I (Am)sterdam

Above is a picture of myself praying for serenity at The Church of Our Lady in Bruges, Belgium.



I returned today from my journey to europa. The trip included a stop in the Netherlands to visit Amsterdam, then on to Belgium to visit Brussels and Bruges. life changing. i (Am)sterdam.

I (Am):

frites

teruvian

"the funny thing about you is...you always come back for more."

Bjorn Bjornson & his Black Diamond

Absynthe Raven~*

pannekoeken

stroop

White Widow

one headlight

Vondel Park

The Bell Tower

Sang Real... the blood of Christ

Nico - defending America

Leslie in the square

Sebastian in the rain

bicycles

"Free refills? Free refills? Free refills? ok. free refills." - in Brussels

"leave...just leave!"

Turbo toke

Supernova toke

the Rijks

Ride the Snake

A trip to Valhalla

Ride the Tiger

baked.

Delirium Christmas/Nocturnum/Tremens

Red Absinthe

waffles

the River Eel - "i am eeling much better."

an afternoon with Van Gogh

Anne Frank Huis

"holland was the most power country in the world...during the Golden Century."

I (Am)sterdam

Canals

Sharoma

windmills

wooden shoes

Our Waitress in Brussels

Eternal Moon over Antwerpen

"Was I a vampyre last night?"

XXX museum

Rembrandt

Ham and Cheese baguette

"Return that one."

"Shut your N face"

the professor

the lost dreadlocked moped rockers

Schipol

Nouckkkkkkkkkkaaa!

Sploofs?

the Game internationale

slagroom

"the meat? Well, we do not have an English word for it."/ "Good, I will take that." - Derrick

Free Hugs, - "I'll take some free hugs."

Ride the Dragon

Icy Winter (in the incarnation of that white-bearded, blue-eyed old man)

La Chouffe bar

arguing british mother and son; while father silently participated.

Wok to Walk

"What are you guys doing tonight, would you like a pamphlet?" -guy/ "go home." - Joe/ "ok." -guy.

"How's it going?" (to some scraggly homeless guy)/ "UHAhaUauahah" - scraggly homeless guy.

'its a blonde, is that ok?' -hot blonde waitress referring to the beer/ "I love blondes" - John (smirking violently).

rocking on guitars in music shop in Brussels

European, french-speaking father playing lovingly with son on the train.

Waiter kicking us out because it was a "restaurant" and we needed to order more food. We won though because the waitress across the street was super hotand we ordered tons of food including onion soup and Real hot chocolate.

The game: hugh laurie

First interaction with european in Amsterdam. "What is there to do?" -tonz./ "do shrooms and go to vondel park." "Do shrooms and go to van gogh." - guy at the desk in the hostel.

space cake.

If you are the queen of california, i am the king of the rain...

"she said, 'DID YOU THINK that you were dreaming?'

I said, 'no.'

she said, 'DID YOU THINK THAT YOU WERE DREAMING???'

I said, 'NO!!!!'

she said, 'did you think that you were dreaming?'

I said, "sometimes I don't know.'"

_____

"could you tell me just one thing that you will remember about me?

just one, thing....

...could you tell me just one thing that you will remember about me?"

*~tempests and charms~*

“pour more wine, it's only dusk."

The grass was so soft. I could hear them in the distance. Panoramic sky.

“Is this how it is supposed to be?”

Clothes were loose. Wrists were weak. Her scent diffusing/confusing/infusing. She smelled like a girl. a real girl. a petite girl. a young girl. a little girl. younger than her age admits. like cherries and cream. a dream. it seems.

“I tell you what, we never imagined we would be here now, did we?”

“no. i guess life is funny sometimes.”

Even the rain wants to be the snow sometimes. Even the young want to grow sometimes. Even the ignorant want to know sometimes. Even lakes want to flow sometimes. Even blackholes want to glow sometimes.

“sorrow has never benefited anyone before.”

“I disagree, there is beauty even in tragedy.”

“how so? I mean, c’mon? We have both been through so much, you know as well as I do, that no one likes to go through pain and sorrow, and the wishing for a better tomorrow.”

“You are right, we might not see it at the time, but there is beauty everywhere. Nothing is trivial. Everything means something. Every moment defines [defies] us. We are shaped by the experiences that life impresses upon us.”

The thorax. each impossibly thin wing. the orchestra of sound - a crescendo of hum and static. things automatic. things aromatic.

“things are changing. I always hated change, but change transforms.”

/conforms/a life reborn/a new moon/ a first kiss…again/

“can you have a first kiss, a second time?”

“anything is possible, life is all about perspective.”

Subjectivity/the light cast through a prism/ it bends/tends/lends/bends itself/a new perspective/the last/first kiss. a kiss. i miss/kiss/miss…listless.

“Max Ehrmann wrote in the Desiderata of Happiness that ‘despite its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, the world is STILL a beautiful place…so strive to be happy’ or something like that.”

Countenance and sentiments. Cigarettes and coffee cups. We can be young forever. Love will keep us young. Love will keep us safe. Love is the silence between the sighs.

"'i wish to infuse myself among you, till you see it common for us to walk hand in hand'."

“happiness is a first kiss, a second time.”

