Are you still listening?

Words. They sometimes flow smoothly through my head. Bringing real life, to fake life. And understanding to void. Or do I have them reversed? Well, I like them anyway. Regardless. The sound. Of it. Writing. When it isn’t forced. When it is passive, and aggressive. Both. Loving you. And fucking with you. At the same time. I like it, when it doesn’t bother anyone. And, bothers everyone. And doesn’t care. Because, it knows it’s perfect. And can find another one, just like you. At any time. Effective use of wordplay. Like foreplay. And, I could fall in like, make love, grow apart, break up, and recover a broken heart. All in the same sentence. And without ever physically speaking a sound.

It keeps me a semblance of sane.

At least…up until recently. The last few weeks. I’ve been, just…numb. Not only was there a lack of words, but a lack of emotion. An ellipsis. I would make playlist, upon playlist. Foregoing sleep, just so I could [mechanically] click on each one. And always, before the previous song was done. And, while yes, introspectively productive, I have remained. It is, less so, than I would prefer. It seems, all in vain. I mean, after all, these days? A change of identity is as simple as a run to IKEA. “So,” I ponder… “What is really being resolved? If there is so little passion in what I am writing, and no convincing reason to why I am writing it, then…isn’t one lost cause just greeting the next with open arms?” “And…” I decided, “If so, then what is the point, in writing it at all?” Something has, clearly, been wrong. But I cannot begin to bring words to it; name it, let alone address it. All I know is, and for a fact; the rest of ones life, quite simply, cannot. be. lived. out. in this way.

This day, at least. Seems, better. Sure; it’s far from perfect. But, it is better. And, while there are, still, few aesthetically sufficient, or accurate words, to explain the moment. There are pictures. Pictures, of you. Which seem to speak, a million words, for me. Like a broken record. One, that doesn’t really bother me, and I don’t care to remove, or disturb. Over and over. Because your scratchy tunes, are the best I’ve ever heard. And there is romance, in every song, in every verb.

As I sit here, slowly, looking at them [you] and, calmly, sip my coffee, hot. I wonder. At the way you see me. When you look at mine. And tell me, that my eyes, look like oceans. I don’t think I’ve ever been so lonely, or so satisfied, ever before. That probably doesn’t make sense. And, it probably shouldn’t. Because an emotion like this can’t be described. I tried.

It’s like the sound that’s actually occurring when you think it’s silent. Like the sound of the ocean, in a sea shell. And, the only way you’ll ever hear it, is to place it next to your ear, and believe it’s real.

written on: 02/03/2011 @ 5:19 pm.
in: coffee, daily, life, love, music, prose

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First feature

Today, my image ‘Civil Dusk’ of Parliament, from my old Beechwood apartment balcony, was chosen by curators of a large photography community site ViewBug.com as one of this week’s ‘Featured’ images, and is on the main page of their website. I also have a badge attached to the image now, showing that it was featured in June 2012.

I’ve only shared a few photos there so far, so it’s pretty exciting to see my work actually receive an award of some kind, from a website that is actually well-recognized.

Normally, I only post poems & prose on this personal blog, but I thought this also might deserve to be recorded somewhere, for posterity.

Here is a link to that image:

http://www.viewbug.com/photo/1698558

written on: 06/28/2012 @ 6:42 pm.
in: daily, photography

A couple of firsts.

“Would you like to dance?”, she asked.

“Um…” his face began heating up, “I…” and if he hadn’t been so obsessed with hers, he might have noticed…

“I can’t dance…” he whispered, averting his eyes.

She blinked, startled briefly at the admission, but then she took his hand; carefully at first, then firmer, and pulled him forward, leading him to the dance floor. The heavy bass drowned out all sense of reason, and he was powerless to say no…

It seemed as though the floor emptied, and the fast song, became slow, and all eyes were on them. He couldn’t hear their whispers, and he knew they must be talking; something along the lines of, “Did he threaten her?” and “Is she crazy?” or “Why would she actually want to dance with him?” and, for the briefest of moments, he might have mirrored the same thoughts… or maybe they were just his own?

But his unbelieving eyes were all too mesmerized by the sight of her in front of him, and her, his electric eyes, shimmering under the disco light, and neither could pull away from the others, even if they’d wanted to at this point, which they didn’t. She took his arms, and placed them on her hips, then took her own hands, and gently put them on his shoulders. She led him, into the music, and into her world, and the two of them began swaying along, to the beat of the song.

He didn’t know the words, but his feet seemed to already know the dance that went with each note. The song ended, and another began, but the two never released from their embrace… in fact, it became closer with each passing song, until she had her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, and he, her waist. She began to lean in, until he was sure she was going to kiss him; he could see the indecision in her eyes, and their lips were only centimeters apart, when…

“You’re a natural!”, she declared.

He pulled away a little bit, turning back into the cold, emotionless person, that he was sure everyone else knew.

