Note: Don't Read Zombie Comics Before Bed.

Yesterday, during several naps - adjacent, I dreamt extensively about being night hunted in waist deep snow. Frozen, digging, limping, crawling. I was petrified, but acutely aware that my pursuer and I looked exceedingly beautiful in that snow. It reminded me of my future in Oregon, though I was still stutteringly frightened.

I like to visualize my brain coated with the dense moss of Pacific Northwest verdure as the recent barrier between myself and satisfying thought collection. I'll just let it sit for a while, I guess.

(Me, paying my respects to Gravity in Oregon, January 2008)

(Dickie in Oregon, January 2008)

(Me in Oregon, January 2008)

(Me & Dickie in Canada, Apri 2008)

(Really, folks. You can't fake this kind of raw, honest beauty.)

(Dickie, Me, Richard and Kara in Canada, April 2008)

(Me and Kara in Canada, April 2008)

(Dickie, Richard and Stephen in Canada, April 2008)

(Stephen, Dickie and me in Seattle, April 2008)

I feel better, in some ways very much, and hope this disconnect will pass. Things are moving forward. Whatever happens in the future is okay with me because I am confident. I yearn for more green, more outside, more love, more of everything. Let's fall into place. Okay?

"Can We Play A Game?" She Said.

Lately I have developed a tendency to internally dialogue or narrate in the third person.

"If I seem somber, it's because I was listening very closely."
Edit: "She said."

"Nestled in her hair, she finger-painted the remaining tears in semi-circles under the eye. Lulled, she thought, "This is what a whale's skin feels like." As it happened.

I think it's partially an attempt to disassociate myself from thoughts that seem excessively mopey, or at least try to make an exercise out of them. I wonder if everybody repeats their own thoughts as much as I do.

My brain's been a little odd lately.

Last night I was relentlessly aware of it as a mass, existing in my skull. I had some involuntary image projections of a gauzy, mushy mass - grey, like brains are supposed to be. Descriptors "gauzy" and "mushy" I fixated on, but I couldn't actually think of anything that exists as both gauzy and mushy... perhaps some kind of octopus?
By thinking a lot about my brain as a "thing," I also felt very in control of it. I was able to procure a really old memory, just by urging myself to "remember something new." I was also able to keep myself from crying.


I don't have too many formed feelings on the true meaning of love; the last few years have been choppy and unforgettable - both good and bad - but if I've ever felt close to having a moment in it, it was this week when I saw a common pain reliever in the bathroom cabinet, and reflexively with an ache, wished they had no pain to relieve.

There is also that night at the swings when I needed to be saved and without a doubt, I was.

Life, Please Don't Beat The Romance Out Of Me

It's been very sad, in my heart and head. And I'm feeling more than upset, possibly comparable to existing only in the imagination of a really dull child.
I've come to crave leverage (respect?), but am beginning to feel that it's not something given naturally to me by my design. By that I mean, what I offer in the day to day seems to be a thing intangible and of little transferrable value - a trifle. And so I mean, is it just me or am I usually being talked down to, through, or past?