To have and to hold….when the fire dies down.
To have and to hold….when the queen breaks her crown
To have and to hold….in the blink of an eye
To have and to hold….when the summer moon cries
To have and to hold….under the covers in winter
To have and to hold….as the sea tries to take her
To have and to hold….when all hope seems lost
To have and to hold….through snowflakes and frost
To have and to hold….when the couplets are missing
To have and to hold….during nights spent just kissing
To have and to hold….when the music is silenced

To have and to hold....through the dust and the violence
To have and to hold….when the brides are not blushing
To have and to hold….when the blood is not rushing
To have and to hold….in that old picture in the frame
To have and to hold….when the wax drowns the flame
To have and to hold….as the tincture begins to fade
To have and to hold….when the black flowers are laid
To have and to hold…..through the tempests and charms
To have and to hold…..on the swings, interlocking arms
To have and to hold…..blessed by Fall and the Her breeze
To have and to hold…..watching our little girl sneeze
To have and to hold…..in orange mornings at dawn
To have and to hold…..at twilight stretched across the lawn
To have and to hold…..as the sun/moon flashes by
To have and to hold…..when the creek will run dry
To have and to hold…..laughing within piles of fallen leaves
To have and to hold…..with initials carved on November trees
To have and to hold…..when things are no longer the same
To have and to hold…..when cold, tired, and tame
To have and to hold…..when our hearts do grow old
To have and to hold…..wrapped in blankets, in the folds
To have and to hold…..through the 'sound and the fury'
To have and to hold…..till the end of the story
To have and to hold…..when the birds come back home
To have and to hold…..late at night, when alone
To have and to hold…..when crestfallen and sad
To have and to hold…..in all those dreams that we’ve had
To have and to hold…..chasing July and lightening bugs
To have and to hold…..in those old clothes getting hugs
To have and to hold…..in the waves out at sea
To have and to hold…..you and I, you and me

happiness is a first kiss, for a second time~*

[fade out 2:15 pm]

'kissed me quite insane'

"I have never conceived of myself as a rakish man," I said to her from across the small table in that "clean, well lighted place."



The summer was ambling on, in that sheepish, jaunty way that she tends to. I held tight to the mug handle that circumnavigated my finger and stared vigorously into it in search of any sense of dignity and desire. The cream formed shapes within my coffee -- portraying various Rorschach manifestations. What did i see?


that golden crown? that spawn of winter? her eyes, under water? a wilting flower? a lilting hour? a listless girl?


"You are not a rakish man, -- perhaps the word 'brackish' is more becoming of your visage," she responded.


"hmmm, that was very salty of you to say," i said.


Night was falling. calling. falling. We sat freeze-framed at the table as the rest of the patrons were moving in fast-forward. She cleared her throat. Someone's cigarette smoke had found its way from outside to our table. We greeted it with disdain.


Latent desires consumed every awkward movement. Autumn was on her way. Her orange fingers at our feet. She would come to carry me home. soon. home/soon.


*~answered prayers/prayers answered~*


She was suddenly pretty. Her hand smoothed and readjusted her hair, which was partially tied up and partially cascading down. I love when things are askew, unkempt, disheveled. Chaos in a chaotic world. the truth foretold. "She speaks yet she says nothing."


"You are simultaneously so loud and so quiet. You are very outgoing and also very shy." She smirked.


I could not find a clever or truthful way to respond. I examined the lives of so many other people, but I have always neglected to examine my own. I believe that I am quite a linear person. It is as if I have remained unchanged through the years. In my opinion, I am everything that I ever was. nothing more. nevermore. forevermore. allure. the sea and the shore.


Her eyes shined "as daylight doth a lamp...through an airy region...so bright, that birds would sing and think that it were not night."

"I suppose I am like the seasons, I change, yet I always remain the same," I claimed.

"Perhaps," she said, through the most beautiful and natural smile I have ever received.

"I think Persephone has 'kissed me quite insane'," I insisted.

Maybe I will get lucky and be metamophosized into a sunflower. My sole/soul objective being to follow Apollo's chariot burn its way across the sky. The most beautiful routine anyone has ever fathomed.


Would she share such a hope? I wanted to know so much about her. I wanted her to like me for me. Her name was NOT Sara with no "h." I suppose rules were made to be broken. as were hearts~*


I dream in violet. violent. violet. Her sepia ways intrigue my grayscale perspectives. The longing that drips from my eyes compels her to 'breathe water.' Her foot grazed mine beneath the table...i was filled with hysterical shocks of hysterical electricity. A culmination of the "thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to." Our instant tryst lived an entire life in a mere moment in time.

Her hand touched her face.


"Tell me about yourself, I know very little about you. I tend to ramble, but I really want to get to know you," I urged.

"Well, I am a 'traveler of both time and space' just just like yourself. I know it sounds cliche but I am still searching for who I am," she responded.

"Tell you what, I will search for you, if you search for me. When and if we find who each other should be, we can trade, and then everything will be in its right place." I bargained. with the hope of a trillion photons cast through an ancient keyhole.

"hahaha. deal! But, what if i find who you are supposed to be and i REFUSE to give him up?" She asked?

"'That is a consumation devoutly to be wished.' If that happens I will hold who you are supposed to be, captive and then a mystery is born." I exclaimed.

"If you have who I am supposed to be, and I have who you are supposed to be, I guess we cannot stray too far from eachother!" She surmised elegantly.

*~Hearts replaced the stars~* in the sky. I looked directly at her, and then I looked away. I was disarmed. A feeling quite foreign to me. The temperature outside was falling. Just don't leave...please don't leave. A friendship caught on fire~* I was on fire...no lack of oxygen. I need this. I have traveled. I am weathered. I am tired of being too late/early. late. When I was young I had so much to give. I have so much to give. no lack of oxygen...

"A beautiful life that would be." I whispered to her...looking at her with sideways eyes.

"beautiful indeed." She whispered back.

"It is a beautiful rain." I said.

"beautiful indeed." She whispered back.

