sister to the night
parting lips whisper "baby,"
darkness can't contain
* * *
eminently free,
unchained mind of eden, douse
fiery recess
* * *
a brazen lust
bore fruits of labor undone
the kiss of oceans
* * *
I want more...
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Muddy Waters ...
a letter to the
woman i once loved more than
myself: i still do.
* * *
sinister nightfall
frigid still winds of horizon
the wide-eyed unknown
* * *
terrified of you
truth falls over still closed lips
soothing inner demons
* * *
unshakable sight:
your eyes dance across loose leaf
under the dyed moon
* * *
nights are lonesome e-
ven though ostensibly no-
thing has changed at all.
woman i once loved more than
myself: i still do.
* * *
sinister nightfall
frigid still winds of horizon
the wide-eyed unknown
* * *
terrified of you
truth falls over still closed lips
soothing inner demons
* * *
unshakable sight:
your eyes dance across loose leaf
under the dyed moon
* * *
nights are lonesome e-
ven though ostensibly no-
thing has changed at all.
The Funeral ...
Let us all bow our heads and mourn for the moment that never was.
It wasn't until I felt I was in the right state of mind that I realized I had gone too far left. So far, in fact, that not only was I lost, but I had lost all sense of reason. Or season. Winter melted into Summer before I noticed the Fall, and only the chilled breeze through the open window alerted me to my miscarriage. My peace disturbed by the kiss of a black widow.
Throw no roses; I'd only arrange them at her feet.
It wasn't until I felt I was in the right state of mind that I realized I had gone too far left. So far, in fact, that not only was I lost, but I had lost all sense of reason. Or season. Winter melted into Summer before I noticed the Fall, and only the chilled breeze through the open window alerted me to my miscarriage. My peace disturbed by the kiss of a black widow.
Throw no roses; I'd only arrange them at her feet.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Corrected ...
I could hardly get my thoughts organized before she punctuated her question with her own answer: "none."
And she was right.
I had no right to be there; no right to occupy her vision or share in her rarified air. It was left for me to cross the boulevard of broken dreams that lay before me, gathering the bits and pieces of face, faith, and fate strewn along the way. So for hours that day, I was discussed and she was disgusted.
All I wanted was to disappear.
The feeling of disassociation isn't new to me. More than once in my life I've wanted to disintegrate and blow away like dust in the wind; to sink into a crack in the sidewalk or a wrinkle in time and not exist. Be gone, be nothing. Not some existentialist's wet dream where I simply remove consciousness from body and watch my life like some bad B-movie. I mean literal nonexistence. Cessation. The act of being discontinued.
And now she makes me want to feel this way again.
Her words become a blur, masked by tears and augmented with choice thoughts unfit for public consumption. I'm numb to her attempts. Mind constantly racing - a byproduct of mechanically trying to stay one lie ahead of what lies ahead. Soon I will see there is nothing to race against; no race to be won. That what prize their may have been is not worth the price paid to achieve it. That she was right; and here I stand corrected.
I will see all of that as soon as she stops fucking crying. Damn.
And she was right.
I had no right to be there; no right to occupy her vision or share in her rarified air. It was left for me to cross the boulevard of broken dreams that lay before me, gathering the bits and pieces of face, faith, and fate strewn along the way. So for hours that day, I was discussed and she was disgusted.
All I wanted was to disappear.
The feeling of disassociation isn't new to me. More than once in my life I've wanted to disintegrate and blow away like dust in the wind; to sink into a crack in the sidewalk or a wrinkle in time and not exist. Be gone, be nothing. Not some existentialist's wet dream where I simply remove consciousness from body and watch my life like some bad B-movie. I mean literal nonexistence. Cessation. The act of being discontinued.
And now she makes me want to feel this way again.
Her words become a blur, masked by tears and augmented with choice thoughts unfit for public consumption. I'm numb to her attempts. Mind constantly racing - a byproduct of mechanically trying to stay one lie ahead of what lies ahead. Soon I will see there is nothing to race against; no race to be won. That what prize their may have been is not worth the price paid to achieve it. That she was right; and here I stand corrected.
