in re solitude

brainstorm, take me away from the norm
I’ve got to tell you something
this phenomenon
I had to put it in a song
and it goes like…

typing. slowly the arduous process of unfolding my self onto the new page, of opening up my unmarked surfaces to the sky to be filled and scribbled upon begins anew.

together we were a sight. A miscegenation explosion of beautiful benetton body parts akimbo and on display, as we embraced madly in the urgency of the all too short time we shared.

but if sharing is what we deign to call it, then its best it ends. now before we revile each other all the more.

our hatred of one another is and should have been no surprise, because what we dislike so intensely in one another is what we fear most in ourselves…she detests her own tendencies towards laziness and abusiveness and promiscuity, and I my own vacuous self-absorption, self-criticism, and self-gratification above all else. we are our darker sides, each other’s antimatters, and the violent reaction between the opposites was something quantum physicists had up till now only hypothesized. anima and animus.

and still. though all of this is unquestioned and without challenge, and still. I love her intensely with white hot pain and bone chilling depth. I love her enough to want her near me no matter how much it hurts, and enough to never see her again if she requires it in order to avoid hurting her any more than I already have.

I have crushed many a heart before. I have broken many a promise. but this is by far the worst, as the heart I have torn in two is as much mine as hers.

goodbye, sad eyes. goodbye my magnificent hair beast. goodbye.

don’t give up your independence
unless it feels so right
nothing good comes easily
sometimes you’ve got to fight…


I wish you all the best as you stuff your greasy faces with swine and poultry and greedily rip wrapping paper to shreds in a frenzy of commercialism, your foreheads and necks fairly dripping with sweat as the pasty millions pimp whatever small amount of goodheartdness and honest emotion this holiday somehow still has retained after all this time.

shit yeah, I love christmas too.

the georgia peach

“Baseball is a red-blooded sport for red-blooded men. It’s no pink tea, and mollycoddles had better stay out.” Ty Cobb

finals is done. law school is no pink tea.


if you expect me to write anything else until december 15th or later, you are sorely mistaken. until I know all there is to know about land development and planning, intellectual property, entertainment law, and corpo-what?-rations, then I will be ghost. yes, bitch, that is a legal term. even now, at 3:40 in the damn morning, I have my nose in a book. and my ass in a sling, if I don’t do well.

fuckin’ finals.


and if you were at any moment unaware, you, for us, are what we are to you…a steadying hand, a welcome smile in a sea of unfriendly hearts, a word of wisdom amidst the tempest of despair it seems far too many of us with our personal web publishing empires seem to wallow in…oh, we are a sensitive, ornery lot indeed. and yet, our souls reach out to one another…a million and 2 individuals, separated by distance and introversion, standing up to scream out. “I am here. I need to be heard. I need to be free. I need to illustrate my hatred and my fears and my love and my hope and my pain for others. I need to illuminate them all for myself.”

our freedom is not in the solutions to the tribulations, you see. our freedom is in exposing our torments to the sun. because angst is allergic to light.


“better to build schoolrooms for the boys than prisons and gallows for the men” – eliza cook, as seen on a bumper sticker