Posted in my life | Tagged cowboy, mechanical bull, texas | 2 Comments »
la vie, elle est le souffle, n’est pas? les cycles lents qui vont dedans et dehors: en respirant, le jour devient la nuit, l’été devient l’hiver, nos vies deviennent les vies des autres, l’amour, la mort. on dit bonjour. on dit au revoir. on dit bonjour à nouveau.
la nature, elle est silencieuse, non? une branche cassée, une tent, une feuille, un canoe perdu, toujours les voix de l’oiseau, aussi perdues dans le vent. il faut l’écouter. toujours à nouveau. toujours à nouveau.
Posted in short shorts | Tagged au revoir, bonjour, français, French, l'amour, la mort, la vie, oiseau | 1 Comment »
I woke up incredibly angry this morning. What was I angry at? Myself. Why? Because last night, I had a vampire dream. I’m not going to tell you about the dream, just that they involved Twilight, and the mere embarrassment of that fact made me utterly angry.
… at myself.
——-
I remember that for the very first six months of my senior thesis, the entirety of the oeuvre was, “…just sittin’ here watchin’ the curser blink.”
——-
I remember the first time I heard about an “asian fusion” restaurant, I couldn’t help but think about siamese twins.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged dreams, elijah, heidi, restaurants, siamese twins, Twilight, writing | 1 Comment »
The morning light seeps in through now, with the time change,
and I get confused when I wake up.
I count them, twelve steps to the bathroom, fourteen more to the tea kettle.
I lose track on the way to the balcony. Good morning sun.
Seen so many places, vast empty spaces, that I adapt to the crickets in the morning.
My own feet on the ground, shifting weight, and I wonder if the air will ever smell like winter here.
Those first chills always came early, summer days moving by fast, and people’d say, “fall’s comin’ on quick this year.”
At night, I play this game; I walk past your house on the way home from work. You’ve been gone but I think of you.
What’s the game? I hum your melodies backwards.
I thought you’d like it.
Because no one brings the guitar now, and no one the bottle of wine to share.
But the kettle rings, the tea steeps, thirteen steps to the dresser drawer, and from there, always far many more than a day should have.
Posted in poetry | Tagged chill, cold, days, ellen, guitar, loss, melody, morning, steps, summer, tea, wake up | 1 Comment »
I told Ellen at a taco place that she needed to chew her ice after she finished her water.
“It’s a tradition,” I said.
“You know how I feel about tradition,” she said. “You keep that shit at home,” and it was one of the more profound things I’d heard in a while.
If only…
——-
As I walked out of my yoga studio today, the guy from the pizza shop next door on his cigarette break said to me today, “Shit man, you do yoga? Are you like all flexible and shit? Can you like, bend over and make fart noises with your mouth on your belly?”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes I can.”
“Awesome man.”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s really awesome.”
——-
I was getting a new phone number assigned to me recently. I told the operator that my brother was a little slow and I needed something easy to remember in case anything came up. My number now: 234.3455.
Sorry bro.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged brother, elijah, ellen, fart, heidi, pizza, taco, tradition, yoga | 1 Comment »
entrance fee: $0
counting days is like
snapping one’s fingers -
every autumn passes like a dream.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged autumn, botanic gardens, gardens | Leave a Comment »
