Father Time (Let Me Go Please…)
I find it mystifying how time moves so slowly but so swiftly, so as to confuse me entirely. I wrote Father Time during a rough patch, and it holds true in my mind. (Short term) Time moves ridiculously slow when im hurt, and i struggle to make hours pass. Weekends are long, and during those periods i try to sleep as much as possible (as a former Architectural Studio rat this is no small task.. My body is ready to go on a few hours sleep…). Still, as lowly, evil, and SLOWLY as time seems to move, ill glance at a calendar today and suddenly find myself bewildered: January is over.
There is wanting for the writing, but the lacking in the talking,
Of the feelings that are fighting, to come out, but only stalking
In the darkness of the mind, and in the silence of the thinking,
Where the eyes that see this kind, see nothing then, theyre only blinking
Of time in passing and its racing, as the hands of all clocks wind,
Unstoppable, the time were facing, and in it, that we must find:
That time heals wounds (but time moves slowly), when were least (at best) of pleasure
Relative, how fast and lowly, time is moving when we treasure:
Moments stolen, smiles giving, us the bliss that we all seek,
Seconds, hours, lost in living, in this we find nothing bleak
is cast upon, as we go walking, walk to where we see the fire,
Never seeing, always talking, as were chasing, in desire,
Till the seconds stop progressing, when Father time sees fit to rest,
When life is stuck, and then transgressing, (time wont move, is that the test?),
In discomfort, and in longing, as we wait for something better.
In the anger, of the wronging, as the Time sends us no letter,
Telling us of coming charges, where such fines against will levy
Weights that reign, immobile barges, (waiting shoulders holding heavy)
Things upon, not meant to hold, but hold we must just for the moment,
’til we say, against the cold, that time is all (as we disown it):
For that moment, always lasting, never passing, never ending,
Is the last blow time is casting, when to time we’re always bending,
Waiting in the moment, crying, “Time please grant release to me”
Learning that in waiting, dying, times release will always be:
Every minute, every hour, even if it it feels untrue.
Time’s release, has lacked the power, of release, as its in you.
And me, and us, as always been, as we go forward, wondering:
What (to me), has happened then, that in time, i cannot sing?
The songs, to which no words are written, but the words, ive always known.
the words of life, that for, we’re smitten, words of lives that are our own?
As we fell short, and then gave in, and time slowed down (or did it so?)
That we said misery began, and then in time, we played the show:
We blamed, we point accusing fingers, saying we were trapped in Time,
When where we trapped everyone lingers, waiting for the end of rhyme,
When words and thoughts and hopes and tears, all meshed in lesson, harshest kind.
That time: In honesty and fear, can never trap us, like the Mind.
*Feedback on this piece from a reader once pointed out the syllabic count and enjambment, with the internal and end rhyme, which left me wondering: How do you tell readers which words are majors and which words are minors? Which ones have the emphasis? Because if you dont know when you read these, they must seem awfully rediculous… Since theyre ENTIRELY Rhythm based…
As ive behaved in my function of Damage Control all month, i have nothing to show for January. Ive functioned enough to skirt by, gone to work (when i had work), and ive eaten, and slept. the days have crawled by SO slow, yet… A whole month has gone by? Understanding escapes me. I wrote this last February 4th, after the same scary realization. My mind hadnt moved a day, yet the clock had wound out a month.
Ive heard every strategy: Surrender your mind in work, exhaust your body in exercise, Fill your time with projects. And then i wonder about all of YOU. My mind wont stop moving. When i CAN bury myself at work, i do… But it never stops the thoughts from running. Sometimes i wonder if i needed a tougher career. I LOVE what im doing, but it certainly isnt mentally taxing enough to disengage my mind from multitasking.
Then i think about all of you, who stop here- Several of you with much tougher circumstantial weights to carry… And i wonder, how are you doing all this?
SOTM: Hans Zimmer- Dawn. If you know the movie and the scene, it MIGHT make sense. If not, give it your own scene…
The Only Goodbye (Ready to move)
I wrote for the first time in a while, tonight. Much to my chagrin (though not to my surprise) it changed direction a little as i got going (as they always do), but i guess thats part of what im dealing with in my head, so if thats the way it has to go… Way too much has been going on lately, and each and every day i look myself in the mirror and honestly try to ask what it is im fighting to hold on to. Im coming up short on answers.
Believing as i do about hope, about friendships, about comraderie, about love… Im stupid enough to carry a torch for any and all who need one, and to play a proverbial Horatio and the Gate until everyone is dead. Today, i decided to attempt what comes so easily for so many others, but that is typically an impossible feat 
for me. Im going to BURY the past. Not out of wanting, but out of deserving. I want to be happy, and- while i am often slighting grace (remind me to post Three Dropped Passes this week), i think there is decency enough in me to pick up the pieces and move on. But i wont do it with the past in my shadow, and you all know how i love to hold those candles.
