Dawn
I realized the other night that there is actually a very good reason i havent written anything- or tried to- in quite some time: Great feelings and emotions (whether good emotions or bad ones) are usually founded in a strong sense of conviction for what im feeling. As such, even when it HURTS, i believe in what im thinking so its easy to express. it comes out in a way i can relate to, even if no one else ever understands or likes it.
Once on Nav, someone asked the question of WHY we bother to write at all. For me, its really not about talking to you. Im still not entirely sure why i even post these now… But i felt like i was screaming in to a brick enclosure, before. But theyre almost always written to say things you couldnt understand anyway, so maybe its a way to tell a secret without telling a secret, but i digress.
Lately, i know how i feel, but i dont like it. Its lackluster, its mediocrity, and its confounded with a newly bred sense of: Distrust, Resentment, Anger, Bitterness, and general apathy. Its no secret that i daydream a lot… Just about anytime my headphones are on. Ive even had very similar daydreams for years (maybe my mind will move on when one is realized?). They often just get a new character/face, or a new song/soundtrack. Lately though, im finding myself cutting it short, already dreaming up a bitter ending to it, and then having to stop myself short. THIS is why ive been afraid to write.
But the other day, i said something to one of my best friends. It was just a rash passing thought, but at the TIME i meant it, which worried me. Since then, the thought stayed. This is about that thought… But i preface now: Its really NOT the literal story its written about. I mean, this is very literal in what it says, but thats not whats in my mind when im reading this.
But i know i wont be writing again for awhile. Because i hate this one, and i dont like where it went. I had passion, and i had fire… And i loved it. And i wrote it, and i shared it. And no one person took it from me, but a few horrible encounters later, and im waiting for the bitterness to pass, because right now… Its annihilated. And im angry about that. But… For the fallen:
Of the roads that i was driving, of the journeys i have taken-
As the friend who stood- surviving, even when i was forsaken.
Quiet, rarely a contesting- follow through in all your actions
Even though you knew protesting called to you, for my infractions
Standing in for friends i lost, those that couldve caged the madness
Now, betrayed- a jaded cost, attuned to notice- herein sadness
That: the night we walked together, (Mother as she reigned and rained)
As my other, balked at weather, and an illness then was feigned
Steadfast in our quickened paces, anytime: a destination
And the way we chased the faces, lost in angst and consternation-
That id run to save a friend, and sometimes fall from grace, in suiting-
Though i used you then, to mend, and how my foot we then were shooting-
Why im writing here (and granting), odes to lifeless, reverie-
See: You left me here, im ranting… One more act: mortality.
Not in yours, as not for living, but in mine as you were saving
Me from actions unforgiving, when i crossed lines of behaving.
Thoughts of ‘in together’ preaching, as we rode with Cargo, Dear-
“Never faltering,” my teaching, and the way i bred the fear
For preciousness, my promises, for obstacles were naught for stopping-
And now, in seeing, what this is: Juggled luck, that now im dropping.
Looked to you, though my control, the way i pushed on you in nights-
One day/some day with a toll, as i teased beyond my rights.
Quietly though, you remained- Ever steady… unassuming.
Til (to save me) you detained, even as your end was looming.
Time: so meaningless at hand, the way i cant recount the hours-
Chained, in idle reprimand, recounting: we delivered flowers.
Poems, writtens, all my stories, how together, we would race
Running from, madness and glories, til the time that we would face
Myself, in trouble, that was known- and to who- would i lend an ear?
Where once before to trouble thrown, i left it- followed “follow here,”
Now: the anger, breaking free- Inanimate (you are) i blame
That even thought i couldnt see, you left me here, and just the same.
All the carnage then begotten, as all my friends look on in fear.
Somehow in the past (forgotten), im left alone just standing here.
Hearing this: the wake up call, but im asleep (as i was then)
Wondering how far we fall, and if we ever wake up… When?
On a porch, perhaps through phone, in every medium that asked?
What more would it take to hone, To uncover what i have masked?
Back to find a life to smile, something other than this game-
Where i push hard, for awhile… And teach you to forget my name.
Scariness, is theres no answer: I dont know what holds tomorrow.
But this desire is cancer, and eventually: the sorrow
Must succumb, for your replaced, and now im racing ’round a ghost.
And wondering (each road ive faced), if i scare, or get scared most-
Fade to black as colors fit, as resurrected wistfully-
Its sad- that smile as i sit, and push you farther, gracefully…
But it isnt as you were… it isnt how you used to be
Then again you werent her, as i would have let her save me.
But you: You gave it up: the wall, our backs or sides went up against.
And so, this deadly game: to fall, my bullshit antics have commenced.
Incredulous, i speak to you- and laugh as you were never living:
Bewildered as this time passed through, i wasnt either, so im giving:
Out a final call to you, and to the ones who could have saved-
But i know its MY follow through, and that i should have just behaved.
But so lost, with no recover, and now how THAT has woken fear-
Why… My saver, and my lover… Why to save, and leave me here?
Don’t Cry…
I dont normally blog when i dont have anything written to share… As im not much on blogging as i am about writing. But, you ALSO know (if you know me at all) that im extremely sensitive aurally, and that music is the reigning force in my life.
