jet planes in march

for any man who needed rest
where for soothing solace did he seek?

he desired not to stare among the stars
for he left them to console the starmaker

instead he selected from the stars a
pattern, and journeyed to the starmaker
to request for it a name

along his journey to the starmaker
the stars changed, and so it seemed
his solace would never find him

but the starmaker had a secret:
as sewer of the stars, so had he sewn
each man, and as sewer of stars
and of men, his consolation was not the stars
nor was it man

the starmaker needed no console
for he had given consolation to the stars
and from the stars man had received the starmaker's inheritance

the choice was given to man:
choose from among every star just one pattern
and give it your name freely
that you may find your console

for the weary man who finds himself
among the changing stars
searching for his solace
consider that the starmaker made these stars
so that they may be your solace,
their names you will already know
if the solace you find among the stars
was solace meant for you

Magnitude 88

under the weight of a snowflake
the earth's shadow glides down among
sails glowing green

dreamers sing songs for traveling mercies
and crews cast off, riding up, into, and above
the shadow so bright

as the last snowflake lands on the darkest night, so lands
the sun's tide upon the earth's darkest faces
in a crash neon light fills and consumes
man ever more

Decked

Time goes by so. The substances of my life are clear, removed.

Tonight is the peak of the Geminids, it's freezing rain under neon pink skies. Sat in the pews at church today, indulged in many blank moments. Was tapped on the shoulder by a leak in the roof. Read an article on film in a 2006 journal which referenced Ararat.

Dad visited for Thanksgiving, it was pretty bitter. We're all a little sick in our own little ways, disappointed in life's many twisted facets. I worry a little about my effect on my brother. Though perhaps it can't be helped.

Haven't talked to Chelsea or Erika in a while. I don't think they cared to stay friends with each other, and maybe it's the same way now with me. Mike seems to linger in an awkward stage in life, one of pitiable denial. Garrett lays an abandoned wall of silence. Who else was there.

Nature's Design

I've been to Cleveland and back. Again. I hope this is one of the last times.

October left all in one day; without warning, no moment for pause. A wind came and took every leaf off of the trees, and into corners of yards, gates, and houses.

I've seen a sobering perspective grow since I had to leave for Cleveland. I was racked with anxiety over my dad - his failures, his life-style, his health. It's been neurotic.

Maybe it is because the last week has been straight-grey from rise to rest, but my nerves have been twisting through the rafters. Maybe it is because I am crawling in circles away from cigarettes. Maybe it is because I do not exercise enough self-control.

But as was a case in the past, maybe it's because I am alien.

I was on a trip recently and saw something new - or rather noticed something lacking - boundaries. I saw perceived boundaries dissolve, saw nature's driving force not as components of the system, but the system itself. We are no more driven in live than a rock is driven to exist. It's inherent in nature's design.

Written into Lawl

A very good October it's been. Can't really say too much, except it's been very easy going, the fall colors blend well while life's complexions smooth into something I can see for the first time. Buddha someone wisely said something, which expresses this better than I might. Psych's brought new perspectives to feelings I've always repressed. Compulsions and desires slightly revealed. How pleasant, to feel. Sam-E as well has been really helpful. 5-htp, sam-E, and fish oil are about all I require these days. It's been... rejouvanating.

Renewed my license today, some states really blow when it comes to motor vehicle regulations. It's been a beautiful and clear past two days, an shallow ocean bathed in the warmth of fall foliage. Ironically, no pictures to beat.

Not really many photos taken, not really many words written. But it's been a time of contemplation not production.

There's a good chance I'm taking a train out to Cleveland next week, my expectations don't exist at the moment. Perhaps it'll be best not to think too much about it, rather just work with what may come.

Aint talked to Garrett this month, should give Chelsea a call. Saw Erica and Alex. Lawl. What to do, what to say, time to sleep.

october forever

Not in Yardley anymore. Maybe a little hypomanic, but I'm not sure if you can only be a little. It's weird, to feel good. Never really remember feeling so... it's not bad, but it's almost jittery. I feel hot and cold at the same time, but my mind... it doesn't cling, it isn't the neurotic I remember. It's, like opening a can of fresh memories. Fresh colors. Or maybe Yardley is just too close to Jersey.

Garrett's off to school, I have only seen a few people. Chelsea called, I haven't called her back yet. I need to. I'd like to talk to her. I miss Marilyn and Tiffany. I noticed most of my friends have birthdays in October. Funny things.