I will post these pictures, all from my recent winter, and my recent enchantment, and my recent fun. Then, i will archive them and hide them. I’ll hide the notes, ill hide the letters, ill hide the pictures, ill delete the numbers, and ill stop looking back. Because what this Written was SUPPOSED to be about… Is that while i LOVE whats in my past, if it doesnt want to be in my future than i dont want it in my present.
I once promised that we would never be here again, but ive been taught (by many… who screamed) that some promises are bred in Pyrrhic Victory’s. Some promises are spoken, and some are implied. These, we will have to agree, were mutual broken promises.
Its been a VERY hard month. Without explaining, i dont know where ill be next month, in so many different ways. I had an epiphany today too: I dont care. It certainly cant get much worse. I may be moving, i may be getting ANOTHER new job, and so many things are up in the air. What i came home to write about, was just… “Fine. I get it. Lets just do it already.” Because thats just… How i am, these days. Im sad, but im VERY tired of sad. And at the risk of sounding pretentious, i dont deserve all thats happened, and deserve plenty that didnt. So lets get on it with, and get Ready to Move.
“How to Breathe” October sang, and with, i questioned “How to sleep?”
And dizzy, (my head then, had rang), at three to my bed, i would creep,
Returned to morning, press rewind, so i could play it on repeat,
And though i knew my ways would bind, the goal was only to defeat:
A mind that wanted to remain, a heart that cried for “who wont listen,”
So i thrashed it, in refrain (each night), as i would make eyes glisten
Push them ’til their skills were failing, body too, on couch, contesting
But not moving, as the ailing, felt by drunk, for night, arresting
Me from moving, and from dreaming, therein lies success in winning-
Fighting friends, as they were teaming, up on me and my beginning:
Recklessness as i cried out, and dangerous, as i cared little-
Testing this (i had no doubt), that i could shake my world, so brittle.
That i promised Crazy caged, said “steadfast” as the troubles brimmed,
As i (hurt, and then enraged), learned that my right was to rescind:
All i promised. All i gave, for what we had that now ive lost:
Our friendships that we will not save, for ONLY i would pay the cost.
Of standing by a promise made, to those who never paid a mind
To those (who next to) they had laid, or rode with (as friends of that kind).
Though leaving promise by the way, i wonder now why i am hurting?
And what is there thats left to say, there’s nothing, though thats disconcerting:
That i dont fit our social norms, that i believed in something better,
For “right” that i have weathered storms, for you, that i would write that letter.
That im old, though stuck (ignored), the way i feel that time forgot
The ignitron, for circuit board, as its all things that i am not.
Though you loved the “dedicated,” even some “tested in time,”
Discarded, then medicated, relics learn, to read the sign
Past replacement, now in basement, as we used that now not needed,
That complacent, look adjacent, to whats wrong- you never heeded
Warnings, but- its not for you. As this written, is for walking
Forward, and ill see it through, though not natural, i am stalking-
All my feelings, beating down, that is why no words to speak
To you, as then, id only frown, or cry, as underneath im weak.
Tired now… alone (though standing), wondering (since all this started)
(And for thinking, reprimanding), “if since we have now departed,
Have you looked to where i layed, and even felt a twinge of sadness?”
Id guess not, (the bed you made, you lie in) though i find it madness.
Though i said a forward walk, im closing Written fighting tears,
That i know we’ll never talk again, as i protect my ears
From my friends and from past, as both im known for ground retracing,
This time though, i’ll make it last, Tree’s have died, so now im facing.
I would like a “Happy,” please. Maybe one day, it will suit
My situation, so i tease, the notion of a new pursuit.
When it comes, show caution dear, and do not claim “were in together,”
Unless of course, you see my fear, and know, that youll remain, forever.
Sounds of the past- (We shall share no words)
Song- Steve Jablonsky- Bumblebee (unembedded)
What should it say that i can post something written exactly 382 days ago, and have it bear relevance exactly as it did then? It is sensory in nature, as i will try to explain:
And what to say of words when written words are running out?
And what of faith of faithful when theyre casting in to doubt?
The paragraphs, the memories, the story (though untrue)
Was held on high, in mind of my, although not in of you.
The story I was reading, read (but only in my mind)
A novel work of fiction though (to me, the fairest kind)
Of accidental tendencies, so natural but fought,
The dance I thought we danced so well; my thinking, all for naught.