I will see all of that as soon as she stops fucking crying. Damn.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Shimmer ...
She left in a huff.
She always does. A whirling mist of costume jewelry, cotton blends, and Chanel No. 5 - her favored scent. It's never easy to see her go; to let her back into the world. And regardless of the context, I'm always left sprawled diagonally across the full-sized bed in a tangle of sheets and yesterday. Sometimes face down, sometimes in a haze, but always left to my own devices.
It plays in reverse in my mind. She, collecting herself on the chaise lounge in the corner of the room, hurriedly dragging what is always her last cigarette; tapping her toe double-time to the measure of the popping vinyl that signals the end of Coltrane's A Love Supreme. Minutes before, she reintroduced her slender frame to the lace-laden red panties she gleefully showed off hours prior, and her lingerie was swallowed by the simple sundress she arrived in (though I much preferred it in a pool at the foot of the bed).
She knew my tastes.
Life never fully comes into focus the moment she closes the door. For some, you would imagine reality to rather quickly resume: a stretch; the slow walk to the mirror; the smug grin of self satisfaction that somehow can never be washed clean. But for me, I always remain in limbo for just a second longer, toeing the line between what is and what was. Perhaps selfishly waiting for footsteps to resume in the hall, thrusting her back into my presence. More likely, knowing that she forever appears and disappears in the same breath, and that catching her is akin to trapping lightning in a bottle.
Her power over me is real. I can accomplish little without her, and with her she is my only joy. She reigns over my movements despotically, tyranically. I obey slavishly. At her mercy, I am. And it is as a result of her that I lie as I do, somewhere in between life and lost, wondering if I'd rather have her back or have another drink. I love my captor. Even in her absence, she knows I would never leave.
But all that shimmers in this world is sure to fade.
She always does. A whirling mist of costume jewelry, cotton blends, and Chanel No. 5 - her favored scent. It's never easy to see her go; to let her back into the world. And regardless of the context, I'm always left sprawled diagonally across the full-sized bed in a tangle of sheets and yesterday. Sometimes face down, sometimes in a haze, but always left to my own devices.
It plays in reverse in my mind. She, collecting herself on the chaise lounge in the corner of the room, hurriedly dragging what is always her last cigarette; tapping her toe double-time to the measure of the popping vinyl that signals the end of Coltrane's A Love Supreme. Minutes before, she reintroduced her slender frame to the lace-laden red panties she gleefully showed off hours prior, and her lingerie was swallowed by the simple sundress she arrived in (though I much preferred it in a pool at the foot of the bed).
She knew my tastes.
Life never fully comes into focus the moment she closes the door. For some, you would imagine reality to rather quickly resume: a stretch; the slow walk to the mirror; the smug grin of self satisfaction that somehow can never be washed clean. But for me, I always remain in limbo for just a second longer, toeing the line between what is and what was. Perhaps selfishly waiting for footsteps to resume in the hall, thrusting her back into my presence. More likely, knowing that she forever appears and disappears in the same breath, and that catching her is akin to trapping lightning in a bottle.
Her power over me is real. I can accomplish little without her, and with her she is my only joy. She reigns over my movements despotically, tyranically. I obey slavishly. At her mercy, I am. And it is as a result of her that I lie as I do, somewhere in between life and lost, wondering if I'd rather have her back or have another drink. I love my captor. Even in her absence, she knows I would never leave.
But all that shimmers in this world is sure to fade.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Standing in the Shower ... Thinking ...
Standing in the shower thinking
About what makes a man
An outlaw or a leader
I'm thinking about power...
The ways a man could use it
Or be destroyed by it
The water hits my neck
And I'm pissing on myself...
- Jane's Addiction
So it was brought to my attention just how long I've been away from this place. I suppose life intervened and my muse went flying. But as recently as yesterday, she may have returned. Thanks to the wonder that is the film Finding Forrester, I was reminded of just how much I enjoy writing ... how cathartic, expressive, useful, necessary it is in my life.
