who we are, who we really are, is outside of time

"if time is the diamond
well alright
well alright"

we are in search of a satellite
to move us beyond
all (that) has been profaned
death is at our fingertips
we touch & fall
skinned knees
you have been a prophet
we all have
in the recesses of minds that would not draw forth words
any more than a statue could bring forth tears
it is outside intervention that is both the cause and the resolution
of our desperation

dear jesus i am not ready i am not ready

oh for a moment of peace..

there is inside of me
a kind of glass menagerie
& with all my careful dress
i am transparent less & less

the lamb & lover in my eyes
are hidden with clever (foolish) disguise

some days my eyes will not move enough. is it laziness or fear?

deep down, i still love what ive been trying to hate.

stairways sometimes make me dizzy.

catastrophes are averted daily.

the lucky [9.9.02]

we are made of blocks stacked together
hearts formed with origami
built up further
to unexpected heights
(days of fear
nights of unrest
circled with the impending disaster
upon falling earthward)
carefully constructed
purpose and beauty kept in clear view
aesthetics held in place
with plans of famous movements
heart folded up inside
bending its edges
but keeping its shape
we who were fed in childhood
take what we were given
and now hope to name it ourselves
we try to walk
to walk
to walk
to walk alone
is more dreadful
than expected
(again we offer anonymity
in exchange for candor)
so we the lucky
step together
in search of mirrors
(when found we analyse & scrutinise & paralyse)
attempting independence
shifting shape
forgetting the architect
and crediting the framework
to ourselves

9.11.02 [this is a prayer..]

you were behind the brilliant speeches that now lie underwater
where is your hand?
raise it up, show a scar or two
i am empty
self-propelled
(is it that distant now?)
god reveal yourself
i feel i am only pounding on stone
carved with images of saints
blocks removed for those who have fallen
this is desperation or resignation
reveal reveal reveal
[[do not put the lord your god to the test]]
...what now?

we dance together facelessly
until he speaks
and my eyes are made to focus again

my heart is made of origami
it threatens to come apart
the edges are bent
yet the center still holds its shape

i sometimes wonder whether i would make a good architect.

stretch me
stretch me across the operating table
reach underneath my skin
there are unnamed colors waiting for discovery
questions written across the elements that keep me alive
doctors in masks
eyes still visible
they will reach with a scalpel
they will reach for a photograph
they will pin up charts and predictions
and talk about them over coffee

reasons to be beautiful
(there are more than what we had first thought up in school days
with dresses and colors and matchbooks and lipstick)
there are the ways the light moves from your face into my lungs
and when i breathe something of you spills back into the air
ready to be taken in again

the sick and the sick and the sick
we are all still ill
using broken limbs to build hospitals

sometimes it is hard for us to believe.

still to continue
[inside of whales it becomes
difficult to get a view of what surrounds the days
and nights
the passing of time becomes
a matter of subjectivity
developing tastes for the form of beauty that intensifies
in the dark]
remembering how it feels the moment afterwards
[memory being a loose concept
nailed to the wall only as
an afterthought
something asymmetrical and
flawed]
we jump from ships into something less certain.

complete
incomplete
he finds me throwing ideas
outside windows
forgetting whether the screens are up
and if ive swept the porch or not

sandpaper on sandpaper
quiet aside from breathing
and a sigh

i have waited to touch your face with my hand
my skin is rough
yours rougher still
we meet like sandpaper

begin at the beginning.

[this means to be brave.]

messy messy. i did not ever remember to be this sloppy with a word or phrase or idea until i forgot that trying too hard leaves you inside of a skin that stretches too tightly and must eventually fall apart.
i am exposed again.

if A gets you to point B, what is it that we call the increments of letters in between? can they form together to make up words of their own? i feel that i am perpetually in a space where i am putting together pieces of letters (it takes all of my time) into words halfway in between the words that are counted.

do you remember how we used to fall apart together?

(i had expected you to forget.)

