words made pretty by dedication, slant of hand and careful dictation
a flower of lines drawn with skill, curving the twist of fluff and frill
extract each single you i miss, I want nothing more than this
but each grows more short, now in need of a line plus fort*
what counts six just one, more than I could have done
can flowers finally last, can words color our past
punctuation is close,so I'm switching to prose

I will not be afraid of what lies ahead. à la passé, j'ai dit c'est ça. je ne peux pas changer elle donc je reste et crois. de temps en temps, mon mots est française mais mon coeur est vrai...vrai à la pensée de toi*. My heart is true...true to the thought of you.


*stronger
* to the past, I said things are as they are. I cannot change it so I remain and believe. from time to time my words are french but my heart is true...true to the thought of you.

I've loved you from the very first night;
you broke me till the day that I die...
I'm far too obvious this time.

Ode to Third Period on Tuesdays

It's about a boy
but not the one you thought
a star which
could not be easily forgot
all the same
when we come to our end
flickering flame
fighting against life's wind

Twilight, Nighttime, and Dawn

"Have you lost your faith?"

"Lost implies I am searching."

"You used to breath life into me"

"Not all things are as they used to be"

You Asked for a Love Song but I Chose a Breakup Instead

You almost made it this time love
Almost made it through
What made you say?
Say maybe
Maybe it’s tomorrow maybe it never
Was
It was almost May
Not everything fact is true
True to the fact of you
You
Say
Maybe
May I be the last to hear you say:
Maybe
Say
You
What made you say?
Almost made it through
You almost made it this time love
Almost made it through

Happy Thursday

Today is Valentine's Day. I am not a fan of the holiday personally. After the binge on commercialism and sappy hearts that is Christmas and New Year's, Valentine's Day seems forced and unnecessary. Do I really need a day to tell those whom I love that I do? This day also produces another reaction without fail. It always calls for reflection. Today, 14 February 2008, I am sitting in an airport in Liverpool waiting for the morning bus to Lancaster. My body aches from the cold floor that was my bed and my stomach longs for a hot meal yet I am happier this year than I have been in a long time. Things in my life seem to be heading in a direction that makes sense and I do have someone to keep today from being "Single Awareness Day". Maybe its the sleep deprivation, or the constant distraction from the smell of a full English Breakfast, but I can't think of any great revelations that this year brings, and though pride cometh before the fall, I am going to pat myself on the back anyways...and go buy some beans on toast!*


(beans on toast is part of the full English breakfast which comprises of eggs, bacon, tomatoes, beans, mushrooms and toast)

Who has ever heard of "un-British" or "un-French" activities? The United States has often been called a "melting pot" because of the many different nationality groups it comprises, but before each generation of immigrants has been fully accepted into American society, it has had to be "Americanized." Few Americans have ever accepted diversity as a value. American society has,in fact, taken great pride in destroying diversity through assimilation.

---The American Approach to Foreign Policy by John Spanier

Chapter 9

Any Less Real

My hand expands and contracts, sending the water pulsing over my bare chest. It occurs to me that I am giving myself CPR as though my heart has stopped. Maybe it has.

