I’m pretty tired, so I’m going to log off, lay down, and watch some tv til I pass out. Tomorrow I have a long day. I have to go in earlier to finish the rest of computer training. Means more money for me so I’m not complaining. Sighs I’m trying to be strong, but it’s still difficult. Part of me is still
devastated unsettled. I knew things wouldn’t change over night, so I shouldn’t be surprised…it still doesn’t get any easier. Especially when the one thing you were hoping wasn’t going to happen, that in your gut you saw the chance of it happening…is pretty much taking its course. Sighs, maybe I’m thinking a little too much. Some relaxation should do me some good.
First day of training was tedious as expected. Not too bad. Tomorrow I have a bit more training and then I start working on the floor. I work in the moderated department.
Let a joy keep you.
Reach out your hands
And take it when it runs by,
As the Apache dancer
Clutches his woman.
I have seen them
Live long and laugh loud,
Sent on singing, singing,
Smashed to the heart
Under the ribs
With a terrible love.
Let joy kill you!
Keep away from the little deaths.
I wrote a poem on the mist
And a woman asked me what I meant by it.
I had thought till then only of the beauty of the mist,
how pearl and gray of it mix and reel,
And change the drab shanties with lighted lamps at evening
into points of mystery quivering with color.
The whole world was mist once long ago and some day
it will all go back to mist,
Our skulls and lungs are more water than bone and tissue
And all poets love dust and mist because all the last answers
Go running back to dust and mist.
Between two hills
The old town stands.
The houses loom
And the roofs and trees
And the dusk and the dark,
The damp and the dew
The prayers are said
And the people rest
For sleep is there
And the touch of dreams
Is over all.
They offer you many things,
I a few.
Moonlight on the play of fountains at night
With water sparkling a drowsy monotone,
Bare-shouldered, smiling women and talk
And a cross-play of loves and adulteries
And a fear of death and a remembering of regrets:
All this they offer you.
I come with:
salt and bread
a terrible job of work
and tireless war;
Come and have now:
I’m so nervous and excited at the same time. I know all I’m doing is really tedious computer training today, but I can’t help it. But I’ll be fine.
WHEN the sea is everywhere
from horizon to horizon ..
when the salt and blue
fill a circle of horizons ..
I swear again how I know
the sea is older than anything else
and the sea younger than anything else.
My first father was a landsman.
My tenth father was a sea-lover,
a gipsy sea-boy, a singer of chanties.
(Oh Blow the Man Down!)
The sea is always the same:
and yet the sea always changes.
The sea gives all,
and yet the sea keeps something back.
The sea takes without asking.
The sea is a worker, a thief and a loafer.
Why does the sea let go so slow?
Or never let go at all?
The sea always the same
day after day,
the sea always the same
night after night,
fog on fog and never a star,
wind on wind and running white sheets,
bird on bird always a sea-bird—
so the days get lost:
it is neither Saturday nor Monday,
it is any day or no day,
it is a year, ten years.
Fog on fog and never a star,
what is a man, a child, a woman,
to the green and grinding sea?
The ropes and boards squeak and groan.
On the land they know a child they have named Today.
On the sea they know three children they have named:
Yesterday, Today, To-morrow.
I made a song to a woman:—it ran:
I have wanted you.
I have called to you
on a day I counted a thousand years.
In the deep of a sea-blue noon
many women run in a man’s head,
phantom women leaping from a man’s forehead
.. to the railings … into the sea … to the
sea rim …
.. a man’s mother … a man’s wife … other
I asked a sure-footed sailor how and he said:
I have known many women but there is only one sea.
I saw the North Star once
and our old friend, The Big Dipper,
only the sea between us:
“Take away the sea
and I lift The Dipper,
swing the handle of it,
drink from the brim of it.”
I saw the North Star one night
and five new stars for me in the rigging ropes,
and seven old stars in the cross of the wireless
plunging by night,
plowing by night—
Five new cool stars, seven old warm stars.
I have been let down in a thousand graves by my kinfolk.
I have been left alone with the sea and the sea’s wife, the wind, for my last friends
And my kinfolk never knew anything about it at all.
Salt from an old work of eating our graveclothes is here.
The sea-kin of my thousand graves,
The sea and the sea’s wife, the wind,
They are all here to-night
between the circle of horizons,
between the cross of the wireless
and the seven old warm stars.
Out of a thousand sea-holes I came yesterday.
Out of a thousand sea-holes I come to-morrow.
I am kin of the changer.
I am a son of the sea
and the sea’s wife, the wind.
So I’m behind a couple of days, but it’s not a big deal.
I have a lot of former friends. We either grew apart, or they just genuinely didn’t like me. Which when I think about it now, it doesn’t bother me anymore. After high school and you spend time apart, you realize who’s actually your real friend or people you will just have to leave behind. I guess if I had to pick one former friend and pick one song for them I would have to choose Bruised by the The Bens. This one particular former friend was a fan of Ben Folds, who is one of the three members of The Bens (Ben Lee, Ben Kweller and Ben Folds).
I thought of killing myself because I am only a bricklayer
and you a woman who loves the man who runs a drug store.
I don’t care like I used to; I lay bricks straighter than I
used to and I sing slower handling the trowel afternoons.
When the sun is in my eyes and the ladders are shaky and the
mortar boards go wrong, I think of you.