A rat

The previous song had been replaced by one from the heart. I guess they are all from there, but this is different.

http://www.myspace.com/whatyourpoint


Somethings wrong
Somethings wrong
My hearts not there
Blood is still
Eyes are stale
Adore

Caged song bird
Caged song bird
Done with her
Take a stand
No chance to
Adore

We’ve all been damaged
But that doesn’t give you the right
To play on my heart strings
Almost every night

What did you want with me
Was I just a place
Somewhere you could conquer
Someone you could waste

somethings wrong
you don't call
you are gone
I am down
all I can do is ignore

Sun is up
Sun is up
So am I
So am I
No more of this
to adore

rare is valuable

rare is only rare to me
and when my opinion is shared
by many, it looks like a tough fight.

Rare is beginning lied to
and never trusting you.
How could I when I don't know
rare is the genuine spark in my soul
and lost are the words with which I would have told you: the
rare and honest truth and the scared timid heart that is so often cut that it fears the bluntest touch,

I would have told you the sharpest truth.

I found this on my computer in a folder for semester's works. I guess I wrote it in 2003, around fall I guess. So dramatic. I think I was struggling with the idea of elucidating the human genome or something. I vaguely remember writing it in the library. I've not changed much... maybe a touch happier.

Deserve



am I the one to deny?

looking at the results

calculation of risks

this one is doomed

this one is very doomed

this one in greater time

this one in less time

this one will suffer

this one will cry

this one will wish it was never born

it will scream a lamentation toward its cruel creator

it will embrance its deformed face, wet with a layer of tears

it will not laugh, it will not sing

it will not know love, it will not know the warm spring wind

so...

I will do intelligent justice

I will provide immaculate righteousness

I will decide: live or die

In this way perfection will thrive

In this way humanity dies

Solitary?

"Not really."

"Don't been so sensitive. You'll scare people."

"You're so serious."

Not about the right things.

"I just wanted to feel this way again."

"What does she want?"

"Who knows... not kids."

"He wants kids? Soon?"

"Maybe she does. Maybe she does if it is a sure thing."

"Oh, it's a sure thing."

"Safe and sound. Safe and secure. Nice and simple. All planned out. Die is cast."

"Maybe there is more to come."

"She done when she is done."

Can we talk tomorrow?

Can we talk tomorrow?
No.

I've got to much pride. There is scrapes and scars from all this being brushed aside.
This solitary life will continue and I'll pretend I never knew.

The fog rolls in and you've said nothing in reply, and why? Why would you went you now have slightly less than the day before. Its all just carousel anyhow... only you're the graceful round and round and I'm getting off and kneeling on the ground.

Feel as little pity for me as I do for you. I understand, I understand, I know.

The view from the park in the mid-night dark you could share with nearly all. But I've only shared it with you.

Red Ribbon

It is really rough, but I wanted to post it since I makes me feel like I didn't waste the time to record it. And I don't give a shit if it sounds bad; sounds good in my room. Only verse and chorus one is in the song right now.


Verse 1
I know when I don’t belong
But my sight for you is strong
Caught me scanning for your eyes
Hooked me with the brightest lines

Confused and alone
I’m dreaming of home's snow
But you’re so lovely in city streets
You are so dark blue eyed

That I can’t let reason stand

[Chorus]
So take this song
Right or off the mark.
Lay it down
Take your heart and mind

Rap in red ribbon

It’s been so long
Since I’ve been here
I’ve been here before
And I don’t like open doors

Verse 2
I’m no stranger to the door
It’s no problem either way
If you go or if you stay

Sick and hard-skinned
I think I’ll just give in
Cause you are so lovely in soft sheets
You are so white sleep’s shroud

That I can’t let reason stand

[Chorus]

Forget it. Don't have the grit for all pushing and pulling.

Phrases of the moon

it's 4:45am.

All night I drempt, then forgot it all.
To wake, to stare out this small window, one of thousands, probably millions
One for everyone who is worth a listen, a moment's consideration
I search out my window, blinded by sodium glow and white headlights.
I search the sky, but see nothing: no pulsing tower, no distant green hill, no eclipsing moon.

Shorts and a jacket and Sperry's and American Spirits.
It is always the same here, the moisture air drifts through the lamp light
and chills my legs.
I search the sky for this promised moon, and there in the west it was: a blurry round shroud over its face... just as girl that hides from grace.

In one night you can witness the phases
those that would the better part of a month.
In a moment I can sum up the phrases,
those that are spoken over an entire year.
In an entire night, I can swing from excitement to sorrow
from delighting brightness to washed-worn and borrowed.

