crummy extempore nonsense

the summer sun longs for your touch,
i hesitate to step outside,
reach for your daunting, warming rays,
invite the life held in your arms,
upward, crosswise, undulating,
wreath my neck in sardius.
i chase the hearses in the street,
dreaming of when you come for me.
the winter wraps around my throat,
the death-blue loves your memory--
but i am everspring, my dear,
and ever-living, here i lie.

from the ivory tower

I've missed you.
Yes, you. The person reading my blog.
It's been something like a month since I've been away, and it's just hitting me.
It's all right. I've had things to occupy me, I've met new people, but they don't replace you.
I'll be gone, soon. Out of this country, where we're all scrabbling either to find our place or grow a rocket on our posteriors and blast off. I'm not sure what I'll be doing, but I know that so long as I've got this damnable overconfidence, people will point and laugh, and mock me for thinking I know what's what.
I'm listening to 'All Along the Watchtower'...a good cover, by the Dave Matthews Band. They don't sound the least bit drugged up.
This is, of course, disappointing. I've stilted my brain with all manner of nonsense, to the point where I can't hear myself think any longer. If I can't think, I can't miss you, of course. But there's something about this song, this moment, sitting on my forest green sheets amongst a tangle of blankets, my toes freezing, my eyes burning, my hair dripping wet from the shower that's going to give me pneumonia...my head is clear, and I can say--
December is blue, that is it's colour. There is no doubt. There is no balance in blue,
It is absolute.
I drip blue from my pores in this counterbalanced, deoxydized chill, serving rum to Keith Richards and watching him smile. He's a polite fellow, when properly intoxicated. I am brought to my knees by the lack of balance.
Pearls can be blue, sometimes, like my sweatshirt, cable-knit, Abercrombie and Fitch (that hideous brand, at least it's second-hand). Blue, the colour of my veins, purple and green, and red, sometimes. But not so often in the winter.
It's November, and the babies conceived in love on February the fourteenth are whipping out their stinging tails and smiling at me with their oddly intent eyes, telling me I love them, willing me not to forget them.
I want it to be warm.

the ants go marching one by one

well, i've just got in tonight. i've gorra strawberry milkshake in one hand and the corpse bride in the other, and i'm all awone! *weeps in tongues*
damn it. i just can't get any love, can i?!
i've been writing again. whoop de lala. i have cookies, and i'm going to sleep after i've watched this.
night, ma luvs!

please, sir, may i have some more?

i don't suppose it's of any help to you to know that my Muse and I are at a stalemate. we are not on speaking terms. the bastard. i've done everything...played music so emotionally pregnant that i bled from the ears, played my own music (with much the same outcome..and incidentally, i have a bit of a seasonal cold, so i can't do shite with what little i already have to work with), read a million beautiful poems, stared in wistful abstraction at jason statham half-naked, had a good chat with a bartender...nummat, i tell ya!
NUMMAT!
this is where i declare war on the faculties intent on ruining my writing career. i'm SO PISSED!
no, actually, i'm despairing. how could it possibly have come to this? i wrote a few tawdry little quatrains, but they aren't helping me for squat.
at least i still have these lovely flannel pajamas...they're big and shapeless and gowny and i don't bloody CARE if i look like oliver twist.
in other news, i'm looking into getting myself some official looking papers, passports and the like...oh, and there are dirt bikes where i'm living..and a harley. so it looks like i might get my lisence. kidding, only kidding.
but i will drive them, yes?
boh, i am sleepy. here, everyone in houston who attended these things has some pictures of the skinfest...so here are some of my own. ta da!