Friday, January 29, 2010

Warmer Still

One small being strapped to a revolving ball of water out in the boonies of the universe. Sound waves cut. Sad, sad, music, wanes and grows. My self-loss echoes silent. Black night. White-yellow stars. The moon spits it's tobacco juice golden glow and we hold our breath. Sucked beneath the earth by savage undertow.

I've caught the thin blue morning light a couple times recently. Painting water colors while it supposed me asleep. I've dragged my transformed heart around as it pumped perfectly over and over again, so much stronger than my spirit. My heart beats on and on oblivious to my condition. I've become a person capable of loving again. The bravest act we have, is also our only redemption, the only buffer from the walking dead. I reach and cling to wet strands, using my muscles for something. Grateful for the grand illusion of separate days.

Friday, January 22, 2010

I went out with other young people. Like we thought was healthy. And,

all I did was talk about you.

When I'd think of these scenarios where you'd be gone for awhile, I'd imagined myself a slightly mature and patient man who busied himself in other things, but I'm not. I miss you. I'm with you. I keep you in my heart. You are, actually, my heart.

Saturday, January 16, 2010

The Beatles play. The sun shines through my window. You're at the epicenter of a disaster. And I'm writing again, probably because it's my only hope. I overflow with life, I write.

I see your pictures and my pulse calms. Life through you're eyes, your lens, gives me comfort. I become you and the moment turns beautiful. I'm there with you.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Calming Faceless Ghosts

It's the time of morning where the low frequency buzz of the cable box and the whirling chatter of the refrigerator are the day's marching band. The delinquent mind on overload. The heat of a firing metabolism wailing inside the warm sea of my blood. My salvation arrives in the form of this canvas.

First there was the womb. Then the sensory baby. The confused infant. The inner-child. Achingly becoming the adolescent. These sidewinding apparitions mingle with present neuroses and a caffeinated mind that quickly and savagely becomes lost in a self-contrived maze of no apparent origin or ending. Stay calm. Walk the path, don't run. The demons that jump from behind sharp corners are only actors working on a commission relative to the fear they cause. These treacherous sounds of ghosts function on an automated recorded feed. The refracted mirrors are distorted only by negative thoughts. Enemies prey on belief in false forms. Truth is the furthest thing from your mind and that's the only danger. Find your truth again. Listen. Stop talking and listen. Every once in awhile clarity appears like crystal-cut daylight after rainshowers. As you move forward, the redirection of focus can be the best survival tool you have. Relax. Stay calm. Walk the path. Allow the best of your world to call to you.

When the exit appears. The pain starves. Truth arrives quiet and strong. There are no guarantees, but the sun will soon rise.

Monday, January 4, 2010

Put A Blue Ribbon On

Wonder-wonder. It's no wonder that this time of year opens up like a kaleidoscopic splendor-drenched landscape. The days are warm here. Everyone keeps telling me that we should send some pictures to our friends in the cold. We never will. I'm too entranced to be bothered by weather gloating.

My plate is full, then it empties. I go to hide for awhile and return to it covered again. A feast. Rinse, wash, spin, repeat. Let the growth occur in between. Ambition is the many feathers of a peacock. They dazzle, have their focal points, shine persuasively for another party to take a liking to. They die. They fall to the ground. They're replaced by new feathers. They end up on pretty jewelry or trampled beneath the dust. They lose their luster. They change the world.

If at first, few thousand times, you don't succeed, lift yourself up and try again. The third round Arsenal match was a perfect example of the idea that:

No matter how down you get, never abandon your style.

At its presentable levels, STYLE, is more than a fleeting choice. It's a long-crafted expression of your evolution. If you've done your due diligence, been forged in fires, withstood the tortures, breathed in the beauties, accumulated the scars, and maintained a sense of humor, then this flawed collection of brilliance will contain the best that you have to give the world. Adjust, evolve, tear down, and rebuild. Never abandon your style.