I've decided to begin posting things from the random bits of paper and notebooks that swarm about me. I am surrounded by vague thoughts and tiny bits of lines that I write and keep and sometimes even use later in other things. I'm not saying it's worthwhile doing (certainly not saying it's worth your time reading), but it sure demonstrates the workings of my mind. And this whole blog's purpose is a presentation of minds, or mind (as is mostly, & understandably, the case).

It's unfortunate that I can't post the little drawings that often decorate the paper, they're often the better part of the work. You may have noticed that some of this stuff is already cropping up here. This is merely an expansion (and declaration) of a previously implemented policy.

Now (or rather then):

22 September 2003

Besides the practical nuts & bolts economic issues slipping out of control, I feel like my mind is as restless & unsettled as leaves in a windstorm. There's a pretty swirl of color, potential breakthroughs everyday, but instead I feel utterly blocked, confused. Like I've forgotten nearly everything I'e ever known. Lucid thoughts (especially my own) come as shocks!

If only I could write those stories... If only I could write a sonnet...

Trapped in the prison of expectation; wanting to do good, but not knowing what it is; wanting the clarity of belief (the touchstone of all judgement), but unable to work out what it could be... I've spent nights waiting for enlightenment & dull mornings treading meaningless streets certain that somewhere some glimpse of the city would let me understand. Some whole picture would illuminate my entire life...

& then I turn to personal pleasures...



23 September 2003

Their matted hides & reeking breath
oh, the beasts are on the prowl
they take

Bold - but when you hear
"Beast" you think those things
But when you hear:
lithe beast, dancing through dark mindways
you fear the oddest ducks
from morning kiss to great
news about a friend long gone.

Musky beasts
vague beasts lumbering throuh syrupy syrup

sweet money days

& monkey brains

these crates carry baggage from the war
(the inner conflict of right vs. right,
a mincing dialog of moral quibbles,
this is okay when, but only if, & done so)
more often we beat sunny days
w/ the devastation of marked hopes
if only I had dog-days dumber



24 September 2003

I am as One should Be

gather the fruits to plant
a garden

draw the wood buckets from
the well

set peace with peace & take
warning from pain

I am as Be should One



Early November 2003

The mossy graves stand ready
to receive their gifts this day

Tight pants, messy hair
& candles as timeless as the stone