Ptolemy Can Be Blamed

Answers

crousejs — Mon, 18 Apr 2011 00:27:54 +0000

A duet (sort of) with my wife. Answers

The wind, the cowl, the parts that remain

crousejs — Wed, 27 Oct 2010 01:28:44 +0000

I remember the wind when it comes in gusts. If you only believe in one thing; it should be the wind. It is everywhere. It is cold. I almost fell over all day. The people downstairs play their loud music into the wind. I wrote this song away from the microphone and let the wind take it into the machine.

I hope you enjoy my first song as a husband.

A walk down into the creaking

little begins to become and begins again

crousejs — Wed, 06 Oct 2010 00:52:54 +0000

Listen. I cannot stop. And. Will not stop. As long as we keep our hands within a grasp. Just for a second, breathe, and listen to these words, and listen to me, and let us be us. I love you.

little begins to become and begins again

Lightness Through a Doorway Swept

crousejs — Tue, 14 Sep 2010 00:40:03 +0000

There are four more weeks. These weeks are what I have until I am married. Kristen is starting her second week at Depaul. She is teaching four classes and taking three. So, all I can do during these nights is think. Think about what she means to this life and what she means to me. I believe fully that she is me, and I am her. We are each other.

I just want you to know this. Please listen with headphones if you can.

I love you.

Lightness Through a Doorway Swept

It is with great pleasure that I introduce the footsteps

crousejs — Sat, 04 Sep 2010 01:30:44 +0000

I wouldn’t deny that the day has my number. I’m chased by it. Friendly perhaps, but chased is still a feeling like sunk. Every now and then I stand on circles just whispering to repeat myself. Another song today.

Returning Sky to Sky

Tell the one you love you have them in your heart. And tell them I say hello.

Enter the brisk wind

crousejs — Fri, 03 Sep 2010 21:51:48 +0000

Kristen seems to have flown to Buffalo. They say 6 weeks is a little more than a month. They say that the wind starts to fall during these days, and there isn’t as much atmosphere in our mouths.

I might miss everything you are for the next day. I might also admit that I have been listening to a lot of Alasdair Roberts and Will Oldham.

I Might

And we have begun by whispering your time

crousejs — Wed, 25 Aug 2010 03:51:56 +0000

Oh no. The time and the place are all one now. Oh goodness. I guess a poem now…

We are under just a wrapper of ourselves,
our asses hanging out
like whisper against the ground-
stone at night that paves our driveway.

I, under assumption, have you railed
against the nailing chandelier made
up of warm pebbles during dusk
and fearing.

We all stood outside during rain
but none of us questioned our methods.

We had what was called a mother
and we used a railing
like all of the motherfuckers
but we never put or re-put our fucking mouths
back into brightly colored clipboards.

I have to remember this:
I stand on my own shitpile
(one word is shitpile)
and have only the stomped ground
compressed like organs

tuned to counterpoint.

My Head

crousejs — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 02:25:45 +0000

My Head

Humid and beautiful. Just cooling off. Forgive my voice. It has been lost for a week now. I love every one of you.

Humid

crousejs — Wed, 28 Jul 2010 02:58:04 +0000

Kristen is laying on the bed. Her feet are where the air and wall meet. Her face is just wonderful. I never worry about our love.

I wrote a song about humidity and about familial love.

http://ptolemycanbeblamed.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/hardly-ever.mp3

Mother’s Day

crousejs — Sun, 09 May 2010 14:53:32 +0000

Well, it is Mother’s Day. Kristen is in Buffalo with her family. I wish I was there. The sun is beautiful this time of year. There are lawnmowers outside. Those helicopter seedlings are flying down. It’s quite lovely.

Happy Mother’s Day to everyone.

Here is a song. I love you all.

The Earth Back Then