March 31, 2003

• The birds in your garden
  
  

  It takes a different sort of thing to make me happy. Like taking a picture in a corn field. Like playing music loud enough so that my ears ache. Like sleeping without creepy dreams. Like rolling over the next morning and putting my arm around your quietly sleeping form. Like writing a poem and feeling I’ve said exactly what’s leaping around in my heart. Like being able to go through a day without thinking about death or anything heavy. Like having a sink full of clean dishes. Like speaking on the phone and being able to express exactly what is weighing in on me. Like not feeling like a fuck-up. Other things include knowing what I want in an exact moment or not having my  head ache after devoring  something like thousands of books (my new best friends.)
  
  

  Some people call this ignorance.
  I call it bliss.
  
  

  what I used to be will pass away and then you’ll see
  that all I want now is happiness for you and me …
  

  
  

  Good things
  

  
  

  Misery everywhere, but all I am thinking of are the good things that make me want to stay alive, such as …
  
  

  - Strings
  - Charles Bukowski
  - My country sunsets
  - His voice
  - seemingly endless highways
  - vinyl records
  - youth
  - diners
  - silly conversations about dessert rotisseries
  - child gigling
  
  

  (more to come as I think of them…)

  
  

  
  

  • 8:04 am
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