Wildflowers

The road rises up to meet him.  Didn't some say that once? Or was it a song?  He's not sure but he's beginning to understand.   Road trips are nothing new. He's been on his own for hours at a time going to a vacation, moving halfway across the country, or driving and meandering around his town.  This time it feels different. 

When he was growing up he'd spend a lot of time on his own, looking off to the horizon wondering what was out there.  What if he started walking, how would he survive out in the woods? He'd fantasize about the woods craft and survival skills he'd need.  Later he'd think about where the car would take him.  What if he'd get in and start driving West, or maybe North? Would he find a random town, be a busboy or find random work, or enough to buy some gas and food and move on. 

When the stresses of his job would plague him he'd daydream about leaving it all behind.  Cashing out his measly savings and running off to  foreign land, or remote island.  Live a simple life, full of long slow lazy days. 

One day it happened for him.  He threw off his shackles for a weekend.  Drove East after a random invitation drew him 4 hours away from his town.  He was on a new sort of adventure and the road opened wide with possibility before him.  He was leaving behind everything he knew.  Everything he was told was the "right" way of living fell behind him in the hot summer air as he flew down the road, hands out stretched with the wildflowers as his only company.  

Freedom

On Birmingham Sunday, a bomb rocked our world.

Freedom.

On Charleston Wednesday a man's gun tears us apart. 

Freedom.

On Black Friday our souls are torn asunder.

Freedom.

May our days of terror and violence be left behind. Traded for hands clasped in love.

Freedom.

Blustery Saturday

The dog whuffs and yips in her bed, asleep, lulled by the taps of rain on the air conditioner and window.  The smell of ozone tickles my nose and brings to mind a series of sense memories from my childhood and youth.  Sitting on the front stoop, walking  by a stream waiting for the rain to make it spill it's banks, smashing the volleyball across the yard over and over challenging nature and my frustrated hormonal teen years to try and beat me.  Back when I was indestructible. Today the rain patters a steady beat.  I call it a soaking rain.  Good for the crops. Even though it has been more than 25 years since I've lived in that small farming community my mind still think about the crops every time it rains. I was never a farmer but I understood why the cycle was important.  How delicate the balance was and yet how hearty the land and people could be.  

Today the city is washed anew.  Tomorrow rainbow flags will fly and folks across the nation will marry.  Feet will march and bodies will dance.  The celebration will be grand.  But for now, tonight, the fan will run nosily in the corner.  The light will be turned off and the dog will cleverly slip up onto the bed thinking no one will notice that she has curled up against my back.  Party goers will run for cabs and the subway, trying to stay warm during this surprisingly cold June rain.  And even here, far away from the fields, birds will seek shelter and ducks will swim through the inlet.  The grass and trees of the city will appreciate the soaking rain that come to refresh and renew. 

Why is it okay?

Why is it okay?

To fire me for being gay?

To take away my children?

To deny me healthcare?

To kick me out of my home?

To mock me?

To stop my pursuit of happiness?

Listen.

Listen in the cold air.

Listen for the voice that says "no more."

Listen to the one who says it is not okay.

Listen to the coming Spring.

Listen and believe.

Listen and move.

Listen, for it is you.

Your voice.

Your movement.

Your change.

Your Spring.

Your triumph.

Love - My Many Splendored Thing

A sonnet, or a song?
Gestures of happiness & joy?
An expression of boundless
excitement and laughter?

I could do all this and more.

A changed man. A love
That goes beyond
Infatuation.
A young love that just now
Sees the full potential
Of that word.

I used to see only yesterday.
Now, his kiss is the sweet
Taste of forever.

Biological Clock

My clock is ticking.

My body, my loins,
My garden is fertile.
But, it's not.

Gay man's guilt.
Gay man's curse.
My soul, my spirit,
My body is part male,
Part female.

Part.

I can't create life.
My sexual orientation
Stops me from combining
My DNA with my love's.
Our genes cannot mix.

A child will never have
My eyes and his chin.
My analytical mind.
His athletic prowess.

I know the feeling.
Barren women.
The pain and the longing.

A child.

Someone to love.
A person to raise.
New life to discover
The world.

Adoption.
Surrogacy.
Even without a partner.
My love can still
Create life.
Create Life.

A loved child is Life.

It doesn't matter where
They came from physically.
They will be loved.
And love is Life.

Tourists

I am trapped amongst them.
Spoiled, bratty, rich tourists.
A tropical paradise
Stuffed full of obnoxious
New Yorkers and Eurotrash.

