tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33250453918331054372011-08-25T08:24:05.351-07:00A Spillway-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.comBlogger361100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-79056681923494144442011-02-01T00:17:00.000-08:002011-02-01T00:23:34.555-08:00It's been longer, I said, than I ever thought it would be.<div>Until time would bring me back to seeing you.</div><div>Clearly, I left wanting. I left needing something</div><div>You would not condescend to give to me.</div><div>So only now, when I am full</div><div>When I remember how it feels to not hunger</div><div>And peace is painted lightly on my brow</div><div>I need to find her. And tell her.</div><div><br /></div><div>I thought my world would end when you left me waiting</div><div>I thought I'd never be the same.<br />Swore since I was 16, I'd never ever be happy</div><div>Until you gave up and ran to me</div><div><br /></div><div>But somewhere, behind me.</div><div>Blindsided, blindly</div><div>Stumbling into love.</div><div>In no way I ever thought</div><div>I would recover, no</div><div>She's not you but</div><div>I'm happier anyway now.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-7905668192349414444?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-20869627377412795422010-11-28T01:14:00.000-08:002010-11-28T01:18:11.472-08:00I am vincible: I have to remind myself<div>That I could die like anybody else</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm a narcissist underneath all the layers of it</div><div>The bastion I built up to keep the panic down.</div><div><br /></div><div>I can't see any longer into me</div><div>Plumbed the depths, came up for air</div><div>And nobody should ever go down there</div><div>Hidden mines to keep me safe up here.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am mortal: a coil unwinding</div><div>Losing tension ever on the spring</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm an addict, to say the best of it</div><div>But the habit keeps me sane when I am weak.</div><div><br /></div><div>I can't see any longer into me</div><div>Plumbed the depths, came up for air</div><div>And nobody should ever go down there</div><div>Laid traps to keep me safe and way up here.</div><div><br /></div><div>Resolute to Leave it Be.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-2086962737741279542?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-15684218190119669652010-11-16T09:28:00.001-08:002010-11-16T09:38:19.410-08:00I do not want to<div>Face up to this<div>The blank-eyed yawning</div><div>That stares at me</div><div>From every angle</div><div>I know how this will seem</div><div><br /></div><div>I can sleep anywhere,</div><div>Love anyone</div><div>Be anything</div><div>I can become </div><div>A monster if I haven't already.</div><div><br /></div><div>Something in these red pills</div><div>Holds my eyes from turning in</div><div>I can't touch the holes</div><div>Oh no, they will not let me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Honesty for everyone</div><div>But lie myself, to me</div><div>Call foul when I</div><div>Can't see but feel</div></div><div>What's been coming</div><div><br /></div><div>Hold it in, and</div><div>Bottle it down</div><div>Tomorrow I will heal</div><div>If tomorrow I</div><div>Wake up and I'm not me</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-1568421819011966965?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-50440670858466054832010-08-17T10:31:00.000-07:002010-08-17T10:42:51.952-07:00The trouble of it all<div>is that trouble creates-</div><div>Makes great things</div><div>Bends limber minds</div><div>To new depth or</div><div>Height of ecstasy.</div><div><br /></div><div>My worry is that</div><div>The cost of peace</div><div>is art.</div><div>Can happiness</div><div>Coexist</div><div>with creation.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here, the jury is hung.</div><div>Swinging between</div><div>This and that one-</div><div>whether withering</div><div>is worth the</div><div>product of its</div><div>pain.</div><div><br /></div><div>This lacks a rhyme,</div><div>A reason, a scheme,</div><div>or something to say.</div><div>It's simply breathing.</div><div>Knowing no amount</div><div>of letting out</div><div>light breaths</div><div>paints dark words</div><div>onto the page.</div><div><br /></div><div>But must an art</div><div>lack light-</div><div>am I capable of</div><div>pushing past the</div><div>lucidity, clearly</div><div>seeing, deeply</div><div>living like</div><div>one who is actually alive.</div><div><br /></div><div>The side effect,</div><div>not warned of on the bottle,</div><div>is that my conscience</div><div>has come back to roost.</div><div>Ought to, and ought not</div><div>are oddly stuck back</div><div>into a vocabulary</div><div>void of them before</div><div>a pretty pink pill</div><div>pulled the plug</div><div>on the drain of the tub.</div><div><br /></div><div>Draining me of...what?</div><div>Of whatever it was that</div><div>I thought was me.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's not a quarter-life crisis,</div><div>It's the existential price</div><div>of peace: not knowing who is me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Id, ego, superego</div><div>there we go again around</div><div>the same sad bush</div><div>hacked bloodily down</div><div>to afford my brain a</div><div>better view of the world.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sunk in colors,</div><div>confused, unused to</div><div>knowing how to be alright.</div><div>I have lived long in tunnel,</div><div>and I am blinking at the light</div><div>on the other side.</div><div><br /></div><div>More of me each day</div><div>desires nothing more than</div><div>to return again to the</div><div>cool, shadowy confines</div><div>of that arching, cobbled roof</div><div>that, like a cell held my</div><div>soul so well.