you smell like lightning bugs

.nine.

2009-04-29T00:20:00.001-04:00

starlit night follow teary eyed fights. maybe it's the alignment of the sun, the moon and the stars. yet i can barely see through the translucence of the salt. trip over my words, my feet, face first on the pavement. i was never sure which sting was worse, but there we lay face to face in grass, staring in each other's eyes, and still denying physicality. if you kiss her it will all be over. four hours of never ending love, if you kiss her it will all be over. i couldn't sleep, she couldn't sleep, then the moment would disappear and what we had imagined for so long might slip away into the darkness. brown eyes always seem to come about whether you like it or not. i always loved blue, but have never been able to find them. it is not necessarily that i mind the brown but a bit more vibrancy is always appreciated. there was a faint smell of orange that i could not shake and i'm sure i had more than a hint of tobacco on my shirt. coffee, clove, run inside, too cold. assumption of positions. back to the eyes. it's always a turning point to look in one's eyes. as deep as you gaze you only long more to know what they are thinking, to tickle their soul, but always to no avail. it's really a fruitless endeavor. there is no secret gateway. maybe what is laid out in front of you is more than what you have for this moment, maybe it's what you will have for the rest of your life, or maybe it's just a glimpse of what could have been. don't tell anyone, it's always our little secret. not mine but ours, our first bond i guess the one thing we would have in common no matter what happened, we would have this secret to hide. not that is was something to be ashamed of but that it would be something much better left between just the two of us, no one else need know. eventually we had come to the point of the undeniable, and we had to deal with the situation at hand, or it might make for an awkward tomorrow. the puzzle worked well and neither would admit that the plan had been achieved for it was serendipitous, as we lied to each other.

a quick aside

2009-04-21T17:43:00.005-04:00

a few people recently have asked me what's up with music. we were hitting the scene pretty hard for a couple months and things have certainly slowed up, this is a personal decision on my part. i'm finishing up my final semester in college, ali is earning her masters, miller is finishing up his semester of teaching and steve wishes he could quit his computer job and play music full time. aside from this all of us are active in several other musical projects at this time and are very busy gigging. in the meantime we're all working diligently on a new demo, and shuffling a few things up and possibly adding a couple new members to solidify our rhythm section. we'll be back in full swing come july, although we have a few dates booked in may and i've heard rumors of a couple dates in austin, LA, and san diego in june, just a rumor, maybe. we've also been kicking around the idea of a little tour with our friends teh missing keys in august. we'll be back soon, stay tuned, and relax with a glass of wine, now back to your regularly scheduled programming.

in the meantime please look us up on virb (www.virb.com/papillonsetouragans)

2009-01-14T11:07:00.002-05:00

.eight.

i wonder to myself how many nights you cried yourself to sleep before i bothered to notice. the wood paneling had become a bit dated at this point, a might too neo seventies for my taste. every night the television would blare its insults and i don't know how i lasted this long. it wasn't for the fact that perfection was lost, but brown eyes always did bore me, as invigorating as i know they can be. i have a thing for brown eyed girls, subconsciously i take it at least. i never was one to be attracted to settling down until i met you, and maybe i never will be again. it's been a while now. over half a year since i last saw you and your face has started to melt from my memories, it did after a week or so, i never was one for facial recognition which is a shame for someone who knows as many as i do. i'll always remember some things, smells mostly. that lilac scent and the brisk ocean air, the waft of sheets that had settled in a bit too much and did no want to be removed. they always stayed there. you always said you wanted excitement but i think it was truly me who yearned for something more. that wood paneling stared at me every night, i really hate the distinct decorating disadvantage of a textured wall, some sort of gaudiness abounds and try as you might it can not really be overcome. you can cover the lackluster color in the most beautiful paintings the earth has to offer, yet underneath it all there is still that faux wood grain finish. 1/16" deep veneer. probably vinyl. it flexed a bit when i would press up against it, poorly installed. but life's not about perfection, we only strive to be the best mediocre entity that we can, acceptable in the eyes of our peers, in the heart of our love. and i wonder how i am to better myself, when i have lost my sense of decency, my longing to follow my dreams, i was stuck with contentment, although i would not mark this as a bad thing. no forward motion. stagnancy in water breeds algae and maybe that's what i had become, laying on that steel frame. it wasn't comfortable but it's where i was, where i was going, and where i had been. i couldn't lift it myself to move, and it had to come with me, i could not leave it behind. that would be another life, another world, one i have been denying for too many years now, and still shirk the responsibilities of to this day but now i'm here, writing, reading, living, breathing, moving forward, smiling. i just feel a certain amount of reluctancy in accepting my former apathy. i wish i had noticed your tears earlier, but i didn't have it in me. i needed to move, stretch my legs and move on. i can't let myself settle. not with that wood paneling surrounding me, god how i hate that wood paneling.