Plus it beats the hell out of waiting for a phone to wring/a new email to arrive/a blade of grass to grow/paint to dry, etc.
So maybe I'll be serious this time. Maybe I won't be distracted by the shiny things you see in this online world; maybe I will write. Who knows what, and who knows why, but damned if I don't at least try...
About what makes a man
An outlaw or a leader
I'm thinking about power...
The ways a man could use it
Or be destroyed by it
The water hits my neck
And I'm pissing on myself...
- Jane's Addiction
So it was brought to my attention just how long I've been away from this place. I suppose life intervened and my muse went flying. But as recently as yesterday, she may have returned. Thanks to the wonder that is the film Finding Forrester, I was reminded of just how much I enjoy writing ... how cathartic, expressive, useful, necessary it is in my life.
Plus it beats the hell out of waiting for a phone to wring/a new email to arrive/a blade of grass to grow/paint to dry, etc.
So maybe I'll be serious this time. Maybe I won't be distracted by the shiny things you see in this online world; maybe I will write. Who knows what, and who knows why, but damned if I don't at least try...
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Hole In The Bucket ...
I swear, my attention span is so short that these seem to be all I can write ...
--
nothing is sacred
all men have an untold price
how much for your soul?
--
nothing is sacred
all men have an untold price
how much for your soul?
* * *
it took but three days
my head before my heels
easily i fall
* * *
crucify my heart
leave nothing beyond here
this is the moment
* * *
seven months sober
every drop feels like zen
thirsty is the devil
* * *
never will you know
trees and breeze and lightning bugs
i made them for you
* * *
dramatics aside
lift the veil from your brown eyes
see life is better
* * *
i lost everything
life is better with your smile
i got it all back
* * *
looking for answers
forgot i wrote the damn book
take your own advice
* * *
we oft collide like
two neutron stars in black holes
end civility
* * *
the sky has fallen
two bodies less heavenly
erupting massive
* * *
translucent heavy
i envy your sense of me
destroy thoughts of we
* * *
you only want change
a chance to be another
i only want you
* * *
i wish i knew you
to be the voice in your ear
and call you perfect
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
The Hardest Button to Button ...
"Skepticism is the beginning of Faith." - Oscar Wilde
First of all, I sincerely want to thank everyone who stumbled upon my post on 'Faith' and left a comment. You have no idea what it means to me to have complete strangers leave me such inspiring words. That's actually the reason I began to blog in the first place so many years ago: I wanted to be able to leave unfiltered thoughts in the air in hopes that someone would respond, not through judgment, but with understanding. So amazing; so many thanks.
It's only fitting that I am still getting comments on that post as we round out week one of the Lenten season. Lent sneaks up on me every year. It's never until Fat Tuesday (Mardi Gras) that I realize Ash Wednesday is the following day and I need to determine what to sacrifice for the weeks leading up to Easter. Some years it's something relatively trite, either out of pure laziness or out of perceived need: cursing, X type of food, etc. This year, however, I gave it some thought (albeit the night before) and came up with something conceptual rather than purely deprivation-related:
No excuses.
For Lent, I gave up (or, rather, am attempting to give up) making excuses - for my conduct, for my actions, for my inaction, for my thoughts, and for everything else I could think of. For me, that means not sitting back out of frustration and letting things happen around me. It means staying focused, staying proactive, and continually trying to make something happen - without using the excuse of "it's too hard," or "it's just not meant to be right now."
In the last week, I've truly challenged myself...most notably, physically. I happen to live with people who are relatively athletic (or once were) and who five weeks ago began a workout regimen. Well, not just any one...they started P90X. Yeah, THAT P90X, from the informercials. I continually made excuses and a general lack of effort to join my roommates in their quest ... usually citing laziness or general unwillingness. So as I stood in the shower on the morning of Ash Wednesday, I determined I would be sure to extend "No excuses" to every corner of my life - including physical activity. The next day I began a similar program to that of my roommates (same workouts, different schedule for different results) and have stuck with it every day since. This is a big deal for me, no matter how trivial it may seem to some. It has taken a great deal of discipline and resolve for me to fight my body into doing these exercises on a daily basis. But, in all truth, at 25 years old I was (am) tired of my body being the way that it is, and I know that it will be far easier for me to make a change now than 5, 10, 15 years down the line.
