Soundtrack

I live in the upper corner of a very crowded college dorm and I am privy to the many sounds associated with ...people, just people in general. From garbage trucks to weekwackers to giggling friends to longing lovers' long goodbyes to young lovers' foolish fights. Sometimes the noise can be unbearable and annoying, but luckily not a whole lot of things can ever bug me enough to reach the point of unhappiness. My favorite noise I hear every night is probably one thought of as annoying to most residents. The Polynesian who lives two doors down from me starts playing music from her laptop when she gets home from work around eleven pm  and it goes straight on until the morning. They're all American songs, but I think I like them so much because it's the kind of music I remember listening to on my mother's and father's radio. Nothing modern or loud or abrasive and attention grabbing which most contemporary music aspires to be. It's just a simple songs that are becoming her soundtrack for her college life yet gently lull me into state of security and sleep as if the soundtrack of my childhood is a lullaby I had forgotten I needed. So I guess this whole post is meant to acknowledge I don't mind the music. In fact, I welcome it. It makes me think about people, about my life, about their lives. It's nice. A good way to fall asleep. It'll be a good soundtrack to remember.

She is a Book by Craig Froman

One of these days...I'd love to inspire a poem like this:

She is a breathing book

each night I touch her pages

delicately turn to find

her heart in letters

written by her hand…

Scent of vanilla

soft and sensuous

unveiling another thought

another smiling memory

another intimate piece of her…

And I read with such abandon

across her pages

my fingers trailing

her soft paper skin…

In her sighs

she speaks of

stories and sonnets

history and fantasy

blue skies and silvery silks…

I hear her voice

in the pages

wanting to know her

every line

every word

every letter…

Now I take her into me

share my book with her

until we know

can read each glance

each whisper

each touch…

She is a book

and I love to read her pages…

The Avoidance of Thinking

Why do I think it's important to write? Why do I think it matters at all to post on this blog that has gone untouched for almost a  year? Because I'm tired of not thinking. And when you write, you're forced to think. It's unavoidable. It's necessary for progress. It's how we come to understand ourselves. Yet we avoid it by filling our time with menial tasks and time wasters always excusing us from having to pen a single word or own up to a single thought. I have found myself retreating into the labyrinth of television and useless books, always saying "I'll get to it later, when I'm not so tired or busy or lazy". It's sickening to think of all the time I've wasted staring mindlessly at a screen giving no validity or time to the thoughts I think or the feelings I feel. I'm running away from reality and the difficulty of dealing with it. Loss, loneliness, love and longing are all easier to deal with when you don't have to think about them. When you just come home on auto pilot and end your night plugged into the world, never taking a moment for a solitary thought or even a smidgen of introspection, life just gets simpler...and less meaningful.  Well I'm done. I'm tired of falsity and shallow, solitary nights. I say that now, but I'll probably end tonight just like the night before. On my computer or my phone surprised when the sun comes up and I didn't do anything I promised myself I would. But I can try. This blog post (going into cyberspace unacknowledged) is a good start at least....