“No!” she thought desperately to herself. She wanted that kiss! Her hands were still behind his head, so she tugged it down, stepped up, onto her toes, closer to his level, and pressed her lips to his. He didn’t respond, for a moment… but then, got over his initial shock, and began kissing her back, hungrily. They parted for another moment still, to breathe, but then dove in for another kiss, deeper this time. Neither cared what anyone said anymore. They didn’t care how awkward it might all be. All they cared about, was one another, and that they were kissing each other; that he was kissing her, and that she was kissing him.

And, that was all that mattered.

written on: 06/05/2012 @ 3:46 am.
in: chance, change, dance, kiss, like, love, music, play, prose

Dear Heart,

Please stop getting involved in everything. Your job is to pump blood. That’s it.

Sincerely, Jonathan.

written on: 06/03/2012 @ 9:53 pm.
in: advice, color, friends, heart, life, love, personal, rants, self-portrait

Prima donna diva.

Her proscenium arch of back
Is the melodrama of my mood swings
I am nothing
But a dramaturgical representation
Of someone else’s life
And but a footnote, in hers
I am a composition
Of what-ifs, and what-abouts
Only a supernumerary
Not even being paid
To play this walk-on role
A minor part
In her larger, feature film
She was never going to see, me
My own childish dreams
Forever to the wayside
Of her celebrity
Here’s lookin’ at you, kid

written on: 06/01/2012 @ 3:39 pm.
in: change, goodbye, loss, movies, music, pain, play, prose, rants, sex

Solarium slowly…

The air conditioner is buzzing, much like the noises in my head. Wwrooommm.

Things are moving in a sort of slow motion today. And so the pain seems to last longer. Contrary to popular belief, there are no such thing as pain killers for this kind of pain I am in. They would only numb it, not kill it. It will last… for all time. Of this, I am convinced.

Time = best healer?
No, I think…
Decidedly, not.

In the event of slow motion… a medication delayed, is a medication denied. In Fall, leaves drop slowly… In Winter, the contours melt slowly… In Spring, the discovery of change itself, comes slowly… In Summer, heat seems to never end… and cool, conditioned air brings, but a creeping chill, which rises through my spine, slowly…

I rub, ever-so gingerly. And slowly… comes the numbness.

Slowly, the heaving.
The sighing.
The subdued, subtle despair.

Then, the gradual disenchantment, as the build-up, is not entirely worth the end-result. Like a poison, it works, surely, albeit slowly… The sting is potent. But, it’s still feels like a poison, even if it’s an antidote, at the same time.

P.s. I do not tan. I’m Scottish. I turn red, like beet. So much ow, right now. Wwrroommm. And so much to do today. Is it coffee time? Hmm. Green tea, methinks…

Aloe + Matcha = Mmm?
Yes, I commit.
A fitting combination, indeed.

Excellent choice, sir.

written on: 06/01/2012 @ 12:56 pm.
in: advice, change, coffee, daily, drugs, hate, life, pain, rants, seasonal, tea, time, weather

Between sleep and awake.

If I hold your pupils with my own eyes long enough, you’ll let me have your lips. And, it won’t be so quick, or hesitant, because you’ve let me hold your tears with them before.

I will earn your trust.

And, if I hold you in the night, between the silence, and against the walls… long enough, and just right, you’ll let me have my way with you. All of you. The way I want. But it has to be long enough, so that you know… that physicality isn’t all that I want. I want you. But you already know this is true.

I only have eyes for you.

And we will collapse on bleached white sheets and turn our pillowcases into canvases, and draw on each others strengths, and none of our weaknesses. We will be so caught up in the smells and tastes of each other, that we will forget to wash in the morning, and have dirty, hard, rough, wet, sweaty sex, until late-afternoon.

You taste like a song.

And the music you make, is actually the only reason being alive is fun, or okay, or bearable. You serenade me, with puffy, bitten lip-service, and black & blue bruises the size of constellations in every crevice. We will gingerly pass a cup of green tea with a slice of lemon between us, haphazardly cut red apple and orange cheese slices with a dull knife, until our drink turns cold, and we run out of snacks, or of things to say, or the energy to say them. And… that’s okay, because we will carry on, having the conversation of our lives… with nothing but our eyes.

You take me by surprise.

Then, enamored to unexpected euphoria we didn’t know we had inside, we find the energy to make love again; once more, with feeling; slowly, deeply, tasting, inhaling, before falling apart, heavy breathing, but still clinging, holding each other, together, tightly, in our arms, blissfully, nonchalantly, deeply sleeping.

Your snores make me calm.

Later, I will wake up, stand up, throw my hands up, stretch, yawn, moon you with my butt cheeks. You will laugh, because I’m ridiculous. And, I will laugh, because you’re beautiful and because you disarm me and make me nervous in a good way and everything you say seems witty and well thought out. Our laughter will cause me to accidentally and quite-suddenly let out that fart I’ve been holding in all morning. My cheeks turn momentarily and naturally red, but I will only be temporarily embarrassed; I am an expert at distracting you, shining you, with my deep, electric blues.

