2018, where even the lows are pretty damn high. Asked her to marry me. She said yes. She wants simple. I love her. We do have issues but they’re not warning signs: they’re me throwing off the vestiges of old p. The p of fear is no me.
This makes me want to document some of my 2018 a little better. When it’s going great, I have a tendency to not write. I will work on that.
20180703
20180607
20180607
everything is going according to plan.
except for the blurry vision and groin tightness. tomorrow will tell.
current mood. seu jorge covering bowie.
except for the blurry vision and groin tightness. tomorrow will tell.
current mood. seu jorge covering bowie.
20180602
20180601
Kiddo had her first kiss today. That’s kinda awesome, she was so happy. And she told me on the way home from Italian fest. Good times.
20180516
20180516
86 honeydew. Comic book shopping. LEGO builds. Highway stargazing. Anson lights. Traditional German breakfast. Au jus. Brookside blueberry/açaí. Greys Anatomy. Bitch drill. Dr Pepper slurpees. Hollandaise on thick muffins. Double earrings and checkered vans. Closet knee pads. 26 minutes late. I want my data back. View, TX. Teeter totter happiness. Matching railroad photos. Takis party bags. 5am IHOP. Pygmy goats. Teepee time. Flossing at red lobster. Little house of the three amigos. Yum yum sauce. Blind mockingbird. Rolling R’s. Skull head. Green balls at Play Faire. Starbucks and rainstorms. Stay to the right. Tickle laugh. Lavender bath. The happiest man to ever step foot in Abilene.
20180429
20180429
Tears in the clouds are usually rain
But not these tears in these clouds on this day
For second by second, mile by mile
He’s taken further and further away from her smile
His poem a puddle, his screen turned a mess
And nothing to stem it, no one to caress
Sweet nothings have bloomed, he now feels the thorns
The pain of love’s longing, of two hearts being torn
Apart from each other, each moment an age
Wrapped up in the truths of each promise they’d made
- flight 2 -
Yet the tone of this poem, of one left behind
Doesn’t quite match the author’s designs
See the time he had spent, considering love
Only served to remind of him of the one up above
So as far as he flew, as high as he’d get
The Lord looks o’er them both, flying higher yet
Their connection He’d forged long before time
And time cannot threaten what the lord has designed.
But not these tears in these clouds on this day
For second by second, mile by mile
He’s taken further and further away from her smile
His poem a puddle, his screen turned a mess
And nothing to stem it, no one to caress
Sweet nothings have bloomed, he now feels the thorns
The pain of love’s longing, of two hearts being torn
Apart from each other, each moment an age
Wrapped up in the truths of each promise they’d made
- flight 2 -
Yet the tone of this poem, of one left behind
Doesn’t quite match the author’s designs
See the time he had spent, considering love
Only served to remind of him of the one up above
So as far as he flew, as high as he’d get
The Lord looks o’er them both, flying higher yet
Their connection He’d forged long before time
And time cannot threaten what the lord has designed.
20180426
20180426
In an airplane aloft, in seats ever cramped
He ventures along, this brand new man
Horizons of blues and clouds of cream
Brings ever closer the girl of his dreams
They’ve fought through so much, for year after year
Each other they’ve won, a reward sincere
He peers out and on, skies dancing in place
But nothing compares to the lines of her face
They’d waited so long, their patience held true
Forever on “us” would mean me and you.
He ventures along, this brand new man
Horizons of blues and clouds of cream
Brings ever closer the girl of his dreams
They’ve fought through so much, for year after year
Each other they’ve won, a reward sincere
He peers out and on, skies dancing in place
But nothing compares to the lines of her face
They’d waited so long, their patience held true
Forever on “us” would mean me and you.
20180412
20180403
20180228
20180228
cornell singing a song derived from a johnny cash poem. two lost, giant, kindred spirits. i am invisible, but i've soaked up these lost voices so many times that i'm inured to it. i can't name a single living artist that moves me like these tragic souls can. so why am i still here?
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