it was a sad day yesterday for golf. jack said goodbye. the thing about golf is it reminds me of Sundays with my pop. every Sunday we would watch golf before dinner. the soft voice of the golf commentators, the plaids, the argyles, the visors, the applause. found out late last nite that the golden bear didn't make the cut. we were at Churchill's having a few drinks. it was a pretty good time. the outdoor patio was really busy. that made it slightly uncomfortable with the humidity. well this is a bit disjointed, so i am going to sign off for now. to bad it isn't as graceful as jack waving from st. Andrews

well since ajay is leaving elmwoodstrip.com, i hope that there is not grassroots movement that catches fire and runs all of us former buffalonians out of the estriphood. haha..i am quite confident that will not happen. though i never really thought about some of the points raised in ajays exit forms. i have not met anyone on here, well with the exception of haikuster, but i have known her for years now. i do wish that i could bounce in to the pink and meet everyone out who attends peep nites, or whatever other cool activities that spring up along the way. next time i come home i will have to try and see if there is anything or anyone goin on. try and connect. i do miss home also. its a strange thing leaving buffalo. the city is one big paradox. its beautiful, and its ugly. in every which way. its ugly the way the politicians waste our lake front, and parks, and our biggest resource, the young people that leave. the young people that stay, thank god they do, sometimes it seems that the only reason the Queen city stays afloat is because of the determination of people to keep "Talkin Proud! remember that slogan, when was that from, mid 80's? and that pennant? i've been down to the beach everyday now for the past week i'd say and everyday i take an hour walk along the surf, picking up beach glass, and looking for sand dollars, which i have to say are damned near impossible to find. i try and explain buffalos beaches to people, and they say we don't have them. well they are just ignorant. granted they are not ocean beaches, but they are great beaches. my favorite one is this little beach on rt 5 across from st francis. you park near the firehouse there, run across the st and over the chain that is strung across this dirt "road" there is this HUGE pile of dirt, stone, sand, that has some brush and bushes on it. there used to be a large tree thats down, and everyone builds fires at nite. its great, cause you can see the city skyline i called it secret beach.. crystal beach is awesome too. the Buffalo Canoe Club, AAAHHH what a great place. one summer people i met through haikuster invited me up, it was grand. simply grand. sometimes i sit and think of the places i have been with the people i know, and have known and it boggles my mind, especially because i have not been much of a knockabout. i mean there are so many other places i have to go. one nite at a party in the city, kerri and i were sitting on this terrace at her friend marissa's aunt's penthouse, on 72nd and the west side highway. we were on this lounge chair that is possibly the most comfortable lounge chair i have ever sat in, and looking at the building of manhattan, she, sitting behind me, i between her legs my head on her chest. just in the quiet. yes it actually was quiet. then inside, you look out these windows that go from waist height all the way up to the ceiling, and you look out onto the hudson, with the George Washington Bridge all lit up and twinkling. i felt like i was almost in the great gatsby. dancing, dinner, drinks, no one was dressed up or anything, but its, huh, it was wonderful. the park right outside the building was Riverside park, you could see Morningside Heights, thats where Columbia is. so many brilliant minds haunt that neighborhood. writers, painters, scientists, humans, all people. wow i just realized this post is really rambling on, almost crazily. well the weather is foggy, and the street lights in long beach, the west end are glowing differently tonite, you know when you get excited seeing and hearing people mulling around, walking in packs to go out and begin the nites festivities, i look down new hampshire and think how i used to start my nites at kerris, and we would all be on the porch, drinking, talking, in groups, in twos, and you could hear the ocean, see, and smell it in the dark, and then off to beech street to the inn, or saloon, or minnesotas, or trainors, or tiki bar, and see everyone from the beach that day, burned, tanned, drunk, going home, meeting people, and then we would go home. go to bed, and i would wake up happy, content, cause she sleeps with a smile on her face, seriously, a smile. i told her that and she didn't really believe me. but its true. yes i am missing her terribly right now. just got an email from her she'll be in bed all weekend, got the flu. my roomates girlfriend just had it too, kinda late i would think for that but oh well. of course i hope she gets better, but i am glad i wont run into her. block party time tomorrow!!!!!! yee haw! im psyched. kentucky st has their party tomorrow, so does wyoming and the beach end of illinois. its going to be a busy day. well i am going to go now, i have to get ready, going out with my roomate and his brother and his girlfriend. Rockville Centre it is tonite peeps, not like you probably know where that is, its a small village where everyone pops their collars. i don't know if that is catching on at home, but god it is here, i am anti pop, how about YOU??? let me know

