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LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
Theres a strange facination with certain objects, that lately have gotten my mind turning on axis. T.S. Elliot's poem "Love song of J. Alfred Prufrock" is one of those. Dr. Grant Smith, an english teacher at Viterbo, got me into the desire of the english language. A mormon transplated from Las Vegas, he left the glitz and glamour for the sleepy town of La Crosse. I'm not sure what it was about him, possibly the gain of nothing to loose, that made me write the assigned essay, that evolved over personal tutoring into my mantra, my own Walt Whitman's Song of myself. The essay of course brought me out of my shell, delt with my homosexuality and skin color from past experiences...
"Listen to your heart-before you tell him goodbye"--DHT is a group that has popped up on the rare occasion that I listen to the radio. The slow version has a raw steak feel to it. Naked, bold, crisp, honest. Honest is the diamond we are all searching for....
Had a wonderful dinner with Frank and his client at Ja'Pachi' Japenese restraunt. One of those that you sit and watch your food being cooked infront of you. Excellent shrimp and scallons. Interesting enough, I sat by the husband who I knew very little, and was of course a little intimidated with. ITs these little adventures that despite what I feel, make me enjoy adult hood. Something I was always running down the playground in High School looking for, and yet never found...
Which gives me a refreshing breath of air. Looking back at the reunion is seems that adult hood can be wraped up in any ocassion of gift wrap, bows, and a card. However its not something one achieves like a diploma, but grows from roots deep within the earth....
Random thoughts 3:25 a.m.
When the evening is spread out against the sky
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
Theres a strange facination with certain objects, that lately have gotten my mind turning on axis. T.S. Elliot's poem "Love song of J. Alfred Prufrock" is one of those. Dr. Grant Smith, an english teacher at Viterbo, got me into the desire of the english language. A mormon transplated from Las Vegas, he left the glitz and glamour for the sleepy town of La Crosse. I'm not sure what it was about him, possibly the gain of nothing to loose, that made me write the assigned essay, that evolved over personal tutoring into my mantra, my own Walt Whitman's Song of myself. The essay of course brought me out of my shell, delt with my homosexuality and skin color from past experiences...
"Listen to your heart-before you tell him goodbye"--DHT is a group that has popped up on the rare occasion that I listen to the radio. The slow version has a raw steak feel to it. Naked, bold, crisp, honest. Honest is the diamond we are all searching for....
Had a wonderful dinner with Frank and his client at Ja'Pachi' Japenese restraunt. One of those that you sit and watch your food being cooked infront of you. Excellent shrimp and scallons. Interesting enough, I sat by the husband who I knew very little, and was of course a little intimidated with. ITs these little adventures that despite what I feel, make me enjoy adult hood. Something I was always running down the playground in High School looking for, and yet never found...
Which gives me a refreshing breath of air. Looking back at the reunion is seems that adult hood can be wraped up in any ocassion of gift wrap, bows, and a card. However its not something one achieves like a diploma, but grows from roots deep within the earth....
Random thoughts 3:25 a.m.
