The sparrow has landed on my shoulder and begun whispering in my ear. I see colours and filmscapes and grope the air like a zombie as a chasm opens up beside me, waiting.

How do you judge a right thing? Let Another judge. Let Another guide you. I am somehow suspended on thin sheets of paper. Breathing softly. Whispering back, slowly at first. Whispering verses. Song-speech. Pouring out light and smiling maniacally.

Please meet me deep inside myself. We’ll get a fire going. I’ll spew out my heart upon the flame. We’ll talk until dawn creeps over the moistened hills. Golden egg glow melting us into itself. We are both mingled in the same web, really. Think about how we climb. I glance across at you to see your progress and I wonder at myself for thinking everything’s so hard.

Getting hypothetical with you in the doorway. I’m inadvertantly bringing the possibilities of houses overlooking beauteous scenery to your attention. I’m pointing at rays of light sparkling through blowing curtains and cool autumn breezes. There is a path that will bring us here. It exists indifferent. It’s narrow and dim. The starting point is arriving. Make a move.

Is it wrong to hope, to desire? Never. But our ultimate desire must be that of the Creator’s will. What purpose does mind-numbing verse serve? Shall we vacate our emotions? Shall we turn in our criminal hearts? Let us be heartless and full, wise, brimming. Grinning in ecstacy, bound in heaven. Hands clasped on moonless nights, deep in cradle beds, hushed in His presence.

Oh God, speak wisdom, truth, and life into me. There is nothing wrong with the unlikely. There is nothing impossible. There is hope in all thoughts. Hearts do not always ignite in vain. We cannot tell the future. We can only let go of the past.

Stupid distracting loneliness creeps up on me. I hate it. Ironically, I want it to leave me alone.

Moose’s High Ball Me! is CHOICE, SON. So’s Mushroom’s Joint Happening.
I sign my sweet lease tomorrow. My sweet, sweet lease.  Quick, someone get me a car so I can get my game back.

BAD HABITS DIE!!! One by one, I will destroy you and become the perfect man. Be afraid.

Very strange times are these yes they are. The woodwork is bleeding golden nuggets all over my best rugs. Shame on you. Let’s say my best rugs were really a track for matchbox cars. My little step-sister used to play with matchbox cars on a rug like this. Your nuggets are causing citywide panic and just making the whole idea of mini-motoring a high risk endeavor all round. Do you have any idea what that will do to this quarter’s inflation?

I’m in this room. And I’m backed against the wall. Because all these unseen hands are pounding on the door. And I know who they are. But they pound, bang!, pound. There’s nowhere to go. I could open the door, but it’s so much work. And I’m frightened sort of. It’s a call to judgment; is it all worth expelling the effort? There’s always the risk of the unsatisfied customer. I don’t have enough time to waste. And I’m not sure I have any more of those sort of lessons left to learn.

Granted you’ll probably never be able to save me from myself but you could at least get excited about the idea of trying.

Old face is young face. Rolling down the street, my stomach all a-flutter. I remember the taste of the air in my mouth, the click-clack of the wheels in the pavement slats bounding off the retaining wall like bullets. Chalk the whole experience up as ill-fated and crumple it up. Put it in the gutter. Kick it in the teeth first for good measure. Younger is better, now I’m old. What kind of nugget are you? You should be dull from wear and tear but you’re still all sharp like you used to do. Quality craftsmanship, I suppose. I don’t buy it. You did though, you always bought the farm. Not in the death sense, in the life sense. Always on some different trip. It really hit me about a day later. The unexpected 2×4 of realization. I remembered you then. Which then lead me to the query that should have been immediately obvious, why in God’s name do you remember me? It hasn’t just been a long time, it’s been a decade.

Pardon me for breathing, but nothing is just fucking arbitrary, ok?

I saw a dear sweet lassy get her block knocked off last night and bleed all over the floor. Then we put it back on. It wasn’t pretty but thank God she’s ok. Talk about brotherly love.