And you can still fit a mold, though I know you don't
and you can still feed your gaunt soul; erase the pain.
I heard you can't remember pain.
But you still fit the mold, so easy to do when you slide,
unhurried, unworried
into place.

The shadow 'cross the moon is creeping left, giving way to the clearest tranquility, the whitest blanket, the brightness golden and I thought of you.
All those rational things, they make sense, don't they?
The safety...all that beautiful security... the freedom for struggle
the freedom given so early. All for only what you've relinquished for much less.
All those times before.

I wonder why there is no pocket marble model of the moon. I wonder if I missed my chance to feel alive again with affection.
To lay out under the stars, in dewy grass and feel like all this is planned, and none of it is really that important.

I couldn't email it.

I want to share something I wrote on the plane yesterday. But it is really "serious". I don't want it to scare you, hopefully it wont.

Cotton clouds stamp shadows on these sprawling lands. Dirt road winds and tar highways snake, lakes of shimmering sun. I'm flying back to you.

How happy can I show you I am? How long can I tell you it's been? Can I attest to you: extraordinary? Can I tell you truly?

These miles quickly pass and people below I'll never know go about breathing and dreaming, and loving. For them, I imagine, the barriers between an unhindered embrace are thinner than this atmosphere. Taking for granted the air they breath.

But not me. Cutting atmosphere and plunging through, I would dive down at speed toward you, on the land stamped with cotton cloud shrouds.

Money, culture, age, ambition, distance, career, race... pressure this air to liquid and see it slip into cracks, catch all you can.

If I do, would you pack me a chute of hope and affection? I was wondering, in this way, would you let me down softly? Else, my heart-sleeves shatter on the ground. Would you watch me descend, passing layers of high piled clouds and smaller fluffs of inert white back-striped with sharp strips of stratospheric ice. Would you open your arms and put my heart-sleeves 'round you? Bring me down.

Am I falling too fast toward you, toward the ground?

Writings from... I don't know when.

formalin preserve this heart
take it back to where I start
anytime you want to come
visit me in my seasoned home
I'll take your hand round the town

one and half years
all this time I've been here
not laid my lips on you
I've dreamt pining scenes about you

unlike me you are constantly wanted
you are a gorgeous smile
soft eastern eyes
beautifully standing
catch lightened glances

I just want to sing the melody
call back to me

maybe in this time
I only get one shot, one go, one try

Im so shy I get staring down
but I know you, I know you for now

so you're over him
right when
your fill my needs

searching in him still
he's every gem indeed
years of what you need

did stars match you up
did heaven mold you exactly


I have a request for you
could I borrow her lips for a moment
I gotta see what I'm missing
I've gotta know

you love the heart can't have
so on and on its beating with
jealous stabs and numb restless

I got a favor for you
oh, you barely know me
but would you do this for me

clearly I have been broken in
my breath I continue not to breath
heart is stamping on my chest
you press, I continue to bleed

say goodbye to all my love
my winters in the cold
sun is sinking to the set
but rise I surely wont

struggle everyday

such an ordinary face
filled with fear lines I'm gonna 'rase
now that I know I can dip into my past
when I made snow forts I knew wouldn't last

so the same with you
trying to do the things I ought to do
i know that are time there is mangled and tangle
in the end roll right over you

Amtrak is inspiring

I wrote this on a train to Plattsburgh from Albany.

In my youth, in the woods, I found a skeleton key.
I was walking, it was summer, I was on the old Indian trail.
I saw it: red-brown, rusted, embedded in the ground.
With roots of pine snaking around and arising from the floor
Backs of surfaced soil whales.
White-bone bitches shimmered in the sun, and the key was in the ground
I squatted on my heels and peered at the metal, brown, and loops like
clover at the head. Rings you could see through. I pinched through a clover-loop and pulled, but the packed-down ground held. I wanted it for my own, this skeleton key in the ground, its loops in the round, clover in infinity, round and round. So, I dug with a stick, and pulled with my child’s-might. The earth released its hold and gave it into my hand, as the original hand that crafted the shaft the teeth the clover leaves.

I pitched back on my rump with the dirt-covered key in hand. After the initial shock of hitting the ground, softened as it was by pine needles, I examined the key.

Where is the lock to this key now? Not that it would accept the rust-covered, dirt-caked teeth as authentic. It would not let me pass into the beyond. Was the key unimportant, the kind of key that could be replaced? No need to worry about the state, it will never again need to be authenticated and turned to let the possessor in to the beyond. No need to worry, the replacement is easily created, as if it never one-of-a-kind.

