Your sorry eyes cut through the bone They make it hard to leave you alone Leave you here wearing your wounds Waving your guns at somebody new

Baby you're lost Baby you're lost Baby you're a lost cause

There's too many people you used to know They see you coming they see you go They know your secrets and you know theirs This town is crazy; nobody cares

Baby you're lost Baby you're lost Baby you're a lost cause

I'm tired of fighting I'm tired of fighting Fighting for a lost cause

There’s a place where you are going You ain't never been before No one left to watch your back now No one standing at your door That's what you thought love was for

Baby you're lost Baby you're lost Baby you're a lost cause

I'm tired of fighting I'm tired of fighting Fighting for a lost cause

This is from Beck's album: Sea Change. A great album and a great song of the day.

Human history is filled with the search for room to live, room to learn, and room to love.

In Christian lore the most poigant search is the search of Mary and Joseph to find a place to bring their baby and our baby into the world. That they found finally only a cattle barn makes all human beings who hear the story one with the little baby born in the manger.

We are at our best, we huamn beings, when we endeavor to make room for someone else to live in peace and in joy.

Habitat for Humanity is about the business and the beauty of finding and making room for those who have no space. I am pround of all those who participate in that anceint and new endeavor.

• Maya Angelou

Thanks to Granpa for giving me the card with this text and for providing a place as mentioned within, to me and many others like me.

2002:12:12 Atlanta

I began to speak and spoke not, and the words stuck in my throat flare now like a poem, this one I write.

I open and close the book again and again. I don't find a few thousand mouths in me, like the thousand mouths of a river in a far away country, I need to write this song I began to and forgot, helpless

I am, unable to find the words to pluck as fruit from a tree or words like unsteady planets wobbling in their orbits or words that simply fall as snow falls softly in a dark night, soundlessly.

My words are hard: as a rock, as me, or the lines that etch my face, useless words. I need words as fluid as flags waving in the wind, as fluid as a laugh,

a silver fish travelling up the river of my blood, of a woman dressed in dreams, that beat their wings around her as they take off like birds into the evening sky, across the blankness of unfilled sheets.

Will you bring me, few such words?

2002:12:12 01:00 Atlanta For S.B.