fool

it is dangerous to fly and make fire at the same time

it's his voice that slays me

i'd post the song but that would be too easy

no need to write

there are rarely any easy answers
one accepts this when there is no choice
my desire to solve impossible problems wanes,
it is a strange and empty freedom

the sanity my life requires these days is not conducive to poetic thinking
this is my silence

soda bread

i will not get my hopes up
i will not get my hopes up
i will not get my hopes up
i will not get my hopes up
i (should) not get my hopes up

i will not get my hopes up
i will not get my hopes up
i will not get my hopes up
i will not get my hopes up...

scattered

it turns out that they all do leave their wives eventually but by the time it happens it doesn't matter anymore.

a bird pooped on my pant leg yesterday while i was talking to someone on the stairs outside my work. i always sit cross-legged on my chair, so it squished all over that too. people tell me it's good luck. it's also disgusting.

was going to go to a show with old punk rock guy tonight but i got sick. that happened the first night we went to a show at that bar too. different kind of sick, but hmmmmm. a symbol, a reminder...the singer from this band has turned into a "toothless, homeless meth addict" (borrowed words). methinks it's probably done, my affair with that world. so done, actually.

family takes my time and energy now. men are boring. the story always ends the same, even when it's all romance and intrigue and the like. shift of focus is fine. maybe i will get to garden this summer while we sell the house.

i might get a kitten in a few months. it was born yesterday. my friend will foster it until it's time (but only if it's a girl - even living with male cats is a pain).

finally, today...i say i don't care and i want it to be true but then cute smart mature nice articulate architect athlete traveller curious artistic geeky devoted funny flirty arrives at one pm to meet with me about his secret plans. after talk of art and life he leaves (half an hour instead of the five minutes it should have been later) and i check the birthdate on his registration form. only twenty-two and my future student. fml.

epiphany

i think it's possible i have stopped believing in magic.

(i'm going to try not to analyze that too much, it just felt significant enough to write down)

special

there once was an old man
(who was actually old, not just older)
who didn't like me very much
he'd pretend he didn't know me
or turn up his nose and walk away when i joined a conversation

now he is becoming senile
he has lost his empire...
necessity as the mother of connection (or something)
today he asked to be my friend on facebook
i laughed (quietly, inside)
then i obliged (of course)
politics and politeness rule when old people are involved

no more ego
no more heroes
no more questions
accept

end of the line

don't feel much like writing these days
waiting for confessions and resolutions
(plus i'm sick, have been for days)

american spirit

it doesn't matter if the work is any good
as long as the hot french man takes off his shirt
and the ticket is free...

days like today i can't tell if my tongue is in my cheek or not

but i can still see...

ode to chicago

it was fun while it lasted
(photos tomorrow when i'm feeling less sick and more patient than i am now)

damaged goods (reprise)

bummed a cigarette from some cute european techies
talked about their stay
then the stars appeared
(giant golden moon slung low in the sky over the water behind us)
the totally hot french guy invited us to follow him inside, back to where the party was starting...
at the end of the evening he grabbed my arm and looked deep into my eyes (there's a theme here lately)
a movie moment
more than worth the sacrifice of red wine on an empty stomach (reception veggies for dinner)



waiting to cross the street and two cops fully checked me out (turned heads and all)
not a bad night...

novelty / joy

Q. where were you twenty years ago when we built all of this?

A. here, actually. i was right here.

learning when to keep my mouth shut, and grateful for those who listen.

black ice

catching up
falling behind
planning a little trip...

there's still this story from the other night about a belligerent fifty-one year old "anarchist" who mistook me for a "twenty year old rich artist hipster kid."

there's so much wrong with that on so many levels...
another time