This is my blog where I keep my more “emotional” palpitations of my heart. I wrote this here be because the title of the blog is “Words and Fire”. Now Jeff I know not to be a man of words but always one of a hidden passion, whether he be yelling at gizmo with a sound that isn’t quite an expression most people use in a given day or expressing his excitement through a pose. He is a man of fire. Diane he has found that passion in you, treat that fire well as I know you will. Diane the bottle of wine I bought for you and Jeff to share has a Stag on it. “Ours is the fury.” I know you’d both prefer a sun and a spear “unbowed unbent unbroken” to describe you, but I believe that today you both are the fury.
I wish you the the best,
And dream of a great future ahead,
Sincerely your friend,
All my reasons
On the wind
chills my bones.
My reasons have left
On the wind.
I broke into fever
I appeared beside myself
Swam with myself.
A current to flow with.
But I’m not as simple as I was
I’m not as open as I was.
And no one seems to know.
My skin itches for …
My heart beats …
Words escape me as I become a stranger to the letters I arranged,
To profess my love,
To talk my sorrow,
To scorn my hate,
To give friendship to my absence.
Now, only tears slide past my mouth, not words.
She grabbed his arm
And he absorbed every number she wrote on his arm
Like a child getting a stocking full of candy
There was a sweetness to every number temporarily tattoo onto simple skin (skin also being a very easily washable thing,
There was a carefulness to it)
She left with a hasty kiss and a surprised mouth on the other end:
And new love.
I sat and watched a flower bloom that I hadn’t seen first hand for a while.
But flowers dies
But every train has a terminus
Just like every kiss
And although tombstones may come into the mix
Every love ends as well,
But the lucky ones make it there.
I bowed to kiss your feet,
And showing my scalp was critiqued.
Grass blew south in a hurry past wind chimes.
the sun had drawn back hours ago.
Casper lay in bed, passing time as he usually did.
he formed words that weren’t quite ideas
and names that didn’t have faces.
I feel when standing
in the sun, I am melting.
I’m an ice sculpture
so well crafted
I can move amongst the world.
I can feign love, and humor,
hunger, and anger.
But sure enough, I’m melting.
I’m doomed to repetition
to wait for each winter.
Is being well adjusted a character I play?
Do I treat the world as a stage?
When retreating to my space
I find my companion is always sorrow.
in the world, I smile,
Alone, I am ugly
Do I merely done the mask of enthusiasm?
am I nothing but a mirror?
My, my my, I’ve got sand in my veins
please hands off, try to refrain,
Touching my orchestra pit of pain
Oh, Now, I’m not full of shit
Honey I’m made of it.
I used to work on Anderson Street
Got fired for being seen
Sipping on a cup wasn’t mine
"Sorry, sorry, Didn’t mean to drink your wine."
I’ll just show myself the door
Seems that’s where always headed before
I get kicked out
"It’s okay, Been happening all day long."
Coming to an empty home.
You’re a stranger now.
And for quite some time I’ve been sipping my tea of memory thinking it weren’t so.
Thinking our love was something special, worth working on in winters and reinforcing for snow fall.
But in reality, I’ve just been sitting outside on the roof, shivering away.
Growing smaller for far too long.
I caught emotional hypothermia,
Bedridden by my depression
I chose not to love anyone else
To never leave this home I built
So fortified by concrete ideas
That our short time was worth
Years of waiting.
Because, that’s all I’ve been doing,
Is counting down each new years eve
waiting for my false sense of serendipity
to kick in.
And kick me awake, like a bucket of ice water after snoozing the alarm one too many times.
I’ve been sleep walking through my relationships.
I’ve been sleep walking through my whole life.
Because the tears that kissed my pillow after you left,
Are not the same tears that slap me in the face saying “Move on.”
The house I built was a dream.
What an obscene dream.
Love is like a guitar.
it sounds pretty as hell
and can make amazing music.
But unless it’s electric,
I write with water
instead of ink.
The tree’s that used to make those pages
Don’t hate me for forgetting them.
It would be a different life
if I could bury those words in the ground
to feed old friendships
I’ve said goodbye so much,
I’m not even sure I remember
how to say “Hello.”
But if those friendships faded
and found new homes in the ground
Why bother digging up the dead?
Everything has to go sometime
So garnish that drink with a lime,
and toast to the ‘Just-fine’
The death of passion can be catastrophic
But if you look at a nebula,
You know even death can leave behind something beautiful.
That’s what we are now.
Colourful gasses floating apart,
Like a portrait.
We didn’t eclipse,
You and I,
We were a supernova.
We collapsed into words and then expanded into fire.