The fraudulent, so beautiful, the way I held your hands,
The way I let imagination, deal me reprimands
The way we came together, knowing that we wouldn’t stay,
And the way I knew I never stopped, when stopped was what id say
And then we laid together, and we peeled off all the covers,
In body and emotion, as we first squared off as lovers
With fingers laced, entwined, and smiles chasing stormy weather
Adrift, a sirens voice, in stating “were in this together,”
My fingers dancing in your hair, the way you make the sound,
The way you felt, around my body, accidentally found,
And then I felt a shiver, as I stared back at your eyes,
I gasped, gave in, and let it go, sensation never lies
Though tomorrow, arrived alone, the morning even better,
The thoughts, the “misses”, and the notes, the way I read that letter
The wanting for the holding, for the smile, and the pleasure
The way I weighed the ways that i, could always keep the treasure.
But then the instant came when what was present was the past,
And though I knew it wouldn’t, wanted present then to last,
The birthday and the presence, never expected (but given)
The way the voice, took away choice, the way that I was Driven…
By “felt so good,” although I should, have left it in desire,
In memory, it comes to me, and keeps lighting the fire
Not the bodies, but the journey, and the conversation
The way your simple presence left me rendered in elation
But then its dark, for its tomorrow, and its all behind.
And though I still can hear it all, I know its in my mind.
And though you think, improper, at the words and all I share,
Theres readers few, but what I do, is cast my soul to bare
And for the pain, embarrassment, and all that you regret,
The sorry is all I provide, its all I can beget,
And as there isn’t more to say, there are no more “be heards.”
Theyre just my thoughts, and on such writtens, we shall share no words.
If you know me at all, you know i have never smelled anything. Whether that affects my other senses, or if im just extremely aurally sensitive, i cant be sure. Recently, i tried explaining something to some friends and family, which unnerved them: The majority of my memories are auditory in nature. Voices (it seems), i am hyper-sensitive too. Quite simply, i dont only recall the content of conversations past when i reflect, but i can almost hear them. Combined with my affinity for voices (i wonder which is cause and which is effect), the past becomes difficult to escape, because i can still hear every word, and a sad part of me really enjoys it.
Complicating that further, is while i dont get close to people very OFTEN i do it very QUICKLY. I dont find a fault in this, because ive never had much patience for half-stepping and mediocrity in friendships and relationships. Ive had the best of the best, and i maintain faith ill be there again one day. if there is a danger there, it is that i expect those close to me to see and understand the fragility of my head, and to not unravel me accidentally. We are a casual generation, and ive never been a casual person. if ive made a mistake, it was trusting my protection in THAT regard, to others. As i am naive, i cannot trust it to myself, for i’ll always go where my heart drags me, as i will always be a foolish dreamer.
“No words” was written on the heels of letting my mind rapture through a fictional perfection. I can STILL hear words said to me from that time, and they still enthrall (though they wound as they do). That i was able to grant asylum to our friendships (falsely), i learned something: My inability to mislead those closest to me, appears bred in desire for such honesty: For ive lied (and ive done it easily) and ive succeeded, when it was what someone needed to hear.
Song choice: Steve Jablonsky- Bumblebee. I just love the way it builds from almost nothing, with an off beat sound like a heartbeat. The strumming at the beginning is a wonderful choice too. And strings… Oye. Its crescendo (to the main theme from Transformers) is dramatic, and reminds me of the nature of people getting to know one another. Ill un-embed it at the next post, so it doesnt play all the time… (note: At 2:45 it really starts to hit. If you have a nice stereo, go play it there and crank it… You need the full dramatic effect to feel the emotion…)
Desserts and Discussions…
Ive been wrapped up in what i call my “house of cards” lately. Too many things are going on, which makes me basically just shut down. In a bout of Malleristic logic, i proclaim if i dont do ANYTHING, it can only get so much worse. I havent written, and time is moving very slowly. With that, i was torn between three Writtens i wanted to post: One on being Inspirationless (house of cards), one on Father Time (moving slowly), and the natural choice, as it was the sequel to the last one posted. But for tonight, i’ll leave that (and those) where they sit.
Occasionally, i have the pleasure of someone intriguing coming in to my life and NOT reigning hell down on my fragile emotional state… And thats always a blessing. Dated April 13 of last year, i like Desserts for a few reasons. One, its MUCH more literal than most, because its about so many actual conversations i had with someone that night: We covered both of our pasts, both of our homes, my antics (and Precious cargo rules! (she past the water gun test, btw…)) It was a fun night with a new friend. (I also contend there are more stories from those conversations here… that i WONT explain. But theyre funny stories, i think she would agree!) It was entertaining to see someone so amused with me, all the while also so bewildered by my bullshit. I still contend it was a telling evening: The faces were masking, and the masks that were facing. In any event, i had fun… So here is *another* thank you, as i find a memory im happy to reflect back on, which is a pleasant change.
