The best writing in the world, period.  There is proof.
August 20, 2002
volume i, issue i
kick me, I need some dying
jubei blue

You know I want to talk to you much more than I can. Maybe I want to so much just because I can't. You seem to be willing to follow me into every alley I run down. Perhaps you are just amused. I would be too I guess.

Sometimes I want to be punched in the face so hard my lower lip bleeds. I need to feel that sting and understand that swell to get closer. Closer to being me.

My kite string is running out just as the wind is picking up. Tennessee never looked so far away.

I bet your eyes are stunning when you stand out on the back porch at night right where the light from the kitchen window begins to fade and the cricket noise starts to become a mournful cry for friendship.

I yell, I scream, I sulk, I whisper, I do what I can to have you see my shadow more than my skin.

Are your nails red? Are they long enough to draw blood on my back if I pin you down and bite your neck?

I need your understanding more than your treasure. But I will settle if you don't have any more tea to share.

There are pauses in my thinking. This isn't a sign of my weakness, only a prelude.

I want us to converse through dreams, like they do in the movies.

I can't seem real to you, by being real to myself. What is missing from me can be found in you, but it isn't a key, only a nice tight fit, until the friction wears away the edges and we fall into memory...

Come to Baltimore.

jubei blue ©2002