'it is an age old problem,' you say.

that doesnt mean that it isnt new to me.

i woke to find you stitching my wounds with your words.

i will keep quiet by remembering your words.

the lust of the eyes
the lust of the flesh
and the pride of life.

why cant we be perfect?
we move to a melody we hadnt ever written down
but it turns around inside of our minds and makes shadows come up from underneath our eyelids
when they blink like a flash of genius
a stroke of brilliance
youve got your eyes on mine
we arent moving
til the shotgun fires

you make it so beautiful
and effortless
that i will only keep my mouth half-closed.
yours is half-open.

you are nothing and everything of what i want and need

we are perfectly ruined.

[something old that i recently found]

she shouldve been unsettled first when she paid more attention to her departures than she did to her arrivals
come on - give me a goodbye - a real one, like you mean it - the way you should
oh lets hold on to any evidence of tragedy
what is this?
build an image...
the difficulties push thoughts around more quickly than she can wait or understand
the problems arise when so much truth can surface from what is essentially a lie

lie to yourself to whet your appetite for something wholly unnatural

we are filthy rich with hope
there are holes in our pockets and when everything falls out there is a trail on the sidewalk
leading to quiet spaces no one would have named beautiful
until now

i am the girl who lives in the walls
i hear voices with no faces
until i cannot sleep
between halfway dreams of empty places
they visit on holidays
they wake up rested
while i am tired
from the dreams they should've been keeping in their heads

write in blood
pressure
wait - i'm freezing
i am not a stethoscope to be held to your skin

you are the boy who follows the pipes
you give speeches of brilliance
to running water
that drowns out the sound with its circular dance
we will keep each other
we will keep awake
pipe dreams of something
about beauty unrested and dancing aloud in our heads

i will freeze the pipes. you will sing and they will break and all will come rushing to the places they've kept locked. in between walls and water, we won't forget or be forgotten. yet.

write in blood
pressure
wait - i'm freezing
i am a stethoscope
hold me to your skin

i am the girl that lives in the walls
i hear voices with no faces

there is something so alive in you
that makes me want to fall down on the ground
and admit
i dont have the slightest idea of how to really live
you are awake
and it burns you
i know that
i see it
and it still makes me want to cry
yet to watch you move towards something beautiful wakes me up
awake awake
and halfway ready, finally
leaving them behind - they are dead
you are alive
they wont ever get behind my eyes and tell me what lies underneath
what ive been neglecting
they are dead and you are alive
i pray the day comes soon when you understand and walk with your head held higher
until then - i do love you

doesnt this prove it? doesnt this prove it? i am weak.
(and as i type this i am told otherwise)
the only thing ive ever been good at is words.

we've already outlasted a miracle.

underneath there were hands and angels.

does it really make you such a martyr when youve only lost what youve never had?

now i know the problem...i cant write fiction.
not in my head
not with my fingers
not for my life

(sometimesifeelcold)

...are these gloves really helping at all?

i am being tamed.

these days i love the sky and i wouldnt complain if wire passageways were breaking up to interrupt signals i was never meant to receive. leave more room for the clouds. (that's why i love you.)

i am surprisingly comfortable with the bizarre.

i wish i could somehow be more kind
i understand but i dont want to give in to silly ploys and twists and puppet shows
i find myself at the puppet theater
i havent paid admission, i snuck in through the back gate
not expecting to stay
now ive set up camp
stage left
dramatic monologue
it's twisted up i am twisted up

all i want is someone who will read to me.

repeat it and your mouth will get used to the feeling you get from the formation of words that were foreign to you.

i know it's over, over, over.

