memory of fingertips brushing my cheek
like a wind blown across a desert

memory of lips pressed against mine
like a luscious mango on my mouth

memory of heat lying next to me
like the sun's rays on my skin

just a memory

I remember studying the lines in your hair
when you rested your head on my chest

I remember how you smelled
I remember how you laughed
I remember what you said

I can't forget
how could I forget?

just a memory
but it's a memory 
that won't go away


If our lives were books
And we each wrote our own chapters
To tell 
the story 
of our love

How would you portray me?

How would you say we met?

What details would you share 
With our readers?

Would you tell them how you felt 
When we kissed...?

Or maybe you would rather not 
Tell the tale
Maybe I would be a footnote
A reference in the bibliography
That no one

Now that the story's over...
How will you tell it?

Oh be kind, love, be kind
I'm not using any words
In my book

It only has one page
And it only has your picture
And a few little tear stains
On the edge...


I'm a historian
And this, my latest chapter
On the long, bloody war
It's my job to tally the dead
To make record of the loss

This one
Just another body on the battlefield
And my face is on each corpse
Some look surprised
All of them died in agony

I say that I'm a historian
But really, I know no one will 
Read my works
For, as they say,
The winners write the histories
And that surely is not me.


Ice slowly melting
And my lips upon your lips
Spring hopes eternal


There is not a doubt in my mind - I know that it's love.  I know
because every time I think of her, I feel an incredible strength enter
me.  Just knowing that she is in the world makes me feel utterly rich
and totally alive.

I want to write the story of our love across the entire sky in
impossibly high letters of fire.  I would turn the universe into a
love letter and fill it with the visions of beauty I see in her, and
let it stand for all time as a testament of devotion.

I cannot help but adore her.  I want to fall into her gaze, dive
inside her and nestle myself at the center of her soul... for it is
the center of all things.  I know this with all my heart.


loving you
is like gazing at the moon
caught by your beauty
you seem so far away

love and fear
they're always so near
like agony
and ecstasy
such terror and such awe
I never knew

only with you

loving you
is like staring at the sun
blinded by your kindness
you warm me with a tender touch

I know why they call it
falling in love
we've climbed so high
that I'm afraid to look down

what can I do

I'm so in love with you


bitter and sweet

like the deepest darkest chocolate
black and hard and crumbly when I chew it

like the inside and outside of an orange
biting through the peel and the fruit all at once

my love is so bitter and so sweet

like smiling through the tears in my eyes
the bitter sweet salty tears


in the morning's early light
there is no color
but your eyes are shining bright
in black and white
in black and white

in the morning's frigid clutch
there is no comfort
but your caress warms me so much
I love your touch
I love your touch

was it a dream I had?
or was it really real?
it's only been some hours
but it seems like oh so long ago

in the morning's reminisce
there was no time
from your lips a tender kiss
sweet parting bliss
sweet parting bliss


Black asphalt parched white by salt and cold
Rolling road wobbles beneath
And the empty sky stretches overhead
Is there anything lonelier than an open road?
A road alone
Never turning, ever reaching for horizon's end
Twists and curves you didn't expect
All the landmarks look the same
What did that sign say?
I wonder how far I can go
Before the road ends...


like night, the color of your hair
satin black with a sheen of moonlight
that danced upon the waves

I would dip my hands into that pool
and stir the waters with my fingertips
and make my own waves

but I cannot grasp this
I cannot reach for this
it slips through my fingers

will it always be this way?

will it?


Some time ago, I heard an interview with one of the first patients to
receive the AbioCor artificial heart on the radio.  When asked "how do
you feel?", the man made an observation that has stuck with me in the
time since, something that keeps bubbling up to the surface of my
thoughts and tends to freak me out a little.  It was a simply logical
thing to say, and it was a purely innocent comment, but the
implications of it continue to make me feel strange sometimes.

What it boils down to: having your heart replaced means no longer
having a pulse.  Now, if you took your fingers right now and put them
on your neck or wrist, you'd feel the thrumming of the blood moving
through your body.  If you did something strenuous, you'd feel your
body compensating; your heart would pound.  If you sat perfectly still
and contemplated the presence of your body, you might feel throbbing
at your fingertips or hear the ocean of rushing blood in your ears.
If you placed your head on your lover's chest, you would be able to
feel his or her heartbeat.  In your most intimate moments pulsing may
be the only thing you can feel...

