"When you were little, your family called you the Christmas Kid.
You couldn't wait for the holidays to arrive.
How You loved the glitter of lights sparkling in the long night,
The way the tinsel swayed gently on the tree among your favorite ornaments.
There was nothing like that clean, woodsy smell of a real tree filling the house, mingled with
the warm aroma of whatever delectable goody was currently being baked in the oven.
The scents of Christmas were always your favorite.
The beginning of December marked an upcoming school vacation, of shared family time,
And of course the start of that dreadfully long wait until Santa's eventual visit to your chimney.
Your heart would race at these thoughts.
You would be filled with the deepest of smiles and with holiday light.
Hope.
Anything could happen at Christmas time,
and whatever did happen would be good."
I believed in the good things.
Why are we talking about this?
"Christmas Eve, and your mind would be overtaken by the thoughts of what would be lying under that tree.
Minutes would pass so painfully slow on that night.
You would toss and turn.
Eventually, you would always creep out of your bed and sneak down the stairs into the living room.
Had Santa arrived?
No, not yet.
You would then dejectedly skulk silently back to your bedroom for another hour until you could take it no longer,
and you would sneak out and check again.
You would do this all night, until you became so exhausted that sleep would finally find you in the late hours.
It was a delicious agony for you."
Sometimes I would fall asleep in front of the tree.
I tried so hard on that last visit downstairs to stay awake,
just to greet Santa.
I wanted to say thank you.
"You couldn't wait to play your favorite holiday songs.
Always the classics, right?
Dean Martin and Burl Ives inspired those feelings of holiday cheer within you,
Even in July.
It would be summer, but you just couldn't wait for Christmas to come again.
Holiday music played at full volume in the summer drove your family absolutely crazy.
You wouldn't stop, though.
You were the Christmas Kid, after all."
I wanted to be Santa someday.
I was positive that it could happen.
I just needed the opportunity.
I wanted to make all of the children of the world happy.
Silly thoughts from a silly boy.
"You were young. You still believed in these things."
This is what I want for my nieces, for the children of my closest friends.
I want them to revel in those untarnished holiday hopes and dreams.
I want them to be able to believe in anything.
Those things filled me with happiness.
With hope.
With smiles.
I am different now.
For me,
That was then...
Past tense.
I remember those things as nothing more than some half-remembered nostalgia
Of a distant youth.
It may as well have been something I watched on the television.
Could have happened to someone else.
It may have.
Please just give my heart some room.
I can't breathe when you're this close.
"You really don't want to talk about this, do you?"
It's funny how things change.
Now I just see Christmas as one less day that I can perform somewhere.
"That's a ridiculous statement."
It's completely true.
Now please go, and turn the light off when you leave.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Thursday, November 3, 2011
a beggar and a basket of flowers
I told a friend the other day that I fear Heaven.
One of the most honest things that I've ever said.
Hated admitting it, hated knowing that it's true.
When I can't sleep at night,
I stand outside in the cold and resume my relationship with the night sky.
I wanted to forge ahead,
Start a new life.
Delve into those deepest, darkest corners.
Try to understand why I didn't feel good enough for myself.
Make that last cup of coffee.
Know you shouldn't, but
You know sleep's not coming either.
Might as well make the most of it.
Stand in the cold, and watch what's left of your breath compete with the steam from a little warm cup.
Wanted to gain some understanding as to how I really tick,
So that when I made my Grand entrance back into the world
I would be made of happy things, Goodness,
And I would be able to provide warmth and light around me.
Make a change for the better.
This is why I left.
A beautiful Fall night. It's very late.
Stars shining overhead in that dark blue that borders on black.
So quiet and still.
Peaceful,
Except for the voices screaming at the absurdities in my own head.
It's in these moments that I worry that maybe the Egyptians were right about the doors to the afterlife.
When it is my time to say goodbye, will my soul be weighed and found wanting?
What if I can't let go?
What if I don't want to...
What happens if I am let into Heaven by mistake.
Maybe I just want a little space somewhere to catch up with those I so desperately miss.
I promise you won't know I'm here.
I'll be quiet.
Please let me stay a little while,
Then I'll go.
Instead, maybe I'll decide to march up to those glittering gates, and
start a bloody war based on all of the things I refuse to accept, and perhaps demand some damned answers while I'm at it.
Will I use all of the same false bravado I did in life?
Will they see through it?
What happens if I'm asked what I think I'm really worth.
I think there might be a point where you can go too far inside.
Don't forget to leave a light on behind you.
If you're not careful, those persistent little demons will find you,
Creep in so close, claws around your throat, whisper the little things that start to make sense.
Personal demons don't care about zip codes, and
Their moving costs are cheap.
They'll find you.
A lovely couple came to my performance the other night.
They live in another city, came to see me here.
Let me know this with stars in their eyes and music on their minds.
At the end of the night,
He gives me a strong handshake and a smile.
She hugs me close, tells me that she cried the first time she ever saw me play.
I quietly tell her that I understand.
She nods and says she knows...
They saved me from myself for a little while.
I can comprehend hell.
What if it is nothing more than being forgotten,
and being forced to watch life move on in silence.
We like to say that absence makes the heart grow fonder.
When you are in the midst of doubting your own self-worth,
Sometimes you can't help but wonder if absence just makes people forget.
Maybe it is supposed to be that way sometimes.
I can understand it, though.
Some people's faces have been painted over with the colors that remind me of them.
Ah, she was the greenest jade, bright and glittering in her movements, and luminescent in the lives she touched.
He was shades of sky blue, a calm color that eased those around him as well as inspired those closest with a heart that reached out to the horizon.
..and she was at times those deepest reds tinged with orange, passions fed with abundance until things changed again, and then the fiercest of silent furies when the hurt began.
What if you're asked why you could never commit,
Choosing instead to keep your options open.
Followed a religion based in black coffee and cigarettes,
and worshipped in a temple built from insomnia and self-doubt.
What if the only thing you feared more than Heaven
Is your own refusal to see it.
One of the most honest things that I've ever said.
Hated admitting it, hated knowing that it's true.
When I can't sleep at night,
I stand outside in the cold and resume my relationship with the night sky.
I wanted to forge ahead,
Start a new life.
Delve into those deepest, darkest corners.
Try to understand why I didn't feel good enough for myself.
Make that last cup of coffee.
Know you shouldn't, but
You know sleep's not coming either.
Might as well make the most of it.
Stand in the cold, and watch what's left of your breath compete with the steam from a little warm cup.
Wanted to gain some understanding as to how I really tick,
So that when I made my Grand entrance back into the world
I would be made of happy things, Goodness,
And I would be able to provide warmth and light around me.
Make a change for the better.
This is why I left.
A beautiful Fall night. It's very late.
Stars shining overhead in that dark blue that borders on black.
So quiet and still.
Peaceful,
Except for the voices screaming at the absurdities in my own head.
It's in these moments that I worry that maybe the Egyptians were right about the doors to the afterlife.
When it is my time to say goodbye, will my soul be weighed and found wanting?
What if I can't let go?
What if I don't want to...
What happens if I am let into Heaven by mistake.
Maybe I just want a little space somewhere to catch up with those I so desperately miss.
I promise you won't know I'm here.
I'll be quiet.
Please let me stay a little while,
Then I'll go.
Instead, maybe I'll decide to march up to those glittering gates, and
start a bloody war based on all of the things I refuse to accept, and perhaps demand some damned answers while I'm at it.
Will I use all of the same false bravado I did in life?
Will they see through it?
What happens if I'm asked what I think I'm really worth.
I think there might be a point where you can go too far inside.
Don't forget to leave a light on behind you.
If you're not careful, those persistent little demons will find you,
Creep in so close, claws around your throat, whisper the little things that start to make sense.
Personal demons don't care about zip codes, and
Their moving costs are cheap.
They'll find you.
A lovely couple came to my performance the other night.
They live in another city, came to see me here.
Let me know this with stars in their eyes and music on their minds.
At the end of the night,
He gives me a strong handshake and a smile.
She hugs me close, tells me that she cried the first time she ever saw me play.
I quietly tell her that I understand.
She nods and says she knows...
They saved me from myself for a little while.
I can comprehend hell.
What if it is nothing more than being forgotten,
and being forced to watch life move on in silence.
We like to say that absence makes the heart grow fonder.
When you are in the midst of doubting your own self-worth,
Sometimes you can't help but wonder if absence just makes people forget.
Maybe it is supposed to be that way sometimes.
I can understand it, though.
Some people's faces have been painted over with the colors that remind me of them.
Ah, she was the greenest jade, bright and glittering in her movements, and luminescent in the lives she touched.
He was shades of sky blue, a calm color that eased those around him as well as inspired those closest with a heart that reached out to the horizon.
..and she was at times those deepest reds tinged with orange, passions fed with abundance until things changed again, and then the fiercest of silent furies when the hurt began.
What if you're asked why you could never commit,
Choosing instead to keep your options open.
Followed a religion based in black coffee and cigarettes,
and worshipped in a temple built from insomnia and self-doubt.
What if the only thing you feared more than Heaven
Is your own refusal to see it.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
we use kindling here.
We were young and arrogant.
We had all of the answers.
We were intelligent. Extremely.
We didn't need to listen.
We already knew the truth of things,
and a thousand curses on you if you told us differently.
We would sit in our little groups
and preach to our beautiful choir.
No dissent allowed.
We knew we were right.
Of course we were.
We all agreed.
And we would win the world over someday.
No need to listen to the opposition.
They were wrong.
"They" soon became a faceless entity.
Sometimes it was an organization. Maybe an occupation.
Didn't matter who the recipient was of our ire at the time.
They were going to burn from our fury.
We would make things right.
I remember those times.
There was no room for compassion. No need for debate.
"They" were out there.
If you disagreed, then you must be part of the problem, and not as smart as we were.
You couldn't quote famous authors and wax poetic like we could.
I was an ass.
Good intentions.
No one ever thinks it's going to turn out that way.
It always starts small.
A little intention. Less communication.
A lot of passion.
I remember when things changed.
Life happens.
You learn what it is to be wrong.
Dear God, there has to be a better way.
Through humility,
through a deep yearning to understand our differences,
through listening better and talking less.
A quieter way. Softer ways to change a flawed and imperfect system made from flawed and imperfect humanity.
We forget sometimes that those are the things that make us all so beautiful and unique.
Flaws and cracks.
Pain and renewal.
A way without the trendy words that inevitably bring fear into my heart.
I'm well-versed enough to know what revolution really means.
I'm young enough to be idealistic,
Old enough to remember reading and seeing similar beginnings elsewhere. Other times.
I remember what happened.
In many cases, "We" eventually became the next "They".
The wheel turned.
Once upon a time we used to burn witches.
"They" were evil.
"They" needed to be brought to Justice, and they were.
"They" were our daughters.
Never had a chance.
Remember when "They" happened to still be living in the place we were trying to call home?
How dare they...
"They" were savages.
Not as intelligent as we were.
"They" were different.
"They" were part of the problem.
Life would be better without them.
Remember?
We took care of that, killed several thousand along the way. Moved the rest.
But we were right.
We were civilized.
Remember when "They" wanted the right to vote?
What nerve! The great thinkers were quoted in papers across the country
Proclaiming that this would lead to the moral degeneration of a great land.
Why should "the common and uneducated" be given the right to choose.
"They're" not smart enough to know what is right for them, we said.
We called it fact.
We were wrong, weren't we..
We, "the enlightened", were filled with our own arrogance.
I thank God that women still gained the right to vote.
I pray dearly that one day
We no longer think we are superior,
No longer claim to have all of the answers.
We can understand that our gifts of intelligence and good intentions should be tempered with compassion,
A deep knowing that if you truly
have something to say,
then maybe first you should be quiet and
Better damn well learn to listen as well.
