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be random what is now when is then where is email who i am how it is why it is leave a note? share me, share you make me smile thank you other journals (of course I should be sleeping) (what's life got to do with it?) about me (too much to know at once) friend? (tic tic tic, toc) BE MY GUEST (BOOK) << MISSING �SOMETHING? >> the bottom line who can when i had the time the first of december (has another song) what i do < ? me # > < ? harrychapin # > < ? Random Acts of Journaling # > < ? Poetic Voices # > < ? The Write Club # > < ? Nights Awake # > < ? Fluid # > < ? Adopted # > < ? Childlike # > < ? Poets-Muse # > < ? Five Hundred # > < ? As You Wish # > temporary place holder ()))CRAYON-BOX)))> published blogmad! varb? �2015 CANDOR COMMUNICATIONS IF YOU WANT TO USE THE WORDS FOR ANY REASON TALK TO ME |
synch in this city words drawing me back through sleepy eyes, though it was dated a year early if we follow my timeline (and who's should I follow to the shattered remains of my own broken dreams?), and the place was close, since it was among my final choices when I finally left the life of stagnating success I built in NYC... I told myself Hawaii was too expensive even as flush as I was back then as I wanted a decade off, early retirement, but maybe I should have left more behind and headed there anyway... Toronto was too cold, Seattle still not warm enough, Tucson was the second choice, but Orlando won mostly because of the child inside of me but just as much because I still had hope for a relationship that spanned a decade, even though it wasn't going anywhere... it was comfortable... I have not been quite so comfortable with anyone in a long time and only once was more comfortable that than, even further back, the first time and where some of the deepest bodies are buried and maybe even for the same reasons... and as if the connection was not deeper enough, words take me deeper into my own story (which is why I am mostly dead and it is still not soup yet and even challenging to explain for communication requires trust and I have become not just a Doubting Thomas, but a Doubting Everything)... and yet I read words that feel as though I wrote them... my house lost to apathy, my wandering years, my wanting to believe, and I died and fell asleep (and came here and there to sleep write)... and still it is not written (partly becames it is still happening, but mostly because nobody is here in the physical world to make it matter if I clean up and move on, or not)... we are the dreamers, even when nightmares reign... and life is quite scattered this weekend, but am moved by words that I did not put on the web, but I did write at some time in this life... experiences, emotions, thoughts, feelings, brainwaves so similar they are the same inside... it happens that way sometimes...
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I love you all for coming... for reading all these words for every click feels like more love (I know that sounds absurd) if I could only tell you... one thing more tonight I'd say I wish you could come home with me and be my friends for life |