Recently though a chance encounter (not even an encounter, i just decided to get my condescension on in a debate about the struggle for equality in legal marraige) and i came across this fantastic recording by someone also participating in the discussion. She’s a local Syracusian (currently, anyway) and participates at Open Mic Nights somewhere on Thursdays. Im not in advertising, so if you like the tune go here: Nikki’s Facebook.
Why does this song hit me so much? For one, im obviously a sucker for a powerful voice. Poppish as Kelly Clarkson might be, if i was in the room when she sang the way she does, id probably sign over the keys to my house. Sometimes i hate how much my ears rule my life. All of my memories are auditory, and that TOTALLY fucks with me when people come and go from my life… Because i can still HEAR everyone of you. :( Its tough to explain. Its not “hearing voices” its “hearing memories.” But its a haunt nonetheless. A lot of people have never understood why it becomes necessary for me to just walk away sometimes, and maybe if i could mute a memory i wouldnt have to. But to hear someone voice resonate in person, and have it push every memory of that same sound in my mind, its just bad news sometimes, and i protect myself from it by walking away. Sad, but its an honest truth.
But the lyrics get to me too, on this recording. The song (Im told its written by Axl Rose and Izzy Stradlin) reminds me of the same questions i always ask about my day, and about who i am. Ive known a lot about goodbyes, and ive known a lot about wondering what it is about me, and about other people, that has made things turn out the way they are.
As such, i suppose there is one i can share. Its not one im overly fond of, not like some of the others. Pushed to Shove and Ready to move have quickly become favorites to me, which is terrible because they were born in some of the worst circumstances in my life. (On that note, Saturday is my trek to Indy to pick up the Resurrection. Its fitting that it will be Black on Black. And this one will be different. The stereo will be grand, itll be Low, itll be Loud, and itll be Fast. Having saved my life once, i now want to turn this car in to everything i can dream up in my mind.)
River Wild (back on topic) just came about when someone asked me a stupid question (sandy…):
If you had to pick between a relationship that was entirely and comprehensively laced with passion and fire, but was also (consequently) tumultuous; or between something much less engaging and whirlwindish, but perhaps a but more stable… Which would you choice? Idiot that i am, im sure you could guess which way i leaned.
And i had a conversation with my great friend Kelly recently arguing one more point on this front: I just dont consider myself that Crazy. I really dont, but i suppose perception is Reality Perceived, and it doesnt matter much what think, now does it? River Wild doesnt have the angsty rhythm i enjoy in a lot of mine, and im not sure why. Too many questions to bother asking, lol…
Isnt life a pretty vision when we only Deal in Dreams,
When we sing and laugh and praise and learn it isnt what it seems?
Isnt living worth the giving when were blinded by the heat?
When deciding that were riding means there isnt a retreat?
We could waver in our minds, and we could always venture back,
As people of the different kinds, and what those people lack,
And maybe theyre the smartest as theyve never felt the lick,
Of the fire that hits hardest; though that fire makes you tick.
The question posed, supposedly: the river or the lake?
Where one is but a rollercoaster, one maybe- mistake.
And one is all serenity; but calm, never engaging.
A subtle price (but maybe nice) if youre notfor the raging
Suppose the scary, took the wary, never towards the ill;
And passion led in to the bed, intoxicating thrill.
If trust was more, the opened door, you knew the river well,
Keys unlocked, with love well stocked, you would be sure to tell
Such river that the giver could, give all, and not be hurt
Although such rivers push us hard, river’s always alert.
Of dealing with the feelings so we never swim without,
The safety net, we always bet, were safe, without a doubt
And maybe lakes are always calm, the water always sound as glass
And maybe at the stilling sight, were tempted then, to take a pass
The river wild, immature child, although it fires all our hearts,
Is just a threat, an unsafe bet, and so the lake’s appealing starts
For water calm, assuring psalm, the solidarity in soul,
Assures us grace, when in the face, of daring love to take its toll
But i say see, whats in to thee, and be ready to stand, deliver.
Life in passion, knows no ration, life worth living, wild river.
The curse of the OverKnow… And where have i been?
I was supposed to be in bed an hour ago… Ironic that its a Saturday night and i will chastise myself for being awake past 10:30… But tomorrow is a nice bike ride around Onieda Lake for the American Diabetes Association. (That was the bike set up for last year… when i got lost, whoops!) Its also ironic that i am both- too busy to write about whats on my mind, but too bored to be able to let it go, as well.
Im suffering from what i call OverKnow, and its because of these godforsaken computers. Ill tell you, its always ASSumed that im the technology proponent, advocate, and evangelist… Largely because that *IS* my job all week. Im the Holy-Roller-of-Tech in the office, and with wild eyes and bewildering enthusiasm, i try to move people in to the future. And yet… All things equal and constant, i would return my profression to the days of hand drawing and phone calls, and would abandon the hypertechnology all tomorrow. But i digress: I like communication. Im starved for it, and i miss having people close to me that i can and want to talk to alot. But, it comes with a price: Suddenly you get to know everything about the people you DONT want to know anything about. Thats not all bad, but its gotten me thinking about all the people in my life that have come and gone. The 9 months i was on Long island were a dark part of my life… But ill tell you, they were a QUIET part too. No cell phone, no internet, no FaceBook, no IM.
