hole

maybe you're one of those people with a little hole in your heart, and it has always been there. and your whole life you search. and then one day, when you die, they say: "[ ] had a hole in his heart his whole life. But no one loved love like he did. Isn't it ironic?"

and of course, it won't be ironic at all.

Young animal

Young animal,

you are born naked

for want of man.

believe

I believe that 'believe' is a word that can be used to express whatever it is that is important to you.

I believe in writing credos in pencil.

Core Roots

I have maintained the same core group of friends since sophomore year of high school. Nine years later, I'm interested in growing without them. It's not that they are all that bad, rather, I'm not as much like them as maybe I once was. I've changed, I've grown, and I want to see the people around me also change and grow for the better. Endlessly. This group is static.

As a houseplant grows for years in the same container in which it was born, the roots reach the edge of the plastic confines, turn in on themselves, and begin to form a mass, a 'root ball.' Overtime, the root ball begins to strangle itself, chokes and kills the plant itself.

The group has become a root ball, a clusterfuck of incest and lies, heartbreak and cancer, known secrets and public shames. We know everything about each other; we can predict each others' emotions and goals, successes and failures. The group has become an entity in and of itself . Judging, engorging, lusting, hating, shaming, suspecting, cheating, enabling. It's choking itself. We're choking each other.

I can watch it all happening as if I were in the greenhouse starring into the pot. I'm not so embedded that I cannot take a blade and cut away the roots that are mine, transplant and move on. And so I will.

Story starts.. ideas in my head, inspired by my day.

-It's almost perfectly natural that the young funeral director would step outside the front door of the funeral home to fetch the morning's news at the exact moment the fire trucks and ambulances, all lights and sound, raced north past her on Main St.

"The first time I stopped by, I met another woman here..."

"Yes, a woman about my age?"

"Yes, she was lovely."

"Ah, yes, that'd be Jane. A wonderful woman. I was good friends with her husband. He died, oh, 5, 6 years ago now... we've been taking care of her ever since."

reminders (to live) from PostSecret

sensation & season

As the seasons begin to make their change, is it noticed first in the light or in the air?

I am one to see it first in the air. Perhaps one day, I will feel the change in the light.