words, words, words










 
Archives
<< current

If you'd like to volunteer for the Russ Carnahan campaign for U.S. Congress Please give our offices a call at 534-2004 or email me at stephen@russcarnahan.org

biologic show
secret kings
waremouse
cucalambe
chrisafer
dogpoet
brent
salon
jeff
cho
rob



places to visit:
Center for Theology and Social Analysis
Lynda Barry
astralwerks
Sherman's Lagoon




Another place I write:
Queerday




relevant pasts:
fear of sunrise
manboylove
peaceful
soup
objection
who are you?
birthday
one year










 
If I begin to detail myself here, will you understand?



P. I am me
Q. I don't always know exactly who that is
R. I am Quaker
S. I like words and playing with them
T. I like genmaicha tea
U. I like the word napkin more than most others
V. I spend time walking my neighborhood
W. I cook rice often
X. I sleep well most every night
Y. I eat large amounts of fruit and vegetables
Z. I munch, sleep, write, create, cook, bike, watch, walk, listen, hope, learn, drink, live, breathe, touch, know, question, taste, copy, read, stare, carry, talk, dance, finger, try.





raisin@gmail.com



albums:

Magnetic Fields: 69 Love Songs
Erasure: I Say, I Say, I Say
Depeche Mode: Black Celebration
The Beach Boys: Pet Sounds
Marvin Gaye: What's Going On?
David Bowie: Hunky Dory
George Michael: Listen without Prejudice
George Gershwin: Porgy and Bess
Yo La Tengo: And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out


songs:

Wild is the Wind: Nina Simone
Come Undone: Duran Duran
Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini: Rachmaninov
My Funny Valentine: Chet Baker
Feeling Yourself Disintegrate: The Flaming Lips
This Must Be the Place: The Talking Heads
Hyperballad: Bjork







many napkins
 
Tuesday, July 08, 2003  
all i can see is a black and white tv show, perhaps Lassie, where the boy has found a bird and wants to keep it. the bird is hurt a bit, and he tries to comfort it, but really has no idea what he's doing. because he's a boy and because he wants someone who he can have as his own, he tries to keep the bird, make it love him back, hope that he's enough for the bird. but eventually, the boy realizes, maybe from a look his dad gives him, maybe from the bird already trying to walk away into the world, hopping and fluttering, maybe something free in his own soul, that he has to let the bird go. and so he picks up his bird, takes it to the highest place he knows, a hill a few miles away, and lets it fly off his hand, wondering what will fill the hole inside.

i was that bird a few years ago. now i'm the boy. maybe soon i'll grow into a man.

12:11 PM

Comments:
<$BlogCommentBody$>
  (0) comments <$BlogCommentDeleteIcon$>
Post a Comment
Site Meter
 
This page is powered by Blogger.