The rain curtained the outside world. I was safe inside...beneath the constellation shaped like an umbrella that surrounded her. My hand was on my coffee mug. Her hand was on hers. She reached across the synapse between our hands with her tiny finger and placed it upon mine. All of my blood was instantly replaced with molten lava. I lost the ability to speak. to move. to breathe. to sigh. to dream. to sleep. to wake. to live. to die. to crrrrrrrrry. One million bright butterflies were released within my body.

alllllllwwwwwwwwwaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyysssssssssssssssss....

Some moments in life, despite their brevity seem to last forever. I knew the borders of her country. I knew the great divide. I knew the truth. Shakespeare has written that "cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once." I feel as if I have already died a thousand times. What is love, anyway? Is it longevity? Is it a single instance -- a spark? Love changes. Love misleads. Love confuses. Love tempts. Love compels. Love inspires. LoVe leaves. Love never leaves. Love hopes.

"Our life together was soooo pretty," she smiled. crestfallen smile.

her hand still on mine.....

"I imagine it was. " I responded through a sea of stars~*.

______________

born of the Night. Love and Desire. Responsible for the embrace of Heaven and Earth. Psyche. midnight vespers. ravenous. "exit seraphim and Satan's men."
______________

"It is getting late. My boyfriend will be here to pick me up soon." She said.

"I know. I got your coffee, do not worry about it," I informed her.

"Thank you." she exclaimed.

"See you soon?" she asked.

"soon." I said.

I watched her leave. flames inhabiting each footstep. the galaxy compressed~*. I smiled to myself. "life is but a walking shadow...full of sound and fury...signifying nothing."

there was just you and I. you and I. me and you. just me and you. possibility. form/function. this time. all time. your hand in mine. no more walls to climb. hard lines. eyelashes. tangled. the moon. aimless tongues. weathered knees. all those stories. apathy. an analogy. the sand. hemoglobin. bougainvillea leaves. swirly hearts. crayon maps. digital dreams. flour/flower. eros. errors. drying ink. the colour pink. glitter. the dying fire. forever. always. you and me. you and me. neverwas. always have.

forever/never/ever.

you and me.

out. out. brief candle.

[fade out 10:59]

Paper and Morning Sky...

I want the sun to sing,

for the moon to be king.

Within this crowded room,

I will be alone again; too...soon.

I want some sideways rain,

to greet my window pane.

I will never, ever be the same.

What to say?, where to look?, who to blame?

I want all the world’s emotion
to form a rainbow of commotion.

I discovered that my lovely butterfly

was only made of paper and morning sky.

I want no regret or remorse

to taint this late-night discourse.

My fingers will move softly, slowly

across her seas, her eyes look bent on me.

I want the falling snow to taste,

like tiny fingertips and lace,

I hear the whispering, young coquettes

offering to me their honest brunettes.

I want everything to shine.
All paramours bleed turpentine.
The lost and aimless wedding ring,
will not forever yearn for some day in spring,

I DO NOT WANT ANYTHING AT ALL.
Your Ivory kingdom is bound to fall.
There is just no more love to make,
I only want your heart to break.

Only then will you understand,
these cryptic words written on their hands,
Some small-town girl’s lost innocence, by the lake
I want nothing more but for your heart to break.

Where do I go from here?

Where do I put all of this fear?

Memories swirl, and complicate

my path, my divinity, my fate.

I am small, I will rise, and I will fall.
Autumn will always remember my all.
That flower will grow in the same, exact place
where my tears have disappeared without a trace,

A parade of Ing'enues sit by my side,
they each hold my hand and confide,
I am sorry, there is only so much rain I can take,
I only want your heart to break,

I am sooo sorry,

I only want your heart to break...
Please GOD, I want your heart break...
You just deserve for your heart to break...

I only want your heart to break...

[fade out 2:13]

...the more things change.

I said to her, “I had rather a rose than live, forever.”

The air smelled of July, with a hint of August.. It had been three months since the Great Divide. My belly was wearing thin from the inside. It was a feeling. Acclimate. With the humidity we hung between the earth and the sky. Between the sky and the earth. In between hours, in between minutes, in between seconds…..between moments.

I stood idle as she smoked her cigarette. A failed attempt to relinquish such a desperate habit. I had urged her to stop for quite some time, but to no avail. The winds set sail.

“I feel so ugly, so disheveled and unkempt,” I spoke while looking anywhere but her face.

I felt the sides of her mouth begin to rise.

“You were always disheveled and unkempt, but never ugly,” she smirked with a laugh.

“Oh yeah. Right,” I retorted.

There was always something about the summer. It always made me feel safe. As if I was covered in a giant, warm blanket. Covered from the rest of the world., lulled by the hum of air conditioners and silent streets. All of the trees constantly waving and in full regalia. Dressed in their summer’s best. Where the lungs of children, rest.

“How do we reinvent ourselves, while remaining true to our convictions?” I asked. Half expecting a real answer. Not expecting a rational or useful one.

“You just do, and see what happens…ya know? See what feels right.” She responded.

Surprisingly, this made an incredible amount of sense. I felt as if I would have given it supreme credence if the Dalai Lama had said it, but because she had said it, I pretended to dismiss it….without prejudice.

“I always feel, pushed and pulled in a myriad of different directions. Society -- pulling me towards the precipice of conformity [death], and my heart – pulling me further away from anything anyone else would find desirable.” I boldly stated.

“You think they’ll let us out early?” she offered, as if she had not heard a word of what I had just said, or as if she simply did not care.

“I need a new haircut,” I matched her dismissal.

“Yes you do.” She quickly responded, thus winning the verbal jousting with a sharp insult to the heart.

