mother may i 

Read my eyes, hear not my words....

The following is an excerpt by Soren Kierkegaard, taken from an essay called "Diapsalmata," or, "interlude":
"What is a poet? An unhappy man who conceals profound anguish in his heart, but whose lips are so fashioned that when sighs and groans pass over them they sound like beautiful music.... And people flock about the poet and say to him: do sing again; which means, would that new sufferings torment your soul, and: would that your lips stay fashioned as before, for your cries would only terrify us, but your music is delightful....
In addition to my numerous other acquaintances I have still one more intimate friend -- my melancholy. In the midst of pleasure, in the midst of work, he beckons to me, calls me aside, even though I remain present bodily. My melancholy is the most faithful sweetheart I have had -- no wonder that I return the love!"

waiting so long 

new beginnings 

Goodbye

I'm tabling this indefinitely. With baby no. 2 on the way very soon (due date may7), spring (more specifically, baseball) in the air, and countless preoccupations, interests, demands and demons with which I'm wrestling and/or pursuing and/or in which I am revelling (in no particular order), I've grown tired of sharing any such me-isms with a faceless internet universe. I'm sure you're grateful. So goodbye, thank you all, goodbye. I'll still be posting things at the site I share with one of my brothers, the jesuit sieve, www.thejesuitsieve.blogspot.com For now, the doctor has gone missing, the whores have been neglected too long and so therefore the clientele, like everyone else involved, is sick right down to the core. If you watch HBO's incredible Deadwood, you'll understand what the hell I'm on about. If not, watch it. With 24, 6 Feet Under and Sopranos, it's one of the best things on television. New season starts this Sunday.