I'm gonna revolutionize the landscaping industry by inventing a leaf-blower that doesn't employ "loud as fuck" as its sole volume setting.

Hey, does this thing still work?

This was taken during the prayer -- See folks? This is why I married her.

In this small place, is infinite space.

The rain is soft-tapping the quietest night time melody alone in the woods where no one’s listening and leaves are glistening a minor orange, reflecting light off of a nearby streetlight in the parking lot that’s free from motion – free from thought at 3:50am.

It’s crystal clear when the now is near.

A man sits cross-legged on a woven mat, aware of the symphony in the sky, keeping time with listless motion, rolling the oceans and holding the notions of light that shines on endless horizons. Cats look sleepy at 4:00am

Real life is perfect… or not – and even that’s perfect.

I’m laying on my back watching the ceiling fan create the strangest flicker of shadow, playing off of a sprinkler head on the ceiling – it’s like a pendulum clicking back and forth in a surprisingly jerky fashion, considering the smooth, fluid flow of the ceiling fan itself. My thoughts instantly shift to the very beginning of the universe and then the very end and all the infinite complexities I’ll never be aware of and yet this moment right here is a part of the story – this strange flickering shadow on my ceiling falls somewhere between the beginning and the end – somewhere between the birth of physics and the birth of galaxies and the birth of stars and the birth of planets and the birth of birth and the death of physics and the death of galaxies and the death of stars and the death of planets and the death of death. I wonder if anyone will remember that somewhere during that infinite stretch of infinite complexities criss-crossing with other infinite complexities through other infinite stretches that I laid on my back on my floor and looked up at my ceiling which caused me to notice a strange flickering shadow caused by my ceiling fan casting a strange light on the sprinkler head in the ceiling. I’m thinking of my girlfriend at 4:27am.

Get it all now ‘cause I’m underground – c’mon baby, here, right now.

It’s black and we’ve been wandering for ten days or ten nights or ten years and at this point so many of us have died that we don’t really remember why it is that we left or where it is that we were going in the first place. There’s an all-pervading sickness that no one speaks of ‘cause at this point an acknowledgement of weakness is just as good as death so we face forward not saying much and there’s not that much to say anyway ‘cause it’s all been said before and no one likes the sound of their own voice anymore. We’re striving and striding but no one even knows which way forward is ‘cause space is so infinite in all directions and it’s possible that we’ve been going backwards this whole time and it’s possible that this trek doesn’t mean a fucking thing anyway, in which case we’re all screwed and death will never come fast enough, but we keep moving and moving ‘cause movement is all we know. Life is flowing like following some great unknown and some say we’re almost no-where and some say we’re almost now-here, but I’m not sure so I continue to hold my breath and say my magic spells in the middle of the night when the moon looms over the trees in a pearl-white crescent and summer feels so alive.

The ocean at night is black too and if I sit still I can almost see a faint glimmer of sex off in the distance where we almost made sense of all this or at least found enough god that we didn’t care to look any longer – but that was then and this is now and I can’t help but long for what I once knew – and you’re goddamn right I knew it.

I’m dreaming off in the back of my mind somewhere and I’ve found a still point where a never-ending glimmer radiates outward into infinity. I’m nestled in the center and the feeling is that of white Christmas lights in the middle of the summer – the softness of the city in the middle of the night and we’re the only ones alive – the only ones who ever knew the secret we kept – the one we hid in the good part of the day when the moon loomed over the trees in a pearl-white crescent and summer feels so alive.

Outside amidst a gray dawn, there’s the softest hint of something good lining the otherwise dark clouds – we’re walking and walking and somehow for once something sparks in someone’s mind and everything takes on the notion of god and purpose and whatever that feeling is that gets you out of bed in the morning and keeps you up at night spilling your guts to someone you love regardless of however far away they might be.

It was such a long time in the making, but the softness of her face somehow makes it all make sense. She’s laying in bed and my heart is breaking from the purity of this moment – a child who’s little guts are rubbed so raw – she’s seen the heights of heaven – she’s seen the depths of hell – she was the one they worshipped – she was the one they sacrificed – now she just is.

Some say she’s a junkie.

Some say she’s a whore.

I’ve always known she’s an angel.

Look at the stars
See how they shine
For you

Get it all now ‘cause I’m underground – c’mon baby, here, right now.