I smiled and silently offered her my congratulations. She is very pretty. Sometimes I notice this and sometimes I do not. It could be the way her face catches the light. I am never pretty in the light. I always prefer the dark. Our evolving friendship overcomes her prettiness. She is worth more to me as friend. I wished this moment would not end. Not because I liked being in her company, but because it was a safe moment. I was far from pain or happenstance. Halfway through the sundial. The war on all sides had be staved off, for the moment. The moment. But, like everything else, it was born to die.

I think that everyone looks pretty at different times. There are many factors that contribute to beauty; light, dark, mood, situation, serotonin, alcohol, vulnerability, exuberance, et al. We have the propensity to be pretty to someone at certain times. Permanence is the bane to this theory. How do we harness such a thing for prolonged periods? Everything is eventual. Love and death.

“You have probably met her already. Like two ships passing in the night.” She proffered.

It was as if God herself had spoke the words.

“…like two ships passing in the night.” I whispered.

I have always been amused with how when people do not have anything in particular to talk about and they are simply standing around wrestling with time, they converse with themselves in their minds. Then, intermittently they speak aloud a fragment of a thought or series of thoughts. A truly beautiful aspect of being human.

“I feel ok, actually. Sometimes I feel greater than I ever have, and others I feel quite despondent, but I suppose these are universal sentiments.” I said to her.

“Yeah, I know. This morning I felt like I was going to throw up every two seconds. It was probably that friggin’ sushi I had at the mall last night. I am never eating there again.” She responded.


The voices of Amsterdam and Belgium whispering in the distance. When I was a great deal younger Tori told me that they “say that things change, my dear.” I suppose they do, but I despise when things change. I am not ready. Not for this. When I was very young I cried for weeks when my mom traded in her old, face encompassing glasses, for new streamlined spectacles. I died for weeks when my parents replaced the old brown shag rug in my room for a new stain-resistant, closely cropped sky blue rug. That old rug was the terrain of my youth. Many memories lived and died on that rug. Many epic battles of youthful imagination were fought upon its surface. Many dreams carried me to far off places as I lay sleeping in its comfort as a child. I saved a piece of that rug, I saved those glasses, that old blanket that they thought they threw out, those broken toys, those scribbled stories, all of those little pieces of things that meant nothing to anyone else but myself. I saved them all and many other things like them. I carry them with me. They are in my Pandora’s box. Waiting to bring me back there…with them.

“People say that ‘the more things change, the more they stay the same,’ but that is not true at all.” I interjected.

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“Well, it seems to me that when most things change, they stay changed. Quite changed. Growing up and getting older is an extremely difficult thing to experience. Letting go of youth and dealing with the harsh realities of life is very disappointing. When we were younger, everything seemed as if it was always ok. The world was so much more beautiful. As children every color was a thousand billion times brighter. As teenagers love and lust painted the world with stars and hearts. At each transition, something is always changed, never to recoil back to more beautiful feelings and times. Change in our lives now…is many times PERMANENT. The hurt of a lost love, is real and permanent. Those grades, permanent. Death, permanent. Aging, permanent. Change is a harbinger of sorrow.” I orated.

“Yeah, it kinda sucks. You suck for saying that, now I miss my dog.” She snorted, rather aggressively as she punched me in the arm.

My father always told me that the dictionary is a very powerful thing. He was right.

And I said, “in Sara’s silence there is something that catches my eye, in Sara’s silence the sunset, never, ever, dies…it never, ever dies…”

“Almost time,” she promptly informed.

“Although it is about perspective. Change, deceptively leading to times of lesser value, can provide opportunity for rectifying wrongs. For answering prayers. For standing up. For inducing action where action was lost. For reinvention. For little children. For remembering the rain. For experiencing the rain again. For aging gracefully. For not “aging” at all. For falling in love. For climbing in esteem. For realizing that failure is sometimes refreshing and necessary. For gaining weight. For losing weight. For taking that trip. For just staying home. For that rising sunset. For holding her hand. For teaching others. For being taught. For making memories. For making amends. For doing silly things. For no regrets. For beginning to understand. For failing to be misinformed. For not caring. For caring too much. For just being ok. For long conversations. For another cup of coffee. For finally respecting your parents. For forgetting those who have broken us. For eventually making peace with change itself.” I exclaimed -- on and off.

“Damnit, my phone died” she grunted, whiled fumbling with her pink, bejeweled cellular telephone.

Things change.

Just then I noticed a red balloon floating in the sky. Wayyy up in the sky. A single red balloon. Bouncing from cloud to cloud. At times it seemed motionless, then it would float onward. It was serenity. I followed it until it became a red blood cell and then invisible.

…maybe they do stay the same…

…sometimes.

Sara with no "h"

There is this girl, her name is Sara with no “h.” I always imagined that we would meet someday. It would be an innocent meeting. By “innocent,” I mean it would be slightly awkward, but she would like me for me, right from the start. Is this that impossible? She would be just like me. She would be nothing at all like me. She would find my inaccuracies and imperfections disarming. Her presence is all I would need. We would both be young, despite our ages. She would respect my inexperience and the lack of fluidness in my movement and demeanor. She would fall. I would fall. We would silently agree to never stop falling. She loves the rain…

There is this girl, her name is Sara with no “h.” She would have a sarcastic personality, but with a sweetness, which is rare today. She would choose bourbon over margaritas. She would listen to her music LOUD!!! She would love being a girl. She would chase the sunset through the rearview mirror. Is it possible to miss a girl, whom I have never met? Is it possible to be desperately in love with someone whom I do not even know exists? She would be very loud. She would be very quiet. So loud/quiet , so quiet/loud. Her hair would be crazy sometimes, but just sometimes. She would understand that I have a lot of trouble being myself. She would know that I have loved so much. She would love that I was very damaged and that I cannot find all of the pieces of my heart. She would love that I cry.