I pray that we can overcome our own arrogance and self-importance.
Gain the insight that "they" are made up of people just like you and I.
With families.
With passions.
With lives.
I'll be honest.
I'm just a man, no one in particular.
No great answers to be found here. Just love to play guitar.
I will respect anyone
Who is willing to take the hard roads,
Unpopular paths that lead to shutting the hell up and really listening first before speaking, acting, or reacting.
There will be time for those things later.
Maybe then with a little insight and a lot of patience things can be different.
I can't help but remember
That we used to burn witches, too.
We had all of the answers.
We were intelligent. Extremely.
We didn't need to listen.
We already knew the truth of things,
and a thousand curses on you if you told us differently.
We would sit in our little groups
and preach to our beautiful choir.
No dissent allowed.
We knew we were right.
Of course we were.
We all agreed.
And we would win the world over someday.
No need to listen to the opposition.
They were wrong.
"They" soon became a faceless entity.
Sometimes it was an organization. Maybe an occupation.
Didn't matter who the recipient was of our ire at the time.
They were going to burn from our fury.
We would make things right.
I remember those times.
There was no room for compassion. No need for debate.
"They" were out there.
If you disagreed, then you must be part of the problem, and not as smart as we were.
You couldn't quote famous authors and wax poetic like we could.
I was an ass.
Good intentions.
No one ever thinks it's going to turn out that way.
It always starts small.
A little intention. Less communication.
A lot of passion.
I remember when things changed.
Life happens.
You learn what it is to be wrong.
Dear God, there has to be a better way.
Through humility,
through a deep yearning to understand our differences,
through listening better and talking less.
A quieter way. Softer ways to change a flawed and imperfect system made from flawed and imperfect humanity.
We forget sometimes that those are the things that make us all so beautiful and unique.
Flaws and cracks.
Pain and renewal.
A way without the trendy words that inevitably bring fear into my heart.
I'm well-versed enough to know what revolution really means.
I'm young enough to be idealistic,
Old enough to remember reading and seeing similar beginnings elsewhere. Other times.
I remember what happened.
In many cases, "We" eventually became the next "They".
The wheel turned.
Once upon a time we used to burn witches.
"They" were evil.
"They" needed to be brought to Justice, and they were.
"They" were our daughters.
Never had a chance.
Remember when "They" happened to still be living in the place we were trying to call home?
How dare they...
"They" were savages.
Not as intelligent as we were.
"They" were different.
"They" were part of the problem.
Life would be better without them.
Remember?
We took care of that, killed several thousand along the way. Moved the rest.
But we were right.
We were civilized.
Remember when "They" wanted the right to vote?
What nerve! The great thinkers were quoted in papers across the country
Proclaiming that this would lead to the moral degeneration of a great land.
Why should "the common and uneducated" be given the right to choose.
"They're" not smart enough to know what is right for them, we said.
We called it fact.
We were wrong, weren't we..
We, "the enlightened", were filled with our own arrogance.
I thank God that women still gained the right to vote.
I pray dearly that one day
We no longer think we are superior,
No longer claim to have all of the answers.
We can understand that our gifts of intelligence and good intentions should be tempered with compassion,
A deep knowing that if you truly
have something to say,
then maybe first you should be quiet and
Better damn well learn to listen as well.
I pray that we can overcome our own arrogance and self-importance.
Gain the insight that "they" are made up of people just like you and I.
With families.
With passions.
With lives.
I'll be honest.
I'm just a man, no one in particular.
No great answers to be found here. Just love to play guitar.
I will respect anyone
Who is willing to take the hard roads,
Unpopular paths that lead to shutting the hell up and really listening first before speaking, acting, or reacting.
There will be time for those things later.
Maybe then with a little insight and a lot of patience things can be different.
I can't help but remember
That we used to burn witches, too.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
quiet & proud
He was built of light and smiles.
A quiet man.
Dignified.
He collected darts, and the love of those around him.
I always looked forward to our time together.
He was a man who always inspired me to be more compassionate.
To try and listen more.
To try harder.
Never give up.
Didn't say much.
When he did, you listened.
A man whose soft words fell like diamonds from his lips.
You always knew it was important.
You always knew he loved you.
You always knew that there were angels manifested in flesh, and they would always protect you with their prayers and hugs.
You knew.
Damnit, you knew.
Such a perfect contrast/compliment to his outgoing and bubbly wife.
Both so loving.
Just different ways of showing it.
I remember my first communion.
I was a little older than you normally are when these things typically happen.
They visited from Canada for this.
He was so proud.
We were a Catholic family, you see.
He was beaming, standing tall.
Proud.
He had one of those smiles that reached his eyes that day.
Huge hug. Told me how proud he was to be my Godfather.
Said he loved me so much.
I would never doubt that.
Not once. Not ever.
I always knew.
Goddamnit, I knew.
He always proved it in his patience, his wisdom.
His quiet and caring ways.
I became older. Those hugs became strong handshakes. I was now a man.
They always felt like hugs to me.
That first handshake was a rite of passage to me.
A sign of adulthood and respect.
His smile still made his eyes shine and sparkle.
He always looked directly into your eyes.
There was never any room for deceit.
Couldn't be.
Just wasn't a part of him.
Too honest for that.
He became older, lost the ability to speak.
Wrote his words on paper.
Measured them carefully, wrote only when he needed to.
His scrawl was just like his speech.
Never a wasted or unnecessary phrase.
Saw him less than 2 months ago.
Was still that symbol of strong dignity and quiet pride.
And love.
Was a good visit.
He will always be that shining beacon,
Glittering hope in the dark.
Proof of what humanity can become if they let themselves.
I love my Godfather.
I will miss him.
A quiet man.
Dignified.
He collected darts, and the love of those around him.
I always looked forward to our time together.
He was a man who always inspired me to be more compassionate.
To try and listen more.
To try harder.
Never give up.
Didn't say much.
When he did, you listened.
A man whose soft words fell like diamonds from his lips.
You always knew it was important.
You always knew he loved you.
You always knew that there were angels manifested in flesh, and they would always protect you with their prayers and hugs.
You knew.
Damnit, you knew.
Such a perfect contrast/compliment to his outgoing and bubbly wife.
Both so loving.
Just different ways of showing it.
I remember my first communion.
I was a little older than you normally are when these things typically happen.
They visited from Canada for this.
He was so proud.
We were a Catholic family, you see.
He was beaming, standing tall.
Proud.
He had one of those smiles that reached his eyes that day.
Huge hug. Told me how proud he was to be my Godfather.
Said he loved me so much.
I would never doubt that.
Not once. Not ever.
I always knew.
Goddamnit, I knew.
He always proved it in his patience, his wisdom.
His quiet and caring ways.
I became older. Those hugs became strong handshakes. I was now a man.
They always felt like hugs to me.
That first handshake was a rite of passage to me.
A sign of adulthood and respect.
His smile still made his eyes shine and sparkle.
He always looked directly into your eyes.
There was never any room for deceit.
Couldn't be.
Just wasn't a part of him.
Too honest for that.
He became older, lost the ability to speak.
Wrote his words on paper.
Measured them carefully, wrote only when he needed to.
His scrawl was just like his speech.
Never a wasted or unnecessary phrase.
Saw him less than 2 months ago.
Was still that symbol of strong dignity and quiet pride.
And love.
Was a good visit.
He will always be that shining beacon,
Glittering hope in the dark.
Proof of what humanity can become if they let themselves.
I love my Godfather.
I will miss him.
ours was a kingdom built of flattery and flowers.
Performing tonight.
It's getting colder. I'm getting used to a different kind of chill.
Damp air that gets inside, doesn't like to shake loose. Different than where I'm from.
Not bad. Just an adjustment.
I love this place.
A creative haven on a beautiful island.
I know this setting intimately.
Inside, the venue is warm with the smiles and closed eyes of those in attendance.
I feel that fire inside.
The show starts off well.
There's just something about tonight.
You can feel it.
Positive energy and positive feedback.
Something is building as I continue to play.
The night moves on.
Couples slowly stand, move to the side, begin to dance in subtle rhythms together.
The cafe transforms into a ballroom made from dim yellow light, and the sounds of a single guitar..
All rhythm and heartbeats.
Just as sacred as the sex of the soulbound,
Just as powerful as the heartsick words written anonymously on a faded concrete wall.
The music changes of its own accord to accommodate.
Songs become longer, rewrite themselves.
My heart beats faster.
At times there is more urgency,
More speed,
Like the fluttering heartbeat of that love struck boy dancing with his desire
for the first time.
The dancers sway and move, not anticipating the next note, but guiding and dictating the music's path with their bodies.
So beautiful.
I can no longer separate the idea of me from melody.
We were defining and being defined by the music.
So very beautiful.
Later that evening I would meet a woman.
A brief moment of star-watching,
of greetings and goodbyes.
Whirlwind introductions and
Quicker exits.
It wouldn't work out.
In a quiet moment, the memory of this would help me finish a song.
There is some solace in that.
I wonder if she was just another ghost,
Come to haunt me for a short time
Before disappearing back into the ether.
Next day.
Different city.
Afternoon performance during a pretty Fall day.
Color is everywhere.
Cars racing by, people walking and chatting.
The bustle of a busy city on a beautiful day.
The venue is part of another world.
Walk in, and close the door behind me.
The sound of the city instantly disappears.
It is cozy here, intimate.
Peaceful.
The scent of aged woods and strong coffee permeates everything.
Afternoon light delicately peeking through old glass windows.
So very peaceful.
Calm is everywhere but in me.
It's not frantic or electrifying.
It's not so obvious.
Today the chaos feels like a slow burn.
This performance would be different than the night before.
My interactions with the audience would be quieter, more subdued, maybe even shy, but
I would play like something inside me was quietly demanding to spill it's secrets.
If left unchecked, even this smallest of peasant-voices would demand an audience with the (heart) royalty that always seems to rule my brains.
I fall into the color of melodies as I play.
Children are smiling. Happy parents laugh with them.
Content couples are pointing to the guitarist who "makes the flowers fall from his fingertips".
I loved hearing that description.
I'm holding it in.
At least I think I am.
Not for long.
Something is building in me.
The afternoon progresses.
More people in attendance now.
The mood is changing.
Swirling beauty in a soft setting, but now with that dark tinge and taint that reminds me of stolen kisses in a graveyard.
Still lovely, but with the subtle allure that the mysterious always brings.
A song finishes itself in an unexpected way.
I like where it ended.
I look up.
A woman near the back of the room is now crying.
I see her lips mouth the words "beautiful".
Begin to feel a bit better.
I offered them a little beauty.
They gave me so much release.
I think I received the better part of this deal.
It's getting colder. I'm getting used to a different kind of chill.
Damp air that gets inside, doesn't like to shake loose. Different than where I'm from.
Not bad. Just an adjustment.
I love this place.
A creative haven on a beautiful island.
I know this setting intimately.
Inside, the venue is warm with the smiles and closed eyes of those in attendance.
I feel that fire inside.
The show starts off well.
There's just something about tonight.
You can feel it.
Positive energy and positive feedback.
Something is building as I continue to play.
The night moves on.
Couples slowly stand, move to the side, begin to dance in subtle rhythms together.
The cafe transforms into a ballroom made from dim yellow light, and the sounds of a single guitar..
All rhythm and heartbeats.
Just as sacred as the sex of the soulbound,
Just as powerful as the heartsick words written anonymously on a faded concrete wall.
The music changes of its own accord to accommodate.
Songs become longer, rewrite themselves.
My heart beats faster.
At times there is more urgency,
More speed,
Like the fluttering heartbeat of that love struck boy dancing with his desire
for the first time.
The dancers sway and move, not anticipating the next note, but guiding and dictating the music's path with their bodies.
So beautiful.
I can no longer separate the idea of me from melody.