If dessert yields conversations, and in that, shared expectations-
Of the past, our stories told, (in the past, things we were told),
And in cars (how i confide), that im at peace, when in i ride,
And you, the Uniforms you take, (i wonder if, that is mistake)-
But laughs ensued inside my head, as i took stock of what was said,
Things we mentioned, lighting fires, (what occurs, when that transpires?)
As some Quiet, as some Screaming, (you do Neither, though its seeming)
Surprise is on your face in finding, i can tell, though youre not minding…
As open books are often read, the pages not of what was said-
But not, and so, we read some stories, laughing off our former glories-
Jobs and frights, and darker sights, when in a car, weve both spent Nights-
Humor as the reasons vary (another time, your face said: scary…)
At the history transparent, in my mind; as you were Errant;
Mine erratic (Malleristic), and the way you found it mystic;
Never right, but so sustaining; (admit it, it was entertaining)
The way the time brought simple smiles, as were simply ate up miles-
Roads to show, and then imply, that Precious Cargo rules apply,
And that we covered Compromise, and how in life, it is demise-
Of situations, meant forever, til the threads that bind would weather;
As we shared tales of employment, some as battles, some enjoyment-
In paperwork (avoided still), and chaos where, i find the thrill-
And then a quiet journey home, where lost id like to be, to roam-
Pretending that the way not shown, in search: (destination unknown)
And what discussion propagated, your behavior, as you stated?
“Im a nice girl,” (never doubted), and a “naughty one”, you touted?
But i wont ask (i want to know), wont ask to see (until you show)
Whats behind the words so willing, in the space that Cover’s filling;
Stories saying, that much more, (than conservative closed door)
And though as cats, (in general, not mine), often perish, through lives nine-
Curiousity that gets, then im trouble, then begets-
Answers to whats so enthralling; more desserts, for which im calling.
And more smiles, i am betting, i could put on you, if letting-
And if not, for evening granted, many thanks, i was enchanted.
Its ironic i would have so much fun getting Dessert… I dont even EAT dessert! 
Screen names and Nicknames… On cars and corny gestures
This is both: a recent story, and a story ten years in the making. The screen name “RoadsPoet” replaced “TwiceRoadsFool” years ago, when i closed a chapter in my life. (The story on TRF has already been told here, if you managed to find it). On RoadsPoet, the name tells a game i simply LOVE to play. Over the top courtship is something i adore, and i am sad that its lost on most of my generation. In High school, a friend and i with similar interests used to embark on wild-eyed journeys of surprising the objects of our affections. It became a driving journey (literally), and we all know the pleasure i get from circumstantial badassery on the road. But romance (imho) is best served in surprise- And if you shouldnt be able to be in two places at once, its so much more fun.
Recently i had been spending a lot of time and nights with a woman, but work was tearing me away… A few thousand miles, for a week. I was smart enough to know that reality would step in that week, and things would forever change. So i wrote my heart out in verse (by hand, which takes me forever), while i shouldve been packing. The town slept around me, as i compiled my silly notion(just my simple writing, sitting on a bed of roses), and i hit the road. There wasnt a need to rush- Kara was asleep, i had 6 hours til my flight (it was midnight), but… Therein is the dream. Not just for racing, but for knowing of delivery, and expectation, and all that goes with.
As they have, us intertwined, against your body i was folding,
In my eyes, as eyes lay opened, staring up upon my ceiling,
(Though eyes closed stare out to you, as sleeping eyes stared back), im feeling
The ones inside of me you pushed, (and maybe one or two of yours)
Found, as friends, as you see me, the way i let down all the faces
When your eyes peek, into my soul, delving in to all the spaces
The way with you, ambition lost: returns, (the passion not conceded)
As charades do not project, (for when they do you see them showing)
Other thans, and so i know, theres comfort in that you are knowing
And how (my friend) i love you dearly, when you put me in my place.
The way (without attempt) you reign, the Crazy out of me with ease,
The times bewildered i dont argue, anytime, you just say please…
But those who thought they knew me best, wide eyed, that i- easily tamed
Through words, a voice, the way it soothes me, as your words dance in my head
Hearing everything weve spoken, wondering, what went unsaid?
Between us, as our lips have touched, and my hands have commenced to trace
You, and memorized each inch, as they rolled across your skin
All the fires, all desires, you ignite in me, within
Were heaven, holding you so close, telling you ill always be here,
And i meant it, and ill keep it, any way youll have me ’round,
In my heart, you hold so much, forever, us on solid ground.
“Leaving me this week” you pouted, and the way that i was pleased,
Love you Pine, as we were folded, and the way my heart would waver,
Love you too, as i replied, behind closed eyes, as i would savor,
Doting on, as characters, we read, and how id love to be
Employed: in ’saving’, entertaining, loving: such a job description
fancies me, but as a patient, i await doctors prescription.
