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peanutbutter crazy

the absurd

I have been in Memphis for a couple weeks now and I have had plenty of time to think...

Man...Vegas was absurd. I could tell you stories...hell, I could write books...but one incident I thinks best illustrates how just plain silly things were.

There was a moment where I found myself in a kitchen, alone, with a chef-who was the source of my ire, and I was coming unglued. That alone wouldn't have been of note, but he was eating a peanut butter sandwich. So I am yelling at this guy and he is smirking into his peanut butter.

It was one of those life affirming situations...where the point was as pointless as goo slapped between bread...and somewhere on the tail end of my rant it all came clear...
and as I slinked away and he finished his sandwich I said

"The only place I like to be humilated is in bed"

he laughed. and I blushed into my apron.

dixie land delight

so tonight I called my country boy, the boy I met in guatemala, the boy I moved here for...

I asked him if he would help me get my driver's license, to which he replied

" Are you drunk? Let's go now and just drive off a bridge in Arkansas".

and for a second, I wanted to.

I love it here.

Cum grano salis

There is so much you just can't understand about me...and not for the reasons you may think...

I am just a grain of salt. I am a part of something bigger.

We move around the country. We give our employers fake addresses. In most cities we live together in a single house or houses. We tell our friends fake reasons for why we are where we are...and we disappear into the fabric of wherever we are. We are your friends and co-workers...we laugh with you and sometimes touch you...but you'll never get too close...no matter how close you get.

I would leave work and go to work. Clandestine meetings, mapping...strategy...

and I would love to tell you...but the first rule of business is that there is no such thing...The biggest fear we have is that someone will write a book...so we all vow to keep an oral history...pass on anecdotes whenever we meet...

and I wish I could tell you how much I risked out there in the desert, how I broke protocol and almost lost it all...How you took me to the edge

and I got too close, no matter how close we weren't...

ultimately, who are you to me? No one. Just a shadow.

I collect shadows, I suppose

Mostly because I am one.

this song

http://indiemuse. com/wp-content/uploads/2006/09/07-sideways-down. mp3

For my grandfather

My grandfather
passed on
when I was
Eleven years old,
An insominac,I stayed awake
playing in nocturne,
Long enough that night,
that
I Heard the phone ring,
then heard my father's crying
As he shook,
he told me, in my stillness,
that everything would be
Alright
A week later
we burned his body,
then took it to the
Ocean
said that once he was
free to leave his body
he was freeto clear the land
And I stared
out the window
of my grandfather's big American truck
at someone's hands
holding the plain cardboard box
which contained his ashes
-My mother turned to meand whispered
"We don't amount to much
In the end"

Willie Nelson was playing
On the radio
as my grandmother cried

Even then,
Just a child,I understood that death
Was a multi-faceted
and unifying experience,
That it was not simply
death instead of dreaming,
Asleep or awake-
And when a woman friend of the family,
Pulled me aside
to tell me that my
"grandpa was in a better place,now"
Something in her voice,
I knew she didn't wholly
Believe it was true,
that she was scared too,
As she watched my father
pour his father
into the sea...Amen
-2:28pm sept 12th