introspective periscope : peeking inside since Y2K

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can't get no sleep

barely new day - twenty fifth of april, 2003

"carmella, where you gonna run to when if the sky comes crashin' in on you. slow down. who you gonna run to when there's nothing left for you to prove?...its true, what they say about you. its true."~beth orton

the party has come and gone. the chicken was tender. the brownies, oozing with caramel, chunky with chocolate chips. the company, sparce but satisfying. and we edge on to another weekend....

i have a rare saturday off of work and intend to make the most of it. at five o'clock when the proverbial whistle blows tomorrow afternoon, i will stumble out of the mall and breathe the fresh air of certain freedom. and then, we will take to the road, north east, to indiana, pennsylvania.

this weekend is Sugar Cup, a rugby event not to be missed. this having been said, i've missed it for two years now.

with a place to crash a night and friends to make the visit merry, we venture out.

and so i take this oppertunity to note that it is nearly one o'clock a.m. and i cannot sleep a wink. i'm not sure if its the tea i've been sucking down all day or the anticipation of being in the finest little television worthy town there is. or maybe its just that sometimes, around this time, there's a lot of it that comes rushing back. its just more clips of everything that i can't stop thinking about...stuck in strange pasts for moments on end, the present (lets not even mention the future) stands perfectly still and moves on by as if acknowledging that i've missed yet another boat.

snippits

i don't know why i put the cabinet where i did and

i don't know why everyone just accepted it as the place to put

the mail.

and christi,

there's this tape that i made for you

that might have made the

difference,

but i'd had such bad luck with tapes

and scared a great many souls into

silence

by means of the words of others.

i sometimes wish i'd given it to you

and maybe we might have shared

something.

more.

i can still smell the scent

of the tender leaves

outside my bedroom window

and i can still hear my breath

struggling

as i pedalled uphill

three blocks to work.

i can still feel the cool of the

conditioned air

on my morning warm face

in early august.

and chris,

you've got to know that

you still break my heart

every time i think of you

but

it only hurts because we laughed

we laughed so hard

that i split in two

some nights.

and i've got to tell you that

i miss your easy ways,

the way you were before

you became so socially ept,

before you left the haven of

your cave of a room.

and tony,

i hope you know

that i meant it when i said i forgave you.

i didn't get the sense

that you believed me.

and scott,

the other morning i rode to work

on the bus and

i looked up from Three Junes

to see a motorcycle idling idley

at the traffic light

and i swear i could feel the rush of

wind in my short hair

(which is now much longer)

and my hands around your

thick soft body,

my fingers holding tight to

your carhart overalls

as we rode to wherever it was

we were going...

i never stopped wanting to see you.

there are all of these snippits

from the scent of new mulch around

oak trees in the oak grove

to the cool of grass on my feet in spring

and the feel of warm sunshine on my face

in a town

from which i cannot sever myself

completely....

all too vivid are these

snippets,

unaccounted for memories

that have yet to be set to rest.

and they go on and on:

the walks uphill and down,

the voices familiar,

the laughs comforting,

the arguments silly and unreasonable.

such unrest is there tonight

as my ghosts and demons

speak to me in a

tea party of memory

that there will be no sleep tonight.

there will be no sleep tonight.

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.what came before. - .what happened next.

a diamond at the bottom of the drain - 20 october 2017
baseball season to football season, abbreviated - 25 september 2017
the doodles - 11 july 2017
at arm's length - 4 july 2017
like a sea-mammal needs a bicycle - 30 may 2017

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