Or was it? Did they just bash it in, to the beyond? Did they circumvent the lock with clandestine craftiness. Does it let you, truly let you, in?

Else it remained unopened and undiscovered. It remains buried shallow or deep, far or near from the old Indian trial. Maybe it would still accept the dirt-covered teeth and hopefully, turning gently, it will release the bolt and I will pass in to the pure authentic beyond.

I keep an eye to the ground perhaps the hopeful lock found.

9 years later

Struck by spring and moved to tears
immediately evaporated by the graceful breeze

two dreams of you, two mornings of familiar throbbing
some deep awaking wound, rising familiarity with the sun

somehow your face is as clear as this day... and it could
be the very next day from the one I realized I was not suitable, my actions not sufficent
my demeaner not tantalizing, my taste not palatable, my stature not intimidating enough to make you feel like a woman: small, protected, smart, slender, over-powered. I wanted too much equality.

The word of the day is rejection. Nine years later and still, STILL, I can feel the sting.

To switch gears...

What does it mean when I want something beautiful? What is it that makes you the way you are? I can't have you no more than I could understand why. Even if you were receptive and present, it would not be me.

solitary refinement is the name of the game. Not hard enough to tame, to completely there, to utterly bare, eyes begging for matching gazes. You aren't right where you are and I've got to say, love is love and at the end of the day you should feel the same way. You make a good team, though. Everything is safe there.


9 years later and I've not felt the same way since. I could wait to see all but you, I couldn't feel the excitement of spring in their voices. I was in love once, and I've sleep forever tonight, it will be always, just once.

Homesick science (randomness)

May 23, 2007

Albany, New York


I’ll tell you why I like the East. The weather here is metaphor for normal human existence, or what I consider normal. There are cycles, seasons, times we consider bad contrast the good—indeed, the winter prepares the soil so the seeds may grow.

The winter comes, skies are grey, ground freezes, trees become bare. There is little life to be seen outside, no one in the parks, some chick-a-dees in the trees, a solitary crow drops out of a pine and splits the snow muffled silence of the day with its crowing. The world seems dead, but it is not; it is sleeping. It is preparing.

The world tips, tilts, pitches toward the sun. Whenever thinking of dynamics of seasons and how they are a manifestation of the world wobbling, it thrills me. Call me a nerd, but I find it absolutely humbling that a simple phenomenon of this planet’s rocking to and fro creates enough difference in temperature that we get seasons. So the world is pitching toward the sun, the rays of our solar body are hitting our part of the world at a less acute angle, i.e. we are receiving more direct sunlight.

Life, however it started here, on this earth, has yielded so beautifully to the higher forces. I suppose it didn’t have a choice, as the name of the game is survival. I like to blunt the raw truths of nature down by slamming them with personifications. Therefore, I liken interactions between living organisms and physical forces to partners in a dance. This is certainly NOT an original notion or comparison, but I think it is so apt. The leader is the physical forces. They are affect one-another, but lumped together they create the physical world: mass and energy; gravity and entropy; diffusion. The follower of the dance does not “sense” cues until they have occurred. The leader signals, the follower reacts appropriately and the dance continues. The physical realm changes, organisms evolve with it: sometimes by small degrees, other times in huge “leaps”, and other times they just die. But the dance, in its four-billion-year-old glory goes on.

All organisms have been created as they are by these rules, these laws. Some have found ways to dampen their influences: winged creatures negate gravity for a short time (relatively), dolphins are shaped such that the friction and viscosity of water is minimized. Cells, not considering some large exceptions, are all small and started out small because of a simple little law that governs 3 dimensional Space: as you increase the surface area of a sphere (or any shape), you increase its volume by another order. The volume quickly out-grows the surface area around it. Now, if you need to get things (oxygen, for example) across this surface area to the center of the space within—and each unit of volume needs a certain amount of surface area to “service” it. Imagine a loop road around a city that services the interior of the city. As the cities area grows the loop road gets longer, but not fast enough to keep up with the needs of the city.

Anyway, all that brings me to Spring. I love the Northeast for its Spring. I love the trees here. Northern California cannot compare to this verger. It is really not a fair comparison, they are two very different environments (biomes even). That does not change my penchant for oaks, maples, beeches, birches and pines. The deciduous trees are a glorious sight in a park or in the center of a field. They spread out, like a child on a king-sized bed, all around and up. As they age they become full—thousands upon branches. In the Spring they bud, then explode it a bright green chlorophyll splendor. They’re sheltering branches have been written about so numerous times before—I don’t care. I will not let my appreciation of nature be eclipsed by reiterations, man-made dilemmas and bullshit.