Throughout the years ive struggled with faith, and fate, and random chance, and predestination. Ultimately ive comforted myself with the knowledge that there is no knowledge, and that it doesnt matter if or what i believe, as hard as that is. Having said that, there is ONE chapter in my life, we all agree i need to leave behind. It left me behind long ago, but a recent discussion i had with Mike startled me: Following my recent rude awakening, he told me he hoped this was the wake up call ive needed since 2004, because hes just watched me spiral more and more since that time. This was ironic for two reasons: When the car was destroyed, i went to get my belongings. 
There was a CD from 2004 sitting on the floor, and i picked it up. Then i realized what Mike said, and decided to leave it in the car. I should bury the past there. Well folks… I shit you not: The Salvage Yard mailed it back to me. “Thanks, we’ll keep your car… And mail back the ghosts from your closet…” Predestination aside, what the hell do i do with THAT? I laughed about it, and put it back in the CD player. Then today, came more information OverKnow: someone actually sent me recent pictures of someone from the past, and i was mindblown. Truth be told im not upset, i wanted to see them. But man, it makes you stop and wonder all over again… What the fuck keeps going wrong in my life?
Ive been able to take my old walks again, which gives me at least 30 minutes of respite to think every day. I walk under these overpasses and i absolutely love them. So many things about them are great, as ugly as they are. I love them even more when its pouring out. But anyway… Ive had time to think. I have to say, all perception aside, i just dont believe im that difficult to be around. I think im obnoxious, and i think i can be a handful, but im honestly coming to terms with the fact that i only do it as some people expect it. The people ive been happiest around, ive been the least… Crazy, too. But, it gets me to thinking about my disposition. Ive done my time self evaluating, and i know where the problems are with me, and i know where they are with you (lol). But starved-for-attention be damned, im too stupid to stop from getting wrapped up when i shouldnt. And then, im reminded of why that bothers me. Its nowhere near a favorite (i hate it), but its fitting… And i dont have time to write these days. :( Circa March, 2008.
“Three Dropped Passes”
Tell me that you do not mind, when the monologue is short,
And tell me when I say it wrong, that you wont discount rapport
Promise me, when grace aside, and you I accidentally slight
That you wont run, you wont succumb, that we wont have to have a fight
For I’m not always elegant, my mouth sometimes an open gate,
And sometimes though I stop myself, I stop myself a second late
And then I found I’ve hurt someone, my lovers and of course my friends
And though I fight like hell for that, I just cant seem to make amends
And though there’s beauty in the raging, passion in the wildfires,
Those that praise the fire starters, rarely stay for what transpires
Through the heat and in the smoke, and with the blinding orange sear
Though they light it, then they leave it (so im left, alone in here)
The hardest part of hurting many, is the way it’s never dealt,
On purpose, as I write this, there is hurting, that alone I felt
As I sent the words mistaken, never meaning to deliver
Such a blow that knots in stomachs, such a fate to make lips quiver
Catalyzing tears such plenty, reigning down on all emotion,
Lost control, naïve in knowing, history will bring commotion
With a heart that feels too much, a mind learned always to defend it,
(Am I to engage your lives, and kill us, so we cannot mend it?)
Times too many, times not talking, times not worth the searing pain,
And though I know the fault lies in me, in me lays the same refrain,
Wondering, so accidental, what skill is born of words and phrases,
Who would grant such weaponry? (to me of all, the thought amazes)
Then I wonder who will listen, when I preach my sorries ’round,
Who can listen time again, when time sees me again unbound
As the hurting look in anger, some in fear, all in regret?
When their not hurt by what was said, but by the fact… That we had met.
Through the Nights….
Through the weather with the Windows down. And so it was written, in the summer of 2003. Ive been largely unable to write lately, or unwilling, as the case may be. In a very unMalleristic fashion, ive been able to shelve most of whats in my head, and throw myself in to work. I spent this afternoon digging up “Boys,” reflecting on the way we all lean on each other. Primarily, because i feel responsible for everyone around me. Ironically, i was going to post it here, but i friggin hate it. Oddly enough, i dont tend to enjoy anything Written before 06. A lot changed that year, and arguably ive been a much bigger mess SINCE then, but more its about the rhythm and enjambment for me. Mr writing was much simpler pre 06 and i dont like it, not that i love my new stuff. Maybe its just that i cant connect to it anymore? Maybe while my Mental state has waxed and waned, so has my penchant for specific styles. Who knows, certainly not me. Which brought me to Pushed to Shove.
Pushed to shove when options lacked, i was faced with honest living:
Talkers mute, as trains were tracked, as no words were ever giving
Methods to a life survived, means to ends- for talk is sparing
Words despondent, not revived, as spoken rarely meant in caring-
So the road, driven before, angst- in pain, as new- when younger
And how we tried to close that door, food for better, driven hunger.
That we sang, as hearts would bleed, disregard for any diction-
through the weather, through our need, yearning to believe conviction
Passed the three, as times evolved, the way the circle then expanded
Every time when i resolved: no falter, then how i demanded:
As acts-out were escalating, towing lines i disrespected,
More of you, left in berating me, to stop as you directed
Follow through, on my own word as i promised new discourse
And the way white lie was heard: i spoke it, but i had remorse
That i meant, perchance to try, spoke in honest want, desire
Still with that, extent to lie: i couldnt have put out the fire
That stop i could (can): if desired, as im since- out of control
But know i wont (cant), fired Conscience, (circumstances toll)
And frustration, heads are shaking, all my closest, then resigned
To miss the fallout, me mistaking: that for leaving me behind.
