The drive to my father's house is the most delicious passage of dusty little towns, open country, and rolling golden hills. It makes the heart ache for cowboy boots and honky tonk and the smell of horses and hay. There are countless country roads I've yet to venture down, and many a barbed wire fence that I haven't the guts to slipt under alone. ( Read more... )

As the sun begins to set, the face of this town begins a transformation. By dusk it is the hour of lovers. To walk by the water during this time is to alienate oneself - every bench, every dock, every old tree that shades its corners of moonlight is a perch for two. The horizon has been painted, the lovers cast, and I am an extra running through ( Read more... )

my heart is so full and wild and impatient right now i want to cry . . . about what i don't know. its like this great swelling in my chest, as though ive taken a huge breath and can't let it out. it reaches tendrils out towards places where my soul is buried, places far away and unfamiliar. to reach out and touch these places, the earth and the ( Read more... )

Soon it got dusk, a grapy dusk, a purple dusk over tangerine groves and long melon fields; the sun the color of pressed grapes, slashed with burgundy red, the fields the color of love and Spanish mysteries.

-On the Road, Jack Kerouac

I had a date this weekend. I know, I know. It’s about damn time ( Read more... )

i drove to oregon towards a funeral for a friend. it's the darkest side of beauty, this love we feel for a life that ended at 20 ( Read more... )

i went running alone the other night, along the streets of our new city. i skipped down stone steps towards the shore of our sparkling lake, the water like black jewels lit dimly by cloud-filtered moonlight. a city scape in the distance, an old willow overhead, it's tendrils sweeping the surface of gently lapping liquid onyx. it filled my chest to ( Read more... )

each day i grow more convinced that i am, in fact, bipolar

it is not the little things in life that matter. happiness, sadness, hope, despair. . . these are all great underlying themes that penetrate every last corner of your mind like a heavy perfume, drugging your thoughts with uppers and downers and any manner of other directions. it is through this haze that we perceive the singular moments, the sights ( Read more... )

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