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have stepped beyond myself-</div><div>Into something deep,</div><div>and yet so shallow.</div><div>So devoid of depth un-literal,</div><div>so absorbed in what is real,</div><div>that I have forgotten</div><div>how to find the door to</div><div>un-reality again.</div><div><br /></div><div>Bisected, pressed,</div><div>Powder-pink</div><div>cylindrical chemical</div><div>blues-eraser,</div><div>with a water chaser.</div><div><br /></div><div>I swallow twice a day,</div><div>and watch me slip away.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-5044067085846605483?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-35164680366666215822010-02-17T14:51:00.000-08:002010-02-23T10:47:02.675-08:00Three mistakes I made while knowing you<br />That I could survive the yawning blue<br />That I was irreplaceable and you<br />Would love me, long as I kept loving you<br /><br />Line after line, I'd sit and write<br />Pining away with a pen to the page<br />Verse after verse Until I<br />Start to curse your name.<br />Sonnets and songs, laments and lullabies<br />All my words blurred when I learned<br />That God would take all my letters<br />But he'd never have you return.<br /><br />Three mistakes I made while knowing you<br />That I would survive the yawning blue<br />That I was irreplaceable and you<br />Would love me, long as I kept loving you<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-3516468036666621582?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-12761727782104947052010-01-20T13:08:00.000-08:002010-01-20T15:17:21.497-08:00What's the word?<br />Tell me quick-can't you see that I'm cold<br />Been out in the storm, waiting my turn<br />Wet up to my neck, waiting for her<br /><br />So something's changed<br />Just months ago, I'd have let this all be<br />Happy for the smell of just the icing<br />But now I want the bitter along with the sweet<br /><br />I'd freeze this moment if I could<br />Flawed though this and we both are<br />I feel something stir<br />Something in your eyes won't let me go<br />And I don't care how long it takes<br />I'll wait until I can't wait anymore<br /><br />Can you stand<br />The way you're such a terrible pair<br />It makes me weary, even from here<br />I can see that you're worth ten of him<br /><br />In such a slim chance<br />I could set you free and we'd be happy<br />That's of all that I've been dreaming<br />Since I first saw you holding out your hand<br /><br />I'd freeze this moment if I could<br />Flawed though this and we both are<br />I feel something stir<br />Something in your eyes won't let me go<br />And I don't care how long it takes<br />I'll wait until I can't wait anymore<br /><br />I'm done giving up<br />I'll wait until I win<br />and I don't care the cost for him<br />I want to give her more.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-1276172778210494705?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-27969998408627826692010-01-07T14:08:00.001-08:002010-01-08T10:30:49.063-08:00Somewhere mid-step<br />My throat caught my breath<br />And the earth caught me.<br />I'm fighting the feel but<br />The tremors take me<br />while I plead.<br /><br />So I dance in the leaves<br />Wishing they would swallow me<br />Writhe on my back<br />And the panic runs free<br />Yeah I scream at the trees<br />But they never fall on me<br />The sickness has come<br />Please hold my life for me<br /><br />I've heard demons expelled<br />From the church; on a couch.<br />My God is watching me.<br />But no matter the whispers<br />My captor laughs in me.<br /><br />People say I need faith<br />Or they'll have to medicate<br />But they have no faith in me.<br />They're scared of the way<br />I'm not scared to<br />Sit and shake.<br /><br />Look straight ahead at the sky<br />So dry, my eyes, see blue and white<br />Dappling me in shadows deep<br />And cold, my eyes<br />Look straight ahead at the sky<br />I spit and shake and scream for life<br />Why this sad traveller<br />What could I have done alright<br /><br />Do you think that it's fun<br />That all I'm hiding from<br />Trickles from my brain<br />Tell me how to escape<br />Something from which I can't<br />Run away<br /><br />So I dance in the leaves<br />One day they might swallow me<br />And I'd end this hell that<br />Wells from inside me. But,<br />For now I scream at the trees<br />God, how I hate the ever-feeling<br />That this all runs in my veins<br />That this all has become today<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-2796999840862782669?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-77218220768718964422009-12-18T00:01:00.000-08:002009-12-18T00:39:25.818-08:00If Connor sings to me<br />Then Connor sings to you<br />And all things being the same<br />I think you'll see what I mean<br />When I say:<br />Love what life you have to live<br />Most days I think and miss most of it<br />Still standing still makes me a monolith<br />Strong in the way that I don't get<br />Any of what matters<br />Breathing, dying in and out<br />The water that connects our souls...<br /><br />And I would like to say<br />That I started to heal today<br />I packed my bag with discontent<br />Malice, all my avarice<br />Reached deep, removed<br />And unstrung pain and panic<br />Folded all that's prurient<br />Made space for loneliness<br />Lust and laziness in tow...<br /><br />And I would like to say<br />That I sent that bag away<br />On any device that could carry the weight<br />Of the 10,000 pounds I can't put down today<br />Yes I wish I could say<br />That I had made an escape<br />But I only fell over and into the waves<br />With these 10,000 pounds making sure that I sank.