my    E l e c t r o n i c     pen                                               s e p t e m b e r came fast     2 0 1 3                                                   i    n  d  e  x  

O|c|t 01

if i'm honest, i'm feeling nasty.
Frankie?

september 29

draping black lingerie on a white drying rack while you are away, brings my mind to another time;
and to other hands hanging clothing on that same rack. little does she know the intimate bond we forged;
little does she know the intimate bond she will never know she has with me. perhaps she has never known intimacy at all.
i crave intimacy with the world around me, craving it in many ways. houses, row upon row, with shining cars, basketballs,
scrubbed bathrooms and slightly overweight soccer moms, blends in with the planet in a way which for me is too predictable.
predictability signals status quo, and, status quo, as we all know, for me, means death. both of these, intimacy, and the opposite of status quo,
are for me, the only acceptable methods of living. as difficult as this is for those around me.


...

i no longer recall the day you left;
being alone can actually become normal;
not normal as in good but normal as it not abnormal;
now it's simply a race to the finish line,
as abnormal as that may be for you now.

september 23

i don't want to shout , well, at least not too loudly or in the wrong direction,
cold, alone, making up my mind about what a person really needs,
and although i do actually want to shout; as loud as these digital caves will allow;
decorum sets in and then a certain amount of silence.
explaining at my age, that you've never felt this way before    
is never easy. but in this case it's particularly not easy.

the cold arrives without you.








september 19

here i am, wasting barely away, cickety clicking painted nails with louder ringing ears.
alone; loudly alone, holding her arm in the absence of physical contact with skin,
discarding these teeny fleshy parts as merely a part of me; when so much of me is missing.
nights are darker, longer, my head hurts, headaches take hold, must buy hotdogs.




there needs to be a plan, and it's forming.
two lunches with lawyers in one week says poots;
boasting, never, but i'm becoming more intelligent as i grow smaller.




september 17

retrotracing;
1989; 1993
1998; 2013
2013; forever.



september 15

what's to be done with the unexplainables.






  September11


lest we forget.
http://911research.wtc7.net/mirrors/fema_wtc/index.html

i'm a bit off kilter;
 things are wilty;
    running on the mountain;
        long hair ;
            thai chicken
                losses












september 9
the crispy air is mEpweather;
clarity of thought; stillness; preparation; grounded; readiness.
time.
a dripped espresso, superfluous, will catapult this little person into the Sunday that is mine.
the ninth, other than a symphony, insignificant but for preparing stories;
the tenth, tomorrow, and so on. i'm obviously missing something.

we don't talk about our dreams, anymore, dreams are not real.

Facebook wants me to schedule a gift; the whole world wants my money; now that our souls are gone.

blinking lights; clicking clocks; ticking coffee; clacking nails;











september 5
me and my arrow, straighter than narrow, sings harry, from this flat black device.
devices used to have sexy names, but sexy no more technology, you have been relegated to device status.
and waking at 6.30 leaves poot somewhat trembly,
the java earns its' keep,
the swiss man groans,
the rodents scutter.
yes.




september 3
the weekend came to a blistering end
the beds got moved, came no hell or wrath
the sick man continued to be sick
competition knows no ends, with a small body


 

september 2
 
  the water is wide
the flat is quiet
shiny nails dance on the keyboard, singing the song of the PC
the song repeats itself at the click of a nail made of acrylic and bonded with epoxy.
there's not many easy ways to explain oneself;
of peaceful dreams and stormy nights;
of being grounded with the passing of time; evolution and love growing old(er);
and trying to explain why people are not able to see things objectively enough.

then one simply clicks the nail; hears a voice in combination with a few chords and lyrics,
and time stops, for a moment things are right;
and all the storminess of the night becomes correct,
again.

it's not something i ever wished to pronounce; yet i know why, now, and knowing why is beautiful;
gaining the strength to get here was long; i dragged two; no, three perhaps, here.
we all should be in a place with no judgement; no fear; no liens;
staying there seems to be a difficult road;
and now i know, that regardless of the body,
i need to feel safe, above all, safe of many things
but mostly
safe to be me.





The water is wide
I can't cross over
And neither have
I wings to fly
Build me a boat
That can carry two
And both shall row
My love and i

There is a ship
And she sails the sea
She's loaded deep
As deep can be
But not so deep
As the love I'm in
I know not how
I sink or swim

Oh love is handsome
And love is fine
The sweetest flower
When first it's new
But love grows old
And waxes cold
And fades away
Like summer dew

Build me a boat
That can carry two
And both shall row
My love and i
And both shall row
My love and i


Songwriters: CABRIERES, JEAN-PAUL / TRADITIONAL

If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don’t love, I’ve gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I’m bankrupt without love.