It’s black and we’ve been wandering for ten days or ten nights or ten years and at this point so many of us have died that we don’t really remember why it is that we left or where it is that we were going in the first place. There’s an all-pervading sickness that no one speaks of ‘cause at this point an acknowledgement of weakness is just as good as death so we face forward not saying much and there’s not that much to say anyway ‘cause it’s all been said before and no one likes the sound of their own voice anymore. We’re striving and striding but no one even knows which way forward is ‘cause space is so infinite in all directions and it’s possible that we’ve been going backwards this whole time and it’s possible that this trek doesn’t mean a fucking thing anyway, in which case we’re all screwed and death will never come fast enough, but we keep moving and moving ‘cause movement is all we know. Life is flowing like following some great unknown and some say we’re almost no-where and some say we’re almost now-here, but I’m not sure so I continue to hold my breath and say my magic spells in the middle of the night when the moon looms over the trees in a pearl-white crescent and summer feels so alive.

The ocean at night is black too and if I sit still I can almost see a faint glimmer of sex off in the distance where we almost made sense of all this or at least found enough god that we didn’t care to look any longer – but that was then and this is now and I can’t help but long for what I once knew – and you’re goddamn right I knew it.

I’m dreaming off in the back of my mind somewhere and I’ve found a still point where a never-ending glimmer radiates outward into infinity. I’m nestled in the center and the feeling is that of white Christmas lights in the middle of the summer – the softness of the city in the middle of the night and we’re the only ones alive – the only ones who ever knew the secret we kept – the one we hid in the good part of the day when the moon loomed over the trees in a pearl-white crescent and summer feels so alive.

Outside amidst a gray dawn, there’s the softest hint of something good lining the otherwise dark clouds – we’re walking and walking and somehow for once something sparks in someone’s mind and everything takes on the notion of god and purpose and whatever that feeling is that gets you out of bed in the morning and keeps you up at night spilling your guts to someone you love regardless of however far away they might be.

It was such a long time in the making, but the softness of her face somehow makes it all make sense. She’s laying in bed and my heart is breaking from the purity of this moment – a child who’s little guts are rubbed so raw – she’s seen the heights of heaven – she’s seen the depths of hell – she was the one they worshipped – she was the one they sacrificed – now she just is.

Some say she’s a junkie.

Some say she’s a whore.

I’ve always known she’s an angel.

Look at the stars
See how they shine
For you

This is hell or maybe it’s Florida or maybe I’m in no mood to talk about moods and the locations of my local pains and their unwanted distance – it’s definitely dark and since I know that much I know I’m on a roll – a hard-knock path to enlightenment through an empty building that’s pitch-black by eight as a cold rain taps out heart-felt love songs like piano plinks in a night time abyss. I drove to the airport – I parked at the airport – I stood at the airport and stared into her eyes – told her I loved her – felt her against me – that strange grasping hug and her backpack makes her feel like a little kid being sent off to school – but no one likes school and my heart is pounding ‘cause I want nothing more than to keep her with me for ever and ever – but this is reality – this is life and in life people have plans that don’t always jive with your own plans and part of me wonders if I’ve ever used the word “jive” in a serious sense before. She’s so beautiful fading through the airport doors into that giant glass oblivion – off to her own existence of planes and waiting and planes and moving and hotels and driving and parents and stuff and phone calls from me, now on the other side of her life – no longer flesh and blood – just a vibration of sound transmitted through satellites and technology and reformed inside her ear – a soft whisper sent to represent me while the real me dies a thousand deaths on the other side of nowhere or maybe it’s hell or maybe it’s Florida – I don’t know ‘cause I was stuck in traffic behind a silver minivan at dusk watching the rain on the windshield, digging the irony that I’m stuck behind a silver minivan, but then I realized that only she would get that joke – and she’s in an airport waiting to board a plane – now I’m sure this is hell.

I’m in hell with a heavy crushing pain in the center of my chest, sitting at a computer in a dark office with a single fluorescent light flickering and fading into my sickness. The rest of the building is black – the rest of the city is black – the rest of the world is black. Black is the colour of my candor as my mind wanders back to our conversation about sex stories and notebooks and magazines and all the things I’ll eventually say about her in a secret code – playing out some endless cosmic mystery in the middle of the night, trying so desperately to give her the story she deserves – just one fucking line worthy of her unfathomable existence. I laid on my right side last night with her back pressed up against me and my hand tracing the soft line of her hips, past her stomach and up to her (overwhelmingly) full breasts rising and falling in that sleepy undulation. I looked past the lust and saw through the horrors of a million unspeakable acts – past the sick fucking eroticism of human atrocities – she’s an angel in whore’s clothing – a child passing herself off as a temptress – the very essence of purity – innocence personified. She’s pearl-white in the moonlight.

