Personal note - On where I am

http://cherishme.stumbleupon.com

Catch up there.

Life is…well.   It’s life.

Aidin. 

 

Personal Note - on not being dead

I’m not!  Really!  

I’m in the new home but it appears as if parts of my computer are missing.   My keyboard and mouse, to be specific.   I’m looking, but it’s Christmas and there is so much to do.   Last week was eight million sugar cookies week.   Well, not eight million, really, but damned close.

Right now I’m at the local library.   Just checking in to let all of my friends know I still exist. 

I’ll be back.   Swear.

 Much love;

Aidin 

 

Personal Note - on moving

Life here is hectic of late. I’m moving. Found a beautiful little three bedroom ranch in a quiet neighborhood and to get it I had to jump fast. As a result, all of my free time is full of packing, packing, and, yeah, more packing. So, I’ll be diconnected for awhile. Perhaps two weeks time. Not sure. I’m not gone for good. Just gone for the good. If that makes sense.

Much love;

Aidin

 

Fairytale - Sara Bareilles

 

New England

New England, it is.
One night and a wish.
My hands in your hair.
Your hands on my hips.
The friction of denim.
Cotton sparking in black.
The thrill of the heat.
The arch of my back.
A weakening of knees.
A shiver of skin.
Just open your life.
I want to walk in.

 

Personal Note - I’m not dead

I’m not dead.   YAY!   Well, for some of you, YAY!  For others, I am sure that brought forth a resounding, “Aw, fuck.”

Yeah.  Not dead.   Living.   Reality kinda living.

Family emergency but all is well.   I’ll be back.  Eventually.  But, for right now…

Living.

 

What I Know

Dearest man of my heart;

I know that words from me are as insubstantial as smoke.

I know that my promises are one shade of purple short of black for I’ve bent and broken far too many.

I know that my need for you is an iridescent vibration of truth.

I know that I feel you, crsytalline, at my very core.

I know that weeks might go by without word from you but when that silence breaks it’s like the fertile smell of soil beneath a chrome-yellow sun.

I know that I taste that welcome sound of you like a flavor of air; hot, like sun-scorched blacktop.

I know that I long to be saturated in you; taken into the darkest of your waters until day sours towards bitter twilight.

I know that one day we shall dance beneath cotton sheets, graceful as starlight at the edge of night, for we, you and I, are meant to be.

I know that I love you.

Now tell me, love, what do you know?

 

Sorry - Buckcherry

I love love love love love this.

 

Wait There

Wait there
for the moon-silver landscape.
Wait there
as it pulls all shadows east.
Wait there
as the night floods with crimson.
Wait there
as the leaves sweep the streets.

 

Braids of Yellow

Weathered rocks, asleep and dreamy,
hard as iron, gritty gray.

 

Basted sky, with braids of yellow,
breathe a breath of brand new day.

 

I stand in light, no longer warming,
minutes burning, time aflame.

 

My heart, it thunders like a herd;
you’ve left and I am not the same.