Every Great City Needs Ruins

“Do you know what I like about where we live?  It has a history.  People were here before us.  Long before us.  There might have been two people here like us hanging out when this hundred-year-old structure was brand new.  There may have been hundreds of people walking along here and stopping to take pictures and feed the ducks.  There’s a different look to everything as if it’s lived a life beyond ours.”

She looked at him with a puzzled stare, “yeah but you could say that about almost everything, anywhere.  The bridge is over eighty years old.  Fort Point is even older than that.”

He looked back at her and threw his arms out in exasperated glee, “and that’s my point!  This entire area has a history.  A life of its own.  It’s beautiful in its age.  You’ve got something from the 30’s in the bridge.  You’ve got the fort from the mid 1800’s.  You’ve got this building here from the 1910’s.”

He pointed up to the Palace of Fine Arts in its near-golden splendor.  The most beautiful building in North America, he often though.  A piece of art that seems as if it was transported there from ancient Greece with its pillars standing tall.

She followed his hand and nodded, “it is a very pretty building.  That’s why I love coming here.  It’s such a serene place.”

“It is!”  He exclaimed.  He often couldn’t hold his excitement when he began talking about something he loved.

“It absolutely is.  The architect was a genius.”

“He was also insane,” she added.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t know?”

“No, what?”  His curiosity was high and his focus was solely on her.

“Well you know this place was one of a number of buildings originally constructed, right?”

He shook his head from side to side and she continued.

“Well the architect of it all modeled it after the Roman and Greek ruins of old.  You can tell by looking at it.  He also designed it so it wouldn’t survive much past its initial use of the Panama-Pacific Exposition.  Everything began crumbling and falling apart a few years after it was originally used and many of the other structures were demolished.”

As she spoke she wasn’t making eye contact with him, but instead was looking out on the lagoon.  There were ducks and swans swimming in it.  The eucalyptus trees were hanging and the leaves were swaying in the breeze that came in off of the bay.  She really did love this spot.  Much more than she outwardly let on.

“He used cheap materials.  Nothing that would stand the test of time.  The only reason this building and any of these pillars are still standing is because some people in the city were so enamored with it they formed a group to save it.”

She paused for only a moment before adding, “a famous line attributed to the architect gave the impression that he intended for nothing to be left by the time he was gone.”

“What was it?”  He asked, completely enthralled.

“Every great city needs ruins,” her voice was reminiscent.  Somewhere between her description and the quote she didn’t seem to be talking about the Palace anymore.

“Every great city needs ruins, huh?  That’s kind of romantic if you think about it,” his eyes followed hers out to the lagoon and focused on two ducks swimming along side each other.  He stood next to her and they stared at them together.

“That everything beautiful has something broken inside.  Every great masterpiece has a deep flaw.  And that it doesn’t matter.  There are people that still love it for everything that it is.  They go to it as often as they’re able because it makes them happy.  They don’t even really know why but they know the feeling they get when they’re around it.  And in some ways the ruins make it more beautiful.  The flaws make it more attractive and the people end up loving it because it isn’t perfect.”

There was a silence after he stopped talking.  It was overcast and grey on a Thursday evening with very few people around.  A strong breeze came off of the bay and hugged the ground until it reached them and the cold kiss from the Pacific caused them both to shiver.  She sniffled and rubbed her eyes while turning away from him so he wouldn’t see.  He didn’t pursue her look so she could have that moment.

“Yeah well-,” she didn’t finish her thought.

They watched the ducks for a few more minutes until one flew off around the huge columns, quacking the entire way.

“So maybe he wasn’t crazy.”

“Who?”  She rubbed her eye and turned to him.

“The architect.  Maybe he wasn’t crazy.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because.  I don’t know.  Maybe he was right.”

“About every city needing ruins?”

He nodded, reached out and took her hand, “yeah.   That and maybe he knew all great ruins just needed someone to come along and save them.”


We haven’t sung together in a while.

I kinda miss the tone of your voice.

We haven’t shared the stage in some time.

I can’t remember, was that my fault or your choice?

The piano keys have gone cold.

I never played, but you could make’m dance.

The stage lights are still on.

What do you say, wanna give it another chance?

How about both of our lips real close to the mic,

the lights beating down making our foreheads sweat.

You looking good in half of something nice.

I steal a look in your eyes and savor the warmth of your breath.

Sing your song girl,

don’t hold nothing back.

Let it go, shake the walls.

Belt it out and shatter glass.