Their selfish desires push
Up against each other.
Bumping and sparking
Creating angry, pouty
Energy.

Forced smiles of idyllic
Family bliss groaning
Under the weight of
Whining kids and short
Tempered parents.

Amid the emptiness
I spot a father playing with
His son.
True family spirit and love.
The tropics are again
A paradise.

Sappy Stories

E.T. has the power to make
Me cry.
Not just cry,
Blubber.

Is it the innocence of being 10?
The wonder of space?
The knowledge that we might
Not be alone?
The John Williams score?
The magic of flying bikes?

I don't know,
But I'm like a little
Baby when I watch it.

I love it!

Love, A Hopeful Romantic's Attempt At Cynicism

I can't help it.

As much as I try to hide
Behind anonymous sex,
Alcohol,
And the illusion of the
Strong single man,
I'm lost.

I want to be found.

I'd give anything to
Have only one person
Share my bed!

Someone I could tell about
My most shameful moments.
My anger and joys.
Someone who'll listen
When I talk about how
Wonderful it was to
Sit on the roof
Outside my childhood bedroom window
Watching the sunset
On warm Summer nights.

But who's gonna be able to cut
Through my bullshit?

I have so many defenses up.
If there's a bump in the
Relationship road
I either fall over myself
Begging for forgiveness,
(Even when it's not my fault)
Or I abandon it saying
"See, I knew it was too
Good to be true."

I want to give up.
To say the Hell with It!

But I can't.

I'd like to be bitter.
To curl up with resentment
And make anger my lover,
But I can't.

It's just not in my nature.

I still hope.

Blessings

We are all watery creatures.

Connected through electricity.
Our cellular juice
The perfect conduit.

My spirit
Looks for something
Outside of itself.

I cross elemental
And human chains.

I find nothing
And everything.
Of the Nothing/Everything
I ask a blessing
On this dwelling.
My vessel.

A chant of protection,
A prayer for perception,
A spell to gain knowledge.

I am part of the liquid reality
And cosmic unknown.
Nothing and Everything.

New Skin

The Summer is torn from my skin.
Salty, glistening, oily droplets are
Pummeled by the Fall rain.
Cool air and water tighten
My pores and wash away
Lazy, overheated streaks of sweat.

My body was swollen and melted.
Now it awakens and drinks
The watery wind.

Arms & Shoulders

The satisfaction of human contact.

What do I want in a
Boyfriend.
Support?
Passion?
Great conversation?

No. It's as simple as an
Arm around a shoulder.

It can go either way.
His around mine,
Mine around his.

Someone who wants it.
Someone who likes it.
Someone who needs it.

A palm, a sensitive inner arm.
Fingers gently stroking a back or neck.
Chemistry without words or sex.
Closeness and companionship
With a gesture.

An unbreakable connection.

The Missing Generation

I'm rolling along with a missing link.
I feel like the Shel Silverstien Pie,
Looking desperately for my missing piece.

I'm an Early Thirties Gay Man.
Trying to figure it out.
Looking around for guidance,
Hints at a better way to do this,
A better way to live.

Where are they?
Where are the middle aged gay men.
The generation that is supposed
To guide me into the next
Part of my life?

I ache for those left.
Those that survived the plague
Only to realize that half of their
Friends are gone.
I'm sorrowful for those
Of us coming afterwards.
We have so few guides.

Our generation is the most Out.
The one after mine,
The twenty something
And now teenagers
Are more out than even we imagined.

Dating in high school?

It's up to us to pave the way.
We need to forge the future for
Those who are young and looking
Forward with hope.

In my youth I was bombarded
By everyone to be an activist
A patriot, a saint, a conservative leader.
I rejected all of those.
That wasn't me.
Couldn't they tell?

Now I want to be a leader of a different kind.
One that helps fill the gap
Where there is emptiness.
Step into the shoes of the men
Who were robbed of decades of life.

We all need to rise to the occasion.
Mature a little faster than
We might like.
Find that path, that life,
That way of being that is uniquely
Our own, yet an example to
Others.

An anthem for the missing generation.

Summer Gays

They're on the pier, sweat glistening,
Oiled and tan, bulging muscles,
Insecure and fragile.
Afraid of not being perfect.

They're in the burbs, painting and gardening,
Cooking and barbecuing,
Fearful and silent.
Afraid of standing out, being noticed.

They're in the bath houses and sex clubs,
Pumping and groaning,
Hiding and hating.
Afraid of loving themselves.

