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WHO? Oliver. oof San Francisco again, Brooklyn before, Atlanta & Chicago wayback. RECENT: Mendocino The magical hour Something midwestern My Two Front Teeth oh yeah album titles Hello Summertime wow, i was tired Lists WRBC 2008 TRAVELS: Biodiesel trip across America (January, 2005) Paris (April, 2005) Election work in NM (November, 2004) ARCHIVES: July 2008 June 2008 May 2008 April 2008 March 2008 February 2008 January 2008 December 2007 November 2007 October 2007 September 2007 August 2007 July 2007 May 2007 March 2007 February 2007 January 2007 December 2006 November 2006 October 2006 August 2006 July 2006 June 2006 May 2006 April 2006 March 2006 February 2006 January 2006 December 2005 November 2005 October 2005 September 2005 August 2005 July 2005 June 2005 May 2005 April 2005 March 2005 February 2005 January 2005 December 2004 November 2004 October 2004 September 2004 August 2004 July 2004 June 2004 May 2004 April 2004 March 2004 February 2004 January 2004 December 2003 November 2003 October 2003 August 2003 June 2003 LINKS TO PALS: elly Toshok Pete Tuggy Workstatus Nathan Express Train SEARCH: RSS: Get your RSS feed here |
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times aren't a changingmmm. Finally a good night's sleep. Peaceful, after a late night staying up with my love, sitting, geeking and watching movies with Tuggy, drinking & spilling chai, just generally loving. *contented sigh*. All the things done in the right way for connection and for affection. It only comes without work, I'm afraid. We'll have to work on that not-working solution. heh. Morning light, hot coffee, fresh air, and coming home to make a tasty breakfast in my kitchen, in my house, in my Brooklyn. mmmm. Nice bearded men in Tea Lounge, Jakob on the speakers, kindness. Hot days inside of walls protecting & holding me from winter's cold breath. The satisfaction of cutting veggies, scrambling eggs, sipping coffee. *calm joy* Bringing food out to the table, still steaming, Earth Balance melting on spelt toast, coffee, fresh gulps of water. Bob Dylan playing in the living room as sunlight streams into the room that I love in the house that I love. The warmth of radiators, the inner warmth of love heat me to a perfect sheen. Some sadness though; the lyrics from 1963's "Masters of War." *furled brow*. 40 some years later, and we're repeating the same mistakes. How does this happen? How can the people who actually lived through it not remember the pain? I feel it, and I wasn't even a spark in my father's eye yet. Is there something I don't understand? I've lived a few years, but seen so little. I can but hope for understanding in the world.
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