Quadessensual Dear Stumm,

So this morning, earlier than usual
on my daily escapade along one of the lakes, I look out, feel the brisk northwesterly in my eyes, and see banks of fog rolling rapidly toward me.

Now, just prior to repairing for siesta
(no, I won't say with whom, because,
if there be another, you would likely
be acquainted), I seem to be still in that fog.

Methinks it be winter now.

Do you think it would do any good instead to take a grand cup of the coffee - they call it "high octane" up here? Should it be straight or laced with whipped cream?

As always, I look forward to yours.
That I know will break through the fog.

Hope you are well under the

My best to you,
marjorie so many people speed up while driving in the fog because they feel like they are really going slowly. many die. such a thing of beauty in part responsible for the death of such beautiful people. perhaps it is how everything becomes equal... 991231
amy in a poem by TS ELiot, fog is described as a cat. it wraps around the house and quietly goes to sleep 000104
Tess nice idea, but that confuses me more....let's not okay? 000104
Joana. Foggy lives our's...
We spent our entire lives filled with fog, covering our eyes... tapping our spirits... making us feel numb and empty... lifeless... unhappy...
The wind blows away all of that fog and makes me see everything clearly... all the beauty inside us... surrounding us... all the joy we kept inside ourselves, maybe saving for another day...
I won't save my happiness for that future that is so bleak and unpredictable... I'll blow the fog away myself and use the beauty of the spirit that surrounds everything to make me feel safe...
... and happy...
... again...
nameless reminds me of London somehow.... 000404
Ligur It claws at the buildings, like some ungodly beast climbing to a higher vantage point, muffling the sounds of the day into night. Until, slowly and unstoppably, it consumes the sun, blocking it from our sight. 000404
Brad nameless: could it possibly be the old gershwin standard... 'A foggy day/In London town...?' Or maybe the brand of clothing "London Fog?" Or the countless literary allusions to London's fogginess? 000404
MollyGoLightly I used to have little London Fog coats when I was a wee Molly. 000404
Fly The fog rises and i find myself in a heep of chaos.
Finding my way throw the heart ache and discomfort is harder than i thought.
Banging into every door as the fog lifts.
What can i open so many doors at the same time?
I can only walk into one
jennifer standing out in it
like jello
watching my smoke
join in
in happy unison
deb last night the sky wept for us
for we cannot see things
as she does
so she sent us a little present-
driving home last night
attempting to see one car-length ahead
i realized just how beautiful
it really was-
cold and damp, why yes
but the dewy haze
capped the
brittle bony fingers
of these winterized trees,
creating the most
mystical effect
the spork if the rain keeps up at this rate

if the river flows in the slightest
if the temperature drops below that strange and delicate point where air cannot sustain its own weight and the clouds come crashing down upon us as silently as opiate dreams

when i stood within arms reach of you and you did not see me

when i awoke alone in the cold house to the sound of the raindrops against the rooftop

and hopefully soon...

...the wildflowers
silentbob something about the way the fog rolled
clouding my perception
i loved it because it reminded me of spring
your eyes were so blue in contrast to the grey
that i thought all of the mist had gone away
turns out it was just you in all your captivating radiance
and your eyes
so crystal clear blue
how caring they are they care for me
caite The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
carl sandburg
literary bird cool, i just bought a book of sandburg poetry yesterday on my lunchbreak

along with some Tennyson and the collected tragedies of Shakespeare

money well spent
misstree every time i see the
slurring grey smears
fading familiar into indistinct,
i think of

every time i feel the
cold, soft, clammy,
drinking, swirling,
blanketing moisteness
i think of

every time
the fog dances for me,
i think of
chanaka it is so foggy this morning that i can't even see the tree outside my window. ah, beautiful obscuring fog...i wish you could stay forever, to hide the ugly streets. 010114
acceber It's forming in my eyes
clouding all my vision
fearing what is nothing
only seeing you.

