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I'm so looking forward to this. It premieres August 30th.

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Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I shake. Sometimes I cry and shake. I get stuck in my head. I cry. I shake. Crit. Crit. Criticize. I move on. I get stuck again. I can't move. I cry. Sometimes I just shake.

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I had a dream about you last night. I found you lurking in my bushes. You hair was long and greasy, and chunks of it appeared to have been pulled out. Generally speaking, you looked like crap. I called your name and you started running and then I yelled, "Please let me help you," and you did, let me help you. I don't know what that dream was all about. You don't need my help. If anything I need you, not the opposite way around. Anyway, I couldn't fall back asleep after that. I just laid in bed, trying not to think about it .

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I don't know what to say anymore. I'm all out of words. I still care about you and miss you. I still think about you every day and I probably always will, until the day I die. That's just the way it works, sometimes. Yes, I wish that I had done some things differently. Yes, I wish that you had done some things differently, too. But that doesn't mean that I've stopped caring about you. I don't know how one even begins, to stop.

Blah blah blah. La ditty la la.

The end.

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I'm doing this and I think you should, too. I think you're capable of creating something really wonderful.

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Mod Madness

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My favorite pastime: Posting something on this page and then deleting it the next day, the next hour, the next minute.

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Because I'm a dork, I was super excited to see my poem, Silence as Thick as Canned Frosting,  mentioned in the New Pages review of Knock! I don't why it excites me; it just does!

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This song just made me shake my bootee. Always a good sign.

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I bit my tongue and it hurts like hell. I sort of bite it a lot. Well, it happens more often than I'd like to admit. I think it's because I eat too fast . . . or because I have a really big tongue.

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Love this article on Phillip Cooley, owner of Slows in Detroit. If you're in the area, check out Slows. They have an awesome veggie bbq sandwich and one heck of a mac and cheese.

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So I guess that I won't be seeing you, which feels so weird to me. Well, actually, I'm used to not seeing you; it's the not telling you part that freaks me out. I miss telling you . . . all sorts of things.

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Just Like Heaven. The Watson Twins. I never paid much attention to the original, but it's a beautiful song.

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God Help The Girl. Such a good album. Love, love, love it.

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My new favorite book: Haruki Murakami, Hard-boild Wonderland and the End of the World

"Just now, you spoke of the Town's perfection, all are contented and at peace. Why is that? It's because they have no mind...It is by relinquishing their mind that the Townfolk lose time; their awareness becomes a clean slate of eternity... All that's required is that you strip away the shadow that is the grounding of the self and watch it die. Once your shadow dies, you haven't a problem in the world. You tell me there is no fighting or hatred or desire in the Town. That is a beautiful dream, and I do want your happiness. But the absence of fighting or hatred or desire also means the opposites do not exist either. No joy, no communion, no love. Only where there is disillusionment and depression and sorrow does happiness arise; without the despair of loss, there is no hope. "

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The most fucked up thing of all is that I understand. I understand why. I may not like it. I may not agree with it, but I get it. Sometimes, I wish that I didn't.

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I never wanted an interesting life. I only wanted you.

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There is something about therapy that makes you feel dead inside. It's a place where everything you've ever felt or thought or longed for is wrong, a place where you're told that love is a lie, that happiness is an illusion, that misery is something that only exists in fairy tales. Emotions are like shadow puppets, they tell you. They are not real. There is only numbness. It's like you're living at the end of the world, or in a town like Stepford, and, in that emptiness, nothing is supposed to matter.

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