Rubato

(noun) the temporary disregarding of strict tempo to allow an expressive quickening or slackening, usually without altering the overall pace; Italian for stolen time

You still feel like a California Screamin launch in the middle of a pink, try to breathe in but forget to, SoCal sunset. I'm still dole whipped and even my turkey leg is weak kneed. Your Tower of Terror sends me plummeting from the eighth, sixteenth, thirty-second thousandth story, but such unearthly acceleration makes me wonder when our rubato roller coaster will have to make up for all this stolen time. A laugh here, a morning there- to steal one with you is the sweetest crime of two churros and six beignets that make my eight sticky fingers- my sticky, kleptomaniac fingers- loot all the hands of every grandfather, mechanical, and quartz. I bend seconds to hours cause they should be ours, just for now or, maybe forever. Just long enough for me to die in the fire of your life-inspiring touch. Just long enough for me to bathe in the cool waters of your scent. Just long enough for me to drown out the cacophony of voices in my head. Because, love, I'm weary of the day when these voices will start lining up as we're slowing down. I don't think this last fast pass works for anyone but you. Our sweet nectar meets a sweet nocturne at the start of a tempo and that's when the single riders lane might be the only way to keep up.

Eventually soulmates meet, for they have the same hiding place
-R. Brault

Paranoid Anhdroid

If everyone is out to get me, I must have something they want. I must be worth something. Chicken or the egg? Paranoia

Yolk Night

The river murmured gently as it carved its night path nearby. The blue jays had long since been fluffed up in their nests. The rest of the girls were tucked in. And there we were, standing on the steps outside the cabin. A familiar darkness that night seemed to provide for us the safest vulnerability, if one could ever exist. Gigantic ants and dusty moths- she didn't seem to care anymore. She spilled and I spilled, two leaky faucets in the woods but in need of no repair. It was the cloudiest of nights, and the sky was a gray blur. I couldn't see them, but with every word this child spoke I felt as if one by one, all those forgotten dreams- what Stang called stars- blazed up and fell back onto the earth as shooting stars. These were reminders of the simple secrets I once knew and cherished. The fuel to my ambitions. The beauty and goodness of a human. A human growing, a human giving, a human being. Thank you Bubbles, Cindy Lou, Freckles, Kirby, Raspberry, Skip, Strawberry Cheesecake, Waffles, and Pumbaa.

This Week

I will rest with want of wake

I will wake with strength in weakness

I will weaken the will to waiver

Pitch and Pay

Trust none, for oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes, And Holdfast is the only dog, my duck

Why do you church

A penthouse in heaven is furnished by no good deed of mine. I fuel the engine of this world with whatever good I can manage. That is all.

To feel time

I think I've tried so hard to suppress how much I miss you that my body realizes it before my mind does. Sometimes I sit there and suddenly smell the summer burnt leather dashboard of your old blue car. I always hated running errands unless they were with you. Sitting in a classroom sometimes it'll be the smell of Milk Bones. I was the one who went with you to buy Lucky and you let me name him. These smells, Di Giao, and Lucky are the closest things I have left of you. I was just a pup myself when I chose that name but maybe I already knew how lucky I was to have you as my uncle. My pal.

The time being

One blog and two separate journals. Coffee stained papers, bleach stained pants, ink stained fingers. An addiction of signing-on to things--it doesn't matter what-- just to do...?

Nothing. The epitome of my hatred and that which I fear is of my demise. Nothing creates nothing and nothing is certain but death but nothing compares to you.

You and I have that lazy-type...where ecstasy reigns in a single embrace on an idle bed with you. You make me want to do nothing and everything at the same time. While time ticks on and talks wind down to whispers then slow, deep, dreamy breaths, I fight the urge to close my eyes unless it gets me to you quicker.

Wake- that is for me. For the future, those kids, that backyard tree...I awake for my dreams.

But live- that's partly thanks to you. And nothing becomes something