rethreading the needle

I decided it was time for a change around here.  Not just the colors, but the name itself!  A misnomer I’ve been itching to fix. The name never reflected the content, so I vowed to one day rectify that duplicity. Now that day has come! Unfortunately, the few of you who read this thing will now encounter a broken link. Hopefully we’ll reconnect at some point.

I’m trying to rediscover my writing voice. I temporarily lost it along the way somewhere. Or rather, I stopped using it as much and it faltered, got rusty, dried up, whatever. But I feel the words welling up again, surging toward my fingertips. And I’m hoping that as they travel through me their flow will act as a salve to the ugly welts that have sprung up in my psyche.

a prelude

Acrid winds from the past barely flutter past these days. It’s been longer than I can remember stillness such as this. Meditation in the moment comes more easily and more frequently, not always lacking in blackened tinges, but welcome nonetheless. And yet the rudderless voyage remains: the spinning in place, the lack of any one singular focus. I can’t ever tell if this is just my fate or my fatal flaw. The present state is not a bitter complacency such as I’ve tasted before, but still I feel tugs and yanks from deeper, richer corners of my psyche: roiling wells that have been tapped before and bubble over in anticipation of release again.


I really don’t have much to say. I’ve been dealing with an extremely frustrating situation that has drained my energy and sapped all creativity out of me. I am like a piece of bleached driftwood, weathered and dull grey from the crashing waves. I’m weary of living in the too-close vicinity of hostile thoughtless human beings. I want my own castle, and I want to build a moat around it to keep out everyone except those who I choose to allow entrance. I am trapped and I don’t like being trapped. I feel exhausted and powerless. I just want peace and quiet. I too easily absorb the energy in my surroundings and this is a heavy burden.

In better news, the first new bird of the New Year was spotted at Patuxent River State Park on January 3rd. It was a Golden-crowned Kinglet. First spotted by my good friend AR, then ID’d by me. That takes care of the kinglets for me (there are only two). I spotted the Ruby-crowned Kinglet at Lake Roland one day back in the early fall. It landed about a foot away from me. I’m getting better at IDing birds based on their behavior. When we first spotted the bird, I immediately thought it might be a kinglet because of its size (they’re tiny) and how it was moving. They hover along branches to feed, rarely pausing at all.

and the culling song plays…

>They’ve made the first cull…the names whispered in the hallways…everyone wondering when their heads will be the next to roll. And I’m out there on the fringes of a flat plain, aloof as always, examining with a critical eye where the tracks dead-end in a patch of overgrown crabgrass. Déjà vu anticipation of a second slow-motion derailment. Panicky and unconcerned all at once. Head stuffed with bird feathers, bike grease, and unwritten words.

>light through a crack

>this morning the sky hung apocalyptic above me. i rode through the streets, the air mild around me, and felt good. it has been awhile. i’m not sure what exactly is wrong. maybe i just hate the winter. maybe i keep sabotaging myself. maybe the constant tension is necessary. actually i know it is. the rubber band stretched across my heart dials me in to where I need to be. but the synaptic gaps cannot widen too far or all will be lost.

coughing up words

>There is no glory in cynicism, only smug satisfaction. In these times, though, there is always tension. Tension in mind, tension in life. Tension like taut twine tying together these moments. Moments of uncertainty. Moments of elation and moments of despair. Pure moments of love. And pure moments of complete and utter bafflement at what life is about and what to make of it.

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