Friday, November 30, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Monday, November 26, 2012
Peter & Kerry- I Don't Know
I DON’T KNOW
I would not say everything’s changed,
It’s too lazy to exaggerate.
Maybe it’s transition which hurts you more
Than the cleanest of all breaks.
And I did not think you’d hear me say
“I did not know it at the time” etc.
For every time that we both laughed hysterically just like we always did,
I think I broke down into tears.
Or every time we danced, I broke into tears.
And I would’ve asked you then and there to marry me.
Sometimes you’ll give a little look,
And sometimes we’re like a little book
Of our own language I’m still learning all the time.
And I would not draw a line through your name
But I still close my eyes and hear you say
“Well, yes it’s love but that is just not enough”.
For every time that we both laughed hysterically just like we always did,
I think I broke down into tears.
Or every time we danced, I broke into tears.
And I would’ve asked you then and there to marry me,
But something made me lose all my vocabulary.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Monday, November 19, 2012
Shovels & Rope- When I
The way these two look at each other, makes me want to fall fully in love one day, or just have a really great musical partner.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Friday, November 16, 2012
No. No. Not Me.
November. 16. 2012.
This pale light resting on a dusty armchair
makes the loudest sounds that no one can hear,
a creak in the morning while she stretches her legs
a screech as I leave the door,
up before the sun and up before most
still sleeping with dreams caught and seen before,
until your mouth catches steam like that perfect family.
You must be lucky, not me.
and up it comes,
the feeling in my nose and lips,
that only exist in small shifts,
waiting to clock in as I clock out,
a miniature talking giraffe singing your abcs,
one, two, three from the other side of the room,
interrupted only by a complaint of,
“what do you mean it’s no good, aren’t your customers important”
and such and such, well it’s not enough,
“where’s my husband, you see, where are you honey, Steve!”
You must be lucky, not me.
a small note of hope stuffed in the smallest of plastic pinched,
hints of a past that swell up again
that make me think back to last night,
how small I was,
a boy afraid of love,
asking “what’s inside of me”
insecurities of what might be and illusions that I’ve seen.
You must be lucky, not me.
Grown shows for young souls sold every hour,
and a half poured on old shoulders with half smiles still eager,
but no,
not mine,
not me,
it can’t be.
The stampeding of feet moving away from this internal bleeding of teens,
You must be lucky, not me.
Not me, until I’m home again with my twin of kin,
and as she steps out of my mothers room,
I could’ve sworn I’ve only seen her cry a handful of times in my life.
Why, as she sobs into this phone of muted Chinese from our second home,
Why now, and a family is left alone,
just the two brothers, one mother, non existent sisters
But what do I know other than the broken Chinese I pick off the floor
so I don’t step with my feet, bleed
Please, so quickly, he must be free.
Please, so quickly, he’s no longer suffering.
Please, so quickly, he must be free.
You must be lucky, no, no, not me.
This pale light resting on a dusty armchair
makes the loudest sounds that no one can hear,
a creak in the morning while she stretches her legs
a screech as I leave the door,
up before the sun and up before most
still sleeping with dreams caught and seen before,
until your mouth catches steam like that perfect family.
You must be lucky, not me.
and up it comes,
the feeling in my nose and lips,
that only exist in small shifts,
waiting to clock in as I clock out,
a miniature talking giraffe singing your abcs,
one, two, three from the other side of the room,
interrupted only by a complaint of,
“what do you mean it’s no good, aren’t your customers important”
and such and such, well it’s not enough,
“where’s my husband, you see, where are you honey, Steve!”
You must be lucky, not me.
a small note of hope stuffed in the smallest of plastic pinched,
hints of a past that swell up again
that make me think back to last night,
how small I was,
a boy afraid of love,
asking “what’s inside of me”
insecurities of what might be and illusions that I’ve seen.
You must be lucky, not me.
Grown shows for young souls sold every hour,
and a half poured on old shoulders with half smiles still eager,
but no,
not mine,
not me,
it can’t be.
The stampeding of feet moving away from this internal bleeding of teens,
You must be lucky, not me.
Not me, until I’m home again with my twin of kin,
and as she steps out of my mothers room,
I could’ve sworn I’ve only seen her cry a handful of times in my life.
Why, as she sobs into this phone of muted Chinese from our second home,
Why now, and a family is left alone,
just the two brothers, one mother, non existent sisters
But what do I know other than the broken Chinese I pick off the floor
so I don’t step with my feet, bleed
Please, so quickly, he must be free.
Please, so quickly, he’s no longer suffering.
Please, so quickly, he must be free.
You must be lucky, no, no, not me.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
What We Want
What we want
is never simple.
We move among the things
we thought we wanted:
a face, a room, an open book
and these things bear our names--
now they want us.
But what we want appears
in dreams, wearing disguises.
We fall past,
holding out our arms
and in the morning
our arms ache.
We don't remember the dream,
but the dream remembers us.
It is there all day
as an animal is there
under the table,
as the stars are there
even in full sun.
-Linda Pastan
is never simple.
We move among the things
we thought we wanted:
a face, a room, an open book
and these things bear our names--
now they want us.
But what we want appears
in dreams, wearing disguises.
We fall past,
holding out our arms
and in the morning
our arms ache.
We don't remember the dream,
but the dream remembers us.
It is there all day
as an animal is there
under the table,
as the stars are there
even in full sun.
-Linda Pastan
Blue Shade Lamps birthday
10-14-2012
The night before a couple of friends and I were going to throw a surprise dinner for Xaviers birthday but everything fell through due to some unexpected events but all was well because the following night, Amish, Amit and I got together and had a small dinner at my house for Xaviers birthday.
Amish and Amit brought the donuts, and I brought the giant brownie birthday cake and ice cream, a party commenced.
Find the x for Xavier.
But seriously, donuts, ice cream, and brownies, why didn't we think of this sooner? Birthday dinners will never be the same.