You know you've been diagnosed with a steady case of bloggers' block...

...When you peek under your dashboard and realize that every date is neon green (neon green on blogger is indicative of a germinal blogg draft in utero) and you realize that no one has viewed anything you've scribbled over the past summer because you haven't bothered to buff up the interior rants and emotional blatherings of your ever bleeding, pulsating, foundering heart.

In a way it's nice being anonymous, but I dearly miss the cyber-companionship from hence this blogg was based--and if the cornerstone of all aesthetics isn't love and friendships and community then, in the immortal words of the Stratford bard himself "I never writ, nor no man ever loved."

And everyone who knows me knows that Buddy has a whole lotta love.


...................

Graduated Magnum Cum Laude in May. Got hired on as full time faculty at the library in June. For the first time in shit-knows-how long I'm raking in bank. For three years I worked between 50-80 hours week, lived more or less at the poverty level, was eligible for food stamps and never knew the definition of the word weekend.

If you dedicate your life to something other than yourself you invariable end up knowing a lot about poverty and suffering and loneliness and failure and hurt. Over the past three years I experienced poverty...I've crashed in my car, lived in houses where there was always cat shit on the carpet ( damnit Alexander!), lived in an apartment where I had to practically dissect the toilet everytime in order for it to flush. Two years ago I had only two pairs of jeans, a six hundred page long manuscript, a vehicle that needed a new serpentine belt, and a family that wanted little--if anything-- to do with me.

Now color is wending its way back into the bends of my flesh and forehead, I have more than one pair of shoes in the closet and I am starting to work out again--both at the gym and on the keyboard. I'm sending stories out on a regular basis for publication and my mother cuts my hair every two weeks.

The healing didn't happen all at once, but gradually, over the past three months, I'm starting to feel revived. I'm starting to feel alive.

Because, in a weird way, she requested, that's all...

The memory of the two of us was perfect. Thanks for bein' my muse last semester, angel.

somehwere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands

-e.e.cummings