Longing in the Wake of the Arno

And what of all these grand ideals i've had?
I've kept, I've stored, I've fed, saved, grown,
loved...
Are they to die? Can they die? If they die, does part of me go with them?
Am I becoming something that I'm not, while my soul
has taken a leave of absence...
When will I return and set myself straight and
then...will it be too late?
Time
and where is me
and yet...without you... part of me is in that too
and part of me goes with you if you leave...
and the Arno and the Tuscan sun and all that
Shakespeare's words would conjur can not stand
against the force that is you
and that leaves me longing in your wake...
Is it you that makes them all worthwhile or
am I under some persisting delusion?

Evolution of Human Relations (OR Reasons Why Blood is Thicker Than Water)

Ring... ring... ring....

"Hello?"
"Hey, I need a lift..."

Voice 1:"No."
Voice 2:"Can't."
Voice 3:"Be there in 45." (minutes, that is)
Voice 4:"On my way."

8/15

It was merely a Summer of interim, the space between two semesters. Two fairly important blocks of time, and between them, a unit of transition. It was fairly slow and smooth, one might even say blasé as far as summers have the potential of going.

But it was the foggy moods that plagued my mind almost constantly that summer that stood out the most, more than any events or friends or situations that threatened to define that season. They seemed to come on me in wave after wave of mind-altering haze.

Sometimes they were new and sometimes they were old illusions threatening to hold me hostage forever. How do you fight something that has housed itself in your mind, that refuses to leave, that becomes your vision, becomes a part of you, and then, sometimes, so suddenly, and only for a few flickering moments, looks so clearly like madness. Was I crazy most of the time and sane only in fleeting glimpses? Had the enemy gained ground in my own head?

I was tired of fighting...
tired...

you did go. past emphatic.

all the chairs in the living room are facing the tv
they are waiting for its sound advice.
waiting for its wisdom to teach them how they should pray.
my arms are cold.
it's almost christmastime.
i'm thinking of buying a christmas album this year.
the couch embraces me, and i feel like it's a relative.
i want to fall asleep here, but my mind is tied up with tiny pink ballet slippers
and things not lost but long forgotten.
you've weakened me considerably by your house of cards
forget about your house of cards
where did you go?

November

I am walking briskly in the cold
and think of you
and smile a little to myself in frustration
and amusement.
I have pushed and fled and fought so many
but you would not give yourself up to be treated thus
and I do not want to push or flee or fight you at all
And perhaps this is why I smirk at the irony and shrug and adjust my scarf.

upon finishing a history exam

i can't breathe
and i'm looking for a fight
i'm drowning in this passionless pit of waste
every second a waste
show me the injustice that i might remedy it
but leave me no more in this double-edged lie
this pseudo-life that exists only in the mind
i will not survive it.

i can't breathe.

stop

we are right
they are fools

we are intellectuals
they are fools

we are free
they are fools

we are the anti
they are fools

we are informed
they are ignorant fools

we are clever
they are fools

we are the periphery
they are fools

we are the glorified minority
they are the fools

we are better
they are fools

we are fools
we are fools
we are fools