There is this girl, her name is Sara with no “h.” She would know many things. She would know nothing at all. She would be so laid-back as to be dreaming at all times. She would be carefree and teach me to be carefree. She loves dogs. She would yell at me when I deserved to be yelled at. She would yell at me when I did not deserve to be yelled at. She would love to get dirrty. She would be imperfect. She would be perfect. She would love her life more than her job/money/education. She would love love more than her life. She would hate to dance. She would love to dance. She would not care that I hate to dance. She would let me sheepishly ask her to teach me how to dance, but never make me dance against my will.

There is this girl, her name is Sara with no “h.” She would stay up all night long, and get up very early in the morning. She would prefer pajamas to regular clothing. She would love to be huggedandhuggedandhuggedandhuggedandhuggedandhuggggggggggggggged. She would love the seasons. She would love autumn. She would never be embarrassed. She would love mixtapes and she would make me mixtapes. She would pretend to love my mixtapes. She would tell me when she hated my mixtapes. She would never get too worried. She would always be standing in the doorway. She would love for the world to be pretty. She would help me try to make the world pretty.

There is this girl, her name is Sara with no “h.” She would let me love her. She would let me die for her. She would let me live for her. She would love flowers. She would be thoughtful and creative. She would love children. She would think that I was handsome. She would have drastically different political views than me. We would spend our lives trying to convince the other that we each loved the other more. Our life together would shape us. She would need me. I would need her. She would want me. I would want her. She would be intrigued and amused by my valiant attempts at being poetic. She would vigorously defend poesy.

There is this girl, her name is Sara with no “h.” She would be SOOO spontaneous, fearless, hopeless, clumsy, happy, dramatic, enigmatic, and fragile. She would not care. She would sing a lullaby to every single star in the sky. She would be afraid of something, but not other things. She would spin a thousand times a second. She would get dizzy. She would fall down. She would force me to come over very late at night. She would never let me leave. she would NEVER let me leave. She would have no expectations. She would have great expectations. She would find me. She would let me find her. She would go out of he way to touch my hand. She would love her bed.

There is this girl, her name is Sara with no “h.” I love her sooooooo much. I do not know what she looks like. I do not know where she lives. I do not know what color her hair is. I do not know her favorite food. I do not know what makes her laugh or what makes her cry. I do not know her hopes and her dreams. I do not know if she lives or if she died. I know her better than I know anyone else in the world. I know that everyday I rise from my bed with the hope and anticipation of meeting her. I know that I love her. Wherever you are Sara with no “h,” whomever you are Sara with no “h” please know that I am waiting for you. I will be here when you are ready. When you are we can begin. Until then, be happy. I am constantly dreaming impossible things for you. I am constantly planning our future. I am constantly thinking of ways to make you smile. I am constantly falling, that mighty backwards fall, for you. For you. For you. For you. For you. For you. For you. For you. For you.

Oh and Sara with no “h,” it is ok if you name contains an “h.” Sarah(appiness), Sarah(ope), Sarah(allowed be thy name), Sarah(elloandgoodbye), Sarah(opscotch), Sarah(ome), Sarah(oly), Sarah(apless), Sarah(elps), Sarah(umble), Sarah(oldme), Sarah(andinhand)…it is even ok if your name is not even sara(h) at all.

Asleep

"sing me to sleep
sing me to sleep, I'm tired and I want to go to bed,
sing me to sleep
sing me to sleep

and then leave me alone
dont try to wake me in the morning, because I will be gone,
dont feel bad for me, I want you to know...
deep in the cell of my heart, I will feel so glad to go...

Sing me to sleep

Sing me to Sleep

I dont want to wake up on my own anymore...

Sing to me...

Sing to me....

There is another world,

There is a better world....

There must be....

well......there must be.........

Well............................there must be.................

Wellll......................................there must be....................

well................................................."

In Praise of Socks.

There are many aspects of life that have become so routine that we as a culture, and as a species tend to overlook the value that they afford. I have often mentioned the ubiquitous sun, moon, stars~*, and rain, but there are a myriad of other examples that prove to be equally as powerful. Today, I will focus on those which provide protection, warmth, security, support, solace, and offer a medium for self-expression as "God shuffles His feet." I am referring to, SOCKS of course.

Socks are present in a seemingly unlimited variety of sizes, styles, colors, and designs. They provide warmth from the cold, and protection (from blisters and the harsh terrain of the world) in the heat. they are indispensable to the human race, but to most people socks are an invisible and under-appreciated constituent of their daily routines. Commonly, socks are treated as the second-class citizens of our wardrobes. They are mixed, matched, lost, forgotten, ripped, sewed, stepped on, used as cleaning devices, and completely overlooked. It is difficult to argue with the sentiment that putting on socks which are immediately retrieved from the dryer on a bleak winter's night could end wars, quash suffering, inspire epics, or manifest smiles (just to name a few).

I have often noted that there are so many roads in life that lead us to our eventual destinations. Our lives are defined by the journeys we take along these roads. During the vast majority of these journeys it is our feet that lead the way and the socks upon those feet that carry us "home."