Right now I am in a park. It is about 70 degrees in the shade, the air has enough moisture that it holds the heat. In San Francisco, if you get out of the sun the air becomes cold, because it is so dry.

In about a week and a half, I’ll be started out on a weeklong bike journey to LA.

UVM medical school: my status is uncertain. More time in SF?

Back

I'm calling you today; I'm coming back to stay
in the past I've made my way with mistakes and ashed in the flakes floating from a trail of fire I left about 1 mile wide and 3000 long.
But I've paid with a drenching loneliness, a smothering solitude and it is you that I will never take for granted.

Nights when we were alone, winter days brushing off snow. It will fall on us again, like I had never left. And love like you've never known.

See? See these compunction re-uptake inhibitors can stop my soul, the neurons still glow as singing solitary pulsing coal. Just lay your paper white upon it, give it a blow and catch again with heat radiate untold.

Can dream

how many dreamless nights will pass while clouds and time obscure the moon.

the sleep is good and deep, but I wake in the night to see tower pulses red lights.

And a fading dream of you.

I love to simile at you and absorb your charm. Simple shapes, eyes and mouth, exceedingly excited to see you react to the worlds cues. Though, I suppose you control them to haunt me, don't you... Swinging your sheened skin in front of my eyes--so unlike mine--and I go under.

and dream of you.

You can have it all, I'll dig it all out of my head and you can keep it. I'll rather be known and hollow, then hide these dreams of you.

the mechanics

Songwriter

nothing is secret when you are a songwriter. Nothing should be secret.

Drought

If they say Love's a river, then you know you can walk along side. The sun sets early and the bed is bone-dry. It will be cold tonight in the open land, and the rocks and sand may move you to take a stand. There are beautiful seeds that sleep deep in this river's bed. The Sun is kept from them until washing winter's wet.

The river roar is silenced. The banks: mounds of clay, and I walk along the bottom shocked and counting days.

Please remove your shoes and socks and drop the act. Please feel free to saunter and make tracks. Amble amongst the once-wet bed and see, as you come to know me, the sand is becoming damp.

You've traveled with me so short a time. Pan around, you'll see what's breaking through the ground, along the banks, in the Sun our Spring has come.

Green, green, yellow and green. With azure above and brown below. Cool, clean, clear the leaves fill the foreground, there is no more forever acre cemetery of skeletal frames. Greene, yellow and green. Life as won.

A while more you've held me, the water swiftly flowing just above our knees. Moments before you are swept away...

The water's raging, trees rooted in the clay. All started with a stroll along my bone-dry river's bed.






Of these things I play on, none will alight on my horizon.

Break it.

it is better than nothing at all.

Swinging arms around in the dark
hoping to hear a my breaking heart
wish to feel some sorrow
better than nothing at all.

Adam's Apple

I had a dream about having an Adam's apple. Clearly, there is a problem.

Smoke up!

These are the people I work for. I was not involved in the study, too bad really.

UCSF Press release:
http://www.cmcr.ucsd.edu/JS-Abrams-final.pdf

Watch the video that is cued up 'bout half-way down the page.
http://abclocal.go.com/kgo/story?section=local&id=5028346

What are you?

Origins: where are you from?
I'm from the 'burbs, from the Area, from a small town in beauty you've never seen.
Doesn't that say so much? Cause, dear, I just met you, I need to know how and where you were forged. Where is the Earth missing it's your minimal mass, and darlin' make it fast. Cause I've got another lined up and I've got to make some decisions tonight. Where are you from? Where do you hail from? And what does that make you? Are you fertile from the plains? Healthy and thin as air in the Rockies? Hot and sultry from the South? Cold and forgiving from New England? Or are you from a place of surf and palms and silver mirrors that encompass aspirations.

Ethnicity: And who were your parents? Who brought you here before me: breathing this air and a part of this age? What are the fractions of your blood? How'd you get that smile, that sorrow, those breast, that intellect? Stand before me and peel your layers and tell me finely examine each one. Cause I've got to make some decisions tonight. In this city we've got the time, but don't waste mine.

Conclusion: If I like, I'll stay. But, there is more where you came from and plenty more of those layers are duplicated in her and her and her and I don't understand combinations. How do people come together with blood and soil to combine in a uncountable unimpeachable unrepeatable combinations? That doesn't happen... You are replaceable.