four minutes and fifteen seconds of reconciliation.

"One night one night is never enough with you.
Please come back into my arms.
So we can hold and share what we had before."

Why is it that we think we can make things better?

We get into strange otherworldly spaces where it seems if we could just think a little clearer this time around, everything would be alright, but that's a farcical idea.

"Everything is the same only you're not around
The silent chill and the smell you made
Is making me nervous and I'm always sad
How much more of this is there to come?"

I suppose poor judgement is at the root of it. We begin to second guess and doubt ourselves. It certainly explains drunk-dialing, after all, impaired judgement would be at the root of that activity.

"Don't let me know
One night, one night is never enough with you
Please come back into my arms
So we can hold and share what we had before"

I don't get it.

I know better than to let my heart out of the cage I built for it. That cage was constructed artfully, bar by bar and bolt by bolt, for a reason.

"We found him lying here staring at the stones
Seem like he'd made up his mind after all
I'd like to save him take his mind off the pain"

What is there to say? That we were cheated by fate or poor timing or pure dumb luck?

That we were just kids and we didn't know what we were doing--what we were up against?

That we did some things we can never take back or give away, and there are memories that will define the personas we take with us to the grave?

"But you and i both know that I've got things to do
One night one night together again just won't do
When there's so much more to give
So won't you come back here now into my arms."

Four minutes and fifteen seconds of reconciliation.

Was it good for you?

Lyrics from The Cooper Temple Clause - Into My Arms

Monday, July 31, 2006

I don't have that option anymore.

I might be moving on from this location. . .

I wrote something authentic a few moments ago, then realized I couldn't post it, because my audience wouldn't process it safely.

I feel ill.

We Feel Fine.

It is raining here, and the lightning is creating patterns through the blinds and onto my floor, barely seeming to fade before the thunder clambers in through my windows and rattles my things.

I have discovered a new way of thinking about the blogosphere (which should be bombed).

It is "We Feel Fine."

It is a collection of statements pulled from a cross section of public blogs. You can select quotes at random, or filter the results by moods, age, gender, or even weather at the location.

It has an ethereal feel to it, it seems like a collection of emotional voices screaming into a coffee tin, muted and constrained and yet still poignant.

Sunday, July 30, 2006


We are sitting on the beach.

The roar of the waves dims in my ears. The sound of her voice is cutting through the ocean's rumble as if it were a sawblade in silk.

I can hear it cracking around the edges and there is nothing I can do.

"Why do humans like the sound of the ocean?" I ask. I'm searching for a way to reconcile the last four days with the last four months, and the last four months with the last four years.

"Because it is always different, but the same. Constant, steady. It changes, it grows. It gets quieter and louder. It is never still. But it is always there." Her voice is still dangerously ragged around the edges. Pained. The last sentence was almost broken. I can hear it fighting a battle to remain composed. I can sense her whole self fighting that same battle. She is not talking about the ocean, she is talking about what she wants.

Suddenly I realize I can feel the tears on her cheek. Running down her jawline and across my palm. Her neck is wet and clammy. Cold, even in the heat of a July night. The crash of the Atlantic seems distant. I never meant for this to happen.

I don't say I'm sorry very often. I live a life and project a character that makes apologies rare.

I say I'm sorry.

I realize that I know what she's looking for. What they have all been looking for since time began. What I have never promised and never given. What I have always fought and dodged. Permanence. Stasis. Stability in a time of change.

I like the chaos of my life. I like the good times, and the dynamic way in which I can adjust my moods, dreams, and even morality to fit my environment and needs. It gives me a power to shape my destiny, and a chance to play at being anyone but myself.

But sometimes it means I spend time here, where the sand meets the water, where the waves fight their eternal tug of war with the moon. With tears on my hands and lead in my heart, trying to find a new way to say goodbye.

I never mean to make them cry.

Please remember that when it comes to your turn.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006