Sometimes God will break your head open to get your attention. Or play with your brains.

I am just so exxcited about Nolan.

The greatest love is made from a patchwork of small loves. Quilts of goodness. You are descending dressed in purity. So beautiful. So stark. The voice from the mountaintop has silenced. The wind is in your hair. Bells are ringing.

Your hands sweep across the countryside; cumulus. They are mighty drifting shadows. They are cooling the hot and tired earth below. Its cracks and jagged edges are healing. Legs are straightening. The little boy can walk again. The blind man can see. I am hiding in the corner of the balcony that oversees the city. The lights are coming on. Nighttime is upon us! We open our umbrellas simultaneously as a flood of tears streams down from your face above. Your water gives life. Mighty oaks will spring up in the morning light.

Stay awhile. Let me caress your face. It’s not so terrible, is it? To be loved in a different way? It’s the same way blood flows through your veins. It longs to move you. To experience what chains you to humanity. One life is a quick synapse traveling across the universal mind. The blood longs to shake you. Hypnotic pulsing vibrations shoot out my hands, reverberating throughout the dense air. The hush of the room settles as a muted bump in the night. Fetal curlings beneath the oak. Small ones, in symbiotic love.

We are occasionally cast in the desert – into the fire. We slip on the blood, it covers everything. We plead and struggle. It is the only way. A mystery lies asleep beside me in the future. Her eyes gaze into my past. Her heart lights my darkest nights.

God will not allow us to die inside. He has too much life to give.

Today I took a nap and dreamt that I was sharing a college dorm room with Chris George, but when I returned (to the room) I was astonished to find a young girl sitting on my bed. Then Chris (who was with me) disappeared and I turned and fiercely shook my finger and demanded to know what had been “done with him.” She shrugs. So I’m like, FINE, I’LL JUST OPEN THIS HUGE DOOR IN THE WALL WITH MANY LOCKS UPON IT. Only to reveal a giant, rabid, caged Marmosaur lurking only a few feet away! And to think, all this time I hadn’t known!? So I screamed, “I KNEW THERE WERE MARMOTS INVOLVED!” I mean, I just knew it.

I’m not even going to go into the part with the hair-covered sasquatch-esque person sifting through trash in the newly created archway out the back of the room into the alley whom I also accused of being somehow associated with marmots.

I’ve been eating mangos lately. I don’t see why they’re so unpopular here. They’re incredibly cheap, and they taste like the pride of Eden. Or something. It’s like the sweet regions of your tongue are designed to accomodate them. I ate my first mango deep in the wilds of Yosemite about a month ago. After hiking 12 or so miles it was quite the refreshing treat. Thank you Asian couple in Camp 4.

This guy deserves something for this.

This is now my favorite picture of all time.

Nap time fo realz.

I can see what beats beneath the chains and locks and fortress walls. I see everything beautiful that shines out from you. I see you in the pure light of innocent morning. You cannot fool me with your smokescreens, with your code of silence. You, the cold vault are not so cold. And you know it. There is no perfect way to happiness. There is no method to this madness. The tool is love and its use is your only freedom. Reverse your breakdown and look me in the eyes. I will see you the day you open your floodgates and let these rivers go. I will watch them carve majestic canyons into the land. And we will laugh in warm delight.

The playing field is level. Be wise and seek what is true and permanent.

I am about to attempt to accomplish two of the most ridiculously difficult things I believe any human being can attempt in today’s post-modern society. Actually, three. I’m going to try and make a massive recording production happen with no label support – completely self-funded. I’m going to attempt to lobby the government to veto a security bill that’s already been passed. And the third thing? That’s private.

I’m writing this because under the weight of things, I need to vent. Sometimes I feel trapped under the pressure. It’s really the pressure I’m putting on myself, because I want the future to be influenced by the positive outcomes of my efforts.

God, please be with and guide me. I can’t accomplish anything without you.

I’m all jittery.