Aah... hola, reader. A while ago I found myself on my way to score some beauty rest, as today ended up being quite the long and intense day at work. Lots of weird programming problems, strategic planning meetings, and another employee resignation. Fuck. However, i was suprised to find my friend Val online tonight, so instead of just running off to bed like an obediant Goat should, i chatted for awhile, which was a blast as always.

Feeling the flow, i decided to do a little writing as well. While arguably one of my smallest pieces - and really just this thing that wrote itself - it seemed complete. Lately i'll wait a day or two and massage my works before they tell me they're done, but this one yelled at me right away, telling me i had best save it and post it before i start meddling with it and fuck up something that is best left alone.

It sucks; i've felt really out of tune with my Writin' Goat aspect these past few days. Perhaps coming off my steroids has something to do with that. Either way, the soup i made tonight (so spicy - but so utterly good, and vegan this time, too!) may have given me the firecracker-in-the-ass jolt that i needed to start expressing myself again. I love being in that state, but inevitably life does balance itself, so i go through little spans where i don't even consider writing - almost like i forget that i can. It's natural, i suppose, for that balancing act to occur, but it's always so much fun when the pendulum swings back around and i start writing like a mad fiend again.

(i also did listen to an assload of Disturbed, Powerman, and Lord of the Rings soundtracks today while at work, so maybe all that energy i collected and generated and pushed out and consumed and simply experienced helped relight the fuse, so to speak).

but i'm-a yawning like a bastard tonight, so i should take that as my cue and hit the sack. Have a wonderful night, reader, and dream sweetly.

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four

9/29/04

half past ten, belly full
of
soup
and I’m swallowed in marshmallow darkness
blindly swimming in
gravy
on a Thanksgiving morning, grandma’s house
the shadows drenched in hazelnut and
caramel beneath my desk
as I write
and for some reason in this starvation
I’m not longing, I’m simply
remembering, letting it all
flow back
like black ink
as it crawls down to the sea
river Atlas bearing the weight
of a world captured in
the aching notes of a blues guitar
I remember it all, and I smile