We were defining and being defined by the music.
So very beautiful.
Later that evening I would meet a woman.
A brief moment of star-watching,
of greetings and goodbyes.
Whirlwind introductions and
Quicker exits.
It wouldn't work out.
In a quiet moment, the memory of this would help me finish a song.
There is some solace in that.
I wonder if she was just another ghost,
Come to haunt me for a short time
Before disappearing back into the ether.
Next day.
Different city.
Afternoon performance during a pretty Fall day.
Color is everywhere.
Cars racing by, people walking and chatting.
The bustle of a busy city on a beautiful day.
The venue is part of another world.
Walk in, and close the door behind me.
The sound of the city instantly disappears.
It is cozy here, intimate.
Peaceful.
The scent of aged woods and strong coffee permeates everything.
Afternoon light delicately peeking through old glass windows.
So very peaceful.
Calm is everywhere but in me.
It's not frantic or electrifying.
It's not so obvious.
Today the chaos feels like a slow burn.
This performance would be different than the night before.
My interactions with the audience would be quieter, more subdued, maybe even shy, but
I would play like something inside me was quietly demanding to spill it's secrets.
If left unchecked, even this smallest of peasant-voices would demand an audience with the (heart) royalty that always seems to rule my brains.
I fall into the color of melodies as I play.
Children are smiling. Happy parents laugh with them.
Content couples are pointing to the guitarist who "makes the flowers fall from his fingertips".
I loved hearing that description.
I'm holding it in.
At least I think I am.
Not for long.
Something is building in me.
The afternoon progresses.
More people in attendance now.
The mood is changing.
Swirling beauty in a soft setting, but now with that dark tinge and taint that reminds me of stolen kisses in a graveyard.
Still lovely, but with the subtle allure that the mysterious always brings.
A song finishes itself in an unexpected way.
I like where it ended.
I look up.
A woman near the back of the room is now crying.
I see her lips mouth the words "beautiful".
Begin to feel a bit better.
I offered them a little beauty.
They gave me so much release.
I think I received the better part of this deal.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
It's In The Way You Move...
A beautiful evening on an island.
The air is crisp and cool, that perfect damp chill that comes with the Fall.
This is when I come alive.
I performed tonight.
It was an unforgettable show, full of dancing and soft light.
That's a different story, though.
I'm waiting for the ferry to take me across the water and closer to home.
Just gotten off the phone with my father.
It's good to hear his voice.
Good to know he's ok.
Standing on the dock by my car. Ferry's nowhere in sight.
It's running late.
I'm leaning over the railing, looking down at light reflected on inky black.
A little lost in thought.
"I never usually ask a stranger this, but do you happen to have an extra cigarette?"
Very soft feminine voice behind me.
I forgot I was even smoking.
Turn around.
Lightning in the form of two emerald eyes.
Delicate features framed by dark, shoulder-length hair.
She's not much more than 5 feet tall.
About my age.
Graceful, yet in a slightly clumsy way.. adorable.
Exquisite.
I reach into my pocket, grab a cigarette, light it, and hand it to her.
She inhales deeply, thanks me.
We begin to chat. Seems natural.
A while later we are lying on the hood of my car staring at the few stars peeking out from the thick clouds above, and talking.
The engine is still warm, providing a cozy contrast to this chill in the air.
Still no ferry.
Fine by me.
Timing is everything.
We talk about so much in such a short time.
Personal things.
I try to be guarded. I don't know her.
It's not working.
She seems to be trying as well.
This is madness.
Sheer unexplainable attraction.
I want to shut down. She seems hesitant.
We keep looking into each other's eyes and smiling.
This makes no sense.
I'm scared.
She asks what I'm doing on the island.
I try to talk about my performance, and my music.
Feeling a little shy.
She looks at me, tells me I'm blushing.
I blush more.
She abruptly sits up, all smiles, almost slides off the car. Catches herself by grabbing my arm.
Now she's blushing a little.
She wants to hear my music. Can she check it out somewhere? She pulls out her phone.
I tell her about my little music app. She downloads it.
She loves the names of the songs,
Decides to listen to "Reminded of Light".
It ends. A tilt of a smile at the corners of her mouth.
She listens to "Beauty Undefined".
Looks up at me with the most intriguing look.
"You did this..." more of a statement than a question.
"Yeah."
She starts to say something, and then we notice that the car in front of us has started up, and is moving to board the ferry that we hadn’t noticed appear a few minutes before.
She looks directly into my eyes, quirky smile on her face.
"We have to go." Jumps off the car, runs back to hers somewhere behind me.
I have no idea what the hell just happened.
I park on the ferry.
Need some fresh air.
I head outside.
She finds me.
All smiles. Something else.
"Can I join you?"
"I would like that."
Gives me a hug.
She tells me that this is crazy. She doesn't know me, but feels that I might be the most fantastic person she has ever met.
My heart stirs.
Maybe it's time to try again,
See what happens.
We're watching the lights of the city come into view.
She looks over at me, eyes now a little wet.
"Why couldn't I have met you 6 months ago?"
I don't know what to say.
I don't say anything.
"I'm going back to New York on Monday."
Still quiet. I can tell she's not finished.
The air is feeling a little colder now.
"I'm... I'm getting married in two weeks."
My heart stops. I'm afraid to breathe.
"I'm getting married, and then I meet you... none of it makes any sense.."
She looks so lost.
She kisses my cheek, begins to brush her lips against mine.
Pulls away.
Says that she's sorry.
Runs inside crying.
Stunned.
Confused.
She got through my defenses, and I have no idea how.
My heart is beating fast.
A moment later I run inside. Searching and searching. Never found her.
I don’t think I’ll ever see her again.
Timing is everything.
The air is crisp and cool, that perfect damp chill that comes with the Fall.
This is when I come alive.
I performed tonight.
It was an unforgettable show, full of dancing and soft light.
That's a different story, though.
I'm waiting for the ferry to take me across the water and closer to home.
Just gotten off the phone with my father.
It's good to hear his voice.
Good to know he's ok.
Standing on the dock by my car. Ferry's nowhere in sight.
It's running late.
I'm leaning over the railing, looking down at light reflected on inky black.
A little lost in thought.
"I never usually ask a stranger this, but do you happen to have an extra cigarette?"
Very soft feminine voice behind me.
I forgot I was even smoking.
Turn around.
Lightning in the form of two emerald eyes.
Delicate features framed by dark, shoulder-length hair.
She's not much more than 5 feet tall.
About my age.
Graceful, yet in a slightly clumsy way.. adorable.
Exquisite.
I reach into my pocket, grab a cigarette, light it, and hand it to her.
She inhales deeply, thanks me.
We begin to chat. Seems natural.
A while later we are lying on the hood of my car staring at the few stars peeking out from the thick clouds above, and talking.
The engine is still warm, providing a cozy contrast to this chill in the air.
Still no ferry.
Fine by me.
Timing is everything.
We talk about so much in such a short time.
Personal things.
I try to be guarded. I don't know her.
It's not working.
She seems to be trying as well.
This is madness.
Sheer unexplainable attraction.
I want to shut down. She seems hesitant.
We keep looking into each other's eyes and smiling.
This makes no sense.
I'm scared.
She asks what I'm doing on the island.
I try to talk about my performance, and my music.
Feeling a little shy.
She looks at me, tells me I'm blushing.
I blush more.
She abruptly sits up, all smiles, almost slides off the car. Catches herself by grabbing my arm.
Now she's blushing a little.
She wants to hear my music. Can she check it out somewhere? She pulls out her phone.
I tell her about my little music app. She downloads it.
She loves the names of the songs,
Decides to listen to "Reminded of Light".
It ends. A tilt of a smile at the corners of her mouth.
She listens to "Beauty Undefined".
Looks up at me with the most intriguing look.
"You did this..." more of a statement than a question.
"Yeah."
She starts to say something, and then we notice that the car in front of us has started up, and is moving to board the ferry that we hadn’t noticed appear a few minutes before.
She looks directly into my eyes, quirky smile on her face.
"We have to go." Jumps off the car, runs back to hers somewhere behind me.
I have no idea what the hell just happened.
I park on the ferry.
Need some fresh air.
I head outside.
She finds me.
All smiles. Something else.
"Can I join you?"
"I would like that."
Gives me a hug.
She tells me that this is crazy. She doesn't know me, but feels that I might be the most fantastic person she has ever met.
My heart stirs.
Maybe it's time to try again,
See what happens.
We're watching the lights of the city come into view.
She looks over at me, eyes now a little wet.
"Why couldn't I have met you 6 months ago?"
I don't know what to say.
I don't say anything.
"I'm going back to New York on Monday."
Still quiet. I can tell she's not finished.
The air is feeling a little colder now.
"I'm... I'm getting married in two weeks."
My heart stops. I'm afraid to breathe.
"I'm getting married, and then I meet you... none of it makes any sense.."
She looks so lost.
She kisses my cheek, begins to brush her lips against mine.
Pulls away.
Says that she's sorry.
Runs inside crying.
Stunned.
Confused.
She got through my defenses, and I have no idea how.
My heart is beating fast.
A moment later I run inside. Searching and searching. Never found her.
I don’t think I’ll ever see her again.
Timing is everything.
Friday, October 21, 2011
...and there we lay, among the mindful morning light
My best friend and I were between worlds.
We were still teenagers.
A little older now.
I had left the blessed band of black clothes and poetry.
Things had happened.
Still talked on occasion to my old family.
Was never the same.
I missed them dearly.
I felt lost.
Met a new friend at school. He played guitar.
Asked me to join his band.
Mostly people I'd never met.
Sure, why not.
One of the best things that could have ever happened to me.
Strong connections made instantly.
Different connections.
Through them I met others.
A motley band of geeks and musicians, athletes and dreamers.
Different types of poetry being written in those days.
Less black. More color.
Much more music.
I discovered a love of intimate conversation during late night drives.
Pie nights and coffee.
Dreams yet to be realized, but
The future would soon be ours.
We knew it.
We were winning.
My best friend entered our fold.
Made me so happy.
We grieved the end of the old times together, and rejoiced in new beginnings with this colorful blend of intelligence and warm hearts.
I remember going to my favorite cafe, still filled with focaccia and old dreams, and handing a new dear friend his first cigarette.
Sometimes I could be a bad influence.
They couldn't believe some of the things I had already seen at 17.
I couldn't believe it either.
They helped me feel my age again.
I will always owe them for those smiles.
It was then that I became a best man for the first time.
The band recorded our first (and last) album.
Happy times filled with music and a new life.
We were still winning.
Brief romances.
The band helped me write a song about one of them.
Another was a song with just the singer and I.
We both had our meanings.
The guitar part was written for a tall, lithe beauty framed in dark hair that I hadn't been able to get off my mind.
We still talked then.
She never heard that song.
Old life trickled into the new.
Familiar faces joined this group of friends.
The webs became larger.
Romance seemed to be everywhere.
I now participated.
A long term relationship emerged.
The web changed.
New threads added.
Some threads broke.
She was lovely.
We still talk from time to time.
Has a wonderful husband and children.
She is now part of another's story.
Watched as soulmates orbited each other's stars.
It wasn't quite the time for them.
It would be.
When it finally happened, all would seem right in my world.
I smiled for days when I heard that they had finally married.
They are still close friends in this life.
Took me into their home not that long ago
When I felt aimless, unsure,
armed only with a head full of words and so much determination.
I would make my insides feel right.
I owe them so much.
They are still beautiful.
Back to our story.
Road trips to Canada.
Being pulled over for our silly fearlessness.
Concerts with the band.
One with inflatable toys and autographed cans of cream corn.
Another that ended with most of us dancing in the crowd while playing our last song.
I'll never forget the blonde-haired beauty who I adored pressed up against me that evening.
I played for her that night.
