wandering around
bumping into
tables,
stubbing toes,
the silly
movements
of inadvertent
action.
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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
-
▼
2011
(705)
-
▼
March
(41)
- Dorian
- Handle with Care
- hunger
- there is no more use for this ghost anymore.
- Ghosts in the Brain
- Sunday Morning in Watts
- Bossa
- Name a for a potential music blog for me:
- Caterpillars and Butterflies
- There is no salvation in your arms just frustrati...
- Song of the Rain
- box
- The Story of a Father
- An Open Policy
- Strangers
- waterfall
- arguments
- The screen glares back with a poison stare.
- Remember?
- it's all theoretical conjecture ...
- Fearless
- New Conversations
- finding nothing there we can only move on.
- l i f e
- Do you force the routine or does it force itse...
- Maybe I'm Doing It Wrong (2pieces)
- Let's change this narrative before the final dr...
- leave your words at the door i'll see you when i'...
- Commentary
- Discard After Use
- A Note On Process
- The Art is in the Act. The Act is a result of co...
- How
- dead zone
- something we talked about
- Unconscious Dreams of Other Realities
- A Late Night Rain
- as the night passes
- A response to "What matters most..."
- Simple Arithmetic
- non-sensical freewrite
-
▼
March
(41)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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