Life ignited, once again, a heart i thought that never would,
Open up unto another, the way my heart has taken to
My friend, my lover, my tree hugger, hope you know Pine Tree loves you.
Im not always well received on adventures like this, and i suppose part of being this kind of person is learning that a lot of people will laugh, make fun, or just flat out stare incredulously at you for such an idea. I had several hours of flying, sleeping, dreaming, and thinking, to contemplate what kind of a reaction this would propagate. There is a fascinating safety net in doing such a thing when you know youll be 2000 miles away when someone reacts. Still (while validation escapes me currently), i sit here sometimes… And reread the thank you note i got that morning. For at least ONE instant, the “crazy” in me was desirable, if not enjoyed. I’ll hold on to that, because *I* know i didnt make the whole thing up.Blame (aka. For us Four)
I had so much to write today, and didnt write anything. So many thoughts. Friends, solidarity, neutrality, loyalty, betrayal. All on my mind today. I wanted to write them all, but the story is many poems long. Instead, i just reflected on history.
This has a date on it from 368 days ago. Its ironic, but tonight id rather write less, and just let it linger. The story is true. Last year, though i lost three good friends in an instant, i placed the blame for only one of those three (last involved the least to carry) squarely on my shoulders. Though we had mended our past in the last twelve months, we find ourselves (again) bitter and adversarial. As (this time) ive been played as a pawn in a game of emotional control and manipulation i can try to discount as i go forward, but i would be a liar (and not a real man) if i said i did it without enmity.
Its hard for me, naive as i am. Ive always believed in friends that would weather all things. That said, ive always also believed in friendships that would stand up to telling one another when we were in the WRONG. But friendships are disposable, im told… And as ive stood next to a good friend and told him he was wrong, to watch him walk away, i’ll concede that maybe the friendships i seek are the works of fiction. And while i’ll concede at times recent i was a terrible friend to him to, i will vigilantly claim that my intent (though not my actions) was on the side of RIGHT, and i will never apologize for that. I will not be neutral for someone so wrong. And for that, my friends… I wont apologize.
Here is LAST years “For the Four of us, toward understanding.” (verse’s removed because i didnt like them )
The hurting and the fury wasnt wounded adoration,
But more the stinging of a friend (how i know that sensation).
That i will take the punishment, for having done no wrong,
That i should hurt the most of all, of all that sing this song:
The one, the calling, from the past, the one who did the leaving,
The one, the friend, turned one time lover, who walked away deceiving
The other friend, comrade in arms, the one not much for knowing,
And me, the one, decisionsless, whos blamed by all for showing.
By “calling” for the leaving, never done, for reasons any,
Blaming me, for “one time lover”, illogistics many,
For looks and pleasure, not compared, though compared by my past,
For discontent not felt by me, but blamed on me so fast.
By former friend (and former lover), for all the things i never started,
Except the friendship not rekindled, and the friendship now departed.
And though i tried to stop such actions, hearts on fire, always weak,
And so the blame of friends and leaving, always push us to the bleak,
The last involved, the least to carry, the one who was blind, to the scene,
And though in logic, never founded, emotions t’ward, forever lean.
To the hurt, and towards the heartache, matterless, (though so unjust)
As friends so barely, even knowing, friends in situation must:
Walk away, and not look back, as all together, we survive.
Us four in square, dif’rent perspectives, all desirous to thrive
Two to love, though hurting third, can go to loving, happily,
As understood (im always hoping), that it cant be seen by me.
And for the “calling,” such confusion, a current life, and then the past.
The one shes living, the ones shes chasing, a duality that cannot last.
And in the middle, always i, the one, whos stuck, hand on the trigger.
To shoot my dog, though i dont want to, i must rise to something bigger.
Alone and walking steady, though such friends no longer stand beside,
I wonder if the “ride together” is of friends who’ve always lied?
When i can say trust wont return, it never lived, it never breathed,
I wonder why are those that leave, the only, that in trust conceived?
The situations plenty, where i give to much, and dont take any,
For friends in need, a soul for sale, valued at, a lonely penny,
For backs against the wall we stand, hoping that they will be near,
But what if dire straights too much, and closest friends, remain in fear?
In fear they walk away, in walking, leaving on my own?
And what of life, in past ive seen, the walking, as its all ive known?
Why does it hurt, then, from you three: the calling, former, and the blind?
Why does it sting, when theres no friendship, no real tie thats meant to bind?
Whats strange is that, in asking questions, must i always, sense direction,
As i ONLY have done the walking, (and that must grant me some perception)
That ive been broken, many years, and so to you, explanation fails
That shooting dogs, before they die, is only logic that prevails.
Ive known it long, all twenty six, that all would leave, and leave me broken.
And only solace in the fact, that i could pay, instead with token.