That Kind Of Distraction

She’s the kind of girl you go emotionally broke for, spending every ounce of sanity trying to figure her out and even in the end never really sure if you’ve got it thoroughly mapped.  She’s a high-wire act with a twist.  You’re the one walking it and you’re the one trying to balance all the shit you’ve wrung for her.
Don’t worry, she never asked for any of this.  All you’ve ever gotta do is turn around.
But you can’t, can you?  All it takes is a stare.  A few words.  The rope really isn’t that long, is it?  Funny how she can keep moving the end back further.

She doesn’t like poetry.
“Please don’t,” she said when you feigned an offer to immortalize her in words.
You figured that’s how she would respond.
She doesn’t like poetry but she pulls it the fuck out of you at every turn.  This isn’t the ha-ha kind of funny, but more of a what the fuck kind of funny.

She is up-against-the-wall loving.  Pull the sheets off the corners type of intensity.  Fog up the windows kind of heat with a muscles-screaming kind of get to it.
Sunday’s were meant for recovery after a Saturday night getting drunk off of her.  She’s one helluva hang over.

I wonder when I’m with her if I’m acting different because she makes me that way or am I just acting the way I am meant to and can, because she’s near.  I’m questioning deep thoughts on self because of her and god damnit I hate that.  Just when I think I know who I am she comes along and pulls out the piece holding it all up.

I can’t quit her.
And I wonder if she needs my can’t-quit, or maybe she just likes to know its there.

I Must Not Be Real

I don’t know if I exist sometimes

or if I’m some stray thought someone is having as they daydream.

Am I actually here and does any of this matter?

And when I think of you does that make you real too?

Because all I want are my real lips against your real lips

then to have time stop.

If I don’t exist I should just tell you?

so I did

And now look what happened.

It turns out I do exist

and it did matter

and you are real

and even with my lips wanting yours

time speeds up and its like you don’t exist anymore

but you do

which makes it so much more hard.


I got an outline.  I got an outline.  I got an outline.

That was supposed to be done in a kind of a dancey, singing way for those of you who don’t know.

I was supposed to write today.  Get another 6,000 words and then be caught up.  I did other stuff instead because of course I did.  But what I did was invaluable.  I outline the entire freaking thing!  Woo hoo!

I made it to 16 chapters (averaging around 5,000 words a chapter) with a proper progression and climax, I think anyways.  I’m kind of happy how it all worked itself out because I had a wonderful ending in mind.  I changed it around to be something similar yet completely different.  I struggled with this for a week or so thinking I was messing up something I had planned for so long but I think I really like the way its going.  It gives it a bit of a more realistic yet “whoa” ending.

So yeah!  I haven’t done it and probably impeded myself from finishing the 50K unless, now that I have the plan, I can kick out more during the middle of the week than originally I had been able to.  But, beyond that, I think I solved the problem that I was fearing before: how the hell do I finish this?

Another idea I had was to get a piece of paper or something and do a kind of timeline on it.  Draw a horizontal line and make little tic marks along the line when events happen in the story.  With this story there is a bit of a time jump back and forth.  It’s being told from two separate generations and is a bit historical in nature and I don’t want to goof up any of the timing of what happens when.  This would be a great thing to have to reference.  It’d be even better if I had my own little writing space where I could put it on the wall to look at to keep my mind in the story.  But I still feel like a bit of a fraud at this point so saying “oh yeah I need to take up this corner for writing purposes” feels stupid.

My inner monologue is kind of mean.

Anyways.  I’m a little juiced right now.  I have a direction.  I have a map.  Now I just need some gas.  No…not…what are you?  Fuel.  Fine.  I need some fuel.  Geez.

Happy writing!

Slow, Steady, Open

Cool your jets, blue
We ain’t gotta rush this.
Forever ain’t a day past tomorrow yet
Even though we’re killin it.

Infinity ain’t the war we’re dealin
Beyond got that you and me feelin
Bonnie and Clyde without the guns
Starburst and skittles not quite like gum

But it still makes our insides gooey
I’m that pirate, you’re that bluey.
We got dates, we got plans
We in the sheets, sans our pants

Dirty dancing like the movie
tattooed rainbows on your ooey new-y
Come on over, come on in
Slide on next to you wearing nothing

How many words can you hear
before that far because this near
Textin words on the low
Come on just do it, I wanna know

Purple lips and blue hair
Pink starburst, you can count me there
This girls it, this girl’s fine
This girl’s gonna fuckin be mine

Who needs slow when you can go fast
My lips and hands all over that blast
Takes it easy cause we got time
Its just you and me all day on the line

Quite contrary, there’s something about her
Peter and Paul and she’s the other
Always gonna leave on a jet plane
New age girl, ain’t changing my lane

Shallow walkin and baby talkin
Her in hers and me in mine
Fingers laced and lips hard locked
This girls got my world rocked.

