Fortune cookie message. It’s lovely to know that I am thought of by random fortune cookie factory workers on a daily basis! Thanks guys! ^_^
Old Sport!
A Gatsby-era cover of Psy’s Gentleman, courtesy of Scott Bradlee.
174Gratitude.
Cancelled recordings
Surface through her temples.
Black pavement stretches behind and leaves them nothing but dust.
She has nothing to say.
Filled with optimism.
Just ready to leave behind those days.
And Gratitude falls out for the writer.
Near the end roads he could not care nor remember where the last path started.
Why it was there.
And for that, neither could she.
Nor will she want to.
This is the beginning. Goodbye Houma! Remember me or not. Care or not. It doesn’t matter. I’m off to lovely things in life. They’re Just waiting for me.
But you will always be where I began.
Solace so faint.
She only grasp and experiences it’s comfort for moments that are few.
Always too early in life and waiting.
Parked towards the entrances
That are filled with lines.
So much patience
that only lies to her.
Keeps the ending at bay.
And helps at telling her to stay.
Compose not only music,
But the heart at hand.
Teach it to claim it’s place
And of what we are waiting for,
Could be so amazingly, grand.
Tera Melos concert at the Spanish Moon in Baton Rouge. Had an awesome time and I am now a proud owner of a white supreme Dalek! And a beginner collector… This will end in bittersweet happiness….
While and furthermore.
Swallow the lines that pick up her voice.
Drink with the keys.
You are in no need of any set course.
Sit with the past harmonies that floated through her barrier.
Listen calmly to how the music carries her
Away.
Tainted black and ivory white,
Play out farewell songs.
She coughs out words taken from long nights.
She lingers with everything and composes about what went wrong.
Undone
She said there would be no more seeping in.
No more roughness ahead.
She clipped away the pages and let them lay dead.
But still the typed out words fill up the freshly shaven dust.
She said they stay there with other shavings and clippings.
Stories that laid undone.
These Days Were Optional
Oh, can you feel the skin,
On which she has laid her smell upon?
Focused in.
Taped to the grit.
Oh, do you miss out?
Missing a far away soul
and wondering,
“Where did our days fall and go?”
Oh, can you not call?
Did your limbs just stall?
Oh, did you practice the soft and almost invisible goodbyes?
Oh, did I leave too many clusters in the stars for only you to remember?