And I’m in hell at the end of the world.
“WTF, mate?”

There’s a cold rain blowing – blurring the lights of the cityscape, twisting infinite diamond-star speckled patterns off into a random nighttime heartbreak. Technology gives the bridges meaning as “nowhere” struggles to become “somewhere” and choppy black waters pound out a sullen undulation of emptiness – a weird, dreamy reminder that the only thing permanent is how temporary everything is – just cycle and fade – cycle and fade – cycle and fade – one and zero – on and off – you know the drill. My essence is calling out lost – raked over the coals by the absence of her presence – that giant nowhere feeling that only big cities in the rain seem to understand – the void of the metropolis at night – that feeling that can only be illustrated by this walk through this dark parking lot with my clothes wet and my glasses blurred by an endless stream of rain that “seems to fall out of pure nothingness”. She was here, but then she wasn’t and I continued to turn and tell her everything that I’d normally tell her, only now, nobody’s listening and I just look crazy – just another dead figure, haunting city streets in the middle of a catastrophic downpour and the meaning is lost.

But I swear I was alive – I swear I stood here, in this very spot, staring at these very buildings, looking at this exact same river, staring at that exact same nighttime sky, while she was breathing beside me and I was breathing beside her amidst a hot chemical reaction that caused our thoughts to overlap and our times to overlap and our spaces to overlap and our lives to overlap – she was real and she was soft and she was warm and my hands fit smooth in the center of her back – a quiet comfort in the still of the night when there was no such thing as time and work and society and responsibility – there was just an eternal “now” comprised of talking and whispering and camping all scrunched up in a secret tent on a couch just before dawn – a defiant refusal to acknowledge the persistence of time. There was the smell of her perfume and the taste of her skin and the feel of her body in the middle of the night. There was the sound of her laughing and the look of her smiling and the feel of her body in the middle of the day. There was the brilliant deadpan joke-loop that works here and works there and works everywhere. There was coffee and there was candy. There were movies and there was TV. There was the mutual hatred of internet slang. There was the mutual love of the “good” part of the day. There was sleeping and there was waking. There was solitude and there was peace. There was the death of the past. There was hope for the future.

There was always tomorrow.

There’s a hot buzzing in my head and everything vibrates to this unimaginable rhythm and it could be Monday and it could be Sunday and it could be anytime anywhere, but I’m almost certain it’s a slow moving week that’s leaving me weak while I’m whiling away the days, lost like would-be paradise in the middle of the hottest afternoon. (endless) I’m soul-searching for a better word than “soul-searching”, but nothing fits what I’m desperately trying to say so I keep skipping past everything and all these soft places that hurt and all these dull spaces that flirt with the most beautiful disaster the world’s never known – all these fucking miles and certainly someone’s being reprimanded for ever inventing things like geography in the first place. I can stand at night and stare at the stars and you can stand at night and stare at the stars and we can watch all these listless wishes fade into the ether of nothingness, but my logic’s so concrete which is unusual for me – funny what love can do to a man.

There’s a lot buzzing in my head and all I can wonder is why anything ever became anything when it could’ve just laid in bed and dreamt some eternal nothingness, never becoming things like universes and stars and planets and boys and girls with dilemmas and diplomas and a million other stories that break god’s heart whenever god wonders why god decided to make anything ever become anything anyway. Anyway, I got up and wandered the halls down towards the abandoned part of the building and into the dim-lit bathroom where I tried to half-heartedly convince myself that I looked mysterious in this mirror with this lighting, but it was a ridiculous thought and I dropped it just as quick as I’d picked it up – So back outside for a spell in the night air with the slight chill where the fog hangs low and the streetlights burn with those crazy bronzeglow halos while I stare up at the moon casting spells for whoever’s listening to “Let Go” when I’m sure I’m the only person on the planet (though could be wrong.)

All my life is coming to focus.

All my focus is coming to life.

The world is over
But I don’t care
‘cause I am with you
Now I’ve got to explain
Things, they have changed
In such a permanent way

(^“Alone, Together”)