There will be no sequel to the sadness.

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(Source: wchun)

They’re all true stories. That’s the easiest way for me to write, is from a personal experience. I sit down. I put pen to paper. I get it all out, put it together in a song. Because it’s like I’m writing in a journal, really. That’s how I release the demons.

Lucinda Williams on songwriting. (via americanroutes)


“Literature, real literature, must not be gulped down like some potion which may be good for the heart or good for the brain—the brain, that stomach of the soul. Literature must be taken and broken to bits, pulled apart, squashed—then its lovely reek will be smelt in the hollow of the palm, it will be munched and rolled upon the tongue with relish; then, and only then, its rare flavor will be appreciated at its true worth and the broken and crushed parts will again come together in your mind and disclose the beauty of a unity to which you have contributed something of your own blood.” ― Vladimir Nabokov, Lectures on Russian Literature

“Literature, real literature, must not be gulped down like some potion which may be good for the heart or good for the brain—the brain, that stomach of the soul. Literature must be taken and broken to bits, pulled apart, squashed—then its lovely reek will be smelt in the hollow of the palm, it will be munched and rolled upon the tongue with relish; then, and only then, its rare flavor will be appreciated at its true worth and the broken and crushed parts will again come together in your mind and disclose the beauty of a unity to which you have contributed something of your own blood.” ― Vladimir Nabokov, Lectures on Russian Literature

(Source: bookmania)

morning routine

the curtain rises

the dream is over

and i open my eyes

to the sun

its depressing

so i close my eyes again

try to find my place

but the play is over

and the actors have exited

stage right

it’s useless

like trying to fix your hair

in a mirror

at midnight

it doesn’t matter now

the sun is clawing my eyes out

i pull back the sheets

to reveal what i am

its depressing

i count my ribs

and i climb out of bed

towards the sun

-JD

1/2/12, 3:14am

am i going mad

is it death

i seek

is it moonlight

through my doorframe

am i blind

or just

guilty

or unwavering

blink of an eye

where i shroud myself

in holy ales

ails

and i am gone

the soul is a ghost that haunts me

walk through the mist

i am afloat

the river

calls

my

name

-JD

at a crossroads

i left my hope

at the bottom of the well

where i was born

it returned to me this autumn

while i was drunk

and bored

and i saw my future swallowed

as i looked out the window

knowing fully well that my life

has been me

lying on my back

on one long train ride

with nothing but the sky

and my endless blues

-JD

mortality blues

does your heart break

aphrodite

when you see that I suffer

do you know longing

do you feel the pain of hunger beating in your chest

like the mad drums of native lands

do you stare out of windows at the midday sun

and see nothing but the future

blue and dark and frozen

does it make your teeth chatter

aphrodite

do you spend your summers

shivering alone

up on your mountaintop

where you tip your amphora

to fill the stemmed glasses of lovers

with lust

and passion

up on your mountaintop

where you watch the seasons change

with immortal indifference

are you sad when the leaves fall

aphrodite

when the trees are as bare

as my human soul

do you weep for me

aphrodite

in my bed at night

where you chose to leave me

to deny me a drop

to leave my chalice empty

does your heart break

aphrodite

or are you too high

too care?

-JD

7/5/11

when we laughed we laughed with faded tongues

our eyes darted around the room

with a radiant roar

a motor bike dashing across the desert

behind the closed lips of secretive smiles

there were fingers snaking into skirts

behind closed doors

there were apples being eaten

sacrifices being made

stones being etched

behind closed eyelids

there was the mornings shame

hiding in dark corners

amongst the worst of forgotten nightmares

a motorbike heading straight towards the mouth of a canyon

our minds left open for the room to see

where we will end up

at the end of the night

how we will feel tomorrow we worry not

if that bridge is to be burned

it must first be crossed

a motorbike flying through the night air

there will be a day

when all the empty cans remind us of our empty hearts

when all the plans we made

float away in the smoke

out the window

towards the east and the sunrise

and the cold waves of the atlantic

when all the laughs we shared

the tears we cried on each others shoulders

the drugs we smoked

and huffed

and drank

and swallowed

and shot in our arms

and blew up our noses

when all the dreams we shaked

the fluids we shared

the tunes we hummed

the beds we made

the promises we broke

will just be the pieces of an old motorbike

floating down the colorado river

-JD

Reasons

when do the shells stop

when will the rain come

im tired

but the sun keeps shining

and strangers keep smiling

with their perfectly

straight

white

teeth

there was an old john prine song

stuck in my head

about an old army veteran

who couldnt live

without a

needle

stuck

in his arm

which was better

than most things

stuck in my head

people worry alot

about what im thinking

they say they

cant read

me

i am not a novel

or a coupon

or a newspaper article

i can hardly

keep up with

the current

events

i am not a poem

nor am i

much

of a poet

the truth is

im not really sure

what

im thinking

most of the time

which is why

i write

most of it

down

and its usually about women

i lost

or future drinks

or drinks

i have already consumed

sometimes its about

old songs

i get stuck

in my head

sometimes

its about death

sometimes its about

lonliness

sadness

the end of the world

sometimes

its about nothing

at all

but it is always

what im thinking

so

if you are worried

that you

can not read

me

at least i gave you

this

-JD

This sign means Clean Drains But Lonely Mornings. Once used by Froggy the day after Sandra left him. On that day his bathtub remained unclogged and there was none of her hair to pull from the drain.
-The People of Paper


This sign means Clean Drains But Lonely Mornings. Once used by Froggy the day after Sandra left him. On that day his bathtub remained unclogged and there was none of her hair to pull from the drain.

-The People of Paper