Well, hello everybody,
In my heart, I have always considered myself a writer. I write constantly, and in high volume. But it has always been for myself only - for my own therapy, or amusement, release of insanity, or the simple need to be creative. I've never shared it with anyone, for so many reasons. Some logical and some reeeeally illogical.
For my entire adult life, my doubt and insecurity led me to shred and destroy (literally burn) hundreds of journals with countless numbers of poems and writings. It was therapeutic to burn the pages where I fought depression by emptying my troubled mind onto paper. But for my creative endeavors, I simply didn't think they were good enough to share, so I unceremoniously threw them in the fire too. I would read amazing books by amazing authors and think, "I'm not a writer. I can't do that." It's been the only goal in my life to which I have consistently, time and time again, given up.
So while I may have written 7,000 pieces, what I have now is about 10. Not because these were set aside as the best, or my favorites, but because I typed them on the computer, saved them to a folder and forgot about them. It will be hard not to notice that besides "The Chateau," these were written around the same time, a few years back, in the throws of a bad depression. Which, thankfully, the writing helped me to control.
I only share these (few) writings now because I have always believed that art needs no purpose except to be of pleasure, need, survival, or expression to the artist. And it's with that spirit that I finally shed this suffocating skin to behave as I believe. Also, I dream of being a writer and my dream will not stay quiet any longer. I want to be a writer in practice, not just in my heart. Perhaps I will fail badly, but perhaps not. Either way, I am exhausted by my not trying.
So, I've thrown these past remnants of my writing onto this blog, and from here on out, I have no goal for this site except a house for my rambling thoughts and writings and dreams. Although it is a completely selfish act, I do hope that you enjoy what I share.
Toodles!
Friday, October 17, 2014
"The Chateau," cont.
In the cold, damp mornings, she can always find him with pup in the garden. A close resemblance to the neighboring bourgeoisie gardens, but whose rigidity and structure were long ago blended into loose borders and happily spreading grasses. He walks through the trodden pebble paths with no great purpose but to be present and lightly thoughtful. Always humbled by the natural wonders around him and never missing a chance to take a deep breath. He takes his time, always.
A small limestone bench sits at the far end of the garden, happily and almost completely hidden by purple and yellow wildflowers. He pauses here at times...revisiting favorite passages from a worn down book, or embarking on new adventures from crisper pages.
Though he never sits for too long. Always calmly anxious to move through his surroundings. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with pup. And sometimes with her on his arm, laughing and loving and observing the green infinity around them
A small limestone bench sits at the far end of the garden, happily and almost completely hidden by purple and yellow wildflowers. He pauses here at times...revisiting favorite passages from a worn down book, or embarking on new adventures from crisper pages.
Though he never sits for too long. Always calmly anxious to move through his surroundings. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with pup. And sometimes with her on his arm, laughing and loving and observing the green infinity around them
An Exercise - "The Chateau, Part 1"
I read once that a good way to practice writing was to take one still frame of a movie, and turn it into an environment of your own. "The Chateau" was this part of this exercise, to a still frame from Gosford Park. Though I certainly want to revisit these at some point.
____________________________________________________________________
He walks barefoot on imperfect, uneven hardwood floors, carrying a mug of coffee, walking from the kitchen to the piano. Completely engrossed in the music playing in his head. He sits down and tousles the hair of the quietly snoring pup, who slowly gets pushed aside as the bench he's sleeping against is pulled back. He sits, and disappears into the keys.
Tink, tink tink on the panes, a distracted rain! He walks excitedly to the tall windows, pulls on the black wooden handle and nudges one open to hear the rain pouring outside. A beautiful overgrown green landscape, with rolling hills of the English countryside. The rain is coming down so hard in the distance that it looks like a solid gray sheet. The rain is damaging the already worn iron chairs on the nearby patio, which are certain to never be replaced. Quite purposefully.