So commendable, you all, some to stop, to stand beside:
One who wanted a phone call, to reign on me, when i would ride
Many telling, lose the child, be in age as i should, growing
As they watched as i went wild, all-together were all knowing:
I wont stop, but better choices, i would make if i believed-
That the words i hear in voices, didnt devastate, conceived:
In dismissal, in indifference… seeking worth, but not preserving-
Health, for when i need persistence, not believing in deserving
So reflecting, on a Writing, where we stood as we moved on,
Im deflecting, as im fighting, knowing that the power’s gone
That then i wrote my “lets tonight,” that you replied “lets go,”
But you know i gave up that fight, that you have to say no.
So i stand with Roads and Words, the solace in the gap between:
That no ones near, for these “be heards,” in safety, so i will not lean:
On them, instead, upon my antics, as they play upon repeat-
And wonder as the second hand ticks, how long until they defeat?
Instincts bred upon survival, willing me to cross the lines-
Emotion craving, here revival, knowing that this mess defines
Disaster then- as ive been named, (that its not true, i do insist)
But believe (if its as youve claimed), that over distance, youre all missed.
Yet here as i am pushed to shove, know that i never turned on you-
Not on one, for all i love- and this is just the follow through-
That breaks my heart as i survive, but i meant every word declared-
To all of you, to not contrive, i hope you know, i really cared.
Ive been trying to carry a lot for the last few months. Ive reconnected with a lot of great people in my life, mostly through difficult circumstance though, and ive been doing what i can to try helping. I feel responsible for those around me, which i cannot really explain. Where i struggle is that im not always responsible for myself, and ive gotten very out of control. I dont like admitting that, especially in the light of the fact that i have zero intention of changing. It turns out i give great “pep talks,” even if im tempted to speak my mind in Subway’s. Turns out i give great coping advice too, i just dont follow it, LOL. No, i never “wrote my time down either”) But im handling my business as i should (and doing the best i ever have), but id be lying if i said i wasnt a hot dangerous mess the rest of the time. I wrote Boys about my friends who always stood beside, and how i love them for it. The circle has grown over the years… And i owe more of you much more than i have any right to owe. Ive shown some of you some pretty scary stuff. I couldnt, cant, and will never blame you for needing to be distant. No one wants to be in the blast radius when the fuse lights. Pushed isnt about my being alone, its about loving that you all were there, and i appreciate it.
That said, ive had to change my ways… So ive been avoiding a lot of people. In this regard, ive been called a liar, a bad friend, dishonest, and childish. I can change no perception as there will be no change; i suppose the difference is intent: Mine is none of anger, ill will, or distaste. Its the intent of wanting whats good for everyone, and me being around isnt whats good for everyone. For me, being an Adult hasnt been about getting my emotions under control: I know that may never happen. But im learning to know when to pull myself out of a toxic situation. I still love all the people ive lost over the years of my own volition (i just know they have to be clear of my bullshit too). I hope they at least understand that. I may never have been in control, but i too- was always honest.
Spring is here. And it looks like a summer of mayhem. 
Song of the moment: Steve Jablonsky- My Name is Lincoln (Thanks Rob!)
Two to finish… Write me an ending?
You would think id be ecstatic at being too busy to write… But its not even that anything great is going on. Im not always healthy with my lifestyle: i wake up too late, dont eat breakfast, graze all morning at work, eat lunch, come home, work out, get home late, and eat a huge dinner. My point, is im only busy because im messing with my schedule. Im trying to get to bed earlier, get up earlier, stay at the gym longer, and so on. Im burning it at both ends, because things in my professional life are dicey at best, tumultuous at least, and catastrophic at worst. Smart people dont wait for the next move to find them, so im always on the run. Im waiting for the life i want to get here, so i can slow down.
That as it is, in my travels recently ive gotten a few lines, and im excited to write them. Im not sure when ill get to it, but i wanted to capture what was on my mind when i got them. On NavWorks, they put up challenges. I rarely play, since i usually only write when something drives me to it (a bad characteristic for someone who writes, but i am not a writer, so i digress). But maybe one of you will finish one so i dont have to.
I cleaned my house the other night. Top to bottom, in an OCD fashion. You cant understand the way i clean, if all of your senses work. Anyway, though its only one raw verse, its literal. I have an old box… I rarely open it. Sometimes to put things in, and occasionally to empty it out in to the garbage. I found myself dozing to sleep last night… Almost wanting to apologize for having put someone in there. But if i cant understand it, im not sure i can expect anyone else to? I might finish it, i might not. Im pissed about it, actually. I said i was DONE with that. But with the REST of the HOC falling down, i revert back to familiar territory. Ill get back up, but maybe ill finish it anyway, since it was an honest thought.
The box I gave, the one I kept, and how upon the latter wept,
That may I fight, it would appear, (that though youre never welcomed here)
Youre Privy then, for as this seems, the way it isn’t what it means,
As hearts and hands will have no locks, I had to lose you… in that box.
