The dawn is a hot color, but it gives my skin a cold feeling. The way it rises so slow and beautiful, the way it makes everything orange. And the higher it goes the less beautiful it becomes, bringing the day into view and creating what we see as normal when we finally rise in the morning. No more orange glow, just the light of the sun to help us see. I like the cold of dawn, though it’s nice indeed when the sun begins to heat up the crust of the earth and reflect off the hairs on my arm.
But the dawn, to see it yourself or to share it with another, it gives you such a feeling. You think you’re the only ones left alive in the world. It seems that you are the sole witnesses of its gentle rise, that nobody else can see this, that nobody else can share this bright and orange thing. How could anyone but you be able to comprehend the colors of the sky, and how could nature even allow such magnificence for anyone’s eyes but yours? No, you say, the dawn is rising, and it rises just for you.
The lake is cold still, as the sun has not yet burnt off that orange glow, and the lake still gives off that steam of night. Eventually the thick, foggy layer will be burned off. The sun will heat the water, but for now the minnows will shiver. They don’t mind, though, as they do not feel the cold like we do. They feel it in a more practical way, so that they might use it to guage the time of day. Otherwise they might not know when the bigger fish will emerge to devour them.
I rise up and jog the rest of the way, to a playground where, despite it being Saturday, it is just too early for the children to be sliding from the plastic ramps and swinging from the metal bars. I get there and turn around to return home, like every Saturday, and now the mist has evaporated from over the lake and you can make out a couple of sailboats far off in the distance. The sun has begun to warm, and it is a welcoming feeling on my skin, but as always, I miss the sight of dawn. If only the skyline could be aflame forever.

Looking down something dark
and cold
Find me some water
Because the river is dry.
The dirt is cracked and there are no lakes.
Something happened.
Something boiled away.
Desert-mouth has me
Trouble took this town
And I just looked around
When something boiled away.

eraue

I wish I had more rice but I'll be out soon and the others barely have any left, either. I hope it doesn't rain. Everytime it does the rainwater comes in through the cieling in tiny cracks where the droplets can find an avenue down into the room. It reminds me of the Chinese water torture. I can't sleep because they're dribbling onto my face and head in tiny little drops. I have to move all of the straw, then, to re-make my bed somewhere else in the already cramped and stuffy little shanty home of ours.
But we like it here. It's better than being dead. Sometimes, one of us dies. You always hope that you're not the next one, because somebody's got to be it, you know. You just be careful and you watch yourself on the slippery rocks by the creek where we first found water and you won't fall. You be careful when you're looking for berries by the swamp and you won't find yourself trapped in quicksand. You be careful like me, and we'll be alright.

-Race Iure

There was a truly awful event that involved the exposure of my deepest, most insane adventures to all the wrong people that forced me to close shop, shut down my journal. But I'm back, and I hope to post everything fantastic for the world to read. Let's start with this, something I scribbled during the pain-stakingly boring stretches of bullshit that someone told me was called High School.

THANKS, DOCTOR JESUS.
I'm sorry, Lord Doctor. Jesus Christ, I'm sorry about your mother, that happenin' Virgin Mary. I'm totally hoping we can meet up and have some pizza and sodas sometime. I'm sorry I trashed your house in Nazareth last Halloween. I'm sorry my dad told you you had to go home when you were playing video games because I forgot to walk my dog and he shitted on the rug, and then you pooped poops on the rug again. I'm sorry you caught me drinking cough syrup in the bushes behind your house, and I'm sorry I lied about it. I'm sorry I hit your favorite Disciple with my Suburban and I'm sorry that I burned your sandals when you forgot to call me back. I'm sorry I got mad because your dog bit my mom and I put Nair in your shampoo and ruined your long, silky hair that I was always so jealous of. I'm sorry, Jesus, for everything, but I'm glad you still love me (but not in a faggy way) and that you forgive me for all of it.
Jesus, you're the best pal a guy could ever have.


-e.raue