<br /><br />Throw out a line<br />For it's late, and I'm tired<br />And the dark stretches deep<br />O-ver and un-der me<br />Though I cannot see<br />What swims underneath<br />I can feel it coming<br />So hungry for me<br /><br />Throw out a light<br />For I'm so dark inside<br />And I need the fire<br />More and more every hour<br />As my fingers left<br />The air for the depths<br />I wished I'd have gasped<br />More air for that breath<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-7721822076871896442?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-78153605124219849542009-12-15T21:44:00.000-08:002009-12-15T22:03:20.745-08:00When did I disconnect<br />The power to the tie<br />Let go of the life<br />In holding onto it<br />I singed my hair<br />I felt the panic well<br />So I let it go to hell<br />I undid my mind<br /><br />From this close distance,<br />You can dissect the minutes<br />You can unravel how I got here<br />But from this moment<br />I don't feel I miss it<br />And that's what makes me scared<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-7815360512421984954?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-58081510860773680672009-11-25T14:40:00.000-08:002009-11-25T14:42:27.146-08:00You want to see me under your pin<br />Weighed down and motionless<br />In shadow-boxes<br />You want to see me inside and out<br />Know all my inner thoughts<br />And every doubt<br /><br />You say I hurt you when I don't say<br />You say I hurt you when I don't tell<br />You say I hurt you when I don't say<br />Well maybe I don't know, myself.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-5808151086077368067?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-11675662820298886402009-11-23T15:30:00.000-08:002009-11-23T15:35:20.773-08:00You can run<br />Travel 'round the world<br />In a big balloon<br />See people-see places<br />You never thought you'd want to<br />Watch the animals<br />All grow old at your end<br />And fly over all<br />The trouble happenin'<br /><br />High-low, High low<br />High-low, High low<br />High-low-High<br />(etc.)<br /><br />You can get by<br />Living in the city<br />With a match<br />And some gasoline<br />Trying to find out<br />What all of these signs mean<br />From the valleys:<br />See the mountains<br />From the mountaintops,<br />there's more valleys<br />Even if you stood<br />still, the earth<br />Would move<br />underneath<br /><br />High-low, High low<br />High-low, High low<br />High-low-High<br />(etc.)<br /><br />Tramp-tramp-tramp<br />Around the colums<br />For dear old<br />Ma-Mizzou<br />Like passion's<br />In a bottle<br />Could you pour me<br />A glass or two<br />Where I come from's<br />The only place I want to go<br />Find a home, find a home<br />Find a home, find a home<br />I can't ever find a home<br />It's all just High-High low<br /><br />High-low, High low<br /> High-low, High low<br /> High-low-High<br /> (etc.)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-1167566282029888640?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-3045116995703646372009-11-23T15:19:00.000-08:002009-11-23T15:44:13.938-08:00There's a freedom in knowing<br />Extactly how we are<br />It's a game that's been going<br />On for years now, back too far<br />There's a freedom in feeling<br />So tired of all of this<br />Like I know that I won't<br />Ever return to what I miss<br /><br />I'm a paddleball on a string<br />And you're just playing, playing with me<br />I'm made of rubber–you're made of wood<br />And things haven't stuck<br />Like I'd hoped they would<br />I'm pushing away.<br />You're pulling me back.<br />And this isn't fun,<br />But I'm so attached.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">It's been a long time now</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Since I've said a word to you</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">I spend all my time trying</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">To forget how I want to</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I ran to the mountains<br />With no thought of looking back<br />But now that I've got out here<br />All I want is to run back<br /><br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;">I'm a paddleball on a string</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And love is playin' a trick on me</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">I'm pushing away, you're pulling me back</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">To a time when I felt so relaxed</span><br /><br />Been gone for a while now<br />Started over somewhere new<br />Lost myself in the sunset<br />That always gave way to blue<br />I went to other cities (I went around the world)<br />Thought I could get away<br />But there aren't miles enough<br />For how I feel to ever change<br /><br />I'm a paddleball on a string<br />And you're just playing, playing with me<br />I'm made of rubber–you're made of wood<br />And things haven't stuck<br />Like I'd hoped they would<br />I'm pushing away.<br />You're pulling me back.<br />And this isn't fun,<br />But I'm so attached.<br /><br />Like a dog to a bone<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Like a cat to the bowl</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Like a child to a mother's arms</span><br />We are comin' right back where we are<br />We are ending up right where we start<br />Like I'm looking for home<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Like I'm wishing you didn't go</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">I'm writing a duet with you in mind</span><br />We all end up just right where we are<br />We have come right around to the start<br />We are happy right down to our hearts<br />And it isn't hard.<br /><br />There's a freedom in knowing<br />That I'll never leave<br />I'll grow 'till my bones are aged<br />And you'll be here with me.