He must increase so that I may decrease.
.John 3.30

I will betroth you to Me forever;
Yes, I will betroth you to Me in righteousness and justice,
in lovingkindness and in compassion
and I will betroth you to Me in faithfulness.
Then you will know the Lord.
[Hosea 2.19-20]

you speak to me of your love and it burns pictures into my mind that replay themselves when the weather gets colder and my eyes get tired of all of the scenery.

the Lord your God is in your midst
a victorious warrior
He will exult over you with joy,
He will be quiet in His love,
He will rejoice over you with shouts of joy.
[zephaniah 3.17]

[THIS] is [love]

this is a story about a girl who was not patient for anything or anyone
and the way it poisoned her heart

lately my words seem trite
like they are scratching my throat and just force themselves out as a means of relief instead of with a purpose in themselves

my dreams are full and colorful with dark undertones running throughout...
is something being said to me?
is it the only way to reach me?

well, i said something
but it was still pretty quiet...

i looked for wedding rings on the fingers of the dolls
and was disappointed when i could not find them
the sign driving home was backwards and upside down
(it made me smile)

i will not mind being picked up and spun around until i am rather dizzy
(well, maybe i will mind a little bit, but i will know that it will turn out to be alright)
and i will be leaving the room with something on my mind that is written in sloppy letters
(the kind i pretend to forget about and replace with some makeshift aesthetic)
i will remember a lot and forget twice as much
(if not more)
and things wont be what ive planned
and things will be beautiful

i did not mean to sound like a politician.

i will take a sheet of notebook paper out
drawing two columns
the perfections and the imperfections
i will write in words
(knowing that they will haunt me like a flawed smile)
i will think in pictures
(knowing that they will play without a beautiful soundtrack)
i will not remember what i should know
i will not forget what never was

i will go to sleep and forget i ever even said this.

be quiet and do something about it.

dont make guesses at what it means.

there's no formula. and i am learning that you readily catch the frequency of a whisper best of anything. i am learning to speak in new tones.

new winterwake song
//written thursday night, played friday night

[the boy with one leg is winning the race.]

when you see through your new eyes
past the brushstrokes of fear
and the painted disguise
it will be a beginning

the sun slows enough
you put your heart on the table
to find the bruise
the words you use
meet together in the air
that is filled with a presence you had never understood

now it's music to your ears
you know the melody like youve seen it
now it's music to your ears
now you're dancing and you mean it

the way hope would bless you with wings as a child
the way hope would bless you to stand undefiled

(written all over my body) : let's arrange another happenstance meeting

my bones are sometimes brittle, please be gentle with me.

(i know you know.)

oh how the days are darker when you stop and wait and see the way colors fold and spin around ideas that you had when you were younger. now climb up the stairs to the attic and maybe you will remember why you used to smile and mean it.

if love were subtraction youd be long division.

we are young, we are silent, we are speaking in abstractions, touching with the way our eyes move, kissing when our hands brush. we will not reach for anything. it has got to be placed in our hands. and when it is there we will sit and think of how nice it is for something to come straight to us, without any effort. we will spend the day in silence, sitting forever, waiting for everything else to fall into place. we cant move until it does. we cant move. we cant.

i am tired of this i am tired of myself i am tired.

again words fail me
i am wanting you to carry the weight
but i still hold it in my own hands
and turn away from you with any suggestion of transfer.

the story fact truth of the woman at the well helps me feel think know what rest is

time out.
i cant hold it the way that you do, it doesnt become me
(and i am afraid that it does not become you either, my friend).
those words that are carelessly falling out of your mouth are not words to be treated like candy
(staining your teeth and your tongue)
or cigarettes
(as we all cough from your secondhand smoke).
if you want to push it into my system without my compliance
neither us will be the better after the exchange.
it means a lot to me
i cant throw it around for fear of throwing it away.
when i speak, i want it to mean something
so that ears wont be closed due to endless mindless repetition.
this something is grace, coming from a death that i wont turn into a pop song.

i have often forgotten that, while time is elapsing,
the words i couldnt remember before are becoming more vivid
and i am able to speak with a certainty i did not expect to have.

travel still makes my eyes shine more brightly.

something about this still twists my stomach up and gives me the awful feeling of wanting to cry when i know i cant wont or shouldnt.

i dont know how much of this i do to myself.

i have self destructed so many times, i am less than ready to let myself be destroyed by another.

show me the form of kindness.

