oh, how I wish I had a Jenny to go home to... and I might, though I'd rather it be her, which was the reason I continue playing the waiting fool... hoping it's not wasted, hoping all the songs (the need, the dreams, the truth and madness... hoping all will be sung, heard, shared, understood... and the healing complete...

and the new life begun...

and I look around the space for a few moments... I see that for the first time in weeks, the kitchen was cleaned... it was a smiling moment, however before I could walk into the space and touch the clean counters and maybe even cook something without thinking about botulism, it (the clean) was gone... life in casa de candoor... yes, the kitchen was cleaned, but immediately afterward, a mess was made... that remains...

the weekend was sleepy... I became part of the big green chair and glanced up from slumber or writing to see some football games and movies, but nothing to write home about...

had I a home, that is...

there are moments when I feel I knew what I was searching for once... that is, I actually had it, felt it, shared it, knew it in time and space as a physical experience in this life... and then I wonder how much of that feeling is memory and how much is fantasy... and maybe everything is a little, or a lot, of both...

the alls are bare white, though textured... very clinical... very pristine... the ceiling is stucco... at times the walls seem boring, infinite nothingness... at times I see vast alien lands in the textures of the ceiling and the walls... anything and everything painted on them, feeling the blank slate that I am and the ability (and desire) to create an image...

maybe even myself...

and there are moments I feel annoyed with life as it is today... I see a few bills waiting my attention on the table to my left, thinking of how I can convince my roomates that I $300 a month electric bill could be cut down if they'd pay attention to what they do (like Precious hit me with another $70 in over-charges on the cell phone this month... I keep reminding myself that I love her and that helps)... even more annoying though is that someone leaves the freezer open a lot (the melted ice cubes tell me secrets) cuz I like iced drinks... but beneath those bills and the less than pleasant thoughts are two 200 CD holders, both full now, and a few piles of CDs around them... the blessing comes in the moment I remember being saved by the music (and I find a moment to update my lyrics pages and remember my newest diary space... this is suddenly a wonderful moment...

everything turns into a wonderful moment when I let it (ok, so sometimes the moment needs a little nudge, but it's still there for the enjoying if I let myself)... and yet, there is much to clean up inside and out, much to cry over and laugh about and I believe I have reached a point in this life where there are few moments when I do not feel the pain of living in this world...

but that's ok too...

so I sit here with my headphones on listening to Harry (since this is where I left off in my return to listening as I sat all of the Harry CDs I have in the queue that sits on the little table just to the right of the big green chair)... Precious sits a few feet away at my desktop computer downloading some music (I can hear it in the world outside of my earphones during Harry's quieter moments... I think it's Josh Groban)...

Rasputin sleeps...

it is one of those rare moments when Precious handed me the TV remote in the middle of the afternoon and went off the do something other than watch the tube...

so I turned it off and put music in my ears...

and this is what came out...

. o O ( NOTES ARE THE NEW HAPPY PILL ) O o .
(just let me know you were here)