We are the first generation raised without God.

i have spent the last twenty-four hours devouring douglas coupland's 'life after god'.  i'm glad that i did.  i've eyed coupland for years now, but this is the first time that i've ever sat down with him.  i want most everyone to read it because i like the way he articulates love and longing.  read it and bask in his profundity.  and, anyway, there are sketches on every page that made me feel like an innocent child, which sums up almost everything i've ever wanted to be.  

"i left the hotel shortly thereafter and, very soon after that, i fell in love.  love was frightening and it hurt- not only during, but afterward- when i fell out of love.  but that is another story.  

i would like to fall in love again but my only hope is that love doesn't happen to me so often after this.  i don't want to get so used to falling in love that i get curious to experience something more extreme - whatever that may be." 

all things go

new eyes.

 back to the empire on wednesday 

(celebrating the olympics in this photo)

the moon outshines the empire

I major in politics, but I haven't gotten around to register to vote yet (I will). Economics, and I am ever silent in the capitalist/socialist debate (unless we're talking about Yunus). Philosophy, and I still ask - what about the human heart?  What about longings that beg questions of identity, value, and intimacy? The heart asks questions that Marx and Locke could never answer. The greatest political structure of all time can't stand up to the heights of joy and depths of disappointment. It can not stop hidden sentiments of failure or triumph, shame or security, that I'm convinced move or hinder us from life. It's not that I don't care about these things that I study, I just care too much.

I don't know how my life works out, considering the amount of time I successfully waste every day. But, within an hour of writing San Francisco Safe House, I got a job.  In the summer of 2009, I'll live with the women we grimace at and spit out "sluts".  Someone in California or Washington could legislate a safety net for these women, but nothing would change.  The facts would remain: 

• 85% report sexual assault, brutal physical or emotional abuse and/or incest before age 18
  
• 90% meet criteria for diagnosis of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, major depression, eating disorders, or anxiety disorders
  
• 80% have been victims of severe violence associated with prostitution
• 90% have significant substance abuse issues
  
• 80% have unresolved grief due to the death of a loved one

I  am so desperate to believe that love can really move a person into a life worthy of the name.

common threads

i got caught in a shitfucking thunderstorm
as i walked home - beginning to end
it was fitting too, making my way to shelter
in a silk dress that stuck to my bones.
i think it rained in everyplace i have ever called home today
as i missed everyplace i have ever called home today
if you were coming,
i would stand in the shitfucking thunderstorm forever
and wait wait wait
with the pigeons under the roof top ledges.
we have weak hearts but i would wait forever.

"Bluebird, bluebird, through my window."

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

-charlesbukowski

seasons change

autumn came crashing on us with a thunder storm.
in the summer time, spring and fall have a battle.
october wins, every time.
there's fire in your eyes, you stay inside
on a walk, i smell trips to the north and canoes rides.
secret lines swing into open space.
we move with the season and the sway
oh you're not dead, just hiding away
i promise to stay until life does the same.