Monday, May 2, 2016

Arson? Or Bridges.

Look around Jedi.  Where are you now?  Every bridge I’ve crossed awakened my inner arsonist; halfway across the span I've already said my Irish goodbye and made my peace.
The ashes of the burning bridges have barely settled on the water before I’m crossing the next bridge.  No man is an island?  Every man is an island.

I've met you before on land. Perhaps our boats can silently list past one another later, as we limply raise our hands in a room temperature salute. As we agonize over month old plans and do our best to cancel politely. As the current forces all things apart, except carry only the things most dear to you, and you forgot to make a rope ladder and the heat from the fire is teaching you what unbearable actually means and the black smoke is making you cry for everything you are about to lose.

The apathy curdles and forms in my stomach like a star made of sour honey. Starchild, most of my feelings entail a fear, a fear of not feeling.  Isn’t a daughter’s love and need the warm hearth against the chill of the world?  Sometimes I can’t feel it, as the sun blisters my back.  It’s stupid, stupid not to feel.
19 W. 31 St.

Maybe it's the bitter tasting metallic spark of two negative leads touching. The walls of the husk crumble and touch when the thing propping it up is removed, and the insides touch, then recoil, producing flavor.

Maybe it's all a little too fucking dramatic, really.

The taste makes me retch, yet I mistakenly love the star's jagged edges, believing them to be unique.

*** 18 months later ***

Adventures have been started, allies found, allies lost, foes vanquished, foes made.  Lawsuits, unfortunately, are forever.  And I’ve managed to hold onto my ability to write florid, inane, bullshit, without saying much of anything.

-Whatever happens to the bully? Where is his story of redemption?
-And still we ask, what's next?

Monday, October 20, 2014

A recap before new adventures

The only constant is change.  The scenery whirs by because our feet are allergic to the Earth and our stomachs try to adjust to the thrumming acceleration and our eyes are full and our hearts are full and our teeth chatter to the chill of the world and we warm our hands at the hearth of family and friends.

The show goes on and on, without pause, and to look back, every now and then, is to solidify our foundations before building further.

364 46th Street, NY, NY

We dive into the next adventure, and it pushes back in an unfamiliar way.  Here we go anyway!

Friday, August 1, 2014

A little love note

I, on occasion, am fortunate to encounter an oasis of reprieve during my meandering through the desert of the work day.  At these restful stops, instead of lapping up water in my cupped hands in the shade of a palm tree, I instead peer out into the horizon and try to measure the distance of arid, uninviting sand that separates me from the beach of home.  I can imagine the surprised seagulls squawking, the roaring repetition of the waves, and I feel a thirst for our home.  However, this almost primal desire supplants the right of the tired traveler to dip his feet into the pool and lay his back down on the sand and look up at the clouds.

So here is my cloud in the blue sky to you: a letter.  A letter I haven’t written in so long that I almost lost the ability.  My fingers may creak with the new and old exertion of it, but the brain creaks even more, its once fiendish machination pathways warming and humming back to life.

What has changed, since the last letter?  Everything, and nothing.  Our life, like a snaking pathway up a mountain, hurries along, then loops almost back on itself.  We can see the path we’ve taken, but it’s easy to forget that it’s a progression and not an abrupt change of direction, because we follow the road to the mountain’s top.
Our tabula rasa.  The shape of the tablet may be undeterminable, but we can choose what to write.  I hope we write the good, and minimize the bad.
I have to leave this oasis soon, and wander back into the desert.  The brain overheats, but the dust cover is off and the engine is humming.  I wanted to let you know that I would marry you: over and over again; I’ll see you at home soon.

Friday, April 25, 2014

Original Zen

One day you read and then you realize that everything you’ve ever thought, perhaps with the conceit that it was original, has been written and expressed more eloquently than you could have conceived.  Even this idea here has been rehashed time everlasting.
I felt
Then relief.

Our little corner
The empiric truths roil about in our crenellations and echo undiminished down the corridors of time, to bounce back and be heard through the generations.  Each set of ears and synaptic folds touches and reflects it onwards.  To what end? There is none.  Ayyyyyyy...priori.

Tuesday, January 28, 2014


Made a splash.  New year how?  
Blurred borders bleed and the imperfect device records imperfectly.
I hear the abyss over me stretching to focus its convexity.
A new light dawns and casts lovely shadows.
I can do it
Hurry hurry make moments find meaning
We're going to live forever.