaders and profound friends. So long, young loves so long! We pressed our ignorant lips together, made our tongues dance and move to the beat of legends, recited by older boys and girls. After, our unsure eyes met and we were glad it was over. Darling, you taught my young heart how to fall apart, shred my innards, and gracefully repair itself. If you only knew where my lips are now! Rescue me from old age and bring me back my hope and wonder, I must have misplaced it in the lips of easy women. I’ll miss you also, Mrs. Georgia, your lovesick words tied together with your nervously gnawed hands, our clumsy lips and limbs and the awkward ways we pressed them together. The glorious fountain of youth resting inside the maze of Ellenton Outlets. I will never fail you, Georgia. I’ll always hold tight the secret of our fountains and tossed pennies. 1 comment|post comment

brimming [12 Oct 2004|02:35pm] An entire two weeks took the form of a container, holding handfuls of moments bold like vulgarities on the whitewashed bathroom walls. They were unavoidable and read tenderly. I took all of it, the weeks and the moments, and pressed them together tightly with my thumb and index finger. When released, I held in my hand three days brimming with fat, meaty minutes, which if plated, would hang off the edges with a crooked smirk. They were mine forever, resting in my skull, available at any moment for mastication, digestion, and rebirth. Though some find their way inside caves and crevices in my head, a potent smell or flash of bright light will one day set them free, dancing about me cranium. post comment

"He was in a film and the machine was whirring into slower and slower motion." [12 Oct 2004|02:31pm] Her nails dug into the highest points of the hills and stretched them into peaks. At these tips, unwary clouds sailed towards, drawn in by the faint song she sung. Soon, the massive clouds were torn and dissected, stretched out in fractions that were quick to evaporate into empty skies. post comment

I still love you [04 Sep 2004|05:03am] I’ll stop mid sentence and start over, fumbling over a point and a cause, trying to clearly spell out love with a pocket knife in the old oak tree. We stand there in the moment as if nothing ever ends and nothing ever dies. When we are old and gray we can come back hoping to see our names inside of an intact heart in the bark, holding each others hands and smiling, wondering where our youth ran off to hide. Yet the old forests where we used to roam are gone and strip mall stands tall directly where the old oak tree once was. We will then know that everything ends and everything dies, and we will understand how trivial a battle for permanence and certainty is. I will nervously look at you and our eyes will connect, and for a second I will see our youth dancing hand and hand, for a moment we are immortal, playing games in the field around your pupils. But before I can catch it, it’s off and gone and we are left wading in our wrinkles. I hope you know I still love you. 3 comments|post comment

there are so many words for this kind of thing [04 Aug 2004|05:16pm] I was browsing through a dictionary, and there, entwined in the definitions of words, was our novel written out. Here is the story in its entirety, as told in countless dictionaries around the world. Mirth – frivolity, gaiety, laughter Ephemeral – momentary, transient, fleeting Enervate – to weaken, sap strength from Molt – to shed hair, skin and in the place of my past mistakes, a thicker skin will grow, hopefully preventing things like this from happening again. Goodbye. 1 comment|post comment

[09 Jun 2004|08:41am] It’s just a simple crush and nothing more. Impracticality defines a crush and as soon as it begins to harbor the slightest vessel of practicality, it’s transformed into some greater device than a crush. I doubt I ever waste time entertaining ideas of us going steady or that I ever take this diet adoration seriously, and she knows all of this; I would never lie about it. We speak in tongues and touch in secret, we will disappear before our talk is cleared and our touch is real. If there ever was true love, it’s found in our craving for head games and seduction, and all the equations ending in hurt. We would chase our own tails if we thought it could break our hearts. We love picking up our broken pieces one by one with shredded hands, rebuilding ourselves, and leaping carelessly back into construction sites, waltzing with wrecking balls. No one really wants to get their way, it’s far too boring. I get my way every single consecutive day, over and over. I throw it away for a blindfolded marathon through acres of landmines planted by the hands of little kids and twisting elaborate mazes, with every direction leading to an explosion. Don’t fool yourself for a second and think this is anything but a kamikaze mission. It’s a crush and nothing more, our lungs adapt to convert this destruction into oxygen. 4 comments|post comment

mid-life [01 Jun 2004|06:29pm] There was a seventeen year-old kid just sprouting facial hair who woke up a thirty-five year-old man, wondering how his twin bed transformed into a time machine. The bed was now king sized with a stranger sleeping soundly next to him, present in her early thirties, with blonde hair hiding the years like a well kept secret tearing at the seams. There was a ballad of children’s shouts and tears microwaving the inside of his ears. Yesterday the world was mystical and profound, the moment was priority, and he existed only in the present. His imagination bore calluses, and was shaped into a strong forcefield against the harm of reality. Yet today he feels gravity on his shoulders, the present doesn’t exist, just a solution made up of nostalgia and anxiety. He doesn’t have time to take countless Polaroid’s of the sky, dressed in a neon orange tint. He doesn’t even have time to notice it. He wonders if this is some sort of nightmare, that if he just closed his eyes and fell back asleep he would in-turn wake up seventeen years old again. However when he finally falls back asleep, a siren is going off wildly, and in panic he jumps out of bed. His alarm clock is pulsating and the woman that was next him starts to move slightly. The man sprints out of the bed room past the twenty shrieking kids and into some make and model of some car that is magically in his name, ignites the engine, and presses the pedal for the rest of his life. 3 comments|post comment

[01 Jun 2000|01:46am] There was blood coagulating on the white fibers of your carpet. The tip of your index finger was mangled, rubbed repeatedly in 4/4 with your finger nail file, the music score entwined in your head had taken over your attention. When you finally realized that your fingertip was bleeding, you looked down at the carpet and all you could manage to notice was how foolish you were to get white carpet. There was a nice shade of brown that would have complimented stains better. It was called Earth Brown. You know you should have gotten that color instead. Something told you if you closed your eyes the blood would disappear, so you closed them real tight. When you opened them 20 seconds later, the blood was still there, slightly thicker, and your head was pounding in 4/4; you had two rows of the three in your medicine cabinet lined with pills. You know exactly what everything is and where everything goes, and you take a new anti depressant your doctor prescribed along with two Advil. You turn on your television and as you browse, you notice that every single station is on commercial break. In hopes of waiting it out, you watch one particular commercial all the way through, selling the greatest hits of a miracle kitchen appliance for 17 installments of $9.99 for a limited time only. As the phone number strobes you change the station, one by one in 4/4 and every station is selling something. You press the power button on your remote, however your television turns itself back on instantly. Your watch tells you its time for your hourly telemarketing phone call. With practice you can even answer it before the phone rings. Before he can get a word out you tell him about your television. But you’re in luck, because for a limited time only you can purchase a commercial free satellite for 56$ a month that comes with a free stain removal kit. The telemarketer is convincing. 1 comment|post comment

[31 May 2000|06:53am] A long time ago, on a deserted beach in Haiti where the two of them lay naked after love, Jeremiah de Saint-Amour had sighed: "I will never be old." 2 comments|post comment

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