<br />Well I'll be the sinner<br />You be my saint.<br />And somehow together we'll make it through today.<br />Somehow together, we'll make it through always.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-304511699570364637?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-35236117448377616042009-11-23T15:08:00.001-08:002009-11-23T15:19:15.985-08:00Sixteen–I was just sixteen,<br />but I fell in love with a girl<br />We were too young<br />Oh we were just too young<br />So I told her that I had to go<br /><br />But what about the nights<br />that I waited up alone<br />What about the hours<br />we spent singing on the telephone<br />What about the way they say that<br />true love always waits<br /><br />And we could stay up all night<br />Trying to decide if this is right<br />But when I look into your eyes–<br />Green and true, I know we'll be just fine<br /><br />Four years<br />Oh give it just four years<br />Then come back and tell me not to go.<br />Baby I moved on;<br />I've been with other ones<br />So now tell me why I can't say "No."<br /><br />So what about the nights<br />That I felt so un-alone<br />What about the hours<br />Spent waiting on the telephone<br />What about the way they say that when<br />True love comes you should never walk away<br /><br />And we could stay up all night<br />Trying to decide if this is right<br />But when I look into your eyes<br />Green and true, oh I know that we'll be fine<br /><br />Yeah, we could stay up all night<br />Trying to decide if this is right<br />Oh we're standing on the edge of all we've<br />Ever wanted, So take my hand and let's jump off tonight<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-3523611744837761604?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-75654217326603519272009-11-23T14:45:00.001-08:002009-11-23T15:07:28.736-08:00When you find some peace of mind<br />You're reticent to let it go<br />This time I saw the signs<br />This time I watched your eyes<br /><br />Over when the light turns white<br />Suffering the constant puzzle<br />This time I saw the signs<br />This time I saw the signs<br /><br />Make me monolith<br />Make me black and tall<br />Immovable smooth and strong<br />Let me be and then be-not<br />Make me monolith<br />Let the hungry wonder<br />How I got buried down<br />Underneath so much rubble<br /><br />I've got blood on my mind and cold in my heart<br />Since I finally laid down with the devil I fought<br />You always saw the signs<br />You knew I would decline<br /><br />21 guns slid under my belt<br />I would call them blanks, but they hurt like hell<br />This time I saw the signs<br />Knew you'd be my demise<br /><br />Make me monolith<br />Make me black and tall<br />Immovable smooth and strong<br />Let me be and then be-not<br />Make me monolith<br />Let the hungry wonder<br />How I got buried down<br />Underneath so much rubble<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-7565421732660351927?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-17631645125584867802009-07-02T20:11:00.001-07:002009-07-02T20:25:24.639-07:00Take me down to the riverside<br />Give me water, and give me wine<br />Wash me in the parasites<br />My head's on too tight tonight<br /><br />And all I'm asking<br />Is for you to stay<br />All I need is<br />A body where I lay<br /><br />Strip me down by the fireside<br />Pull me out and put me right<br />Bare your teeth and shut the eyes<br />Rock me to the morning light<br /><br />And all I'm asking<br />Is will you be true<br />When I am gone<br />Will I stop loving you<br /><br />Kiss me in the car outside<br />Every angle burning bright<br />Reach and say goodbye tonight<br />Run to giants twice my size<br /><br />And all I wondered<br />Is now coming true<br />I'm in drive and<br />away from you<br /><br />Hang my neck from skin and bone<br />Feel the pulling tighter muscle<br />Wrap around my little home<br />Crush tomorrow on my own<br /><br />And all I'm asking<br />Is what did I say<br />Why'd I begin<br />Something to decay<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-1763164512558486780?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-12176511009198546572009-05-27T22:46:00.000-07:002009-05-27T23:03:37.080-07:00Swing in time<br />To rhythms-tight<br />Rhymed sick, soft and light<br />Take your toes up now boy drive them down<br />Where gas-pedals lead the bullet train from town<br /><br />I sit swinging, eating, steeped in<br />Memories that keep me underneath<br />The heavy world I did create<br />With too much thought in empty space<br />Drift from star to circumstance<br />With no life-line to cut the dance<br />I float and flotsam make the pace<br />As I ride fast in the refuse-race<br /><br />Steel be steel, and I'll be soft<br />Cut from the hip every time I draw<br />And all I wanted was to stop<br />But I relapse with every thought<br />I'll be hard from this day on<br />And stand alone without no-one<br />Take me back to ninety-two<br />When I knew better what I should do<br /><br />Swing in time<br />To rhythms-tight<br />Rhymed sick, soft and light<br />Take your toes up now boy drive them down<br />Where gas-pedals lead the bullet train from town<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-1217651100919854657?