The Lenten season is not all about deprivation. It's not about denying yourself for the simple sake of denial. It's about growth: growing in yourself, growing in your faith. Growing in the belief that (cliche' alert) "if God brings you to it, He will bring you through it." It's about calling on that inner strength and faith to tell yourself that you will not give into the temptation to quit, thereby stunting any progress you're making. It tests you to call on your faith to make it through you perceived "darkest hour(s)".
I'm realizing I make a million excuses a day, and it's an eye-opener to see the things I simply refuse to do out of habitually telling myself "I can't" or "I won't." This has to change. I will never, ever get these days of my life back. This is it.
"When you walk to the edge of all the light you have
and take that first step into the darkness of the unknown,
you must believe that one of two things will happen:
First of all, I sincerely want to thank everyone who stumbled upon my post on 'Faith' and left a comment. You have no idea what it means to me to have complete strangers leave me such inspiring words. That's actually the reason I began to blog in the first place so many years ago: I wanted to be able to leave unfiltered thoughts in the air in hopes that someone would respond, not through judgment, but with understanding. So amazing; so many thanks.
It's only fitting that I am still getting comments on that post as we round out week one of the Lenten season. Lent sneaks up on me every year. It's never until Fat Tuesday (Mardi Gras) that I realize Ash Wednesday is the following day and I need to determine what to sacrifice for the weeks leading up to Easter. Some years it's something relatively trite, either out of pure laziness or out of perceived need: cursing, X type of food, etc. This year, however, I gave it some thought (albeit the night before) and came up with something conceptual rather than purely deprivation-related:
No excuses.
For Lent, I gave up (or, rather, am attempting to give up) making excuses - for my conduct, for my actions, for my inaction, for my thoughts, and for everything else I could think of. For me, that means not sitting back out of frustration and letting things happen around me. It means staying focused, staying proactive, and continually trying to make something happen - without using the excuse of "it's too hard," or "it's just not meant to be right now."
In the last week, I've truly challenged myself...most notably, physically. I happen to live with people who are relatively athletic (or once were) and who five weeks ago began a workout regimen. Well, not just any one...they started P90X. Yeah, THAT P90X, from the informercials. I continually made excuses and a general lack of effort to join my roommates in their quest ... usually citing laziness or general unwillingness. So as I stood in the shower on the morning of Ash Wednesday, I determined I would be sure to extend "No excuses" to every corner of my life - including physical activity. The next day I began a similar program to that of my roommates (same workouts, different schedule for different results) and have stuck with it every day since. This is a big deal for me, no matter how trivial it may seem to some. It has taken a great deal of discipline and resolve for me to fight my body into doing these exercises on a daily basis. But, in all truth, at 25 years old I was (am) tired of my body being the way that it is, and I know that it will be far easier for me to make a change now than 5, 10, 15 years down the line.
The Lenten season is not all about deprivation. It's not about denying yourself for the simple sake of denial. It's about growth: growing in yourself, growing in your faith. Growing in the belief that (cliche' alert) "if God brings you to it, He will bring you through it." It's about calling on that inner strength and faith to tell yourself that you will not give into the temptation to quit, thereby stunting any progress you're making. It tests you to call on your faith to make it through you perceived "darkest hour(s)".
I'm realizing I make a million excuses a day, and it's an eye-opener to see the things I simply refuse to do out of habitually telling myself "I can't" or "I won't." This has to change. I will never, ever get these days of my life back. This is it.
"When you walk to the edge of all the light you have
and take that first step into the darkness of the unknown,
you must believe that one of two things will happen:
There will be something solid for you to stand upon, or, you will be taught how to fly" - Patrick Overton
Thursday, January 28, 2010
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