2008-11-22T11:02:00.003-05:00

. seven .

this really needs a rewrite...but whatever. i wrote this back in may. fuck adorno.

Theodor Adorno, a twentieth century aesthetician, has written numerous essays on music and its place in the art world. Adorno’s criticisms relate strongly to the furthering of music as and art form as well as the cultural relevance of such pieces. He has critiqued such artists as Schoenberg, Bach, Stravinsky, as well as written essays on the states of popular music and jazz. All of his essays employ a seemingly inflammatory style that puts down many works of legitimate art as mere products of popular society. I feel that these critiques need to be argued from a musician’s perspective to give them full validity, as well as shown in their own cultural relevance of the time of their inception.

Adorno critiques the work of Bach labeling his music formulaic and archaic. Yet in Adorno’s own terms this music needs to be taken with the cultural relevance of the day, as well as the reasons for output of music. Bach’s music was made nearly all under the patronage system in Europe at the time, and his work has been praised as being technical brilliance. Yet Adorno claims that Bach’s music was a cultural revolution against the church Adorno disagrees with the contemporary assertion that Bach was merely a technically perfect master of baroque contrapuntal movement and harmony but used his chromaticism and dissonances as a form or rebel against that system that he would be stuck in his entire life, and owe the popularity of his output to.(Adorno, Prisms, 142) What Adorno fails to realize here is that without the patronage of the church Bach’s genius could have never been realized as it is today.

I contend that Bach’s music is no more culturally revolutionary than any other artist of the day, aside from that of the volume of his output. Bach’s piece, while mathematically structured perfectly, were no more reiterations of what had been done in the past, yes there is no argument here that Bach is not the leading of his Viennese school and his work has greatly effected all composers since, but culturally he has had little to no impact on the furthering of society of a whole. I make this contention in an effort to show that a single composer has never had this kind of impact on society, not Bach, nor Beethoven, nor Schoenberg. Musical representation must be viewed as not leading society but merely reflection the social situations at the time of conception. No where in history can Adorno make a claim that supersedes this, although he may attempt to through the compositions of Schoenberg, Berg, Webern, or Cage. Yet all of these examples are products of their time, not in the forefront of society. Art as a whole plays an important part in the furthering of society, but it is social and cultural impact that fuels the art world, not the other way around.

With this out in the open, Adorno argues that Bach’s works can not be taken at face value, as he did not have the necessary compositional tools, nor instrumentation to complete his works as he sees fit. Yet Adorno himself has no basis to make this claim and therefore I find it to be a moot point. The majority of Bach’s output was made for that of organ, piano, and vocal pieces, how could this possibly be construed as necessitating a more abstract instrumentation?(Adorno, Prisms, 142-143) Alternative mediums should no more have crossed Bach’s mind as the concept of graphic design should have crossed Monet’s. This concept holds absolutely no basis in this discussion of the validity of one’s works.

Adorno further contends that for music to be considered in the art realm it must liberate itself from the order that possesses control over it. Bach in no way did this; his compositions are wrought with the stench of imitation. Bach did little more than follow the rules of his craft and, contrary to Adorno’s belief, did not step outside of the realm of the ordinary. I do not want to discount Bach’s work here, as they are irrefutably the most spectacular of his school, but to claim that he had the realm of conventionality is a blatant falsehood. Adorno’s case against conventionality in music can not be properly explored without the advent, better regarded as discovery, of the concept of atonality.

