todays ghosts

I work half days and come home to my house mate's dog Otis. A beer goes a long way in my world. The internet takes my time and puts it in the woodchipper like fargo. Ever wonder why alaska doesnt have a football team? I don't. So why do people wonder why I'm so weird? I don't. I become the butt of everyones joke in social circles so I don't really wonder why women look at me with disdain, or pity. I just wish more of them looked at me with intrigue and carelessness so I could tell they were eyeing me. I drink more than I should to get together with my room mates and be sociable. I guess I should stop. Im going to see a counsellor again to make sense of somethings. I hope I can make sense of at least one fuzzy aspect in my life. I want a girl or friend to just chill with. coffee, chai teas, cartoons or movies...whatever. lets go for a bike ride maybe, or walk the dog. Im not sure what I need but whatever it is, I need it.

Where The Wild Things Are

http://www.hulu.com/watch/64652/movie-trailers-where-the-wild-things-are


I'm excited for this new movie. Looks promisingly fun

W.Z.

There's a cork by the letter I left you
it's the one that I undressed alone
when you wake up and read this letter
don't bother to look I'll be gone.
After half of a bottle of white zinfandel
I'd made up my mind to go on
and when the sun hits your eyes in the morning
you'll be waking alone with the dawn
I met you when I was a child
I chose not to act all my age
But for me you had loved every moment
that I stood in the spotlight on stage
With the stroke of each letter a tear falls freely
and I fear there were too many lies
my complexion has dried up completely
and there's cracks in the trail of my eyes
After drinking a bottle of white zinfandel
there was not a drop left of me
I had drunk all my feelings until the bottle was well
I drank it until you were free
There's a ring from my hand on this letter
it's gold and its crying for me
it shines like the friend it always was
as I bid it farewell to thee
There's a ring from a cork on this letter
it's red like the wine from the glass
but my veins keep on spilling over and over
and my life like the night soon shall pass.
There's a cork by the letter I left you
it's naked on the counter for thee
I left it after drinking myself
To let you know that you are free.

Sonata's Moonlit Touch

It is the late nights in the dark of our minds
where creation peers.
The moonlight sonata strikes a match against my heart
and blows out the light with winters chill.
Sorrow lines the walls, begins to seep from every pore
the music of the night lingers over every painful stroke
fingers broken in the moonlight
aching bones crack in its shadow
light flows like tears over the moors
the marshes overflow with melancholy
and mist pours up in a swell of frailty.

check it out. My many many followers....

http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/elizabeth_gilbert_on_genius.html

Light Approaches

The spring stars I pity.
they mean nothing in the city.
The summer nights
show no twinkled lights
Winter chills' forgotten lulls,
brings no comfort in throbbing bulbs
Fall has lost its flaring flame
that the smoggy dirty cities tame
Be still, life.
Be quick, death.
Leave nothing of me
Nothing of me left.
Take me to the edge of a forest
nevermind just where it is.
To a mountain top afar
no smoke from the homes
no sounds from a car
Let me be taken in
Natures eyes to gaze upon
and let me be ignored again
To sit alone and watch the dawn.

Drunk with Conclusions.

For some reason I feel rather self conscious right now. Is it really staying up so late that alters my moods and nerves so intensly? I just looked at the time and its about two hours later than I realized. I had wanted to read before sleeping but, that is out. I have the constant impulse to take artwork to school just to recieve praise and level out my playing field of equality among my peers. Does that make me arrogant? I don't want to be arrogant, I just want to be equal. Classes are filled with students of all age and experience, and I want to be a student who can acclaim the work he has done in the past to the students of the now in order to maybe attain friendliness and bonds of some sort. I also try to help out in class in anyway I can by maybe helping set up or clean up, giving feedback so the class doesnt have to, or by remaining silent when the teacher has finished a long tedious and overextensive speech upon which the class does not wish the subject to be followed any further. I do my part for society. Yet I ride the bus early each morning, always frozen in the remnants of midnights chill, alongside others who cope with it by burning their lungs or dosing up on a hot steaming cup of caffeine. I walk a block or two to classes passing dozens of faces I will never truly know. In class I will idle with students I will never meet again in most cases. Then, I go home. Passing more and more faces in the ecosystem of Philips Bubbleworld, the clouds always lift. The seas always part. The veil always falls. The curtains always rise. Every weekend I am in the company of familiars. Home. Loved ones. Trapped with no car, stranded in an island of brick walls and claustrophobic vacation, I squeeze out of the city smog into the house of monotony. I have one true comfort and she is not mine to own, but I am hers to love.