Wednesday, May 22, 2002

"No big differences these days,
Just the same old walkaways,
And someday
I'm gonna stay,
But not today."

The album concludes with a short and bittersweet little melody called Walkaways. It's too short, as often goodbyes are...

-----"Walkaways", Counting Crows from the album Recovering The Satellites
"Oh she says, you're changing/But we're always changing/It does not bother me to say this isn't love/Because if you don't want to talk about it then it isn't love"

"When kindness falls like rain it washes me away/And anna begins to change my mind/Every time she sneezes I believe it's love/And oh lord I'm not ready for this sort of thing"

-----"Anna Begins", Counting Crows from the album August And Everything After

About jpoet112
3/23/01 12:18:40 AM Night time. Late march. Hotel room in an away city on some high up floor. Always betrays me back to some she from years ago. Or last week. Or yesterday. Its all the same. Late March, early June, October. Kicking the leaves on a bright blue fall day. Crisp like her lips. Whoever she was. Always coming back to this place. This feeling inside. Desiring. Caught up with longing for the past. But the past wasn’t always good. So maybe I’m caught up with longing for a girl from the past. A warm body and some human touch. We’re all like semi circles. We’ve got heat and energy escaping from our ends. So we’re out there searching for someone to close the circle. Make it whole. And then our energy, our warmth will flow through one another. Alone at night, I think of she. And wonder why I’m so damn emotionally needy. Wonder why it’s a physical tightness in my chest, stomach. Wonder why I have to live from sunny day to sunny day, dying in between, and always hoping to meet someone like she / you / her. Hoping just to hold someone today. Hoping to love someone today. Just longing to share something safe and warm with someone else who needs. I am a child. I’ve spent my life in search of tommorow. Constant expansion of the world. From one city to the next, one highway to another. But in the end, I’m always looking for the safe and warm. Always trying to find my way back to the womb. Find my way back to that dark hotel room with a girl who is holding me in her arms, sustaining me with her warmth, as a mother sustains the child growing within her. Holding me like a mother holds a boy, telling him its ok to cry, that he can cry, and so he cries, having not yet been raped by society’s definition of manhood. Please let me cry. And kiss away the violent tears with the tenderness of lovers. Conjoined bodies, exude heat, melt the flest, sear the lips, blind the soul. Draw the blinds. In the darkness, simply hold. Hold me you we. There is no world that exists outside of the world which we have created in this moment. Hold. In darkness, I see only your eyes you see only my eyes we lay bare. Having stripped away all masks, locked out the world. Now only eyes. Kiss. Kiss and hold. In the morning, if you’re gone, I will not fault you. In the morning, if you’re gone, I will still want you. But you have lives to live and bills to pay and the world kept moving through the night, having not given into such tender sleep as you and I. Night roundes always towards another day. Would you laugh if I were to tell you that I remember you much like a fairly tale? Much as a child pretending that she is Cinderella in a far off land. Alas, the bell for whom it tolls, has struck. And things must be as were before. Yet there remains a memory. Tomorrow’s drink is mixed of pain and hope and yesterday. And if perchance we’d chance to meet in Rome some day, we might speak briefly about the weather, and if time allows, remember some feeling that you / me / we left behind in some hotel room.


Tuesday, May 21, 2002

So lately, been wondering
Who will be there to take my place
When I'm gone you'll need love to light the shadows on your face
If a great wave shall fall and fall upon us all
Then between the sand and stone, could you make it on your own

If I could, then I would,
I'll go wherever you will go
Way up high or down low, I'll go wherever you will go

-----"Wherever You Will Go", The Calling

Wednesday, May 15, 2002

"...I am a work in progress
dressed in the fabric
of a world unfolding,
offering me intricate patterns
of questions,
rhythms that never come clean,
and strengths that you still
haven't seen..."

-----"The Slant", Ani DiFranco
You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we walk in fields of gold

Will you stay with me, will you be my love
Among the fields of barley
We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we lie in fields of gold

-----"Fields of Gold", Sting

Tuesday, May 07, 2002

On one occasion Aung San Suu Kyi said she did not at all like politics and preferred to be a writer. "But once I had committed myself, then there cannot be any half measures," she said.

-----Aung San Suu Kyi, democray fighter in Burma.