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Silvervale
Cherry pie and milk.
There’s no security in my job. There are no promises. I’ll give my everything, and it may not be good enough. Whatever that ultimately means.
But it will be mine. I’ve touched souls. I’ve lifted hearts that were despairing.
I’ve saved lives.
I’ve created real magic.
What else could I ask?

More. That’s what.

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Christmas Day 2018

Very quiet and almost alone.

But when a lady who is interesting and interested calls …

So I had lunch with a captivating and deep young woman who has eyes like sunshine through honey. Those eyes see a lot, and I think they like what they see in me.

Worked on new magic and read a new book (gift from the same lady) and kept breathing. I’m listening to the closing of the year carols and thinking about art. New Year’s Eve will find me at the Magic Castle, doing my dance behind the bar.

Who knows tomorrow? Right now, in this moment … there’s peace for this earth-man.

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Filed under Musings, Public Diary

Christmas Eve, 2018

It’s on this night that I take stock of my year. I’ve been doing this since my life changed in 1988 … so thirty years. Raise a glass to thirty years.

In 1988 I met the one. Married the one. Had a child with the one. Christmas Eve found me in the downstairs of a wee two bedroom apartment, playing Santa for the two new females in my world. I scrimped and hustled and saved to make it nice … and I sat up late afterward, drinking eggnog and nibbling cookies and thinking it all over. Big changes, new adventures. A twisting unknown road ahead. And i raised my head and silently asked for strength. Not so much help … as strength.

“Let me be a good partner. Please let me be a good father … grant me strength to walk this road ahead.”

Thirty years and thousands of miles away and … an entirely new life … here i am again. Grateful.

But asking for strength.

New Year. Resolution.

Something simply stated, but with determination and a specific goal.
I want to improve on my basic skill set. I want to tell better stories, create better scripts, live out loud more loudly, and polish up the heart on my sleeve.

I’m going to write one fictional story each week.  Maybe based on people I know, maybe woven from thin air. Most will suck, especially in the beginning. I hope that gems will uncover themselves in the process.

I’m going to be more open about my views and life events in this public blog.
Not daily writing (maybe) but several times a week, providing whoever wants to read it an in-depth story of what’s going on in my head. Dangerous? Scary? Yep.

There will continue to be my semi-monthly column in Genii magazine. I will write for the podcast. I will create new magic and share more video.

It’s a big undertaking, and i’m doing it in order to not become lethargic or mediocre.

Some of it may hurt. Me. You. Them.
I’m sorry … I’ll do my best to be cruelty free, but I’m going to be honest. Art demands it.

Life is criminally short and one time around is all you get. Let the art do the talking.

My New Year’s Resolution is this:

Just Write.

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Silver

Silver coins from fingers to fingers … a trick of the hands I learned before I could understand.

Reflections of my self, unbroken from a surface I knew in shards.
Arrows piercing, cutting like words thrown from bitter tongues.
You saw me, and the mirror in your eyes became the truth I allowed myself to see.

Slick surface payout that revealed lines (yes), scars (yes), and age (yes?)

Also kindness … silverblue mirror and silverbrown frame around a face … of mine … that I had not loved until You.

My hands are bare, no longer shackled by the rings that declared me property and shameful.

My hands are my own to weave or build with. No reminders of ‘owned by’ or ‘ego slave’.
The rings that adorn me in the future will declare me loved and admired.

My unbound hands and my mouth grow stronger and more sure. Silver truth flows … look at these words as witness.

The goddess spoke Your name and it exploded into stars. Metaphoric meteors I cast my wishes upon.
I  see them behind my eyelids while our lips exchange words and passion.  Your mouth on mine alights the heavens and I am adrift in a sea of  silver lights. Myriad and distant. Endless depths of silver coins  spilled from the pockets of the eternal beggar: god itself. An endless  ocean with bits of bright chalk here and there … and one perfect blue  star.
(Not Venus … no, my love; the she-planet runs her circle and  spins her own tales. She is magnificent, certainly, but just a planet.)  I mean the star. The Star! The silver-blue tip of Orion’s garment. The  one whom I implore to send you messages of adoration, comfort, and  loyalty.

