odd title i guess, but i was watching the movie before i started this so there. i hope everyone is recovering from last nite's festivities. i am sure most had a good time. i did. went out as an 'ensemble' my buddy brian was andre the giant, his girlfriend was hulk hogan and i was rowdy roddy piper. lotta fun. went to a costume party and then out to the bars. it really should be halloween once every season or something. people seem to relax, open up and let their guard down. work is going really well. crazy busy. i am just trying to learn the job really well so that when the time comes, i will be able to move up. reading a separate peace right now by john knowles. one of my favorites. i have so much to say, but just don't want to write i guess. ever feel like that?

hurtling along the expressway, up from
the south shore of long island
it came into view as i ascended upon the rise
around kissena ave.
first the worlds fair, and i felt as if i could
carry the globe myself.
it was a beautiful sun day Saturday.
and the city had audrey hepburn, and
george peppard written all over it.
it is never tiring, the city, the way she looks.
timeless really.
under the river i went, popping out in the middle
of the quiet weekend noise.
Midtown never looks as good,
as it does on a beautiful fall weekend.
people strolling along the avenue, holding hands,
walking dogs, sitting, drinking coffee
morning jogs.
the pushcarts roll infront of their
vendors along the streets
and i think of pea shooters and intense battles from
a book of my childhood.
i cross the rock inbetween the hudson, the east river the long, thin finger like
rock that whitman sang his praises about so long ago.
and down beneath the other river and out into
jersey.
i leave the city behind, pressing on
into the heart of the garden state.
i day dream of love lost, and love yet
to be found. i dream of dances among
candle lit evenings, alone, the two of us.

love, it is something that is on my mind of late. finding love, losing love, it finding us when we are least expecting it. how does one measure love? is it how many mornings you wake up with your arms wrapped around someone, face buried in her beautiful hair. is it how many tears wet ones pillow in the quiet of nite after losing that person? just a quick blurt, work's going well and everything else is good, strange, on hold, in limbo.

Roger water was awesome! the show rocked. there was only one "lull" in the show i could have done with out. well i am not sure if everyone knows, but i am not a big fan of the current administration. however, when i go to a show, i don't want it shoved in my face that bush sucks. i will say he did bash ole tony blair too, but awww......michigan just picked ND....i gotta go. yeah finish the story later

i too dream of canadian nites
with the quiet hum of american radio
purring over the heaters keeping the windows
from frosting over, keeping us from seeing
our breath in the car.
we pull over to the roadside bars,
stomping our boots free of the slush and
snow, shaking the cold off
our sholders as we walk in the door,
ready to drink, and laugh
and feel the soft hips and cheeks
of rosy lipped girls. with sweet lovey doed
eyes, knowing no more, no less than we.
all ready to dance, listen to juxeboxes
belt out the tunes that are the songs
we will dance to, fall in love to,
discover the wonders of our bodies to.
maybe all in the same nite for those lucky
enough.
the wind of our youth, hitchhiking
from the coasts, cross the prairies, navigating
the mountain passes as the heavy winter
skies clear and the brown moon climbs higher in the sky
cleaning itself off, whiter than the freshly fallen snow
some stand outside watching their breath pass
in the air, cold, sharp as glass, the breath so heavy
casting a shadow neath the moonlite.
the bar door opens, closes, and the smells of smoke, beer
sweat drift slowly out on the sounds of
clinking glasses and racous laughter and bop.
the light from within is soft, muted by the dark ruddy leathers,
the heavy stained woods worn from the coat sleeves
of men stopping off on their long wild rides into frontiers of
the provinces, the west.
these canadian nites are american nites too.
the border, the only thing that seperates the people.
but it doesn't really, cause' the wind skips free, dancing the dervish
of wild lusty youth.