Imagine now that instead of those sensations, all you had was a
constant, low-level whirring inside you.  A pump sits in the center of
your torso and pushes your blood around at a constant rate.  Your life
is controlled by a machine, moreso like the tick of a clock than the
will of a tide.

Some days it feels like this is a perfect description of my emotional
life right now.  Instead of having a pulse, I now only have a whirring.

How do I feel?

Flat.  Empty.  Bored.  Neutral.  Unsatisfied.  Grey.  Lonely.

And tired.


It occurs to me that all I've ever wanted is to be able to look into
someone's eyes, tell them all is right with the world, and have them
believe me. 


Some days the floor just falls right out from under you. One minute
you feel fine, maybe even better than fine, and then BAM, you're
done. Suddenly you're rehashing the past or wishing for a better
present or pining for a future that isn't likely to happen. You
thought you were doing okay, but now it looks like you weren't.

What can you do when you're faced with the bleak truth of your
existence? You're alone. You're unwanted. Your subscription to the
online matchmaking service is nearly expired, after a year of
unsuccessful non-dating. Stupid TV shows make you all weepy with their
melodrama, and you actually RELISH that because at least you've got an
outlet for your emotions.

Almost all of your friends have somebody - why don't you?

Nothing cuts you deeper than your own doubt. What if you aren't good
enough for anybody? Now poison the edge of that blade with lingering
fears of mortality. Will you die alone? Then you let that wound fester
and you start to wonder how long you can go on like this.

You know that life is worth living. There are still plenty of other
things to experience and accomplish. Better to have loved and lost?
Maybe if you had never loved you wouldn't know how much better those
experiences and accomplishments can be when you can share them with
someone that loves you.

One thing missing. Just one thing, at once the most important and yet
the easiest to do and the hardest thing to hold onto. Just love.

That's all.


leaves are now falling
soon we will enter winter
much too long 'til Spring


Grey is the color of loneliness. Grey, because the world becomes flat
and colorless when you are by yourself. Everything is blurred together
into a single day, a single place, a featureless expanse of
nothingness. Barren, like your heart is barren. Empty, like your soul
is empty. 

No ups or downs. No worries or hopes. It is simply existence, existing
simply. It is not death, not the blackness of oblivion; but it is the
anti-life, for nothing is still something you can have. And that is
what I have.



To be in love would be like rescue from an untimely and undeserved
end. There is nothing worse than the absolute desolation of misery and
doubt, no fouler hell than the desperate constructions of a lonely
mind. All I can do is call to her; escape can only come when she
acknowledges me, sees through the bars, and hands me the key.

I pray that I will never get used to being alone, for that too would
be a sad little death. I can picture myself a dusty old thing, sitting
in a dusty forgotten corner, thinking dusty worn thoughts. Surrounded
by the objects I confer my love to - or perhaps by pets (cats, I
think) who become my surrogates. What kind of life can you live by
yourself? Who dares to face the rest of their days with no one beside

I have loved before. I know what I have lost.

The idea of loving again keeps me breathing. Hope lives somewhere
inside me, hidden too well sometimes. But she is a fragile thing. She
ventures out rarely, for fear of being crushed accidentally... or
intentionally, god forbid. She bears many scars, having been injured
so frequently in recent times, not realizing they "were totally clear"
about their feelings (they all seem to think that, true or not).

It's so hard to keep trying when it's plain they don't want me as I
am. I know there must be someone who can appreciate me, some one in a
million. That's what they all keep saying anyways. "Someone will be
lucky to have you." That someone must not be too lucky, considering
she hasn't found me yet.

My kingdom for a horse. Pathos is so unbecoming.

It is such a simple desire, the desire to love. I want my soul to melt
in my love's mouth like chocolate. To utterly dissolve into a blissful
liquidity, and spread warmly through her like the sun bathing the world
in life-giving rays of love and peace. Love would be everything to me.

All I want is everything.


flat on my back
  eyes to the skies
    stars in my head
  fall off the world
into the inky night


Do you ever consider why that certain song moves you that certain way?
Or why the light shines from that window at just the right angle at
that particular time of day?  Have you ever looked up at the sky?

