I haven’t been sleeping well. But that’s okay. As funny as it sounds, I know I’m in a good place when I can find more time to think(and honestly enjoy the extra time in my head..or maybe nowhere near my head but milling around in the heart, jitterbugging on the linoleum there).

Last night I had some gin/lemonade with my roommate and her friend on the porch, met a neighbor and watched a band roll in to crash for the night. The same band I heard playing from a second story window hours earlier in Lawrenceville. I was walking home from Tait’s house post-dinner and heard the beautiful noise of strings, bass, shouting singers. Nice to put faces with the moment. I went to bed and listened to my neighbor playing the saw in his backyard for a while. Sleep did not find me for some time, but the gin helped.

I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to say: I can sleep less, and be okay with it. Being tired is being something.

Maybe we are in a constant state of release. Maybe you wear through memories until they are the softest thinnest fabric and something tells you to stop because any more wear would mean tearing the sucker in two. Maybe making new ones becomes more important and then from there it isn’t a question of where your mind is—it is right here, it is processing what comes to it..pull from what you know. You learn to let go in the sweetest way. Maybe you finally become what you believe in. Maybe once that happens, you start to sleep less.

I have a new routine that I am in love with.

My bike ride to work is now a total of, maybe, 10 minutes. I cross the Millvale Bridge on my route, and I’ve been consistently timing the following: a sun, new to the day and still yawning, is right over the tree line–creating a haze/fog that is the most brilliant color of yellow/orange. I ride right through this hue.

I always glance over to that sun and put one fist up in the sky for it. And that’s how I start my day.

On the good foot.

carl hancock rux

Buddy Rich vs. Animal
holy cannoli, is Buddy Rich amazing

Gene Krupa vs. Buddy Rich on the Sammy Davis Jr. show..KILLS IT

(more…)

A part of me tonight will leave this porch and never come back, an unidentified, low flying thing—across the bridge, down the hill, through the tunnels lit like a bad dream hospital, over the railing and into the green. Some part of me so known that now there is no next but leaving the nest; something sloughed off with the cells. You keep growing maybe missing it, but moreso proud because you nutured to the limit and then, let fly.

Dearly departed hilt of self, expelled in expression and lost between footsteps, pauses, touch—I stand by where you left. Off to rejoin the soldier souls before you. Wave the goodbye loud. Behind you saluting room for more.

Do you wanna get married here
To the sound of the lighter flicks
To the cigarette circle witnesses
The ladies leaving for air
Too much dancing, stumbling

All the little things
Wear shoes you can run in honey
The haul for your life sprint from corner store to apartment
The skateboard jerks who chased us
Plaid jacket puffs of breath cold
Little carrot vapors on sticks
All the little things
Like the sun
Lady above us laying hands on everything

The most beautiful track
Doesn’t have words
Doesn’t have a memory
Works through breaks, punch in the overtime
The most beautiful times
Are when we are so caught up in being alive
The ground moves away, lets the heels run amuck and they do
A levitate fate
Stuttered earth i love you

There comes a time
When you forget to be
Anything but this
The façade drops, the mouth flows
There is just a figment of belief
A grass blade penned in the palm
A delicate place in the teeth
Place important dreams here
Let the stories kick off the covers again
Sleep the sheet into a curled evidence
(we sweat here)
the light and time is marvelous
heart in museums? Resilient.

(reposting this from Tait’s website)

Principles Against The Spirit Of The Age
Walk places, don’t just drive.
Listen to albums, not just songs.
Read books, not just articles.
Watch films, not just clips.
Have sex, not just orgasms.
Take time, don’t just kill it.

Wow. Renee wrote up a little something about my book–what an incredible gesture right before the show on Wednesday!

click here to see

she who never fails to amaze me.

this is why i adore her soul, her senses, her creation.

at the 31st St. Pub…

That’s right.
Bob Log III.