matthew shepard martyr magic or (msm)m by Sam Sax

before they pen your name into law
and erase the last byrd on earth
i hear you were a boy.

though their throats often cast
childhood like faggot into
brimstone.

those 22 years of dying
could be called experience.

We Are the World (today and 25 years ago)

For Haiti

For Africa

I feel like I haven't been able to sleep properly in over a week. I'm so tired. But I can't fall asleep. I wake before my alarm does. Naps are not a possibility. Today: Everything is slightly dream-like, and I cannot write words on a page necessary to pass classes. I feel no purpose. Drive. Energy. Reason for doing anything, except staring at the walls or scenes flashing by on a television show. I'm not depressed. But I'm not full of golden beams of inspirational peace. I feel lost. I need to get out of my room, but no where sounds interesting enough to go. Piles of drab snow build cobwebs around my soul. I don't care about anything. Except falling sleep.

Flirt

I'm an addict.
I didn't know if I could come up here and say these words.
I'm addicted to flirting.

Fishies :-)

Claudia hooked me up with three lovely guppies (I think that's what they are called) and a slew of snails. I'm very excited! I've been trying to think of what to name the fish (The Three Musketeers seemed to glorify violence too much for my taste). Although I don't believe in the traditional, literal implications of Buddhist mythology, I'm completely intrigued by mythology in general. When it comes to Buddhist mythology, it is very easy for me to transfer their words of a literal spiritual presence into a metaphor for what the particular bodhisattva represents. I also believe in the power of our choices, and what sort of energy we choose to put out into the world.

With this in mind, when I found the name Tara I was pretty excited.

Sunlight for the soul--forget chicken soup

Something I need:

(from post secret)

And something I like: 

(Andrea Gibson)

For her

A few lines taken from Andrea Gibson's Photograph.

"I hope the stars are kissing your cheeks tonight
I hope you finally found a way to quit smoking
I hope your lungs are open and breathing your life
I hope there's a kite in your hand
that's flying all the way up to orion
and you still got a thousand yards of string to let out
I hope you're smiling
like god is pulling at the corners of your mouth
cause I might be naked and lonely
shaking branches for bones
but I'm still time zones away
from who I was the day before we met."