time was invented by those who do not know how to love...

The Guitar

It begins, the lament
of the guitar.
The wineglass of dawn
is broken.
It begins, the lament
of the guitar.
It’s useless to silence it.
to silence it.
It cries monotonously
as the water cries,
as the wind cries
over the snow.
to silence it.
It cries for
distant things.
Sands of the hot South
that demand white camellias.
It cries arrows with no targets,
evening with no morning,
and the first dead bird
on the branch.
Oh, the guitar!
Heart wounded deep
by five swords.


my friend and fellow blogger, wilhelmina (http://margotvellocet.blogspot.com/), brought this poem to my attention. She said it reminded her of my favorite painting, the old guitarist by Picasso. I agree, though my feelings on it are so deeply imbedded in my own passions that it essentially takes on a different meaning.

eternal devotion to music.

that even at the brink of death, at the point of destitution, music will forever remain.

AGH!! beautiful.


in the wee small hours of the morning.

"In the wee small hours of the morning
While the whole wide world is fast asleep
You lie awake and think about the girl
And never ever think of counting sheep

When your lonely heart has learned its lesson
Youd be hers if only she would call
In the wee small hours of the morning
Thats the time you miss her most of all"
-frank sinatra

it sucks.
my reactions to my actions are always anticipated, thought out by the second.
when it gets down to it, i fail.
i want this more then ever, but too much is at stake.
for me.

I'm an ENFp, so concentrated on being liked, emotional and so outgoing. From this i get stuck in a sort of catch-22. I can say anything to anyone in any situation, but when it comes to my feelings and "love"
i'm hopeless.

i feel like i'm in some messed up movie, but the chances that my ending will be happy is slim to none.
...i have just 3 hours.

"breathe, breathe, keep breathing"

i'm still so highschool, but do you ever grow out of that?