post one hundred

your words circle my mind like terrorists. . . gunmen heavy at the door and all i see are tears. life or death seem meaningless - i am nonexistent. i am pinned, an angry wasp, entirely guilty in all of my innocence. in this crysalis, i shake in terror that i may rot and wither on the branch. i will never again snap a new bud off of a tree in the spring, now i know the horror of it. why do i quake in the face of the mean wind? how did i lose the source of strength? strength is only true when it is tested, though what is it when it quivers, wavers, fades? cowers. I cower in my innocene...i flake like a diamond...am shredded to my black coal heart. my ego is lost and i do not miss it. i do, however, still possess all of its memories. they torment me. i need to go away and scatter the ashes over an ocean. my biggest fear. .? . . my ego was the writer i wanted to be. now that it is gone, i know me not. i am desireless and want only purity.

it rarely falls so low below zero here. thirty cm of snow dumped on us in the last 48 hours. . .
and as it is usually so mild this time of year, there are still hummingbirds.
my neighbour has set up a light and a feeder for them and they have been zipping in pairs to sip all evening..
it is so beautiful.
will they survive the night?

snow day

"its true"

the sun came out for three minutes this morning

ok. i'm feelin better. but give me a few days and i'm sure i'll come 'round.

how pathetic

the sky is moving. the lights are flickering. the dark has crowded in my mind, seeded little beasts to sprout. The rain pours down in sheets that wind and twist in the wind. happiness is becoming impossible in the face of all of this darkness and trial and boredom. All I want is to be active and to want to work. I know it has to come from me. I have poisoned the well of my own mind and it is clouded in this black spurt of self-loathing. It must be another phase and I dare not shun it or cover it up, as frantic as it makes me. I must allow myself to hate myself for a time, it seems. I miss my ego, which has shattered. A phase, a phase - I move continuous and slow as the moon and her low burning filament. I claw desparately at love, as a bird slams her small sparrow's belly against the glass.

my Xmas card this year

so long

hey there out there. cant complain. so long. tell me how are you feeling? if you're covering the silences than youre not alone. all that weve inherited are the dusty corpses of angels. i dreamed i found a bat at the dead corpse of a tree. it had dried to dust, and crumbled when i held it in my hands. the following message could not be delivered. i pick up the phone but no one answers. we're all connected, but no one will answer the phone. and i wont dial your number. pour yourself another one sweetheart. what is your manifesto? where is your stage presence? why is language so important? love is real. love is real. its the only thing here.