Your face makes my heart race.

I sigh, with a huge, goofy grin, a sign; that everything will be alright, this time. Even, when you demand that I stop hanging half-way out of the window of your 12th floor bedroom and come back to bed with you, as I chew, on my a cinnamon stick like a cigar, pretending to smoke it, morosely, pensively, as though a man plagued by far too many thoughts. And oh, how delightful, how intoxicating, how ultimately frustrating it must be, to be one so lost; always losing, to ones own myriad ruminations. Well, let’s just be grateful, I suppose I should consider; that I’m not someone who is quite, like that… right? *sigh*

You’re ever on my mind.

Of all the things I’m thinking, I know, at least, this much. You. Constantly. Move. Consistently. Me. To wet dreams. But for now, without another second thought, or a care in my head, I look you all over, not a dream; naked, sweaty & red. Then, I climb back into bed, and wrap me around you; your lithe & sexy frame, instead.

And we will have tummy growling competitions.

When was the last time we snacked? Can I snack on you? Rather, may I? Just trying to be polite. This is real life. I don’t need to imagine you, today. Here you are, with me. Here we are; the first day, of the rest of our lives. I will draw constellations on your back with my rough hands, and imagine what they would look like, lit up. Though, you are already glowing. I will be the space that water fills, between your ticklish toes. I will be the hidden, among the happy things that find your slow & careful heart, quickly beating. I will be the oil that circulates, and placates your rusty wheels to keep them smoothly spinning, even, when you think you can’t go on. And I will never be afraid, again, when I’m with you. Or, to ever tell you, that…

I will always love you.

“You know that place between sleep and awake, the place where you can still remember dreaming? That’s where I’ll always love you. That’s where I’ll be waiting.” — J.M. Barrie; ‘Peter Pan’.

written on: 05/28/2012 @ 11:35 pm.
in: chance, food, friends, life, like, love, personal, play, poetry, prose, quotes, sex, tea, time

Between waves.

There are days, when I wish to empty myself. Empty myself of everything. Of all the clutter that distorts. So, I can make room to breathe. So, I can make room to imagine. So, I can make room to love. So, I can make room to forgive. So, I can make room to listen. To listen to you, that is. Listen to your worries, your fears, your aspirations, your hopes, your dreams. To your late-night passions.

That is why I’m often, so quiet, when I am around you. Because, that way, I have little to do, but just, be still. Be silent. Be kind. Be empathetic. As I listen, to you. And, in understanding you, I become me again. I become hopeful… gentle… uncluttered… I become strong. For, I’ve noticed something: Your wishes, are like mine. Your dreams, are like mine. Your fears, are like mine. And so, my hesitations are silenced.

See, I no longer wish to be empty. Rather, I want to be drenched. Saturated. In the beauty of life. The beauty, of you. So, thanks to you, my love, my friend. Thank you. For letting me, even for just a moment, cast my concerns, my selfish whims, my foolish games. To anchor. If you wish, I don’t have to set sail, the next day. And wander, away. So far away. From port, to port. Aimless. Between waves. Not, if you think that you might have me.

Stay.

You are my safe harbor. I am home.

written on: 05/18/2012 @ 3:48 pm.
in: change, daily, friends, life, like, love, prose, travel, weather

It only looks like a fish.

Sometimes, terror strikes, in the night, and wakes me from my already-restless slumber. It does not care, if I am warm, or ready for it’s onslaught. In fact, it likes best, for example, to prey on my unpreparedness; when I am nearly naked, but for my boxer-briefs, especially, smiling very wickedly. When it sees, that I have left in tease, a leg and five toes, uncovered, unabashedly; not blanketed, without shelter, from it’s torrential downpour.

You might think, that darkness would be my safe haven; that I am nothing, if not a creature of the wee, morning hours; a dark raven. Or, perhaps, like an owl, with glowing eyes; a predatory thing, that never sleeps, and who’s knowledge is so vast, that it no longer fears all that goes bump, in the night.

But when the real monsters find me, it is always the same: the shiver of goosebumps crawl up my leg, and across my spine, into my mind, and in this interim, I don’t remember who I am; I forget that I am young, and strong, and capable, and all I feel is old, and rank, and cold, and dank; flailing about, in this murky tank; helpless, against the powers-that-be. Powers, decidedly not for, but against me.

It is in such moments, that I realize, I was always alone, here; against the oceans of this adverse universe. These waters; they will hold me [down] and drown me, and spit me out. Though… I can swim, I am afraid, I’ll lose this bout. My leg is stuck, in grit and muck, between broken glass, and jagged rock, and tears, and blood, no shred of luck. Just shredded skin. But, I can’t escape, my heart is locked, and full of doubt; fear clutches it, as time runs out; the tick-tock, tick-tock, of my proverbial clock. No one, save me, will save me; this old schmuck, from succumbing to these predatory waters. Fuck.