I am sure that George Washington was wearing socks when he traversed the cold New Jersey terrain en route to his headquarters in Morristown. I would bet that Thomas Jefferson was wearing socks (mostly) when he penned the Declaration of Independence. I might even venture a guess to say that Julius Caesar had his Roman feet clothed in somewhat of a stocking when he and his army crossed the Rubicon: "Alia Iacta [Sockus]" (he could not wear sandals all the time?). Mick Jagger most likely wore socks as he rocked the world over (albeit ugly socks, and sometimes socks may have been the ONLY article of clothing he was wearing). Perhaps if brave Achilles was wearing a supportive pair of tube socks (undoubtedly as his mother lovingly reminded him) his infamous heel may have been spared. As Shakespeare sat by the fire eternally conveying Romeo's dying love for Juliet (and forever changing man/womankind's perspective on love) I am sure that socks warmed his feet and his heart~* Finally, when King Richard the Lion-Hearted marched his army out of the Holy Land during the 4th Crusade only to later return in search of the crucifix upon which Jesus Christ had died, it was most definately because he forgot his socks at HOME!

I love my socks. My new socks, my old socks, my tall socks, my short socks, my socks with holes (skylights for my toes), my socks with white seams, my socks with red seams, my socks with designs, my plain old white socks, EVEN my electric socks. WHen i was born the first article of clothes that adorned my fragile premature body was a pair of tiny, blue socks. When I die, they will have to remove a pair of socks from my clinging feet. As "I walk through the valley of the shadow of death" it is my humble and supreme wish that I am wearing socks, but not wet socks, I HATE WET SOCKS!

So this post is dedicated to socks all over the world! Thank you for all that you do! Everyone appreciates you, even if they do not acknowledge it. Although you are always down around my feet, I will always look UP to you!!!

Falling Stars~* caught in my Eyelashes...

She came to me, her voice trembling with the velocity of a plucked cello string.

"My heart is sooo broken." she said.

It was mid-June. We were beneath the street light. As a child I was always fascinated with how each street light, reaching high into the trees, cast its light on the same leaves, every night, all night -- each year--for decades. Like those leaves, a select few, were members of an exclusive society. protected, or exposed --by the light. I wanted to be one of those leaves. i wanted to leave. i wanted to be in the light amongst the dark.

"Joey, did you hear me? My heart...it is SOOO broken."

I did, in fact, hear her. I heard her truth, quite clearly. A truth not very disimilar to the truths I had become accostomed to. I had instinctively, innocently, retreated into the blissful blanket of my youth. To escape her plea. It was my achilles heel. achilles heal. achille heel.

"JOEY!!! You always have so much to say...you always make me feel better!?! I need you, Joey, i need you now." She trailed off into a whisper.

Or was it just the night breeze? Strange things are carried on the breeze in the summer night. Sirens from afar, lovers' whispers, silent prayers, the hum and murmur of the summer insects, the fragile, indestructable sounds of teenagers creating themselves...I always had the ability to say the right things to help others cope with their tribulations. I could soothe their souls. None of them really knew. I could trace the roads on a map of the human heart, but I could not even help myself. To her I was an omniscient being. I always appeared to have complete control over human emotions. I could see behind the smoke and mirrors that obscured the path to happiness. But, not tonight. She found the crack in my boat. She stumbled upon my "undiscovered country."

"Joey, you know how I feel. Tell me the world is still beautiful, tell me that the sun, the moon, the stars, and the rain, will always be there to provide me ---uh, and you, with solace. TELL ME? What is wrong? You always said that love finds a way...you said love is more powerful, DIDN't YOU? Cmon...say something...bring me back...wrap your wings around me...."

Depraved Heart Murder. Under the commonlaw it is defined as a murder commited with “an abandoned and malignant heart”, “a wicked disposition”, “hardness of heart”, “an extreme and reckless disregard for human decency and human regard." It requires a mens rea without intent. It is an unintential murder, involuntary. It happens when a person acts with complete recklessness and indifference to another person. Figuratively, people commit depraved heart murders all the time. When they murder another person's hopes, dreams, lives, happiness, plans, expectations, rainbows, desires. Perhaps it is unintentional, but commited with an "abandoned and malignant heart." I had been the victim of depraved heart murder. Many others have felt the sting of a cracked and broken heart. I had nothing to offer her. As I lay dying, painting my futile escape in the blood still leaking from my eyes and from my chest through an invisible wound. A wound barely held together by a butterfly stitch. by a butterfly kiss.

"it's getting cold. My coffee is cold. My stomach hurts all the time -- every day. I have not slept in weeks. I have nightmares...nightmares of wonderful memories shattered. Joey, save me, help me...please."

I do believe in death, because I too, have loved. Falling stars were caught in my eyelashes. All i could see was the light. I stared into this girl's little hurt girl eyes. My lips parted...but like a child, caught in the wrath of pavor nocturnus, I could only manage a strained internal breath. I was not ready yet. I was still bleeding. bleeding stars, through healing scars...

"I...just...can't. I just feel so powerless..I..." she began to cry. just a little bit.

I experienced a crescendo of feeling. Like being overcome by the tide. I wanted to tell her that everything is eventual. pain is eventual, sadness is eventual, love & lust are eventual. everything is eventual. The air was mangled, her hair was mangled. I wanted to hold her like a baby. with baby's breath. I wanted to wrap her in the warm night sky. I wanted to recite every Shakespearean sonnet to rescue all the love in the world. I wanted to give her a little piece of myself. A piece of my broken heart.

"My mother told me to move on. She said that time heals everything, that I have so much promise...she does not understand how I feel." she stuttered.

Move on? We do not move on. cliches never healed anyone. We move WITH. If only we could sever the ribbon that connects our hearts to our minds. Impossible. We have to find our own way through the unhearts....through the persistence of memories that swirl and whir always, around us. That spin with gentle intermingling like smoke rising in the night sky. Will they not fade away? not fade away...away....

