Blood In The Meadowlark, or The Ratio

Trip to the moon for the cost of your dreams.
I see your Gmail place holder for only a few seconds, and *poof*, my internet access shorts out once again. It's been really temperamental as of late, working every once in a while, the hue of blinking lights. But it's getting better. Like everything else, I suppose. Still, the words flicker in my mind, dancing in neon ellipses. But I wonder, if my dream (the dream, above all other dreams) was in fact, a trip to the moon. Then, would it be a fair trade? And again, all I have are these strange questions and the wrong answers.

So underneath the concrete sky, Lucy puts her hand in mine. She says, "life's a game we're meant to lose, but stick by me and I will stick by you."
I'm officially dating Jocelyn, Anna Winter/Tlougan's sister. What a strange thought, an odd truth. I still feel the filth, the stink of what I've come to think of a dirty word. I'm scared and out of my depths, nervous in some one else's skin. It's nice. She's passionate, caring, gorgeous, fragile, a little crazy. We're handling each other with kid gloves, feeling out these spaces. We'll see where this goes. Maybe somewhere, maybe nowhere. Somehow, though, I feel like this a new thing, a progressive step.


If we are the oats we sow, I am a junk show scarecrow - all meat & bone & no gristle, ever and forever always a mess.
I'm proud too, irrationally or not, of this line. It's a good thought, a long idea. I stretch it out in my mind, pulling at each word like saltwater taffy, questioning each sounds intentions. A junk show scarecrow, full of trash heap pieces. And this is what we do, accidentally perverting and claiming everyone elses words. Laying claim to this crowded piece of land, stranded at sea, hoping to persevere with some thing for ourselves. This was mine. And I can tell that I'm out of practice, my rusty fingers creak, crying out for oil. The metallic scarecrow, if I only had the courage. (Or something like that- I always though the Wizard of Oz was overrated.) I'm on a new batch of meds, something I take twice a day to help with my anxiety. The words I can't pronounce continue to grow. The more you know, the less you sow. Maybe. I'm spouting nonsense again. Damn rusty appendages. When it crashes, it crashes indeed.

I'm glad you're having such a wonderful summer, my friend. That you're finding kindness and beauty and truth in the most random places. That your bike trip is going well and safe and sound. I miss you my brother, and keep looking forward to a hopeful pit stop in the Cities. Paz y amor!