t.

I loved the idea of you and hate the reality of you.

letter: re: memories in a box

C: Tonight, I find myself quite drunk (a current character flaw that I reckon you, of all my contemporaries, will find most forgivable) and reminiscing through a box of artifacts--letters, notes, print-out, leaves, pineneedles, poems, pens, maps,--a box of things I could not bare to explore till now (drunk, distant, or otherwise). While smoking a bummed Pall Mall (another character flaw you and the economy will hopefully, forgive), it occurs to me that there is nothing like listening to you play music or enjoying our quite conversations in the dark under a gazebo in the landscape of a Lake we surely both love, "under a sky strewn with stars," as Mark Strand would describe, or in the atmosphere of an anticipated summer storm like the one that marked one of those last nights we all shared.

Stars or storms, I hope that this note finds you well and happy or as near to it as any of us dream.

v.

you would think, by evidential lack of blogging, that i have nothing to say and that nothing is going on in my life. that is only partially true.

somedays

I am unsure whether I am Livor dead. 

the fury

v. is casket at both ends burning. 

restless

v. is sleepy but full of nightmares, still awake, restless for the storms and the end of waiting. 

for what it is

 

I’m becoming a statistic. AquaNet is the glue holding it all together.  I miss listening to MTVJams in the morning, first thing when I wake up.  I look at the coffee pot on the counter and wonder how many days old it is.  I decide to drink it right from the pot. 

 I’ve always been the kind of person who sees the world for what it is rather than what it can be.  Dreamers help balance me out.