Today was a lousy day, too… Just for some petty circumstantial crap in my day to day… So i viciously took it out on myself at the gym. Overly quiet as my life has been lately, i dont get soothing conversation much these days. But i did tonight, which was nice. Sometimes you just need someone to idly converse with. I had a recollection (so horrible) that i shared, about a desolate moment in my past when someone came to me for comfort, when i wouldnt spare a rod or word for anyone. In that sitch, i gave brutal and unwavering honesty “no, we wont be alright…” BUT, as i recounted this story, i thought about my friend i was talking with… A good person. Not stuck up, pretentious, bitchy, arrogant, or someone otherwise engaging in some form of general douchbaggery that makes me want to hit them. LOL. While i recounted this terrible occurrence (and all the cars ive destroyed), i just thought *Man, howd we get here? Surely youre destined for more than this,* and out this came.
Though the past is long departed, some is waning, some more recent,
Though delayed, a future started, must arise, for someone decent
Whats to come, from all you crying, as your life would then retreat?
When hands to doors on pasts aren’t prying, there’s a destiny youll meet…
I dont like posting unfinished stuff. My sense of enjambment doesnt take in until a few verses are down, so theyre rough, the words arent… articulate. Whatever. Its all i got, “these are the jokes people…”. Maybe ill get to them one night soon… EDIT: Its 10:34… so much for my going to bed early!
Peeking for the future (desirous ambition)
I started writing a post on something i wrote last may, called Ambition… It was just a note to a recently introduced friend about my admiration for her ambitious desires… But while i was writing, something funny happened: I was thinking about all of my *interests* over the years, as ive had a LOT of conversations lately on what it is *were all looking for.* In Ambition, i was talking about my excitement for people with passion, with drive… with their OWN dreams. Its SO important to me in a relationship that you believe in one another, that you want to be a part of their dreams, and they want to live in yours too. So on THAT note, i went to quote something i wrote once. I remembered the line “Say we’ll fight for both our lives, the ones we lived before we met, And that we will also fight, for things we havent thought of yet…”.Then i went a little nuts… Because it was nowhere on my computer.
While i dont write often, i write whenever i have a chance and am inspired. That means its been spread about, in location. Home, on my old laptop, on my work computer (Three dropped passes was written at 7pm at my desk at work while i waited for a software patch to install, LOL). Peeking (which i was searching for) never got saved at home, as i wrote it at 30,000 feet on my way to Florida for work. Im happy i found it stashed on myspace. That line holds SO true for me still.
I found out recently that the one woman i came close to marrying (or so i thought?) actually is married now, and a piece of me is very happy for her. But, as she remains the ONE person who i felt was “fully invested” in my dreams, our dreams, AND her dreams… It was hard to hear. But, i smile, and reread Peeking, which i wrote 3/24/08… And i hope that one day someone wants to dream WITH me again.
When desire runs amok and when a look is captivating,
(when the feelings that I’m feeling aren’t logic correlating)
Is the dream that I am craving what’s in image that I’m seeking,
Or is there such entrapment, in the dream that to, I’m peeking?
Passions motivated, and the dreams always supported,
Devotion so unwavering, from love never deported,
To go together, to not waver, two, the future, as we face it,
To the good, and two towards bad, life together (we embrace it)
Laughing often, smiling always, and the tears we know we’ll shed,
Though we know through hard and sad, we’ll always stand by what was said.
Words that tell, and words that sold, and words when needed as were told,
“I love you,” “Always,” and “to have” and not forget “to also hold”
The times before, when words were whispered, as the passed has walked away,
Im waiting for the trust inviting, where I know that you will say-
In Together, In Forever, In for Dreams that for we try,
Along for Cycles, as we Break them, Precious Cargo rules apply.
Say we’ll fight for both our lives, the ones we lived before we met,
And that we will also fight, for things we haven’t thought of yet.
But say that we will fight together, fighting with, but not against
And say that we are always allies, once that dream has then commenced
Promise me you’ll understand, the quirks, the rides, and all the fears,
(That you’ll know there won’t be answers or some reasons, for my tears)
That nightmares come and I can’t stop them, both in dreams and so in life
(That I don’t mean to wreak such havoc… I don’t mean to cause such strife)
And that we know the road is rocky, as were both of such conviction;
But though the highs and lows cascade, we know such love is that of fiction
Founded in our lives as we, make fairytales, in all we do;
For as we ride such krazy trains, and know our love will get us through.
With poems written, and lived out, and love transcending understanding,
Living in a dream as this is something that were both demanding.
Knowing people stare and wonder, on what faith do we rely?
To hold so dear, to hold another, to answer- as we both reply.
Its love, as love was just intended, love that lights our hearts ablaze.
And shouldn’t it, bewilder us, and set our eyes in to a craze?
And where is it, that I cant find, and wheres it gone where once it stood?
Well that id answer, if I knew, and once I know, (you know) I would.
