Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Advice #3 Depression

Breath Babe... try to remember…and accept that deep inside your “Self”, despite it all, is a granule of Hope...and the Knowledge that at some point soon, things will improve.
 

To deny this, is to willfully surrender and nourish the Bleakness; and with moments spent in self flagellation, neglect and mental hyperventilating, rob yourself of Time better spent in joyful and/or productive pursuits.
 

This is part of the condition… to make a lover of fallaciously endless, stoic yet self perpetuating depression…almost indulgently, luxuriantly… while simultaneously knowing and denying that in some future moment you’ll enjoy laughter and a lightening of the soul once again.

It is all part of the journey – embrace this as you should all things…learn from it what you are meant to learn - acknowledge, resolve and release  – the wiser for it.
 

Breath ... do something you haven't taken the time to do in years.  Do something creative, relaxing, energizing or daring.


…the Spark will ignite as you remember those simplest of things ever within your reach, worthy of Joy.



Sunday, September 19, 2010

Advice #2 - Disappointment


Life’s lessons present themselves in labyrinths leaving themselves to be discovered.  You can’t always get what you want…nor who you want it from…. Learn from the disappointment and embrace the promise of new adventures. 


Impromptu Picnic in Central Park (2013 re-write)


Impromptu picnic in central park; 
from cotton candy in baby blues to royal speckled twilight, 
multi-hued clouds flickered subliminal messages of myths and futures untold. 

Wet Green air 
carried 
perfumed contemplation 
birthing 
colorful imaginings and wishful thinking, 
while ritual contact through mishap and invitation, 
desire and innovation 
broke 
the silence of things left unsaid. 

Minstrel’s lullabies set the primal hearts’ pace 
as quickened bodies 
moved with the uncertain grace of those submerged in instinct’s murky resistance;
attraction’s musty fragrant shroud 
quelled by common sense and truer aims, 
mixed 
with the tangy odor of fear, expectation and longing
making opposition futile. 

Wrapped in wool, perched on wet earth
adventure evolved into comfort 
while staring at the stars silently toasting imagination, 
they saluted the evening and prayed against familiarity, 
in favor of maintaining the intimate’s mystery a little longer.






Impromptu picnic in central park; from cotton candy in baby blue cerements to royal speckled twilight, multi-hued clouds flickered subliminal messages of myths and futures untold.  

Wet green air carried perfumed contemplation birthing colorful imaginings and wishful thinking, while ritual contact through mishap and invitation, desire and innovation broke the silence of things left unsaid. 

Minstrel’s lullabies set the primal heartspace as bodies moved with the uncertain grace of one submerged in instinct’s murky resistance…attraction’s musty fragrant shroud quelled by common sense and truer aims, mixed with the tangy order of fear, quickened the magic…making opposition futile. 

Wrapped in wool, perched on wet earth, adventure evolved into comfort and staring at the stars and toasting imagination we saluted the evening and prayed against familiarity in favor of maintaining the intimate’s mystery a little longer.


Think...


Someone once said,
Even the Devil believes in God!”…
With this “knowledge”, must come the understanding that “belief” alone offers no protection from temptation dressed as instant salves for jaded and uninspired souls. 

We are captives of the flesh.
Primal versus Reason, 
Reason versus Redemption, 
Flesh versus Spirit, 
Now versus Rapture Eternal. 


Requisites for Evolution and Enlightenment leave us duty bound to do all possible to master it.

Pheromone Highs (2013 re-write)



Eyes filled, glamour’d by decisions 
clouded by random choice and chance.
Lips and mouth await ravaging 
while the temple awaits the worshiper. 

A quickened pulse pounds with fear, expectation and promise.

Breathless with wonder, 
anticipating willful submission, 
waxing and waning tidal thoughts 
overwhelm and overcome reason; 
the mind whimpers 
wordless supplications for joyful metamorphosis, 
as the body cries to be consumed 
and the soul quivers in fear of oblivion





Eyes filled, glamored by decisions clouded by random choice and chance.  Lips and mouth await ravaging while the temple awaits the worshiper. A quickened pulse pounds with anticipation, fear, expectation and promise.
Breathless with wonder, anticipating willful submission, waxing and waning tidal thoughts overwhelm and overcome reason; the soul whimpers wordless supplications for joyful metamorphosis, as the body cries to be consumed. 

