love the lie

sometimes the lyrics just find you...

This is what we've done to us
These memories we can't trust
But I try to love the lie
I find my own way home
Pretend our histories are not
Written in stone

You've got your saints and your sorrows
And I've got my ghosts
And what's killing me now
Is gonna kill us both
And if time is a factor
The only one that we face
Like lines on a map
You can try to erase
But it doesn't change a thing
No, it just makes a mess
And in a million years
I wouldn't love you any less
You can breathe in and out
You can burn to the ground
Put your finger on the trigger
When there's no one around
It's the truth you hate the most
And it would hurt if you could feel
But I'll visit at the grave
Yeah, I'll lay down on the field

This is what I've come to trust
These words have turned to dust
I can try to love the lie
I find my own way home
Pretend our histories are not
Written in stone
To love the lie I find my own way home
Pretend our histories are not
Written in stone

Jf Robitaille

the plain and honest truth...

these are the first words i'm writing for the world to see about the pieces of my broken heart. i miss her terribly and i love her. i realized yesterday, that no matter what, i have my memories. the uncontrollable laughter. the softness. the smiles. the honesty. the love. the skipping. the spinning. the list i'll not be able to write for some time. it does not matter, from here on out, all of those memories that i carry exist in space and time, just like you and i.

eventually there are always lyrics that hit (see below).

Maybe different, but remember
Winters warm there you and I,
Kissing whiskey by the fire
With the snow outside
And when the summer comes
The river swims at midnight
Shiver cold
Touch the bottom, you and I,
with muddy toes

Stay or leave
I want you not to go
But you should
It was good, as good goes
Stay or leave
I want you not to go
But you did

Wake up naked drinking coffee,
Making plans to change the world
While the world is changing us...
It was good good love.
We used to laugh under the covers
Maybe not so often now
The way I used to laugh with you
Was loud and hard

Stay or leave
I want you not to go
But you should
It was good as good goes
Stay or leave
I want you not to go
But you did

So what to do
With the rest of the day's afternoon, hey
Well isn't it strange how we change
Everything we did
Did I do all that I could?

That I should'a done

Remember we used to dance
And everyone wanted to be
You and me
I want to be too
What day is this?
Besides the day you left me?
What day is this
Besides the day you went?

So what to do
With the rest of the day's afternoon, hey
Well isn't it strange how we change
Everything we did
Did I do all that I could?

Remember we used to dance
And everyone wanted to be you and me
I want to be too
What day is this?
Besides the day you left baby
What day is this?

stay or leave dave matthews band

sometimes i remember old words...

"Who has never killed an hour? Not casually or without thought, but carefully: a premeditated murder of minutes. The violence comes from a combination of giving up, not caring, and a resignation that getting past it is all you can hope to accomplish. So you kill the hour. You do not work, you do not read, you do not daydream. If you sleep it is not because you need to sleep. And when at last it is over, there is no evidence: no weapon, no blood, and no body. The only clue might be the shadows beneath your eyes or a terribly this line neat the corner of your mouth indication that something has been suffered, that in the privacy of your life you have lost something and the loss is too empty to share." ~Mark Z. Danielewski

I want blank pages and pens, space enough to just let it all go -- to
transcribe some history of these days, I fear, as usual, that words
won't suffice and that a lack of expression will result in blankness.
There is potential for waste, breaking and color. Yet a clouded
existence prevents action.

I'd take it all back if I could, rewrite spoken history transferred on
wires on far away roads, pacific waters drenching my thoughts, my
seams. There's a waxing moon in Brooklyn, fall is here - rooftop views
are clear and full of stars. I'll take it.

I like when I wake up with a cold nose.

emd 09/22/09

caught

so tonight i was once again caught by bad news from notre dame. you would think that for the size of community we were that we've suffered enough but again we were fooled. first it was joe, then jane, then bubby, (somewhere in there was mckelvey) im sure there have been folks in between that i missed, it does not mean you are forgotten, this is an adlib late night entry... but now its billy and lindsey's mom... cant we catch a break.. i mean really? who is up there? who is watching over us? i'm at a loss...im not quite sure what to do anymore. a little help would be useful down here.

sitting favorite in my rooftop chair because the ceiling over my bed feels too low;
     looking at lights piercing clouds    

     instead of studying stones and 

     collections of old night-sky lights.

i'm curious as to when new york lost these degrees and we began unpacking blankets.

     i dont so much mind the crisp air 

     creeping into the night, it usually 

     brings with it a clear sky;

     music is constant yet somehow   

     different but beautiful all the same.

it seems fair to say that time and distance made things easier, yet here i am, in a borough of five avoiding city subway cars.

     i'm navigating right angles and 

     bridges knowing that the sky is 

     darkening earlier, this is no 

     extraordinary secret, all you have to    

     do is look up.  

being back here makes me think about making a run for it but i'm no more certain about a final destination than before. 

     i know i could cover my tracks as i 

     always have but maybe this time    

     i'm looking to be found; it 

     compounds sleeplessness.

it's overcast in the city tonight and i'm thinking about holes in my safety net, okay with the fall.  

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