. we pick a spot we always pick these terrible spots, don't let go quite yet rain comes down, rain comes down .

. We were there in the gallery of previously viewed art. I was telling her all about my previous life. She paid little attention, instead concentrating on the macabre sculpture of a man and woman intertwined in a sort of melting embrace. The woman in the sculpture looked distant too, like she was going through the motions. The man looked a bit dispondent as well. We stood for a while, neither of us saying a word. I asked her if she understood this piece and just waited for her response. "We're doomed." She said, while smiling. .

. End of message .

' 1. Pretend everything happens for a reason. 2. Pretend everything will be alright. 3. Use cellphone as hammer to hang pictures of childhood 4. Sell water to the thirsty, use money to buy un-needed surgeries 5. Look up at the stars more often. .

. As I sit here alone, understanding the inevitable. I wonder what it is inside me, that yearns to continue? Maybe it's a gazelle,ready to leap across the page.... or a hummingbird, waiting to flutter before a canvas.... It could be a lion yearning to gnaw on the subtle parts of a great symphony... Whichever it is. I hope it never gives up. .

. She'll be home at 7 & I'm stranded on the freeway (express lane) about to punch it through this metal snake if someone doesn't move, no one knows where I'm going. I could be on my way to somewhere other than home. I might drift down to Harper St. & buy a bootleg copy of Miles or Coltrane. They say he blew hardest when he knew the end was near. Why wait until the last minute, to really take a chance? Billy writes about fishing like it's something spiritual, but he doesn't know where I'm heading. I could get out right now and walk exactly 1 mile to the nearest liquor store and share a fifth with Terrance, as he tells me what he regrets the most, becoming more and more personal as the bottle becomes more and more empty. Before he questions, Where are you going? I could take this exit to Jackson St. and eat a cheeseburger while watching the brothers shoot hoop across the street. Paul says they raised the price of dreams, and I nod along as I shove in more fries than required. I could park sideways on the lawn and show up, belly full, late as usual. Maybe standing in the doorway, I will wonder if I have wasted my life, as she looks me over, and then looks away. No doubt wondering, Where have I been? .

. Men were not meant to sit at desks for nine hours while dreaming about bullfighters in Mexico City, and those drunks at the local dime and shine wondering if they had the right idea. Men were not meant to lie around on weeknights staring at brightly lit but always unsatisfying images of death and love, intertwined like a strange dance that the bulls can relate too. Men were not meant to idle through their days wondering if they have wasted their lives, while the kids move away and forget their love, and the wife finds a new attention-giver with a faster car. Men were not meant to start over at fifty-three wishing for once they could lift a red veil and feel the bulls brush against them. .

. I've come home three times now drunk in the last few weeks and left myself strange messages on the post-it pad by the phone. Message #1: The universe exists to create life. Life exists to explain the the universe. We are the twinkie that ate itself. Message #2: Spirals! It's all spirals! Message #3: WHERE DO CIRCLES BEGIN! .

. I shouldn't be watching TV. I'm suppose to be working from home. So as a compromise I mute the TV. I'm working now. On the TV someone is opening a can of black paint while two bemused faces watch in awe. It's obvious something is about to be painted black. Such a bold choice. I'm betting the couple will hate it but smile anyway. *CLICK* Two detectives are grilling a happless junkie over an interrogation room table. They want answers, NAY! they demand answers. He tries to stay strong but eventually breaks under their relentless pressure and pleas for morality. He sings like a little birdy. He realizes there are a lot of things in his life he needs to change. *CLICK* A lover is being betrayed. All lovers betray I scream at them. She cries. He is racked with guilt. He wants to go back. She forgives but can't forget. They will go on together but always feel alone. My work seems unimportant now. People out there have it worse than me. .

he put everything back, in it's right place