An Alpha's Respite (2013 re-write)


Feel me, Heal me
Touch me, Hear me
See me, Understand me
Know me, Trust me
Envelope me, Free me
Pursue and Haunt me,
Master and Conquer me,
Overcome and Awe me into submission and 
through masterful direction and tender administrations 
show me Love, 
move me to Surrender,
Inspire me to Trust…
Comfort me unto Release.






Stalk me, haunt and hunt me; master and conquer me, overcome and awe me into submission and through masterful direction and tender administrations show me love, move me to surrender, inspire me to trust…comfort me unto release.

Advice #1 - Take Care of You

Desire yourself at your best, court yourself and tender your well being with habitual care as you would a new lover.

A Call to Action

Face your fears, risk failure, take your time and do it right the first time, stop giving in to the primal, go beyond the temptation to cry out and demand instant gratification, nothing instant is worth having, just do it…do it all, do what it takes, do what is required, then do more; ignore and or postpone distraction.  Daydream things doing…and save fantasy for sleeper’s reward.

An Author's Apology...

Empathy to the reader, the burden of having to read and in so doing the opportunity to repeat the endeavor endlessly, lends itself to obsession and instability…the reader is required and unkindly directed to assign temper and tone to choice of words with purposeful ambiguity…cursed to forever wonder at the author’s meaning and blanching at the inequities of the narrator. 
The author has but two hurdles to overcome before the deed is done…first, to muster the courage to commit intent to paper and secondly, to call upon stores of perseverance to have the audacity to publish and promote said letters.  Once committed the precise words fade from memory, the writer’s mind thus purged and assuaged, is clear and all that remains are vague impressions of intent, forgotten reason and rebirth. 

Avoidance


Let’s run away from the noise and constant drum of maddened masses made common by the secular and brute by volume… away from all that is gray and lost…. To embraces that keep the world at bay and kisses which lend bearers hope for prayers fervently answered.

Jumping in... (2013 re-write)


Tie a string around it and 
throw caution to the wind. 

I will be our anchor and you the sail,  
rising above obstacles cumulus and brume;

And with whispered prayer 
let God’s hands in fate 
guide us to journey’s end.



Tie a string around it and throw caution to the wind.  I will be our anchor and you the sail,  rising above obstacles cumulus and brume and with whispered prayer let God’s hands in fate guide us to journey’s end.


Ancient Witness


Still as a glacier…  awaiting a breeze’s news of 
Spring’s fever, Winter’s madness, Summer’s love and Fall’s gladness. 


Faith (2013 Re-write)



Neither push, plead, 
implore nor bargain, 
but stay the course as a quiet supplicant, 
subdued and still, 
stealth in mind and spirit, 
a vigilant, and sanguine petitioner 
humble before Fate. 

And as with Odysseus’ return, 
allow the Earth-Shaker’s currents to draw that 
which you covet, nearer … 
while making an anathema of all ports that call to it 
save your own.



Neither push, plead, implore nor bargain, but stay the course as a quiet supplicant, subdued and still, stealth in mind and spirit, a vigilant, and sanguine petitioner humble before Fate.  And as with Odysseus’ return, allow Poseidon’s currents to draw that which you covet nearer … while silently cursing all ports that call to it to save your own...

Exile… Night's Companion (2013 re-write)

Held in their sticky cerement embrace- loneliness, disappointment and dubiety, companions constant and true – reluctant but practiced supplicants, lay warmed and comforted in their familiarity, while silently despairing over corporeal promises and hollow intents.

Forgotten by gods, dismissed by fate, ignored by muses, bastardized by man; living outside the laws of nature, what more have they a right to expect?

Abandoned to “Mortality”, earthbound and blind…
their future, unformed questions in their mind; 
choked with dread of the unknown and anticipation of hopeful and rewarding lives ... 
they wander around the trough.

Drowning amidst the din of man, taunting notes 
on haunted internal winds 
carry vaguely familiar glimpses of truths once known… 
long since forgotten. 

