Why we Live

To be great.

To be rich.

To be happy.

Have a place.

To achieve.

Have a ball

Climb a mountain

Fly in outer space.

Make a mint

To be liked.

Travel far.

Save a life.

Feed a village

Cure Disease

Write a Book

End World Strife.

Self-Understanding

This is what I am
This is what I do
I make no apologies.. for me.. nor can I make then for you
I love you as you are
I expect the same from you
I expect nothing and I expect everything
I expect all to be true

Musings on a Life Yet Lived

To think that I shall ever be
a poem as lovely as a tree.
I think that I shall try instead
to be a poem much like a bed.
Comfy cozy, wrapped in verse
Languidly lounging, not short or terse

This is the first

On Being Ordinary

It is a great disaster, I feel perhaps the greatest disaster, to think that you might be or become ordinary. I was afraid that might happen to me. So that's when I decided to leave. I think I tricked myself into thinking that it was bold. That the idea of New York would scare me so senseless that I would be shocked into extraordinariness. New York was the stuff of Sex and the City and college and glamor and Vogue. New York represented a magical mystery land where I believed where the center of the world resided -- somewhere between the bright lights of Broadway and the Central Park. New York= ticket to being somebody. I wanted to go there. I was going there. I was scared. Oh wait, I am scared.

What else is ordinary? I think DC is rather ordinary. It strikes me as a place where the ordinary coagulate in the mess that we call government. I've never been so disallusioned with a place before, or moreover with a body that I deemed important, essential even. In the presence of this government makes the concept of a benevolent dictatorship not seem quite so bad. I wonder...