The best time to reflect is when you like the person looking back.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
The 14 Billion Years It Took
Do you remember, at the start, how small everything was? Smaller than a point. Like everything was somewhere between a thought, almost, and a reality, almost. And then I looked at you and thought
And then everything that would ever happen, happened.
Written by Me at 9:47 AM 23 comments
Friday, August 13, 2010
The Future Is The Past Waiting To Happen
Written by Me at 12:39 PM 21 comments
Thursday, August 12, 2010
The Next Stop
Only because it's still so raw and real. Soon I'll just be a series of images that sometimes flash through your mind, when you least expect it. And after that, only a few will stay. Then, one. A memory of a memory.
Written by Me at 10:53 AM 35 comments
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
The Midnight That Lasted Forever
I do not have to look at the clock to know that it's midnight. I can feel the day rushing across the world, as fast as time.
But somewhere, there is a beach that time cannot reach. Where everyone and everything has always been and never was. And perhaps, you are there waiting for me.
In that place, time cannot touch.
Written by Me at 3:57 PM 33 comments
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
The Dwindling Conversation
Written by Me at 1:35 PM 25 comments
Monday, August 9, 2010
The B Train
Written by Me at 11:37 AM 14 comments
Friday, August 6, 2010
You are your hair and your eyes and your thoughts. You are what you look at and what you feel and what you do about it. The light from the sun is still a part of the sun. My thoughts of you are as real as any part of you.
Written by Me at 10:56 AM 17 comments
Thursday, August 5, 2010
The Truth Is Born In Strange Places
Joan of Arc came back as a little girl in Japan, and her father told her to stop listening to her imaginary friends.
Elvis was born again in a small village in Sudan, he died hungry, age 9, never knowing what a guitar was.
Michelangelo was drafted into the military at age 18 in Korea, he painted his face black with shoe polish and learned to kill.
Jackson Pollock got told to stop making a mess, somewhere in Russia.
Hemingway, to this day, writes DVD instruction manuals somewhere in China. He's an old man on a factory line. You wouldn't recognise him.
Gandhi was born to a wealthy stockbroker in New York. He never forgave the world after his father threw himself from his office window, on the 21st floor.
And everyone, somewhere, is someone, if we only give them a chance.
Written by Me at 1:33 AM 27 comments
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
The Voice In The Machine
Thank you for calling/standing near me/being concerned. But I am not here right now. I am somewhere else. And you cannot reach me. Please leave me at the sound of the beep.
Written by Me at 12:13 AM 26 comments
Monday, August 2, 2010
The Stars In The Architecture
Written by Me at 3:04 PM 10 comments
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