Laughter over coffee.
Smiles and shining eyes glittering in the long night.
Watching sunrises and wondering about the edges of our hearts.
Talks of faith.
Lots of differing perspective and opinion.
All were welcome here.
We were young.
Headstrong and hopeful.
More threads broke.
Other threads rebuilt.
Many-colored lines and hues to our days and nights,
lives that orbited around each other chaotically, lovingly.
Things changed.
They always have to change.
It didn't all end in sadness.
It just changed, life was happening.
Life does that.
Happens.
We are scattered now.
I love them no less.
Actually, I think I love them more.
We were still teenagers.
A little older now.
I had left the blessed band of black clothes and poetry.
Things had happened.
Still talked on occasion to my old family.
Was never the same.
I missed them dearly.
I felt lost.
Met a new friend at school. He played guitar.
Asked me to join his band.
Mostly people I'd never met.
Sure, why not.
One of the best things that could have ever happened to me.
Strong connections made instantly.
Different connections.
Through them I met others.
A motley band of geeks and musicians, athletes and dreamers.
Different types of poetry being written in those days.
Less black. More color.
Much more music.
I discovered a love of intimate conversation during late night drives.
Pie nights and coffee.
Dreams yet to be realized, but
The future would soon be ours.
We knew it.
We were winning.
My best friend entered our fold.
Made me so happy.
We grieved the end of the old times together, and rejoiced in new beginnings with this colorful blend of intelligence and warm hearts.
I remember going to my favorite cafe, still filled with focaccia and old dreams, and handing a new dear friend his first cigarette.
Sometimes I could be a bad influence.
They couldn't believe some of the things I had already seen at 17.
I couldn't believe it either.
They helped me feel my age again.
I will always owe them for those smiles.
It was then that I became a best man for the first time.
The band recorded our first (and last) album.
Happy times filled with music and a new life.
We were still winning.
Brief romances.
The band helped me write a song about one of them.
Another was a song with just the singer and I.
We both had our meanings.
The guitar part was written for a tall, lithe beauty framed in dark hair that I hadn't been able to get off my mind.
We still talked then.
She never heard that song.
Old life trickled into the new.
Familiar faces joined this group of friends.
The webs became larger.
Romance seemed to be everywhere.
I now participated.
A long term relationship emerged.
The web changed.
New threads added.
Some threads broke.
She was lovely.
We still talk from time to time.
Has a wonderful husband and children.
She is now part of another's story.
Watched as soulmates orbited each other's stars.
It wasn't quite the time for them.
It would be.
When it finally happened, all would seem right in my world.
I smiled for days when I heard that they had finally married.
They are still close friends in this life.
Took me into their home not that long ago
When I felt aimless, unsure,
armed only with a head full of words and so much determination.
I would make my insides feel right.
I owe them so much.
They are still beautiful.
Back to our story.
Road trips to Canada.
Being pulled over for our silly fearlessness.
Concerts with the band.
One with inflatable toys and autographed cans of cream corn.
Another that ended with most of us dancing in the crowd while playing our last song.
I'll never forget the blonde-haired beauty who I adored pressed up against me that evening.
I played for her that night.
Laughter over coffee.
Smiles and shining eyes glittering in the long night.
Watching sunrises and wondering about the edges of our hearts.
Talks of faith.
Lots of differing perspective and opinion.
All were welcome here.
We were young.
Headstrong and hopeful.
More threads broke.
Other threads rebuilt.
Many-colored lines and hues to our days and nights,
lives that orbited around each other chaotically, lovingly.
Things changed.
They always have to change.
It didn't all end in sadness.
It just changed, life was happening.
Life does that.
Happens.
We are scattered now.
I love them no less.
Actually, I think I love them more.
silhouettes and sharp lines..
Shadowplay.
It's in those dark, quiet moments.
Can't sleep. Tired of tossing and turning.
Some forgotten movie playing in the background.
Just white noise.
You know sleep isn't coming any time soon.
Get up. Make a cup of coffee.
Head outside.
Watching the fog swirl in the half light.
Faint light from homes across the way barely visible through the mist.
I love these moments.
Everything is softer, quieter.
Take a sip of my coffee.
Burns my tongue a little. The heat surprises me.
I like the bitter black of it.
Such strong taste and scent coming from a little cup.
I hear a soft, husky laugh from the half-finished house next door.
A young woman and her beau enjoying each other in the dark.
I laugh a little.
"Shh. Someone's going to hear us."
Don't worry. No one of importance.
I inhale deeply from my freshly lit cigarette.
Watch the red ember glow brighter.
It's my little glowing beacon in the black.
Need to quit. Bad habit.
I actually enjoy the little death that I suck in with every breath.
Enjoy it a little too much.
At least I'm honest about it.
There's something enticing and oddly romantic about this little slow suicide to me.
I love how out of vogue it is, especially when it seems that so many are so focused on their outsides these days,
but aren't paying as much attention to what lies within.
Maybe I'm completely wrong.
I think maybe I'm the opposite.
I focus too much on my heartbeat in the dark.
I still need to quit.
The realization of killing yourself a breath at a time doesn't make it any less true or justified.
I do like it though.
Cars passing by.
Lights flashing across darkened windows for a moment.
I love the sound of engines fading into the distance.
Can't see them any more, but can hear that soft purr.
The artificial illumination of car lights has left, to be replaced by this moist and grey gloom.
Part of the poetry of night.
I head back inside.
Thinking about a song I was working on earlier.
It was beautiful, but not quite right.
Was one of the frustrating ones.
By the end I wanted to tear it limb from limb, start over.
Was beautiful for a moment, but was so flawed at the end.
Reminds me of a lot of things.
My dog is looking up at me with those plaintive eyes.
She wants me to go back to bed.
I can't help but chuckle a bit.
Sometimes she will jump up on the couch with me, and put her little paw on my shoulder.
I don't know if she's trying to reassure me, or just wants a belly rub.
I think it's both.
Good companion. We've been through a lot together.
I'll make sure we're not separated again. Was too tough on her. She was patient, though.
And I came back for her.
Getting late.
Different movie playing in the background.
Still of no importance to me.
Keep thinking about that song.
Maybe tomorrow it will be ready to tell me it's secrets.
I'll be waiting to hear them.
Maybe it will tell me it's name.
More swirling thoughts in the dark.
More shadows dancing and laughing in the corners of my memory.
A lot of things imagined.
A lot of things left to imagine.
A lot of mistakes made.
A lot more left to make.
It's going to be a long night.
It's in those dark, quiet moments.
Can't sleep. Tired of tossing and turning.
Some forgotten movie playing in the background.
Just white noise.
You know sleep isn't coming any time soon.
Get up. Make a cup of coffee.
Head outside.
Watching the fog swirl in the half light.
Faint light from homes across the way barely visible through the mist.
I love these moments.
Everything is softer, quieter.
Take a sip of my coffee.
Burns my tongue a little. The heat surprises me.
I like the bitter black of it.
Such strong taste and scent coming from a little cup.
I hear a soft, husky laugh from the half-finished house next door.
A young woman and her beau enjoying each other in the dark.
I laugh a little.
"Shh. Someone's going to hear us."
Don't worry. No one of importance.
I inhale deeply from my freshly lit cigarette.
Watch the red ember glow brighter.
It's my little glowing beacon in the black.
Need to quit. Bad habit.
I actually enjoy the little death that I suck in with every breath.
Enjoy it a little too much.
At least I'm honest about it.
There's something enticing and oddly romantic about this little slow suicide to me.
I love how out of vogue it is, especially when it seems that so many are so focused on their outsides these days,
but aren't paying as much attention to what lies within.
Maybe I'm completely wrong.
I think maybe I'm the opposite.
I focus too much on my heartbeat in the dark.
I still need to quit.
The realization of killing yourself a breath at a time doesn't make it any less true or justified.
I do like it though.
Cars passing by.
Lights flashing across darkened windows for a moment.
I love the sound of engines fading into the distance.
Can't see them any more, but can hear that soft purr.
The artificial illumination of car lights has left, to be replaced by this moist and grey gloom.
Part of the poetry of night.
I head back inside.
Thinking about a song I was working on earlier.
It was beautiful, but not quite right.
Was one of the frustrating ones.
By the end I wanted to tear it limb from limb, start over.
Was beautiful for a moment, but was so flawed at the end.
Reminds me of a lot of things.
My dog is looking up at me with those plaintive eyes.
She wants me to go back to bed.
I can't help but chuckle a bit.
Sometimes she will jump up on the couch with me, and put her little paw on my shoulder.
I don't know if she's trying to reassure me, or just wants a belly rub.
I think it's both.
Good companion. We've been through a lot together.
I'll make sure we're not separated again. Was too tough on her. She was patient, though.
And I came back for her.
Getting late.
Different movie playing in the background.
Still of no importance to me.
Keep thinking about that song.
Maybe tomorrow it will be ready to tell me it's secrets.
I'll be waiting to hear them.
Maybe it will tell me it's name.
More swirling thoughts in the dark.
More shadows dancing and laughing in the corners of my memory.
A lot of things imagined.
A lot of things left to imagine.
A lot of mistakes made.
A lot more left to make.
It's going to be a long night.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Autumn's Dance
We were the invincible ones.
We could put anything into our strong bodies, and even more into our hearts.
We were teenagers.
There was always room enough for these things.
Black clad and cigarettes.
Strains of The Cure and Peter Murphy. The Smiths. Edie Brickell and Electric Bonsai.
David Bowie and Prince.
Music that moved and changed me.
Always a limit to push, a parental rule to break.
Our world was one of laughter, of incense burning by black light, of dreams.
There was always room enough for these things.
We were the beautiful ones.
We laughed at each other.
We supported and protected one another.
We grieved and explored our tiny universes together.
We owned the future, and everything we demanded of it was just waiting to be
unraveled in our time.
We were artists, budding songsmiths, and poets.
We were loved.
My best friend and I were the quiet ones.
We were inseparable.
Always watching.
Always tried to be the trustworthy.
Always tried to be the shoulders to cry on.
Always patiently waiting our turns to be the cause of some pretty girl's smiles.
Our leader was a blend of humor, charisma, and artistry under a tangle of
long blond hair.
I loved and adored him.
Was an artist and poet. He sang, played piano, and later on played guitar.
Wrote a couple of songs that changed my life.
I still find them to be tapestries woven of beauty and genius.
Several years later he came to see me perform right before he departed for
a life in another country.
Told me how amazing my music had become. Said my art had transformed into something
unique and special.
And beautiful.
Later that night I spent over an hour telling my wife how much those words meant to me.
These were the times when I first discovered a rich love for
poetry and art.
These were the moments when I learned to play guitar.
Quickly became enraptured by the feel of steel against fingertips.
Quickly learned I would never really play like anyone else.
I kept trying.
Was encouraged to just play the music that was in me.
Had no idea what that meant at the time.
I wonder if there are any answers in this part of my heart that I'm
carving into.
Several moments in my mind.
Get togethers.
Parties with an older crowd.
Always new friends to be made.
Everything was so very new to me,
So filled with mystery.
Dinner at a favorite downtown pizza parlor felt like an exquisite feast
graced with the presence of future kings and queens.
Late nights at our favorite cafe became evenings of endless wonder;
Explorations of the heart and mind over coffee and an endless supply of foccacia and
boursin.
We discussed all manner of topics that I was completely unfamiliar with.
Sometimes I would try and pretend that I knew what we were talking about.
Was never very convincing.
But I learned.
I grew.
I was madly in love with this malcontent band that felt like a family.
I was in love with my life.
A brief romance with a tall, lithe beauty.
Pale face framed in dark hair and eyes that reflected the light in subtle ways I
have rarely seen since.
My white Halloween makeup smeared across her black coat.
Shy smiles and tender moments of touching her heart.