I could push, and force away, to pull the trigger, on my own,
For if youre leaving, ill just force it (there is no difference, im alone).
Goodbyes are hard, but oh so easy, strange how that can be the case,
As long as eyes, are blank with feeling (as long as i dont see your face)
And so the sorry, for the friends, ive lost, that to, i wont be back,
Im sorry, as i love you all, im sorry, for all that i lack.
New Times, with Old Words, on Familiar Feelings…
“I have always been a firm believer in God and the power of prayer, though to be honest, my faith has made for a list of questions I definitely want answered after I’m gone.” - Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook- Chapter 1- “Miracles”
Religion is a touchy subject, and i dont go there often. Disregarding the “always been a believer” i think Nicholas Sparks said it best, in that: I have a lot of questions i may never get answers to. But, the following isnt really about religion, though the undertone is there. I wouldnt even post it, but it came up on the NavWorks forum, in that someone posted a quasi-spiritual-esque post on the subject of inspiration. I dont even have a copy of this with my writing at home… I found it on my old web storage address last night. Reason being, i was 500 miles from my computer when i wrote it… Actually, i was 500 miles from ANYTHING familiar. But when i found it last night, i remember an entire realm of feelings that sadly… arent all that distant from those of late.
I remember our life, and the love that you gave,
The times I hold dear, and the trinkets I save…
The softness of lips at the morn and the night,
And the way that you said it would all be allright.
The lives that ive lived in the time in between,
All the places ive been, all the faces ive seen.
Events that have pushed me, from Lake, Land, and Coast,
All the lives that I have lived I loved life with you most.
The Cycles we promised we’d break through together,
Rest stops where we promised, hand in hand we’d weather,
The trails, the habits, that from us God saught,
The prices, expensive, we knew must be bought.
That price is a place, with not one friendly face,
(Not a father, nor mother, or a long lost lover…)
No one to call, with a cycle just broken,
The price of a familys love, as a token,
The silence is hard, and there is no spared rod,
When you learn what alone is, me (and of course) God,
He is love, inspiration, and everlasting Grace,
In the cold, all alone, he is all BUT a face…
Each day, how I pray, families come around,
The one I was raised by, and the one I had found…
But though I love God, and I know he knows me,
I know they may not, for he graciously
Has shown me, with storms and with heartache, disaster,
That we built a world, that succumbs to no master,
And so no confusion, amongst prayers for Glory
On High, though they mean, that the end to this story,
May hurt, as it has. As it does. As it may…
That hurt as I am, that I wish I could say,
Id love you the way that, our God always Willed,
But that I loved you wrong, and our wrong love was killed,
Though ill beg Gods Forgiveness, from now till forever,
Ill Always be crying, about if id never:
Allowed things so fast, to rapture from our hands,
To dance in to actions with harsh reprimands…
I wonder, if we had kept God in our sight…
If your touch, would ward dreams off, and bring peace, tonight.
There are a LOT of stories in here. Its no secret i struggle with my family, we dont always get along. I can be a nasty nasty person, and they know how to bring out the nasty. There was a brutal altercation once, and (true to form) i had a car close by. I remember racing away, with my friend/love Juliette (the friend/love thing is another post…), and being beyond reason as i found a highway to get out of town to head back home. I pulled over at a rest area to fall apart 35 long minutes later, and we sat there for probably another 35 minutes. We talked about Breaking the Cycle, and being who we wanted to be, and not who we thought we were destined to be. And i found a set of eyes in conviction, that told me i wouldnt be alone as i looked for that road. And with that, we went home. Lovers are great. Friends and lovers are even better. Ive been with people id have never let see that, and they wouldve been stuck with angry-vicious-me for god knows how many days, and no way to calm me down. But a friend like that…
I wrote the above in a house i was borrowing, in a town i didnt really live in, where i didnt know anyone, and had nothing to my name but the belongings i had crammed in my Pontiac. I remember writing the first half, perched on a bed in my foreign borrowed home, and then driving to a restaurant to sit alone and eat, while i wrote the rest. I had NEVER been more alone. I have a picture of the sun coming up off the end of the island, that ill have to post later. Alone as i was, that picture will always stay with me.
Recently, someone told me “Our lives are defined by the choices we make, and we must stand by them.” A few times, as above, ive pushed the lines between a friend and a lover, because ive seen the greatness that comes from such a journey. But yes… Ive seen the end of it too. And sadly, there isnt really any way to go back, that ive found.
Its 5 degrees, and snowing…
- LAST week, lol…
And im out in the driveway, with my ipod on, while i violently shovel snow in the dark. On this subject, there are a few things i can be sure of:
1. As a pretentious owner of an AWD Subaru, i should NEVER have to shovel my driveway. And i dont. My car can go anywhere. That car and i are an unstoppable force. Brian and HIS Subaru, however… are not. As evidenced by his managing to get stuck last night. Jesus. So i shovel.
