"my hands grope for the light, my hands grope for my head."

"and i learn every room long enough
to make it to the door
and then i hear it click shut behind me" -Dilate, Ani DiFranco

Have had a slew of Ani lyrics bombarding me. Randomly walking down streets they fly past me knocking me into a new song of hers. School is done for the semester, finals are over, and one by one grades are being turned in. I don't know the official results of the lighting project yet, but the house enjoyed it when they came to watch, and I ended up getting a B in the class. Which is good because I got a C on a test and a couple quizzes. The rest of classes are going to be A’s and B’s as well, the only one I am really worried about is my Lit class, see how the final turned out.

"now use both hands/oh, no don't close your eyes/i am writing/graffiti on your body/i am drawing the story of/how hard we tried/i am watching your chest rise and fall/like the tides of my life,and the rest of it all/and your bones have been my bedframe/and your flesh has been my pillow"

This past weekend was spent in Denver with the gang down there. It was to celebrate my birthday, and was a blast. There was much with the drinking, closing of a bar or maybe two…and watching lots of cheesy horror/thriller movies thanks to Scotty.

"and now it's so hard to have faith in/anything/especially your next bold move or the next thing you're gonna need to prove/to yourself"

The holiday season is upon us. In the house we have strung up lights, and even have a Christmas tree up and decorated in our living room. It is a time for rest, recharge, and change. But then again back to our only constant in this universe is change.

"he caresses every bottle/like it's the first one he's had/saying/it ain't love/but it ain't bad"

The following is a free write poem. Our first day in my creative writing poetry our first assignment was to write a poem, any poem, didn’t matter the content or style or structure. We folded it, the professor never looked at it, and we didn’t see it until our last day of class when our teacher handed them back to us. Out of all poems that came out of me for that class this semester, I think I actually like this one the best.

Screaming To The Wind
Words find their way to me in whispers.
Lips part, form movement, releasing sound
that is apparently meant to mean something.
The movement of understanding, the words never reach me.
Your words only come whispered to me
in the early morning hours that have yet to see light.
3am your soft voice speaking of confidences that I am suppose to keep.
“I am scared, will you help me?”
My voice cannot whisper the way yours does.
I cannot make you understand. The translation of my words
always get lost along the way, traveling from parted lips to ears with selective hearing.
How can I help you, if you are always misinterpreting my whispers,
like some game of telephone, when you repeat back to me what was said
It comes out, “Five toothpick guacamole.”

You however are not the only person’s whispers I hear.
My godmother speaks to me on the whispers of light afternoon breezes.
The faint smell of patchouli drifting along with the lyrics to an unrecognizable lullaby.
If I could truly hear her voice, the words would be booming and filled with strength.
And she would not approve of you.
And the way you tell your secrets to me.
The way you lean over the greasy diner table and bad coffee,
Whispering, “ I could never love you, but I don’t want you to go.”

My hearing is going quicker than it should,
So next time we meet over truck stop coffee
with one of your urgent pressing needs filled with secrets,
next time you fill the booth with your empty thoughts, and idle ways of using me
You won’t be able to whisper nothings into these fragile ears.
You’ll have to speak loud enough so that the wind can hear you.
-BAS 8/28/07