The home is drafty, underlit, and under decorated, but not uncared for in the least. There is an admiration and attention in the open and sparsely furnished spaces, left alone and not burdened by unnecessary trinkets. Everything has a purpose, even the blankness. The home never gets in its own way of a pleasant situation.
He is happy here. Calm, and perfect, and continuously inspired. Without him, the house is large, spacious, old and rundown. Stark. But as he walks through the rooms, the house warms with his steps, and personality spreads from the walls. It is simple, beautiful, peaceful.
He makes the house a wonderland.
And in the library down the hall, she sits reading, listening to the patter of rain and the interrupted sessions of piano music.
____________________________________________________________________
He walks barefoot on imperfect, uneven hardwood floors, carrying a mug of coffee, walking from the kitchen to the piano. Completely engrossed in the music playing in his head. He sits down and tousles the hair of the quietly snoring pup, who slowly gets pushed aside as the bench he's sleeping against is pulled back. He sits, and disappears into the keys.
Tink, tink tink on the panes, a distracted rain! He walks excitedly to the tall windows, pulls on the black wooden handle and nudges one open to hear the rain pouring outside. A beautiful overgrown green landscape, with rolling hills of the English countryside. The rain is coming down so hard in the distance that it looks like a solid gray sheet. The rain is damaging the already worn iron chairs on the nearby patio, which are certain to never be replaced. Quite purposefully.
The home is drafty, underlit, and under decorated, but not uncared for in the least. There is an admiration and attention in the open and sparsely furnished spaces, left alone and not burdened by unnecessary trinkets. Everything has a purpose, even the blankness. The home never gets in its own way of a pleasant situation.
He is happy here. Calm, and perfect, and continuously inspired. Without him, the house is large, spacious, old and rundown. Stark. But as he walks through the rooms, the house warms with his steps, and personality spreads from the walls. It is simple, beautiful, peaceful.
He makes the house a wonderland.
And in the library down the hall, she sits reading, listening to the patter of rain and the interrupted sessions of piano music.
Talk To Me (Dec, 2009)
I won't tell you I need you today
But I need you, I need you...
My soul collapsed this morning
I'm frightened to let you know,
to watch your eyes scan the horizon
while the truth spills behind your back
Talk to me of things that matter
Please, I beg of you today
Don't forecast the coming snowstorms
And talk of travel and holiday plans
Funny fucking dog stories and cats that snore
And Christmas recipes you adore
Gift frustrations and last minute searches
Cause I don't care, I don't care.
Talk to me of things that matter,
Save me from this space of nothing,
Tell me what you're thinking -
Why you love what you love
How you hurt when you hurt
Passions tucked behind your wall
all of it, that's all I want, just all of it...
to soak in the truths of you
Talk to me of things that matter,
Close my eyes to everything but you
Speak of fingertips tracing warm skin
and lips searching through sensations
of blissful tears crawling down my cheek,
and voices whispering in the darkness
Feel the shudders that flow through me
when distance is closed with a gaze.
Speak of what matters, or don't speak at all.
But I need you, I need you...
My soul collapsed this morning
I'm frightened to let you know,
to watch your eyes scan the horizon
while the truth spills behind your back
Talk to me of things that matter
Please, I beg of you today
Don't forecast the coming snowstorms
And talk of travel and holiday plans
Funny fucking dog stories and cats that snore
And Christmas recipes you adore
Gift frustrations and last minute searches
Cause I don't care, I don't care.
Talk to me of things that matter,
Save me from this space of nothing,
Tell me what you're thinking -
Why you love what you love
How you hurt when you hurt
Passions tucked behind your wall
all of it, that's all I want, just all of it...
to soak in the truths of you
Talk to me of things that matter,
Close my eyes to everything but you
Speak of fingertips tracing warm skin
and lips searching through sensations
of blissful tears crawling down my cheek,
and voices whispering in the darkness
Feel the shudders that flow through me
when distance is closed with a gaze.
Speak of what matters, or don't speak at all.
