Semi-Daily Scribbles

Arrhythmia

So traumatized Chuck still works the mines.
A poet's soul with hardened arteries.
The company doesn't pay Chuck for his turn of phrase and artist's heart.
It's a tough task to write the perfect stanza when crafted in the arc of a headlamp.

A Unifiable Theme

To make something beautiful is a lifelong pursuit.
Keep edges rough.
Lines are suggestions on where they should be crossed.
This is a love letter to your unfettered spirit.

It is the rough edge of one's work that establishes merit.
Beginning. Middle. End.
The order in which the dream is conveyed is inconsequential.

Mastery is misleading. Know when to write the final sentence and then walk away.
One's engagement with your creation is not the reason why you got into this game.
You've dictated the rules. Now go help someone else find her through line.

Challenge everything that makes you feel in control.
To understand one's desire is a trial of the soul.

Embracing Oblivion

Disarm me with your charms, but know that your personality is problematic.
(Yeah - don't know which one of us is the addict.)
But here we are in the woods, a stare-down in progress.
Each one of us casts a light of varying intensity, all in the service of demanding transparency.
Disrupting the other in an unfolding tale of what's to be discovered by lifting the veil.
There is no way to turn this progression on its head.
Grow in the only way you know, and your soul will fill-in the holes.
(This is actually factual: words are coming out of my mouth.)
When is one's story ever truly told?
Variations on a dream.
Start.
Stop.
Change direction.
Forget why you chose this destination.
Destiny never intended for you and me to come to rest beneath this hallowed tree.

From Camels to Humans

Thoughts are ordered in No Particular Order. It's .. they are like reading a book by landing on random pages "and just going with it." Timeline? A logical sequence of events? THEME! All are about as useless as peanut butter without bits of said legume embedded within. Or like ... please explain to me the narrative thru-line of your life, why don't you? No easy feat, that. Our brains flit from factoid to face to that tingling in one's feet to what's her name to ... what was the subject again? We slosh about in our thought soup daily and still we're able to hold down jobs and pack the kidlets off to school and pray to whichever Belief System we are the most comfortable believing in that one of these days we (the entire world's population, I'm thinking) don't just wake up one morning to the news that this novel-bugger-this-or-the-other carries with it a 40.3% case fatality rate.

Judgment Call

Tucked into the grey splintered planks of my spine is an invitation. A call to action for your generation. Remember, it is I who whispers in your ear "complete the work."

on one knee
break free
urgency
responsibility

If you stand upon that threshold a minute more, you'll become the bloody door. I've left you to hang once before. I would be remiss if I did not comment on your emergence from the chrysalis. Check your trepidation at the gate before you book passage on this plane.

Too Much and Not Enough

I should hope one would think he or she is interesting. If a person doesn't have that sort of opinion of oneself, all sorts of unfortunate occurrences can happen, like hearing a nonstop self-censure loop booming inside an already thought-heavy head. Oh, and if a person does find him/herself pleasant company to be around, that happily self-actualized individual should not foist any such presumption of that dearly held belief upon family and friends.
---You just groove inside your Private Opinion Bubble, buddy!---
Any such foisting of one's actually REAL self only muddies the sensitive depths of YOU and makes a gal or guy look like an imbecilic navel-gazer.
... and who wants to be perceived in that way?

The Other Side of Fear

In the time it took for the blood to soak through the yellow V-neck, Micah was able to enjoy a satisfying drag off a Camel. The thumb and forefinger of Micah's non-ciggy-holding hand caressed the slip of notebook paper tucked inside the front pocket of his Levi's.

"Individuality. Absolute power and ability. Discipline. Individuality. Absolute power and ability. Discipline. Individuality. Absolute power and ability. Discipline." The cadence that escaped Micah's lips slowed his racing thoughts. He became less fidgety as he inhaled the sweet astringency of the cedars and firs that encircled him. This is what church was meant to be. The creature beneath his feet sighed in agreement.

She is your dreamcatcher and safety net. Her smile is the other side of the river once you've filled your lungs with her lesson. The target has been verified. That prize is now the only thing that can keep you alive in order to transform. Allow your discipline to spin hopelessly out of control so you know what she felt at the moment of initiation. What are you afraid of? The peace of mind that's always been your birthright? Your talents are only tarnished, not lost. Love is a vehicle to teach us to suffer without dying. The heart always knows what the soul fears to find. In the end, we all wind up wet behind the ears.

Love is Rough

I informed Elinore that I trusted my gut more than some expert's opinion on how best to sell myself to the Cogs of Industry. She didn't believe me. All is right in the world if we choose to listen to the mysteries in the wind that sigh and cry. Soughing and cooing from on high to get us to heed the knowing in our hearts. I persist because progression is in my bones. Maybe I'm a throwback, but I keep comin' back. I only know how to dog paddle, but the inelegant splashing gets me from one end of The Universe to the other. Success is spotting a mess and then coming up with an exit plan. I do not want to be The Petrified Man to stand sentinel over complacency for all eternity. Struggle is what gets you a first class ticket to the stars. You need to look up to see where you've been.

Ah, Elinore. You peaked at 19, but you're still my queen. There was always a smack of schmaltz about you. And that's why I love you. Love is lovely and it made you lose your edge. Standing out on that ledge, what thoughts have now replaced the darkness? The dream is now rinse and repeat. It's difficult to call the attainment of respectability a defeat. But where is the hunger? The longing. The yearning. Has it all been replaced by a sizable yearly earning? You will always be a bit of rough sport to me, bon ami.

This Ridiculous Riff

So many seeds have been cast near and far. The time has come for verdant dreams to bring a deep sense of the tangible. Spirit guides have been along for the ride, but now they must rest their weary dogs and let Tansy transcribe this mystical roadmap. Monuments to mindlessness populate the barren terrain; dust has a place on her palette. Tansy plays a plaintive chord of would-be's / ought-nots / evermore to navigate by an unreachable shore. Cutting corners only leaves holes in Tansy's story that cannot be filled with truth or lies. A gaping wound at the center of the Universe, oblivion is comfortable if one sets down ground rules and checks all measurements. As with blood, Tansy tends to stick to her own type.

I can't vouch for anyone but myself. Survival is Reinvention. Reinvention is Survival. I no longer need to pretend this experience means more than simply showing me the door.

Double Function

Said a grey-haired man: "grab all you can" and now I've successfully completed the task. What now, you ask? I must save my ass. From what? Doom! Ruin! Gloom! All a matter of perspective, really. I've taken stock of my sorrow and I've a neat Badge of Participation to show for all that past hand-wringing. See? I can be a creature of nature and still build computers out of spare hearts and resuscitated parts.

You can count on me to understand the unknowable.