Closing their eyes when the world stops for a breath, 
They permit the melody to carry them home 
to a place they knew beyond the veil…

before the oracles left us…




Exiled

Abandoned to Mortality, earthbound and blind…our future, questions in our mind choked with dread of the unknown and anticipation of hopeful and rewarding lives...we wander.  

Taunting notes on a haunted wind carry vaguely familiar glimpses of truths witnessed… long since forgotten. Closing our eyes when the world stops for a breath, we permit the melody to carry us home to a place we knew beyond the veil…before the oracles left us…

Friday, September 17, 2010

Next life...

Still... looking for your soul
in the faces of those I might learn to love
…waiting for the Guph to tip

Thursday, September 16, 2010

The Narcissistic Obsessive (2013 re-write of "Raw")



Let me climb you like a tree, 
Wrap myself around your mind and
impregnate your thoughts 
until they give birth to 
the only solution to the maddening rush, 
thrill and demand of your need... 
Me. 




Raw
Let me climb you like a tree, wrap myself around your mind and impregnate your thoughts until they give birth to...Me…. the only solution to the maddening rush, thrill and demand of Need.

H'Auntie Eddie...(2/1997)

As she stroked her cat with the stroke of midnight , Auntie Edwina, a quiet and peaceful woman…the kind of old lady that had happy wrinkles, always had candy on Hallow’s Eve, and never forgot your name or favorite cookie… convulsed backward, in a way very atypical of her usual grace, and had a stroke.

Word spread fast around the disquieted neighborhood children, who all knew and loved her dearly…

“Auntie Edwina is Dying!”
“Nah, she’s dead n’ six feet under by now!”

None of the children had been allowed to see her in the hospital - ‘cept Charlie, the local tomboy, who returned, out of breath, to the tree house, shrouded with the crimson and orange hues of fall…

Rumors took on eerie nightmarish qualities…

...known to parents as a bad influence, because of her uncanny ability to captivate any audience of well-groomed, button-nosed kids, lure them with spectacular tales of the unknown and into adventures that would often leave them coming home with torn Sunday vests, scrapped knees, forgotten chores and on occasion, a bloody nose…

…to the children, especially the girls, she was a star, had all the answers, and could always keep the boys in their place. The few boys that hung with their crowd, were torn between early feelings of budding testosterone leaden inadequacy and the first tinges of puppy love…

Charlie -  began to describe  the unsettling scene of “Ms. Eddie”, as she was called among her peers…The children rapt and horrified…

 “They’re turning her into a Zombie!  Yeah, she died, and they turned her back on…only now she not right! I heard one of the doc’s saying she’s “para-somethin” on her side. She won’t be able to use her right side for nothin!  That’s how you can tell if she’s one of ‘em!”

Of course all children know that Zombies slouched, dragging an arm and leg.. until they simply rotted away (unless they took every opportunity to feast on human brains of course!). 

They all envisioned Auntie Eddie ...
walking toward them ...along the porch
dragging a leg up the steps behind her...

Thump thump...
Thump thump...

Her foot hitting each step...
an arm ...reaching for them.., trying to usher them in… 

And ...as if in mass hallucination, the children gasped at the thought of her putrid , gangrene, maggot eaten, brain hungry flesh trying to feed them cookies!
.
.
.
When Auntie Edwina returned home after her stay at Our Lady of Perpetual Purgatory Memorial, she smiled gaily…
looking forward to seeing the children….

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Cavity 2/16/1997

I close my eyes to block out the sight of you, plug my ears, so I can’t hear you, but I am filled with you nonetheless…my core etched, vibrates with the knowledge of you like the dull throb of a sugar filled cavity

Taught to Covet


I suffered from some indecision about the finality of things... 

Why do we always want passionately those things beyond our reach - when in fact, if segregated from the imagined possibilities or instituted barriers we learn, we no longer know if we want these things intrinsically, in and of themselves?

Once removed… independent of any action on my part, I find these misgivings vanquished and certainty is encapsulated in the loss.

(Coveting Destiny,2/15/1997)

Epiphany


Either accompanied and alone, or just 
Alone.
Better the latter, than burdened by disappointment
in those you hoped would fill the void.