“One Hundred and one ways to satisfy your man.”
I awaken to Sarah’s voice.
“What?”
“The cover of Cosmo…101 ways to satisfy your man. Interested? There is also a quiz on how to find your true love, sounds promising.” Sarah ends her last words with a full grin. She knows how ridiculous I find her magazines.
“I do not believe in true love.” I look her squarely in the eye expressing that I am more than just kidding around. Sarah rolls her eyes knowingly; I have said this statement one too many times.
My eyes drift back to the passing countryside. I have always loved riding by train, it gives you the ability to either be engrossed in your surroundings or relax and forget that you are traveling at all.
“I do not believe in true love.” My statement comes back to me but in a different voice. I remember my friend Christine from college. She had been that girl that always had a man in love with her and after each relationship fell apart she would proudly proclaim that there was always another fish in the sea, but that was before she met Timothy. He had been quiet and introspective. Whereas before she had been caught in the violent throes of relationships, she found herself studying and analyzing this gentle man. She had always been the girl that held the power in her various relationships and now she had met someone that she was helpless with. “I do not believe in true love.” She had said the statement plainly but with too much force. Her declaration was like those enlightened friends you find in college that proudly assert they do not believe in God- like their words could make him any less real. She wasn’t telling me her disbelief, she was telling the cosmos; it had been her last protection against the soul shattering that was falling in love.
I missed her and wanted to know if her last stand had been like the Alamo, a failure in front of a force larger than her, but I had lost contact with all of my old friends. The past two years of my life had been a roller coaster of change and most people found it hard to keep up. I eyed Sarah again; she was engrossed in a story about a girl that had fallen in love with the wrong twin brother. Her friendship had come at the right time in my life; it was easy and required minimal effort. It was the kind of relationship that made you realize how imperfect your past ones had been. I couldn’t blame my old friends for their slow desertion. I couldn’t expect them to know me when I did not even know myself. They had known the caricature of me, the simplified version that I presented to the world. No, there was no blame to be doled out to each and according to their measure. We had all known as much about life as one does before it happens: nothing at all.
I will call Christine when I get home. The last thing I need is another casualty in a life I am just beginning to live.
The train suddenly shuddered as if it had been privy to my thoughts. Christine’s memory led me back to that night in the church. I still had not been able to shake the priest’s words. Sometimes I would read my old friend’s blogs and see them having another fight over theology. They would argue various points of eternal damnation and the Eucharist. It seemed all so pointless now. I could not begin to understand the little things about God, how could I approach the finer points of belief? I think we all need something to argue with or maybe argue for. It is part of human nature. I felt like a child pondering the life of a butterfly while they argued over the consequences of chaos theory. Sarah had decided that I was a closet Christian- whatever that meant. It seemed to me to be such an important thing, a decision that should not be taken lightly. Not to be taken wholly as I had when I was a child, when I went on mission trips to Mexico to pass out tracks and save the world. We passed out Jesus like food stamps, the bread of life in a neat package. Maybe I helped save some people. What if I had? What did that say about my life now?
The train shuddered again, and this time I knew it was because of my thoughts. I could be such a heretic at times.
I hear the familiar beeping of Sarah’s phone signaling that she has received a text message. Her phone had been doing that a lot lately and I was starting to wonder where all the messages were coming from. She opened up her phone and read the message; stealing a subdued smile at the text and placing it quickly back in her pocket. Now she had my full attention.
“Sarah”
“Hmm.” Her eyes are glued to her magazine.
“You have been receiving a lot of texts lately, is there something I need to know?” I ask her in a motherly tone, adding a bit of humor to water down my honest earnestness.
“Nope.”
“Nothing? You know you can’t hide things from me.”
“You won’t like it.” She finally looks up from her magazine and I can see in her face that she is about to tell me no matter what her words belie.
“Spill”
“Ok. Well I know that I have a boyfriend and that we are only going to be here for seven more months but…I met someone.”
“What?!?” I had resigned myself to being supportive to whatever she said but this had caught me off guard. She had met someone? How could I have missed this? I look at her injured face and know that she was afraid of my reaction.
“I am sorry. How long has this been going on? What are you going to do about it? Does Anthony know?” My questions firing at her like a machine gun.
“I met him two weeks ago, nothing has happened yet so Anthony does not know and I have no idea where this is going.”
“Nowhere good.” Uh-oh I am in mother mode full on now and there is no stopping me. “Really Sarah, please think about this. You have been with Anthony for a year and he is coming to visit for Spring Break. I thought you were happy with him. Whatever happens here, you still have to go home and live with the consequences. Being on another continent does not give you a free pass.” The truth was that I thought Anthony sounded like a complete dumb-ass but I was never a supporter of cheating. I had learned the hard way that if you want to break away from something you should just do it, but do not give the other person reason to believe it had anything to do with something other than the fact that your relationship was not working out. If you cheat on someone then they only focus on that point instead of all the trouble that lead up to you being able to commit the act.
Sarah’s eyes were back on her magazine but she was not reading. She was angry at me for not indulging her fantasies and being the voice of reason. Maybe I should have listened to her but if there was one thing I needed two years ago, it was someone to lift me up and shake the crazy ideas out of my head. Her phone went off again but this time she reached into her coat pocket and silenced it. I took this as a good sign but I would have to do some damage control tonight. Maybe buy her a beer and tell her I was sorry for coming down so hard on her.
I looked up to see that we had arrived at the airport and people were beginning to collect their luggage. Yes, Sarah would forgive me because I had saved her from having to forgive herself.

