so long since I've written; so long since I've cared.
I'll be moving again this week. All I do is move. I'm kind of cheating because in college you have to move out for two weeks every year, but I have not spent 12 straight months in the same place for almost 10 years. Can you imagine? moving every year, most times multiple moves. No wonder I have no sense of home/homestead...
I haven't been home this month anyway, I stay at my girlfriends every night. I like it there, I should move there, but we'll take this step by step; you can't exactly start living with someone after a meer two months. OR can you?
I think I could, hell I think I should, but I won't... and its the right decision.
Cages my friends, cages. You can move from one to another but you'll never be free. not me at least... hell, by todays definition we're all rats. I've always like man is born free and everywhere he is in chains. We just choose the chains, but we've known this for so long... trappings, chains, whatever...
I'd like to write more but I don't know what to say.
I do know that I was giving a student shit today for missing four days last week. Giving her shit until she broke down and told me about her abortion last week... ok, well you can have four days off for an abortion. Poor girl, and me the asshole...
jdon

Lock all the doors and kill the lights.
No one's coming home tonight.
Sun beats down and don't you know?
All our lives are growing cold, oh...

They bring news that must get through.
To build a dream for me and you, oh.

Locked in a place where no one goes.

It's getting colder
It's getting colder
It's getting colder
It's getting colder
It's getting colder
It's getting colder
It's getting colder



Locked in a place where no one goes.



Lock the door, kill the light
No one's coming home tonight
They bring news that must get through.
Dying peace in me and you

Locked in a place where no one goes.

We have no quarter
We have no quarter
We ask no quarter

- Tool's version of No quarter
and what I rocked on last night, driving to dans, dark out, me and the music, the drums, the bass, the guitar, the fucking lead, pulsing through my soul... its getting colder... I felt lost and reborn in the midst of a ten-minute song. And that is why they are the best band ever. No doubt.

What do you say to the girl with cuts on her arms? I mean, I want to walk over and open a conversation, see if she is alright, but I really don't know what to say. And its not like I am intimidated or unwilling to talk about but rather that I really don't know what to say...

All to often we forget how much damage can be derived from simple advice: how easy it is for a child to feel chastised, ostracized, and to pull further away... So much harm can be done by assuming that we know what to say. At least I know that, but I really wish I was trained better... so for now i'll just keep my mouth shut and wait for her to open hers.

its not that I'm silent so much as everything is changing right now and I am playing the jump on and adjust game...
I have a class all to my self for the next 6 wekks - maternity leave. the kids like me...
what is on my mind:
EMU is a shitty school
UofM is going to break our hearts
the lions will surprise
I'm still in a cage, it just has some new paper
guitar saves - mines at my cousins
Don Quixote

my teacher today said that Don Quixote will change my life. And he meant it. I am taking a class, one semester dedicated solely to the book and all it entails (actually we're leaving some 1/3 out as we won't have enough time)... I haven't heard someone say a book will change your life in way too long... this man meant it.

On the road changed my life.
Immortality changed my perspective.
Where the red fern grows made me cry. (I was 7)

that's it folks: three books.

the poetry of Ginsberg changed my life.
Lorca blew my mind, Langston opened my eyes, but only ginsberg made me cry (I was 24 and not on drugs)...
4 poets. but really there is so much more. Frost. What Frost writes always seems to soothe my soul and guide me... Neruda and all them spanish boys too...
Still, I've written poems never a book and books that change your life are few and far between... I'd be willing to bet that Don Quixote changes mine; picking it up I feel like kerouac, I see more than Kundera, and somehow I still feel like that seven year old child. This could be the perfect time for me to read the perfect book.

i'll come back to the cage another day but I can see the doors slamming shut and again there's not much I can do; everything is another some of entrapment, only our minds our free, our souls will burn with our bodies, and eventually everything will become nothingness...