Friday, October 10, 2014
The Unwelcome Guest - June 2010
Oh, your voice is all too familiar. It's been a while, yes? since you last haunted my thoughts. I welcome you as an unwanted guest. An old friend I haven't the courage to turn away. My mind is a comfortable home for you...I've kept your room just as you left it. Messy and disorganized, chaotic destruction, but a snug fit for you, we both agree. Let me undo the lock...I don't let anyone in when you're away.
But I know...you never really travel far.
You always return. Uninvited. Unannounced. The sudden, unyielding darkness you bring feels like a warm blanket, and I curl up inside as you unpack your trunk. Eagerly...quickly...spilling paranoia, fear, panic and crippling anxiety into all the empty spaces you can find. You are a poison I've not yet learned to cure. A disease whose immunity I've never developed. Your poisonous voice breaks all connections, destroys moments, steals chances, questions alliances, decimates walls and burns through trust like wildfire. All of your wretched insanity spills out of me in warm, streaming tears and pounding fists.
You have ruined me today, and I cannot take it back.
But don't get too comfortable, old friend. My weapons are slippery and weak, and I feel myself a sloppy fighter. Unpredictable and messy. But I'll have my grasp soon enough and I will ride your wave. I've more patience than you. You will never get the best of me. You are a joke and a weak army that will always wave the white flag. A blanket whose fibers will dissolve into thin air. You have drowned me in your nonsense, but do not pull the blinds just yet. You will soon be on your way, and good riddance.
But don't go too far.
You are an old friend...after all.
But I know...you never really travel far.
You always return. Uninvited. Unannounced. The sudden, unyielding darkness you bring feels like a warm blanket, and I curl up inside as you unpack your trunk. Eagerly...quickly...spilling paranoia, fear, panic and crippling anxiety into all the empty spaces you can find. You are a poison I've not yet learned to cure. A disease whose immunity I've never developed. Your poisonous voice breaks all connections, destroys moments, steals chances, questions alliances, decimates walls and burns through trust like wildfire. All of your wretched insanity spills out of me in warm, streaming tears and pounding fists.
You have ruined me today, and I cannot take it back.
But don't get too comfortable, old friend. My weapons are slippery and weak, and I feel myself a sloppy fighter. Unpredictable and messy. But I'll have my grasp soon enough and I will ride your wave. I've more patience than you. You will never get the best of me. You are a joke and a weak army that will always wave the white flag. A blanket whose fibers will dissolve into thin air. You have drowned me in your nonsense, but do not pull the blinds just yet. You will soon be on your way, and good riddance.
But don't go too far.
You are an old friend...after all.
Thursday, October 9, 2014
Diving In - May, 2010
I'm in a white room, leaning on a white wall...I look untouched, my face a blank canvas. The curtain to my eyes is wide open and vulnerability spills out from their depths.
As my eyes watch you enter, they follow your movements as you discover the white walls around me. Splayed across the room are pictures of my soul, hauntings of my darkest moments, secret desires, late discoveries, seas of confusion and despair offset with bright lights of explored heights. Against the wall, I am scared...because your face doesn't change. And you aren't saying a word. But you're looking, and reading, and studying, and absorbing, and touching...everything you see.
The room becomes as unfamiliar to me as the presence of someone in it. I think to run and hide, but my emptied depth keeps me against that wall. As you turn to leave, your eyes meet mine. You see me..just me...nothing else left to distract, and I can't hide my need for you anymore.
Suddenly, for a brief glance, your eyes let me in. I see faint echoes of what I've just done, and shadows of its meaning to you...and I feel that no words will ever come from that place I just saw. And as quickly as you let me in, you close me out and I'm back to swimming at your blue gates.
All of the immediate unknowns pile around me and fill me with fear. I look away from you and close my eyes in shame, unsure of what I've shown you and my trust to leave it with you. I feel you...you've come near me, and my teary eyes look up to you once more. Without a word, you hold my face for only a few seconds and then you're up and gone.
