streets are uneven when--

out of place

before i started off with my impossible task of reading war and peace i actually had just started said's out of place. i will return to that book one day, i know that, but that's not the point i'm trying to make, the point is i have this feeling of not having a point a way of not fitting in a way of feeling out of place--all these people swirling around with happy faces i swear god i neevr felt more stranger to them in my life--it's not misery or anything i'm perfectly fine even joyful had good days and better nights last week (including a bottle of wine and dancing under the pouring rain--poetic stuff) but it still doesn't feel right--i go i travel i laugh but i never make anything mine--these are not my friends this is not my place these are not my days

i don't know what it is. i just know it's in my stomach. this forceful tastelessness this way of existing without really existing as if doing a favor to all those others going through the motions and all

not even songs not even songs seem to be able to fix it

damn you great russian men who wrote the most beautiful words only to ruin my life 100 times evert day

barefoot girls dancin' in the moonlight

you know what i like more than listening to a great song? listening to it a million years later in the randomest of moments and remembering how great it was.

'said i was easily amused.



oh fogerty. sexiest voice ever.

with the one who tries to hide what he don't know to begin with

you know, some of these people i just don't get. their immaturity is out of this world, man--i am neither that smart nor that sane but, seriously? is this how small their bubbles are, how empty, how meaningless? it makes me sad. the way they squeeze their tinyness, attaching it to the texture of others.

but honestly who cares? it's all 'bout misunderstanding anyhow. misunderstanding love, loyalty, friendship, joy, games.. i can't correct them all.




it's all right boys, i still love ya. in a healthy way, that is.

pastures of plenty

i have this way of existing by myself in the midst of the largest groups--i would sit there and smile and be in the conversation and ask questions and look interested but there in that very second i'll be somewhere completely different. now i got no explanations for it or anything i just know it happens a little too often and with just about anybody--


see if you don't really have anyone on your mind--no one you care for in that very childishly speacial way--some dark figure cut out from you imagination whom you can reach out when the view is pretty and lights sparkle over the water and you have a cigarette in your hand and a good bottle of wine--

but when your heart is a colorless as a monday morning a good bottle of wine is only a good bottle of wine

here's the thing--i'm tired. just got home from 2 days out on the streets and i have good even great stuff to talk about---but honestly i'm tired as hell and just wanna make some coffee for myself and chill out--maybe listen to a few bob-s since it seems we've been ringing his ears (a turkish phrase that i honestly thought would look better but oh well--meaning talk about someone, they even say if your left one rings they're dishing shit about you and if the right one's going on then it's somewhat better (though technically they're still talking behind your back)) anyways so some day other than this one i will tell you all about all them unimportant things

till then
love you all

"petya!"

i looked up to my bookshelf and my sad war and peace that had been standing there for centuries--then i said to myself "why go on living if you're not going to read you tolstoy? why even take up space?"

so i pressed my russian spirit to my chest all day and realized how good somethings were

may 8th

in between my general taste-less-ness and lack of enthusiasm, i must have looked this one over. forgive me, getnle spirit of the wonderful Robert Johnson. may 8th was his birthday, i should have mentioned that here, but things have been a bit out of control lately, i must have let it slip. well, it may be too little, too late now but still, happy birthday robert johnson, nonetheless.

enjoy.

soft

"To one man, lonesomeness is the flight of the sick one, to another, it is the flight from the sick ones."

F.N.

i'm exiled, you can't convert me

...

i cut my heart out with a butter knife everyday. everyday. then all i can do is shrug when people ask "what's with the tears?"--there i stand at the edge of the water and never having the guts to just take the plunge

winter dreams the same dream every time

man, this season is one wicked one, i swear, all that sunlight and heat/cold/heat again/cold again made me all sleepy. i'm a bundle of joy inside but i can collapse any minute like a sack, i don't really know why.

truth is i was planning to talk about how happy i was today--the sun and the blue skies and a good grade (ok, i have to say this, one of my teachers prove that being smart in a cool way is totally sexy)then had chocolate, and tried to figure out whether or not i was to have boys or girls--anyways all that simple silly things of the spring that starts flowing through once you get dopey enough--

but then i got home and read what a friend had written, i got somewhat quiter. i remembered immediately what i realized this morning ( i realize a million things every day but rarely ever hold on to them long enough to post here, unless a dylan song or something random reminds me of them), anywho, this whole spring business is actually pretty much a marketing miracle, considering that all the beautiful flowers that were in full bloom only a week or so ago are now slowly drying up and shedding of their colorful petals and all is getting blend and dry and miserable with the approaching of summer and let's face it what is spring if not the whore of the "dry thoughts of a dry season"--

even spring i guess can't be pure or pretty--hell, i'd take both winter and fall over spring--honesty--lacking in spring--a few days of color and beauty then 99 days of slowly rising heat and that feeling of "shit there goes another one" creeping in--soon the crows will lose their glory and the birds won't sing in the morning--and the dogs will be too tired and too sweaty to do anything and we'll be crammed up in classes and classes in which you can't even breathe--so over all what i'm saying is that i don't like summer-so i don't really like spring though it makes me super happy and super colorful--i think it's fake--it's a fake kind of happy

BUT that shouldn't be any reason to not listen to tomster and his song(which i listened like 897 times in the last day or two--over and over and over again) who in his insanity, full-ness, ragged-ness, poet-ness, charming-ness, lovely-ness is such a shoulder to NOT cry on but laugh your heart out--he's like those first few weeks of spring--open and beautiful and sweet

Tom Waits - "You Can Never Hold Back Spring" video from Anti Records on Vimeo.

good day sunshine!

...

"what's beyond logic happens beneath will;
nor can these moments be translated:i say
that even after April
by God there is no excuse for May"

e.e.cummings

aah, it's finally sheer spring.

if...

...you like music:

http://whatthedeadpoetsaid.blogspot.com/2010/05/traditional-tunes-part-i-just-dave-van.html

мои тавариш!

i heard the fall of 4 more angels this morning burning their wings to a crisp screaming at the top of their lungs "is it all my fault that i have been brought to this unruly world?" and then being turned on their sides to be swept beneath wallets heavy and fashionably designed with in-style patterns of ideas--i say discourse being not only when you accept but when you accept to critisize in that precise way and overlook such angels of no crime roll over in their blood--ambushed! frightened!--this world this world has nothing to offer but a pile of bones where once stood a son--

it is the first of may today. a wise man (on certain accounts) sparked a fire that roared and came rolling down the mountains but somehow just never manage to fit itself into the villages--one can only hope--the day may come after all--as another wise man (also on certain accounts) had said "I have no objection to wealth, the trouble is the aquisition"--amen then brother

and this in the honor of the day--this most powerful silver sword you plunge into the heart of that wicked sense of justice--bet that wasn't what the third very wise man (on even more certain accounts) had in mind but --listen &read the words of this one read it like it's written in front of your eyes and maybe you will feel its presence tie a knot in your throat but if not--still--i'd say it's all right ma-- i may be the only one sighing after all--

dawn

"Dawn comes, there is no mouth to receive it,
for there neither morning nor promise possible.
Only now and again a furious rabble of coins
that enter and ravage the dispossessed childhoods."

F.G.L.