I remember the way soft lamplight illuminated her face.
The way she would brush her hair from her cheek
right before she kissed me.
The way we would dance.
Pearl Jam's first album was our personal soundtrack.
It ended.
She fought very hard to remain friends.
I always respected that.
We became friends later.
The last time I saw her she was still one of the most beautiful creatures I have
ever seen.
something about her kisses always made me shiver.
Every Autumn I think of those times from almost 20 years ago, and where we all are now.
Many victories.
Many changes.
Some tragedies.
I still love every one of those people.
Listen to the music of that time, laugh a little.
These things always make me smile.
We could put anything into our strong bodies, and even more into our hearts.
We were teenagers.
There was always room enough for these things.
Black clad and cigarettes.
Strains of The Cure and Peter Murphy. The Smiths. Edie Brickell and Electric Bonsai.
David Bowie and Prince.
Music that moved and changed me.
Always a limit to push, a parental rule to break.
Our world was one of laughter, of incense burning by black light, of dreams.
There was always room enough for these things.
We were the beautiful ones.
We laughed at each other.
We supported and protected one another.
We grieved and explored our tiny universes together.
We owned the future, and everything we demanded of it was just waiting to be
unraveled in our time.
We were artists, budding songsmiths, and poets.
We were loved.
My best friend and I were the quiet ones.
We were inseparable.
Always watching.
Always tried to be the trustworthy.
Always tried to be the shoulders to cry on.
Always patiently waiting our turns to be the cause of some pretty girl's smiles.
Our leader was a blend of humor, charisma, and artistry under a tangle of
long blond hair.
I loved and adored him.
Was an artist and poet. He sang, played piano, and later on played guitar.
Wrote a couple of songs that changed my life.
I still find them to be tapestries woven of beauty and genius.
Several years later he came to see me perform right before he departed for
a life in another country.
Told me how amazing my music had become. Said my art had transformed into something
unique and special.
And beautiful.
Later that night I spent over an hour telling my wife how much those words meant to me.
These were the times when I first discovered a rich love for
poetry and art.
These were the moments when I learned to play guitar.
Quickly became enraptured by the feel of steel against fingertips.
Quickly learned I would never really play like anyone else.
I kept trying.
Was encouraged to just play the music that was in me.
Had no idea what that meant at the time.
I wonder if there are any answers in this part of my heart that I'm
carving into.
Several moments in my mind.
Get togethers.
Parties with an older crowd.
Always new friends to be made.
Everything was so very new to me,
So filled with mystery.
Dinner at a favorite downtown pizza parlor felt like an exquisite feast
graced with the presence of future kings and queens.
Late nights at our favorite cafe became evenings of endless wonder;
Explorations of the heart and mind over coffee and an endless supply of foccacia and
boursin.
We discussed all manner of topics that I was completely unfamiliar with.
Sometimes I would try and pretend that I knew what we were talking about.
Was never very convincing.
But I learned.
I grew.
I was madly in love with this malcontent band that felt like a family.
I was in love with my life.
A brief romance with a tall, lithe beauty.
Pale face framed in dark hair and eyes that reflected the light in subtle ways I
have rarely seen since.
My white Halloween makeup smeared across her black coat.
Shy smiles and tender moments of touching her heart.
I remember the way soft lamplight illuminated her face.
The way she would brush her hair from her cheek
right before she kissed me.
The way we would dance.
Pearl Jam's first album was our personal soundtrack.
It ended.
She fought very hard to remain friends.
I always respected that.
We became friends later.
The last time I saw her she was still one of the most beautiful creatures I have
ever seen.
something about her kisses always made me shiver.
Every Autumn I think of those times from almost 20 years ago, and where we all are now.
Many victories.
Many changes.
Some tragedies.
I still love every one of those people.
Listen to the music of that time, laugh a little.
These things always make me smile.
Friday, October 7, 2011
the shyness of skylines
A beautiful night in downtown Seattle.
It's warm here. Nice breeze.
This night feels nearly perfect.
Everything made up of glitter and light,
and the occasional glamorous ones strolling by.
Enjoying the company of good friends.
Lots of laughs.
My face loves feeling like this.
I see the crowds wander outside movie theatre windows.
The doors open, I step outside.
Instantly assaulted by a wondrous cacophony of light and sound.
I'm dizzied by the press of happy faces attached to warm bodies,
The buildings of glass and steel reaching delicately,
purposefully,
like jewel-laden hands to heaven.
Looking up they remind me of the ring covered fingers of kings from the old stories.
The kings who became accustomed to wealth and splendor, yet still prayed humbly with outstretched hands for guidance, hoping in their hearts to hear the clear voice of the Divine.
Maybe made it easier to make those difficult decisions that weigh on the conscience in the quiet hours.
Did I ever tell you that sometimes I think too much?
Another night.
I'm performing.
A beauty in light colors and long, dark hair sitting in the front row.
She's smiling, eyes closed,
Weaving and moving to the music in the air.
Each song ends. She claps enthusiastically. Smile is even larger.
I say very little between songs. Just falling into sound and color. Feeling shy.
When every song ends, she looks right into my eyes.Her smile is even larger now.
I would like to take a break between sets and say something to her.
Maybe break the ice.
But I won't.
I know what will happen.
Nice conversation.
A certain tilt of her neck.
An innocent and beautiful smile that won't mean anything at all.
But it will mean something to me.
Always does.
I will see light.
Glittering possibility.
Fluttering hearts and simple poetry.
I will honestly believe that I see the inner beauty that no one else sees.
For a while, I'll even convince her too.
I can be very convincing.
I will invent something in my own damn mind that doesn't and never did exist
and I will start to fall a little.
I'll convince her it is all so real too. So beautiful. For a time.
Very, very convincing when I want to be.
I will hate myself in the quiet hours after reality hits me square in the face and I have to deal with the truth of things.
Again.
I know myself too well.
I don't want to go through that tonight.
Near the end of the night she leaves, waving to me and still smiling with bright eyes.
I smile faintly in return, go back to playing.
The inability to speak or move can be a a very strong action.
A different afternoon.
I'm driving along an open road to another city.
Sky is overcast, a hint of rain.
I can see the water on my right peeking through a wall of greenery.
Overpasses curving gracefully overhead into destinations I can't see.
I turn a corner, see another skyline overhead. The fading light reflecting off of glass and steel is always so beautiful.
Look into my rearview mirror. The woman in the car behind me is all smiles, weaving and moving to the music in her car.
Reminds me of the woman from the other night.
Reminds me that those connections made at performances are much like summer romances.
For a time the heart beats so strong.
Everything becomes vivid, colors are brighter. The world transforms within that space into a place filled with wonder and delight.
You can do anything in those moments.
But, just like a summer evening of hesitant handholding and shining smiles within the comfort of a bar's neon lights,
It will end.
I look again into the rearview mirror, see this stranger smiling and subtly moving to some unknown rhythm.
I took the next exit.
It's warm here. Nice breeze.
This night feels nearly perfect.
Everything made up of glitter and light,
and the occasional glamorous ones strolling by.
Enjoying the company of good friends.
Lots of laughs.
My face loves feeling like this.
I see the crowds wander outside movie theatre windows.
The doors open, I step outside.
Instantly assaulted by a wondrous cacophony of light and sound.
I'm dizzied by the press of happy faces attached to warm bodies,
The buildings of glass and steel reaching delicately,
purposefully,
like jewel-laden hands to heaven.
Looking up they remind me of the ring covered fingers of kings from the old stories.
The kings who became accustomed to wealth and splendor, yet still prayed humbly with outstretched hands for guidance, hoping in their hearts to hear the clear voice of the Divine.
Maybe made it easier to make those difficult decisions that weigh on the conscience in the quiet hours.
Did I ever tell you that sometimes I think too much?
Another night.
I'm performing.
A beauty in light colors and long, dark hair sitting in the front row.
She's smiling, eyes closed,
Weaving and moving to the music in the air.
Each song ends. She claps enthusiastically. Smile is even larger.
I say very little between songs. Just falling into sound and color. Feeling shy.
When every song ends, she looks right into my eyes.Her smile is even larger now.
I would like to take a break between sets and say something to her.
Maybe break the ice.
But I won't.
I know what will happen.
Nice conversation.
A certain tilt of her neck.
An innocent and beautiful smile that won't mean anything at all.
But it will mean something to me.
Always does.
I will see light.
Glittering possibility.
Fluttering hearts and simple poetry.
I will honestly believe that I see the inner beauty that no one else sees.
For a while, I'll even convince her too.
I can be very convincing.
I will invent something in my own damn mind that doesn't and never did exist
and I will start to fall a little.
I'll convince her it is all so real too. So beautiful. For a time.
Very, very convincing when I want to be.
I will hate myself in the quiet hours after reality hits me square in the face and I have to deal with the truth of things.
Again.
I know myself too well.
I don't want to go through that tonight.
Near the end of the night she leaves, waving to me and still smiling with bright eyes.
I smile faintly in return, go back to playing.
The inability to speak or move can be a a very strong action.
A different afternoon.
I'm driving along an open road to another city.
Sky is overcast, a hint of rain.
I can see the water on my right peeking through a wall of greenery.
Overpasses curving gracefully overhead into destinations I can't see.
I turn a corner, see another skyline overhead. The fading light reflecting off of glass and steel is always so beautiful.
Look into my rearview mirror. The woman in the car behind me is all smiles, weaving and moving to the music in her car.
Reminds me of the woman from the other night.
Reminds me that those connections made at performances are much like summer romances.
For a time the heart beats so strong.
Everything becomes vivid, colors are brighter. The world transforms within that space into a place filled with wonder and delight.
You can do anything in those moments.
But, just like a summer evening of hesitant handholding and shining smiles within the comfort of a bar's neon lights,
It will end.
I look again into the rearview mirror, see this stranger smiling and subtly moving to some unknown rhythm.
I took the next exit.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
The Intentions of Autumn Leaves
I'm thinking about harbor lights and dark water.
I think there is music there.
Haven't found it yet. Still looking.
Another night.
Different actors.
Same beautiful city.
She reveals herself to him.
Tells him the things he always so desperately wanted to hear.
Wants to feel these things. Thinks he could if he let himself.
Things have changed.
He believes in endings.
Feels instead like he is made of stone.
Says little.
Late night phone calls are sometimes the worst.
He loves the sound of her voice.
Feels like eyelashes brushing against his neck.
Just wants to close his eyes and listen for a little while.
Wants to enjoy the silky flow of her words before it ends.
He fears going through the endings again.
Thinks she is near tears in her need for him.
Feels so disconnected. Would love to see her face.
Maybe he feels something. Thinks he probably does.
Her voice is lovely when she is in pain.
Disturbing thought. For her sake, maybe he should stay away.
"Sorry for being so quiet. Sometimes I'm shy."
She ended up talking to a brick wall with a brain.
He hates the endings.
The moments after are sometimes the worst.
I love dreaming about harbor lights reflecting on dark water.
There is a lot of music to be found there.
I think there is music there.
Haven't found it yet. Still looking.
Another night.
Different actors.
Same beautiful city.
She reveals herself to him.
Tells him the things he always so desperately wanted to hear.
Wants to feel these things. Thinks he could if he let himself.
Things have changed.
He believes in endings.
Feels instead like he is made of stone.
Says little.
Late night phone calls are sometimes the worst.
He loves the sound of her voice.
Feels like eyelashes brushing against his neck.
Just wants to close his eyes and listen for a little while.
Wants to enjoy the silky flow of her words before it ends.
He fears going through the endings again.
Thinks she is near tears in her need for him.
Feels so disconnected. Would love to see her face.
Maybe he feels something. Thinks he probably does.
Her voice is lovely when she is in pain.
Disturbing thought. For her sake, maybe he should stay away.