Here, I must take time to discuss the work of Arnold Schoenberg and his twelve tone system of composition, of which Adorno was not just a proponent but also a student. Schoenberg’s twelve tone system a compositional technique devised as an attempt to stray from the common diatonic melodies that we, as westerners, hear in most music. The system necessitated the use of all twelve tones of the chromatic scale, to be used without immediate repetition, this would create greatly disjointed melodies, even what could be called an abandonment of melody through the use of Schoenberg’s later tone rows, dictating even the order of the twelve tones to be used.(Mason; Burkholder, 810) This formulation of music can not be considered fine art at all through its mechanical undertaking but must be classified as merely industrial art, an art out of necessity. Schoenberg’s attempt at atonality would never be accepted by the public, nor much of the art world, but would serve as a revolution in the art of composition for years to come, for after being refined and reformulated to its more sparse use today could be stomached by the general populous. (Adorno, Aesthetic, 158)

I believe that it is this revolutionary aspect, and not necessarily the compositions himself, that Adorno would cling to in his writings. Adorno advocated both revolutions in art and social circles, yet his extremist approach was a contradiction in and of itself. Adorno praised Schoenberg’s system for it’s formulaic nature,(Mason) yet went on to note that this intellectual aspect of music is something that has seen in pre-romantic works, arguing that the emotion, of romantic and post-romantic composers, is only a small part of the work. Adorno believes that music must affect the listener in a much more cerebral manner to be considered art. This need for a revolution in music is something that would not be seen in Schoenberg, but the romantic style that Adorno so vehemently cast aside as emotional garbage.

Schoenberg himself noted that, “one paints a painting, not what it represents”(Adorno, Aesthetic, 4) this begs the question as to whether Schoenberg himself was against the emotional aspect and impact of music, or whether he was attempting to portray this emotionality. In this, Adorno’s philosophy of the art world can be brought down, as his main voice for this theory casts him aside. Adorno himself addresses the point that Schoenberg’s early piano works were a barbaric use of the music art form, owing more to its traditionalist roots than that of pure atonality. (Adorno, Aesthetic, 93) This emotional aspect of music, and all art in general, can not be taken lightly, and may in fact be what is the most important aspect of art, not cultural relevance, but that of the sensitivity of the arrangement of notes and ideas. This concept has not been more readily embodied more so than in the works of romantic composers such as Liszt, Chopin and late Beethoven.

During this period composers would begin to be freed of the burden of the patronage system, finally beginning to write works solely for themselves, and not always taking into regard the taste of society. This sets the romantic period apart from those previous by instilling a mass of emotional impact in the music. No longer was everything formulaic, with commonly accepted counterpoint and harmony, but was at the full discretion of the composers psyche and emotional state. This was viewed by many people, at first, much like the music of Arnold Schoenberg, yet romanticism would slowly push the limits of diatonic harmony to what we view them as today. Is this not a revolution in the art world, and reflection of the dawning industrial age in the west? This can be seen even as late as world war I in the post romantic works of Igor Stravinsky, the acceptance of his genius would not by fully recognized until after his death. Yet even this music which we now find pleasant to our ears caused a riot in Paris as the premiere of his “The Rite of Spring” due to the dissonance of harmony and the odd use of instrumentation called forth by Stravinsky’s emotions, and the need to express them as such in his music. This movement of composers writing off their own feelings is a natural revolution necessitated by the changing of contemporary society; while Schoenberg’s twelve tone system is a forced revolution, in only an attempt to change the music world. Therefore even through Adorno’s theory of the cultural relevance of art music, even Schoenberg must be looked down upon, as he did not change society, he merely attempted, and failed.

Although with all of this the argument against the cultural impact of the twelve tone system can not be put down without a discussion of the manifestation of Schoenberg’s theory throughout the cold war period. At this time the twelve tone method became the compositional technique on the forefront of American writing, due to an attempt to break away from the nationalistic, and thus diatonic, method of composition of Russian composers. Even with this forced learning of Schoenberg’s techniques among young composers it would still prove itself to be a failure over the next twenty years, necessitating a revolution against the forced revolution itself. Out of this would be borne a minimalist style embodied in the likes of Charles Ives and John Cage, with a pure rejection of atonality and a return to the most basic of music concepts. This style would prove itself much longer lasting than that of the compulsory style of Schoenberg. In light of this rejection I feel that it is clear that Schoenberg’s system is merely a stopping point amid the romantic and minimalist periods and can not at all be deemed a social nor artistic revolution itself. One might argue that the minimalist style being stemmed from that of Schoenberg is evidence that the latter therefore is important in the discussion of western music and society. Yet due to its cultural irrelevance and artistic failure this is simply untrue. This revolt from diatonic theory is simply not something that the western world had been prepared for but was an atom bomb dropped on the art world in an attempt to change, but instead resulted in a return to the past and has possibly done nothing but set back the progress of the art music world.