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-21845638460511832672009-04-06T23:38:00.001-07:002009-04-06T23:47:52.715-07:00Girl does it distress you that I<br />I can see right through you<br />To your very heart<br />No secrets you can keep from me<br />I see through everything<br />I see what you want<br /><br />Well you weigh and measure<br />Words and laughter<br />Sprinkle over our conversations but<br />Can you manufacture love<br />Or find the formula for bliss<br />If you planned it right<br />And played the right cards<br />Could you win me now<br />Could you steal my heart<br />Oh everything is artifical and you<br />Smell of a factory<br />Hovering over me<br /><br />Girl does it distress you that I<br />I can see right through you<br />To your very heart<br />No secrets you can keep from me<br />I see through everything<br />I see what you want<br />It's not very hard<br /><br />Show me why<br />I should love you baby<br />Crack my code and play me<br />Like how you think things are<br />I dare to disappoint<br />Buck the bell-line and the curve<br />Smart and hard enough to know<br />I'm not where you should go<br /><br />Oh I think you thought you saw in me<br />Something you wanted from your childhood<br />If I'm a prince than is this my bottle-steed?<br />Self-destructive royalty<br /><br />Girl does it distress you that I<br />I can see right through you<br />And I don't care to call<br />No secrets you can keep from me<br />I see through everything<br />No it's not very hard<br />And it's not what I want<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-2184563846051183267?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-52069772544020281812009-03-29T22:13:00.000-07:002009-03-29T23:02:15.250-07:00Do you wonder how I sing,<br />Croon about un-coupling<br />Clear, un-clouded notes that roll<br />Strike jarring on your bones<br /><br />when we got old<br />we got smart, but we got cold.<br />When I got old<br />I got wise or so I was told.<br /><br />-------------------------------------<br /><br />But finally, we laugh.<br />And the new walls flutter down<br />You throw your head back<br />And I can breathe deep now.<br />But for as long as it lasts<br />It all must always end,<br />And I can't rewind far enough<br />We got too close to come again.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-5206977254402028181?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-11388984466040012722009-03-17T23:28:00.000-07:002009-03-17T23:51:13.470-07:00Last night i shot the butterfly<br />and now with crooked neck I type<br />None of these lines ease my mind<br />But still I lie alone and write.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Skeletons </span>play in shimmering sweet<br />Reaching in their words to me<br />Here trapped inside a weary mind<br />That silence doesn't let unwind.<br /><br />When we were young I had a handle<br />On the life my mind described<br />But all the jumble twists and tangles<br />Took the vision from my eyes.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Skeletons</span> play out in the streets<br />Safe, I stay the same Inside<br />But telephones have taught me distance<br />The likes of which is never kind.<br /><br />Can I handle this unravelled<br />Jumbled bones where I reside<br />Wanting all the beauty but I'm<br />Caught in wanting other kinds.<br />We were young but I could handle<br />Living inside of this lime<br />But all the jumble twists and tangles<br />Slowly score their hit inside.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-1138898446604001272?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-88311926513492053672009-03-01T16:16:00.000-08:002009-03-01T16:28:39.754-08:00Turning over, blacklines on white raise ghosts that burrow in my eyes -I cannot see out, no I live in rewind. I'm under-whelmed and sunk-down in my older times. My alter-times, my alter-life burned white, rise high on thermals from my insides. Spilled over sidewalks grown rough with the time that I tread them but never gave caution a mind. This time is so brittle -it's crippled like my little-said often-wrong quibbles with syntax of sex-sad drugs and regret. Like rockstars we rise, high-headed we hide, sick bastards we lie in our burrowing bile. It sank when we swallowed and drained from our eyes as we closed fours-full fists and tore you aside.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-8831192651349205367?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-3890498454078039262009-02-04T16:46:00.000-08:002009-02-04T17:11:06.755-08:00Gold light<br />From the wind-she-ild<br />I can't see anything<br />The grey twists in ten-d-rils<br />Oh I breathe the smoke in<br />I taste the chem-i-cals<br />Feeling the warm wet blood<br />Dripping down my kuckles<br /><br />And I didn't feel warm<br />In the particular way<br />That I didn't feel too safe.<br />And I didn't feel cold<br />In the particular way<br />That I didn't feel the pain.<br /><br />Gold light<br />Tunneling in my eyes<br />Shining and dangerous<br />Shutting out all the white<br />The sounding is all too clear<br />And leaned back in aftermath<br />I cut up what man did make<br />I bent the metal back with you<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-389049845407803926?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-87639238472972430372009-01-10T15:43:00.000-08:002009-01-10T16:13:25.778-08:00I have returned. And in plaid no less.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">To whom it may concern:</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Standing on the edge of repetitious oblivion, on the edge of repeating oblivion, on the other edge of which of lies Something. I don't quite know what it is, but I think it's another semester. Naturally that's just the box for the true substance, but it is my final box.</span><br /><br />I have returned from Colorado, where I wore no plaid but now I'm wearing Plaid.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">To whosoever might not be conerned:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;">Be concerned! This indirectly Effects you.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span></span>Plaid plaid plaid<span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span>;<br /></span>Be so, somebody.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">To detractors:<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span>instead Try subtracting.