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Nov 29, 2007

November 29th, 2007

I wonder when the wind will cease blowing. The freezing temperatures these past three mornings have dropped below zero on account of the chill. Though when I look outside this office window, the scenery is full of deceit. A warm sun shines upon overturned earth in the bean field across the street. Almost hard to tell that it is indeed winter out there, if it weren't for the naked trees, almost fully shaken of their foliage.

This coming Sunday one of my closest friends will ride these winds right across the Atlantic. First from Colorado to Maine, then Maine to Germany, Germany to Kuwait, and from Kuwait, Iraq. Cold, cold northern winds blowing at these soldiers' backs.

I think I have an idea why my parents never bought me toy guns as a child. All the other boys in the neighborhood had them. Whenever we'd play some sort of army game I'd have to borrow one of theirs.

But we all turned out ok. My best friend from childhood is trying to land an office job in the NFL. His younger brother is training to be a commercial pilot. Another one of us is a math teacher. Yet another moved to Montana to work on an eco-friendly farm.

Guns, and the results they produce, are no laughing matter. There is something morbid about pretending to shoot someone, even with a fake gun, even with a pointed finger, and I think it was because of the slight possibility that I might like it that my parents forbid me from possessing them.

And now Sam leaves to fight a real war. As a result, he will never be the same. And the hundreds of thousands of dead and maimed soldiers and civilians? What of them? Who will be amongst the mourners at their funerals? Who will be at their bedsides in hospital? Who will be held accountable for blood shed? The President? His men and women? Those who voted to take us this far? None of these people will ever know Sam's face.

And I beg some one to explain why we went to war, that one reason none know anymore.

Nov 28, 2007

Dominions


"Dominions"

Welcome on home weary traveler
You took the less walked road
And you're breathing, still moving
You've come a million miles
Just to be here, just a stranger here
Within this dark dominion of worms.

I nearly lost my mind when I was out there
With just my shadow
And how the streets did shine
Under fluorescent light, we killed the starlight
And how those sirens sound
Of colored violence to be married
Within this dark dominion of worms

Peace it is on my mind
And I hope that I'm on to something
But hope ain't always too kind
Still I hope that we're onto something

Would someone send on down a direction
I'm off the main road
Just keep on resting child, I swear I'm not lost
Know where I'm going
Notice how the streets won't shine
Under this star light,
We lose our shadows
Within this dark dominion of worms

Peace it is on my mind
And I hope that I'm on to something
But hope ain't always too kind
Still I hope that we're onto something

Nov 20, 2007

November 21st, 2007

Three Lies

I lie there
And I think about it

I find myself lying some more
Moving slow
I don't want to go
in case you come

So I lie some more
'Til I must be done
You've missed it

And now I'm
disinterested
in the shadow cast
by your ghost

Nov 12, 2007

November 13th, 2007

I uproot soon.

Finally found a new place to live. It looks as if I'll retire to the countryside earlier than I'd initially imagined. My step-brother and I knew before we'd pulled in the drive that this would be a unique experience should we choose to go through with it: the apartment is on a farm, a good fifteen miles outside of town, closer to work for the both of us.

In the last seven years I've lived in nine different places, each within a twenty-five mile radius of the neighborhood where I grew up. Seems excessive even to me when I put it out there like that. This new stead will be the most remote, carrying the most calm, and the most peace. Away from sirens.

Inspiration for my music, for my words. Inspiration for my soul.

November 12th, 2007

"What's that light? Do you see it?" my step-brother asks. We're driving down the highway, on our way to look at an apartment. I glance out his window, passenger-side, and see a white light in the grey northern skies, pay it little mind. Moments later:

"Where the fuck did it go?" he exclaims. "Oh my God! That light just disappeared." He becomes more frantic. However, his excitement is not contagious. My eyes do not sift though the dull absence of this white light in the gauzy horizon.

The plane must have turned east. After a while the landing light points in our direction once again, and the UFO materializes as an airplane. It's been some time since I've been keen to imagine things as something different than they really are. It is November. The skies indeed bear gloom.

***

Mist clings to my windshield like a linen shirt to the body on a muggy summer's day. I lay in bed while fog envelops the evening. Fatigue prowls in the back door like a panther and I sleep for an hour or two. After rising I dress, and take sit next to her warm body. Kiss her cheek. Run a warm hand down her bare back. She stirs for only a moment.

How I wish it took more effort to be generally unhappy. I wish to tear the heavens in two if for no reason but to reveal that there's nothing behind it all; that this mud surrounding carries the dust of bones broken and buried, disintegrated and dissipated. To rip the sun from the sky if only for relief from the oppressive heat. Or to return the sun to the sky, a beacon light to momentarily chase away the grey. Listen with motionless hands, motionless lips, and let the world reveal itself.

She whispers hoarsely for me to stay safe. I extinguish her bedroom light just before heading out into the thick, damp dark.