here/there

between the fingers

crashing into the places

that are most virgin

white and pure, quiet

nothing is heard around me

not the cry of those

who might not see it

all they might hear is bloody

and rare and broken

silence here and there

echoes of the dark affaires

the world breaks apart

"you think it's tough now,"

"well come to Africa," now

drums unheard through pine

Sea Wolf

An inspiration of sorts. 

www.myspace.com/seawolf

The other day

I want to start a band.

Not like... that kind of band that plays places. But, the kind that is actually good for a while. I'm beginning to think that I haven't got much talent. Ok, yeah. I know I have a little, but I think it might be more represented by the help of a band. I don't care if we play somewhere. It might be fun. In front of people and all. I'm not sure what I want though. I need someone to tell me that "hey, we should start a really great band and make a lot of money."

Actually, someone did tell me that the other day. 

Never mind.

What we gonna do now?

my body aches and i feel it in all sides
from my ears to my back i've been attacked
there's not room left for good
or maybe the good i can let in
because i haven't

my soul whimpers with the mention of more
where does it end, i want to know
if every person is invaluable
then why can i not put a face to the name?

hunger replaces sadness replaces guilt replaces insignificance

i tried the whole "Satan does not rule over me," spill
and i feel hands grip my throat
where is my faith in resurrection?
there is not blood around me
but there is suffering

not much more i can say to myself
like lauren "what we gonna say now?"
nothing,
i need this.

you make everything glorious

The day is grim and a full side cloudy. Chilly wind whips around the houses here and I sit watching the neighborhood through my warm-side windowpanes. It's November 6th, my birthday, the day when you should celebrate with your friends. And...I am alone, and could not be more satisfied.

Since moving to 78757, life has gotten easier to avoid. School is hard, so I don't pay much attention to it. Weather is nice and so I bask in it. Reading and music making have become my only true solaces...places where I am alone. I can't understand a place where I have to impress anyone but myself. I went to a party the other day. One where all my friends got up in the midst of conversation and danced their hearts out. And, other than the short, 4 minute respite of dance, I was eh bored.

I think I struggle with fellowship. I don't want to share my feelings, because I feel like my feelings impart some sort of weight on the listeners shoulders. Why would I want to do that to people? I really don't care much to hear about everyday problems, to be honest. If it's not worth writing about before you tell me about it, being a loner, it's not worth me hearing about it.

Lost in the wonderland that Alice creates has, after 24 pages, made me more excited about fiction than fact. It's election day, and I am not voting...again. I have class right now...but I'm not going. And, something irrelevant to stories already introduced, for the sake of "news value," there is still a war going on in Iraq. It sort-of feels like America has forgotten. My interest lies in when it will really be over. How many of my friends will die fighting in a war that no one remembers?

Thanks to the Austin American Statesman, I know more about the Animal Shelter relocation than how far away we are from getting out of Iraq. The comparison of the importance of animal and human lives being risked is being weighed every day the paper chooses to write stories about dogs and their new homes. I care about dogs, but, I care more about my friend who fought in Iraq, was injured after one year, and now America thanks him by allowing him to push papers behind a military desk.

I want to know what's really important. Is Lewis Carroll more important than a story about an injured soldier in Iraq? Do cats and dogs really care where they go when they've been lost? I don't think so. I think that the avoidance of the entire topic all together is important. I'm not sure anyone even cares what's important anymore.

On a personal note, I think my relationship with God is important. But, what does that mean, anyway?

F. Scott

So when you haven't blogged for a while, what is there to write about?

Maybe about how all I really want to do is read some F. Scott.

If Fitzgerald were alive, sitting with me in this study/coffee shop in which I've neither studied nor coffeed tonight, what would we talk about?

I think I may talk to him about how good looking he is. I mean, it may be surprising to me how good he looks to be an author. I see him looking like Gatsby might have looked himself. I picture him, sitting across from me with his legs crossed, scratching his beard, and saying, "what do you enjoy most about my books?"

We might talk about what kind of music he listens to. I think he may be fan of Jazz and a closet listener of Ryan Adams, although, Adams may be too abrasive for his literary mind/ears.

Why did you not write any other novels, I would say.

Why do I need to when I've done such a great job once. What if I screw it up next time?
----------------

Otherwise, I want send a shoutoutloud to my friends in Montgomery County. Or, "The Mo." As I like to call it. I want to go home soon, just to check in on all the lives being lived. I have this one friend who is an amazing man of God. I don't think he knows how much he impacts the lives of people around him. He has this beard thing. I think it makes him wiser. Live Abraham, and Jesus.

Also, my love back at College Park HS. She does not eat meat.

So. ACL. Time of times.

I think that lately, things in my world have been busy and boring.

That's an update.