Adorno discusses the use of music, and art, for profit, and the liquidation by society, saying that Schoenberg’s twelve tone system is the first true revolt against such consolidation, but in this vein we have to take on the early twentieth inception of pop music, first and foremost, jazz.(Adorno, Aesthetic, 206) Looking down from his throne atop the aesthetic world Adorno peers down at jazz as this liquidation of art, and attempts to abolish any credibility that anyone might hold over the jazz, and now pop music, world. This argument is filled with misconceptions as well as gross generalizations from a man uneducated in this art form, drawing his conclusions from his own ill-conceived past, and forcing his frustration onto a new form of art. As a proponent of cultural furthering through music and art one would be led to believe that Adorno would embrace the essence of the new musical form, but this is a falsity.

I must first begin by addressing the falsehoods put forth in Adorno’s “Perennial Fashion – Jazz”, through a discourse on the elements of a new style. Adorno initially states that while jazz is based on improvisation, that this improvisation is a falsehood, and regurgitated ideas of the past. (Adorno, Prisms, 123) This assertion holds footing on a slowly melting lake. While improvisations by jazz musicians, as far back as the thirties, and including those of present day, may indeed quote other players, and even learn other artists solos for acts of education, this is in no way influencing the overall direction of the work. Yet the overall goal of improvisation in jazz is the outpouring of emotion through your instrument, through the use of notes. This inherently poses a problem to Adorno who does not believe in the emotionality of music being a large aspect of the art. These solos are no more formulated than the predisposed notions that Adorno represents.

Adorno next addresses the limitations put on the creativity of the musician by the harmony and meter of the piece. (Adorno, Prisms, 123) Although this is clearly true in the manifestations of ragtime, Dixieland, and swing bands early in the century, this rule can not be held true throughout the vast history of jazz, even before Adorno’s death. While the basic blues progression as well as the fundamentals of traditional diatonic harmony held true through the inception of the jazz genre, up through the 1940’s swing era, by the cool and bebop eras in the mid 1950’s these traditional forms of harmonic and melodic movement had all but been abandoned. Adorno’s points about the concepts and atonality falsely imprisoned in the world of jazz must be addressed to discuss this further. (Adorno, Prisms 126) Adorno claims that the use of atonality in jazz was not true atonality as it still follows a diatonic chord progression. But one might argue that Schoenberg himself in many of his compositions, including that of Pierot Lunaire, had necessitated the same usage of harmony.(Burkeholder, 827-830) Even with this being so by the 1950’s tonality had been informally abandoned in the advent of both modal jazz and free jazz, where as the former initiated solos over one chord requiring the use of non chord tones, and the latter fully abandoning the concept of a tonal center, much like Schoenberg had done previously.

This idea of the abandonment of tonality is inherently false in itself. In Schoenberg’s use of the twelve tone scale he is already insinuating the act of such tonality. With the use of this western invention it is truly impossibly to never imply the concept of a central key to the piece. This notion of true atonality is something that can never be fully achieved through the use of a wholly western, and thus diatonic, system of music. Atonality itself could only be fully realized by the implementation and influence of eastern microtonal music into the repertoire of a western composer. But at this point would a thousand year old system of music, although abandoning what we see as true tonality truly prove our own music vapid, would it be a real departure from the norm? It is nothing innately original to western civilization as we now realize it and the assimilation has already inadvertently taken place in society, much through the jazz world, by the likes of sun ra, and even in the pop world through artists such as Harrison. Had it not been for these people the truth of atonality could not have been realized to western civilization, especially through the theories of Arnold Schoenberg, whom only served to plant the seed of no tonal center.

