I. loathe. writing.

But just for today.



And probably tomorrow.

-what can you do?

Some days the poetry

Falls as rain,

Coursing through

Every vein;

Then there are days

Like today,

Where it doesn’t matter

What you say

It all comes out wrong

Anyway.

(day seventy-nine)

Hold the phone. Three days in a row?

Hard to believe, isn’t it?

The word of the day was procrastination.

Do you know what I ate today?

Two pots of coffee.

Four cigarettes.

Five cups of tea.

One package of ramen, dry.

One energy drink.

I’m going to fall over dead one of these days.

And it’s going to be hilarious.

-Viens avec moi?

xx

|and in the treble clef|

Life isn’t measured in inches, decibels or years.

Life isn’t about engagement rings, kicks or rims.

But we don’t care, we want them anyway;

You measure yours in pearls and parties,

I’ll measure mine in friends and zinfandel

And

As long as we’re dancing,

Why stop to count the beat?

(day seventy-eight)

I love my work.

I lost two pounds on set yesterday; weird. Welcome, but weird.

And after seeing the photos from the set, I’m painfully aware of how much work yet remains.

We can’t stop now, just because the view is grand-

We’re only halfway up the dune, and we’re slipping in the sand.

Viens avec moi?

xx

Another day on set,

and I can't wait.

-Viens.

xx

|chamomile|

Permeating.

That’s what it is.

Stuck to the walls of my throat

So I cannot breathe.

Like a head cold,

But less benign.

Choking, or in

Cloying clouds,

It eats away

At the soul.

-of toska, i

(day seventy-five)

Some days feel overwhelming, even before they’ve begun.

And then some days don’t ever begin.

-Viens avec moi.

xx

I will seek forever out of the hope that I am wrong,

and the fear that I am right. 

and, as the winds die down,

Tea is for toska, for healing the soul,

Smoothing the wrinkles and patching the holes;

The kettle is whistling and the world falls away,

Steeping and weeping, it colours the day.

The bitterest bits bite,

Not out of spite,

But to remind us that

Wherever we are, and

Whoever we be,

There is always more

Than just you and me.

(day seventy-one)

Over the weekend, I managed to accidentally accomplish one of my goals.

I spent the entirety of Saturday on the set of an independent horror film, written and directed by Matt Mudd. Much of my downtime was spent in the makeup trailer/green room with the rest of the actors, and at one point I found myself playing my guitar. And singing. More than a dozen people whose names I did not know, and yet I played. Serenade a stranger. Check.

I had a blast on set, and I did more than just get my feet wet. I’m going back this weekend, and I’ve made a few new friends; it’s breathed a bit of life into the fire in my soul, and I’m grateful for it.

Come, my dear, we have oceans to sail.

-Viens avec moi?

xx