Dear Marie,

     I don't know if you'll ever read this. I almost don't care, but just in case you do I thought I'd share that Bob Dylan's "Blonde on Blonde" album is like a retelling of our short time together. It's almost as if he knew us, and wrote it all down. Weird, I know. Though if you ever do give it a listen, think about it. I guess we weren't the only ones to go through what we did. Funniest part is the fact that now we wont ever see each other again, at least not on purpose, and if so it wont be any time soon. My Sammie-Sam-Sam has helped me a lot to forget about the things we did to each other. I'm glad, especially because I felt like such an idiot. Sam, whose known me for over a decade, reminded me that people who are as her and I deserve so much more than just a fling, more than just a passing face. Though, I must really thank you. It's been a hell of a learning experience. In a way, I've learned to not take things so seriously, and to just relax. Also, to not trust so easily. To not let other men get in the way of what I want. To not allow time and miscommunication to destroy friendships by rotting away at them. Really though, thank you. You've been an inspiration.

who_leo



If you want to know more about the album, click here.

Jimi Hendrix-Day Tripper

Music speaks through all things, emotions, and relative commonalities in existence. love=music.

Making it up as I go along

making amends
is not easy
when you've torn the world
into a million pieces
spread them across
to the stars and galaxies
beyond the reach
of all the things you've dreamed of
so hard to find again
that they wont even fit right in.


it's alright
because nothing is meant to last
everything decays
and that is fine
because even the kiss
of a lover you miss
will one day be a bitter reminder
even though you smile at each other
even though your caress is new
to another
one day it will seem cold and dead.


the pieces that once fit
are obtuse like the mind
that once held them dear
and kept them free
for a world full of dreams and dreamers
where the truth of the matter
is that nothing will ever sound the same
not even when you smack
the same empty words
from your lips to their ears
every time
it feels like a brand new day.


it's not like anyone thought differently
have some more scar tissue on your plate
let the mind take a brake
feel up the ridges of your fissure
only scream when the aching starts again
serrated teeth eat at your insides
shitting out the nights' insight
while you die from it's decay.