Still, probably, not say no.

The music was the night's compass.

Not that long ago.

It drew us together,

and brought a closeness, 

that I just hadn't been able to give.

I went to sleep that night

and could smell you on my clothes

Remembering the feeling of your hair brushing against my stubble'd face

and the thought of our bodies interlocked in one.
The capability for close, in thought, as well
with skin.

Affected in a fluid motion

as two people in that proximity always have

that capability, to let guards down 

and want to please the other.

and to quietly fall into each
other;

on the couch or in some tall grass.
And bring lips together,
in soft bites and lips to necks.

That? Fantastically provoked. 

Both physically and emotionally.

I'd still, probably, not say no.

The earth expands and contracts,

the power shifts. 

And no 

struggle

ensues between. 

Just right.

(anything)

As we drove home last night,
down Seneca Turnpike
I glanced to the stars
to only see floating big rigs and the headlight of cars
floating far ahead in the middle of the night's sky.

It was a bit of an optical illusion,
and a mighty tiny bit of the nights
effect.

But either way, I knew.
Just for that moment. I wouldn't trade it
(anything)
off for the world.

And I let out a breath of relief.

The ground is wet
from rain. And it
forms perfect
imprints of the soles of
my shoes.

With us walking
next to each other
and finishing unison sentences.

Reminder by wind on a warm summers day.

The breeze just blew into my window
and it reminded me of standing in a graveyard
in Hum, Croatia.

Hum has a population that hovers around 17.
It's recognized as the smallest town in the world.

The day, weather wise, was a bit like today.
And there wasn't a soul in sight, save a few chickens
and the obligatory wandering dog.

The sun was out and it was a bit colder than one
would expect from just taking a gaze out the window.

But the graveyard, oh the graveyard.

Graves from 700 years old to as new as a few days.
The wax of a million lit candles.
It was right off the center gate.
I'm glad I went.

And today, for a moment in my mind, I was back there.

Thank you breeze.

Record Expunged.

It's funny.
Really.
I'm not trying to convince you,
I wouldn't waste my time.

But through all of this strife,
death and sadness...
I feel alive.

I feel like accomplishing
all of the things I used to do

And the ironic part is,
all of the things you wanted me
to do.

I'm glad, to feel this way
and I'm annoyed by the fact I'm
alone. Without what we began
before all the bending and
swaying to each other's
wishes and demands.

But, the censure's expunged.

I just wish it was an experience
we both could've had together.

It wont stop me from pushing through though.

Just for myself.

I inhale and exhale,
and wait for the moment to pass.
I tumble side to side and try to
find a comfortable spot,
after a day of disaster after disaster.

Is this is what we're left with?
Is this what we're down to?

I don't want this,
for me.
And I don't want
it for you.

The world spins on.
And we have to let this go.

I'm no picnic.

I don't get it. I really don't.
But at the same time I do.

But how can you have drifted that far
in such a short time?

I've said it a million times,
and I wasn't happy either.
But as soon as my faith is somewhat
restored,
as soon as we've made it past one hurdle... and I think there's hope...

There's nothing. But myself.
And most of the time I can wrap my head around it.

But right now, right at this exact second. I'm sadder
and more apathetic than I've ever felt before.

It'll pass, this feeling... But how could you leave me with nothing?
And go off on your own.


There's this old maple tree, towering into the sky in the back of my folks house... I'm off to sit under it.

Devil and the deep blue sea.

It's funny,
in Hollywood movies.

There is always that dramatic moment,
that happens on a stage, and feelings
of guilt are assuaged. And someone there
to tell them they are all right, ok, and we love you.

Or there's a boombox hoisted above some randomly
famous actors head portraying unequoivicable
love to someone that in one way or another that
has been wronged.

A giant sorry, and the giant fight.

And war blows bombs around us
we see it on the news, and know someone
who's fought the good fight. But the fight isnt here
and it's not close to home.

The world may crumble, and the oceans might dry. To a certain extent, out of my control.

At home we dont normally process
what is happening, how these things
effect us.

That's just silly. It's not a coping mechanisim,
it's not an ability to survive.

It's an ability to subside.

I'm rather sick of it.

I've (we've) gone through a lot,
in our own little personal microcosmic closets.

And we all have secrets hidden that we don't want to
or don't know how to deal with. But I'm sick
of hiding. I dont know how much time I have left.
None of us do, why fritter it away?

And it's time to stop feeling soo "caught between the devil
and the deep blue sea." At least for me.

Moving List.

A skillet
A bathrobe
A couch that folds to a bed. A couple paper lantern lights.
12 Banker's Boxes filled with randomness.

A toaster, coffee pot, microwave and crockpot...
A desk where I spend 10 hours a day

A small porch set where I write away my worries (it looks soo 60's socialist. As I'd imagine Stalins maid's kitchen table!)

A television and assorted book cases.

All the memories of us from the last five months, that slow decay of seperation.

And a chance to start again.

Ask for it.

If capability exists.
If this is what one wants.
Then we have to ask for it.

Otherwise we end up sounding
such as two people screaming
at each other
driving seperate ways down the highway.

Capability for indifference,
and knowledge of love.

I'd like to get this going gone.
And get gone this way that I currently feel.

Too soon since

It's funny, how a majority of my life fits into
twelve bankers boxes. (by estimate)

That I can fit the rest of my belongings in the back
of a Caravan (with hope)


Move to a new house, placed at the old.
Then start all again.

I'm really gonna miss the cats.
Bootsie is all snuggled up to me
at this very moment.

Cookie slept right above my head
on the couch, she was there when I
finally passed out, and woke me up.


I've hope that I wont continute
to look back in anger forever,
and I wish you the best.

But it's been too soon since,
to bury
a long time before.

The Proverb of Marryat

I'm trying so desperately not to be the bull 
in the proverbial china shop.


I'm trying so desperately not to be the bull.


But my horn drags the memories of our past right off
of the shelf. I stomp on the desire and passion
that I had for us, and blow steam from my nose 
such as a hot cup of coffee can warm your hands
on a cold New England day.


I don't want to trample on what was us,
I truly don't. I guess when it comes to
our hindsight, things are they way we've
set them up to be.




With wood, steel and bones we built this
resting place, for both of us. We brought
the cats and our couches, we made our bed
to clean the floor. And had the laughs that
could've been a great friendship, if only 
our love and communication could have been


more


complete...


But how quickly this changes, how hard
the wind can blow.
To the point this house of cards was not such a
permenant domicile. 


So today I mourn this upheaval. Then tonight 
I'll drive back to where and what we created
and start packing it all up, to start again.


Be well, Jillian. Be well.