"melancholy maybe but not sad"

the jukebox is currently rockin “The Very Best of Ray Charles”

i have no idea what the fuck is up with my current mood. some real life shit that was messin me up bad is gettin resolved.

poetry is currently on cruise control. i have not written anything significant lately but thats probably cuz i dont have any significant features in the future. in fact, i have NO features set up. my off the top of the head reaction to this… YAY!

instead of writing poetry, i am reading like a mufuckah. MILES is almost done and its flooding me with a host of new definitions as to what the term artist means. niles is all kinds of honest and detailed when it comes to certain stories and can remember some damn things clear as day. he also lays it down hardest when talkin about his own life and art. yeah, i am definitely feelin this book. more later…

starting to form some thoughts on ego and its role in my personal art. (miles is helpin me on some of this too) this is going to be one great big fuckin rant that most of you are going to skip over once i hit paragraph eight but thats cool and shit.

thank god that i am surrounded by some wonderful people that let me at least smile on the outside. (sratch that) y’all genuinely make me smile and help me keep my sanity. i love being me around y’all.
it all comes out in one way or another and thats why i am really pensive right now. my moods make me retreat inward and start cutting off my ties to some of these great people. i am tryin hard to fight this (un?)natural pattern in my life and stay in the light amongst the living but its rough.

tuesday, after an incredible day of seeing a couple tie the knot in central park, sharing chino-latino (the waiter chastised me for not just ordring by the special number- DING! the inside joke bell rang real hard), walkin down broadway in the summer heat, catchin BATMAN on the Imax screen, reading some comics, tears at the customer service counter, the dispelling of tears on broadway with some good natured ribbin, krispy kreme and milk, more chino-latino, more ribbin, fuckin wit people, walkin along central park under the wrinkled face of the moon and in the end, being by myself.

and thats where i lost it. walking through eight ave at midnite. the dark streets. lookin for trouble. almost finding it. a well timed email response let me detach myself enough to stay away from my old stompin grounds and get back to a good book.

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