Engulf a system.

Engulf a system.  Remember it so you can adhere to it.  Adhere to it, and engulf it.  With time, everything that comes in will go out, and that system has to save everything.  There need to be tape recorders and file cabinets.  A keyboard's keys should be worn, and muscle memory will be the only thing that lets you know which stroke is which.  There need to be file cabinets, dated and alphabetized.  Never trust a man with a clean desk.  There is too much going on.  Too much in my head these days.  I've saved it up and let it fester and age.  Don't grow old.  I hear all their voices: the curse of listening.  There's nothing original because you all came up with it.  You sat in your cafes with your cigarettes and coffee and your typewriters lubricating everything until it spilled out in shapes and colors no one would appreciate as stern years later.  But you had fun.  You taught and you watched.  You watched the world get sick and old.  "America is old."  It's stories and history are lost to loneliness.  A lonely continent existing before oral tradition and long before anal tradition, shitting America falling off the wagon again.  This is what happens when you hold it in.  This constipation of thought and energy until you want to scream.  You want to fight.  Fight me.  Take me on.  Drop me.  Challenge me.  Rub me to raw and tearing.  I'll fight you because I'd miss you if you were gone.  I've got ideas written on pages of journals and word documents lost in the ether of terabytes.  I've been writing to miss you.  Writing to get over you.  Old loves.  New loves.  Loves that should have been, but got complicated.  Writing to apologize.  Writing to prove myself.  That's what it all is.  Proving myself.  When will it stop?  When will you know me to be just like you, full of passion and power?  I think of you with him now.  Do you still wear that little silk robe?  Do you make him sit in the cold morning air?  When will he be leaving?  When will the next one move in?  I know he's there. And you.  We parted with such harsh emotions and fresh scars.  That emergency room still holds dark words and cold. Believe me.  How can I say I'm sorry?  Just keep trying.  Just keep trying.  There is so much good now I know I can spare some for all.  It just needs to be written down.  Engulf a system.  Remember it so you can adhere to it.

(home)

This style of living should suffice for my library, comfort and poetry writing. Should suffice. There might be a grey cat roaming around. And a girl.

New project!

Listening to This American Life today while I sliced some bread I was inspired to start a new writing project.  It's going to be based around the Drake Equation.  Using the variables from the equation I hope to crank out some poetry and short stories that follow a theme.  I've been into theme lately.  I don't know what it is.  Can't help it.  Just letting you all know my plans so you don't bite my rhymes.

projects

Here are some samples of some writing I've been doing. The first bit is something Molli drafted me to do. It's a sea shanty, and this is the chorus I've come up with.

Under a cross all done up with rope
I'll be workin' here towin' the line
For to pay for the day
When my ship finds the way
Though I still drag these coat tails behind.

And the other thing is silly really. I was just riding in the car with Martha and there was the Saturday night bluegrass show on WUNC, and I started to sing words to go with it. It came out:

I get my candy from the candy sto'
Got my hand stuck in the bow'
Lady said, "You're not doin' that right."
And we made love and danced all night.

Martha thought it was good so I figured I better write it down.