ashes scattered in the wind,
tears drying on your cheek.
the seasons change, in spring
flowers bloom once more.
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It's always getting late.
When I am not writing this is what I do.
"In the present we are always in memory." - Trish Keenan
It's always getting late.
Introduction
This blog is a virtual notebook of writing that I maintain as often as I can. Poems, stray lines, random observations, all co-exist here. Revisions occur as needed/deemed fit.
See/Hear
A Chronological Archive of Joy and Heartache most often referred to as LIFE
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2011
(705)
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February
(52)
- brief image of you
- Waking
- moving beyond the heartbeat
- advice for a young singer/songwriter
- A Few Months Back
- Poso Sin Fin.
- Something Einstein Said...
- Statement On Art
- To Be
- Saturday, October 30th 2004
- Traditions
- The Finest Art
- A Certain Joy, A Certain Sadness
- Before It All Fell Apart
- 2 Things Said
- Tyrants
- narrow down the focus
- VAIN
- One Armed Christ
- Life is too short to not believe in something.
- 3 Block Paragraph Non-Sequiturs
- Bestial
- When We Dance
- an inevitable apocalypse
- Lemniscate
- 10 Years Past
- Creative Force
- Beautiful Impermanence
- Awkward Conversation
- Authorship
- there is an illness in my heart from these pattern...
- It's always cold the morning after when you wake...
- Morning,
- Let The Pieces Fit
- Venus
- Words To Live By
- Reading the Frame and Contents
- Radio
- Cut & Paste
- Be less awful.
- this darkness
- A Series of Random Bits
- Burn Yourself Down To Nothing
- Unedited Freewrite Excersize #4
- melody
- Oh, the Choices
- The power of choice is always in our hands.
- trading
- Masters of the World
- Mariner Saying
- Passing
- Drunken Hieroglyphics
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▼
February
(52)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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