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so many things..
Oct. 24th, 2003 12:51 amThere is a man who walks past the window every night like clockwork. Ten of One, his head is bent to the wind, trudgeing though the parking lot, out of the darkness, into the flood of light the streetlamp produces, and then back out into the shadows again...
I realized tonight that I live with truely beautiful women.
I know it sounds wierd, but I do, and they are.
I realized this because everytime one of them comes to buy stuff, or see me at the Place that Pays me, It's like they don't belong there. Suddenly, the little grey cave gets brighter, all simply because they are standing there.
Made doubley so when they are making moose faces at me from across the store.
...
Cold makes me melancolie. Nostalgic. The combination of cold, soft warm things, apples, leaves, frozen night air, and a myriad of other things trips a little chord in my heart.
I have a love/hate relationship with the fall.
Fall is a dieing time. Last year, all the more literally. Fall is, conincidentally, one of my most favorite seasons, next to winter. It's a slowing of the air, of the blood; a time to wonder at the world around you. The phoenix folds into the fire of autumn for another lay over in the ash of winter, only to rise again in the tender green splendor of spring and mature through the sweet, albiet short, days of summer.
It is a time of shareing; of giveing without thought of return. The shadows grow longer in the corners as people come together to celebrate their time together.
And while I feel this spirt, and am warmed by it's presence, I am not moved as such. I gaze out into the night with the intensity of a slightly mad animal that may be forced to act before it's ready. Hands are being played as rapidly as they are drawn, the outcome, as yet, and as always, undetermined...
I realized tonight that I live with truely beautiful women.
I know it sounds wierd, but I do, and they are.
I realized this because everytime one of them comes to buy stuff, or see me at the Place that Pays me, It's like they don't belong there. Suddenly, the little grey cave gets brighter, all simply because they are standing there.
Made doubley so when they are making moose faces at me from across the store.
...
Cold makes me melancolie. Nostalgic. The combination of cold, soft warm things, apples, leaves, frozen night air, and a myriad of other things trips a little chord in my heart.
I have a love/hate relationship with the fall.
Fall is a dieing time. Last year, all the more literally. Fall is, conincidentally, one of my most favorite seasons, next to winter. It's a slowing of the air, of the blood; a time to wonder at the world around you. The phoenix folds into the fire of autumn for another lay over in the ash of winter, only to rise again in the tender green splendor of spring and mature through the sweet, albiet short, days of summer.
It is a time of shareing; of giveing without thought of return. The shadows grow longer in the corners as people come together to celebrate their time together.
And while I feel this spirt, and am warmed by it's presence, I am not moved as such. I gaze out into the night with the intensity of a slightly mad animal that may be forced to act before it's ready. Hands are being played as rapidly as they are drawn, the outcome, as yet, and as always, undetermined...
