i found this in the pouring rain
and still it’s all coming down
and still i’m finding
a place to be

because if ever there was a reason
to be here, it is now.

there is a sound i breathe
and it goes with the air i feel

etherreal you’re not really here
to be in my heart you will need
to never fear my depths
for if i were to ever see sadness
you would go everywhere my dark would stay

etherreal if you can’t think of a thing to say
only know that i haven’t talked all day
only because there was enough
enough being said by the rain
a million drops through a million leaves
through a million trees
and if this were eternity
would i be a lonely man
to lose all sense of speech?

etherreal if i ever wake your sense of redemption
please find a moment to touch my head
with your holy fingertips
and maybe it would be this
maybe
to finally wake my sense of life.

okayokayokay but in my little world it was suddenly snowing as the sun set. we all went outside with gloves and mittens and lots of wool and our cheeks were red and puffy from the grins, the brim of my wool pacman cap along the lines of my eyebrows, i was running and only 4footfive, i guess because i’m a child again, and how the snow makes everything so quiet, dampens all sound, and buffy, a young vibrant goldenhaired buffy who runs at full speed, jumps, her paws up on my chest, i lose my balance and fall down and she licks me mercilessly. i bat her on the snout and say “take that!” and she dips her nose in the snow and chews and sneezes, and i reach for her and she bites the tip of my mitten and i laugh and she pulls it right off of my hand and she snorts and runs away and i laugh and i run after her and she runs away

and the sun is going down the branches are all covered with snow but the leaves are still green and in place, and yes it is august but it has suddenly snowed and i am a child who runs around outside in the cold even when it’s getting darker and buffy is alive and running and not run over and she’s got my mitten and i guess she’s taken so many by now, she came back to life just for one more, i guess she’s keeping count after all, she had a score to beat, she was cut short before but she’s determined, she runs so much faster than me and she’s long gone now, mitten and all and my face is numb

and even if there is noone left on the planet, i am alone in a cold snowy dusking earth, i will lay on my back, into the powder and i feel it melt against the back of my neck and
“this is how i shall make an angel” is what i say to the new stars in the sky.

attention shannon:

under no circumstances should the george foreman “lean mean fat grilling machine” be used for baking cookies.

an easily transportable, alternative cooking source will need to be utilized (or perhaps invented?) in order to make a touring-mode “Cookie Monster” a success.

oh, and also the talented people we previously discussed. they will also be a key factor to the success thing.

from inside the cloud of cookiedoughsmoke,
-tim.

i said lack of desire lack of libido lack of excitement lack of zest, zest for living.
“the anti-dees” he said and it made me remember the pill i take every morning,
and how it cuts off the edges, gives itself plenty of play in the equations.
which leaves me in a blissed middleground where nothing’s wrong but i guess
i’ll never be very excited about the possibilities, either.
and it’s not numb, i can be happy and sad, and i can appreciate things, and see
how this and that is beautiful, but i don’t fall in love with much of anything anymore
and that’s the thing: i don’t fall in love anymore and maybe haven’t in years
and i’m looking for a reason why, is why i’m wondering about the drugs
because i’ve had the drugs before and i’ve gotten rid of them before
and i don’t know if anything got all that better, really,
i just cried a lot more often, out of sadness and in the midst of beautiful things,
i cried a lot more when i functioned on my own chemicals
in my then-new twentysomething world
where i was learning to be myself, by myself, all of the time
i learned to be myself by myself and became a crying expert,
the night i was drunk and filled my lungs with sad sad
collapsing fluid, separated from everything i had known
and in a hotel room with a humid night outside
and i made a livejournal and decided to meet people,
to be subtle and let them come to me,
not seeming too eager,
and fall in love with them, to make life more amazing
and beautiful, so i did and it didn’t work,
and i tried and then i didn’t and then i did and then i tried to force it to work
and i fell down hard and my skull cracked open and i died
and my afterlife was a nightmare that was not living
but was the world and it was the prescriptions that brought me
back to life, slowly but forced to be much more quickly
learning to be myself, by myself all over again very fast
“i’m alive and you can all fucking go to hell” i said, i saidangry and determined
and i meant it, and everybody judged me and i judged everybody and
it was a violent necessity and my world was so narrow,
pathetically selfabsorbed and an embarrassment to my own ideals
but i got stronger and by now i’m a sensitive machine of self
sufficiency, noble enough to be respected but not
exactly taking myself or anyone by storm
not exactly a thrill a minute not exactly passionate
not nearly passionate, passionate like sixteen and seventeen
teenage hormones, not anything but cold science, cold biology
just not ever on a mountain despite my efforts
not really optimistic or pessimistic,
but just wondering, and wondering if i should blame
prozac. or if not, what’s to blame?