"Sorry for being so quiet. Sometimes I'm shy."
She ended up talking to a brick wall with a brain.
He hates the endings.
The moments after are sometimes the worst.
I love dreaming about harbor lights reflecting on dark water.
There is a lot of music to be found there.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
..no different than the heavens we reach for.
It's quiet here. About an hour before I perform. Some scatterings of people, faces illuminated by the light of laptops or good conversation.
I like it here.
Soft lights on natural woods.
Perfect combination to settle me before the music begins.
Outside is a different world.
crowds milling about, made up of smiles and celebration.
It is a world of laughter.
Saturdays in Ballard always make you feel good inside.
Good place to stay for a little while, before I leave again.
I always feel so restless.
I think at some point my soul started wandering, and eventually my body caught up.
Don't ever stand still for too long. Harder to catch that way.
Funny thought.
Thinking about someone I talked to the other day.
Says that sometimes he compares his life to others.
Makes him sad.
Thinks that he doesn't measure up to the lights he sees on a screen.
Everyone is more interesting than you are online.
Between the photos of smile-filled vacations,
Incessant posts of inspiring quotes (I have been guilty of this myself)
and all of the other digital feel-goods,
He just doesn't understand why at times he can't see more than the space between this heartbeat and the next.
It was another one of those days.
I will know people who are attending the performance this evening.
Feeling fortunate that this is happening so soon after moving here.
Such support and kindness in my little world.
The rumors about this city were dead wrong.
It can be a place of warmth, yet anonymity.
Passions and aloofness.
Contrast in abundance here, but
Seattle's heart could fill the world with the sparkling light cast by the hopes and dreams of millions.
We're all chasing after something.
Something worth pursuing.
Sometimes we're running.
None of it is easy.
No one ever said it would be.
He has a life. Some consider it to be a very good life.
He knows this.
Something inside just feels very wrong.
No words, just an ache.
Always present,
So persistent.
He wants to believe in something.
He used to.
He felt that at some point the bubble burst. Just wants to be naive and foolish again.
Innocent.
Hates this feeling. Is very good at invalidating his own feelings.
Someone always has it worse than him, right? He says he's just restless.
Wonders why everyone else seems to have it together, when he's struggling with the invisible.
Asks me what to do with all of these things, expecting some words of wisdom and comfort.
I hesitate to say anything.
I'll be honest.
Don't really like giving advice much any more.
I like listening. I'm good at that.
I want to tell him something good.
Something to believe in.
Something that will build the bubble back up, so he can go on with his day,
Smiling, laughing and playing with the fun ones that he admires so much.
He's so eager for something to take this ache away.
He could ignore it. It will hurt later. An option.
Could try and look at it honestly. Risk of falling further into the hole if he's not careful. Another option.
I pause a little longer.
No wise words tonight from someone who knows way too many quotes and reaffirmations, but hasn't figured out how to live any of them.
I tell him the only thing that I think I can.
The only thing I know is true.
I tell him I understand.
My head is back in the cafe,
Back in Ballard on a beautiful Saturday evening.
I look at my watch.
Time to play a little music.
I feel made for this place.
At least for a little while...
Then it will be time to go.
I like it here.
Soft lights on natural woods.
Perfect combination to settle me before the music begins.
Outside is a different world.
crowds milling about, made up of smiles and celebration.
It is a world of laughter.
Saturdays in Ballard always make you feel good inside.
Good place to stay for a little while, before I leave again.
I always feel so restless.
I think at some point my soul started wandering, and eventually my body caught up.
Don't ever stand still for too long. Harder to catch that way.
Funny thought.
Thinking about someone I talked to the other day.
Says that sometimes he compares his life to others.
Makes him sad.
Thinks that he doesn't measure up to the lights he sees on a screen.
Everyone is more interesting than you are online.
Between the photos of smile-filled vacations,
Incessant posts of inspiring quotes (I have been guilty of this myself)
and all of the other digital feel-goods,
He just doesn't understand why at times he can't see more than the space between this heartbeat and the next.
It was another one of those days.
I will know people who are attending the performance this evening.
Feeling fortunate that this is happening so soon after moving here.
Such support and kindness in my little world.
The rumors about this city were dead wrong.
It can be a place of warmth, yet anonymity.
Passions and aloofness.
Contrast in abundance here, but
Seattle's heart could fill the world with the sparkling light cast by the hopes and dreams of millions.
We're all chasing after something.
Something worth pursuing.
Sometimes we're running.
None of it is easy.
No one ever said it would be.
He has a life. Some consider it to be a very good life.
He knows this.
Something inside just feels very wrong.
No words, just an ache.
Always present,
So persistent.
He wants to believe in something.
He used to.
He felt that at some point the bubble burst. Just wants to be naive and foolish again.
Innocent.
Hates this feeling. Is very good at invalidating his own feelings.
Someone always has it worse than him, right? He says he's just restless.
Wonders why everyone else seems to have it together, when he's struggling with the invisible.
Asks me what to do with all of these things, expecting some words of wisdom and comfort.
I hesitate to say anything.
I'll be honest.
Don't really like giving advice much any more.
I like listening. I'm good at that.
I want to tell him something good.
Something to believe in.
Something that will build the bubble back up, so he can go on with his day,
Smiling, laughing and playing with the fun ones that he admires so much.
He's so eager for something to take this ache away.
He could ignore it. It will hurt later. An option.
Could try and look at it honestly. Risk of falling further into the hole if he's not careful. Another option.
I pause a little longer.
No wise words tonight from someone who knows way too many quotes and reaffirmations, but hasn't figured out how to live any of them.
I tell him the only thing that I think I can.
The only thing I know is true.
I tell him I understand.
My head is back in the cafe,
Back in Ballard on a beautiful Saturday evening.
I look at my watch.
Time to play a little music.
I feel made for this place.
At least for a little while...
Then it will be time to go.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Just one last dance, please.
I used to daydream about finding true love at the drive-in.
It's true.
It would be warm, the end of summer;
One of those evenings where the leftover heat of the day would gently radiate from the ground beneath.
Always loved those nights.
I would be wandering in the open spaces between cars, lightest of breezes brushing my cheek.
A million smiling faces all enjoying the film of the day, oblivious to the majesty about to enfold in their midst.
Always been such a dreamer.
I would see her.
The light of the screen would illuminate those perfect, searching features.
She would turn toward me and smile; I would feel that overwhelming, unyielding rush in my veins.
I didn't know what she would look like.
Was certain I'd know in that instant I saw her that she was the one.
The One.
We would have found each other at last.
This time it would be forever.
I couldn't have been more than 10 or 11 at the time.
..such a dreamer.
You get a little older.
You never noticed before how beaten up and run down that place had become.
You see it now. Decay, litter. Faded signs on even more faded walls.
Words aren't even legible any more.
Makes you a little sad.
How those childhood dreams still somehow stayed alive among the rubbish of old candy wrappers and
empty beer cans..
Then you get even older, and you chalk it all up to impossibilities and absurdities.
Silly dreams of youth.
I think I have lots of places like that inside. It's easy to forget sometimes.
Might be a little tarnished.
Might have a few nicks and scrapes.
Might not even notice the bright path ahead of me, because I'm too busy chasing shadows.
I wonder sometimes if I'm looking for shadows that aren't there.
Maybe I'm too worried about them in the first place.
Maybe I invent problems in my own mind, because I'm more comfortable playing in the dark.
Maybe it's easier to do that then to try really living again.
Maybe I just think too much and act too little.
Maybe...
I don't know.
But sometimes I dream about being at a drive-in, and there's a long-forgotten movie playing in the background.
I could care less what it is.
I'm too busy searching for something.
Among the trash and debris, the crowds of unsuspecting people.
I keep looking and looking.
Haven't found it yet.
Feels like it has to be closer.
Must be.
Hopes and dreams are powerful things.
I don't want to wake up from that feeling ever again.
This is how music is made.
It's true.
It would be warm, the end of summer;
One of those evenings where the leftover heat of the day would gently radiate from the ground beneath.
Always loved those nights.
I would be wandering in the open spaces between cars, lightest of breezes brushing my cheek.
A million smiling faces all enjoying the film of the day, oblivious to the majesty about to enfold in their midst.
Always been such a dreamer.
I would see her.
The light of the screen would illuminate those perfect, searching features.
She would turn toward me and smile; I would feel that overwhelming, unyielding rush in my veins.
I didn't know what she would look like.
Was certain I'd know in that instant I saw her that she was the one.
The One.
We would have found each other at last.
This time it would be forever.
I couldn't have been more than 10 or 11 at the time.
..such a dreamer.
You get a little older.
You never noticed before how beaten up and run down that place had become.
You see it now. Decay, litter. Faded signs on even more faded walls.
Words aren't even legible any more.
Makes you a little sad.
How those childhood dreams still somehow stayed alive among the rubbish of old candy wrappers and
empty beer cans..
Then you get even older, and you chalk it all up to impossibilities and absurdities.
Silly dreams of youth.
I think I have lots of places like that inside. It's easy to forget sometimes.
Might be a little tarnished.
Might have a few nicks and scrapes.
Might not even notice the bright path ahead of me, because I'm too busy chasing shadows.
I wonder sometimes if I'm looking for shadows that aren't there.
Maybe I'm too worried about them in the first place.
Maybe I invent problems in my own mind, because I'm more comfortable playing in the dark.
Maybe it's easier to do that then to try really living again.
Maybe I just think too much and act too little.
Maybe...
I don't know.
But sometimes I dream about being at a drive-in, and there's a long-forgotten movie playing in the background.
I could care less what it is.
I'm too busy searching for something.
Among the trash and debris, the crowds of unsuspecting people.
I keep looking and looking.
Haven't found it yet.
Feels like it has to be closer.
Must be.
Hopes and dreams are powerful things.
I don't want to wake up from that feeling ever again.
This is how music is made.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Vae Victis
A beautiful open room.
Laughter and soft conversation flowing freely throughout this lovely mingling of wood and windows.
It's a surprisingly warm evening.
Scents of pasta and pesto, and of the red wine at the table next to me.
Some days I really miss my wine.
How it would start at my nostrils, and then go on to caress each of my pores.
My thoughts were always the next victim in this seduction.
So light.
So persistent.
I feel a subtle need starting to twist my brain, then touch each of my insides, one by one.
Almost starting to convince myself that it wouldn't be a big deal.
~ Just a little drink.
Hands are shaking a little now.
~ No one will know.
So enticing.
So damn enticing.
So wrong.
Take a sip of the coffee in front of me.
The heat and bitterness is soothing, bringing me back from that intense urge to throw it all away again for just one more teensy little taste..
But it's never just one, is it?
I laugh a little to myself.
The woman at the next table looks up, stares oddly in my direction.
Look back down at the black bitter pool in my cup, take another drink.
The coffee tastes very good tonight.
It's just a few minutes until I perform.
Feeling a little awkward tonight.
Out of sorts.
A nice older gentleman walks up and tells me he's looking forward to the show.
He loved my soundcheck.
I quietly thank him, try and smile.
Holding my coffee in both hands now. It burns a little.
The sensation reminds me that I'm still here.
~ I remember it was a very cold December.
Had just finished a serious binge with good friends. Can't even remember getting home that night, much less what I had been drinking.
Not the best time to receive a Dear John letter by email.
Even worse time to respond to one.
Not one of my finer moments.
It's show time.
I'm on stage, looking at the strings of my guitar...
Hesitating.
Sometimes they scare me.
When I begin, what hell are they going to lead me through for the sake of beauty?
Trembling inside.
This is what I want. What I need.
If I don't play, I think that these fires inside will finally burn me from the inside out.
I feel my heartbeat, the slick sweat on my hands.
The stage lights are hot.
Wondering where my coffee is.
I need something to touch, some other heat to distract me from my own.
This is the longest second of my life.