They're in the offices,
Talking sports and business,
Bringing "friends" to the office party.
Afraid of losing their jobs.

They're in the church,
Praying and singing,
Hurting and confused.
Afraid.

We're everywhere,
And despite the fear,
Hurt, hatred and confusion,
We're still here.
We're still queer.
Get used to it.

Sex n' Roll

The pounding rock music is in my ears,
As I kiss your beautiful white neck.
Drumming beats drive the passion.
Though you are in my bed I can
Still taste and smell the
Crowd on you.
The music has also left its
Residue on your back,
Your arms,
Your lips.

You are a feast of the evening.
I consume you with vigor
And delight.
Each flick of my tongue brings
Back more from the night.
The hair on your chest
Traps the scent of
The singers
Sweat and tears.
Your cock makes me think
Of the screaming fans.
Our rubbing bodies recreate
The performers fire on stage.

The Gardener

I'm surprised by his power.
I sacrifice nothing as I'm held
by his arms and drowned by
His kisses.
Yet, it is obvious who will
Penetrate whom.

My body and his are pulsing drums.
Vibrating and responding to each
Connection.
We are frenzied and sensitive.
Our hands, never stopping, are touching,
Gripping, stroking, grabbing,
Massaging and caressing.

Whispered agreements about the lame
Body Nazis and the lack
Of real men with real bodies.
Fuzzy chests and beefy legs.
His glorious weight on top of me.

Man with man.

Intimacy, passion, sexual heat
And a connection through laughter.
Not a native, but a suburban
Landscaper here on vacation.

Happy Pride day to me!

Perhaps someday I'll have a
Gardener all to myself.

Today I was My Mom

I find myself
Walking around my apartment,
Dusting and happily cleaning,
While classical music is
Playing around me.

I'm struck with the thought,
"Oh god, I'm my Mom."
At first I want to throw
Down the rag and all the
Negative stigma that
Goes with it.

But, not with my Ma.

Aside from excessive, unnecessary
Worry, and a tendency to nag,
My mother is amazing.
She values laughter and family
Joy and music.
She taught me that happiness
Comes from within.
She continues to amaze me
With her strength while
She watches her beloved
Deal with a debilitating
Painful, untreatable disease.

I pick up my dust rag
And embrace my fate.
Being my Mom is not such
A bad thing.

Freezer Pops

Blue skies and white clouds,
Rays of sun and soft breezes.
No, this isn't the beginning
Of a sappy love poem.

This is remembrance.
Childhood days where bare feet
Were the shoes of choice.
Wriggling your toes in the grass,
Splashing your hands in the creek.

The smell of manure on the fields.
Sitting on the concrete front stoop,
Eating a freezer pop.
Mom's smile when we brought her
Dandelion bouquets.

Sunlight streaming through the windows,
Lighting up my dad's violets.
Wind chimes and bird houses.
Forts and games of tag.

God the city is beautiful today.

Saturday

Most sleep in and let go,
I indulge my OCD.
I sweep, swifter, scrub the tub,
Clean the kitchen,
Change the sheets,
Do the laundry.

It's so satisfying.
Looking around at a clean apartment.
Clean, and empty.

I'd rather it be this:
Sleep in, have sex,
Roll into the kitchen,
Start the coffee,
Scramble some eggs,
Read the paper,
Laugh, have sex and
Shower.

Well...I'd still have to
Clean after that.
A boyfriend wont get
Rid of my OCD.

Lonely

Loneliness.
A Choking, grasping, throttling
Hand that closes around your
Throat.

A turn in your stomach,
That doubles you over,
Makes you gag.

I find myself mumbling on the street.
I'm so close to having a full, audible,
Conversation with Me, Myself and I.
I've figured out what is behind all those
Crazy, angry, people in New York.
They're lonely.
Desperate for love and attention.
Sometimes they lash out.
Sometimes they talk to themselves
Just to hear a human voice.
You may not see it, but
Sometimes they just curl up and cry.

It's so hard to stay positive.
I want to yell and kick and scream.
I don't want to tell myself it'll be "alright"
Or find my "happy place."

The only benefit to
Loneliness is the self-reflection.
What have I learned?
Lonely is really not that far
From terror.
I choose to keep people away.
Self segregating.
I'm afraid.

What is the answer?
How do you conquer the fear?

Fuck if I know.