Part of what makes writing so important to me, is the way you can say things so literally, that the majority of readers will pass without regard, as they only have meaning in certain contexts. I remember writing this, on the flight (i hate flying…) and thinking it was ironic: With my oversensed aural perception (along with my hyper emotional… whatever), certain things that have been spoken to me have stayed with me in their entirety. The fourth verse speaks volumes, as it carries traces from 3 people who have now come in to- and left- my world. I think thats why once i wrote that verse, i wrote those lines about Say We’ll Fight… I specifically remember finishing that fourth verse, and instantly feeling… Slighted. But alas, here we stand. As Jeff said to me today “smash the rear view, and look out the windshield.” I suppose here is hoping the future looks just a little bit like the past… But not too much.
Motivationless (so immersed)
There is- perhaps- a fine line, between what i would call myself, and a workaholic. As i mentioned in Three Thirty, i love what i do for a living… But i love doing it to support the life i want to live, and not living for my job. Right now, it appears that option isnt present for my choosing, and so i fight and work heard for the life i want to ONE day lead, although its not here at the moment.
Thats hard for me. I liken it to cooking a 5 course meal, when no one is coming over for dinner. I could do it, sure… But why all that hassle just to feed myself? I can just as easily cook a quick entree, and call it on account of simplicity. Ive been working hard at home, getting things together for the (long term) outlook on my career. Filling out licensure paperwork (be proud, thats hard for me LOL), submitting timesheets, working on getting my pipe dream napkin sketch designs in to models, simply for showmanships sake… Still, like that five course meal, i find it amusing because im doing it all for the little dream and the simple life that only i seem to want to lead.
But its there- The neo-craftsman style house with the big garage sitting on the ranch property, the *getaway* cabin perched on some lake or some faraway land… With an old-about-to-be-retired cruiser for putting around the strange land when ive ran away to my getaway home. Sundays. Spent entirely working at home mowing grass, cooking brunch, to be eaten on the sleeper porch, and to spend the day with a family… Maybe one day. Today though, im fairly inspirationless. For thats not a dream that happens by ones self.
I cant write about work. Its just not emotional for me. I take my projects very personally, because i invest fully in everything i do. But even THAT passion isnt… Emotional. So i feel a bit emotionally deactivated. I wrote Motivationless on July 5, 2008. Seven weeks had passed since i had been able to write ANYTHING, and i felt void. I went to my favorite bar, and sat there wanting to write something… to feel something. It ended poorly, to say the least. This isnt even what i wrote, as after two verses i crumpled that one in to my pant pocket, and resolved to just enjoy the night out. This followed the morning after, on the subject of wanting to but not feeling anything worth writing about. Its not all bad, as im being productive during this time… I suppose im just waiting for something to come light that fire again.
Plastic keys, the hands that rapped them, as the words were always writing,
Stand full height, as hands stand idle, disconnect where mind is fighting;
Wanting words and craving rhythm, discontent in newfound silence,
Apathy, no captivation, towards the writing: sending violence.
Seven weeks and one day passed, since my hands and keys have spoken,
Since i payed my visit last, the road to writing, has been broken.
Many flights, where idle sat, staring at a screen in waiting;
Thinking then, and knowing that, what to write i was debating.
Lacking inspiration knowing, all the things that light my fires,
Smiles, laughter, racing, chasing, all the things in my desires.
Missing from, the metronome, that here ive found im stuck while beating;
Knowing as i sit at home, that i alone, the one defeating:
What is missing, whats dismissing, what i dont find here surrounding,
Is perplexing, as im hissing, that the problem, im compounding-
For i know, the dream tomorrow, and the detours i should drive,
As i dont, but sit in sorrow, (wonder why im not alive),
And so i left those keys behind, returning to a pen and bottle,
And pen did send some words (unkind), before i got out of the throttle,
Giving in, to folds and creases, discarding in to attire,
Folds (in folding), short term leases, wondering: did i retire?
Not from writing, but from living, as i used to thrive for chasing;
Storytelling, in the giving, and the way im now misplacing;
Dreams for bitterness, im finding, as the former gave the latter,
Space to board, and to be binding, and the way it doesnt matter
As i look and find the reasons, once i found to give a story;
But in bitterness, these seasons, seem to sell a different story-
Foresight to an end, distracting, though ive never been before-
One to take hand back (retracting, before ive even, opened door)
Found one smile; one: ambitious; and another: taller than;
Made a goal, of broken horses; and with all that would think i can-
Find the way where once before, i would carry “not be stopped,”
Knowing that win, lose or rain, balls to throw would not be dropped.
But played in overtime as always, chasing after what life sold-
Still maybe as vision is haze, i wonder now, if im too old?
Not in age but in the bitter, maybe as we lose the youth?
We find where never once- a quitter, innocence, replaced by truth.
And what to make of times in pleading, where before, i wrote for you?
And now though inspiration needing,when its present, it wont do?
In jokes of time to go without, one in days and one in years-
Whats to say this ever ends? Inspirationless, in fears?
The Three Thirty Train
I would be lying if i said i wasnt a little dismayed at how i felt writing this. Normally, they come out quite quickly, once the ambition has set in. But a long time ago, someone pointed out theyre rarely about me, and more so about the objects of my attentive distraction. Perhaps that is one reason this one was tougher than i thought it would be.