Truth Be Told


“You mean everything to me!”
“Honestly”
“I’ll write”
“I promise”
“Trust me”
“I guess I’m just old fashioned”
“I can quit any time I want to”
“I’ve never been a one-night stand”
“I’m afraid to die”
“I die in your arms tonight”
                     I’ve got a headache…

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Hardly prophetic..

Inclined toward subconscious parasitic and conditional intentions, 
it hardly seems prophetic, to declare the effort doomed from the start.

Chance Encounters... (2013 re-write of When We Meet People)


When we meet people, we meet possibilities.  

When we lose someone, we relinquish with them all the dreams their influence gave birth to. 

Left with the after burn of inspiration their influence provided, we abort the dreams and suffer like addicts without the chemistry…

Unless we fight… 



When we meet people...
When we meet people, we meet possibilities… and when we lose someone, we relinquish with them all the dreams their influence gave birth to. We abort the dreams and suffer like addicts without the chemistry…

Revenge is My Bitch (1997)

As I stumble
My breath rising
Hope…a dark Hope blossoms…
Enlivening, possessing, sustaining
The kind of nutrient brought on only by the
Vigilant, unwavering, Gibraltar, steely, galactic, ever watchful, patient conviction that
Revenge is MY Bitch!

I sit back and listen to My Bitch
She knows how to do it too!
At time takin’ soft, seductive
whisperin’ plans of ruthless bloodletting
at others
coming down hard, man-handling and bitch-slappin me into Her reality.
Panther like stealth
My Bitch is invisible
Like smoke, silky…insidious
Yeah, she’s Good!
Feels rich n’ smooth goin’ down.

Through her desire my hope is reborn, replenished and revitalized.

She’s got My back and she’s greedy
So BACK OFF!
There ain’t enough for you!

Missing that Thang (2013 re-write)


I miss that Thang
That Spark, that Chemistry
That VIBE
which made it all seem so real, so plausible, so possible;
That “Zip, Bang, Pow!, Snap, Crackle & Pop!”
that made it all seem so right;
That welcoming warm and fuzzy“mellow yellow”
final “Ahhhh”, perfectly-mated union “Click”!
And most of all,
I miss that
“roll over in the middle of the night
reach out and spoon you” pacifier
that made me dream of more.



Missing that Thang... (2/10/1997)
I miss that Thang
That Spark, that Chemistry
That VIBE
Which made it all seem
so real, so plausible, so possible;
That “Zip, Bang, Pow!, Snap, Crackle & Pop!”
that made it all seem so right;
That welcoming “mellow yellow”,
that warm and fuzzy purple aura that enshrouded us in some kind of spiritually acknowledge baptism
That final “Ahhhh”, perfectly mated union Click!
And most of all,
I miss that
roll over in the middle of the night
reach out and spoon you
pacifier
that made me dream of more.

"Wordsmith".....(2013 re-write)



Words once eluded me…So I collected them in a well, and held them captive in a pen - drawing from its depths only when intuition so directed.

Now, words, like so many spells, I cherish in a fashion likened to Death’s grip for fear of unfathomable prophecies & unintended consequences.

The Word and Will thus unwed
I put myself nightly abed 
and pray my dreams too, cause no harm.



 (original 8/31/1993)
Once words attempted to elude me…I collected them in a well, held them captive in my pen - drawing from its depths only when intuition so directed. 

Now, words, like so many spells, I cherish in a fashion likened to Death’s grip for fear of unfathomable prophecies.

... where your mouth is... (9/30/1988)

What’s left unsaid is left to be done,
things to be gained, those to be won.

If Anyone's True... it's You

Once…I felt the weight of arms around me...


and basked brilliantly with the knowledge
... they were my own.

Insomniac's Prayer (2013 re-write)



Pen in hand, my thoughts run with a 
silent command to action.

Ideas, numbing, muse-less flakes, fall from a muted yet turbulent source, my only tools - this pen, an insomniac’s memory and a leaden hand.