There were glittering stars under our feet  that night. Crushed remnants of past tragedies that sparkled like  Christmas nonetheless. There are glittering glitters of memories in my  soul, too. Unlike the nickles in my pocket, we do not reflect: we shine.

We shine silver and create memories of our own. Perfect in love and dancing under the pale blue eye of Rigel.

On silver trenchers I offer you my splintered green heart.
It is not perfect, but it creates pure silver … and it is Yours if You will have it.

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Filed under Musings, poetry

Center

Trying to find mine.

I got home tonight and stood … as I do … and searched the sky. Orion was on the horizon, with Betelgeuse and Rigel shining steadfast.

Someone asked me during the Q&A today if I had found a peaceful place like my back porch was at home, and I had to say no. I don’t have that meditative spot like I used to. Someone else asked if I have romantic love in my life, and I can’t answer that very simply. There’s a woman who cares about me very deeply (I don’t use names without permission, and we haven’t had that talk yet.) and there’s affection and caring … but (cliche incoming) it’s complicated. There are issues she needs to settle in her own world before she can comfortably explore mine. So we are separate.

I fill up my time with art and work and vital things. I try to not think of romance or physical affection. Self doubt in these areas grows. Am I worthy of that kind of love? Am I deserving?

I don’t know.

So I work, and that is taking a special kind of patience. I’m not complaining, I’m good at what I do and I greatly enjoy it. My art is very satisfying, and I lift hearts. The obstacles are few (though mighty) and I am building good faith and reputation among my community and future clients. Life is Magic.

But now it’s 2AM and I wish I had someone to tell about my day. Someone who would be interested and even eager to hear about it. Oh, of course I’ll tell you … and I really should attack these keys more often, but I mean a partner. A Lover. Someone to pour my heart and dreams into. I have someone in mind … and she loves me back, of this I have no doubts. But she needs to overcome obstacles for us to be even remotely together, so I’m giving her time and space to figure things out.

I’m breathing. I’ll keep doing that.

Looking for my center. Longing for my love.

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Hurricane

When you love you wish to do things for. You wish to sacrifice for. You wish to serve.” ~ Ernest Hemingway

In my hometown right now, they are battening themselves down in anticipation of Hurricane Florence. I am concerned for my friends and loved ones. It could be bad. It could be worse than that. It could veer away and be little more than a nuisance.
But it could be bad.

I see on the social media many people offering their homes, couches, and space for refugees of the storm. Safe havens for those in need. Offering their open arms and their pantries for those damaged or stranded by the storm.

Open arms. Open hearts. Empathy, sacrifice, and serving those in need out of pure love for fellow humans.

Remember when our country used to have that same attitude?

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Love Everywhere

I pour my heart, my essence, into my work.

I call it art and I try to keep a straight face.

I say what I believe. Sometimes those words are uncomfortable. So be it. I am sick of trying to second guess what might ‘hurt’ my career. I silenced myself and I whispered, just in case someone who might want to give me money for magic was listening.

Enough. I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing. Want to hold my heart against me?
So Be It. My creativity is running strong, and I need to what I can while I’m here.

Life is criminally short.

I’m spending it loving and spreading love. Romantic love seems to elude me … and that’s not what i’m talking about.  Maybe that’s just not my road. So be it.

Live performance. My first real love.

Writing. (Here and for Genii)
Video blog. https://www.youtube.com/user/HannibalGroup
Podcast. https://soundcloud.com/magicartist
These are mistresses I’m allowed. (For now)
Check them out … and subscribe for Hannibal content.

I need your support. Here’s my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/magicartist
Help me to continue to move forward. New content, new explorations.

I’m rededicating myself. Again.
This is Magic.
This is Hannibal.

Here I Am.

 

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Filed under Musings, Public Diary