SCHNERKIT! heehee hee hee hoo hoo bwahaha arr raaar wheep eeep oop eerk erk erk bwaa ha ha ha harr harr harr sngkt foop snarf woo-hoo!

That's better.

Further Manifestations of Roots and Wings

(thank you Cowboy Junkies)

She captured both Rock and Bird
tied one to the leg of the other
kept them as prisoners
until they knew who was master
then she threw them to the sky

Bird with unbarred wings disappeared
Rock with weighted heart returned
and Rock became her anchor
and Bird became her dream

Now she stands on the forest floor
among the pines and towering firs
Rock still firm beneath her feet
Bird perched high above her
singing songs of love's betrayal

'I offered you my endless skies
you countered with hoods and chains
this song I sing will be the last
to be inspired by your memory'

Everything feels like it's going to hell in a handbasket. My room is a disaster, bills are unpaid, my hair looks like crap, and there is nothing edible in the fridge. i think i am going to have to scrounge for the summer...or get a loan. I had to say goodbye to my best student today. And I miss Drew, not a sound has arrived on the wind off the mountain.... I feel sad and lost. Got-It-Together-Girl has apparently stolen my imaginary jeep and ditched town, that biznatch.

On the other hand, Idaho keeps popping up. I have been in secret communicado with a friend out there who is keeping an eye on the mountainscape for me, and my kickass Aunt Shirley turned up last night to IM me.....she is a rock goddess. Now I understand why my mum always liked and respected her...she knows where the wind blows, where the ground rolls, where the water flows. There is a destination waiting for me West this summer.

Arrr! Bitch! Give me my Jeep back! That's right, honey, we're going on a roadtrip!

The Cowboy Junkies get me restless and lonely.

Miles From Our Home
No one in sight for fifty miles,
sleeping fields sigh as I glide across their spines
If I could just reach the crest of that hill
this whole day will tumble and out the night will spill

The sky is still as a spinning top,
shooting stars drop like burning words from above
If I could just connect all these dots,
the truth would tumble like a Cynic vexed by love

And yet the people keep saying
I'm miles from my home,
miles from my home

I met you again in my sleep last night,
these are days of slow boats and false starts
Hearts remain under lock and key,
you will be the one to set them both free

And yet the people will tell you
your miles from your home,
miles from your home

But that's where I want to be
Out there searching,
out here fumbling,
out here waiting,
for you and you for me

The moon hangs like a question mark,
pale as milk, bold as a promise
When will you share the sights with us?
when will we hold you in our arms?

And the people we'll tell them
we're miles from our home,
miles from our home.....

Urban Walkabout

i stumbled onto this poem yesterday while i was meandering around on Xanga. It sums up how i feel when my wanderlust drags me through the city at night and I find myself down at the piers with my headphones on. Dark water and laser discs and thoughts and stars.

tonight i walked down
to the riverside.
stop.
talked to myself,
turned left
turned right
and finally
found the stars
that never die.

Mad props to Deadgodugly, I hope he doesn't mind.

It's quiet in Colorado...a little too quiet.

Are you out there? I miss you.

I am feeling homesick.

I woke up yesterday morning in my room in Orleans, with he view of the woods and the honeysuckle outside of my window. I was sleeping completely askew in my wide four poster bed, the morning walls illuminated by the nightlight i still kept there. I had  not slept in that place since last summer.......now it is empty and it misses me, too.

My father and Kerri and I loitered at the Binnacle the night before, drinking beer and noshing on pizza until only the late late townies and the young native waitstaff were lingering. Patty the bartender put on disco to rile us into leaving, but we all stayed, chatting with strangers and sneering at the offcape interlopers stationed stiffly with their froofy drinks across the way.

You see, the Binnacle has the best pizza Upcape, so it attracts all sorts. It's my favorite dive anywhere. Most summer people wear fleece sweatshirts and sandals, august evening style, and if the day is late enough we roll in from the sand and the sea looking bronzed and sleepy and wait on the pew or by the bar to get a taste, marveling at the paraphernalia and junk mishmashed everywhere. How many parrots are there? Parts of churches and rummage sales and pier garbage.....The place is askew, like i am. I like the booth in the corner by the bar, with the painting of the whale. I always get the Arbor Delight for dessert.

I don't remember what we talked about or what we had to drink, but I know it felt right to be back home with my two favorite people within a hundred miles, tucked into a corner with all the townies around. We unraveled the mysteries of life, moaned about our unrequited stuff, and threw goldfish crackers at unsuspecting victims. Then i wanted my bed and i declared it was time to head out into the rain and the salt and the mist...I got the keys to the jeep and lead the way through the cape cod darkness. The shadows of the locust trees lead me home.

At the house we found distinguishing door keys difficult, and as i was bending over to fumble around in the porch light, the damn things fell down between the boards....i nearly peed myself laughing, all of us in the drizzle and the ocean dampness, half crocked and sleepy and silly. We scampered around looking for a way to crawl under the deck, dreading the spiderwebs and the mildew and who knows what lurking under there...I finally managed to wriggle into a hole, and reemerged covered in cobwebs and muck, triumphantly bearing the key home. We tumbled into the house light, and tucked ourselves in to sleep.

It feels like loneliness, and it feels like love. It's not the same, every year that goes by...I belong to that house, but it fades from me. At least i can still hang with my dad at the Binnacle. I want to go home.

These desperate times call for....

"Gimme a ticket for an aeroplane
I ain't got time to take a fast train
Lonely days are gone
I'm a-goin' home, because my baby just wrote me a letter

I don't care how much money I’ve got to spend
I’ve got to get back to my baby again
Lonely days are gone
I'm a-goin' home; my baby just wrote me a letter

Well she wrote me a letter, said she couldn't live without me no more
Listen mister, can't you see I’ve got to get back to my baby once more?
Anyway, yeah, gimme a ticket for an aeroplane
I ain't got time to take a fast train
Lonely days are gone
I'm a-goin' home, because my baby just wrote me a letter..."