2. There is nowhere id rather be. Discounting a 7 year stint carrying stuff in a grocery store (and lets be real, it wasnt hard work) ive never had to physically labor for a living… And yet, i respect the DOers of this world so much. My Grandfather Hall was a DOer, a builder, a worker, and he had heart. The few summers i spent with him contrasted those with the other side of the family, where we frequented country clubs and the beach. With Papa Hall, we were in the sweltering summer heat, enjoying the simple things that only we could enjoy: We mowed grass on tractors, rode dirtbikes, built porches, fixed things, tracked storms… And when it was necessary, we worked. I know hed have worked his ass off if it meant Grandma Hall didnt have to do something, and i always respected him for that. Dont get me wrong, at this point in my life, facing financial Dire straights and restriction, i think back to my birthday in 2003 at the country club and realize damn… That was nice too, haha… But even then, i realize the environment had little to do with it.
3. While im here alone, and im shoveling for no one, its always for the thought of someone. No one in particular, thats just nuts. But i had a talk with a friend recently, on WHY i love shoveling. Putting aside that i AM a chauvinist (ask me about this, its a fun conversation), i recall the days that i DID live with someone. Its not that its my JOB, and its not that someone else CANT do it… But there IS a certain satisfaction in knowing my being out there means someone else doesnt have to. I discussed this with a friend today (who laughed, as she wont let her boyfriend shovel without her… But shes an archi-nut-revit-freak, so her sanity is suspect). Some of us like to pamper, and like to take care. Its not out of fealty, its not out of lacking-self-worth (i actually contend its the opposite). But for whatever reason, its something i love. Im lacking any better explanation.
Last week almost done!
Thoughts on music for today: I watched Footloose tonight. Laugh all you want, that movie is badass. And while the music isnt HEAVY (come on, its mid eighties dance music… or something), it carries something else with it. I was 16 when i had that album in my cars CD player. I was 16, and i was vicious. I was a reactive, secluded, stay-away-from-me, brooding, anti-social little monster with a temper on a trigger, and a penchant for running away. But, i was alone, and i was comfortable. God help me if i ever DESIRE to go back to that person, for any length of time. But for a night or two… It can only help.
EDIT: And ive got beer in the snow banks. Bring the NOISE.
-A
“When she knows Crazy, taking place…”
- First thing we saw out of GCS
Id be lying if i didnt say i have a bone of contention with the word crazy. Once upon a time i found it amusing as- im sure you can imagine- it was an adjective used for me, quite a lot. BUT, always with a smile, or a laugh, and always over some seemingly absurd circumstantial incident which- once youre in my head- you realize isnt so crazy. Then one day, someone who was supposed to be a very good friend, called me Crazy (capitalized), and though its been months since, its always on my mind.
Last night, i came across some old photos on a CD, and it brought back my antics of 2003. The long and short of it, is a friend i hadnt seen in years suddenly popped back in to my life (i should choose them better perhaps, as this is a reoccurring theme. And since its at my own volition, maybe we’ll devote some time to that), and was discussing “her dream” of going to New York to work for a magazine. Here, i have to tell you: I discover as i go on, that most peoples “dreams” are so easy to give them, and its so much fun. “crazy” as i was, a week later, the two of us piled in to the poor dilapidated little car i owned, and we trekked from Buffalo to New York for a week, with little planned, less money, and no cares. This week will probably stay with me forever, though i almost never talk about it. We saw all of Long Island: My childhood, my favorite beach, the pizza place. We saw all of NYC, and saw it a LOT. Enough to get in trouble with some parking lot attendants, enough for me to get in DEEP trouble with Port Authority at the Tunnel… And enough that one day we took the LIRR in and out twice, just for the cliche Empire State Building Midnight visit.
blurry as it may, i heart pics at 80 miles an hour :)
- 1 of 2 fave pics ive ever taken. @ Midnight, that night..
and her job unpaid), we would survive 400 miles in light of Architectural Studio, finances, and having had almost NO time together thus far. We learned a LOT that year. “What were saying versus what were doing.” Wow, how those things vary. And though honesty is scary, sometimes what were doing is much better than what were saying. If only everyone learned that. We also learned what i have always known, but what- perhaps- gets me called crazy so much: We’re all UNstoppable. I can dream, and plot, and plan… And always only be half. But when someone else gets in that game WITH you, theres no stopping anything.
waiting for a lover new, whos strong enough, to will us through,
To take the hard that comes in weather, when embarked on such endevour
Trusting that though dark and cold, my heart is worth the trip through old
How the attitude cries out, and pushes us to wavered doubt,
To where we pushed we then retreat, and find we then admit defeat
And walk to darkness then alone, and thoughts of all regret i own
The love in loving me, was magic, hurt in such was found as tragic
As so left, so then discarded, and so then always regarded,
As the one we leave behind, to fend we abandon that kind.