//too heavy and too expensive

if it mattered i hope you would tell me.
the way it's all been constructed there are doubts in too many corners
if i move my piece there, it will surely be captured in the next round

i am caught either way

do you know that?

you are chipping away at something inside of me
(i am letting you do it every time
am i asking you?)
and for now i cannot tell
whether you are carving something within my framework
or peeling back layers and finding something that has been waiting to be uncovered

i need to know what you want
because i am forgetting what i had been hoping for.

"i'm not the way i thought i was"

continually viewing fragments of myself in others becomes a bit like piecing together a stained glass window.
i want to reflect light and help it fall in pretty colors onto the floor.

there is so much joy
in so many things.

little things will never fail to make me run into the next room and tell someone else why i laughed or felt loved or caught a taste of hope.

faith hope and love
[and the greatest of these is love]

i was asked a question
to which there was no honest answer
either way seemed deceptive.

the timing is off
the timing is off
the timing is off

there is blood on my teeth from the tearing apart of ideas with my misshapen words
conversation is not as pristine as it is made to be with these perfectly shaped letters on this screen
i promise never to do it again
and i do
they know it's coming
the uneasiness falling after the sounds that just wont harmonize

i cant read music.

i want to take the beautiful pieces and write them on my heart so i wont forget, in the times when there are ashes on the ground after youve left. there is a perfection in a few silent moments that will not be matched by whatever words i try to voice. my throat is straining and all that i say comes out in a whisper that you couldnt decipher.

the time for letters and numbers is slowly fading into a background of noise and motion.

i find it strange that...

i often feel more connected to words that belong to others instead of the words that i own.

i desire [expect] things from people that i often dont do myself.

the past shows up in so many insuppressible ways. there are songs i dont ever forget. people dont ever really disappear. there are parts of me that i think ive left behind, but, really, theyve just taken shape and been formed into new pieces. i hope that they are a better fit.

fear is underneath so many things, if you look carefully.

it is so simple to make promises.

change always seems just around the corner.

jesus please forgive me.
how much i have been entangled...
i dont want it to be this way.

'That what our lips deny, our pulse confesses.'
-Moliere

sleep is underrated.

driving home in a fog, what a different perspective. i kept thinking i was somehow lost, i had somehow gone to far...the result of only being able to see a very limited area...everything was fragmented, and in seeing the fragments separate from the whole, things became confused and new.

i wrote a song on the piano the other night...partially inspired by cs lewis's 'the great divorce', and partially inspired by a fierce hatred for things that seem to be corrupting everything and everyone i know [including myself]. it's almost apocalyptic, and the rest of the band saw it as such, as well. we have all sorts of ideas of how and where to take it, and i am quite excited to see the progression.

lyrics -

if this wont be the death of you
it will be something with a prettier smile
and sharper teeth.

read me read me
can you read me
there are words beneath my flesh and bones
pushing up through my skin like braille

put your fingers on my skin.
language fails - it's wearing thin

"there is no meantime.
all that is over.
we are not playing now."
heaven in view, hell at our backs.

there is something more something more something more something more something something something

i almost know that it is perfection waiting to happen.
i almost am content to hold my breath until it does.

blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.

for the past week i had been covered with the feeling that there was a layer of grit getting in the way when ever i spoke to or even looked at someone. it was on both sides, mine and theirs, and left me feeling somewhat dirty and disillusioned. there was something scratching up the telescopic lens, and clarity left forever (or for a week, whichever was sooner).

the world is disappointing and it tires me out, but the cold and warmth of tonight smoothed out scratches and allowed me to move in closer to the things that i want to keep in boxes separate from rubble and safe from those with a mind to steal.

