A Random Image

Archive for November, 2001

 
|| November 20, 2001 || 3:17 pm || Comments (0) ||

Reading of Rachel’s delight at being mentioned as a good read on somebody else’s weblog made me smile.

And because I have been remiss, dear Rach, you are just swell. And you’re a little hottie, too. If I swung that way…..well, never mind.

 
|| November 20, 2001 || 2:55 pm || Comments (0) ||

Fall twilight in the midday.

And here is me, listening to “This Years Love” by David Gray, all dead-lipped and thick-tongued, this winter’s impending cold already locked into my marrow. The center of my bones are ice today. Or maybe I am icy-marrowed every day and I simply don’t take notice.

So the periodic sorrow is here, that wailing emptiness and I see strangers looking into me, silently asking me if there is anything they could do. It makes me uncomfortable. I know that it is not like this in other places, so in a strange sort of way it’s a good thing, as well. Good thing or not, there is nothing they can do, and I cannot erase it from my eyes, so I walk with them cast downward or away as I go about my daily business.

Nothing personal, world….I don’t dislike you today, I dislike me.

A long stroll sometimes helps, but I feel like I could walk the soles right off my shoes today and not unseat the ugly inside even one bit. (“I’ve been talking drunken jibberish/Fallin’ in and outta bars/Tryin’ to get some explanation here/’Bout the way way some people are….”)

What will be will be, so come on over –mind you walk softly, so as not to startle– and plant a soft, ginger-sweet kiss on my cheek. I will smile and run the tips of my fingers across that warm place as a thanks to you.

 
|| November 20, 2001 || 2:41 pm || Comments (0) ||

There will be no consolation prize
This time the bone is broken clean
No baptism, no reprise and no sweet taste of victory
All the stars have fallen from the sky
And everything else in between
Satellites have closed their eyes, the moon has gone to sleep

Unloved
Unloved unloved unloved

Here I am inside a hotel
Choking on a million words I said
Cigarettes have burned a hole and dreams are drunk and penniless
Here I am inside my father’s arms
All jagged bone and whisky dry
Whisper to me sweetly now and tell me I will never die

Unloved
Unloved unloved unloved

Here I am an empty hallway
Broken window, rainy night
I am nineteen sixty-two and I am ready for a fight
People crying hallelujah
While the bullet leaves the gun
People falling, falling, falling and I don’t know where they’re falling from

Are they
Unloved
Unloved unloved unloved

Hoping that the kindness will lead us past the blindness
Not another living soul will ever have to feel

Unloved unloved
Unloved unloved
Unloved unloved unloved

// Jann Arden, “Unloved”

(pee ess….Jann has a journal, and it’s pretty good…)

 
|| November 16, 2001 || 11:24 am || Comments (0) ||

can”t…figure….it……out…..

I know that linking each post is prolly impossibly simple, but I have invested two hours into solving the riddle thus far and my head hurts. What the hell am I doing WRONG?

 
|| November 16, 2001 || 3:39 am || Comments (0) ||

You MUST visit Sean. YOU MUST, I SAID.

 
|| November 16, 2001 || 3:18 am || Comments (0) ||

You know that commercial? The one with the singing bellybuttons? The one that made me wanna upchuck the first time I saw it and pray that I never saw it again because it was just so fucking creepy in such a Stephen King sorta way?

WELL NOW, word has it that this fella worked on it. In what capacity, I don’t know. It’s funny for me to imagine that he was in charge of keeping the navels lint-free.

Ohhhhh, the hilarity! My brain keeps locking on the image of some dude running around all day crouched over, clutching a spray bottle and a fist full of Q-tips. *snort*

 
|| November 16, 2001 || 2:59 am || Comments (0) ||

Damn IT….trying to figger out how to link individual posts and now I’m so frustrated that I don’t have the energy to even attempt customizing BlogBack. A pox on it all.