<br /><br />P-l-a-i-d. Get it?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">To all and no one, in every particular order:<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;">Listen to what I am saying, for I will only say it forever. And if you listen just once (not Just Listen once)</span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;">, you</span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic;">will miss everything I tried to say with the silence between letters and music, in the silence between music and letters, and with the spaces between my teeth. Not that everything is beautiful, but that Nothing is -not nothing being absence but something, being something that is nothing. You will miss that we are nothing, and you will miss that you missed it, and go on missing until you lose track of your own (non)consequence and the absurdity that is/n't our chains of importance. The meaning of absence hangs in every particle between every particle and do not call it "air" although that might be the idea and point of it all...</span><br /><br />Stop. tumbling, Stop. stumbling, Stop. walking<br />Pay heed to their words, <span style="font-weight: bold;">just</span>-<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Don't listen to the voices.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-8763923847297243037?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-65367334587430757332008-10-22T00:30:00.000-07:002008-10-22T00:38:50.369-07:00(Now <span style="font-style: italic;">there</span> is a Woman), he thought, lying perched with legs akimbo -hips cocked and leaned to one side..."<span style="font-style: italic;">She</span> I could worship." Her hips also cocked, but placed below eyes...Eyes that could stop an army the way they go on forever. She is deep and still and her gaze is steady, she is firm and fair and strong...She is standing on the edge of eternity. She dares to look over.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-6536733458743075733?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-83934230049743961602008-10-17T15:40:00.000-07:002008-10-17T15:58:17.468-07:00This entire week, I was desperate to get away. Every time the burnt rust bricks of the buildings caught my eye, I cringed. I cringed more when I discovered they also lay beneath the black thick asphalt that had been spread on the street like cream cheese. I have some kind of defect that creates in me the desperate need to wander.<br /><br />Now I write this from home, or the in-between place that I'm still calling Home. School is hard, creativity is hard, writing music is hard, making friends is hard, holding onto friends is hard, working is hard, waking up is hard. After six or so weeks of this, I just had to get away -I came here looking for something easy. For that same embrace of roads and golden rays I came looking, and found nothing.<br /><br />I suppose after a while the life we're looking for doesn't exist anywhere. All we have to find is whatever we've made in the meantime. I just feel like I don't have much to go on right now. I've got no amazing city, I've got no more Hashinger, no more James' House, no more Exposure...I've got nothing left that I love. My friends have changed, I have changed, and now life will never be the same. I spent this week desperate to get away, and now i think all I wanted to do was to get close.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I am weak and I am wasting away</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Dry mouthed and silent</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Lying in a city built from memories</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Where I can't find my way around</span></span><br /><br />When do we begin to feel like we've won?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-8393423004974396160?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-33247326795795656122008-09-07T22:53:00.001-07:002009-01-10T16:14:47.521-08:00good post.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-3324732679579565612?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-44847701828938495112008-07-22T22:25:00.000-07:002008-07-22T22:31:47.339-07:00I don't need the devil, and I don't need God. I am raging inside of myself just fine on my own.<br /><br />I can shadow-box my thoughts with the best of them -except that these shadows punch back, and I don't need another side. Give me a mirror, or better yet, don't. I can wage this war mentally; inside my brain is where the hills will be seized and the forts taken. I will be the victor and I will be the casualty, and relief will lie low like a dried river. Water forever out of reach, thirst to rise and pitch the battle once again.<br /><br />And these men will whirl with disaster and dance through the deadly thirst.<br />And these nights will stink of the rot of order.<br />And these sheets will lie twisted and foul, tight from the wild legs of the courageous<br /> ,of the coward<br /> ,of me.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-4484770182893849511?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-50015321266099337532008-07-22T16:39:00.000-07:002008-07-22T16:53:04.119-07:00People who blog are people who have things to say.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-5001532126609933753?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-3093537294488483282008-07-06T13:42:00.001-07:002008-07-06T13:47:19.714-07:00The weekend has come, and is on its way away. I'm listening to Helgi Jonsson in my underwear, mulling over the weekend and the conversation i'm having in an hour. It is a fantastic life that we lead, and weekends like this remind me of that. The smallest pleasures that we miss in such a hurry, the soft talks on the porch and the feel of the heat. What we lose in our ever-hating, ever-hurrying, ever-having-ever-wanting ways. I want something different. Those bright colors, those singular looks, those breezes, those steps to slowing. I am blessed with the best of friends, and with the best of memories. These are the warm rooms to remember in winter, and the light that began the tunnel, for there is no end. There are those that give you life and those that take it -and these ones bring the life. There is no condemnation, there is clarity, there is honesty. There are flaws and there are dull moments. I just want my life to be as good as I remember it being.