Falling Back To You

You know
I could sit here and think of a thousand words to say about you.
Spinning each one into gold
So they sparkle in the night just like your eyes.
I could stand on my two feet in one place until you make me move.
Not wanting to
But thinking it might be best if its what you want.
I could make every song about you and every story yours.
The girl with sweetest lips around.
A taste locked with no key and a feeling hard with no force.
Maybe those songs are right though and all the words are true.
Doesn’t mean I have to like it.
I’ll just keep going up and down until the ride runs out of gas.
Around and around
until the feelings pass.


Alright.  I’m doing it.  Taking the plunge.  Putting practice into performance.  I’m going for it.  All in.  Let’s do it.  Boxing gloves on.

I am going to attempt to write 50,000 words in 30 days.  That’s 1667 words a day.  That’s not so bad.  What makes it hard is writing them in a linear direction about the same topic and moving everything forward.  Heh.  I mean, sure right?

So…National November Writing Month (or NaNoWriMo) is a thing I’ve been aware of for about almost ten years now I think.  I’ve always thought it I’d like to attempt it.  The last few years I kind of hm’d and haw’d over it but when it finally came I’d throw a lazy hand at the screen and pull the blanket back over.

This year has been difference.  Or, at least since June of this year it’s been difference.  I’m writing consistently.  Maybe not every day but enough writing to fit in something for every day since about the second week of June (and I only missed two days in June all together).  So that’s 4 months straight writing something for every day.  Some days multiple things for each day.  Some of those posts I wrote were five or six thousand words each.  I think if I’ve ever been ready to attempt such a thing now is a great time to do it.

Of course that means I’ll actually have to focus and write in a comprehensive manner.  I’ll need to think of a story I want to commit to and write it to the best of my ability.  It won’t have to be perfect but it will have to progress.  The editing can take place after but now it’s just a point of getting it down.

In saying that, dear reader, I am probably going to have less creative works over the next 30 days.  I know, you’ll all miss my love sick melancholy but I assure you there is plenty of that to come in December and the start of January.
In the mean time I’ll do what I originally wanted to do with my other dead blog.  Have a kind of recap of my writing and how its going.  Mainly for my own mental dump but also for posterity.  I’m sure people will want to look back and marvel at the “what the fuck was he thinking” when I’m done.  I know I will!
I’m sure I’ll need a break and drop a few things I’ll whip up on the spot.  The creative muse peeks her head behind the red curtain whenever she sees fit.  It’s her nature.  I’ll never tell her no.  But, hopefully her ADD can keep at bay and she can help me along with this endeavor.

So…I’m doing this.  Lets hope it doesn’t get derailed in the first week by catastrophe.

Happy writing 🙂

Random: M4F – NSA, Mental Exercises Only

I’m looking for cute girls with words to spend.  Artistic girls with painted hearts wrapped in canvas and dipped in their favorite color.  The kind of girls who have opinions on beautiful things and find beauty in things people don’t generally have opinions on.

They can be from all walks of life, because what better way to find beauty than through the eyes of someone who’s seen it from another angle.  Some from the 20th floor and looking at the tree tops and roofs of buildings in a sprawling city.  Others from the streets looking up at architectural marvels, birds flying over head and if you squint just right you might see the sky.  There are others too, from the country in the silent hours at night or the quiet crisp of morning.  Different countries with different traditions and their own definitions of beauteous conditions.

Generally speaking, because we all are generally the same except for enough differences to make us generally not, I prefer the minds of women.  It could be for various reasons that you’re all probably correct on when assuming and others you aren’t that never entered your mind.  I just like the way women typically think more so then the way men typically do.  I find them more open to change and chance.  Compromise and open-mindedness.  Each is their own person and nobody is going to fit the t-shirt perfectly but the size chart is a thing for a reason.

Let’s spend time listing the best words to describe a sunset while watching the dawn.  We can sit at the toe-tickle of the beach’s edge and wonder what the water’s thinking.  I want to lay in the grass and stare at the sky while listening to the leaves rattle in the wind and make up stories with another mind that doesn’t stop.  I want to race to see who can run the longest.

On your mark.  Get set.  Go.