The colors are already fading and the cold is here. I've been out everywhere it seems, catching up on front porches, watching the World Series and the first Cavs game with some of my old Kentinistas, sitting all night nursing a beer a friend of mine said I'd like as we listen to R.E.M and the Pogues at the Irish pub around the corner as we ponder the universe and tell stories with the bartender, alternately wide-eyed and laughing.
I come home to my lonely apartment, savoring the peace, realizing that cooking for one isn't so bad and that I'm really not as lonely as I thought I'd be when I visualized my life in earlier years of being single, working, and eating alone. I'm sure I will have nights where it will hurt, but I had those even when I had six roommates, and life is more beautiful than I could have ever imagined even in its sadness and disappointments.
All these questions we try to answer about our world, our cities, ourselves, and the way that we connect and disengage with each other. We know we don't know everything but that's never stopped us from trying.
And I try to keep my head up and my mouth from saying everything that wants to come out knowing that not all of it is good or useful. There's times I wish I could really say what I'm thinking or vent to someone else about how this person does that thing and how lame it is. But what good does that do all the time?
And I attempt to make sense, to seek beauty, to love better and truer. There has been so much I've learned, and I realize more and more why wisdom is such a priceless thing. I'm not there yet, but what I've tasted of it makes me want more.
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good time of the year for treats
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OQ2FS53ySgU&feature=related
Black mamba of the front tire
over wet streets, the wet streets,
after-rain falling from the neighborhood leaves,
luminescence of lampposts' lamps up
through the trees.
Sink into someone's porch chair
and look at all these leaves
then ride on into the smell of sawdust.
That sweet smell of wood.
Someone is renovating.
May he do it right!
May he be careful.
May he do it right.
May the work of hands satisfy.
Sleep on, Amigos!
The girl who left years ago
loved you behind that window.
She is now some person
Living a state away.
Which only makes her more.
You and me, little poem.
Mi amigo. Compadre.
Inside each dark house
the streetlights keep
doing their thing on the far wall.
Tonight though. Tonight's
streetlight makes me need you.
It's writing indifference,
little poem, indifference
to us on that far wall.
Black mamba of the front tire
over wet streets, the wet streets,
after-rain falling from the neighborhood leaves,
luminescence of lampposts' lamp up
through the trees.
"Night Bicycle" by Jonathan Johnson
But what good does that do all the time?
Keeps you from spontaneously combusting. Or you can throw rotten tomatoes at people, that works.
Man, I haven't heard Unwound in years, completely forgot about these guys.
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