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-309353729448848328?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-38616630390550146062008-06-30T12:48:00.000-07:002008-06-30T13:00:03.039-07:00Well, today I really am not writing from Texas -our traveling trio returned around 9:30 last night, well-exhausted from an eventful trip. There was: painting, ponging, meeting, songing, driving and eating aplenty. Unfortunately I've returned home with some kind of phantom stomach ailment, which is why I am playing hooky from work today (well, calling in sick I mean). All in all I would label the adventure a success, in spite of those undesirable elements that always find ways to occur.<br /><br />This week will blaze by (knock on cyberspace), and the approaching weekend should be even better than the past one. The wayward nashville sons will be returning to the land of wheat and corn for all the fireworks and shennanigans we can muster (along with, of course, the Amanda Coon KBF extravaganza).<br /><br />I watched "Wristcutters: A Love Story" today with lunch -it really was great. I think I may need to watch it a second time before my itunes rental expires. There really is something wonderful about that interplay between darkness and light that exists in that title and film. That spoonful of sadness, of morbidity, really does make the love story go down a lot better. Maybe it is because it interjects a tragic flaw into the very beginning of the story, and takes away the idyllic, unrealistic mushiness of so many other love stories. It's got grit, and I like grits.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-3861663039055014606?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-55399504405613749812008-06-28T00:15:00.000-07:002008-06-28T00:44:19.876-07:00I'm [not] writing to you from Euless, Texas, where my announcement that I was headed to blog was met with an unapproving "...really?" Nevermind the Philistines, I will blog on despite their barbs...<br /><br />The ride to Dallas was...uneventful and quick; I almost made it to 100 mph when I had a pace-car as a cop-check. Of course then we got lost looking for a Mother-F'ing Kroger in the middles of nowheres, but we survived and lived to tell the tale. Party at some random guy's house (Edmond?), where I was referred to as "Plaid Shirt Guy" and made friends with lots of friendly smokers who I will never see again. I was also hit on by a teenager working at a rest-stop McDonalds on the way down South. Can't forget that.<br /><br />So on one front, it's been a successful travelling summer -1 wedding in Warrensburg, 1 Lawrence weekend (and another coming soon), 2 Columbia weekends, the current Texas business, and then most likely Phoenix in July. If only Colorado could be worked in, I'd be ecstatic.<br /><br />That is essentially all the news to report -at least all the news I feel like reporting. I'm getting a little antsy for some change in this monotony, and this weekend is providing exactly what I need. Hopefully I can return to Columbia rested and ready to settle in for a semester. And hopefully I can pay the car off...though I don't think Quintiles would take me right now.<br /><br />[noteworthy thought : not being certain about wanting something does not make it a bad idea]<br />[day's high : the view coming down out of oklahoma listening to a sad country song]<br />[day's low : fucking krogers - or praying at waffle house]<br />[current hope : earn some respect tomorrow]<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-5539950440561374981?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-1772112888636558912008-06-25T14:03:00.000-07:002008-06-25T14:15:27.094-07:00My boss pronounces the "G" in "gnarly". "This tree is pretty g-narly", he says. I tend to ridicule people for their grammatical and linguistic infidelities, but I think I just stared at him. I kind of just wanted to pat him on the head and say, "Good boy, Kevin."<br /><br />Driving home from work today, I listened to an interview on NPR about a neuroanatomist who suffered a stroke and recently wrote a memoir about it. The entire affair was riveting and revealing -especially portions in which she touched on her newfound ability to shut down selective portions of her left hemisphere, thereby removing all her worry and pragmatism. Through the exercise, she says she experiences life in every moment without a mental filter -and that in doing so she gains "a sense of euphoria" and "a feeling of oneness with the universe". Like I said, riveting.<br /><br />I briefly considered applying for a second job last night (in fact I almost filled out the whole application), before wondering if the reason that it seemed like such a good idea was related to my complete lack of sleep. Turns out it was. I would be a wealthy man if I were compensated for every poor decision I made in this kind of state[althoughusuallyinmissouri].<br /><br />CURRENT FEELING: itchiness<br />CURRENT WORRY: a lack of dollars in my bank<br />CURRENT COLOR: purple<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-177211288863655891?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-804942131736522932008-06-18T22:40:00.000-07:002008-06-18T22:50:07.037-07:00You know, there are always going to be a million reasons to be unhappy. Maybe the poor, overworked McDonalds employee *purposefully* forgot to give you your second apple pie. Maybe the mosquitoes seem to always come after you in particular. Maybe you have AIDS.