yay amazing wine.

Something I need to release so I can sleep tonight – I’m nervous as hell about the show tomorrow.

Not the brathing or eating – that I can do, and well – bot the SHOW. Tje words I say, the entertainment I gove – many nighte spent awake dwelling on what I will do, many nights awake knowing the perfect thing and how it never comes to pass.

A tremendous amount depends on tomorrow eve. I need to capture them, amaze them – and it’s difficult when breathing and eating are so run of the mill to me.

I jsually am able to find the spark, look at them and know that they will be appreciative, but there is a bit of stage fright right now – but only with the fire performance.

Fuck it. It’s just another game, right? I’ll find the words, the performance will go well – smoothly. I have nothing but my talents – I don’t have a show.

I will create one.

Please send me good energy – for eloquence, for wit, for the flow of the show.


I have confidence in myself, I am able to make something out of nothing – but I am nervous.

I am nervous.

With that note, I head back to The Forest – I have snacks and a gloriously comfortable bed that I will enjoy for a very few weeks more.


I love wine.

heh heh.


the lives they have taken from me are only the ones I have given. I swim in a hundred maybee’s. I push away in a thousand fears. I wash almost everyday but my life and my soul still has more dirt than you an carry, so you drop the weight and run, trying to find that place of feathers.

News for you: Broken wings don’t fly.

The fall is far, quiet, and constant.

I soar and look down in sorrow. I soar and prefer the sky. I look for the blue, and it is gone – then I again find the ocean and I am home, all is forgotten. All is the past, and there is nothing but the lack of an end to this particular story.

Like a beautiful book that you check the back binding for, a story that leaves you with nothing, expecting pages to be torn out – but it’s not the pages…

trepidation. few words say too much.

I uncork the 2002 Kenwood Cabernet; pour it into the only glass on my small table. It sits while I light the remaining candles in my tent. I sit, looking at the picture on the bottle – a white silk screened Wolfs’ head, looking back at me with hungry eyes.

I take the first sip in reverence, then breathe in through the profound liquid letting all of its’ flavor and complexity flow over my tongue, into my lungs, into my memory.

There is a reverence for this particular bottle, though the vintage has changed, and

I remember cooking together in the smallest of kitchens
the aroma of the food filling the apartment
the laughter
the certainty of life and
watching her Wolf and My Bean play together
as they argued for the closest space by the open kitchen door, waiting
and I remember eating glorious food,
the sauce from the mussels practically dripping down our arms as we dipped the bread
the looks we gave each other when the last scampi was on the plate,
both wanting it, but
both wanting the other to have it more.
There will be more.
And we drank the wine,
having everything we needed in our lives

to be happy.

I adore swimming in the past – remembering the smiles and laughter, looking back on my mistakes with a grimace and then letting it ease, knowing it is not who I am now, feeling a strange sense of sorrow and peace for all of my friends who I may never see again, but taking those lessons and that laughter with me, keeping it inside to call on.

Things are as they are supposed to be, and I couldn’t be anyone else than who I constantly become, running as fast as I can to keep the kite afloat, securing it when there is enough breeze inside to hold it aloft.

Then, when it begins to dance back and forth in its searching fall, I again take the string and move on, letting the wind carry us both into the air…

I think. There are only three people who I have encountered in my life who I would enjoy sharing this bottle with. Who know silence, with which words aren’t necessary.

Not admitting it, one is close. Not admitting it, I loathe her and she plagues my mind. Not admitting it, I want to spit in her face and hold her as tight as I can so I can say Good Bye. Silence only makes me seethe…

(I wonder how long until I erase this from my entry – but at the same time…

There are so many worthless words. Most words are. We talk incessantly to ignore the void and fear inside ourselves, and we plague the ones who prefer the soul to the wind it floats on.

Bah. More words, and probably more coming – hell, it’s still early, and I have five more bottles of extraordinary wines at my call.

actually, it’s primarily Raven/Crow, but the description is pretty damn accurate…

The Bird of Prey
EAGLE or HAWK – your daemon may be some kind of
bird of prey. Yours is a strong spirit, and a
fierce sense of liberty. You cannot be
confined. You may be shrewdly observant, and
like to be aware of everything that goes on
around you. You will fight fiercely for the
things that are most important to you, and you
are definitely a force to be reckoned with.
Still, you are not vicious by nature and would
prefer to be left in peace. You probably value
your solitude very highly – not that you don’t
enjoy company, but sometimes you just need to
be alone – otherwise you begin to feel caged in
and confined. You might want to take a drive on
your own, just to feel the road beneath you, or
to sit alone on your balcony, watching the
world go by.

What Is Your Daemon?
brought to you by Quizilla

Time tied up in a hangmans noose
I do everything I can to destroy me and
everything I can to live forever.

I see the decay. It mocks me in the mirror, a reflection unknown,
it follows me with its’ blade and I beckon.