Is no body out there? To say, “It will be okay”, that, “it was a wild ride”… Lying to me, next to me, here, on my side. Broken, defiled, mouth open, eyes wide—shut, breathing the warmth of reassurance into wet, asphyxiated lungs. Like a sponge, I expand, though not from air, but from dark waters, further ensuring my fate. I hear laughter, out there, somewhere, but it’s already too late. And, in just this way; I think that I, might likely die, in this state; just me, myself, and I. From rising tide…

Alone.

written on: 05/10/2012 @ 8:20 am.
in: change, death, goodbye, life, loss, personal, poetry, time, war, weather

Second favorite thing.

It’s 5 a.m… And, I love you.

Last month, I knew I would… though I still barely knew you. Last year, I thought I could… though I’d still hardly seen you. Okay; so I saw a lot more, than I expected to. That’s beside the point… *awkward*

No matter. The idea of wanting you, scared me, regardless. And, I wanted to run, instead. Because, real feelings burn. They have a way of letting you know, you are alive. And… I still wasn’t sure… that I wanted to be, anymore.

But now, I can’t imagine much else. I lay awake at night… and I think about, thinking about you, when I’m 80 years old… sitting in a rocking chair. On the porch of a big, white house. Next to a big, blue lake. The sun, setting… and the crickets chirping, and playing a guitar; filled, with almost as many, enchanting memories, as your Dad’s old acoustic… so dear, to your heart.

I only hope you will be there, and for all the times, in-between… but… if I. should die. before. you wake… I would. come back. in time. to make. and be… your morning coffee:

Just as hot…
Just as strong.
Just as necessary,
Just as looooooooooong.

Since, after all, it’s no secret… just how much you love your coffee. Liquid love. Taste it, slowly. I could drink you… alllll night & day. *sigh*

But annnyway… what I’m trying to say, is… I’m still happy, to be your ‘second’ favorite thing. It’s okay, really. Because… I know you feel, something, so real, also, and just, for me. And, to know this reality, is a three-fold, delicious, utopian dream.

Bottoms up!

written on: 05/01/2012 @ 5:23 am.
in: change, coffee, death, life, like, love, poetry, quotes, sex

Puppy love.

Once, there was a puppy, named Kypernicus the Roo, who… In a moment of loneliness, ate my Chucks, and fedora, too.

So I took him aside, and didst bop him on the nose. And he hid in the corner, and sulked, in all his woes…

Then, it struck me, suddenly, that this punishment was not just… Kyp had only been writing me, a list, of puppy ‘musts’.

There are certain requirements, in a relationship of this kind… And you must never ignore them, for puppy love, is not blind.

You must always remember, to let puppy know you care. To love and cherish him/her, while you brush their puppy hair…

You must always be thoughtful, to the needs of puppy bellies; You must feed them healthy Puppy chow, so they do not fart smellies.

And, if they request, with a deep, longing stare (because, as you know, talking puppies are rare)…

…that you take them for pee-pees, and poo-poos, and play; You must not deny this, or your wardrobe, will pay.

*sigh*

written on: 04/25/2012 @ 1:56 am.
in: advice, animals, family, friends, life, love, pets, play, poetry, rants, work

Tee eff kay.

I’ve been listening to the new Thousand Foot Krutch album all night and early morning; their 6th so far, and 1st since leaving Tooth & Nail Records, aptly entitled ‘The End Is Where We Begin”. I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to write a short review of sorts…

In what I personally think is TFK’s best, to date, a good mix of both heavy and light songs. Maybe, it’s because I went to the same church, and grew up with lead singer Trevor personally, for a time, but I’ve always felt like his music grew up with me as well, with a sort of mirror-like symmetry. Needless to say, there’s something here for everyone—all the classic Krutch sounds are present, even a bit of rap in songs “I Get Wicked”, “Light Up The Sky”, and “Down”, the latter of which felt almost like a reminisce nod to 2001′s “Set It Off” album, though, not nearly to the ‘oldschool’ velocity of his “Oddball” days… it was still a special treat to hear Trev bust some rhymes, aha—longtime friends/fans with a solid knowledge of his musical history, will get what I’m going on about.

I had already heard some singles, including “Let The Sparks Fly” and “War Of Change” prior to this release; which are solid, and awesome, no question but, of the new material on this album, (besides the ones already mentioned), I thought “Courtesy Call”, another donation pre-release, was a neat sound too, that I couldn’t stop bobbing my head to.

But ultimately (for me personally), it was the slower songs, including “All I Need To Know” and “So Far Gone”, which both impressed me, and “Be Somebody”… which I adored the most; Trevor’s vocal ability/range has come such a long way, and there’s no question he’s worked hard, and for an equally long time over the past decade, to get to this point.

