-

Roll with it, brother.

Your mind runs too fast and your thoughts are
the author of half-truths.

Sleep a little,
dance a little -

your guitar is going nowhere.

````````

Anyways.


November has seen thirty six posts,

and has been by far one of the most tumultuous months I can remember.

There has been a whole lot of bad,
and a whole lot of good.

Leading into winter,
into break,
into work weeks and who knows
what will arrive
with the snow

C'est un mystère.

I can only hope that I will continue to see each breath I take as precious -

Its a choice, brother.

And your guitar
is going
nowhere.

Cold

Crow tracks in the snow,
needles and branches encased in crystals,
a blueprint of the most immediate history.

I see no reason to hate Winter.

Forward

I couldn't help it.

The whole time I was writing my research paper I was thinking of all the ways I could make "better" use of my time. For example,

Playing the dulcimer
Playing the guitar
Spending time with people I care about
Walking (Yes, its cold. But a little hardship teaches a lot)
Writing a poem

But really, the best possible use of my time was in fact writing the paper.

Ok -
I'll admit it.

I have a few serious personality flaws. I won't go into them, but they do exist.

I think a lot of us are afraid of our personality flaws, and we refuse to see them...maybe thinking that acknowledging them will make them more real.

One of my many personality flaws is seeing the long term use of things. For example, there is no immediate benefit of writing a term paper. But in the long run, I know that it is definitely within my best interest.

I need to find the harmony between work, school, and doing the things I love. After all, if I don't take care of my responsibilities then the things I love will drift away, slowly but surely.

There is just so much I want to do that I can't do because of school and work. But, without an education and a good job I won't be able to do anything on my list.

I don't ever want to say
"Well, I just didn't quite make it"

I don't ever want to live with regret.

So far, I don't have any regret in my life.

I have had them before, but after wasting away and letting life pass me by, I realized that allowing myself to feel regret only makes more and more regret pile on.

how many times can I say "regret"?
Good lord. Redundant, eh?

Anyways -

That's all for tonight.

The Start

of something I didn't think would happen,
of something I thought was completely myth.

Happiness is such a big, complex word -
but you make me feel it
especially when I'm with you


You are fantastic,
inspiring,
fun,
beautiful,
smart,

and I am so happy to be with you :)

White wall

I am by no means a photographer

A bird with a crimson throat

A plank of wood at the bottom of a well,
green and molded -
half submerged.

Burnt boxes,
A highway overpass.

Maybe the reason we can't find perfection
is because we try so hard to create it.
Is it possible that to find such beauty,
all we have to do is realize that it exists
in the first place?

Perhaps beauty, passion, and joy are older than we are -
and they are as innately human as the wind,
or a stream...
not 'human' at all.

Completely tangible,
but in no way ours.

One thing is for sure,
I am willing to see
that such moments are perfect.

Displacement

I know exactly what you mean.

Well, maybe I don't. But I can tell you my experience and hopefully that will help you feel a bit better.

Anyways, I'll start typing....
...
.....now.


Its really strange, this stage in life. Its like being between asleep and waking up -
where the dreams you were having are still as real as before but the colors have seemed to dim,
and you're aware of the time.

I know what you mean, not feeling like you have a home. I felt like that for the last year I was in the dorms, which is why I so desperately had to get out. On the one hand, Tempe was still my home. But Really, going back caused me to see how everything had changed. My old room was a storage space, The old pictures in the hallway were different, it wasn't home anymore. And sharing a small dorm with someone, I found it incredibly hard to find a sense of home when nothing but my possessions were truly mine.

The fear of becoming a boring, lonely adult still grips me from time to time. I hate to hear myself talk about bills, gas prices, insurance, loans, and work. Not because any of it is difficult or scary (Well, the loans are a bit frightening), but because I remember how foreign those things sounded to me when I was Young. Hearing them makes me feel a bit foreign to myself, to the child still awake inside of me.

So anyways, I know what you mean. I'm not really in that place anymore, of being in between. I think it is different for everyone, getting out. But I can tell you what I did.

I Decided to grow up,
but I refused to be an adult.

Ever since I was young the word adult carried such a stale connotation. It was all of the boring stuff that is part of the adventure of growing up. I guess what I mean is I decided to become responsible, capable, and honorable; all of the things that are important in becoming a man. But I refused to give up my passion, my joy, and my love of simplicity.

I do believe that so much of happiness is a choice. For me, that means choosing to see things like a child sometimes. Here is a small list of things I go out of my way to notice.

The first shoots off grass growing in spring
the smell of burning wood
Cool action figures in the toy section of Walgreen's
How carpet feels on bare feet
The first few seconds of stepping into a hot shower (the best part)
The sound wind makes when you're around pine trees
An amazing person in an unlikely place (Most recently Jadis at Waffle House)
The Sacredness of interaction between people. Romantic and friendship.
Interesting Bugs


These sorts of things are what keep me feeling the magic of being a child.

For me, is so important to care about things. To go through life noticing that every inch of existence is so truly a miracle.

You're so right, treating every day like a holiday.
Everyday is definitely worth celebrating.

Anyways,
I don't know if any of this helped. I hope it did :)

Old songs

I was sitting on the couch.

My father was playing his new guitar,
a new song he had written.

It was beautiful,
but ragged.

His hands don't work the same way they used too.

But then -
his eyes closed,
and his head bowed.

Something he had written before
came creeping out -

The air became soft
and his face held no strain.

I had my father back,
but for a moment.