My tongue is in my hand…

Archive for June 2009

My dad just told me a great quote my grandfather used to say to them (dad and his brothers) all the time growing up: “The whiskey glass and a woman’s ass have ruined many a good man”. That’s some Bible belt farmer wisdom right there…


Why does it always feel like starting is the hard part? I guess that’s true for a lot of things. Anyways, what is it I’m wanting to say right now? Something about this music and wine and blackberry incense. I think, if we really look close enough at the things we surround ourselves with, we will see people in all of them. There’s a person in the bottle of wine, someone in the incense, someone in the music. There’s a person in this laptop. The people that affect us affect us in so many ways.

I just walked outside to get my laptop from the car. I love the sticky air of North Carolina. Granted, other places have sticky air, but it’s not the same as North Carolina’s; can’t be. I was driving with the windows down the other day, trying to figure out the words that go with the air. How would you describe the weight of it? The cool thickness of it when you drive between the old, tall trees and the overgrown honeysuckle of a back road right before the sun sets? What are the words for that?

I got the CD I’m listening to right now in the mail today. The Royal Greens. I ordered it online, via their myspace. The package had my address handwritten and I remembered how much you see in handwriting. I forgot about that. I forgot about writing and reading handwritten letters. There’s something so much more intimate about that. I miss that. I’ve been trying to think of someone to write ever since. Someone who could and would write me back, on paper. It’s a lot harder than it used to be. Not that I don’t have the friends. I’ve got a beautiful combination of friends, absolutely. There doesn’t seem much need for letters between us. Of course, I think we say things in letters that we wouldn’t say otherwise, even on email. So, I could try…

That handwriting was a little ghost-like. Not the actual writing, just the shape of the letters, looked like something I’d seen before, something that made my heart crash around before. Or still. You know how it is with things like that.

It’s funny, the things I think about needing to write on during the days, when I sit down to do it, so much of it seems pointless.