Is it any wonder that there is love in the world?



in a whisper of your breath
I heard the truth

in a quiet corner, all alone
I tasted bittersweetsalty tears

beneath the curtain of night
I felt your gaze upon my back

in a moment of ecstasy
I saw myself in you


the crystalline trees
sway back and forth in the wind
their branches break off


glittering snowflakes
trapped in the glowing streetlight
suspended in air


I see it coming
from the corner of my eye
horizon of spring  


A heart breaking feels
like an emptiness inside
so full of nothing 


trees are fat with snow
dizzy, giddy little flakes
that drift slowly down



they are grey and lonely places
the cold spaces of my heart
dank and dim, small and tight
empty holes, split apart

I can't live in them any more

I need to fan the embers 
that hide deep inside
stoke the coals, stir the ashes
to burn and yearn

I can't find the way myself

confused and frustrated
betrayed by self-doubt
spinning my wheels, digging my heels
pain within, sorrow without

I can't

I can't have what I need most



The waves pound the shore, the crashing surf spills onto the sand, and
the horizon stretches out into infinity.  Sunset again, and this time
the clouds spread out across the sky in an explosive pattern of violet
and crimson.  I'm sitting on a dune overlooking everything.  Tall
grasses sway at the urging of a stiff and salty ocean breeze.

I have to clutch myself a little more tightly.  The feeling of
smallness is always overpowering when witnessing the majesty of an
ocean.  Even more so when the sun leaves us to slip again into its
cold embrace.  Another day, another dollar... another step closer to
the inevitable.

Where did the time go?  Did I accomplish anything?  What did I learn
today?  There are always more questions than answers.

With more than a little sadness, I bid farewell to this time, and
promise that I will remember fondly the colors and the beauty revealed
to me at the end of the day, and that I will not think too often about
the small miseries encountered before then.

So one day ends... and soon, another will begin.

The sun sinks ever so gently into the sea.



"Where the hell did my life go?"

Wherever you left it.  If you lost it, you have to go out and find it.
When you do find it, all you have to do is pick it up again.

You might think this sounds way too simple and too trite, but it's the
god's honest truth.  You just have to get out and live your life.  Get
a new guitar, get a new trombone and start playing again.

I reconnected with everything I thought I lost over the last few
years.  I've been trying new things and meeting new people.  I go out
with friends almost every night, every chance I get.  I changed the
direction my life was going in, changed my diet and lost weight,
changed my perspective and found myself.

The secret of life is to live it.  There is nothing stopping you from
doing so except yourself.



I'm overwhelmed by the beauty of promised renewal.  The world is
returning... the treetops are slowly blossoming with color, as if
someone were turning up the dial on a black and white tv picture.
Greens and reds and yellows replace the stark monochrome of the last
six months.

The air is fresh, almost ripe with the richness of earth and rain.
Winds blow with awesome strength, and cast dead branches down to the
ground.  Fat and cold raindrops fall into the large puddles that the
soil can't gulp down fast enough.

I wish I could share everything I'm feeling with everyone better than
these words can express... but I don't think it's possible.



i can't read these letters
the words pick at my soul
time is no salve for me
the wounds they will not heal

please have mercy on me
i need your amnesty
i have no place to turn
i have nothing left to burn

the world is cold and still
and the tears are slowly freezing

i am tied down
i have no breath
this is a battleground
there is no purpose yet

deep inside i feel the fire
scorch me raw from within
where is the gentle beauty
why can i no longer rest

i can't stop moving
i am not in control
the past is dead and gone
god help me end this pain

the world is burning turning
hot tears run down my cheeks

take a good long look

i'm better off

but i'll never be better



it's only words and memories

a little bit of everything

a soul and a soul

what's left to hold?

hearts and swords


the past is a measure of the future

the past is nothing


cups and coins

where can i go?


into the everything

it's only memories and words



the memory of you
is all i have left

a whisper of your voice
ghostly fingers, cold breath
i stroke the air as though you were there
trying to remember your shape

it is all i have left
and it is everything to me

i find you in dreams
lips that kissed softly
eyes closed gently
skin on skin, your body pressed close to mine

a memory of love
i wish it were enough...



endings, beginnings
memories in the middle
it's snowing again...