~ I remember that it was an even colder January.
Head was killing me, trying to figure out where I was. Vision's a little blurry.
I quickly recognized the faint outlines of my bedroom.
That's good. Somewhere safe.
See several empty bottles of wine on the floor.
See the beautiful naked form lying next to me. She's breathing softly.
Oh no. Oh God, no.
She feels me stirring, wakes up.
Turns over to me, at first smiling, and then her face changes.
She's looking at my eyes.
"Why don't you love me.."
I had no answers.
My eyes betrayed what my heart was hiding.
"Why can't you feel for me what you feel for her?"
She's crying.
I hated myself that day.
It's time.
No more hesitation.
No more fears.
MY heart's beating faster.
The flames are licking my guts, ready to char my remains if I don't begin.
Fingers are closer to those steel strings.
I need this.
I don't know what's going to happen, but it's going to satisfy this fiery beast..
Maybe at least for a little while.
Playing the beginning notes of Beauty Undefined.
It's slower, more deliberate, almost like a dirge.
Things are feeling better.
The pace slowly picks up.
Eyes are closed, seeing subtle swirls of violet and blue.
Losing sense of where I am.
Beautiful faces and moments occupy my mind.
The good things replacing that dark interior.
I don't feel those strings any more, but I'm hearing the notes in the very back of my mind.
Must still be playing.
At some point, I open my eyes.
The song finished, and the colors in my head have been replaced with the sounds of applause.
I realize it's going to be alright.
I'm smiling onstage, and very quietly thanking the audience.
It ended up being a beautiful night.
Laughter and soft conversation flowing freely throughout this lovely mingling of wood and windows.
It's a surprisingly warm evening.
Scents of pasta and pesto, and of the red wine at the table next to me.
Some days I really miss my wine.
How it would start at my nostrils, and then go on to caress each of my pores.
My thoughts were always the next victim in this seduction.
So light.
So persistent.
I feel a subtle need starting to twist my brain, then touch each of my insides, one by one.
Almost starting to convince myself that it wouldn't be a big deal.
~ Just a little drink.
Hands are shaking a little now.
~ No one will know.
So enticing.
So damn enticing.
So wrong.
Take a sip of the coffee in front of me.
The heat and bitterness is soothing, bringing me back from that intense urge to throw it all away again for just one more teensy little taste..
But it's never just one, is it?
I laugh a little to myself.
The woman at the next table looks up, stares oddly in my direction.
Look back down at the black bitter pool in my cup, take another drink.
The coffee tastes very good tonight.
It's just a few minutes until I perform.
Feeling a little awkward tonight.
Out of sorts.
A nice older gentleman walks up and tells me he's looking forward to the show.
He loved my soundcheck.
I quietly thank him, try and smile.
Holding my coffee in both hands now. It burns a little.
The sensation reminds me that I'm still here.
~ I remember it was a very cold December.
Had just finished a serious binge with good friends. Can't even remember getting home that night, much less what I had been drinking.
Not the best time to receive a Dear John letter by email.
Even worse time to respond to one.
Not one of my finer moments.
It's show time.
I'm on stage, looking at the strings of my guitar...
Hesitating.
Sometimes they scare me.
When I begin, what hell are they going to lead me through for the sake of beauty?
Trembling inside.
This is what I want. What I need.
If I don't play, I think that these fires inside will finally burn me from the inside out.
I feel my heartbeat, the slick sweat on my hands.
The stage lights are hot.
Wondering where my coffee is.
I need something to touch, some other heat to distract me from my own.
This is the longest second of my life.
~ I remember that it was an even colder January.
Head was killing me, trying to figure out where I was. Vision's a little blurry.
I quickly recognized the faint outlines of my bedroom.
That's good. Somewhere safe.
See several empty bottles of wine on the floor.
See the beautiful naked form lying next to me. She's breathing softly.
Oh no. Oh God, no.
She feels me stirring, wakes up.
Turns over to me, at first smiling, and then her face changes.
She's looking at my eyes.
"Why don't you love me.."
I had no answers.
My eyes betrayed what my heart was hiding.
"Why can't you feel for me what you feel for her?"
She's crying.
I hated myself that day.
It's time.
No more hesitation.
No more fears.
MY heart's beating faster.
The flames are licking my guts, ready to char my remains if I don't begin.
Fingers are closer to those steel strings.
I need this.
I don't know what's going to happen, but it's going to satisfy this fiery beast..
Maybe at least for a little while.
Playing the beginning notes of Beauty Undefined.
It's slower, more deliberate, almost like a dirge.
Things are feeling better.
The pace slowly picks up.
Eyes are closed, seeing subtle swirls of violet and blue.
Losing sense of where I am.
Beautiful faces and moments occupy my mind.
The good things replacing that dark interior.
I don't feel those strings any more, but I'm hearing the notes in the very back of my mind.
Must still be playing.
At some point, I open my eyes.
The song finished, and the colors in my head have been replaced with the sounds of applause.
I realize it's going to be alright.
I'm smiling onstage, and very quietly thanking the audience.
It ended up being a beautiful night.
Friday, September 16, 2011
the matter-of-factness of windows
He doesn't consider himself an ugly man, Nor is he particularly pretty.
He has many talents, and shares them.
He loves his friends and wraps them up in his heart as family.
Is asked often for advice.
Always happy to listen.
Likes being confided in.
Makes him feel needed for a little while.
He drags himself down a lot,
Wondering when he no longer needs to atone for past sins.
Wonders if he will let himself see the sun inside again.
He has allowed himself to become a shadow, a wretched thing without real substance, scratching and clawing,
tearing through enough layers until he finds something that can make sense.
Maybe none of it is supposed to.
When he allows himself to become close to someone, he patiently waits for the time that they will leave him and move on to a happier life.
Takes it in stride.
Enjoys the little time he feels they'll have together.
He tries not to think of it that way.
But he does.
Loves his family devotedly.
There is nothing more important to him, and he cherishes every single breath shared with them.
They are his sun.
Hugs and kisses.
Good things.
Been told he's boring. He's not the most exciting person i've ever met, but I enjoy his company all the same.
He makes sure he's not that way with others any more. Invented a persona made up of bravado and bullshit.
He doesn't like it, not really sure how to abandon it.
Old skins can be painfully hard to shed.
Prefers the times he doesn't feel he has to pretend so much.
Sometimes lets his guard down with a precious few.
Waits for the door to close behind them.
Always waiting.
He doesn't particularly feel sorry for himself.
Not at all.
Just resigned. Seems tired.
Becomes a little too quiet at times.
I know it's all too easy to become lost in your own thoughts.
He feels very blessed for the many miracles he's witnessed,
The bright lives that enter his for a time,
The moments that make him laugh...
Quiet and tender moments;
Those things he feels eventually have to end.
He also knows he is the constant.
The one thing that has to change if anything else will.
This paralyzes him.
Indecisiveness leads to inaction.
Inaction leads to a life moving on without him. This leads to sadness.
Sadness leads back to that terrible indecisiveness.
It is a painful cycle that he's created for himself. He hates it. Knows it's up to him alone to change. Doesn't really know how.
When asked, he will always tell you he's doing well.
Will tell you about all of the amazing things he's done.
He's right. They are amazing.
They're just not enough to fill up his soul.
I often wonder if he's trying to convince himself of his own worth.
In truth, he could be any one of us at certain times in our lives.
He has a name, a face.
A voice. It's very quiet, but it's there.
Just doesn't understand his place in things.
All I can do is listen to him.
He has many talents, and shares them.
He loves his friends and wraps them up in his heart as family.
Is asked often for advice.
Always happy to listen.
Likes being confided in.
Makes him feel needed for a little while.
He drags himself down a lot,
Wondering when he no longer needs to atone for past sins.
Wonders if he will let himself see the sun inside again.
He has allowed himself to become a shadow, a wretched thing without real substance, scratching and clawing,
tearing through enough layers until he finds something that can make sense.
Maybe none of it is supposed to.
When he allows himself to become close to someone, he patiently waits for the time that they will leave him and move on to a happier life.
Takes it in stride.
Enjoys the little time he feels they'll have together.
He tries not to think of it that way.
But he does.
Loves his family devotedly.
There is nothing more important to him, and he cherishes every single breath shared with them.
They are his sun.
Hugs and kisses.
Good things.
Been told he's boring. He's not the most exciting person i've ever met, but I enjoy his company all the same.
He makes sure he's not that way with others any more. Invented a persona made up of bravado and bullshit.
He doesn't like it, not really sure how to abandon it.
Old skins can be painfully hard to shed.
Prefers the times he doesn't feel he has to pretend so much.
Sometimes lets his guard down with a precious few.
Waits for the door to close behind them.
Always waiting.
He doesn't particularly feel sorry for himself.
Not at all.
Just resigned. Seems tired.
Becomes a little too quiet at times.
I know it's all too easy to become lost in your own thoughts.
He feels very blessed for the many miracles he's witnessed,
The bright lives that enter his for a time,
The moments that make him laugh...
Quiet and tender moments;
Those things he feels eventually have to end.
He also knows he is the constant.
The one thing that has to change if anything else will.
This paralyzes him.
Indecisiveness leads to inaction.
Inaction leads to a life moving on without him. This leads to sadness.
Sadness leads back to that terrible indecisiveness.
It is a painful cycle that he's created for himself. He hates it. Knows it's up to him alone to change. Doesn't really know how.
When asked, he will always tell you he's doing well.
Will tell you about all of the amazing things he's done.
He's right. They are amazing.
They're just not enough to fill up his soul.
I often wonder if he's trying to convince himself of his own worth.
In truth, he could be any one of us at certain times in our lives.
He has a name, a face.
A voice. It's very quiet, but it's there.
Just doesn't understand his place in things.
All I can do is listen to him.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
The Validity of Aching Embers
I have a little statue that often stares at me.
Sometimes he sings a song of childhood.
It's a lovely little tune that always filled with my heart with the hope of things to come.
Some songs are like that.
His is a sad rendition, though.
Still very beautiful, but quieter;
A lullaby for the lost.
It's a quiet evening in Seattle.
Walking along a path to a favorite dinner destination.
Sidewalk is discolored, grass growing through the cracks like the hands of lost souls freed from the Underworld, desperately trying to reach the surface again.
The street lights are slowly coming to life, following my footsteps.
They will eventually find me. They always do.
Too bad. I was enjoying the half-light.
The first time I heard the statue's song, I was a teen.
Long hair. Sometimes a beard, sometimes not.
Had a girlfriend that I loved, lusted after, and hated all at once.
Our time was ending, and we didn't know it yet.
Then I met her.
Quickly became friends. Close friends.
Laughter and and long chats until the late hours.
She would sometimes fall asleep to the sound of me playing guitar.
Smell of sweet incense in the air, wisps of scented smoke floating around us.
She was lovely when she slept.
Blonde hair falling across closed eyes.
Those glittering blue eyes.
A small smile at the corners of her mouth as she softly breathed.
I would watch her drift off, and just keep playing and playing until she finally awoke.
This is where I learned to improvise.
Some of my favorite memories.
I've reached my destination, sitting at the counter with my back to everyone.
The window in front of me displays the emerging night life right outside.
Cars pass, lovers walk by.
Warm but overcast evening.
The faded glass reflects short, thinning hair. Deep lines on my face, dark circles under the eyes.
The stubble of a few unshaven days.
Much different than the long-haired youth that fell madly in love with an angel.
She always supported my gift.
Urged me to be a solo performer. I had always been in bands. Her insistence didn't make sense to me at
the time.
She spoke of the beauty of my music and of my heart, and how they reflected each other.
Her views on life were refreshing, new, sacred to me.
Always loving. Always caring.
Had the most beautiful heart, and she terrified me.
I wasn't ready for the intensity of my feelings.