everyone’s always blaming something.

and if i had any problems to talk about at all, i guess this is what i would write.

how quickly august dies.

i have nothing to say to you, but this is out of habit, by now.

we are tired of you primadonnas, shopping and having your hair done while we toil and sweat, getting dirty and climbing ladders, fastening flair and digging holes, all of it no more our obligation than yours. sonsabitches. we can spout catch phrases like “you’ll catch yours in the end/get what you deserve” but we don’t know for sure we can only wish you bad luck.

we are wishing you primadonnas ill fortune.

i ended up winging the toast. the bridal toast. yeah, that one. i ended up winging it and lots of people were impressed and told me so and patted me on my back saying “you were so cool and comfortable up there” “funny stuff” “that’s more words all at once than i’ve ever heard from tim” and i knew it, i knew it as it was happening how different it was. i could’ve been one of those crippled shy boys who grow up being the shiner in the crowds, the entertainer of all, but motherfucker i forgot to learn to play an instrument or have any talent of any sort. so it all ends yesterday, until the next time i have a microphone and the crowd’s attention.

my music though was mostly pointless, and hardly anyone danced, even when drunkenness had taken everyone in attendance. there was only my father(dad) with his awkward 51yrold white man dancing. he managed to rope in one of his daughterinlaw’s relatives from time to time, but only lasted through maybe five songs.

mostly i am tired and going home tomorrow, longing for solitude again.

the vacations are overwith.

when you’re late you miss it all.

when you don’t know you’re late, you miss more.

my best efforts got my average highway speed up near 74mph. average, yeah. i did the calculations in my head. (departure 6pm, usually 3 hours at estimated average speed 60mph, if average speed can be increased to 70mph, can reach destination in 3*60/70 = just over two and a half hours)

had i known, at the time of departure, that the show was going to think about starting at around 6pm, i probably would have given up, and i would not have stumbled in, just as “it’s all about us” was being started.

it’s all about us.

i feel stupid for some reason. even though it’s not my fault and i didn’t do anything wrong. shows shouldnt open before 9pm. this has happened to me twice in the last couple months.

things havent been going my way i’ll get used to it i promise.

but i guess bob barker needs a good laugh. to keep things loose after 30 years of a gameshow that refuses to evolve, or change even a little bit.

and suddenly, the audience at the “price is right” show is full with young kids. college kids. they get even more excited about rod calling them up to play. the lucky ones spazz, or punch devilhorns into the air.

perhaps they are too excited to think. perhaps they have just come along for fun, with friends, and have never seen the show before. perhaps they are airheaded and clueless.

but the girl bids “twenty-five thousand dollars” on a little fireplace set. she refuses to reconsider, even after bob chokes a few times. “twenty five thousand dollars, bob”.

she did not win.

at the end of the show, a college freshman managed to bid just three thousand dollars under the actual retail price of his showcase.

he won a whole dining room set. and i think a bedroom set, too. with a bed that had pillars. a fancy fancy bed.

i guess that he’ll be the pride of his dormatory.

i mean, like “dude.. killer china cabinet.”

shouldn’t we leave the price is right to the middle-aged? isn’t that where it belongs?

“co-ed naked livejournal.” ?