And YOU, you write such pretty words, but love's no storybook. 

we are nowhere and it's now

If you hate the taste of wine 
Why do you drink it until you're blind? 
And if you swear that there's no truth and who cares
How come you say it like you're right?

Why are you scared to dream of God 
When it's salvation that you want? 
You see stars that clear have been dead for years 
But the idea just lives on 

In our wheels that roll around 
As we move over the ground
And all day it seems we've been in between 
The past and future town

We are nowhere, and it's now
We are nowhere, and it's now

And like a ten minute dream in the passenger seat 
While the world was flying by
I haven't been gone very long 
But it feels like a lifetime 

I've been sleeping so strange at night
Side effects they don't advertise
I've been sleeping so strange 
With a head full of pesticide

I've got no plans and too much time
I feel too restless to unwind
I'm always lost in thought as I walk the block 
To my favorite neon sign 

Where the waitress looks concerned
But she never says a word
Just turns the jukebox on and we hum along 
And I smile back at her

And my friend comes after work 
When the features start to blur
She says these bars are filled with things that kill
By now you probably should have learned 

Did you forget that yellow bird? 
How could you forget your yellow bird? 

She took a small silver wreath and pinned it on to me
She said, "This one will bring you love" 
And I don't know if it's true
But I keep it for good luck 

I've always loved Charles Bukowski.

“Drinking is an emotional thing. It joggles you out of the standardism of everyday life, out of everything being the same. It yanks you out of your body and your mind and throws you against the wall. I have the feeling that drinking is a form of suicide where you’re allowed to return to life and begin all over the next day. It’s like killing yourself, and then you’re reborn. I guess I’ve lived about ten or fifteen thousand lives now.”

 Then a Bob Dylan song comes on in the cafe, and everything makes sense again.

Grief, a type of sadness that most often occurs when you have lost someone you love, is a sneaky thing, because it can disappear for a long time, and then pop back up when you least expect it.

5:30 am

Time flies by when you're trying hard to sleep. The space of time from an hour ago when I woke up, up until now seems like nothing more than a couple of minutes. Everything is so quiet and artificial. Like a movie, a dream. Just images of my sheets and curtains and the scary tapping of the rain. Heart-warming and scary. I look out the window vividly remembering spring nights somewhere far far away from here. I remember the smell of the wet pavement sidewalks after it rained on a hot day, and water shaking down on me from tree leaves and it's branches. I remember every star. Not a single car passing, just a street-light here and there, praying on some sign that would encourage my strong belief in magic. It was 5:30 am. I don't know if that place exists. 


I woke up gasping for air, I don't think I've told anyone about chest pains. Why would I need to? You all know what its like. That little shortness of breath after every bad thought. It just keeps getting worse. It's become way too difficult to sleep on anything but my back. I can't fall asleep on my back, but I do wake up on it. Here's another one, deep breath, trying to catch it. What have I done to myself..


I like these moments. You don't feel anything, except stomach cramps and soar throats, reminding myself that I'm awake. Everything is so pure, clear, unknown. One of those moments when you feel like you've seen the world yet you were just born. As if I was taken back years ago and given a second chance. I'm smiling, and for once the corners of my mouth are rising without me trying. 
Maybe I'm stuck on a train. A train that I hope will take me far far away. 
Back to that place I used to inhibit, that place I pray is more than a dream.


Here it is.. 5:15 am. This only reminds me of one thing. Two summers ago when I stayed up every night for two weeks just to never miss the sunrise. Before the rays hit my bed, it felt exactly like this. A minute was a second, and that is all that exists in my head now and that existed then, time, and how angry its relativity makes me. I'm fully awake now, which scares me, as it comes with voices and shadows and the taunting realization that I have to get ready for school in two hours and face the world. Whether you are in a dream or awake - time moves two if not three times faster during the night. I don't want to go to sleep and leave this world I created for myself. But then again, I don't ever want to see another sunrise for a long long time. When you begin to feel too much, it's merely a sign that it is time for sleep.

Beware of Enthusiasm and Love.

Both are temporary and quick to sway.

Don't leave me high, don't leave me dry.

Two jumps in a week, I bet you think that's pretty clever don't you boy?
Drying up in conversation, you will be the one who cannot talk
All your insides fall to pieces, you just sit there wishing you could still make love.
Oh, it's the best thing that you've ever had,
The best thing you've had has gone away
So don't leave me high, don't leave me dry.

I took my love down to..

There we sat in the snow, all that time she was silent still. Said; "If you love me, won't you let me know?"

Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.