In a race to clear the top of my head, all of my hairs are winning.

I’ve nabbed no kind of prize in some time, and a strange pride is here held.

A friend sent me a postcard which read: “Instant character’s gonna get you.”

On my wall are a thousand postcards, and a thousand notes to self.

Remember when we stood in the yard frantically waving our arms? We said, “Don’t see me! Don’t see me!”

Countless homes and the untold lives within. The story within us. Points of light upon a landscape. Small, bright bastions holding fast to the face of the thing.

Who sat around each fire? What did they mean to one another?

Your face next to the dog’s, say, breathing deeply. Your face next to your love’s, breathing deeply.

How we were almost marooned! How we just did make port, and then hearth.

Oh All! Thank you! Thank you!

Old face…

I looked new upon you, and realized.

June, I found your book again. And now I knew to read. Thank you! Thank you! You knew to leave what you did, and I am so grateful. Your sense was the gift.

To be ready when – all things come together in fantastic moment. The breath of us well maintained, balance preternatural. Doing. Every action fine and necessary. Family, friend. Natural light. That was the magic of our lives.

Of course it would happen unexpectedly. And of course it would happen then.

We made sensate and coffee. We talked it out.

Improbably, one Chilean miner began to wish he were underground again.

Elvis Presley, Insanity, and Glen Campbell

5th Anniversary Party for Justin Stone's creekbed

The creekbed is five years old.

It has not been all of the writing, nor has it been great writing, but it has been writing. It has been a thing. You have to understand that, despite the tired template, this was never a blog. It has been meant a repository. A small museum. Private cavern library. Tiny, bright shots in the dark. Embers.

A fifth anniversary party was held at Dead Shirt's semi-infamous Swimmy Lounge. We were grateful for those that showed up. 'Twas a small, warm-heart'd gathering. Lights were shone, butts pinched. People told tall tales and hearty laughs were had by all. The laugh, you know, is the holiest thing. And we have sought to laugh, even when the jokes were not funny. And let us be honest -- they were not always funny. But gosh be danged if there weren't some good, real laughs, some ecstatic hilarity.

The candles were blown across the room.

Here's to it. Here's to song. Here's to key changes. Here's to the quiet parts, and to swelling crescendos. Here's to circles coming complete. Here's to windblown qualities. Here's to pictures of you at a thousand meters. Here's to being up on bricks in the yard. Here's to every day as a beginning. Here's to the highly sensate. Here's to the b-roll footage. Here's to letter. Here's to breaking up, and to gathering in transit. Here's to cats perched in tree houses. Here's to the dog in his sighing bed. Here's to my beloved father's new knee, to the always getting by, big-eye'd and smile'd. Here's to grace. Here's to a mother's endurance. Here's to amorphous qualities. Here's to wishing. Here's to the morning, the night deep, and to every in between. Here's to diddly squat. Here's to tired cousins. Here's to making oneself laugh. Holy things. Here's to any two meeting again. Here's to long looks. Here's to falling quiet. Here's to listening. Here's to many founded colonies on distant shores, countless thousand years. Here's to being there when. Here's to home.

Here's to life.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for sticking around.

Word of warning: DO NOT trust the guys at IncurDebt4Free.com -- some things that sound great really aren't.

On the way to the store, I lost my way...
On the way to the story, I lost my way...

(Thank you, John Pfirman, for your voice and everything else--
You make my world a better place to be)

I had been trying to pitch her wood when somebody else said, "No, it's woo."

Mel Gibson received his first face transplant at the tender age of 7 years, 3 months. While much work remained to be done, all involved agreed that something very special had happened.

Will Your Friends Like 'The Social Network'?












will your friends like the social network?

the abnormally high state of everything