"Why aren't you saying anything? You always have so much hope. Tonight you are silent just staring. Hand me your flannel coat. Im cold. Where have your been?"

_______

"all by all and deep by deep

and more by more they dream their sleep

noone and anyone earth by april

wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men.

summer autumn winter spring

reaped their sowing and went their came

sun moon stars rain."

_______

"Joey, your hair looks nice like that. You look nice in the night. I am not used to you being so quiet. You deserve the world, you deserve a love that would outshine the sun. I am so sorry if all of this has caused you to re-experience any pain. I just thought you would have something to say...something beautiful, something pretty."

For all of the meek living victims of depraved heart murder, I remain steadfast in my commitment to raise my proud flag. that flag, our flag, which is a million miles long and a million miles wide bearing a giant heart~* sewn with the whispered dreams of our pure intentions. with our good graces...with our gentle glances...with our timid breathing...I will make others fall before me with the intensity of my eyes, with the intensity of my ability to love...lovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovemeloveloveloveyoulovelovelovelovelovelovelovelove...She will overcome.

"I will be ok...right? nothing is as bad as it seems at the time. i know it...my heart just feels so heavy...my limbs feel like they weigh a thousand pounds...i feel like i can't even walk.

JOEY, my heart is soooo broken...

...it's sooo broken...my heart is so broken...please say something, just say anything..." she barely breathed the last words out.

At that moment, I felt stronger than i have ever had. all of my past identities hung before me, carried on the wings of the summer night's fireflies...blinking and shining blinking and shining...My heart was filling up with liquid love. So many beautiful girls...shaped like perfect violins. I felt the hysterical shocks of electricity pulse through my nerves and cells. I was again a child with all the wonder of a world unknown, I was a teenager inspired by the sheer excitement of forever and always, I was a harvester of poetry, I was a young lover, I was a broken hearted romantic endlessly reciting little black lovesick valentines. I was all of the stars~* reflected in the sea hundreds of miles from land, I was a little girl's summer sneeze, a small boy's skinned summer knees, I was the secret summer kiss behind the evening barn, I was the innocent holding hands when no one was looking, I was the red balloon passed from hand to hand, I was the streaming tear dividing that perfect face, I was her perfect hair blowing in that perfect breeze, I was that elder lover clutching at the escaping sand, I was that fierce sun burning the yearning summer ground, I was that quiet moon whispering those softly spoken lullabies, I was those pretend flowers that never died, I was those untrue confessions that never lied, I was that august night that never ended, I was that beautiful memory that has long since faded, I was that unsure cynic on the brink of death, I was that accomplished aesthetic who had truly lived, I was that heroic soothsayer who truly died, I was that sensitive man who always cried, I was the chasing love behind that departing train, I was the screaming one standing in the summer rain....

I suddenly had the answer, I found the words to say what a broken heart cannot say. Trembling with hope and passion and love, I looked up at her. Her eyes open, inviting, waiting with baited breath....

I breathed in deeply and released the billion stars that were waiting behind my eyes and mouth...

"Joey?!?" she exclaimed with the joy and hope of forever of always...

My lips parted....I placed my hand in the small of her back, and brushed the hair from her eyes....

"Let's go inside, I will make you some tea, and we can sit along the fire and talk about tomorrow." I spoke with serenity.

She looked up at me with much contentment and a growing smile and said, "Yeah, that sounds really nice."

________

"a wind has blown the rain away and blown

the sky away and all the leaves away,

and the trees stand. I think i too have known autumn too long

...the trees stand:

The trees, suddenly wait against the moon's face."

[fade out 9:52 pm]

The Rain & Pajamas

People should care more about the rain & about pajamas than they do about stocks & statutes...~*

[fade out 11:08 am]

*~Destination Constellation~*

"to hold the flower i cant keep." something sorrowed something blue, something hopeful, me and you....
when we were young, everything seemed different....in the summer the sun seemed more orange, everything seemed more orange....in winter the snowflakes seemed much bigger...the night seemed more unlimited...the cracks in the pavement seemed more meaningful...a rainstorm smelled impossible...its all about the after glow...sleepovers stole our hearts...and the most pain we suffered was upon hearing our parents yell to us from up the street to come home for the night...youth...unlimited imagination, unlimited beauty...indestructible...was it the chemicals between us...those life-affirming chemicals....hormones...was it the age of innocence? incense? intents?
that first kiss...the world moved so fast...and so slow....in every direction...explosions of color, lust, pain, happiness...falling through the evening...it was never later than we thought...i was much later than we thought...you seemed so tired? a day's past retired...all of those hearts....tucked deep inside our beds....all of those ideas frozen in our heads...
the world was a painted canvas...the sun glued to the sky...the moon a flashlight for the vampires...the street a river dividing my house from their house, from your house, to their house...our bodies so fragile...that first kiss....innocent...free from the stain of adult corruption and lascivious intentions...that first kiss...we could not get that smile to leave our face...smiles for miles and miles and miles....
a sea-change~* it is never too late to see life as we used to...adulthood and all the deafening silence that shadows the wonder of youth is only a mere cataract in the eyes of misguided and yearning people who have been led astray...our eye discourses...i will follow it...that street, that sun, that moon, that rain, those stars...that summer, that winter, they are always there. they did not leave...our purpose, our innocence, left....catch the light...we need a sea-change...we should have, we could have...................remember that hiding place? remember that secret space? remember that destination, that constellation? destination constellation. the night will embrace us...and hold us until we remember how to be...to be...we can still be afraid of vampires...vampyres...it is still dark...sea-change...we need a sea-change...the sound of a million violins sighing....pull your covers over your head...that universe is still there...IT remembers YOU...forgetting when, remember how...fall beneath the waterline...a sea-change...

everything has begun and ended,
always is about to begin,
forever lies with the sunset in tomorrow~*

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands.

