... I am trapped, bored, seeking I will never mention this again ...

...wrote down some lyrics pasted them to the fridge for you to read and maybe breathe as you pack your things words to live by and maybe live by recall when the chips are down like a warm blanket or some warm drink taken to heart and mind find each other-lose each other and that's okay below is the one thing love has taught me: the minute you feel something is yours forever you're doomed .

. Met a girl this weekend. She is nice. Took her out last night, and that was nice too. Woke up today feeling rested. Also nice. Maybe if you line up as many small, good things as you can in as long a row as you can then maybe one day starts to be better than the last. Maybe. .

. It is now 2006. Get ready for 365 more days of crap.

. 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? .