The song remains the same




I’ve been pretty absent these past months. Other projects as well as just ordinary, everyday, life have kept me from this blog and the blogosphere in general.

Part of it is that I reached love letter 100 a few months back and realised that the original point of this blog was to journal a long distance relationship that is no longer long distance.

If Runaway American Dream was an interesting read, it was because the emotions which fuelled the writing were so raw and urgent. Those of you who have been with me from those very different early days may recall just how charged my writing could get back then.

Truthfully, these posts were my coping mechanism, my way of bearing the unbearable waits between those oh so short visits.

All that is done with now. Jersey girl and I have been married for over a year and I have been resident in this fine country of her’s for almost two. Were I to simply write about our relationship as it is now, I fear that the sheer domesticity would sink the blog faster than a torpedo.

I mean, what is the point of just chronicling a perfectly normal life? I’m as happy with my love as I ever expected to be in my most fervent yearnings but I must confess that this actually doesn’t make for very interesting reading.

True, this blog was always a little more than a simple journal of an unusual love. There were the music slanted posts, the poetry attempts, local history, and other writings but the main reason it existed at all was my need to externalise all the emotions that swirled around this amour de longue distance  I found myself in.

Blogging served that need quite well but that was then and this is a very different now.

This begins to sound like a farewell note but I hope that isn’t the case. I’ve been thinking about where to take all this from here and am still considering options.

Feel free to make suggestions if there has been some aspect of the blog you have particularly enjoyed over the years. I’m leaning towards making more of the historical posts I’ve occasionally delved into but if there’s something else you’d like to see, just let me know.

I’ve really enjoyed my blogging journey thus far and have no real desire to give it up. All of you helped me get through some pretty difficult times and, though we don’t really know each other all that well, you are all distinct and unique cohabiters of this Runaway American Dream to me.

Some of you I count as friends, others whom I have really enjoyed interacting with, I consider some of the most informative, entertaining, and inspirational folk I’ve ever encountered.

I’m not sure where this goes from here but I hope you’ll all come along for the ride.

Thanks for being here.



The weight







The oldest thing

Inside my head

Is a small



A pebble really


And so very black

It is made of all the things that happened to me


Long before I even knew me

All the pain



Compressed into one




I carry it everywhere

Just a pebble really

And I don’t understand

Why I’m so damned







Words and image are my own.



Warning Bell






Something stolen

Not difficult to define

Falling symbols

Clanging like a warning bell

An ending locked

Into a darker beginning


We tipped over that day

Falling into each other

Eyes blinded

By pyroclastic clouds

Of displaced faith


Everything changed

Nothing was spared

Concrete narratives shattered

Became dust

Now we breathe them in

Until we choke


Shaken to our very foundations

We stand on our resolve

In an emptier space than we remember

Always wary

Always watched

Something stolen, never to return.




A forest





In the cool deep woods

I meander

Finding spaces

Places where the sun

Creeps in

Inward I ramble

Into the dappled green forest of my mind

Lost in the hum of cicadas

And the trill of unknown birds

Too well hid

The river wanders by me

And I by it

But we can meet only

In the places trees and vines abhor


The heron knows

The shadows are best for hunting

Still, she flies eagerly towards the sun.











Words and images are my own.





You can’t always get what you want




Strange humilities


time carves its grooves

in skin and stone

light falls more harshly

when too many days are gone

dry tears are the salt of this table

dry eyes that see

too clearly

through the blur of resignation

we are grains of grit

in a ceaseless wind

and time laughs at all our expectations

always leaving the party

before the end.



Words and image are my own.