a love song.

"and like falling stars, back down to sleep we'll go

to our waiting arms and orbits round the globe.
coverlets and down will catch you when you fall. . ."

one year ago,
i reveled in its misery.
the bittersweet love song that echoed the mild aching in my chest and the tumbling torrent contained in the storm clouds just above my head.
i remember the sentiment perfectly.
i can taste the salt of that very moment.

tonight, its the same song, the same season. the same strained voice.
but now i sense something else.
this time there is longing, desire, and lonliness under his words.

"baby, that's not all."

I wonder. I wonder how this might be different
if i could get you to look at me with your perfect eyes,
to speak to me with your perfect voice.
for you to walk away from me.
for you to let me fall.

"baby, that's not all."

you like drinking games, do you?

every year, the president of the united states recites a well-rehearsed script informing us, his beloved citizens, of the state of our blessed union.

every year, as a coping mechanism, i play along. i've developed a little game called, "pick a word of patriotism." each person chooses a word the president is likely to use during the SOTU address (congress, democracy, weapons of mass destruction, etc.) for every time the president utters your word, you get to take a drink of the alcohol of your choice. it's fun, and it fucks you up. . .enough to tolerate the bushisms, anyway.

well. . .look what the new york times did.

they gave us a little interactive tool to analyze exactly how wasted you've gotten yourself during the last 7 speeches.

for example, i chose the word "freedom." according to the NYT, i guzzled from my wine glass seventeen times in 2006, but was only afforded with 3 shots of jagermeister in 2007.
my little brother happened to be in the united states during last years SOTU, and he picked the word "america." for all his trouble, george bush awarded him with 72 chances to sip whiskey. this year, had pat been in the country, he would have drank 42 more times.

so maybe it's "hope" you're into, or "iraq," or "oil" perhaps. but let me warn you, "global warming" is not an advised choice, as the president has only addressed the concept once in the last 7 speeches, and even then referred to it as a "global climate change."

it's too bad they don't have a graphic to show how many monkey faces he makes. maybe next year.

scars are a reminder.

of good things, i'm sure.
the pain was only temporary
and even when the wound was fresh, i barely noticed.
i see this gash across my wrist now, and it makes me smile.
not a sick, twisted, masochistic grin,
but a nostalgic, lingering, satisfied smirk.
maybe if i pick at it enough, it will never go away.
it will become a constant reminder
of one vague and glorious evening that i can't recall.

callused hands.

and what is poetry anyway?
who writes it, and how do they really feel?
twisted and tangled emotions around my heart--
my waist, my neck, my legs.
twisted and tangled the sheets on your bed.
why not everyday?
why not tonight?

help me remember the night.
help me to remember why.
convince me we had more than a few good reasons,
we had music, we had shadows, we had the place to ourselves.
convince me there will be other nights--
there will be other nights.

just let me make the most of it.
let me make the most of you.

midwest boys play stupid games.

my sister drunk dialed me tonight. all the way from ireland.
i love her. i love her. i love her.


thank you, katie. i'm sure this will all work itself out, but in the meantime, i loved trying to make some sense of it with you. you really are beautiful, and you really do know it.


so enough with the games, boys. just assume that it's going to work. i'm not going to tug you around on a string, i won't use "cute" pet names, i won't embarrass you in front of your friends, hell i don't even have to be around your friends. to be honest, it's not them i find very interesting; it's you. foreign men apparently have mastered the art of seduction, while coastal types at least attempt to be charming. it's time to step up, before i lose interest in the midwest completely.

my my and mooses.

so i finally did it. i became a driver, and regretfully i won't be using the phrase "i'm a pedastrian" with as much enthusiam as i often did.
so i'm cruising down the highway tonight on my way home from work in the pitch black (4:30 pm, mind you), concerned more about my descending speed needle and my cautious, "fine buddy, drive as angry as you want behind me but i'm new at this so i'm not going any faster" attitude, when i notice flickering light from the headlights in front of me.

this can only mean one thing: there's something in the middle of the road.

as i slam on my breaks and thank god that it's not as slippery as it was yesterday, I realize that this is no deer. it's a big fucking moose.
okay, it wasn't that big. but even the small ones are massive. as it's just taking it's time across the road, i reflect upon the fact that god was trying to kill me on only my second day in the race.

thanks alot, guy, it sounds like a great idea. but i think i wanna hang around here a little longer. at least until i get to see my siblings again.

reflections of a lost soul.

i used to write.
more poetically, more profoundly, more often.

i clearly see several contributing factors to my absence:
the pathetic decline of my vocabulary and spelling abilities since leaving college.
the change of pace in my everyday life. motivation makes things happen. simple times call for simple measures.
i no longer feel as though i have an audience. and if i do still have an audience, i probably wouldn't recognize them if i saw them.

any of these hindrances are conquerable. a little discipline and "practice makes perfect" attitude could put me back in the game.

but what worries me,
what really scares me,
is perhaps that i see the world differently than i used to.
i'm jaded.
i'm tired.
i'm dead to the simple pleasures and easy joys i used to love about the world.
a shadow on the wall of lace curtains cast by moonlight seems lost on me now.