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.

oh hear the angel voices

i wish that when we spoke we were free to make words just as beautiful as when we write them. i want conversations to have a form, whether it be careful and aesthetic or ragged and tough. i want to think of a design when people are speaking to me.

rip it apart.

all of these ideals i have held on to so stubbornly. i dont know whether it is God telling me to loosen my grip or it is him asking me to find out whether they really matter so much to me or not. but why are they engraved upon my mind? i cant erase them. id have to fill them up with something else, and the options arent so appealing. i dont know. i dont want to hold out for the impossible, but i dont want to just let things become careless and meaningless. what is there to hope for? ive nearly had it and nearly lost it all at once.

why do i expect so much out of everyone and myself?

realising over and over how easier it would be to simply not care.

people tell me who i am. a strong person. steadfast. passionate. where is it taking me? i need a rest. i need to hold my weaknesses and get to know them. i need to tell you what they are.

i need forgiveness.

i need to ask.

little tree
[e. e. cummings]

little tree
little silent Christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower
who found you in the green forest
and were you very sorry to come away?
see i will comfort you
because you smell so sweetly
i will kiss your cool bark
and hug you safe and tight
just as your mother would,
only don't be afraid
look the spangles
that sleep all the year in a dark box
dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,
the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads,
put up your little arms
and i'll give them all to you to hold
every finger shall have its ring
and there won't be a single place dark or unhappy
then when you're quite dressed
you'll stand in the window for everyone to see
and how they'll stare!
oh but you'll be very proud
and my little sister and i will take hands
and looking up at our beautiful tree
we'll dance and sing
"Noel Noel"

i'm over my head in good intentions.

there are words beneath my flesh and bones, pushing up through my skin like braille.

ive been quiet lately. i think because all my energy is spent in trying to get my head (and heart) to calm down. it should be snowing. id like to be snowed in...watching old movies, writing letters, coloring, and reading. writing? i dont know how much ive got to say. sometimes id rather just be written on. take me and write all over me, and then i'll read the words back to you. i'll be your echo. and maybe if youre silent for awhile i'll read all that's been written in between the lines, things i am discovering for the first time.

howgoodisgoodenough?