It has a lot of conversations in that ive been privy to, this week. With Jennefer on the times we write, the notes we stow, the feelings we take steps forward and steps back on, and how we war with ourselves over getting on those trains. With Dave, for the life we live for, the lives we work for, the work we do for living, and when living becomes work… Or when work becomes our living. “What ARE we fighting for?”
Make myself that minute late, as i hear the voice thats calling:
“On track 2″, the declaration, time to halt procrastination
Wrap that uneasy sensation, up… The Unknown: Destination.
Its then we find, for we wont sleep, that though our minds no reasons found:
That we can gauge, as we lose time, both in minutes, then in hours,
Time we waste, rehearsing rhyme, instead of making chances ours.
With no baggage as we stalked, amongst our thoughts with no refrain
Nor reprise, towards the past, as were all standing, here alone
“One way please,” i spoke at last, resigned to ride to the unknown
“early morning,” a refute: complacent, as i stand, sedate
My mind, in disconnect, perception, theirs in laughter at my jest:
Mine, the smile: misconception, that they dont understand, is best:
But mine: a time that i would start, and time: remind, that in this game
Theres no retreat, for trains keep moving, theres no ticket back to sorrow
And the solace found, is soothing, that there is only Tomorrow:
Ride alone, i have conceded, that there is no correspondent,
Writing to, or juxtaposed, accepted: as its my prediction:
That i know, its here supposed, this train reigns by my conviction:
This Train seizes trepidation, then anoints it with destruction,
Through Eleven, then passed Twelve, lended life to face rejection
Half passed three now, as we delve, secure, its ONLY my projection
So i wrote the time, in feeling, i would seek my penchants, visions-
Discount what is in discourse beyond control, relied on others
Leave them standing, no remorse, no more ducking under covers-
And focus on what i believe, i can, and that will then beget
A life, perhaps: consolation, but all together it will borrow:
Strength, its bred determination, from three thirty, til tomorrow
Now is for what i will fend, and see what End to that is giving-
You that choose to stand beside, as i no longer, am the chasing
if these dreams to you confide, let me down, then im erasing.
And said goodbye (the life ive known), the way i let you breed my doubt,
The way its gone, no more in vein, the way MY life, now YOU can borrow:
I boarded that three thirty train, and it rides on until tomorrow.
Music of the Minute: Yanni- One Mans Dream
We desire… How we love (and move)
We desire, the way a twice-poisoned dog eyes a third piece of meat. - Philip Milito.
Ive written very little new Writtens this month… None actually, save for Ready to Move. Im okay with that (though it upsets me so), because while i havent written, ive been working on walking on, and out of, the House of Cards. But i came across this quote in Mens Health (i know, right?) and it struck a paramount chord with me, and so i thought i would post the LAST written that touched this subject for me. It needs little explanation, for SO many people ive talked with this month are in the EXACT same situation: We want what we want, no matter how many times weve been hurt. And all of us (them) in those situations, will never understand the carnage they leave in their (our) wake. So… A note from a twice-poisoned dog.
The way our time (born in distraction), sent towards me the motivation
And how (just enough) attraction, weakened you (to my elation)
As we walked a pattern’s start, as fingers (slowly) circles traced,
Yours upon my opened heart, as mine upon, your back, which faced
Me at times, when I’m not staring in your eyes (but in your hair)
For wanting you to sleep, I’m sharing, is that instants only care.
As the gentle touching eases, all the stress that’s holding you
from sleep, such touching also pleases, me… As that’s how I love you.
The way: exhausted, we retreat, to bed, as people often do,
And such a purpose we defeat, as were conversing, me and you
Talking then (and always), sharing, everything, as we don’t hide
As I’m knowing how you’re caring, all my truths, to you, confide
And the you that I love best, the one I liken “my best friend,”
The one, for in my life im blessed, who’s heart as broken, hope to mend-
You who sing, dances, and daydreams, who’s visions paint the rooms in red
(You who touches me, so hungry), the way what I felt, can’t be said-
Looks in eyes, that we don’t mention, we deny, as you don’t feel it.
Though I cry, for my contention is: its there, though I can’t steal it
And though my watch, said time was wrong, at times that watch was barely moving,
As physically, we played that song, that to my heart and body: soothing.
Not in acts but in emotion, as to you- completely bound.
And though I brought on life’s commotion, in this situation found:
I’ve no sorry’s, no regrets, for all again, id always do.
Even all the hurt again, id take… As that’s how I love you.
Though discussed, we then discarded, any chance that hands would hold,
Together, though, I then regarded, you (my friend, lover), and told
That I will hold the ties that bind, at seams ill stand against the tearing,
But how I love you, you won’t find, and that’s the pain, alone, I’m bearing.
As ive made extensive progress recently in trying to get out of my dark hole (and ive put down the shovel… Brian. (For those of you that dont know, Brian and i are writing a book titled “Put down the shovel…” LOL), its probably a disservice to myself posting this. But ive been busy trying to do, and trying to think less, and so there is nothing new to post. I keep wanting to post Insipirationless, on the subject of not being able to write at the moment… But im not, because im only not writing because i want to write when im in a NEW frame of mind, and not when such a Written will go to somewhere or to someone that isnt worth the thought. There is too much for me to do to waste time on that. So i cant say im Inpirationless, just that im warring with myself on what i want to light my fire at the moment…
I dont get over, but i do move on. Thats what ive been able to discern, for better or worse. It doesnt bother me in the least either, because i find validation knowing feelings ive had werent so slightable that i could make them vanish with a thought… More than some people i can say, i suppose. But for now, im not sure what im trying to say. My motivation is coming back, and im excited… Im just not sure what im exicted for, but im hoping something will come soon. Because i dont post this to think about who i loved, but about how i loved. I love the way i love, and it makes for wonderful times with people. Time seems wasted in the absence of adoration (Its your God forsaken right to be loved, right Mr. Mraz?), but for now ill focus on carrying my ass out of my house of cards.