With this concept of atonality, comes the concept of commercialization of music. Adorno christens jazz as a consumer art, but as we know it music has always at least partially been a consumer art. (Adorno, Prisms, 126) Even dating back to medieval times and carrying on through the baroque, classical, and romantic periods, this has proven to be true through the patronage system, which was truly only replaced with the inception of capitalism in the west. Capitalism itself has necessitated the need for popular art forms. Jazz itself is a reaction to the industrial and technological revolutions as much as it is a reaction to the wars in the early part of the twentieth century. This new form of music can be directly correlated to the increasingly individualistic culture that has been perpetrated in the west over the past one hundred years. The mass media, seen through radio, and later television, further exasperates this situation for fame. This even boils down, as Adorno notes, to the common person. (Adorno, Prisms, 128-129) This need to assimilate to society by representing oneself as different has helped to shape our society to what it has become. American’s, as a whole, feel the need to latch onto the concept of celebrity status.

While this condition indeed seems to have begun with the jazz world, the first true form of American pop music, its hold over that realm dissipated very fast in the twenty years after its initial occurrence, and turned its focus to the form of rock and roll. The initial controversies concerning the origination of jazz can be seen in the early fifties shifting their spotlight. By the end of Adorno’s life he should have been looking at the correlation between jazz and the inception of rock which directly correlate with each other. Yet without either out culture would not nearly be the same that it is today. With this in mind it could be said that Adorno himself has approved of these forms of music through their immense culture impact on life in America as well as the rest of western society, and through cultural imperialism even to developing nations in the world. The effect of these forms of music has clearly not been just local but a global phenomenon which can not be ignored.

With these points in mind Adorno’s critiques on the music world can not be taken lightly. He has shown himself to be self contradictory, and not adhering to his own standards of criticism. Likewise the concept of atonality in music has not yet proved itself to be of any use to contemporary composition, as our society continues to be that of supply and demand by the public, and the general populous is not ready to accept such conventions. As such music, as an art form, must be viewed from the perspective of contemporary society, not merely from the criticisms of the past. It was Schoenberg himself who said that there is still so much that could be done with a Simple C chord.

2008-11-10T11:20:00.003-05:00

. six .

austin, texas. 1662.26 miles from home. 25 hour and 35 minute drive. on a good day. that is rather far. i've been avoiding life decisions as of late, and it's time to deal with at least two. austin is number one. i'm twenty two and yes i enunciate all of the t's therein, call me odd, but it is how i speak. all of these years have been spent in new jersey, not such a bad thing as far as i am concerned. i've wanted to leave, to get away from everything here and start a new life for quite sometime, but is this the opportunity i've been waiting for? two years, at the end of it nearly 1/12 of my life, touring with a band based out of austin. this is a huge commitment. on the upside i'm sure that this would be a fine experience that i would share with one of my best friends, and i would be living in the current mecca of music on the continent. this could be a great opportunity for my career. but what is my career? i don't want to tour with bands my whole life. i want to teach. if i move i will be putting off my graduate study and my teaching certification, shirking the rigors of what most of us see as the grown up world for another fifth of a decade, maybe i've had my fun and it's time for me to grow up. four months ago this discussion would be a non issue. i was with the girl i loved and i would not leave her for texas, but now i'm at least partially alone and the decision does not weigh on any other person in my life, but solely on me. this is a nice feeling, yet still tedious. for the first time in a long time i'm making a major life decision without any stipulations, i truly feel that i can do what i want. i can move away on a whim, and throw caution to the wind. my battle isn't with the decision to move but with my sense of responsibility to myself. these past few months, i feel as though i need to grow up. i guess maybe i'm not a little kid anymore, and that is something hard to face, it's really the only thing i've known my whole life. maybe musicians never grow up.

2008-10-29T15:31:00.002-04:00

. five .