I would talk a little, about every single song on this album, and honestly, they are ALL fantastic; in FACT, I’ve never disliked a tune from this band, to be as honest. But, as I said, I may be biased! Interesting ‘Intro’ and ‘Outro’ sounds on this album too…

Thank you TFK, for yet another amazing album. Like there was EVER any doubt.

If you’re reading this, you can buy Thousand Foot Krutch’s most-recent offering on iTunes now; follow this link; please SUPPORT this band if you like them (now under their own label), so they can continue to rock out another 6+ albums!

written on: 04/24/2012 @ 5:37 am.
in: advice, friends, like, music, rants, review

Unspoken words…

I have decided… are not for me.

I am not that person.

So, neither am I sorry, after all.
For letting the words, “I Love You”… slip.
In a whisper, from my lips.
In, to your ear.
For how can you know it, if you do not hear?

How could I love you so, but let it remain unspoken?

Unspoken brings with it, a sense of distress. Unease. At not knowing. Unspoken, is also unheard. And what is unheard, can’t be… believed. But I want to believe. In this crazy thing, called love. I believe, that if faith comes by hearing, then love, being greater than faith, grows by affective declarations. Love is like some sort of religion in itself; it has got to be heard, to be believed. I want believe, but do you? I am a love believer, but are you?

I want you to believe. In love. In me.

It’s been said, that a man loves from the depths, a woman to the heights. I want you to know, I am a man of my word. I want you to set me to course. I want to succeed. I want to love. I want to be free. I want you to come, fly away with me. I want you to reach your greatest point, your highest potential, and never fall below it, again. I want you to do it, because you love yourself, and because you know you are loved, though… not simply because of me. I want you to know that you can be anything you want to be. I want you to know, I will love you while you reach for it, if you fail… and when you try again.

I realize, that you do not know the depths yet, of my affection, nor fully accept, or trust, the color of my sentiment, nor the shade of my rambunctious emotions…

I know you have been trying, to see me. And, let me see you. And I appreciate that. In ways, words cannot say. So I say them with my electric eyes, as you call them. I will try to summarize here, without the back story of my specific failures. But, in me, is a whole range of emotions… if you must know: Anger, that cannot be expressed. Heartbreak, that cannot be heard. From all the times, I didn’t believe in love, or, that it was great. Told myself, to wait. Until it was too late. Or… Jealousy; that another will someday… speak first, what I couldn’t utter. “I love You!”

Love, is all I long to say, to you, but dared not. And I realize, that ultimately, text is a mute thing… And writing, is never really the same as speaking.

So, look into these eyes that charge you. Bring your ears close to my lips, and oh, please… your breasts, close to my chest. Your heart pounding in yours, against mine. Be close to me, and let me, with an eternal whisper, declare 3 things:

Pathos: how I burn with an intense desire for you. How this is fresh to me, and new. And, how I dare to believe the passion; that, this time… it might always be this way. My blood boils over at the thought of you, but not as a person in anger; only an enormous love. I’ve never felt more gentle, than when I am with you. I want my touch, the be the softest thing you’ve ever felt, and the strongest. I am elated, at just a simple text from you, or even just the remote suggestion of your name and person, which drives me deeper into that love; the appalling wonder of such dreadful passion, in that I will always be descending into it’s fathoms.

And whether I close my eyes, or explore, wide eyed; it doesn’t make one bit of difference. I drown at just the thought, of looking into your own, deep-end pools, of size, I cannot judge. So many seas to sail. I want to adventure in them, and I am seized with a passion, that threatens to overtake my ship, my vessel, my entire being, and capsize me.

Logos: I also have this word for you; a speech, a declaration. It is not just passion. In context; there is plenty of intelligence in my choice… to love you. Not merely, emotional, but quite… discerning, in nature. I’ve put a lot of thought, into this. Into the idea, the concept, the reasons for, the choice, of loving you. It concerns me, that you understand; my pathos, my passion, has good cause, and sound judgment. I know why I feel this way.

Why you have my heart: Because yours is more beautiful than anything I could have imagined, only just a short time ago. You are not weak. You are brave. You are not a coward. You are a rock, in a hard place. You have insecurities. But you are secure. I feel safe with you. And you would be both my foundation, and the center of my heart, if I would only but dare, to speak the words, “I Love You”, unafraid, and let you in my door.

The last, but not least, is Ethos: Oh, and it is always my undoing. My own anxieties, they love too… to overcome me. I must answer the question: Is it right? Am I sure? But how can I not be? How can loving you be wrong, when you’re so ridiculously, impossibly loveable? As you say, “Is this real life?” Because, if I choose to trust you with my home; my heart, I choose, daringly, to trust you with a huge part of my life… But, as I get to know you, and you me… I discover:

Your way, suits me.
Your person, agrees with me.
Your mind, pleases me.
Your taste, conforms with mine. And, it’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever tasted.
Your body, fits against mine, together, like a hand fits a glove.

