My heart aches. It feels like a dead tree in the middle of an unexplored forest.

Advice on what to listen to...

There's A Storm A Comin' by Richard Hawley.

Everything that happens happens only once.

Great Moments In 21st Century Television

"Do you think that there was a reason that the killer sodomized your husband with a banana?"

Now convinced that Newt Gingrich is a fat fucking asshole.

I hate myself.

Proof he deserves to be re-elected.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T-hDt2E8MoE&feature=g-logo&context=G2281e8eFOAAAAAAAAAA

"So I'm reading one of those news sites when this article gets posted. And it's about the fact that someone bought an iPhone, and when they got it, it wasn't blank. It had information on it from inside the factory. And in fact in the camera roll, there were pictures on it from inside the factory. And they posted these pictures into the article. And I looked at these pictures, and they took my breath away. They're not very good pictures, you know? They're just testing that the camera on the phone works. They're not of anything. But I'll never forget them. There were four of them. First there was a stack of pallets, wooden pallets stacked up. And the second one was the edge of a conveyor belt. And the third was totally out of focus. It could just be an enormous space. And the fourth was a woman. She doesn't know her picture's being taken. She's looking off in another direction. She's wearing a clean suit. She has no expression on her face."

http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/454/mr-daisey-and-the-apple-factory

Great Moments In 21st Century History

Ron Paul, addressing South Carolinians, suggested we adopt a foreign policy more representative of the Golden Rule.

The audience booed profusely.

---

Missing people sucks.

This is dedicated to all the ladies out there who like to go to the movies... Especially you, guhl.

We are the enemies of the dead,
we who walk in flesh through cemeteries
and breathe in daylight.

We have touches tense and gentle,
we have looks warm and cold,
we have sounds soothing and ferocious,
we have scents filling and destructive.
And we have tastes salty and enticing.

Our hearts beat near but never together.
We open our empty mouths to each other,
let our tongues roll and love like strangers,
fall together and apart with the wind like branches on an elderly tree.

What do the dead have to be jealous of?
We bury ourselves in fractions of each other.

Life is an idiomatic expression.
I am an idiom.
I feel tired in my bones and sorrow dripping dangling from me like moss.
I hope at least it's pretty.

hymn to the silence...

Happy birthday to Stephen William Hawking.
And happy birthday to my heart.

Terrorized by my own brain, upon release from thunderous shackling and crashling dreams, I set out for the Grand Canyon equipped with alcohol and books about perception. I seek transformation. I seek shelter. I awoke and wrote these words in a foreign handwriting not quite my own:

"There's sorrow in residual,
and perfume in tomorrow."

I am gripped.

Great Moments In 21st Century Literature

"Rebel-In-Chief: Inside The Bold And Controversial Presidency Of George W. Bush" by Fred Barnes

I spilled.

Sometimes I can feel everything down to the molecules of the air crawling upon my skin like slow, creeping spiders. Sometimes I feel like a cracked pot. I should hold water but I can't. It drips from me and I see my blood is waving away wateringly from this carcass.
There was a time once when I felt pure, like crystal clear river water. I could dream of places just as pure and serene. Clouds, mountains, hills, hearts, voices and lives, legs walking and running. But I feel this infection now, persistently, and I'm bent, shifted like a broken waterfall. How far can a thing fall?
There is no rise.
I see a crumbling empire. I am one myself.
Once I was a heart built on solid ground. But there is no solid, only liquid. Even stones flow. I can't feel my blood. Words are all I am.
We are the eyelashes of Time's face.
How is it that beauty can be perceived? How does breathing persist? Is it possible to feel death?
Many times I wish I were hospitalized. My bones are weary and weatherbeaten.
I wish I was a ship. But I am a vessel of nothing going nowhere.
I see nothing.

"Being born is going blind."

"I dream a highway back to you, love.
A winding ribbon with a band of gold.
A silver vision come molest my soul.
I dream a highway back to you."

I can feel insomnia needling me. You cannot know its evil sting. I pray to God it does not linger here as it once did before.

Poetry is all there is.

She once told me she was amazed at the poetry that came from my heart.
But it was lies.

I have no heart and I have no poetry.
All I am is a lost man wrestling endlessly to untangle the forest of words in me.