In the mud in the maze of her imagination...

I really don't have much to write, so I'm just going to describe the scene:

Jazz music.

I'm checking my MySpace, because it's working again. The mother of an old best friend has made her own profile. Oh, America.

There are pictures - sadly, regretfully, way too many pictures - littering my closet doors and my desk of a con artist.

The green marker won't fit all the way into the beerstein I use as a marker holder (except for green ones).

Jazz ends. NP portion of NPR resumes.

My left shoulder starts to hurt for some weird reason, the way it usually hurts for some weird reason.

I look to my left and see my one lone hat draped over its one lone home, wondering if it actually is trendy or if I just imagine it is when I set out to wear it.

Another more prominent picture, dusty yet bright as ever, smiles forward at me from nearly two years ago. I think about how he smelled and wonder if I'll ever hug him long enough again to find out if he still smells like that. It was always a unique signature of his.

Collages on the bulliten board remind me of the way I like to make art and the way it really has no direction. Ever. And I like that.

Vintage pin: "OUR NEXT PRESIDENT - JOHN F. KENNEDY." I wonder how people go about knowing to collect these things in advance. Were antiques ever modern?

Ooh - mosquito bite! Right knee. How the hell did it end up there, under pajama pants? Friendly little bastard, aren't we?

Spanishy jazz. It's all about the jazzplay tonight, I guess.

Spoke too soon. Ella Fitzgerald? Make up your mind, guys.

Going to see my sister in a week and a half. I find it amusing how bouncy balls account for some of the longest-lasting jokes and the best-had laughs in any given lifetime.

Walking and working and writing and reflecting - it's been kind of a funny little summer, hasn't it? Big plans, big dreams, and never knowing quite where to start or how. Or if.

It's late. Not by my normal standards, but it's late. Or it's early. I can never know which is more correct.

Time to put my thoughts to rest.

Standing on the precipice of big time. Again.

"Perfect love drives out all fear."

But most people go away. Where? Into themselves? Out of themselves? Flirting with disaster all around themselves?

I don't get it anymore. I want to, but I just don't. It's something that came so easy to me before the day I wrote it down; now that I have, all it has become are words on paper and thoughts thrown to the wind.

Where did it go? Will it come back? Who will find who first? Is anyone looking? Is anyone there? Will it ever happen again?

If you don't know what I'm talking about, that's alright; I realize I'm being vague enough. I wrote this one more for me than for you. Why did I post it, then? Because I damn well can.



(...Huh?)

Another Frank Sinatra kind of twilight

It's funny how the memory of love can leave you in such bittersweet enchantment. Just the sight of the stars some nights can send me to that infinitely untoucheable "back there" when I am sure "back there" had never been there.

I suppose the world would be a much uglier place without dreams and kisses and all the softest things you can ever remember all in a pair of spell-binding eyes. And truly - where would we be without the butterflies and the firsts and the uncertainty and the hesitance? ...Still in ninth grade.

Certainly, sometimes it hurts to be one unit rather than part of a set. But to know the difference implies that perhaps that long-ago time filed in the "back there" section of life is, in fact, not so far back.

There is nothing for me but to love you
Just the way you look tonight.

Breakdown

I hope this old train breaks down.
Then I could take a walk around
And see what there is to see,
And time is just a melody...
All the people in the street
Walk as fast as their feet can take them.
I just roam through town,
And though my windows got a view,
The frame I'm looking through
Seems to have no concern for me now;
So for now

I need this here
Old train to breakdown.
Oh please just
Let me please breakdown.

This engine screams out loud,
Saying the beat gonna crawl westbound.
So I don't even make a sound,
Because its gonna sting me when I leave this town,
All the people in the street
That I'll never get to meet...
If these tracks don't bend somehow,
And I got no time
That I got to get to
Where I don't need to be,
So I

I need this here

Old train to breakdown.

Oh please just

Let me please breakdown.

I need this here
Old train to breakdown.
Oh please just
Let me please breakdown.
I wanna break on down,
But I can't stop now.
Let me break on down...

But you can't stop nothing
If you got no control
Of the thoughts in your mind
That you kept in, you know.
You don't know nothing,
But you don't need to know.
The wisdom's in the trees,
Not the glass windows.
You can't stop wishing
If you don't let go,
But things that you find
And you lose, and you know
You keep on rolling
Put the moment on hold -
The frame's too bright,
So put the blinds down low

I need this here
Old train to breakdown.
Oh please just
Let me please breakdown.
I need this here

Old train to breakdown.

Oh please just

Let me please breakdown.

I wanna break on down,

But I can't stop now.

"Yeah, shoot."

Today I laughed so hard I cried.

A ramble of sorts

So I guess you know what to expect.

It seems like a lot of people are in relationships these days, and even still most of my closest friends are as single as they come. It seems like no one is ever so sure of themselves, regardless of their availabilty classification.

That's one thing I've noticed. Another is coffee. I always thought it was so sophisticated, but it's just coffee; it's just a drink that makes your pee smell like... coffee.

There's no secret to smelling good, either. Perfume, people; that's it.

Work can take a lot out of you, and yet we go to college so we can work our lives away. Sitting on front porches, swinging the down the days sounds like a much better idea, doesn't it?

It's all a big Catch-22. The mystery is slowly being squeezed out of adulthood. Every secret, every ambiguity is ever-so-delicately being revealed. We're not children anymore, and this isn't quite the Kansas in which we grew up. Tea parties and hide-and-seek afternoons are replaced with pina coladas and zombie summers spent desperately trying to make tan-lines and flatten abs.

And it's not that one is better than or more preferable or even comprable to the other. They're just... different. Then and now are certainly different.

I know that probably made zero sense, and even I didn't bother reading over it before I hit "Publish;" it's what I was thinking just now.