Additionally… I might add. Your legs? They go on forever…… running these amazing shivers up and down my spine, when you rub them against the hairs on mine, giving me goosebumps from your positive charge. And, when I slip my hands between them, your sex drives me a little wonky. I can’t keep my hands of you.

But you already know that.

I almost… can’t accept that you are real; that I have you, there, in my rough, calloused hands, to handle, with care. Could it get any better? I don’t remember anything before, that was, anymore. I don’t think about anyone else. But, I’m still scared. My thoughts, as you know… they often get the better of me, and, I either can’t relax, or, I try to0… ‘hard’… being the key word. And, well, we know what happens next. Ha ha.

But… I realize, this is just the beginning of our love making. And it can only get better, and better, with practice and laughter… and the soft assurances you whisper to me, after.

Your voice… is the tenor of my soul.

So, ahem, back to it, then!

I realize… what really frightens me the most, is: I have discovered, while it’s only our beginning, already, I can’t remember a time, when you weren’t in my present. And I can’t imagine, a future, without you. And the anxiety I am having now, is not… who is this person, or, am I certain this is right? But rather… who would I be, without her? And… IS there even a ME, without HER, anymore? Because… I become me again, through you. And I realize, every challenge I have put myself through this past year, was so that I could even be a pale impression of the man you deserve. I would happily spend the rest of my life, bringing more color to yours. I have let down my defenses, and opened a door. And, I cannot close it. You are inside, and a part of me, already.

So, the story goes: The awful ethos. Unwilling, in the onset, to let the feeling fly. For it must first rise to question, and search my heart, for lies. It’s job is to persecute romantic, passionate pathos… leaving noble logos to remain, unspoken. But for all ethos’ concerns, I know it means well; ethos too, is noble, and deserves it’s place, among the ranks, of my heart. It does well, to ask me the important questions. It helped me find the answers I needed.

Oh; the alluring, but agonizing glances, of potentialities, of unspoken words. I know, that it’s only been a short time. But I cannot be quiet anymore. I’ve felt your heart. So, please don’t be afraid. You said it was okay. But please believe, it is. It’s okay. I can love you.

The words I said to you; the words I said, those words… are powerful. But, not fragile. They are strong. So, if you will agree, to dispense with the method, and the proprietary… and NOT run away, unless… it is with me. To Montreal. To Paris. To New Zealand, or to Italy. I don’t care where, or when it might be. So long as we consummate those words, this feeling.

I want to be inside you. Feel you against me, always. And… I want to let you know me, at my deepest.

Please, lessen my worries, with the thought that you know, that I want this. Have this. Feeling. For you. And, that I’m not afraid, to have it. Or say so. Let me say. Calm the fray. The screaming curse, of silence. It’s just absurd, that I not tell you. If I don’t, I will die, inside. And then you’ll never know:

Pathos, Logos, Ethos.

Questions become answers. But now, I know. Without question, I long… to love you. I am Romeo. And you are my Juliet. And there is no such thing, as ‘not the right time yet’.

Unspoken words… are not for me. I am not afraid. I want to live again. I want you. I lust you. I adore you. I miss you. Every moment. Every part.

I may be crazy. Maybe. But… you’re beautiful.

I love you.

written on: 04/20/2012 @ 5:44 am.
in: advice, change, love, personal, rants, sex

Midnight stranger.

Lying next to you…
No longer strangers, or so it seems.
I try to shut my eyes…
Close mind to moment; to what it means,
But you sneak up, into my dreams…

I hear a dog bark in the street,
As the night stretches itself, lazily…
I hear your soft snores, in your sleep,
As the morning cuddles itself, cosily…
We are here, but not yet there.

And that’s okay.
I want you to know…
Me.

That night,
You told me how attractive I was…
Made me feel handsome,
With simple words.
I wondered, how you did that?
And…
Could someone please explain,
Where I might find the words?
Words that describe…
You.

Because,
I could write a thousand poems…
But…
There would not be words enough.

But…
I will try.

The poetry of you…
For me,
Is in the softness of your voice.
In the heave of your long, wistful sigh.
The passion of your fumbling, 4 a.m. thoughts.
On the smile at the corner of your lips.
And in the depths of your tired, bedroom eyes.

And as I watch you sleep…
Wrapped tightly in your old, worn blanket,
The smell of your breath reaches me;
It’s sweetness, fills my senses.
And I am intoxicated.
I want to pull you, to me.
I want to kiss you, so badly…
I catch myself; sigh quietly…
I know, it’s not the [right] moment.

Perhaps, there is no such thing, as perfect timing…
The grand plan. The great scheme.
Maybe you waited, all night, long…
Were you disappointed, the morning, after?