As I watch the door close behind you, I feel the room fill with water...washing the walls away and sweeping me into peaceful blue waters. Finally. Finally. Finally.
I took a dive...and damn...it feels good.
As my eyes watch you enter, they follow your movements as you discover the white walls around me. Splayed across the room are pictures of my soul, hauntings of my darkest moments, secret desires, late discoveries, seas of confusion and despair offset with bright lights of explored heights. Against the wall, I am scared...because your face doesn't change. And you aren't saying a word. But you're looking, and reading, and studying, and absorbing, and touching...everything you see.
The room becomes as unfamiliar to me as the presence of someone in it. I think to run and hide, but my emptied depth keeps me against that wall. As you turn to leave, your eyes meet mine. You see me..just me...nothing else left to distract, and I can't hide my need for you anymore.
Suddenly, for a brief glance, your eyes let me in. I see faint echoes of what I've just done, and shadows of its meaning to you...and I feel that no words will ever come from that place I just saw. And as quickly as you let me in, you close me out and I'm back to swimming at your blue gates.
All of the immediate unknowns pile around me and fill me with fear. I look away from you and close my eyes in shame, unsure of what I've shown you and my trust to leave it with you. I feel you...you've come near me, and my teary eyes look up to you once more. Without a word, you hold my face for only a few seconds and then you're up and gone.
As I watch the door close behind you, I feel the room fill with water...washing the walls away and sweeping me into peaceful blue waters. Finally. Finally. Finally.
I took a dive...and damn...it feels good.
To My Fears - April, 2010
It's time, you know, to find a more willing home
You've overstayed your welcome and now must go
You deserve more, it's what we always say
Why would you stay where you're pushed away
You've overstayed your welcome and now must go
You deserve more, it's what we always say
Why would you stay where you're pushed away
An Absence I've Longed For - March, 2010
If I wrap it up tight enough,
close my eyes as I throw it,
will this fear inside of me
let the passing wind blow it
to far away places
I know nothing about
where it stays for eternity
and never comes out?
But wait, before you go
tell me what will I do
on the days I am lonely
and looking for you?
Will you return when I call you
to this place you know well?
Take me hostage again
in this self confined hell?
Or just leave me alone
to feel the pain of release
An absence I've longed for
I just want some peace
close my eyes as I throw it,
will this fear inside of me
let the passing wind blow it
to far away places
I know nothing about
where it stays for eternity
and never comes out?
But wait, before you go
tell me what will I do
on the days I am lonely
and looking for you?
Will you return when I call you
to this place you know well?
Take me hostage again
in this self confined hell?
Or just leave me alone
to feel the pain of release
An absence I've longed for
I just want some peace
Emptiness - March, 2010
I stand hunched over this hole inside of me
Leaning heavily on the worn handle
Just leave me be. I am trying, don't you see?
I have shoveled myself to exhaustion
Please stop dropping my life inside
this hole we have dug so deep
Stop counting the blessings of my life,
stop handing me excuses to fill the void.
Nothing thrives in that darkness except nothing.
Now walk away, it's already full, you see,
this heaping mound of emptiness
Quote Collection - "Just"
From "Finding Neverland"
- When James is pretending his dog, Porthos, is a bear, and is dancing with him in the park for the Davies family
Peter: "This is absurd. It's just a dog."
James: "Just a dog? *Just*? Porthos dreams of being a bear, and you want to shatter those dreams by saying he's *just* a dog? What a horrible candle-snuffing word. That's like saying, 'He can't climb that mountain, he's just a man,' or 'That's not a diamond, it's just a rock.' Just."
- When James is pretending his dog, Porthos, is a bear, and is dancing with him in the park for the Davies family
Peter: "This is absurd. It's just a dog."
James: "Just a dog? *Just*? Porthos dreams of being a bear, and you want to shatter those dreams by saying he's *just* a dog? What a horrible candle-snuffing word. That's like saying, 'He can't climb that mountain, he's just a man,' or 'That's not a diamond, it's just a rock.' Just."
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