"(forgetting me, remember me)" Is there anything prettier than the changing of the seasons? i almost feel that just as my interest in one season begins to wane, another one is either ascending or descending.
F
a
l
l
i
n
g

That mighty backwards fall. into the arms of that...girl. that girl? that girl...i do not know if you noticed that i used the word "prettier" above, instead of "beautiful." Perhaps "beautiful" is overused today, rendering it, well, not as "beautiful" as it once was. The word "pretty" seems simpler, more powerful...timeless. Ernest Hemingway knew the value of this word when he chose to end The Sun Also Rises with what might be the greatest closing line of any novel, "wouldn't it be pretty to think so?" Mr. Hemingway quite deliberately, and quite brilliantly chose that word.
Spring appears to have arrived. Just in time. in time. time. thyme. just one more cup of coffee for the road. one more cup of coffee 'fore i go, "to the valley below." whirlpools and bougainvillea pedals. in losing her i found myself. i will find myself. i found myself. there are so many roads in life. so many roads that lead to the human heart. so many roads that will lead us to our eventual destination. so many roads...
answered prayers are prayers answered~* what will become of me? what will become of you? what will become of us when we are old and gray? is it useless to think about it? i wonder if we create our own destiny. Shakespeare wrote "there's a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew it as we may." this divinity certainly is not always paved with tulip pedals and raindrops. sometimes our future seems to be as black as the soles of satan's feet. lined with people whose souls are as black as the soles of satan's feet. a saint i ain't. but i do set my heart to the "controls of the sun." tomorrow is saturday mourning. girl x. will you love me for all of my light? will you love me for all of my dark? perspective. one day. with your hand in my hand, we will walk alone, along that tree bend. "wouldn't it be pretty to think so?"
[fade out 8:59 pm]

A Heart that Beats as both Syphon and Reservoir...

Let us begin… how does one initiate living his or her life in the digital age filled with digital ghosts? I suppose that one impetus that a person might use to chronicle his or her life on the internet is the fact that they have reached a crossroads in life and are seeking an outlet to express themselves in the hope of receiving solace. Perhaps that is what has led me here. my life begins again today. this moment. this second. exit under cobalt skies. i did not exist until exactly 17 seconds ago. life, happiness, sadness, joy, and pain, it is all about perspective. Life with all of its truths and consequences continues to move forward as does the sea, “she goes forth out of hands and she returns into hands .”

i think that we redefine ourselves many times throughout our lives. sometimes voluntarily, sometimes involuntarily. it could be a beautiful metamorphosis. our subjective perspective acts like a prism through which the light of experience refracts and bends throughout time and space. it is the little things that matter most, nothing in life is trivial. that may sound very cliché, but the sentiment is so very true. when she wears that dress, it feels like the galaxy compressed. a single glance. a hopeful smile. a paper heart. a summer’s night. a winter’s moon. a new friend. the bitter end. there is beauty even in tragedy. the beauty of that limitless new possibility of the unknown. the topography of the human heart is inconsistent at best. i feel, evolutionarily speaking, that life is circular and that the structure of the human brain is analogous to not only other pheno- and genotypically evolved traits but to the intangible, existential road of a lifetime. the localization of function. the ability to recover. the heart, literally and figuratively, is simultaneously the strongest and weakest human element; it is at times able to withstand the fury of a thousand hurricanes or it can break upon the suggestion of a breeze. a second in time, is that measured in the same manner as the width of a single synapse? It is all about perspective.

in the United States of Conformity, the country where I live, people are always trying to convince each other how lonely or crestfallen they are. this despicable sentiment diffuses itself throughout our entire society, infecting all of us with a disease to which no one is immune. we have to transcend this. Life at any moment presents itself as a harvester of opportunity and possibility. there exist so many things that are bigger than we are. at this very moment a flower is opening in the Amazon, a Sperm Whale and Giant Squid (architeuthus dux) are engaged in a mortal combat in the icy waters of the Antarctic. Perspective arms each and every one of us with the ability to take up arms against insincerity or malady. The world personified - My weeping willow turns into a heart and breaks.
all that we have is time. we can persist for a century or expire tomorrow, and in “that sleep of death” we do not know “what dreams may come.” so please, as you read this, take pause, look around yourself, find the beauty that IS there and say, “well isn’t this nice?” There are elements that are always there to offer comfort and happiness; the sun, the moon, the stars~*, the rain. Life and happiness (true self-actualization) is all a matter of perspective. Mr. Thoreau has wisely noted that “the sun shines just as brightly on the alms house, as on the rich man’s abode.” You can take MY words and cast them off as pretentious rambling, but beware truth does lie within. this i promise you.

Perspective. My life is not as perfect has I had always hoped that it would be at this point, but as i lay here drowning…i learned to breathe water. i will not remain a dull flame. breathe water. in promethean unity i entreat a million cowboys to light their fires. there is a light within me that “will never go out.” we are all in need of a heart that beats as both “syphon and reservoir” to retain all of the blissful memories and discard of the useless happenstance. True Love and true friendship are like the seasons, they change, yet they always remain the same. Perspective. I did not know how best to introduce myself. the above meandering is the only way I know how. That is I. breate water~* As I whisper to you…
“and is with sleep….

love,
the breaking

of your
soul
upon
my lips”

[fade out 11:02 pm]