Cast away, as eyes cast down, to render former smiles frown,
And why so bitter, why so clever? (WHy do you think that i would sever
love with hurtful thoughts so crazy, if my mind wasnt so hazy?)
But the story there not ends, as stories sequels preach amends:
Someone waiting, someone caring, someone someday somewhere daring
Seeing in me something slaving, something heartful, worth a saving
Afraid of fights and flares and nights, wild rides beyond our rights;
Maybe when this person comes, and when the darkness then succumbs
Ill find much better, i can be when lovers love, and not fear me.
On hard times, hard nights, and the past, (the nights i wonder if ill last)
The way the manic sometimes drives, and sometimes in it, my mind thrives,
The way the wild always wins, the way impulse is what begins
And will you fear, or will you ask? Will you then run, or will you bask
Within the knowledge that i need, someone who in the fear wont heed
The warning to avoid quicksand, instead in warming, take my hand
That though my mind will always test, that if you love, ill love you best
As im not ruined, im not hating, its just my mind stuck in debating
If you’ll hurt me, if ill trust you, (what will happen, letting lust, too)
Theres a fire burning, raging, in the wild, as im caging,
That its savable at least, at best, quite a docile beast
If only someone wasnt trying, to be scared, and then so lying
Worried for the repurcussions, no disclosing in discussions,
Of the fear of wild minds, and in deception (the worst kinds)
Deception quiet, and trust breaking, and as we part, hurting taking
Puts a smile on her face, when she knows crazy taking place,
Who sees me scream and in stores dance, and knows such times are such a chance,
Not for running, not for scolding, and so not for repremand;
“Precious Cargo Rules apply…”
Steve Jablonsky- Youre a Soldier Now
EDIT: I switched it to a link. The song was embedded. But it was getting annoying. Feel free to sample, but then uh… delete it. And uh, buy the album.
I didnt coin the term, honestly. “Precious Cargo Rules” came about one summer evening at the Fairmount 695 onramp, when a passenger in my car shrieked as i flew around the onramps. It is- in fact- something i call the water gun test. I can see this needs more elaboration, but i dont want to go there tonight. Two women in my life have passed the so called water gun test, and theyre both gone now. BUT tonight wasnt about Precious Cargo Rules, since i was alone. I was out, and the lake effect was roaring, so the drive home was… amazing. I just adore it.
On the subject of my daydreams, i have an entire one plotted out to this song (which i was just out driving with)… But, as im sure it goes without saying this late in the post, it makes me drive like a goddamned maniac. I call it *track 17*, though it may actually be 16 or 17 on the Score, for Transformers, by Steve Jablonsky. (If youre a fan of the movie, its during the battle in the city near the end). I could articulate the entire fictional scene in my head, but its late, and i just enjoyed the drive home, and thought it was worth mentioning. The only thing better than a night of nasty dancing, is nasty dancing then nasty driving.
Im also realizing: i dont write every day, not Writtens, anyway. And since im new to this (and perhaps relieved to get it off my chest), im posting ones from the past pretty quickly. I suppose the good news (for you) is at this rate ill run out soon, haha..
So heres an old one… 2003, i believe. it fits quite well, for when Precious Cargo rules DONT apply.
I push the luck, don’t give a fuck, lets see how fast it goes,
Cuz on the wire, gets me higher, saves me from my woes,
The lines beneath me, then bequeath me, freedom to deny,
Their all so blurred, when speed is stirred, id rather just reply,
‘Your just a guide, surpassed by pride, you wish to stop disaster,
But I care not, you, I forgot, without you I go faster.’
So slam the gas, and then surpass, whatever rules imply
Find a gear, forget the fear, and show me you can fly.
Hold me in, and feed my sin, lets show them something bigger,
Cuz you’re the gun, and I’m the one, whose finger’s on the trigger.
Lose this town; the pedals down, lets run from both our past’s
You’re my power, for this hour, we’ll live if your heart lasts.
And if we hit, your hearts limit, and you can give no more,
Don’t hate me when, I punch it then, you know I must be sure
You may protest, when I contest, but try and see it through,
For as we roll, out of control, you know that I need you.
Heartfelt tension, flexed suspension, road that’s giving to our song,
Even knowing, you’re not showing, that you think that I am wrong.
Hands on wheel, I know I feel, that on this speed do I depend,
I’m not aghast, of speed this fast, but of the stopping… at the end.
As for the song… If youre a daydreamer, play it a few times, and let me know what scene YOU see playing out to it. Mind the dramatic transitions around :55, 1:50, 2:30, and 3:05.
