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This morning there was sun on my face. I closed my eyes and felt the spring inside of me. I cannot take much more of winter. Yesterday I saw everything and nothing. Like how birds don't really "fly" as we imagine. They glide. Like how "every that rises must converge" does not apply to branches in their twisting toward the sun. Nature always provides just enough space. It is the leaves that are libidinous; they are left with nothing better to do than to linger against one another in the breeze. I miss the leaves on pre-Spring days. On my dresser: Sex and Single Girls; Hers: an Anthology of Lesbian Fiction; Mrs. Dalloway; Collages and two ties. I haven't been eating much or sleeping much lately. But I've been reading and dreaming. I've been sufficiently nourished. And I get such a kick out of the fact that I look better in ties than most men do. Ebb and flow. I am on cycle with the moon this month and I empathize with the ocean. But it also feels nice to be pulled by something outside of myself. And I love fiber optics because the phone brings me the sunshine of your laugh. But there must be a bad connection because you never call. And that is what making music is like for me: the difference between hearing/feeling/tasting and fingering and dialtone. I keep scraps of everything. If only thoughts could be quilted. . How Rude! - Wednesday, Sept. 22, 2004 - 12:16 PM One small step but no giant leap. - Tuesday, Sept. 30, 2003 - 11:17 AM Where's George? - Thursday, Sept. 25, 2003 - 12:48 PM |
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a Nifty design 
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