I received a great gift in the mail today, but I'm not sure how to weigh it's potential. We'll see.

page no longer blank
clarinet in the corner, orchid on the chair
heavy sighs are let out, pancake's apathetic soul
lays next to mine

a wrinkled peace flag stuffed against the wall behind a lamp
nobody outside; it's suddenly october

the school bus drives past your teetering consciousness
but you may lay soundly, you high school graduate you
you college drop out you


flinches from pancake's sleeping body meet
my dry hands as they wobble
not at will above
the keyboard
weak from so many
words, never put down

pat walks out, it's october forever
again

feeling ill in my bowels from too many cigarettes
not really any food
just a shot of liquor
dusty dreams, long ago pawned
placed back into the store window, and stared at
longingly

as if a dream not lived is any different
than those impossible ones

12 bucks cash, laments a kid homeless at will
no children, smiles the dead alley bum
the soldiers spit and the lawyers point at it
the doctor heals it, greenpeace recycles it

to feel so filled with such a thin liquid
tense realizations followed by loose hands
maybe not

maybe that's what human feels like

i can't anticipate the next eight hours
what faces will bring to my spirit
to awake and be alone in thoughts
and alone
from the things which extend from me

i breath the sighs and cries of the weary travellers
falling upon the cold station concrete
it'll be not so easy to gauge what i really admire
when my body is never all together

your index and thumb squeezed to your lips
such abandonment saw time very still
it's the end of july in october, baby boy
time to remember yourself so enamoured in february's scarlett fingers
and to sit upon it's molted memory till nothing,
less than ash, lingers on

it's the end of july now, today is
october forever

blessings

Back to a blanket on a grassy little knoll in a park approaching sunset, there's a kid's running club and three mushrooms watching me. The sunlight rapidly warms your body, the shade cools you down quickly. I am laying in and intersecting the light and the shadows, breaking the thin boundaries between.

Deneice confronted me again today in her passive agressive way. Told me Cheryl was ready to move out of the Yardley household because of all the drinking and drugs. Not only have I not gotten drunk since my birthday, but Deneice is equating the hookah to drug use. I feel I've met a fully matured case of neuroticism. And it takes one to know one, or at least takes living with one to recognize one. Little does she know Cheryl will probably leave because of her, long before she'll leave because of drinking and drugs.

Air is a funny girl. Very much a girl, and above all so young in the heart, but immature in the soul. And all of this frustrates me, gets to the thin parts below my skin. What could I ever say? I don't understand what I feel, but it's some sort of jealousy. Envy of an innocent strength, immaculate freedom. To have emotions projected with only the guilt of innocence, the shame of freedom.

And there is a disconnect. I want to do things with her, but she says she can't be around people living at her house. I was given fair warning, but unless it's liquors or errands I somehow become involved in she could be less interested. Fair warnings or not, I wish there were better reasoning behind it - but people, women above all, are far from bound by such a quizzical human desire. But let it be, there are many fish in the sea, though rarely have I glimpsed such creatures.
As one fish, however, all I can do is perceive. Eat or perceive; in an ocean of fish all the same there is not much else to do but sink, swim, or suffocate.

My dad's business is in another trough on it's tumble down. That much has already been known. I have a $275 drinking in public fine I have now ignored for three weeks. It's warrant time. I've been trying hard to forget: this entry is all the proof needed.

Have run out of all supplements except for piracetam, aniracetam, fish oil, and choline. I haven't taken any of these for several days now. I think I was feeling better, perhaps it was the SAMe. But the mood for this month has certainly been making a belly dive. My outlook is not really hopeful, more passive and acrobatic - I am juggling a few sober options, my only options. Stay here and see where this road goes, see what triumph and defeat will reveal to me. Go home in January and go to community college. Go home and still be a basket case. I don't see any other lands for me.

Still haven't been able to write worth shit, draw anything worth while, photograph anything pleasing. I have just been letting things come into me, closing whatever creative gates which weren't rusted close before. Only music has been left open, in and out.

under a quilt of cloud furs
shifting and breathing
who could stand in her lands
where the woven grass trembles

who could stand to listen
to the buttons squeezed through the holes
of the rumpled sweater she wears
to work with a smile, a heart all the while

and you would rather file your nails
to a neurotic rythm of dials
be teased by glory, epitome
enlightened, tightened around her wrist, all hers

a dizzying cycle into the horizon
drawn in the scratch of a child's crayon
it's a bliss and ignorance sewn into beauty
blessed and wretched in the presence of hazy glory

what's hers will be hers
loving and being
who could know their way through her hands
heroines' tales will tell to be fables