outer space

wow. i'm in a deep zone with radiohead right now. i don't even know what to say to you people. brigette- how's that poetry comin' along? mike- why the fuck are you suddenly unlisted? dave- how can you be so good looking and so damn nice at the same time? cheri- i miss tai chi in the park.

i spoke to my friend brigette tonight. she said she put some poetry on her blog. it got me thinking about my old poetry tonight. then i laid back in my computer chair and daydreamed with my music.

i gotta go to sleep.

i think 2 hours just went by while i was going through some old shit. i found some old journals and stuff i'd been subconsciously trying to forget. i read some of the entries, some ranting, some poems. damn, i was really depressing. but i loved san diego. i loved the ocean, the bums, the bus, the inspiration. so much inspiration it was the sweat from your pores. here, my skin is bone-dry.

i didn't realize how often i used to write. i wrote all the time. i read poetry and followed it around. i was passionate about it. hmmmm...inspired and passionate. an unusual combination.

i was going to leave you with a poem i wrote in california, but i couldn't find the one i wanted. damn- it was a funny, one too. but here are a few good lines from 4 different poems out of a poetry magazine i found called "The Drumming Between Us"- a creation from Peter J. Harris, a poet among other things, then living in L.A. i met him while taking a poetry class in san diego. he's a bad-ass dude. wonder where he is now.

anyway, some pieces from a few poems, Harris' magazine, written by various poets:

in fact, its even unscientific
not to evolve
not to love, not to
grow & give back
the only humans who actually evolve
are lovers
all others
just simply fuck and reproduce


why is it that leaflets
handed out on blustery march mornings
never discuss the injustice
of loneliness?


being with you is like being high and floating into my own groove
its like living free and doin what i want without having to watch every move
touching you is like touching satin, my hands glide to a rhythm all their own
its like that feeling one gets in a small dimly lit jazz club listening to a musician play the saxophone
kissing you is like having a dream so good you wished it was real


we sat there drinking miso soup
and tea
and eating sushi
in the darkness
of an empty theater
i looked over at her
she was smiling at the film
she is lovely
even in the dark
and i realized
even if she became a toothless old gypsy
or something
i would always love her
i held her hand
and it was good
i hugged her
and it was good
She's gone now
I'm going through withdrawal
I cried for her
and it was good



this magazine consists mostly of love poems, and in the back of it there is a passage that tells of a writer's workshop in L.A.'s Leimert Park Village. they read love poetry. i think that's pretty cool. it's dated 1997. i hope they're still there.

well, thank you Peter J. Harris, for the inspiration tonight, even if i get no sleep. and although you wouldn't remember me if we met again, i think you're the shit. it was an honor.