I lay sideways, fetal…stoic, awaiting the weightlessness that accompanies slumber into a sweet oblivious state of naked vulnerability, innocence and peace ... for a blessed moment of nonexistence - removed, unaware, guiltless, without conflict, shame and flagellating judgments...

With a long sigh… I pray…

“Release me from myself. Tonight, accept my surrender, allow me to stop…cease…rest, and tomorrow may I awaken wiser, stronger and more at peace - Amen.”



Pen in hand, my thoughts run with a silent command to action.

Ideas, numbing, muse-less flakes, fall from a muted yet turbulent pallet, my only tools - this pen, an insomniac’s memory and a daft hand.

I lay sideways…stoic, awaiting the weightlessness that accompanies slumber into a sweet oblivious state of naked vulnerability, innocence and peace ... for a blessed moment of nonexistence - removed, unaware, guiltless, without conflict, shame and flagellating judgments...

With a long sigh… I pray…

“Release me from myself. Tonight, accept my surrender, allow me to stop…cease…rest, and tomorrow may I awaken wiser, stronger and more at peace - Amen.”

Ignore me.......(7/7/1992)

7/7/1992

Do not listen to me
for my Words are Corrupt
with the Need for Love…

Before I die... (1/13/2002)



You have only to
touch me...
look upon me,
kiss me Quick!
Before my heart beats its
Last,
and I will
Awaken
Invigorated, Enlivened…
Reborn.

And… yet,
If that last breath should come still
Bidden by unyielding Fate…
I will master time and
Will it to linger but a moment longer
As a whisper in the breeze
A spell cast…
For Reunion in the next life
and a Prayer for you in this one…

I am I

Who Am I or
….is it I, Who Am?

…friend, mother, father, brother sister…distant cousin, the culmination of all programmed  political and religious beliefs, my “race”, “ethnicity”, gender, “class” or some other equally limiting pronoun?

…the letters and phonetic “S..oun….d…s” that make my designation,
sounds that hold “meaning” in one language or another, promising to bestow the prowess of the untamed or the peace and tranquility of an ancient forest…?

Am I …
… a part the collective “We”,  supporting and perpetuating a pre-packaged, saran wrapped, vacuum sealed, "ribbed for my pleasure”, disposable and  “free with purchase of” pop or sub-Culture?

Am I… who “they” say I am?
my being restricted caged by the limited perceptions of those around me…a mere creation of other’s projected perceptions, deceptions and faulty filters?

Am I…
… some disembodied mind, imprisoned in the flesh, awaiting blissful release back into an all-knowing and forgiving oblivion?

Where… can “I” find the “I”, what makes “Me”…?
How do I distinguish my…”Self” from the layers of opinions, beliefs, positions, labels assigned at birth?

The Answer is complex in its simplicity

I am I…
and ….
I…am

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Sleepless....

A quarter to 4am
numb and distracted
restless
incoherent
unable to strand a thought together
save the gnawing notion that 
something...is...

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Angels Among Us...

Not all angels come to us in glimmering pastel clouds shrouded in light, feathers and cinnamon … not all journey forth in gilded chariots, lightening or on a fragrant breeze… on a special errand… simply for me…or you…

Confused…the flight from the choir’s nave or crowded guff, between stars and stratosphere, some angels may merely be lost - the journey having left them distracted or confused…their message and intent perhaps forgotten… Do they find their way to us “subconsciously”… the beacon of a mission so embedded that even with amnesia they find their way to fulfilling their mission or do they wander aimlessly earthbound ….  directionless?

A lucky few, however unbeknownst to them, are met with what some think of as pure Angels…directly “from the big guy above”… they resolve the quandary and disappear… leaving the recipient none the wiser save ever grateful for the seemingly miraculous conclusion to what seemed an insurmountable problem or challenge.

Perhaps some angels come in spiritu… without mass… and infuses or temporarily possess one of us… and this explains the occasional moments of inspiration and grace you witness when perfect strangers seamlessly and unconditionally help one another….

