The world around me

my best friend

biking around

why I love rain

Elliott Bay Bookstore

Snowshoeing

April 12, 2008

Seattle, Wa

My hands after work

I failed at making soup

Songs of butterflies are near me 

stories of the sun

memories of the moon 

escape me

The nights of my youth hum upstairs

buried in blackberry

my soul waits

I would light a match 

If I could reach

I just lost myself 

in this photograph of mountains

I search for meaning in this song 

It will be the soundtrack

to my new life

April come she will

Last night

I told him 

That I couldn't help it

That I didn't understand myself

I even apologized for how I felt.  

We kept walking 

saying nothing

I reached for his hand

He told me not to hold it

I guess now I am not going snowboarding tomorrow

sinking

My bike is upside down on my living room floor.  I lost a part to the front wheel somewhere between Kentucky and Seattle.  I will take it to a mountain bike repair shop nearby to give her a nice lube and lovin.  This world is moving to fast for me. 

Yesterday, I had an hour left of work to kill.  We were sawing ivy rings around big old trees in Preston.  The first half of the morning we were working in peoples yards.  Then we slowly moved further and further away from all that.  One thing very unique about working in the middle ground of development and loose earth is the randomness of everything.  

Josh found (and wore) a red tee, I found (but didn't drink) 3 cans of beer.  In my last hour of climbing through thick blackberry and boggy ground, I found a tree house next to a heavily flowing creek.  Two wooden high back chairs were perfectly placed creating an ideal drinking or sitting spot.  I imagined myself there.  

I still have not changed.  I would rather stand still holding hands staring at the sky, mountains, and water then live indoors with strange faces.  

I will pump these breaks and begin looking elsewhere.  There is a hole in my heart and I don't know what to do about it.  All I want to feel is love.  

I shutter

Its Like Dreaming

I lay outstretched in the grass

The peacefulness of the night shakes me

how long have I been laying here

staring at the sky

trying to make reason of it all

heaven and hell

nature and man

where are the boundaries

I leave these thoughts to rest

and smoke a cigarette

The rough sensation of nicotine rushes through my body

I exhale as smoke escapes my lips

The cloudy air lingers

and the glow from the moon 

illuminates tiny particles of air

it resembles a spider web suspended before me

My hand reaches out 

grabbing onto nothing

I blink and the images are gone

I smoke and think

thinking led to questioning

and I found myself in the same paradox 

nothing moved or changed

the ground still solid beneath me 

Christoff Gallery in Georgetown