i can only imagine what i already know

(Downtown Aurora 2002, 35mm B&W)

i do not know if i believe Death is real

Until it happens, Death is like the lochness monster

Bigfoot, God, the Devil, Jimmy Hoffa

angels dancing on the heads of matchstick men

the phone ringing and you already know who is calling

that last word in the Sunday crossword

the ultimate truth or everything we never believed

meeting the toothfairy on the subway at 6am on a Monday eating a croissant and reading the Times

the dance step you can never quite get

the piece of popcorn stuck in your teeth

Does personifying death satisfy me?

It still looms, large as an ostrich egg in a hummingbird nest.

I still cannot fathom non-exsistence.

nocturnal emissions

(Downtown Aurora 2003, 35mm B&W)
It seems like the only time I have anything to say is in the middle of the night when I can't sleep or find myself suddenly awake and half lucid. I lay in bed having what I consider profound thoughts & I think about getting up to warm myself by the light of the computer monitor. I usually don't - and eventually I fall back asleep, the flurry of thoughts lost in another insomniac night.

I haven't gone to bed yet & I don't know if I have anything to say - but it's been awhile since I posted anything in bloggyland. I am writing to myself. I don't write here often & I don't read too many others enough to be considered an active participant. I don't really write too much of anything anymore. I suppose that when I do feel my elusive muse begin to crap on my head I should get my ass out of bed and to the computer or a notebook.

I have discovered the wonderful, addictive, juvenile joy that is Myspace. I am vindicated. I have Friends. I have Comments. I am Enlightened.

I feel pretty darn good about life. Motherhood suits me well & so does not getting drunk every night. However, this glass of Cab tastes great...

Why is it that I love the lonely, quiet hours of the night? I don't think that will ever change and I will just have to learn to accept it.