my brother, the writer. |
this is a poem my brother wrote. The man doesn't so much as write words, but to me he seems to dance with them. Even when they break your heart it's still a dance, just a slow one. Sometime at the end... Posted by on Mon, 08 Jan 2007 09:44:00 GMT |
autumn's comings and goings |
Autumn seems to have snuck up on me like a cat. With it's wind tugging at my sleeves, and it's leaves brushing by my ankles. I pull up my collar and think, when did this happen? A strong gust stops me... Posted by on Tue, 07 Nov 2006 11:28:00 GMT |
the mystery of moths |
this is also long. sorry.
------------------------------------------------------------
--------------------
The smoke curls undisturbed in the still room. There are boxes stacked where once there was d... Posted by on Wed, 11 Oct 2006 13:38:00 GMT |
little girl blue |
this is long. sorry. i want to post it anyway.
------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------
I was lucky enough to get a window seat during the late-lunch... Posted by on Sun, 03 Sep 2006 15:33:00 GMT |
my backbone |
Somewhere deep into a quiet night I sit in a closed bar, with its windows covered by a metal grate and its door locked, fortified from all untold events that might be conspiring against me. Possibly ... Posted by on Thu, 17 Aug 2006 05:13:00 GMT |
dead air. |
The cell phone lays in my hand, unused, no signals to be sent or received, and yet I can't quite turn it off. We should get together, she said. We have to go over all of our papers. I replied, that wo... Posted by on Sun, 30 Jul 2006 13:04:00 GMT |
the assistant |
Yeah, okay, I lied. So what? It seems I have more to say after all . . .
During the world cup, I was working an outdoor arena with a massive LED screen projecting each and every game. The place sat b... Posted by on Thu, 13 Jul 2006 10:08:00 GMT |
my second to last myspace blog |
When people ask me what I do (and strangely it is most often asked when I am working), the answer is always the same,
I am a bartender.
And to be honest, I am a damn good one. You could say it is... Posted by on Sat, 17 Jun 2006 09:05:00 GMT |
a word on violence |
"Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes." -Walt Whitman
Blood, a coppery taste, fills my mouth. Bright red and watery from saliva. She walks next... Posted by on Wed, 17 May 2006 14:59:00 GMT |
hope and cum-trees |
I became self-aware standing amid a warm breeze, and stepping out from under a green canopy into the sun. slow, cautious synaptic pulses took in my surroundings. It is bright, vivid, and warm, and I a... Posted by on Fri, 05 May 2006 06:22:00 GMT |