"Que déjà le monde qui l'entourait n'avait plus aucune importance et que chaque nouvelle journée était comme un poids impossible à soulever. Alors, elle pleurait. Non pas qu'elle fût triste, mais pour faire passer tout ça. Les larmes, ce liquide finalement, l'aident à digérer sa caillasse et lui permettaient de respirer à nouveau"-- Ensemble, c'est tout by Anna Gavalda

That already the world which surrounded her did not have importance at all and that each new day was like a impossible weight to lift. So, she cried. No, not that she was sad, but to pass it all away. These tears, this final liquid, helped her to process her ruin and permitted her to breath anew. -- Together, this is all by Anna Gavalda

I was given this book for christmas by one of my colleagues. As you can see, the writing is beautiful but incredibly sad.

Mediated Medium

Sitting down, waiting to begin. Starting slow and picking speed. A first glance, where to begin. Stepping dance without end. Patient waltz of information. A look, a laugh, a turn of head. Did you like that line? I’ll say it again. Careful clicking, keys in time. Drifting sideways glances: careful look again. Two strokes and I amend. A clock of lies, salut Mon Cheri. A last thing forgotten. A look, a laugh, a dance at end. Reaching over and pressing send.

Why Can't We Be Friends?

Maybe its just me (considering that my dose of americana comes solely from the internet) but I think the Dems are heading for trouble. The country has become divided over the past eight years and three months ago (heck, one month ago) a Democratic victory seemed a sure thing. Now I am not so sure. While I am living in France (and most french people could not name a single republican besides Bush) I feel as though there is a turning tide in the states. I cannot help but be disappointed by the petty fighting between the Obama and Clinton camps. I understand this is going to be a hard fought battle but this election is theirs to lose...and they might do just that. Americans are looking for change (as we always are) but we are also looking for unity. Not the scary 'Love America or Die' unity that emerged after 9/11 but a true unity that is nurtured through national pride. I am American and I cannot pretend to know what it is like to be anything else but I have come to realize the effect we have on the world and the effect we have on ourselves. There is a saying in France: "America coughs and the whole world has a cold". Though we have declined in power over the years, we still hold a lot of sway ecomonically and culturally. We export American culture shamelessly and any dip in our economy shows an immediate effect on the rest of the world (see current crisis with fed reserve). There is a lot of weight on our shoulders and, I think, this election cycle we should cut the crap and actually find who the best person to shoulder this weight might be. Besides, if Hill and Obama don't get their act together you might just find me voting for McCain come election day.

One last phone call from you- it wouldn't hurt much
I just like to hear your voice and pretend to touch
any inch of you that hasn't
said it all
read it all
sang my life away

---Stars and Boulevards, Augustana

Pour Me Faire une Beauté ou Pour une Cigarette
(Translation of the Beautiful Carla Bruni)

Quand j'aurai tout compris, tout vécu d'ici-bas,
Quand je serai si vieille, que je ne voudrai plus de moi,
Quand la peau de ma vie sera creusée de routes,
Et de traces et de peines, et de rires et de doutes,
Alors je demanderai juste encore une minute...

When I have understood everything, all of life from now to then
When I will be so old that i won't want anymore of myself
When the skin of my life is cut into routes*
of shadows and sadness, of laughs and doubts,
Then I will ask for just one more minute

Quand il n'y aura plus rien qui chavire et qui blesse,
Et quand même les chagrins auront l'air d'une caresse,
Quand je verrai ma mort juste au pied de mon lit,
Que je la verrai sourire de ma si petite vie,
Je lui dirai "écoute ! Laisse-moi juste une minute..."

When there is nothing anymore which capsizes and which wounds,
and when even the sadness seems to be a caress,
When I see my death at the foot of my bed
I will see it smiling at my so little life,
I will say to him, "Listen! Let me have just one minute..."

Juste encore minute, juste encore minute,
Pour me faire une beauté ou pour une cigarette,
Juste encore minute, juste encore minute,
Pour un dernier frisson, ou pour un dernier geste,
Juste encore minute, juste encore minute,
Pour ranger les souvenirs avant le grand hiver,
Juste encore une minute... sans motif et sans but.

Just another minute, just another minute,
for me to do something beautiful or for one cigarette,*
Just another minute, just another minute,
for a last shudder, or for a last gesture,
just another minute, just another minute,
for rearranging the memories before the great winter,
just another minute...without motive and without aim

Puisque ma vie n'est rien, alors je la veux toute.
Tout entière, tout à fait et dans toutes ses déroutes,
Puisque ma vie n'est rien, alors j'en redemande,
Je veux qu'on m'en rajoute,
Soixante petites secondes pour ma dernière minute.

