none

is it crazy to want this forever--this world, this love, this life? is it wrong to want time in your arms to drag? is it selfish of me to want creation as mine, so i can bend the universe to my will?

who knows

the fairy tale? the charming prince? how bout seven dwarfs and a witch? if you really want fairy tale, think about how we held each other so close and so tight that you forgot to breathe. think about my lips pressed paper cut thin against yours and my tears washing against your cheeks. we've had the dream my dear, we just need to expand it into forever, and ever.

Two Thirty Four

I'm scared. The past is a cliched shawl settling on my shoulders. Please show me a different side of you.

Two Thirty Three

Its a pleasure to meet you. Did you say you deleted me?

Two Hundred Thirty-Two

No hand has touched me since yours were laid upon my arms. No lips have I kissed, no body pressed against mine but yours. You have been my world and now, I'm a comet sent crashing into your earth...

Two Hundred Thirty-One

How long has it been since I've been tubed. A green curtain framing the outside world. I miss standing in the pit.

Two Hundred Thirty

Fuck. My favorite word. A word that can be used wether you're happy or sad, angry or glad. Fuck.

Two Hundred Twenty-Nine

I don't know what's happening. A child walking into the middle of an adult movie would have a better idea of what's going on than I do. Is someone supposed to be the star here, or are we all bit players with no real names, waiting to be wiped out in the first disaster scene?

Two Hundred Twenty-Eight

A day of lose ends and permission slips, calling on old idols for favors, and trying not to get mad. I'm your man baby, I ain't going nowhere, and I want no one but you. It's time you came to believe it, and cut me some slack.

Two Hundred Twenty-Seven

Dead. A man four or five years younger than myself. A fragment of an unfinished life. I knew him. I've met his children. I'm unsettled, he's dead.

Two Hundred Twenty-Seven

The lords day, a day of rest...probably not, you see, I fall into that class of people that get none--rest, that is.

Two Hundred Twenty-Six

Coffee and squirrels and two scorpios, a limb from a dead man and blood of a goat, a piece of old shoelace and twin Romeo's, all boiled together then tossed down the throat.

Two Hundred Twenty-Five

I'm designing a tombstone today. A cover for a work that was put to rest a few weeks ago. It's not completely right--there are elements I love yes, but the faces aren't lined up correctly, it is close though, and soon i'll be able to walk away and look back on it with love.

Two Hundred Twenty-Four

It feels like I'm waiting for something. Maybe it's the other shoe to drop, or, maybe it's the first shoe. Maybe what I'm waiting for is something pleasant and sweet, a happy bump in the road that I can hang around with for awhile. Whatever it is, I'm waiting, and the feeling of anticipation is already here.

Two Hundred Twenty-Three

I'm a dinosaur. A throwback to an era of ass-kicking front men. There's no place for me anymore. Today's singers stare at their shoes, they're weak timid little boys that are afraid to look a crowd in the eyes. I don't belong here. Sure, they may call out for a sing along or a chant, but not a one of them would grab a mic stand and use it as a baseball bat to the head.

Two Hundred Twenty-Two

I'm caught up, and I'll try my hardest not to let you get away again..."fucking blog, you don't stay on it, and it's like a God damn car with no brakes rolling down a hill. I oughta just stop writing the fucker."
"What'd you say?"
"Nothing. Sorry Mr. Blog."

Two Hundred Twenty-One

This should have been Monday's post--a most un-laborious labor day. A quick drive home, a ferris wheel, and a five boy burger with cajun fries. The only real work I put in was watching a piece of celluloid shit. The bonus, Katie returning a box of quarter eaten Nerds in exchange for a cinnamon pretzel.

Two Hundred Twenty

It's all about the migraine--I hiked with Katie this morning, a beautiful walk through a desert oasis, we held hands and kissed as a hundred 7 am degrees rolled over our bodies. It was beautiful and short lived--I went blind at the pool and spent the daze in bed. I promised you a great vacation Katie--can I get 50% for the hike?

Two Hundred Nineteen

114 degrees in the shade. I don't know what the hell those old desert wanderers did to keep cool, but I have a good idea their brains were boiled in their own skulls. The Revelation of St John was probably written while the last drop of sanity evaporated from off his forehead---fiery chariots, death on a horse, and a mystic vision of a hot tub filled with bikini wearing camels.

Two Hundred Eighteen

You ask what happened to my discipline, to my commitment to excellence, well, let me tell you, it got thrown out when I decided to take a vacation to the desert--desert mystics don't blog...

Two Hundred Seventeen

I'm going to write you a song, and I'm going to force you to sing it. It shouldn't be hard to remember, being as it will be constructed with only nine words, and two parts; one verse, and one chorus. The verse " Jack loves me, Jack loves me." The chorus "And I'll never forget it, oh, I'll never forget it."

Two Hundred Sixteen

"Go over there and be happy. Put your feelings aside. Make her smile. Brighten her day. She deserves to be happy." I do all these things. My mentor is right, you deserve my best and I'll do anything I can to please you. The lunch mission goes as expected. We laugh and wrestle, giggling like children on the seaside grass, but after I drive away a text appears on my phone. It's from you, the woman I love. It reads, "I can't believe you're in such a good mood--I guess you didn't care at all, did you?"