Tag Archives: love

crazy?

“We are embedded in a biological world and related to the organisms around us” ~ Walter Gilbert

“I am just a dreamer, and you are just a dream” ~ Neil Young

“I was always ashamed to take, so I gave. It was not a virtue. It was a disguise.” ~ Anais Nin

They said I was crazy

for throwing away a certain future

in order to chase a silly dream

But, said I

I would rather have a wallet stuffed

with post-notes of scribbled poetry

to place into the palms of strangers

Than stacks of stiff bills

staring up at me (old, dead, white men)

As I die a fresh death every morning

sinking deeper into the center of my cubicle

They still call me crazy

I’m still more successful than I ever imagined i could be

I still scribble poetry

I don’t even own a wallet

and i breathe in new life when I wake up … whenever I want.

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Filed under Musings, poetry, Public Diary

weapons

Mother …

Let nothing in my hand be a weapon.

Neither gun, wand, nor pen.

If my fingers should fist, please break them.

Should I be tempted to raise my hands in anger, quickly remind me that you did not give me hands for that purpose.

Violence is not the war i wage.

The  hand … the hand is one of the most incredible instruments in the  universe. Of all the bones in the body, one-fourth are in the hand. The  balletic interplay of sinew and bone that is the human hand cannot be  overstated, though it always seems to be thirsting to make a fist. Our  greatest moment of humanity is when we open (un-fist) our hand to extend  it in love … cradle a glass of wine … cup the chin or cheek of a  loved one.

Even more … let nothing in my mouth be a weapon.

Not teeth, spit, or word.

Let my words be sweet … or savory. Never bitter, for I may have to eat them.

Turn my heart from hatred, and let love be the seeds i sow.

Fear is not the war I wage.

If I am to be known for anything in this world, let it be

“He left love where he went.”

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Reads

Libraries, archives, and museums all find themselves at the intersection of materiality and the mystical. Perhaps this is why we’re so quiet when we enter them.” ~ Jenn Shapland,

Someday I dream we’ll visit these holy places together.

Or perhaps 

We’ll make a Holy Place of Our very own, someday.

A place without any fear.
A place where i will gather all the things I have written to You

Gather them close and read them aloud to You

So You can hear the love in my chest 

Among the hitches in my speech 

and the small gasps of affection

Perhaps.
Someday.

and I will dream of it until then.

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Trauma (My Mother was Murdered)

1992.

I might have saved her, had I listened to the warnings in my heart. (and yeah: I know that’s just not true.)

I’m going to succumb to a nap, and try and silence these voices. I’m sad, I’m frustrated, i’m angry.

Mostly, I’m sad. Mostly, I miss my Mom.
She never, ever got to see me perform magic.

She went to every performance she could when I was an actor, when I was a singer. She insisted on video tapes when she couldn’t.

She would have adored Grace and Braiden.
She would have lit up when i took her to the Castle …

Fuck … this hurts. Life isn’t fair, but my Mother always taught me to love it, anyway. And to channel that love outward.

Thank you for listening.

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it’s just a car

Just a hunk of scrap metal now, really.

There’s an empty space in the street where my car used to be. A gift in a desperate time. Never gave me much trouble at all. Got me from here to there. I brought it with me from NC when my life changed.

One of the few ties I had, really.
A few minutes ago a man chained it up and drove it away. Forever.
Now there’s just an empty space. Except for some busted glass and plastic.

I guess I’ll get a little money from the insurance company.
And i have the memories of friends and lovers who rode with me on my adventures and quests.

And the ghost of the giant who used to drive it.

But right now all I see is the empty space.

Another loss in the tally-book.

It’s Dawn’s birthday, and there was snow there. I know that made her happy.

It’s just a car.
It’s just an empty space.

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Filed under poetry, Public Diary

Not Gonna Lie

It’s been a very rough few weeks. The universe seemed to want me to experience some loss and a touch of despair … and while I handled it in healthy ways, it left me shaken and weary. Nothing is easy, but I’m beginning to think that’s just the way things are and i might as well set my jaw and keep moving forward.’

I broke ties with someone I once considered my best friend. I’ve known I needed to, and the people I confide in (including my therapist) have agreed that breaking up the friendship was the healthiest thing for both of us. Things have become toxic They have made no attempt at reconciliation, so I think we’ll simply say our paths move on from here in different directions. I have no doubt they will thrive and find success.

The deaths … well, I’m dealing with them. The holes cannot be filled, but death is a part of life, and my loved ones and friends lived well and made many people happy.

There have been beautiful bits too, and they outshine the darkness. A single candle, if you will. I went to the AZ Ren Fest, and spent some quality time with loved ones and friends. Played in the sunshine with someone special, and laughed freely.

I’m in love.
Yeah. I can tell you that. It’s been a slow, friendship based, mutual admiration for some time. It had grown and blossomed and … I find I have newfound passion and heartfelt love.
It’s impossible to deny the energy. If you are at all aware, you can sense it.
The kicker? She loves me back. She has love in her heart for exactly me.
All my flaws, darkness, scars, and all … she loves me.

And that’s amazing. I didn’t think I’d ever find this again.
But it is very much like the things I lost forever have come back to me.

Not an Icarus.
… more of a Lazarus.

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Self Worth

I feel myself worthy, I’m full of confidence I know exactly who I am. Onstage.

On stage I make people smile, I lift their spirits, I show them miracles. On stage we are one, and they believe in me.

Off-stage, not so much. I’m still the 10 year old who does not get picked. The last kid, awkwardly standing alone while cool kids choose someone else, because I just don’t measure up. I’m not quite good enough. Off stage.

It’s lonely off stage. At the end of the day I am by myself, and left to comfort myself. I am quite aware that this is the life I set up for myself.

And perhaps that’s how it’s to be. I’ll use this time to make my time on stage a little bit better. I would have liked to have been chosen, I no longer expect it.

I still have the stage, and I’m still kinda important there.

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