<br /><br />It occurs to me, though, that none of these things can be changed. Shit happens and part of life is learning to get over that, and to get over yourself in the process. If all the time and energy people spend being angry and hostile over things beyond their control could be collected and wrapped up, I wonder how many cities we could power; Hell, right now it seems like some cities are already running off of this animosity and discontent.<br /><br />Maybe I'll try to take a step back and love a little more. Maybe. As of right now, my city is booming and bustling and expanding operations to all corners of the globe. It seems like an awful lot to sacrifice, regardless of the benefits.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-80494213173652293?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-53073081772352942162008-06-17T15:20:00.001-07:002008-06-17T17:00:55.304-07:00That is essentially what one, annoyingly small, mulched rectangle asked of me yesterday. Of course she didn't just come out and say so -it was one of those things where you are confronted with escalating estimates of just how much your day is going to suck as the sun climbs higher and hotter.<br /><br />39 doesn't even sound like a big number. I would have rather dug 78 holes half as big, just so it sounds more impressive. <br /><br />I wasn't entirely sure what to do with myself while digging sequential holes...I listened to a lot of NPR -the Walt Bodine show to be precise. It featured a painfully awkward young lady as host, and was centered around Weddings. At some point I was glad I had my sun and shovel, and not her company in the studio.<br /><br />Jazz in the Woods and Como this weekend<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-5307308177235294216?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-86671728008244488682008-06-15T23:21:00.001-07:002008-06-16T00:10:12.292-07:00I watched "Meet the Spartans" tonight. It wins my award for <span style="font-style: italic;">Most Gratuitous Use of Fluids in a Movie</span>. Congrats. Glad it was free.<br /><br />I went to the Elephant Bar with my family for dinner today, and our waiter was the most antsy tweaker I have ever seen. I thought the poor guy was about to stroke out on us, but thankfully he pulled through long enough to collect on our over-inflated bill. Way to pull through nervous waiter.<br /><br />On a separate note I have to be up for work in 4 hours, and find out whether I ruined our pricey riding mower or not (in case you didn't know, I went in for some overtime this weekend and left after an hour and a half because I managed to break <span style="font-weight: bold;">everything</span>.)<br /><br />[CURRENT MOOD] <span style="font-style: italic;">Phlegm</span><br />[CURRENT GUILT] <span style="font-style: italic;">My algae-ous fish<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><br /></span>[CURRENT THOUGHT] <span style="font-style: italic;">Sorry IAG, Starbucks beats your drip hands-down</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-8667172800824448868?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-11128404867697029022008-06-14T09:51:00.000-07:002008-06-14T10:05:03.698-07:00Lately I've been thinking a lot about my life, and the choices and paths that comprise it -although I suppose this isn't so strange a thing for me to be doing (it might be a daily)... Anyway, in all of this I've come to the rather lackluster, whiny realization that change is hard. Of course everyone knows this, but what has never weighed on me so much is the <span style="font-style: italic;">time</span> that change takes. Standing opposite this slowness is us: The Montage Generation. Mentally engineered to feel triumph at watching months (nay <span style="font-style: italic;">years</span>) of work boiled down into ten, five-second clips set to a motivational tune. Now, I have nothing against the montage personally- I just wish we could all have them now and then. That is why I think change is hard; because it's not triumphant and quick, but arduous and trying and fraught with failure. And there is no end in sight. There is no 94 minute time limit to the movie, (allowing also for some character development and a reasonable wrap-up) meaning we have no idea when it's going to be over. One day you just look back and finally say, "Oh. That's where I was. Here's where I am now", and the ever-following, "that's where I want to go."<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-1112840486769702902?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3325045391833105437.post-30440300657888365702008-06-08T22:02:00.001-07:002008-06-08T22:12:02.799-07:00The ass of my jeans are covered in rust.<br />This rust came from the top of Lippincott.<br />The roof of Lippincott is where I recently sat and ruminated over a foggy KU campus, and where I reaffirmed my basic belief about high places -that everybody needs one. (God knows I do, at least.) Getting above the world makes it all manageable and far away, and everyone needs to get far from their life. I've pushed myself this year to become far and see things differently. On Saturday it took me to a rusty red roof.<br /><br />So where next?<br /><br />[Noteworthy purchases of the day: 2 tapestries from Third Planet and a rodeo shirt for $7]<br />[Noteworthy event of the day: watching Godzilla for the first time in years and wondering why they cast Matthew Broderick as the lead]<br />[Noteworthy thought: fuck it]<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3325045391833105437-3044030065788836570?l=thepaulbyrne.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>-Phttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06290794559118742749noreply@blogger.com0