Some folks opt to believe in Karma rather than in the services of divine angels, sprites or Djinn … people themselves are destined to do, help, hurt, save, stop, aid each other as karma dictates – with no personification of divine oversight save to acknowledge the power of the Universe to even things out eventually…

I like to believe that we are all Angels, Djinn, helpful entities… imbued with innocents and goodness… that in our moments of grace, when we are at our best, we are angels for one another… in these moments we are divine…the answer to spoken and unspoken prayers…

Passing Through Time (2013 re-write)


Walking down this lonely corridor
known simply and ironically as “life”,
he has nothing to disturb his thoughts
save the sound of his own dull aimless steps
Echoing…
Echoing …
E…cho….ing… sounds
Bounce bouncing sounds
off endless walls called hours, minutes, days… 
cohorts in crime; 
So…un…ds … 
mingling with memories of rare 
occasions of awareness;
and he wanders wondering…
“How much have I changed
since I last paid attention
to the shifting bouncing sounds
of myself… my…very self… 
passing through time”







Walking down this lonely corridor
Known simply and ironically as “life”
I have nothing to disturb my thoughts
But the sound of my own steps
Echoing…
Echoing
Echoing…sound
Bounce bouncing
off walls called time…
Time…
Sound mingling
with memories of other such occasions of awareness
and I wander wondering…
How much have I changed
since I last paid attention
to the shifting sounds
bouncing sounds
of myself
Passing
Passing through time?

A Lover’s Prayer: Scene 1 (2013 re-write)



Warm and Disarm me with Genuine smiles.
Tend my Heart carefully, 
accept my affections given in kind, 
Believe and Surrender.

For reasons unfathomable 
our threads are tied - our story begun;
Attraction and Attachment
inevitable and unavoidable.

The things I want
are words stuck in wombish buccal cavities
and only my pen communicates freely
those things only fugitively mouthed 
in the company of shadows
where insecurities are masked in the gloom
and my smile mimics
subtle reflections of strength 
greater 
than I 
in truth
bare.








Warm the cockles of my heart with your disarming smile.
Carry my heart carefully in your arms
and tenderly accept my affections given in kind.
Surrender to my confession and believe in me.

For reasons unfathomable
our threads are tied and our story begun…
Attraction and attachment
inevitable and unavoidable…
The things I want
are words stuck in my mouth
and only my pen communicates freely
those things gingerly whispered under cover of darkness
where shame and insecurities are masked in shadow
and my smile mimics
Subtle reflections of strength greater than
I in truth
Bare.

3am Confessions (2013 re-write)

My tongue held for the moment
I wait & write in the dark
for Anonymity.. for Inspiration;
for confessor’s release… for sleeper’s Reward.

Is it vanity or pride -saving one’s tongue for script?
Is it safer?

Does the time elapsed from mind… to hand… 
to pen… to paper
cause truer aim or allow prideful embellishment?

History proves the point - what one writes one “wills” True, regardless of reality or the perceptions of those around us. 

We write memoirs;
not as a last chance at redemption
but as an opportunity, perhaps, to create an extension of one’s self,
which, like a child, will grow with the ages…
be reinterpreted, reincarnated and repackaged to suit the times..
a message, bound in a leather bottle, tossed into the universe;
a message… communicated across the boundaries of time and death if worthy.

Or at minimum, a confession to a blank faced witness - the only thing in the present that knows the truths that have made you as you are and as you see yourself to be… and so… 

I write….



My tongue held for the moment
I wait in the dark
I write in the dark
For anonymity
For inspiration
For confessions’  release
For sleeper’s reward.

Writing...free flowin in the dark…
Waiting for sleep…
Stealing comforts from the rhythmic sound
of a rotating fan
instead of a warm heart beat and embrace.

Is it vanity or pride…
Saving one’s tongue for script?
Is it safer?
Does the time.. elapsed
from mind… to hand… to pen… to paper
cause truer aim…
or allow prideful embellishment?

What solace….
Even prisoners are allowed to write memoirs..
not as a last chance at redemption
but as a last chance to create an extension of one’s self.
which, like a child, will grow with the ages…
be reinterpreted
reincarnated to suit the times..
a message communicated across the boundaries of time and death
if worthy…
Or at minimum…
a confession to a blank faced witness
the only thing in the present that knows the truths
that have made you as you are and as you see yourself to be…