i've been smiling the past couple weeks. not out of joy but just because, it's the first time in months that i've heard one of my favorite songs on the radio and broke a smile at the cute lyrics. it all boils down to a pocket watch. i guess we all require a little bit of closure in some sense and this was mine. i've been wondering lately about those butterflies in your stomache and have come to the bitter conclusion that i'm just too old for such pleasures these days. i guess this was my last shot at young love and it's now time for me to bite the bullet and grow up a little bit. this is something that i've been avoiding for years, i was stuck in a vortex of naivete, trying to hold onto the last part of my teenage years, but now that it has left i have no options left but to move on, maybe this is something good. but i'm content in my life as of now. i have found out that some people i thought were mere casual aquaintances were prepared to be there for me at the drop of a hat, and that is a wonderful feeling, it's nice to know someone cares that much, who before a few months ago barely even knew you. my eyes have been looking up lately and i'm realizing how nice it is to have someone to cuddle with, even if it's just a friend. my memories have faded a little bit, but maybe that is for the best, i'll always remember the good times and forget the sad and in the end maybe you were the best i'd ever had or maybe is the best is yet to come. now i just need to focus on staying out of trouble, which i'm afraid i am already deeply rooting myself into.

2008-10-14T01:40:00.002-04:00

. four .

i woke up the other night and grabbed my knee. i could have sworn there was blood pouring out, my knee cap nearly lacerated at the ligaments. luckily it was all a dream. there was a girl i knew, we left the party, we know where this is going. we race to her dorm, running at full speed like some sort of sick contest. when we reached lot b i finally caught up to her, but our legs became entwined and we whole of us folded like overcooked pasta fresh out of a steamer. we both approached the ground at an alarming speed, yet it seemed we only had skinned knees. next our eyes looked down to the horrible sight of blood pouring south. no pain though, i am beginning to think that even my subconscious has forgotten the feel of stabbing pain, i can't say this is to much of a bad thing. we could barely walk though, something was broken and obviously our immediate agenda had been foiled. just our luck, i knew our lips would never meet. it was cold though and the sanguine fluid began to curdle a bit. how wretched. i for one would have loved to know the end to this story, but REM decided that it was time to move to my final stage of sleep and the scene melted from my eyelids. a shame i'm so clumsy, maybe one day we can run again.

2008-10-08T02:02:00.003-04:00

. three .

drinking yourself to the point of exhaustion, or sitting along wallowing in your own self pity, i have been slowly trying to decide which of these is the lesser of two evils. the former has presented itself much to often in recent months, but last night i opted for the former. i left the street lights of pitman and headed south, the entire way wondering what i was doing. i knew all too well where my car and the deserted roadways were leading me but i did not want to acknowledge. wildwood is a cold an lonely place at eleven at night in october. it was the first time since last autumn that i had smelled the brackish water, and it was a welcome scent. too many memories, i won't know why i do this to myself. i've wanted to scream for weeks now, but everytime i open my mouth, nothing will come out, i've been on the verge of tears for an eternity but there seems to be a drought taking place. i though someone deep in my mind that feeling the sand between my toes and smelling that salty air, where it all started, would bring me some sort of peace, if nothing at least some semblance or release. unfortunately, i was wrong. the second i hit the shores my mind was blank, i wanted to think but there were no thoughts to be had. i didn't recall the waves being so deafening, but when the rides cease movement and there are not thousands of people on the glorified two by fours a hundred feet prior, those waves are the only sound to be heard, and my ears are still ringing. beach closed after ten. boots don't fare well in sand, they had to be removed, i sat atop a sand dune and watched the tide slowly come in, my fingers felt like they were going to fall off. such quiet, even the gulls didn't utter a word. solidarity, maybe it's for the best.

2008-10-05T01:40:00.003-04:00

. two .