Please know,
That like a poem poorly written,
Where the verses, all, seem out of rhythm.
You are beautiful.
To me.

In a world,
That lately…
Has me trusting only certainties.
I would take a chance,
On you.

written on: 03/23/2012 @ 8:31 am.
in: chance, change, friends, life, like, love, personal, poetry, prose

Paris, je t’aime.

Spent all of last evening… into the early morning hours, and today, reading about Paris… it’s ex-patriots, surrealists, it’s safe havens for self-exiles; a home away from home, it’s tolerance for artists, photographers, writers, intellectuals, romantics alike, throughout this century, and the last…

The world of Paris, is so richly filled with history and deeply rooted in culture, distinctly spanning the first two World Wars, captivating and inspiring; I’ve already learned so many new stories and details, in just this brief interlude of self-education, about some of my favorite greats like Hemingway, Picasso, Fitzgerald, Stein… to name, but a few.

Even today, Paris still harbors such a great respect for all things artistic. Despite present day developments, you can safely travel there, knowing you will be welcomed openly, and without prejudice, if your desire is to learn, and to create. Someday, for a time, I will make Paris my home…

written on: 02/14/2012 @ 6:48 pm.
in: change, daily, life, love, time, travel

City of lights.

I think perhaps, if I went to Paris… I might not come back.

written on: 02/14/2012 @ 2:55 am.
in: chance, change, goodbye, life, love, self-portrait, travel

I will always love you.

My whole head is just blurring with memories in which the voice of Whitney Houston played in the background; the resounding soundtrack to my life, or many young moments of it…

Whitney’s raw emotion… the tremendous passion engendered in her voice, dug deep inside to the very heart of me, when I was not even 10 years old, challenging me, to reach higher keys with my own; belt out more powerful notes of song, and with more vibrato (and bravado) than any white boy should ever dare attempt.

The pleasure I’ve always felt from the gift of singing, was only ever heightened & multiplied by the teachings of living legends, like Whitney. The horror I’m feeling now, from news of her death… at just 48 years old, manages to mortify me, with as much of the same intensity, as her life’s song inspired.

If there was ever any. one. thing. to take from this sad evening, it is to never waste a moment, not doing what you love. No matter what it is. And do it, with music in your heart… Life is fleeting. Give every day, everything you have.

Goodbye, Whitney Houston. 1963-2012. Too soon. R.I.P.

written on: 02/12/2012 @ 2:56 am.
in: advice, death, goodbye, life, loss, love, music, time

Colorimetry.

There are days… when all I want to do is write. All day long, and into the night. Immerse myself, in the depths of poetry, until I can see no further…

I am all over the place today… My mind, it sways. Puzzled. Here, there, everywhere. Taking me places. Some, I love to be in. Some, I’m much better off avoiding, altogether. Then there are some places where we. get. stuck… frightened; does letting go, mean losing your reality, or creating a new one?

In this world, we are blessed with the opportunity to see as many as 16 million shades of colors. Yet too often, we prefer to question our lives in black and white… Perhaps, so that we never have to face the answers. Not quite.

Once upon a time, I loved a girl, who loved colors. And, she taught me something, with them. When I was nothing but an empty canvas, I moved her; somehow… just enough, to unsettle me, in turn. I inspired her, to color me, like the sun. And, together… we watched my morning shake off the remains of the night.

She was beautiful; a painter, an artist and, in retrospect, a visionary, more than ever I gave her credit, for. But now, I see, as my edges fray; my canvas fades, and turns to grey… Thinking less, is feeling more. Saying less, means… meaning more. These things; they’ll stand the test of time, come whatever may.

I remember solving textbook revision questions in a class, long ago; the answers of course, were always listed in the back… I am quite thankful, that is not the case, with life…

I realize, after an uncertain point of time, we become more important than our past. There will always be questions. But I don’t necessarily need all the answers, or mere resolution to what came before. I want rather, to simply take in the moment, meet the challenge, at my best; make the most of it, without knowing what might happen next…

Some poems, don’t need to rhyme. And some stories, don’t always have happy endings. Not, at all times, do all pieces of a puzzle, fit together. I choose to laugh at the confusion, face it, fearless, because… in this moment, I feel like… it might be true; that colors are everywhere, even in winter, and.. everything happens for a reason.

written on: 02/06/2012 @ 7:40 pm.
in: advice, change, color, friends, goodbye, life, love, personal, poetry, seasonal, self-portrait, time

Transition.

Clear, blue skies, and silver hues. The crooked angles, of mirror rear-views. Dead-end stops, on country roads. To city streets, my story goes…

Here, alone, I stake my claim. I view a scene; breathe deep, take aim. I shoot. Flash fires. The moment dies. Frozen tears. Black, blue & white-framed lies. While ten more moments, pass me by…

Amongst noise of statistics, I have lost my silence. No more whispers of hope; I’ve lost all my defiance. I thought, that in you, I’d found innocence, again. But, then…

Endless pleasure. Mixed with mindless pain. Chemical romance. Mixed with sex-colored stains. Developed for no one, onto gloss-paper sheen. Incomplete journeys, with goodbyes, in between.

written on: 02/04/2012 @ 12:09 am.
in: change, goodbye, life, loss, love, personal, photography, poetry, sex, time, travel

Boy toys.

