Melancholy & Missing Lighters

 You need not worry if the weather report is wrong. Or maybe you do. But if you live and sleep under a roof, a little rain escaping the notice of local weather reporters has little effect on you. For us, it can spell disaster. When we go to sleep with a clear forecast and wake up in a torrential downpour, everything we own can get soaked in a matter of seconds. Phones, clothes, shoes and socks, all the tiny comforts and necessities for our survival can be ruined in a night. Or at least, we'll be delayed, which, depending on the circumstances, can be detrimental in of itself. We hardly have the money to stick around a place long. We have to keep moving. Making miles makes us money. Wrap your electronics in plastic. You can only do so much when the plastic degrades, forming tears and holes. It's more money to replace more plastic. I suppose a soggy sleeping bag is only a real danger in the colder months. Though I can assure you, it's a miserable, sticky slumber in heinously h...

  Folded napkins and frosted cups, I think I love you, but it's not enough, Cause we're weary and broken and chasing that childish glee, We are runoff in a gutter, and nothing's free, So we'll sit in silence in this diner empty, Then we'll run away and catch a train to keep our dreams plenty, And there's nothing no one can say to change our hearts, But there's something about this doubt that makes me fall apart, So rest your hand on mine and hold me near, Then close your eyes, we'll pretend we're far away from here.

  Mi nds draped in crystal dreams of the future, Tug at silver strings suspending galaxies,  And listen as ancient echoes unravel.

  This memory, a moment in time, her expression and words have stuck with me vividly. Although I don't recall the exact location, nor date. I was in Spain, traveling the country with a Tibetan Buddhist monk and nun. The nun was once the wife of a friend of my mother's; she had so graciously invited me to accompany the two of them as they held classes throughout Spain for roughly two weeks. I draw at times; whenever I am seized by a feeling that I struggle to articulate, I draw it. While I was at a Spanish local's house, lounging around with the nun and sketching a bit, she asked to take a look at some of my work.  I showed her (what I wasn't too embarrassed to share). One of the drawings was of a girl and a serpent. I had drawn it from a dream I had sometime that past year. I even explained this to her, as well as the story I had pieced together from it. She instantly glanced at me, her wide eyes glistening with genuine interest further magnified by her black rectangula...

  Mechanical monsters tear ancient forests asunder, Innocent blood mixes with soil, As people cast out their hearts for worldly desires.

  Sometimes I wish I wasn't here,  Wander around, then disappear,  I keep on talking, I keep on falling in my sleep,  I keep on bleeding, blood is seeping into my dreams,  Don't wanna feel no more,  Don't wanna be who I was before,  I came so far, I broke my heart to build myself,  But I'm still just pieces sitting on a dusty shelf,  Now I'm chasing trains and losing sleep,  Found a love I couldn't keep,  And watching the stars as I slip away,  Never seen this town before,  But there's one thing I know for sure,  Her song'll lead me back to the rails again,  I don't know what I'm living for,  Really wish I could close this door,  My hope is shaking, I'm losing faith in this life,  Cause I'm messing up everything I was gonna do right,  Now I'm covered in dirt and soot,  Tripping over my own foot,  Trying to chase down that double stack,  Uncertainty's filling me with fear,  ...