Friday, April 13, 2012


PS (Just not for penguins.)

Introspection? It's a b9tch. Honestly. How do you take a photo of the landscape inside your head?  All you've got is some kind of  strange glow or maybe a graph.  How do I show you the color of cerulean in my head?  Even the Pantone scale could be different for you than it is to me.

How do I show you the color of love?   Is it green or is it read like "cheeries"? 

What color is "sunsilly" anyway?

I've waited so long to take this trip.  Then you didn't come with me so I had to go alone.  It's just been so long and I've come so far. I'm too far. Can't even hear you in my head anymore.  What if I've gone so far that the "gravity" of you has no pull any more. What if I'm free?  Is this what I want? To be so far out there that you are only a dim star. A dim memory?  If I go back will you pull me back in or have I changed?

I remember you, Penguin. Your love of the cold and your happy feet. The sound of you dancing across the linoleum in the morning. How could you be so chipper and so cold at the same time. I asked you, "Are you dancing to beat the cold?" You looked at me but didn't answer. You never did. It was our down fall. All that silence eclipsed every happy beat.


Come one penguins. Please. Please read my blog.

Then? I can close up shop. Go off into the Internet sunset happy.





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