She was too perfect,
and I wasn't.
The waitress probably thinks I'm crazy, sitting there,
drinking my Pepsi and eating dinner, and smiling to myself.
I wonder sometimes if I might be going insane.
Things had happened.
Life happened.
It always does.
I ran from her, made some poor decisions.
I came back. Was too late.
She had undergone defining moments of self-discovery, and was different.
It wasn't always about me. Took me a long time to realize that.
When I accepted our season had passed I hid away, and then shut down inside for a long time.
I wasn't ready for any of this.
Walking back from the cafe.
Trees on both sides, branches hanging lazily overhead, wrapping protectively around my path.
Makes me feel safe..
Walk by a faded wall now consisting more of ivy than of concrete.
Used to see contrast in these things, now I see the blending of two separate entities into a beautiful whole.
A year had passed.
I had just performed as a solo artist for the first time at a little cafe.
Someone emerges from the crowd, approaching me.
It was her.
Gives me a hug, hands me a hand-written note, walks out.
A message and a phone number in her lovely script.
The note ends with "I love you".
I still loved her. And it hurt like hell.
Called a few times. It was awkward. Lost contact again.
Another year or two passed.
Getting ready for another performance at a different venue.
I saw her there in the parking lot. My heart stopped.
More hugs.
She promised to come back later to see me perform.
I never saw her again.
I have a little statue that often stares at me.
Sometimes he sings.
Tonight it is a sad song that reminds me of someone I once knew.
Sometimes he sings a song of childhood.
It's a lovely little tune that always filled with my heart with the hope of things to come.
Some songs are like that.
His is a sad rendition, though.
Still very beautiful, but quieter;
A lullaby for the lost.
It's a quiet evening in Seattle.
Walking along a path to a favorite dinner destination.
Sidewalk is discolored, grass growing through the cracks like the hands of lost souls freed from the Underworld, desperately trying to reach the surface again.
The street lights are slowly coming to life, following my footsteps.
They will eventually find me. They always do.
Too bad. I was enjoying the half-light.
The first time I heard the statue's song, I was a teen.
Long hair. Sometimes a beard, sometimes not.
Had a girlfriend that I loved, lusted after, and hated all at once.
Our time was ending, and we didn't know it yet.
Then I met her.
Quickly became friends. Close friends.
Laughter and and long chats until the late hours.
She would sometimes fall asleep to the sound of me playing guitar.
Smell of sweet incense in the air, wisps of scented smoke floating around us.
She was lovely when she slept.
Blonde hair falling across closed eyes.
Those glittering blue eyes.
A small smile at the corners of her mouth as she softly breathed.
I would watch her drift off, and just keep playing and playing until she finally awoke.
This is where I learned to improvise.
Some of my favorite memories.
I've reached my destination, sitting at the counter with my back to everyone.
The window in front of me displays the emerging night life right outside.
Cars pass, lovers walk by.
Warm but overcast evening.
The faded glass reflects short, thinning hair. Deep lines on my face, dark circles under the eyes.
The stubble of a few unshaven days.
Much different than the long-haired youth that fell madly in love with an angel.
She always supported my gift.
Urged me to be a solo performer. I had always been in bands. Her insistence didn't make sense to me at
the time.
She spoke of the beauty of my music and of my heart, and how they reflected each other.
Her views on life were refreshing, new, sacred to me.
Always loving. Always caring.
Had the most beautiful heart, and she terrified me.
I wasn't ready for the intensity of my feelings.
She was too perfect,
and I wasn't.
The waitress probably thinks I'm crazy, sitting there,
drinking my Pepsi and eating dinner, and smiling to myself.
I wonder sometimes if I might be going insane.
Things had happened.
Life happened.
It always does.
I ran from her, made some poor decisions.
I came back. Was too late.
She had undergone defining moments of self-discovery, and was different.
It wasn't always about me. Took me a long time to realize that.
When I accepted our season had passed I hid away, and then shut down inside for a long time.
I wasn't ready for any of this.
Walking back from the cafe.
Trees on both sides, branches hanging lazily overhead, wrapping protectively around my path.
Makes me feel safe..
Walk by a faded wall now consisting more of ivy than of concrete.
Used to see contrast in these things, now I see the blending of two separate entities into a beautiful whole.
A year had passed.
I had just performed as a solo artist for the first time at a little cafe.
Someone emerges from the crowd, approaching me.
It was her.
Gives me a hug, hands me a hand-written note, walks out.
A message and a phone number in her lovely script.
The note ends with "I love you".
I still loved her. And it hurt like hell.
Called a few times. It was awkward. Lost contact again.
Another year or two passed.
Getting ready for another performance at a different venue.
I saw her there in the parking lot. My heart stopped.
More hugs.
She promised to come back later to see me perform.
I never saw her again.
I have a little statue that often stares at me.
Sometimes he sings.
Tonight it is a sad song that reminds me of someone I once knew.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
We always loved those flowers...
"I hope that you end up finding what you're looking for."
"I will be praying for you."
Beautiful sentiments from loving people.
Here we go again.
It's the middle of the night. I'm on a ferry returning to Seattle. I'm reassured by the constant hum of the boat beneath me, watching as the life of this city glitters in the darkness. We're getting closer. She slowly defeats the night sky and dominates my view. I look over at my friends. They too are lost in light. The eyes betray it all.
I hear that music again.
I was performing on one of the islands, and it felt good. Really good. I met a couple that decided to spend their anniversary here, with a complete stranger and his music. They were lovely people. I don't feel like we are strangers any more.
A close friend accompanied me musically at the end of the night, the notes of our bass and guitar swirling together into colors and patterns I could plainly see. We build up to a subtle yet definitive finale. Such a good night.
Precious moments in a beautiful venue.
Ego boosts.
I'll be honest. I love seeing my name in lights, and sometimes I'm more comfortable with strangers.
Next scene.
It's midday. I'm standing in an all too familiar place with people I used to know well. I still love them dearly.
Things have changed. I've changed. Everything feels smaller, so stifled and contained in-between nervous heartbeats.
It's a cool, rainy day. Thick clouds under a gray sky. I want to be among them.
Feeling a little too trapped. Need the freedom of open air.
Need to continue to fulfill the promises I made to myself.
Can't do that here.
I hear a lament. It's a beautiful and delicate piece, about grief,
about the delicacy in moments that have forever passed.
This can never exist again.
Over time a piece of me died a slow but necessary death.
Something else was birthed from that eternally self-conscious and apologetic corpse.
Something different.
It's time to leave.
"You're quieter now."
Relationships with some people are very different.
I moved. Paid a painful but necessary price.
I was warned this would happen.
It's okay.
"Sometimes when we talk now you seem to drift away.. I don't know if you're always really listening."
I'm trying hard to stay focused in this moment, this seemingly friendly conversation, but I'm hearing it again. A single, mournful note persistently calling, reminding me of something I've lost or forgotten.
I don't know what it is.
It's time to go.
"I will be praying for you."
Beautiful sentiments from loving people.
Here we go again.
It's the middle of the night. I'm on a ferry returning to Seattle. I'm reassured by the constant hum of the boat beneath me, watching as the life of this city glitters in the darkness. We're getting closer. She slowly defeats the night sky and dominates my view. I look over at my friends. They too are lost in light. The eyes betray it all.
I hear that music again.
I was performing on one of the islands, and it felt good. Really good. I met a couple that decided to spend their anniversary here, with a complete stranger and his music. They were lovely people. I don't feel like we are strangers any more.
A close friend accompanied me musically at the end of the night, the notes of our bass and guitar swirling together into colors and patterns I could plainly see. We build up to a subtle yet definitive finale. Such a good night.
Precious moments in a beautiful venue.
Ego boosts.
I'll be honest. I love seeing my name in lights, and sometimes I'm more comfortable with strangers.
Next scene.
It's midday. I'm standing in an all too familiar place with people I used to know well. I still love them dearly.
Things have changed. I've changed. Everything feels smaller, so stifled and contained in-between nervous heartbeats.
It's a cool, rainy day. Thick clouds under a gray sky. I want to be among them.
Feeling a little too trapped. Need the freedom of open air.
Need to continue to fulfill the promises I made to myself.
Can't do that here.
I hear a lament. It's a beautiful and delicate piece, about grief,
about the delicacy in moments that have forever passed.
This can never exist again.
Over time a piece of me died a slow but necessary death.
Something else was birthed from that eternally self-conscious and apologetic corpse.
Something different.
It's time to leave.
"You're quieter now."
Relationships with some people are very different.
I moved. Paid a painful but necessary price.
I was warned this would happen.
It's okay.
"Sometimes when we talk now you seem to drift away.. I don't know if you're always really listening."
I'm trying hard to stay focused in this moment, this seemingly friendly conversation, but I'm hearing it again. A single, mournful note persistently calling, reminding me of something I've lost or forgotten.
I don't know what it is.
It's time to go.
Monday, September 12, 2011
About Emeralds and the Setting Sun..
"Did I ever tell you I was married once?"
She looks at me oddly from across the table in the sunlit cafe.
"Yes."
Very different life. Seems like it happened to someone else. Maybe it did.
She was beautiful. The way the sun lit her hair and smile when she worked in the yard. The way she loved animals so much, that those commercials about animal cruelty always drove her uncontrollably to tears.
Every single time.
She was even darkly beautiful when we fought. At the end we fought a lot.
I never really stopped loving her.
Don't think you ever completely do.
We never really learned to talk.
We never really learned to listen.
Something was wrong.
I wanted to listen, and she had nothing to say.
She wanted to listen, and I lost the ability to speak.
We started as lovers, and ended up as roommates.
I spent the last month sleeping in the basement.
I really wasn't helping matters any.
She wanted our family to be one of faith. I fought so hard against this at the time.
I fought against a lot of things. We both did.
Used to be so stubborn.
Ironic, since faith is so important to me now.
"Do you regret leaving?" it's a tough question. Not an easy answer to this.
I pause.
No, because she is loved by the kindest of men now. She is his universe. She was always worth that.
Funny that he inspires me to be a better man.
Even after our season in a setting sun had ended, she still had love and care for me. We worked hard to become friends.
We didn't abandon each other or deny the others existence.
6 months ago, I dragged my brain out of the bottle for the last time.
She was there when I needed it most. We talked of many things that night.
There were tears and apologies.
There was healing.
I wrote many lovely songs for her throughout a decade.
They are all true.
She looks at me oddly from across the table in the sunlit cafe.
"Yes."
Very different life. Seems like it happened to someone else. Maybe it did.
She was beautiful. The way the sun lit her hair and smile when she worked in the yard. The way she loved animals so much, that those commercials about animal cruelty always drove her uncontrollably to tears.
Every single time.
She was even darkly beautiful when we fought. At the end we fought a lot.
I never really stopped loving her.
Don't think you ever completely do.
We never really learned to talk.
We never really learned to listen.
Something was wrong.
I wanted to listen, and she had nothing to say.
She wanted to listen, and I lost the ability to speak.
We started as lovers, and ended up as roommates.
I spent the last month sleeping in the basement.
I really wasn't helping matters any.
She wanted our family to be one of faith. I fought so hard against this at the time.
I fought against a lot of things. We both did.
Used to be so stubborn.
Ironic, since faith is so important to me now.
"Do you regret leaving?" it's a tough question. Not an easy answer to this.
I pause.
No, because she is loved by the kindest of men now. She is his universe. She was always worth that.
Funny that he inspires me to be a better man.
Even after our season in a setting sun had ended, she still had love and care for me. We worked hard to become friends.
We didn't abandon each other or deny the others existence.
6 months ago, I dragged my brain out of the bottle for the last time.
She was there when I needed it most. We talked of many things that night.
There were tears and apologies.
There was healing.
I wrote many lovely songs for her throughout a decade.
They are all true.
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