the timbers stand silent
protruding through the surface of
the great Hudson's waters, in defiance,
in remembrance,
as grave markers of an era
long since passed

time has passed,
yet it never fails to jar a
tear from a cloudless eye,
to stir a shudder from these still bones, this,
crisp repeat of the honour guard salute.
through the humid heats of summer,
the blistering colds of winter slumber,
the dewey splendor of springs bloom,
the regal colours of fall's spectacular,
the airmen, the soldier, the sailor and
the marine stand, starched, pressed crisp in
uniform attention, paying tribute, respect
to a fallen comrade of today, and to those
who have come before,
while a weeping bugle's brassy notes
take flight at grave's edge

i have realized a major reason why i have a problem writing sometimes. i am afraid to be honest with my pen, with my keystroke. it sounds like it should be a bit easier, at least i think it should. especially if it is in one of my notebooks which i keep close. they are really nice notebooks too. one is and Astral from London. the paper is exquisite, and it is bound in a leather case with a tie and my initials stamped on the outside. it reminds me of something indiana jones might have used. the other one is a moleskin. its about the size of a pocket bible, and people have actually mistaken it for that. it has a bookmark, and a band that snaps around the outside. the most coolest feature of it is that on the back cover, it has a pocket, like an expandable filefolder pocket that opens up. i usually keep my train ticket in there or if i am out and come by a phone number, it gets neatly tucked away in there. anyways back to the honesty. sometimes it feels like the honesty will not be grand enough, not moving, not "smart" enough. kind of ridiculous i know. its scary trying to be honest. you are revealing everything, your innermost thoughts, and looking for honesty back in return, though honestly you don't want to hear negative feedback, no matter how constructive. no one REALLy wants to be told their inner most thoughts are ok, or well no good, or what have you. there are times when i sit down to write and i start and i am like FUCK this is stupid, this sucks, its so simple, so uninteresting, who would like this. rather than just keep writing, which is what i should do, i just put down the pen, put away my typewriter, or logout. my most productive period was about 2 years ago, and i am talking sheer volume, i wrote close to a 100 poems or so in about a 2 month span. some suck, some really good. the other day while i was cleaning i opened one of the composition tablets that i had wrote in and was like wow, i love this poem, wow this one sucks, what was i thinking. or this could be good. for awhile i never believed in revising poetry, then i thought about it and realized how many people do revise poetry. Whitman did it for sure. many of his poems evolved through the many editions of leaves of grass. i guess i just figured when it comes out, its pristine, thats it. i think that train of thought has lost its argument with me though. cause i have gone back and altered some of my work and liked the changes better than the original piece. however still keeping the original so as to see the evolution. speaking of Whitman i was going to go to his house today, but kerri's b-day took precedent, plus i am waiting for that offer sheet from the city job trough fed ex. maybe i'll go tomorrow afternoon if it comes. nothing ever changes at the Whitman house, but i just get this really good feeling when you are there. the museum is interesting. has the press he used when he ran the eagle, a political paper in Brooklyn. and has the desk he taught from in i think it was woodbury, or maybe westbury, either one is on the north shore of his beloved paumanok. the inidian name for long island. i usually go once a year. its across from the shopping mall that bears his name. originally having i think 144 acres (prbly wrong on that figure) now has a plot a bit bigger than a a residence in the suburbs. anyways back to the honesty. i really should try it. i think it will take a lot of discipline. i mean especially when writing about my emotions. i was just reading a e.e.cummings love poem, and thinking how in the hell did he come up with that stuff. honesty, has to be. i have done it before, not nearly as well as someone like him, but it has happened. and what a feeling when it happenes, goose bumps, you are like thats the shit! yes! i'm fucking brilliant, and you want to share. its like you hit a home run, round the bases and stomp on home plate and jump into the arms of your teamates celebrating wildly. it really could be that close. well i think i might stroll down the street for a few beers, kinda feeling ancy, restless. probably cause i have done nothing nor seen anyone since i left kerri's around noon.