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The Noise Of Trouble
"In the present we are always in memory." - Trish Keenan
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Music is a language beyond words
when it achieves its intended effect.
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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
Hank
Vonnegut
Carver
Pynchon
Ruefle
Wilde
Rochefoucauld
Joyce
Rogers
Heraclitus
Music
TNOT
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The Wind
Midnight Candles
Through the fog a beacon shines.
Becoming the Archaeologist
Moss grows upon the trunk of the tree. The artist ...
The Lesson of the Grandfather Clock
BELIEVE IN PAUL PROTEUS
Bruised and Aching
Embrace the inner light.
Recollection
Love doesn't understand distance.
Grateful To Be Alive
Racing Against The Rain.
The secret heart of hidden sin will always decay t...
gripping dirt
THE ONLY FACT I AM SURE OF/THE MOST IMPORTANT THOU...
A Good Source of Laughter
The End of Memory
The Old Man & the Scene.
The dour exercise of (our) love.
The Uneasy Peace
False Starts & Broken Hearts
fwd/bkwd
I Wrote Her Something
Late Nite Free Write
Love is always an afterthought to fleeting impulse.
Neither Created Nor Destroyed
Late Night Waterfall
Twilight Sounds
Phrases Written in a Ten Minute Span
Languishing In The Pony Corral.
You were more beautiful when you didn't know how u...
hold on a little longer just hold on a little lon...
The hallowed tree grew hollow in the dying forest.
The Falsehood of a Romanticized Ideal
For Everyone Drinking In A Bar Listening To Music ...
When You Found Me In The Junkyard
The Journey of One Word to Another
that which we stand to lose
Drop some knowledge and run.
We are all so enraptured at our own narratives to...
The Gilded Age
You Are Free
Interpretations of Other Lives.
Parentage
Candle Light
indictment
Something to Notice
impasse
Ageless
Foundead
( )
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About Me
R
I'm an outgoing introvert, maybe you're one too.
View my complete profile
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