Since my life is nothing, therefore i want it all
Wholly complete, utterly, with all of its twists and turns*
Since my life is nothing, therefore I ask it again,
I want this one added to me:
Sixty little seconds for my last minute

Tic tac tic tac tic tac
--Le Dernière Minute by Carla Bruni

*I had to take editor's liberties with some of the translating. For this very reason, I have been having more and more trouble reading the bible. having realized the great problem in translating texts and still capturing the essence of the words. I still believe in the Bible but I find it hard to follow the thinking of the southern baptists and other 'biblical christians' who believe in the infallability of a word that is thousands of years old and has been translated and rewritten by thousands more.

Sometimes The Future Scares Me


"Still, he'd gotten a little more time, bought it, in fact, and hoped the price wouldn't wreck him. Like paying for an afternoon in the coin of life to come."-- Beloved, Toni Morrison

An Excercise in Adoration and Prose

Some times, you're as real as
these times, you're breaking me with
these lines, you're delicate steps between
fine lines, you're oh so careful
fine rhymes, you're making me dream
all rhymes, you're giving me a word for

you're as real as some times cause you're breaking me with these times taking you're delicate steps between these lines you're oh so careful fine lines so you're making me dream fine rhymes while you're giving me a word for all rhymes.

You're as real as some. Times cause- you're breaking me with these times; taking your delicate steps between these lines. You're, oh, so, careful. Fine lines, so. You're making me dream fine rhymes while you're giving. Me- A word for all rhymes.

Sometimes I really do think you're as real as these times. Can't you see you're breaking me with these lines? You're taking delicate steps between fine lines and you're being oh so careful. These fine rhymes- you're making me dream in all rhymes! For you are- my muse- always giving me a word.

Dear America,

Can I have a moment please? You have been doing great and I don't want you to forget it. Sure, there have been the rough times. Everyone has their off-days (or decades) but you are a country of the future. You were there leading the way with a democracy that still stands tall today. You have been an inspiration to many and a downfall to others. You have so much going for you and yet.... Like the young teenager, you must not get ahead of yourself. You don't know everything. You can still learn from your peers and your mistakes. See it through, America. Take a look around and see what others have to say. Healthcare? Immigration? War? What happened to you America, when did the oppressed become the oppressor? You have given yourself over to the politicians that seek to use and destroy you. They tell me to fear terrorists but the only people terrorizing me are the politicians. I'm not scared of Osama, I'm scared of Dick Cheney. Oh America, please take care of yourself. There are others out there who love you and support you but you have to make the first step. The future is now.

Love,
The World

She chose to kill love on New Year's day.

She had felt the love leaving her slowly, as through a mortal wound, therefore this choice was merely a formality. The clock had struck twelve and a chord within. She glanced up from the melée, found the hands standing perfectly in time, and noted her decision with simple acceptance. It was like a death passing in the night- a thing unnoticed. She chose to kill love so that it would stop killing her. New Year's was simply the day upon which it occured, for she did not believe in resolutions, like man could change the turns of destiny through the difference in one second. She peered down at her hands, inspecting the wrists, uncertain that the feeling of suicide inside did not have an outward effect. She would live another year alone because it was better this way.
It was better to be destroyed by one's own hands.

Please, Not Again

Another letter and your ghost settles in
Props up a chair, Oh please not again
four summers, three springs, one fall
I thought we had said it all
Insult to injury just for you to say
I never wanted it this way
Actions are cheap, words full of gold
How ever did we get so old?
Accents change but it means the same
You've got a new look on an old frame
Another letter and your ghost settles in
Props up a chair, Oh God, not again
All the suddent I just can't take
The consequences I didn't make

"A crumbling apartment, a double bed made single by intention, a harsh open bulb picking out striking features in her face. Her wide cheeks driven wider in the cold utterance of the one word that has no real explanation. It seems caught in her throat, a sharp wishbone dragging on the soft flesh inside her neck. What protrudes is not the fine point of devotional light intended, but rather a feeble cough. “I really love you.” He knows that this is not true, but lust and his own devotion blind his rationality. And furthermore he knows she is not lying. She believes she does love him"



--This is an excerpt from a short story my friend is writing and he asked me to proofread. I found it particularly beautiful.

"Everything that you do makes me want to die
Oh, I just told the biggest lie"



-Elliot Smith