we are six small dinghies
bobbing in the surf
just off of shore

and you might call us in
and you might pity us, out there
but the current doesn't keep us

for on land reality breaks
harsher than the strongest of waves
and the breezes carry more than light and sea

perhaps we'll moor together
catching in our nets music
of sea and sails and sun

because out there
no one decides if you're worth it
just the sea

I'm going to be vague here, and I know it
but naming numbers and figures just might result in me actually getting what it is that I want

and I'm not sure I want that.

But you know what it's like
having a goal
an attainable goal
something that might be possible
but for one fatal flaw
one person standing in the way, who
for a variety of reasons
you can't force aside,
shouldn't force aside
might regret forcing aside.

Yeah, I'm sure you know what it's like

And we just have to wait, don't we.

So I don't remember where I heard this but... quick sweep...
Nope, wasn't on a blog.
It goes something like this:

We all perceive ourselves in two ways,
the way We think we are
and the way we think others think we are.
We are, most often, the latter.

So if you mean to be honest but think you come off as harsh
then you're probably harsh

If you think you're eclectic but come off as disorganized and a little crazy
then you probably are


Question: If I then realize that I am not what I think I am but instead what others think I am, and I am aware of that fact, does it cease to be true?

I'm telling you, disorganized and a little crazy.

It sounds like sixteen symphonies all battling one another in perfect harmony. It swells in a grand crescendo
and half cuts out.
I slam my door. and it cuts back in.
The thump thump of the back left ball bearing blends with the tap tap of the snare.
and the passenger speaker quits
kick that will you
then gets back to work
and a lead singer with a voice that sounds like butter, if butter was good for you,
battles the defroster.
and his acoustic guitar sounds like the wind.
but that could just be the trunk.

No. Some songs are simply too perfect
to be ruined by an old car
and a crappy sound system


This one goes out to Louie, my Ford Contour and Radical Face for writing songs like "Welcome Home"
What good stuff

"Hello, I'm Wintley Phipps"
and an audible -woah- slides across the room
and a single guffaw, no, it was just the guff

I lean over the the person next to me
velvet pipes, I say

and one thousand and three people
sit a little higher in their seats
and one thousand and three people
who came here today
not to hear or heed
but to ignore
and maybe sleep

One thousand and three people who, perhaps,
just needed to be hit over the head
with a board
or a velvet pipe

maybe all they needed was to surprise us
well, they did

Congratulations, Mr. Phipps

Chaos, fire and fission happening at rates a thousand to one
all contained and displayed in blue green plastic stars

I remember you placed them so carefully on the ceiling
Orion's belt, cat constellations
and at night, when I couldn't sleep I would search those stars
for pictures and for meaning

I remember how those stars made you feel little, far away
and you erupted against childhood
ripping those stars down off the ceiling
taking small amounts of paint with them
leaving little black holes

And at first it scared you, those empty holes
but then you said it
It's the natural cycle of things
light and then darkness
stars get tired you know

And now at night, I lay in bed
and you're gone
and the stars are gone
and I'll tell you the truth
the darkness is worse than the insignificance.

No, I'm not eighteen
Not today.
But it seems everyone else is
and this is causing me to think about
where I have been
where I will go
and right now

not too long ago I wept about the perfect melancholy of childhood
the small disappointments that mean the world
but are merely reflections of it
speaking but never being heard
this doesn't go away with years

because now, older
childhood may seem trivial
but that should never be
because childhood is life
with training wheels and elbow pads