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
The three thirty train to tomorrow…
Myspace pisses me off, but i have to tell you… its not for the reasons you would probably guess. Every night, i do my *wind down* and play a few songs with either the speakers cranked or my headphones blasting… It just calms me down, and i let my mind have its way with its daydreams before i go to bed. Then, after i find the *closer* song (my playlist is always on random, and i just keep hitting next until a song HITS me… and thats the closer… I know, im a mess…) i generally flip to IE which is opened all day, and i go to close it to go to bed. Thats when i usually type whatever my last thought is in to that stupid status thing on Myspace, or Facebook, or whatever. My last thoughts are usually the biproducts of my wind down, and my submission to my daydreams, and as such, they usually propagate my next Written, when i have time to go back to write.
Well, its 4:01 am right now. i tried going to bed an hour ago, but im wired on God knows how much coffee, and some adrenaline. Tomorrow (or today, rather) could be a great day, or a giant disappointment. I take solace in not worrying about it, because its now out of my hands. I digress, thats not the point. I tried going to bed again at 3:20, and i figured maybe i needed the Wind Down. So i came in here and dropped my headphones on (trying to be nice to the old lady next door). I jokingly asked my insomniac sister-in-arms Megan which song should be the Closer, but when she responded i looked down at the IM window and saw it was 3:30am. While my first instinct was to bitch and moan, i jokingly thought “Eff it, im on the three thirty train til tomorrow.”
Then i got super pissed, because i know what have to write now. But i wont do it tonight, because my mind and eyes are too far gone for rhythm. But the three thirty train til tomorrow is great. Its this midnight candle burning at both ends, that says my alarm is going to go off in 3 hours, and im going to have that labored breathing in my chest that says i didnt sleep enough… But im going to know its because i said “I WANT this… This one is MINE.” And i went for it. I hate paperwork, its no lie. But this is the dream, and i want it. This one might not bite, it might not happen. Who knows? Certainly not me.
But were on that three thirty train, its not stopping til tomorrow. Ill post back when i get an hour of freedom to write it out, its all there.
Closer- Megan picked Indie Arie, but 34 minutes later- Bruce Springsteen- Because the Night (live cover)
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?
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.