BLOGGER TEMPLATES AND TWITTER BACKGROUNDS

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Well, well welllllllll

What do we have here?
Hope?
Well guess what? I'm not afraid of you. Dance away.

Sunday, February 14, 2010


we heart it


I'm not yours
You're Not Mine
Be My Anti-Valentine


Saturday, February 13, 2010

When It's over


In a second or a day or fifty years from now, it will be over. Choose your own "it." It doesn't matter. The over part is what's interesting.

Peeled and rotten. A moldering book in a second hand bin. Even fame will wash your real self away. So don't struggle to hold on to all that pride and competition. Let it go.

I like walking through ruined cities. To stand in parking lot places where there was once a thriving night club. It brings the hope down to size.

It reminds me that my thrilling today is someone else's asphalt tomorrow.

I like fizzy champagne like Marilyn Monroe. Who was really Norma Jean... who left herself at the door for her moment of wonder, and didn't look back.

Me too.

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Can I be Frank?

Or Mary, or Jane? Or Maryjane?

Anyone but now or here or how.

I don't like sorrow. And it's all I know, and there is no reason really.

Even from the ancient days when I was very young the world made me ache.

Simplicity is my own tragedy. A full moon. A stark bird. A winter sunset. Sorrow in my bones.

Perhaps I am a piece of it and not supposed to be a person at all.

Maybe I'm just missing.

Can I be the leaves and the sun and the moon and the laughing and the squeaking swings?

Can I be many? I don't like one.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

And then...

She died.

And while she died she listened to the world that happened all around her.

And she was glad she'd died. Because the world was just fine and didn't need her after all.

Is anything really necessary? Or are we all just one moment from a passing thought?

She died and was a passing thought.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Bleak and back to black

Freaking dark.
How did I get here?
I can't feel my toes.
I remember flying.
I was special. Just like everyone else.
It doesn't matter now. Anyhow.