it was about fifty seven degrees out, only an estimate, and i knew by the time that i rose off the pavement my white t shirt would be stained from the dirt on the wheel well, no it was september i was probably wearing a hoodie. it must have been a bit cooler in previous days for the asphalt was colder than anticipated, but for those two hours temperature was of no consequence. i took a clove from the small black package, it only held 18, but that is a story of a failed business venture and a discussion for another time. the sweetness hit my lips but it didn't really matter, the conversation was more engaging than any i had ever experienced. this was odd for it was no more than frivolous, yet like old friends we could not stop talking, there was no hesitation on either of our parts. i didn't want to sit there and make out with you, not for lack of attraction, but your words meant too much. this was a few weeks past sleepless in seattle. i like to pretend that we had met at the shore, although we had not, the initial acquaintance your mind did not even care to remember, but i don't blame you, i wasn't a person of interest back then, nor am i now for that matter. it must has been 4 am before we went to sleep that first night, we each had a lot to get off of our chests, the room smelled like fresh cotton with a hint of lilac, i for one would not know the name of that particular scent of the next couple months, yet what an apt name it had attained. the tv was blaring, not too loud, but we had a friends dreams to tune out, they tended to be boisterous, at least too much so for my taste. that couch was far from comfortable, sometimes i wonder if i really am too tall for my own good for my feet always tend to hang off a few inches and my head has a tendency to meet ceilings at an inopportune angle. again, fully irrelevant to the topic at hand. earlier in the night we had sat of the balcony, you wanted to smoke a cigarette, and i wanted to be next to you, thus i followed, and i hoped dearly that you would not mind. i scratched your back a little bit, little did i know what i had gotten myself into in that respect. off in the distance, between drags, i could hear the waves hitting the sound ever so faintly, it was a calm night, and i can not for the life of me recall what we discussed on those boards. this process would repeat itself three or four times that first night, and more times than i could remember in the future. up and down the steps, only seven inch steps, too small for my feet, and the calculation of rise was a bit off, the last step ended up elevated at only two inches, which would make more than one awkward fall for myself. too tall, too clumsy. i had never seen sleepless in seattle. not in its entirety at least, nor do i think i have yet. you giggled a little, we were both a bit hesitant but our minds were occupying the same plane. you rolled over eventually and we slept, for an hour or so. you had to got to work. the night was growing old and i had to get up, there was dirt on my hoodie, maybe it was a sweater, i can't remember. i'm not good at asking questions, you'll have to settle for a statement.

2008-10-03T10:53:00.003-04:00

. one .

every morning, eight thirty, i pry myself from the covers, walk up the stairs barefoot and press the on button politely recessed on the coffee machine , roll a cigarette, and sit on the front stoop knowing all too well that these two bitter tastes will be the only to grace my lips for the remainder of the day, the, week, the month. yet it's green tea this morning, decaffeinated, and i neglected to put on my socks, the black and white argyle ones. that night i left, i kissed you, saying i love you for the final time and tasting the salty tears on your lips for an eternity that was barely long enough to speak of. the calls would slowly become unanswered and i wished that they had been the last words that i would utter, the end to a jump start romance that had vanished as fast as it had came. and i wonder if my need for instant gratification would be the reason you won't answer and i am forced to hear that voicemail every other sunday, you sound so happy, yet i know it was recorded well over three years prior, the voices in the background let me know at least you're not alone. i tried to move on fast, i'd watch the late night law and order reruns with another female, but i couldn't bring myself to hold her, i was disgusted by the thought, that was ours, so now i sit at home alone each night to continue the ritual, alone, sometimes under a blanket to pretend that i am not so. but now i see at my age that i will probably never have that feeling again. it was the last of my young love, those butterflies in my stomache, even though they were never there. from the time we sat on those fifty pound bags of flour in the back room they were gone, it was as if we were best friends the second we met. we know that's a lie, you didn't even like me. the first time i hugged you i spun you around, you were wearing that skirt that i loved so much, it moved a bit in the breeze created through that tornado, yet when i set you on the third step you gave me a look of contempt, i knew never to do that again. still i would continue, for thirty four months, until i saw that contempt again in your eyes, they were green, in fact i like to think that they still are. slow. stop. back to reality. i haven't been to the shore this year, down to it as you would say. i think it might kill me, at least a little bit on the surface. the only memory i want is of one night, a tuesday, i came late, i believe music was involved, but as i walked in your door you came up to me as was of the standard, and put your arms around me, if i remember correctly they hit around the third rib from the bottom and your head was buried in my chest, this was normal, but as you stood on your toes to kiss me, you looked in my eyes and said "you smell like lightning bugs".

2008-10-03T10:20:00.004-04:00

. forward .

i saw an old friend the other day, and i will let you know that it was absolutely lovely to see her glowing face, the one person that i can legitimately say is always happy to see me, that smile is never forced, never has been, and never well be. but this is far from the point, over her wine and my hard liquor she reminisced about the past, the blog i used to keep, how she would read it everyday, and thinking back i remember how it felt to get my feelings on (paper). now i'm slowly realizing that it might be something that i need again. writing never hurt anyone now did it? so here i am, typing on this keyboard while my toes are at least a little bit below the temperature that is optimum remembering to just write.