t.

i live like an eskimo hobo.
or a nomad.





i've got it so bad.

f.

fuck cold. fuck electricity. fuck power lines. fuck heating units. fuck water supply. fuck warm food.
i want to go home.

d.

we cannot hold together what is breaking; we cannot keep life in what is determined to die.


I am the typically uncommitted.
I am the commonly discontented.



i figured out how to give.
http://www.oxfamamericaunwrapped.com/
merry Christmas.

m.

whom You redeemed

It kills to keep from hurdling these hills. I miss home-and by home I mean the things that matter: time, love, that broken-in feeling of always being left, but finally getting it right.
I turn eyes toward reservoirs-but what are you reserving for?

such recollection of an undesired remembrance.
I am sorry that it hurts to look at you.

edit

be my tramp-o-line and i'll be your sleas/zy mac.

r.

[SL]easy mac.

g.

stop stop stop with your mediocre melodies.
i would simply like to reiterate the spread in case you did not hear me clearly the first seventeen times. eight to zero. eight-nil. beat that. like we beat you.

change of focus:
i do question the obsurdity of a "date auction." i pay for you. then i pay for you? how does this benefit me at all?
i once was a girl in an auction, and with ridiculous and ineffective precaution, was taken by the highest bid from a boy who looked like a squid, who took me on a date of most propsterous concoction.

better to be pissed off than to be pissed on.

o.

For downtown today reminded me of you
A rush of emotion with a hard brick hue.


i feel cheap saying you deserve the world. i will never be able to give it to you. on the budget i am on, i couldn't even make payments for a minute third world country at this rate. but one more cliche will be used to validate such an idea, for it's the thought that counts, right? and i am thinking of you, maybe not in a positive light, but the thought is there.
on to more enticing news, one of the collegiate scholars i live with has a screen saver of unicorns dying and decomposing under a rainbow. twisted cannot begin to describe such images flashing in shadows across the walls.
all should be informed that on a packet of raisins, the ingredients do actually read "grapes and sunshine."



i hide my secrets with my open-ended questions in the least likely of search-worthy locations. i hide you on the roof-the side of the chimney where the shingles have been missing for years. i found the shingles one night on a sleep-walking expedition. we ended the trek in the linen closet. wakened by rough roof shingling, sleeping muscle tingling.

f.

and Your people

for this we built, this tilt-a-whirl, of pride and stride and things we too often hide with pleasure and deepest amounts of worthless pain. we choose that which can be secured beyond, beside, or simply away from those who know or could know, those who do not want to know but would only insist to help upon knowing.

tho' we struggle against things because we are afraid of them, it if often the other way around-we get afraid because we struggle.

For you set aside your proverbial halo or ticket on the J-train and burn away the dross a slight. To a kinder matter. A failure of the heart, he calls it. A burden-less lilt that sings mockery over that which gives it voice. But it cannot sing a deeper tune without the knowledge of the love it possesses, the One it denies but cries to in confession.
Is there more than hope to proclaim? Is there an expression greater? An anticipation of more capacity or strength? The words seem listless in the ears accompanying the eyes of those who see the burns, the rot, the broken. For the mocking song, sung so loud and so long, steals from their eyes ideas and from their ears chances. The sacrilegious hymn becomes familiar.
The pitch and tone match the pretense and drone of what they come to accept. Less and less than what they dream of or profess becomes their contentment. Until the agitation of a love less noble, a hope less hopeful, a dream less attainable brings to recognition the song that they sing to the life they withdrew from.
But they continue to sing not in ignorance, but now in self-doubt, discouraging desperation.
And you wonder how you have come to harmonize with the lives less lived. But the realization is inevitable. You settled for that which you cannot hope.
And there is a sort of recollection of lyrics that accompanied a melody, not the parody you have become all too familiar with, but a chorus living in a realm you at first cannot recognize for its distance. But memory does not fail you. And you are able to finally bring closure to the separation that haunts and taunts with all strength and earthly composure. Expectation of the nobility, promise, and fulfillment only before attempted in immaturity and ignorance is now at hand. For you may sing. Sing of hope.

a.

They are Your servants.
They live in such inner and outer goodness. They love in such inner and outer trust. There is more than what they know. They hold more than what they hope in hands worn or torn or blistered from honest work of faith to those without.


Living outside of relationship is avoiding.