March 17th, 2001

eye

(no subject)

one of the reasons we have had such a wonderful wildflower season this year in Arizona is the ability of seeds to lie dormant for years until conditions are just right. they were perfect this year, wet fall, warm winter, wet january. so we have ten years worth of flowers all at once. i also have ten years worth of weeds in my back yard. guess what i'm doing today?
  • Current Music
    world party's new cd
eye

woohoo!

moved my puter into my brand new roll top computer desk in the room i am converting into an office/studio. it is so much nicer out of my bedroom and next to a window. one step closer to having a painting cam too, now that puter and easel are in the same room :)
  • Current Music
    Phish - gamehenge - The Man Who Stepped Into Yesterday (Live) 3-16-91
eye

simon and garfunkel together were magical

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Patterns

The night sets softly
With the hush of falling leaves,
Casting shivering shadows
On the houses through the trees,
And the light from a street lamp
Paints a pattern on my wall,
Like the pieces of a puzzle
Or a child's uneven scrawl.
Up a narrow flight of stairs
In a narrow little room,
As I lie upon my bed
In the early evening gloom.
Impaled on my wall
My eyes can dimly see
The pattern of my life
And the puzzle that is me.

From the moment of my birth
To the instant of my death,
There are patterns I must follow
Just as I must breathe each breath.
Like a rat in a maze
The path before me lies,
And the pattern never alters
Until the rat dies.

And the pattern still remains
On the wall where darkness fell,
And it's fitting that it should,
For in darkness I must dwell.
Like the color of my skin,
Or the day that I grow old,
My life is made of patterns
That can scarcely be controlled.
eye

more brilliance from S&G

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The Dangling Conversation

It's a still life water color,
Of a now late afternoon,
As the sun shines through the curtain lace
And shadows wash the room.
And we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference,
Like shells upon the shore
You can hear the ocean roar
In the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs,
The borders of our lives.
And you read your Emily Dickinson,
And I my Robert Frost,
And we note our place with bookmarkers
That measure what we've lost.
Like a poem poorly written
We are verses out of rhythm,
Couplets out of rhyme,
In syncopated time
And the dangled conversation
And the superficial sighs,
Are the borders of our lives.

Yes, we speak of things that matter,
With words that must be said,
"Can analysis be worthwhile?"
"Is the theater really dead?"
And how the room is softly faded
And I only kiss your shadow,
I cannot feel your hand,
You're a stranger now unto me
Lost in the dangling conversation.
And the superficial sighs,
In the borders of our lives.