[praxis]

The game is only fun for those who play it well. And sometimes I do. But as soon as I start getting ahead I begin to forget the first rule: it’s just a game. It will never be any more. Not ever. And believe me, I speak from experience. I have a saying, and for a few months I began to question its validity. But it proved itself true in the end. And that saying is this: a girl you meet at a bar will never be anything more than a girl you met at a bar. Not ever. And the day I fully embrace that, I will master the game. Or I will just quit playing altogether.

POTC 2008

Music was played, friends were made, and the keg was floated. Things were said and done that shan’t be repeated. Body parts were revealed that should not have been. Photos were taken that should be destroyed. There was shirtless, sweaty man love. There was blood and bruises and marshmallows.

And it was awesome.

Here’s to good times and the best friends a guy could ask for.

They move on beams of never-ending light

These sounds surround me like a castle and I am unassailable. I stand on the highest turret and take in the scene surreal. Colors and lights and horizons. My eyes are closed but I can see them swirling around in a constant motion of melody and syncopation that is the meaning in me.

Inside of Happiness

I try to forget, but the ties that were are cut and lacking tension, dangling without purpose. I see a photo or a passing reminder and it hurts, not because of the bad times but because of the good, and how I miss those. And I’m happy most of the time now. But sometimes I think that the inside of happiness is a hollowed-out core where no one asks if things are really how we want them to be.

And a folk singer sings, Yeah, I’ve made love, and I’ve been fucked, so what?