so he asked me if i'd posted yet...

and it occured to me, then, to post.
but i don't know which way is up.
i mean.
i know my bed's over there.
and i oughta be in it.
and i know that my muscles ache in that best of all ways--
well, second best.
and i know that music heals me...
sometimes.
i also know that sometimes it tears a hole in me and lets things out that should be in and lets things in that should be out...
some lyrics trickle down through me
but others burn down through me like a lit fuse.
sometimes...
listening to live music makes me feel invinceable and in harmony with the universe--
but not in a hippie-way and not only somtimes...
it always makes me wish i had a better sense of rhythm and a broader vocal range...
some songs are like time machines--
and i don't know if i will live forever, but i could if.
i know that my perception of beauty is so full and wild and real that it hurts
and people are so much more than a face--
and that face is the secret decoder ring for their insides...

i know that i always want what i can't have.
endless quiet days to cook at leisure and read and write and sleep late...
but then i wouldn't have two suns in my sky with big eyes and bigger imaginations.
life in a small town is suffocating, yet liberating.
life in a city is crowded, yet isolating...
i should drink less.
or more?
and i should DEFINITELY look into hiring a full-time massage therapist.

i wish that strength was something that came in white boxes with a blue satin ribbon tied around it...
a box that i could give to those who need it.
i wish i knew the answers.
i wish i could make it all better for them.
but.
i will do whatever i can do, at least.