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Saturday, Aug. 31, 2002 - connect the dots. la. la. lala.
 3:20 pm
sometimes i feel as if i could write a book.

this is not one of those times.

i don't write creatively anymore. i don't crank out the piles of crap poetry anymore that is doomed to sit, piled high in the closet.

i've lost my voice.

i have no words to speak because you took them all already, committed to paper and set to music, recorded for posterity on magnetic tape. pressed and packaged and sold.

there are no words left for me to speak.

i think i'll just go unpack my bedroom.

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If the world could remain within a frame like a painting on a wall then I think we'd see the beauty then we'd stand staring in awe at our still lives posed like a bowl of oranges, like a story told between the fault lines and the soil. ~ Bright Eyes - Bowl of Oranges

...or the story is in the soil, keep your ear to the ground.
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