Ross-ilism

Images on a canvas.
Tentative splotches of paint,
Colors blended and mixed.
Dab, stroke, brush,
Dip, mix, stroke, brush,
Blend, dab, swish, splotch,
Mix, stroke.

The external result is not
Remarkable.
Laughable, perhaps.
The soul feels it the most.
Colors and designs impressed
On my heart and mood.

Such a simple act, so pleasing,
Empowering.
Better than drugs.

Now I see why Bob Ross
Was such a flaky-happy
Person.

This shit rocks.

Crying

Sometimes I think I've forgotten how to cry.
My heart is hard and strong.
It beats alone,
Powerful, solitary, independent.

I eat and sleep alone,
Forcing myself to "get used to it."
I'm toughening up.
Getting ready for the onslaught
Of eternal bachelorhood.

Today I'm reminded,
The 'edge' isn't strength,
It's despair.

I cried.
The tears washed away the
Hopelessness.
A salty cleansing of my soul.

My trigger, a movie.
Is there one waiting for you?
A hug, a child in the street,
A blossom floating by on a breezy day?

God, I hope you find it soon.
This is a good place to be.

Inner Space

There's something between you and I.
A vast nothingness.
Empty space that is keeping us apart.

It's a mathmatical certainty.
You can always divide the distance
Between two objects in half.

What is inbetween "There?"
Between the flowers and my nose,
The atoms in the molecules,
Inbetween your hand and mine.

What keeps us together,
Floating in this celestial
Womb of empty space?
What stops us from flying
Apart?

Please tell me, I'd like to know.

Routine

Work, eat, sleep, breathe
Sleep, sex, read, play,
Work, sleep, eat, sex,
Breathe, play, eat, sleep,
Read, sleep, sex. eat!

It's all so routine.
Nothing new and exciting.
Why do I crave "new."
Is this why I have sex
With so many different men?
For something "new?"

I suppose there is always
A different guy in NYC.
Different hair, different height,
Different fetish.

I'm tired of finding the
"Next great thing" in my men.
I'd rather have one guy with
Whom to:
Eat, sleep breathe, play,
Sex, read, eat, breathe,
Sleep, play, read, sex.

Pesonality Vacation

I'm sitting at the table
With nothing to say.

A Funny Interesting Cute guy
Across from me and my
Personality decides to
Take a coffee break.

Two lame bars later,
With absolutely no
witty banter,
I'm standing at his door
Getting an invite up.
Maybe it's not my
Personality!

When did I become someone
To invite upstairs?
Especially when I had clearly
Sent my Intelligence,
Culture and Interest on
An extended vacation.

Am I an "wanna come up?" guy
On just my Looks?!?
Christ, when the fuck did that happen?
I guess I'm flattered.

Maybe this is why I
End up in relationships
That go nowhere.

They think I'm a piece of meat,
Then they realize they've
Bitten off more than they
Can chew.

Unexpected

The turn of a corner.
Click of a button.
Flip of a page.
Opening door.

So unexpected.

What do you do with that?
How do you prepare?
Does it change your life,
Or just alter your afternoon?

Is it really unexpected?
It wouldn't have happened
If you didn't
Turn that corner,
Click the button,
Flip the page,
Open the door.

Deadly Sincere

When did sincerity replace truth?
How did niceness take the
Place of honesty?

We are a generation seeking to please.
We want to fit in,
Be accepted,
Leave no one behind.
Our days are spent watching what we say,
Being politically correct,
Trying to be inclusive.

These noble aspirations
Are killing us.
Our spirits are suffocating
In earnestness.
Choking on pleasantry.

The allure is strong.
Our fawning nature compels
Us to seek assurance
And validation.
We've missed the whole point.

Happiness comes from within.
This isn't just a trite
Saying my mother used to
Comfort me with when I was
Sad, dejected and crying.
This is truth.

Within is the key point there.
We need to stop depending
On each other to be happy.
That dependence has led
To a world of wimps and losers.
People who write books,
And have talk shows about
Niceness and decency.

Give me passion and expression.
Honesty and forthrightness.
If they aren't happy,
Let them say it.
If they are happy, let them show it.
Quit trying to smooth it over
And soften the edges.
With billions of people in the
World, you have billions of
Withins.
Stop trying to make them all
The same.

Just fucking be!
Worry about your own goddamn happiness.

Fat

Bubbling, boiling, rolling,
Shuddering, blubbering,
Jiggling, dangling, gelatinous,
Poochy, bouncy, globbulous,
Pliant, bulbuous, lumpy,
Soft, squishy, unctuous,
Greasy, slimy, blimpy,
Beefy, husky, meaty.