Try to catch me, fucker.
For now I run faster – for now my heart is strong, my blood is thick. Thick with only the life inside of it, my life. Thick with knowledge and yearning and loss, thick with the dreams that I chase. Thick with the stillborn dreams that I plant, care for, and watch grow. For now, there is no use for a soul so strangely full and empty at the same time. I am not yours, for now – and not until I choose. I will choose when it is time.

Still so much to do, but

what is done?


No blood, no history, no future. Only now and a mind that plays, a mind that is as cruel as it is incessant. A mind that finds so little rest –

To be remembered.

I never began. If there is no beginning, is there an end?

We cast these ashes of the unknown and the nothing into the Sea. We cast these ashes.

I decay.

I see it and feel it, but I am so much stronger than life – I have proven that to myself in so many ways. I am stronger than death, I am stronger than I believe I am.

Something I must do.

I don’t know what and

I don’t care. I will find it
or not. My time is my own
the choice is mine.

it’s easy.

Just feel like it – have that need, though have no idea what will be said. These are my moments of solitude, where I spit out whatever comes to mind.

This can be dangerous in it’s honesty, at times.

It’s still light outside. I try to make a home of my van, the way it was when I was travelling, but it’s difficult – I know where I am now, I have been here far too long.

Cole’s visit was far more than necessary for me – a grounding, someone that I know I can believe in. She let my mind rest, find the laughter and peace and let go of the things that plague my mind. I try to make this van a home, a sanctuary where I can write and escape. It’s difficult these days – even more so when the sun still casts it’s shadows.

Last night was wonderful – I was finally able to cook for the Forest – mussels in a delicious sauce, and it was very well recieved. The perfect people there – unrestrained laughter, wit – we played, we played. We were exhausted in the joy while sitting near the fire.


I think everyday of the ideal Blue, yet cannot say anything. I will not break the silence that has been created. I give it my respect, my heart and hatred, and a thousand words cross my mind, searching for peace – but all I have is Good Bye. All I have is nothing. All I have is to abandon back. I try to cut them all out with my knives. All I get is strange blood and sorrow.

I think I need to get mushrooms or acid – or any psychotropic I can get my hands on. It’s time to trip hard, alone.

One month until Austin – all of Texas – is only a tragically beautiful memory.

I don’t know if I will be able to wait that long.

She knew. She knew My Bean. As I tried to wipe away the tears she looked at me. She knew. She knew My Bean. She understood. In the whole damn world, EVER.

no more poetry.
just silly words.

I realize that I’m banging my head against the support beam in my van.
I realize that it helps nothing, and I stop – and drink more wine. The sun has passed the horizon, the night comes. I’ll roll another cigarette. I wish I could write as I used to. I wish I knew poetry again. So much easier to say things so vaguely and beautifully that way, left to the interpretation of the reader – but perhaps I am done with its game. Perhaps there is nothing but what I need to say. The poetry came and remains written in india ink where no one will read it until my death, except for a chosen few.

I believe that is best.

and I’m done – for now…

Sitting on Angel’s porch, in the beautiful Sun & subtle warmth of an early anyday. The breeze makes the leaves whisper along the silent street, while some of the falling ones land on me or blow across my bare feet. I love it.

Better these past two days than I have been in a long while – the smiles come easily, my heart is light. That has everythng to do with her. Someone who I have history with, instead of another temporary acquaintance, knowing that my time is short in the wherever that I am and will end soon. The ease of our talks, the way we sing together with The Magnetic Fields driving around as we did in San Francisco…

Ripping traditional Gypsy music onto Clotho while Cole gets ready for our day. Angel has an entire small box of it, and while Cole stays here watching Angels cat, I will get as much as I can.

Second cup of Mate’.

Life is good.

The Shivers show was delicious, as usual. The meeting was absurd, and the party at The Forest still goes on.

Highlight of the night so far was meeting an OS biker named Sparticus – we ecchanged compliments. me for his ‘coon hat with legs, head and all, him for the famous Blue Furrycoat. A dun and quick talk about Harleys, what he has, what I had – one of those gruff voiced people who you can’t help but laugh with in the life they have inside of them. It brought me back to certain tines as the shops I worked at.

A beautiful silence at my wireless escape, but time to go back to The Forest – and either play with the others or sleep. We’ll see.

It’s been nice these past few days – run around the forest, some upper body workout, then run back the other way, picking up my throwing knives and practicing with them. Strangely, I’ve lost only a little talent with good throwers.

I count the days. Soon, Austin will be nothing but a memory with no desire to come back to it. Only a few people that I would like to say hello and farewell again, everything else – and everyone else, I really couldn’t give a fuck and Good Bye.


The things that I have experienced in this sorry fucking excuse for a city, and a few certain people I have met, , make it so perfect to spit on the ground in rememberance. That is all it is worth to me.