i am sorry for doubting. sometimes the only way i can think things through is to doubt them. it will make us all worn out by the time the sun rises, but we will be ten steps ahead. and night travelling is so much prettier.

i dont know, the way the night began and the way it ended are so opposite that i doubt myself above all (which is probably how it should be). i feel almost certain about something that i had earlier been trying to express doubts about. i.cant.fix.anyone. i need to write this on my eyelids and dream about it for at least a week. then maybe i will remember.

i rode by the airport just a little while ago, on my way home from time with people that make me happier than id first suspected. i used to ride by regularly, but my time then scattered and i was elsewhere and everywhere. now ive gone back to a bit of the summer routine. driving home by the airport, and watching the planes and their power...wanting to park and stay and make up stories for the people who are moving so quickly.

what does it mean to be mobile?

can someone tell me what is wise?

error. malformed request.

far away from here is sun and spring and green forever.

something about being away makes everything feel new and awkward and ready to be held. but there is this fear that holding things too closely will result in somehow burning my heart. maybe even scarring it. i am not used to such temperatures, and i dont know if i am ready to become that exposed.

when is it necessary?

some danger is necessary. this is what i am learning. sometimes with my mind and not my body, and sometimes with my body and not my mind. both at the same time gets to be tricky.

it just leads to a cycle of questions and a determining of values. i want to be known and let the words that are in my head fall somewhere near your feet, but soon you will be walking away...there is a fear that you will just leave everything on the ground, not taking anything with you when you leave, and i will be left with less than what i started with.

the temporary is so difficult for me. but i dont want to lose out on beautiful things because ive given a definition to beautiful that has to be forever. everything starts out as temporal. and whether it continues often falls in my hands, at least in part.

i am sorry to everyone who ive disappointed.

please know that i love you. i am so thankful. so very thankful. if it isnt too much to ask, please be patient with me when i cannot express it the way that i should.

the letters and numbers had been all put together
i cant remember how or when it happened [was it given to me? did i find it? did i make it on my own?], but i was living off of a piece of paper tucked under my sleeve
and a bit of something written on the back of my hand
the paper is gone and the writing on my hand has been smeared from trying to clean myself up
it needs to be worked out again, a new math, gravity defying this time
but can the old be added to the new?
will i cancel myself out again?

i dont own anything, really.

well, my wish came true. i am snowed in. it is strange - pretty and cold (like a lot of things are). time to be creative and work things out and be quiet. but i am having a hard time with quiet, controlled thoughts. tonight, i want what i say to be sloppy. much easier said than done. i spend so much time working to move, veil and replace words, that it is hard to just let them come out quickly. the words should sometimes be cold. or maybe naked. that way i can look them over and see the bruises and callouses. the places where things are coming undone. and that way no one will be surprised.

sometimes, i wish there were more pieces to hold
[when i feel quite far away]
but i do remember that there are fragments of nearly everything all around me.

something i wrote awhile back, about the difficulty i have with words -

the allegorical joy [10.15.01]

words pound inside of my head
gathering together
forming alliances
i'm ready to let them out
i dont want to hold hostages
prisoners of war
but your eyes arent careful enough
my words tremble beneath
not ready for such a tough audience
not eager to be quickly sorted
into boxes that i didnt have time to label
they ask to be let through in formation
i'm still learning logistics.

resolve.

a) stop being late.
b) be more careful about when to open my mouth and when to keep it closed.
c) be faithful in the little things.

a bit of an explanation of c. i'm sick of these halfways. getting away with things without even trying. using idealism as an excuse for not trying at all, if it cant be perfect. i dont want to be remembered as the friend who always had something funny or clever to say. in the end that is fucking trash. i want quietness to be meaningful. words consume me too much already. i want to be a person who helps people be the way they should be, or the way they are late at night when no one is looking. i dont want to be a meaningless parody or a halfhearted paraphrase. please, please know me. and let me know you.

i want to find ways to show christ through things that look to be plain or useless.