It goes on and on.

The mind of someone fat.
These words, and the power
They have over you.
The lack of control to stop it.

People say "just stop."
I want to punch those people
In the face.
Who the fuck do they think
They are?
Skinny little shits.

You don't know, unless you've
Been there.

So, how do I end this?

Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble.

Sunday Afternoon

And then one Sunday Afternoon,
It all changes.
subtly. Only you really know.
It's cold and clear.
Sunny.
A perfect backdrop for this event.

The change isn't something that
Propels you forward,
In fact, it takes you backwards.
To youth, childhood, innocence.
Things you thought you'd
Lost.

Was it a decision? A realization?
Or something else.
Revelation. Inspiration.
Fate.
Do I even believe in fate?

;-)

Maybe, maybe not.

All I know is that I'm different.
Clean. Absolved. Ready.
Possibility before me.
I've wandered through the
Darkness. I can't tell if
I'm coming out unscathed yet.
In fact, there are some scars
From deep wounds.

With realization comes a call
To action.
What happens now?
How do I break out of the circle
Of familiarity and destruction?

I'll start, with a haircut.

Eyes Closed - A Meditation

A bright sunburst in my head.
I drift in and out.
The breeze on my face and neck.
I'm three dimensional.
My mind stretches in front and behind
My head.
The door, the hallway,
The apartment below, the roof,
The street, the sky,
The subway, the river, the
Park.

I reach out and try to sense
The lives in-between.
The lights, the pulse,
The living essence,
The bright, light infused,
Blood coursing through
The veins of the city.
I watch, absorb, renew,
observe.

Inside again.
The light.
Bright.
White.
A cliche, but a cleansing
Cliche.
A place of nothing
And everything.
Gray and silver forms
Take shape.
Cross-legged on a mountain of
Soft slate and scree.
Silver waterfalls around me.
Leaves and blades of grass
So green that they're silver
Sway slightly in the
Light breeze.

I see the world around.
I expand and become a part
Of the mountain.
Once more three dimensional
I become part of the
Earth below.
I stretch to the heavens,
I embrace the world.
I float in the womb of
The universe,
And hold the immensity
Of life in my own center,
Cradling and holding
It in precious balance.

The world my child.
I it's mother-father,
Nourisher and teacher,
Learning and giving,
Taking and sharing.

Symbiosis and balance.
Peace and power.
Tranquility and awareness.

Movie

Images, movement, intensity,
Plot, character, twist, suspence,

pause

move

pause

Action, sadness, fear, joy,
Relief, sudden angst,

pause

move

pause

Resolution, questions, next corner,
Blood, kissing, cliffs,

pause

move

pause

Climax, wrapping up.


Next

Restless

I'm unsettled.

My three year old building
Holds me 19 floors high,
Cradled like a teenage
Mother holding her child
Haphazardly in her arms.

The buildings I see...
Some littered with barren ivy.
Scaffolding surrounding new
Construction.
Old paint flaked window panes.
Stainless steel frames.
Unmolested red brick with
Ghastly white mortar.
Pourus concrete oozing
Generations of street life
Even when it's 30 stories away from
The pavement.

I try to visually pinpoint
The nauseating gut feeling
That is telling me that something
Is wrong.
The city sneers at me
As if it has a
Secret and it isn't telling.

That's the thing about New York,
He'll tell you what's going
On only when he's damn
Well ready.

I imagine this was what it was
Like in ancient times
When viallgers were outside a temple
knowing there was a terrible
sacrifice happening.
Watching and helpless.
I can feel the guilt and
The excuses you come up with
To deal with it.

I am trying to
Fool myself into thinking
This too is necessary.
Silently the city is
Swallowing someone or something.
Gobbling a dream, suffocating
A hope, snuffing the life
of an innocent.

I hope the city gods
Are appeased by this nameless malice
Working its will.
Perhaps this means we will have another
Year of properity and
Happiness in our Village.

Kitchen

Summertime, in a studio kitchen.
So small.

I find my head titled backwards.
A strong hand is on my
Chest.
Another is reaching
Inside my shorts,
Playing with my somewhat
drowsy cock.

There are kisses on my shoulder.
His chest brushes my back,
Tickling me with his short black hair.
My shorts are suddenly off,
Thrown to the side.

I have never allowed anyone
To be this familiar with me.
It wasn't so long ago that I
Was too ashamed to walk around
My apartment naked.
Now I have embraced my nudity
And abandoned the
revulsion.

