1.26.2006
they should give fair warning in school -
all the wallace stevens and rilke and c.s. lewis
and the love that keeps her flying
when she should fall down -
it's nothing when it comes to this.
someone taught me that numbers curve a hand around the ball of the world
and someone else made me memorize
a poem about how gold fades to green, and green goes gray,
but there's no sense in it
learning all about this myth of love.
"Well I'm walking through town as the evening comes down
And it's easy to hope that you're here
In my fine linen suit and my smouldering cheroot
Well disposed to a night of good cheer
The candles and lamps and the losers and champs
Horses all covered in foam
If you don't show then I just do not know
If I'll wait till the cows come home
I remember the day that you first came my way
Yes it stays in my mind like a song
I remember the night when you first caught my sight
And in spite of all that's gone wrong
The moon and the stars and the gentle guitars
You stepped to the microphone
You sang like a lark in the warm fragrant dark
I could listen till the cows come home
When it's raining and cold and love's losing its hold
And you feel like you just want to sleep
And the friends that you trusted, left you all busted
And the hills that you climb are all steep
Yeah your lovers and cronies have all turned out phonies
Sold you a bag full of bones
I'll keep waiting there still on that last final hill
And I will till the cows come home
Though I'm in this valleyI'll fear no evil if you will walk by my side
Though danger's around us, strangers all hound us
Your light will still be my guide
The villains and freaks with their vulgar antiques
And critiques that simper and moan
Oh they twist and they turn, but I'm still standing firm
And I will till the cows come home"
-"Till the cows come home" by Clay Walker
but I like the version by The Church (Aussies, who knew) - so go be downloady, please
1.25.2006
dreams of otherness, two nights in a goddamn row
when the alarm plinked this morning i was dreaming that i was an artist in a high-class hotel/bordello, in some europalmy south american city like maybe buenos aires. i was entertaining josh holloway, who plays Sawyer on Lost.
that man is brutally hot. i don't even like that type.
bah! now why don't i have these dreams in the still, small hours of the night. why at 7:30am!?
the night before it was a dream about a house in the country where captain mal lived with his wife and two girls and i was staying, writing a book about the town school. the best part came when i was walking across a street, towards an old white car, maybe a studebaker or something like that, with a convertible top, getting ready to drive to the school, and the wind huffed up and furled and ruffled the leaves just crisping up in the cool autumn morning. the yards were green, and the shadows were blue, and i could sense the fields and trees all hiding behind the houses.
sometimes my dreams have a sense of realness that's so strong, and that last one did. when i wake up, i'm surprised i'm still just me.
when the alarm plinked this morning i was dreaming that i was an artist in a high-class hotel/bordello, in some europalmy south american city like maybe buenos aires. i was entertaining josh holloway, who plays Sawyer on Lost.
that man is brutally hot. i don't even like that type.
bah! now why don't i have these dreams in the still, small hours of the night. why at 7:30am!?
the night before it was a dream about a house in the country where captain mal lived with his wife and two girls and i was staying, writing a book about the town school. the best part came when i was walking across a street, towards an old white car, maybe a studebaker or something like that, with a convertible top, getting ready to drive to the school, and the wind huffed up and furled and ruffled the leaves just crisping up in the cool autumn morning. the yards were green, and the shadows were blue, and i could sense the fields and trees all hiding behind the houses.
sometimes my dreams have a sense of realness that's so strong, and that last one did. when i wake up, i'm surprised i'm still just me.
1.24.2006
It's time for Signs of the Apocalypse
again. Sometimes I get to thinking that this darned world of ours is just waaaaay too fucked up and crazy to keep on existing and that at some point it's just going to generate a windows-style logic error and shut down. In the meantime, enjoy these wacky Japanese folks with their nifty embroidered boob scarves. It's very Monty Python if you don't think about it too hard.