There is a world of dreams that exists just beyond my reach.

Fragments of hope drift slowly down to me from a sky full of infinite
possibility.  Most of them pass me by, most of them fall away to
whatever dark place dreams settle into.  Once in a very long while, I
manage to snatch one as it flutters past - and I wake with a small
memory of that world so far away from what is real.

It may be for the best that I don't remember all of my dreams.  I am
forced to appreciate the meager bits I am able to scrounge, I must
make feasts of bread crumbs.  It is sometimes easier to do this than
it seems.  Sometimes the dreams are like sweet chocolates, and I melt
them slowly in my mouth, trying to savor them as long as I can.

But then there are the dreams of things that can never be - those are
the bitterest pills.  Yet I cannot stop them; and they are the ones I
catch most often.  There is no way to describe the taste of regret.

We are cruelest to ourselves, those who dare to dream...



A subtle kind of light lingers quietly in the angle between the
ceiling and the wall, half-shadow and hazy like a corner of my mind.
There are no edges; there are only transitions between darkness and
brightness, between conscious and unconscious.

Merciful sleep will not come to me, tired as I am.  There is no peace
in this fitful slumber, there is no hiding from myself.  The clock
taunts me again and again, displaying unreasonable numbers when I
start awake and look at it.

Am I asking for too much?  I suppose that's too much to ask as well.
I would give anything for a night of rest.  A return to peace.
I would unmake the world and rebuild it, if I only knew how.

I can't change the past.  I can't make anything right.  I can't stay
where I am, and I can't go forward.  So many things I can't do, and so
few things I can...

I can feel myself dissolving inside... a little bit more goes away
every day.  How long until there's nothing left, I wonder?  I wonder...



The world looks more real in the rain.

I don't know why.  I'm sure it has something to do with the way light
is filtered down through the clouds; or maybe it's because the
raindrops change the character of the air; or maybe when the sky is
grey, your surroundings stand out in relief... the reasons don't
really matter.

When it's raining, you can see more clearly.  Colors pop out
(especially today, especially in the Fall, leaves and autumn colors
drop out of the sky), and shapes and lines gain more definition.  The
earth smells rich and alive, and everything is a lot more beautiful,
in general.

This would all be fine and dandy if the rain wasn't so goddamn
depressing.  If it rains too much or for too long, it begins to eat
away at your soul.  And it can become very harsh - and very, very cold.

When the sun is in the sky, everything washes out - there's too much
sunlight, too much brightness.  And yet, this is the normal condition
of the world; overwhelming light that softens the edges of the world,
and hides the true nature of the things around us.  Sure, it's warm
and inviting when the sun is out; you get comfortable, but you forget
what the world really looks like.

So tell me... what's better?  Is it better to have the rain and live
in the world as it truly is, or is it better to have the sun and live
in a less real world?


A lot of folks have mentioned publicly and in email that they don't
think rain is depressing - I tend to agree.  Rain is very beneficial
95% of the time, and is very necessary and rejuvenating and all that.

The metaphor above refers to consistent rain.  I don't find sporadic
or even closely periodic rainfall depressing... but if it rained every
day for a month, or for several months, I'd be very adversely

I've just been thinking a lot today about how closely related rain and
truth are.  They both reveal.  They both cleanse (sometimes harshly).
And large doses of both can be very depressing.



One can find his or her mortality in the least likely place.

I'm reading _Hyperspace_ by Michio Kaku, a layperson's book on
Kaluza-Klein theory (or superstring theory), which talks about higher
dimensions of space and time.  Stuff that sounds like science fiction,
but physicists are finding more and more that wormholes and time
travel and hyperspace are really more fact than fiction.

Anyway, one of the themes the author keeps talking about is the death
of the universe, and how it *may* be possible to escape the death of
the universe through hyperspace, escaping into the higher, six
dimensional universe in the final moments of the Big Crunch.

And I think, in inimitable Keanu-Reeves-style epiphany, "Whoa.  The
universe is going to die someday.  It might be inescapable.  Bummer."

But then I get sober and realize, hell, it's not like I'll ever get
that far anyway.  And the angst kicks in...

Stupid science.  Og want ignorance.


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