Sunday, February 25, 2007

February 24, 2007

Sun high in the sky
Atmospheric music blasting
Horses running wild in the gorge
White landscape
Speeding through the country

Alone in the cafe
My corduroys damp with snow
Yellow highliter bleeding through pages

A kind of love

The sound of traffic sloshing

Friday, February 23, 2007

This Evening...

I shall go to the place that omnisciently directs the universe and the affairs of humankind with wise benevolence. It is called Providence. A band will play.

My only question is who's Tom and why is he playing video games between 8-10?

The Sound of Today

Thursday, February 22, 2007

"Whither goest thou, America, in thy shiny car in the night?"

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Braff, You Bastard

It's not often I remember my dreams. This morning, on my way downtown to work, I passed a fairly popular Italian restaurant that for some reason or another I've never happened into. As soon as I spotted it, it triggered a dream I had last night. Or thought I had. It seemed like some sort of deja vu netherworld. And it went something like this:

I was in this restaurant with a couple friends. I was speaking with one as the waiter approached, and my other friend asked for some bread.

"Would it be possible to get some bread?" She asked.

"We don't have bread," the waiter replied.

"What do you mean you don't have bread? This is an Italian restaurant," she said.

I look up and Zach Braff is our waiter, telling us the Italian restaurant doesn't serve bread.

"I'm sorry, but we don't serve bread," Braff insisted.

"Well, can I get something to chew on," she implored.

"I'll see what I can do," responded Braff.


That was it. That was my dream. I've resolved to go to this place for dinner tonight. If Braff's there, I'll let you know.

Monday, February 19, 2007

January 26, 1978

nostalgia for nostalgia's sake.

Today...

I'm doing a dance you can't even imagine.

Sometimes I think of Dublin

And how poignant and amplified
The grey skies make loneliness
And I remember sitting in the pub
In the afternoon with a Guinness,
A salmon sandwich, reading Billy Collins’s poetry
And making great friends with the atmosphere
Later, walking past Merrion Square and bowing
Sincerely to Oscar Wilde
And in the evening on the veranda
With a glass of wine, a minstrel with a guitar
Playing Van Morrison’s Brown Eyed Girl
And I knew I wasn’t dreaming, but I died
I died when I walked down the Liffey
And spotted a girl staring into the water
And maybe she was dreaming… or maybe not
But her slender shoulders made her look alone
And, oh, she must have been dreaming…
Or thinking about a dream…
As she flicked her cigarette absently into the water
And the slow mist rose up
And in Dublin
It’s impossible not to fall in love with the sadness of another.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

And Suddenly The World Wasn't a Cold, Dark Place

The snow fell softly and persistently. It was the kind of snow perfect for snowmen. Big flakes. Rich and juicy and filled with moisture. The snow fell beneath the streetlights and the headlights of cars passing down the long avenue. Imagine taking the world between your hands and shaking it widely. Imagine the snow rising from the landscape and filling the night, only to settle back down and disturbing it again and again. That was New England. That was the night. We drove past the pond, and below the low hanging gray moon, silhouetted by fir trees and barren oaks, parents were teaching their children to skate. Down past the bowling alley, offerings of galactic bowling enticed the leaguers, potheads, and teenagers out for a Friday night.

We entered the restaurant and sat down. We gathered around the table and ordered Guinness. The waiter was an effeminate chap, portly and friendly with rosy cheeks. He took pride in his job and did it well. He was just the type you’d imagine in such a posh joint. We ordered our meals.

“So, Balls, when are you moving to Denver?" Dylan asked.

“As soon as I buy a pick-up truck. I’m taking the dog, throwing my stuff in the bed, and heading out,” Said Balls.

Everyone's moving to Denver these days.

Will Sean be there when you get there?”

“Not sure. He’s got stuff to work out with his wife.”

“It turns out getting married to a girl for her fake boobs on April Fools day didn’t work out,” Balls said to me.

“I guess not,” I said, smiling.

Our meals had arrived. I’d ordered the maple-glazed roast duck. It was a fine meal.

“Say… this spinach is fantastic,” I said.

Dylan made a senseless bukkake joke.

Jacqueline’s eyes bulged. We all laughed.

Dylan was having great success with senseless bukkake jokes.

We finished our meals, put cash on the table, and Dylan and I went out for a smoke. The panorama of colonial New England homes in the distance made me think of life in the 1800’s, sitting around an old Prussian stove with chicken bones on the floor, children playing some sort of game that involved wooden pegs, and so on.

Everyone left the restaurant.

It was cold and lively and warm outside. And suddenly in the night we made plans. And suddenly the night sky was gray. And suddenly we were the crazy flowers blooming beneath the streetlights as car headlights shot down the long avenue. And suddenly the world wasn't a cold, dark place.

Some Piece of You...

will stay in me. I'll never give it back.