september 28, 2000
her majesty the sun has started out on her course southward, flying a little bit further away from this place each day as the weeks roll on. she has made things beautiful and cool and dark, leaving us to sit under the artificial glow of neon lights downtown, at a time when just weeks ago our eyes needed our hands to cover them. early on a monday morning, the black angels came with sounds that no one could understand. their wings brushed through the silent air, cut through the heavy haze that rooms full of people tend to create. their wings were art. and today, so is the sky. it is a perfect day for eating an ice cream cone..a vanilla one..and playing songs...making art with our fingertips and faces. you swing away from us, and we stretch out in the angled glow.
september 21, 2000
it was this place, or close to here, two hours after the close of another quiet sunday...the time when the steam rising from the earth creeps its way across the ground in swirly grayish curls, and when the moon shines high above the black outlines of the treetops. a single set of shoes passes through the fog, cutting a momentary slice as each foot moves in turn. orange-colored beams stare down upon the streets and sidewalks, pushing the darkness back into the corners so that people can see. but their eyes have all fallen back in relief, down into the black areas behind bone and muscle that the sun cannot touch. there inside is where dreams turn and writhe and change and change again. here under the artificial glow, and above the sidewalk and the street and the fog, dreams take their form in the air, disturbing the smoke, making it roll. they push back sleep like halogen beams, only softer, daring the shoes to follow in their brightened path. four hours past sunday, then five,
and though the glow is slowly outshined on the east, for some it stays around to brighten the morning sky, and to paint blue all over the afternoon.
september 13, 2000
writing on this blue monstrosity every day is getting very tedious and i'm starting not to care about it at all anymore (as you can tell by the obvious lack of updates it has received lately). i feel distracted, like i'm being pulled in fifty directions all at once, and as a result i'm stretched thin on everything i try to do. it all seems like a series of pointless attempts at accomplishing things i will never accomplish. and as of now, every thought that crosses my mind comes down to this: too much football annoys me, and i want my saturdays back.
september 5, 2000
something long-gone has made its way into the present, but not in a big way..only in thoughts. it's hard to look for words and find none there..doesn't feel so good even though i know there are bigger and better things to be writing about and experiencing than those that are found in the place i'm standing. but then again, it may be worse to see those words, because what would they describe? letters from that direction are always bold, and red, and they say things that even the tiniest, faintest font feels guilty about discussing.
september 1, 2000
their words and eyes were nothing but encouragement, and i felt so welcome in their company. that huge room was cozy once filled with newfound friends, the ones i had once been afraid of for no reason at all. and as they gathered around to hear, the knot inside my mind loosened and the ideas came pouring out, repeated, sequenced, syncopated...
it was hard to walk away that night, but easy to saunter home with the music at my side.