Rapture; capture, obscure things. Water; flowing, nature’s wings.

Once upon a time, these were a child’s toys; a countryside farm boy, armed with a plastic Diana, and an old Polaroid. His windbreaker pouch, filled with Kodacolor film, and his mind, filled with imagination, enraptured by it; the rolling countryside, his canvas.

I can’t help, but to hold on to that feeling. That was me. A older man now, lost in the city, but found again; in another place, but still a side, of solace. Head over heels, in love with it; the process. Darkroom red. Fingers, chemical black. A strip of film-brown, held up against the light. Eyes squinting. There is almost, a personality, in each roll.

Dare to argue, but… unless you’ve actually been there, you can’t honestly know… what it feels like. Though, I wish everyone could.

Let me see, with prismed sight. Lens-glass; mirrored eyes, delight.

written on: 01/12/2012 @ 2:34 am.
in: change, like, love, personal, photography, play, poetry, prose, self-portrait, time

I wondered…

…in back of mind… when this night, would finally come.

It has.

It’s time, my love… to burn the past.

written on: 01/10/2012 @ 7:25 pm.
in: friends, goodbye, life, loss, love, personal, poetry

Captain, my captain.

Though I have been nearly capsized, and tossed to and fro, I still roll with the waves, and I go with the flow: even as the wind grows, and I am blown out to sea? I am never very far, from where, I need-be.



I am captain, will captain, my captain; a toast. To this vessel, and it’s sailors; my heart, and it’s strings… for them all, I will captain to port, with my utmost.

Lost at sea, was a time for me, to face my fears; grow strong, not succumb, and outwit. Sick at sea, was a light to see, that, despite all my tears, I could, still, overcome it.



Such a long, long way, clearly; so. very. far. to go. Yet, come what may, I am, more-than-ever, convinced, and I know…

It is a journey, worthwhile.

written on: 12/07/2011 @ 3:00 am.
in: life, loss, personal, poetry, self-portrait, travel, weather

Gimme the beat, boys.

Thank you, for your lyrics, and your musical play. We lost a legend, when you drifted away… this Tuesday. Though you’ve passed, Rock and Roll… is here, to stay. Your soul is now free; farewell, Dobie Gray.

written on: 12/06/2011 @ 9:33 pm.
in: daily, death, loss, music, poetry

The way I feel…

I feel stronger, every day outside. And weaker every day, inside. *sigh* Will there ever be a time, that these things, coalesce and coincide?

I hope attrition; growing older, won’t freeze-to-death, the heart of me. Or take all the eclecticism, which always dared me to be free.

I’d dare, in turn, to ask my love, if she would find a way to see, if going back, was not as hard as we both thought that it might be.

Or maybe I would simply take her hand, and ask her, for this dance? And, whisper in her ear, how she had stolen me, with just one glance.

“What’s past is prologue”, one might say; “there’s no such thing, as going back”. But if that’s true, then all before, has set the stage, for my next act.

And for my next act, I’ll perform, a poem, [promise]; this, my pact. I will create a reservoir, of all the things, that I once lacked.

I realize that you wouldn’t have me feign romantic platitudes. You’d rather, that I change for real; a better man, in all I do.

So I will [recreate myself]; more than the sum of all my past. And fight for me, if not for you; raw, and naked, to the last.

written on: 09/10/2011 @ 4:36 am.
in: change, friends, life, loss, love, personal, poetry, rants, time

Typewriter rendezvous.

My dog Kypernicus and I, went out together for a late-night walk, as lovers often do.

As we walked by the neighbourhood trash bins, an old typewriter opened it’s trenchcoat and displayed itself, raw and naked before me, in all it’s 80′s splendor, beckoning me like a classic porn film where all the women still had hair on their vaginas and armpits.

I asked how much. She said, “For you baby, no charge.”

I took her home, lit scented candles, and pressed all her buttons. They just don’t make them like they used to.

Like any good pimp, she will be up on eBay later this week. I’ll post a link.

written on: 09/09/2011 @ 1:37 am.
in: chance, daily, friends, like, love, play, sex

Happy meal.

Just bought a McDonald’s meal for a homeless man, and then we talked for a few minutes. He told me stories about living here in the late 40′s, when much of Ottawa was re-decorated by famous Paris city planner Jacques Greber, and when unemployment insurance was first introduced in Canada. Few were unemployed or on the street, nearing the end of the second World War. So Interesting!

written on: 08/30/2011 @ 7:38 pm.
in: change, daily, food, life, war, work