Cocaine flame in my bloodstream
Sold my coat when I hit Spokane
Bought myself a hard pack of cigarettes in the early morning rain
Lately my hands they don't feel like mine
My eyes been stung with dust and blind
Held you in my arms one time
Lost you just the same
Jolene
I ain't about to go straight
It's too late
I found myself face down in a ditch
Booze in my hair
Blood in my lips
A picture of you holding a picture of me
In the pocket of my blue jeans
Still don't know what love means
Still don't know what love means
Jolene
Been so long since I seen your face
Or felt a part of this human race
I've been living out of this here suitcase for way too long
A man needs something he can hold onto
A nine pound hammer or a woman like you
Either one of them things will do
Jolene
I ain't about to go straight
It's too late
I found myself face down in a ditch
Booze in my hair
Blood on my lips
A picture of you holding a picture of me
In the pocket of my blue jeans
Still don't know what love means
Still don't know what love means
Jolene
Jolene
Jolene

Words to Jolene by Ray LaMontagne

The capacity for intellectual curiosity eludes you. How can that be? There are no simple answers. There are only hard questions. I cannot except how you skim over life like a thrown rock skips across the surface of a lake. Life isn't that fucking simple...

I love too hard and this place is too cold so I'm leaving and I want to say goodbye. It's been a long time coming and it needs to be done. I'll take you along in my heart and when I'm sitting on the beach and the sun goes down I'll have you with me. I need the warmth of a new place...

I should have never come back. Now, I regret it more than anything in my life. Where would I be now if I hadn't been forced to return? This wasn't my plan. My dreams have all fallen to the side and basically I'm just waiting to die here. What a fucking waste.

William Shakespeare - To be, or not to be (from Hamlet 3/1)

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.

Sometimes the broken can't be fixed. Sometimes the done can't be undone. Sometimes it is too late to ever go back home again...

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Thank-you my friend of over 25 years. You are a scholar and a gentleman, a conisseour of fine wine and a lover of beautiful women, but wait that's not all...ha ha

Ugh,okay, I don't know how many times I have to explain this but here we go again. The things I write on here are not about any particular person nor do they reflect how I feel all the time. I try to write on here in an uncensored fashion. I just let things come out as I write. Maybe I am letting some feelings I have come out at the moment and then 10 minutes later I may feel totally different. So, enough of the E-mails saying what I write is about YOU. It isn't. It's nobody...

She smiles and I am transported to that golden place in my head. The cold outside goes away and the past evaporates. There is nothing but that moment forever...

I gauge my life by the depth of the relationships I share with others. I want to love. Meeting up with an acquaintance for a drink can be fun but it isn't living. It is a cheap substitute for something more substantial. So I continue to search for the depth only true friendship and love can bring.

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It has been a good Christmas. I am happy and content. I need for nothing and there isn't anything I really want. Seeing other people smile is like a drug and when you mix it with booze you are riding high.

In the light of day I don't look so good. Keep me in the shadows--in the black. The sun exposes ugly truths that I don't want to face. So I will creep in my own shadow, in my own dark dream...

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My mind is gone. Blown. The wind whistles through cooling my blood but my brain is still hot with emotion. I just want out of here. The world closing in. Everything so small and terrifyingly familiar. This place again. A place I never wanted to go back to.

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This place sucks. If I could pack everything up in a day I would leave. Small minds. Small world. Big dissapointment...

I'm not celebrating Christmas this year. No one is getting me anything and I haven't bought anything for anyone else. I know. I know. Christmas isn't about gifts but usually I like to buy people things. I really don't care whether I get anything or not. I buy everything I need anyway...

I just want Christmas to pass. On New Year's Eve I'll get so drunk I forget everything and then I'll wait for it to get warm outside and maybe one day I will feel the sun on my face again.

I gave you everything I had and you used my heart like a frisbee. You threw it as far away as it would go. It hit a tree and stuck for a moment and then fell to the ground...

Back and not caring about yesterday. I'm gonna be mean so don't get in my way. I have a vision of what tomorrow is going to be and its goddamn beautiful...

Truth is, everybody is going to hurt you; you just gotta find the ones worth suffering for -Bob Marley

I don't know what I've done in this lifetime but it must have been something awful. I finally found someone I really liked, someone I thought liked me and then she broke up with me. I'm left alone and depressed. Tell me, what did I do to deserve this?

I can't eat. You can't tell but inside I am dying. It is a well kept secret that is no longer a secret. I'd rather not wake up.

I blew my nose in the shower this morning and it started to bleed. The blood wouldn't stop. It just kept running down my face. I didn't try to stop it. I watched as it soaked into my pubic hair and then onto my legs and then onto the bottom of the tub. There was blood everywhere and I didn't care...

I just want to sleep with my dogs by my side. I don't think I will wake up. The world hurts too much. In my dreams I can see you and I don't have to face the reality of a cold morning without you...

If your lucky someone comes into your life and suddenly your not looking through a dirty windshield. Suddenly everything is clear and beautiful like you just went through a carwash for your soul.

Last night at about three AM I awoke to my Chihuahua Burma standing in front of my face dancing around--he wanted to go out. I reluctantly crawled out of my warm bed and sent them out into the frigid night air.

After about 30 seconds Uma came scratching at the door. I let her in and called for Burma. He came but stopped at the bottom of the steps.

"Come on big guy," I said.

Nothing.

"Come on Burma, it's cold."

Nothing.

"How about a treat?

Nothing.

So, I ran outside in my underwear. At that very moment Burma heard something and darted off.

"Damn it, Burma get back here."

I was running around barefoot in my underwear and it couldn't have been more than twenty degrees. After about 30 seconds I corralled Burma, picked him up and brought him inside.

When I put him down on the warm kitchen floor he danced as if he was going to get a treat. I think I was suffering from hypothermia but he was so damn cute. I had to give him a treat...

My heart is a piñata filled with blood. Why you would want to beat it with a club I don’t know. Maybe you’re just fucked up or maybe you like to feel the blood run through your spread fingers…

A hot cup of coffee and my Chihuahuas tucked in my sweatshirt as I write--it's a damn good way to start the day. I don't get to do this often anymore and I miss it. Inside me the writer wants to, no needs to be heard but he has been surpressed. There is much yet to be written. The writter is not dead. He is born again...

You're not alone.
I'm with you.
I'm lonely too.
What's that song?
Can't be sung by two.
A broken home, a broken heart.
Isolated and afraid.
Open up this is a raid.
I'm gonna get it it through to you.
You're not alone.


From -You're Not Alone - by Mavis Staples