So discussed (as so alone)
I got a phone call yesterday… And im trying not to get my hopes up about it too much. But the long and short of it, is that there is a dream ive had for quite some time, and its a rather simple one: Its just doing my job, but doing it the way ive always believed i could do it, without being held back, and not having to fight so hard for it. The phone call may turn out to be nothing, but heres what was funny about it:
I suppose our lives are like chapters in a book, and we catalogue them as such. People come in and go out, as do jobs, as do homes. Theyre like titles, changing as we turn the pages. So while that phone call came (and i AM excited about it…) this was a pipe dream that i had, when there were other people around, where now there are empty seats where they remained. They were never closely tied to my dream, but (for an instant) one was going to work on it with me, and the other just sat next to me while i dreamed and schemed and talked and hoped… And in my naivety, i thought we would stay seated there, and maybe theyd believe in me in case it actually happened. Anyway, when i got that phone call (its nothing serious, just an opportunity that MIGHT be coming!!!) there were four people i wanted to call. Two i did, two i didnt… That chapter is closed. While im okay, i realize it is just about discerning what we want and what is best for us: In the end, its about ME anyway. But i wish i couldve told them that it may have actually happened. Though i wrote this on November 4th 2008, its written about that EXACT feeling, realizing that it takes more than numbers in a phone book and a dialtone to be able to make that call again. Its a somber memory, acknowledging that sometimes a dead horse just ant be kicked anymore, and that you need to lock all the doors to the chapters behind.
If it’s true, that were alone, and maybe so, we’ve always been?
Is it real, that when at home, the veil of lies is paper thin?
That to trust, to give and take, to be as halves (complementary).
Is deceit, and such mistake, (maybe we aren’t meant to marry?)
Or to love, as lovers do, or with friends- to stand together.
Could there be no follow through, ties that are not meant to tether?
So discussed, and then dismissed, as we go on but don’t advance,
We cry, and count, and make a list, those who struck when given chance.
Those who broke the rules unsaid, the codes of friends, (and expectations)
Some who laughed, (as they misled), amidst the hurtful accusations.
Of the wild horse, the shooter, said an axe to grind and swing-
Of life’s treasures, as a looter, as a dissident to sing:
Against the choirs holy chanting, notes off key and sounds all bent-
Wondering, while running (panting), where is a song that for I’m sent?
Where are words that im not finding, where are smile im not seeing?
Why just sounds of chains im grinding against, but that, im not freeing
from, as tied, as lived, and died, of woken, spoken, and exhausted.
Thoughts, ive tried, ive fought and cried, protested, contested, alas, accosted
That as rhythm changes prose, lending confusion to verses,
Worlds so painful (no one knows), what lives in each others curses.
But to each, their own, (and more, if theyre wanton to keep giving
Others), as they are alone, and so they figure living-
Through those eyes that they can’t see, the ones who’s lives they tried to lead,
Turn blind but through the mystery, the pain is something that they need
To know that some will find that life, some will find the follow through,
That maybe some will find the strife, but happiness may still find you
So its dark, its disconcerting, as were aging, getting older
As our minds, are disengaging, and our Crazy’s getting bolder
Tired, of the tired, as were staring at admired, and were wondering, what more?
Perspired, and expired, locksmith ive hired, drop the hammer, lock the door.
Twice within, the rhythm completely falters. It irritates me every time i read it (and im always so tempted to alter it), although i did it because my head was just a friggin federal disaster area when i was putting this one together. That makes me wonder what can be said about someone who saw trouble coming from 60 paces, and still was dumb enough to walk forward.
Ive always contended that work was… The easy part. And i stand by that. Sure, these days work or the lack thereof has been one of my biggest anxiety inducers, but its nowhere i havent been before. I dont believe it bothers me by itself, i think its just… The rest of the house of cards, that fell. Ive always been great at the work fight… But it was always when it was FOR something. The 70 hour weeks never hurt, and i MERRILY got up at 4am after getting home at 1, and i dragged myself in every day for months straight… When i was doing it for a life, for a living, for an us. I remember Buffalo, 2 jobs, the summer heat, the 60 hour weeks, and getting in my car to FLY home. To go HOME. Fight for it all day, and make it happen… For home.
Its my dream, and it doesnt involve anyone else. I get that, i really do. Im not so rediculous so as to think it needs someone else to be a great dream… Thats just insane. But maybe its just that dreams are so much more endearing when someone else WANTS to be in your dream with you. Either way, if the NEXT phone call comes (and my fingers ARE crossed…) im going to set the world on fire in the best way i can, and im not going to stop until i have everything i want.
But, we cant fight hard enough to get everything we want… Now can we?
