Friday, December 30, 2005

I have tried through trial and error a frustrating number of times these past few days to mess with the design of this site and I've failed miserably . This is a plea for help to anyone who can help me edit the html code for a few subtle changes. Widening space between text. Adding a photo at the top of the blog etc etc. Please e-mail me if you can lend a hand.

Saturday, December 24, 2005




Yup there is a reason I haven't been around here in a while. She's the color of dark red wine and smells of damp, rich African rosewood and she's taking every single last bit of feeling I've got right now. We all need our holiday escapes. I'm hibernating in comfortable spaces right now. Exploring the smells and the sounds and the colors that grab my hand and take me rushing back much further than my brain usually can on its own. It's an endless backward fall. It's searching for something that slides through my fingers. But that's no reason to give up. The truth blog's new year starts early. But I don't have to tell you, you'll know.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

Hi nice people who keep leaving comments and sending me e-mails. The coolest thing in the world is when people keep leaving comments on old posts because it means that when you come here it's all making enough sense that you want to read on. You want to grab as much as you can and that is what I call success, even if it's on a small scale. But not everything we talk about has to be serious and intense and emotional and spurting like my roommate's vomit from some fountain of wisdom. Maybe we should start with something easy. Something frivolous and unimportant.

I've got it: My worst fear. My biggest, baddest, scarriest fear is that its all been done. That's its all been done better. No matter what I blog, no matter what I say or what I sing, or who I screw someone has beaten me to the punch. Someone is thetruthblogger only he's (or she's cuz I know girls can hang just as well with this shit) doing it the way it's supposed to be done. Better. Smarter. Stronger. Faster. With more Heart. With fewer words. With the love and attention it deserves. I try to take the most complicated things, the ones you never feel like you can wrap your hand around, strip them of everything unimportant and put them down here in their most naked form. And I suggest that to digest them fully you should be in the same state. Unless you're fat. Or ugly. Or wrinkly and old. Or a dude. Yup, I 'm shallow and stupid in real life too. But shhhhh. It's our little secret.

This fear of being outdone is seconded only by the thought of someone crushing my windpipe in some fight or freak accident. It doesn't matter how much I trust you, I will never let you touch my goiter. Maybe it's like Pretty Woman. She'll only kiss the right man, and I'll only let the right girl wrap her hand around the outside of my throat. Yup, if you ask me, love is a swift karate chop to the adam's apple.

Monday, December 12, 2005

Whoever talks the loudest wins the arguments these days. It's not about what you say it's how few breaths you need to take while you're saying it. It's how many other voices you can drown out when you unleash your own. One giant never-ending stream of words in a circular breathing cluster fuck of perpetuity. I'm not sure if anyone even appreciates silence anymore. The welcomed release it brings, not just when we lay our heads down to rest but in the morning as the sun rises to the east and reflects off my neighbor's newly-painted white wall and into my bedroom. The silence of a pause to feel. Feel the rise and fall of her chest on mine. Feel it even when there's no one else in the room.

Girls go through a cycle every month and guys think they're immune but I, for one, know better. Mine's a little more annual, maybe it's some lunar calendar shit, but there's always a time when it just feels write to leave most things unsaid. It comes two steps after the huge burst of positive energy and one step after general malice towards the world. And it comes just before the most profound moment. And the less you speak, the more receptive people are to really listen when it's time and my mouth is finally ready to open again.

But I won't scream. I'll take my time. Reason isn't shouted. It isn't all squinty-eyed or smirky or overpowering. It's calm. It's quiet. It's collected. It's so smooth and effortless it makes you smile and wonder how we all made it this far on raised voices and wagging fingers.