Letting go of anger
holding onto truth
feeling what I'm missing
making death seem good.
amicus Hazy. Deep. Almost oppressing. Early in the morning, it is omnipresent. Swallows everything. Soon it is gone, but it's amazing that everything is still there. 011118
sphinxradio fog follows the meteor shower.

it seems like one of these things that should be symbolic.
caveman A torn and tattered past,(in panic) sifting through the scattered ashes,
The cards have been dealt and I'm wondering what's on the other side
Would I ?
Should I ?
Could I ?
looking into a crystal ball...
Time's eclipse consumes those dissidant memories when trying to follow one's own heart
A heartfelt resolution consceals the fear of feeling all alone
a constand reminder;trapped, flying blind
passive agressive tendensies cause those wicked in mind to prey on the weak
swimming in monotony,taking one step back letting the rain wash away the tears leaving secret wishes puddled on the ground
finding refuge..... standing still....
can you really see me,
shadowed amongst the fog
Destination? Hiding in broken homes, stuck between dirty sheets, we lay. Arms wrap around you to clear your mind, but its these arms of cosfusion that some how keep us safe, from outside from within. Hiden in vacant words, caught inside lifeless deeds, we stay. No matter how dark it is inside it is better than foggy days. 020916
god diamonds and clubs
light misted fog
the dead
^angel^ bla..bla..bla..suck a dick..BLA!!!! 031029
xyz I was kind of disappointed to learn that this was what the inside of a cloud looked like.

Clouds look a lot more magical when they're at a distance. Most things do, I guess.
pete the rain came down hard, and most of my classmates headed for the tunnels in fear that they may get wet. they did the same in the winter, afraid that they might have to suffer being cold. some have been doing it even while it was nice outside! i, for one, always go outside. it was raining hard. residence, my prison cell shared with a boy who seems to constantly need a mother telling him what to do, lays to the left. the west. i need to be by the water and the canal that holds the school in on the west side isn't full enough, it is merely a trickle so the skating rink would never be deep enough that some one who fell threw would drown. a safey procedure. i go right, east, to the river. it snakes along the east end of campus, and there is no real development from where school ends to where the river and canal meet up in the south, and the big 6 lane road is our northern border. the rain renders my glasses useless in no time, but it then comes to the point where it doesnt matter either way. my hair is soaked, i can feel it dripping on my face, down my back. drip. drip. drip. i cross the street after the number 117 bus waits for me to go at the crosswalk, and i continue under the train bridge to the river. i am standing five metres from its bank, but i cannot see it. the fog is thick, very thick. within it is the truth ive been seeking to experience. the life that exists without of the world. a freedom from being free, and the freedom to be free from freedom. each droplet, each of the billions of millions of droplets exists, and has existed longer than i ever will. each one has a life, a story. it is made up of countless billions of particles each interacting to form a cohesive whole, seeking not to evaporate or to fall, but to stand guard. it guards the truth. the truth does not exist beyond the guards, but within their cooperation. they don't have to want to cooperate, they simply do. they don't need to have a plan, they simply are. i walk along the path that leads to oxbow, and from there to brewers. of to the side i see a rock shrowded in the fog. i take it as my altar, and a kneel beside it listening, feeling, believing. it forms around me, enters me, exists me, exists in unity with me, but without actually caring about me. there is no need for humility, for humanity, for the doctrines of caring when they naturally exist. they do not need to be expressed. the rain intensified, i felt the truth ive been missing, that ive been seeking. smiling i get up and walk back to my cell where a bunch of guys are waiting so we can work on our theatre. of course they are so unorganized that i have to wait a nother day before i do anything, but that is life. they try to hard to be free, to be original, to be new. they fail so horrendously. and i joined them. i lost the truth. to know and to have lost. it hurt. it hurts. i know it exists. i have felt it, experiernced it. i need to grasp it again, and practice it. tao comes in many forms, but none of them are true. 040403
Borealis my mind is a fog
the silence of space,
a dry spot in the river.

where there were once thoughts, there is now very little. I wish only to find the keys to consciousness I have lost on my path. somewhere, they lie, abandoned, dusty, waiting.
next to the stone on the riverbed
in the back seat of my car
in a forgotten jacket pocket...

where did you run away to..
why have you left me with nothing?
falling_alone we drove across the bridge early one spring morning
and it spread out before us, a canvas waiting to be filled with colour.

we drove on through that misty dream.
puredream fog me up baby
clothe me in your incandescence
slap me around a few times
let me fall

through the fog








Deomis a cloud waiting
just waiting for me
to take me away
into the sky
KIDA Walking through a fog of people of things,
Not touching just out of reach
Reaching out never catching hold
Want to walk and never stop
Wander till my feet bled and my heart stops
Arwyn hidden away
in the recesses
of memory
I found you again.

you were my home.
my solace.
my family.
my creativity.

Can I stay?
Or am I too far gone?
Do you still know me?
I remember your feeling.

Peering through the mist,
I know this might be home.
infrastructure I want to go so far in I become its breath 240313
what's it to you?
who go