I am no longer an obese
Pre-pubescent boy fearful
Of the locker room.
I am a man to be
Admired and fondled.
Someone who gives the
Sexy dark haired man
Who shares my bed a
Throbbing erection.

His hands
Glide down to
Cup my balls.
Gentle and intoxicating.
An arm snakes around my torso.
Eotic,
Warm,
Comfortable,
Safe,
Tingling.

The immensity of my
Cock,
My heart
And the freedom
In my soul
Cannot be contained
By this tiny room
With the half
Stove and fold away table.

The heat we generate
Melts the plate I
Was drying.
The daisy petals on the table
Bubble,
Like paint on an
Old door in the August
Sun.
The cabinets sweat,
And the freezer doors
Swell and burst
Spilling its white ice
Onto the floor.

A soft sigh escapes
My lips.
I pour unintelligible, soft words
Over his chin
And chest.
I am held,
Spent.
Safe and comfortable
In a way I've never been
Before.

Plastic Bag

Tonight I was crossing the
Street when a plastic
Bag blew up to my
Feet.

I thought I'd kick it
Out of the way
And I put my foot
In it.

I tried to jump kick
It off once.

Didn't work.

Second time I had
To put my other foot
On it and jump out
Of it.

I cracked a smile
And laughed.
A laugh that took
Me half way down
The block.

When does that happen?
Bags on your feet?

It was a New York moment.
Shoulda been caught
On film.

I could feel the slow
Motion fade away;
Maybe into a
Montage.

Time to Make the Donuts

Another year. Almost.
The eve of aught 5.
Really not that different from the
Eve of aught 4.

I wake, eat, work, play.
Wake, eat, work, play.
Wake, eat, work, play.
Not much is going to
Change at midnight.

Even if my job, my love life
Or anythiing else changes,
It's still just wake, eat, work, play.

I feel like the Dunkin' Donut man.
Some days with all his
Desperation.
Some days with a smile.

Aught 5, here we come.

5th Grade Memories

A young boy walks in the
Rain alone.
Tears hidden by the mist.
Anger and hurt in his heart.

On the side of the highway
A car pulls over and offers him
A ride.
He lives in a place and a time
Where that's still okay.
He knows the family that
Opens their car doors.

I'm going to my friend's.
Yes my Mom and Dad
Know where I am.
They said it was ok.

Lies from embarrassment.
They can't know he's
Running away.

His friend's parents warily
Accept more lies
That tumble so easily out
Of his mouth now.

Together the boy and his
Friend try to figure out
How he can still go to
School and not run into
His teacher father.

So naive.

It's funny. Even in the
Midst of disobedience
And striking out at his
Family to inflict the
Hurt he feels so deeply inside,
He has an odd sense of right and wrong.
Of course he must go to school.
That's what you do.

Freedom, wickedness,
Lost, yet warm at his
Friend's house.
The possibilities open up
Terrifyingly in front of him.
The lies are creeping in on him.
The phone rings.
His father is on his way.

Relief and fear.
An embrace that will never be
Forgotten.
A boy in his father's arms,
Crying,
The rain blowing in from
The open door.

It's just a beginning.
The start of a deep dive into
The soul of the boy.
What makes him tick,
Why does he feel pain
So much more than those
Around him?

Riding home with a
Relieved father, not an angry one,
He realizes what his has always
Known.

He is loved.

1 or 2

One for now.

In the movies there is always two.
Another one out there for everyone.

Stories have twos.
Books.
TV shows.

What happened to ones?
Are they allowed anymore?
Do they exist?
Are they happy?

Sometimes one is wonderful.
Free.
Exciting.
Exhilerating.
Sometimes it is lonly.
Just plain lonly.

Someone to fit under my arm.
A lap for my head.
Someone I can make dinner.
(or at least order Thai)

Isn't that what two is?
Probably fights, and hurt feelings.
Frustration and longing,
Just as much as the kissing,
Flowers and sacrifices.

Maybe the books are true.
Something must have inspired
The poetry,
Plot lines, and thousands of
Years of stories.

One or two?
Choice or Destiny.
Who knows.

Pain

Pain is so close to pleasure.

Bull shit.

Pain, is pain.
It hurts.
Burns.
Scrapes.
Screams.

Your skin is flayed.
Your blood spilled and burning.
Twisting in your belly.
Nerves splitting in two.

Usually you think about the
Explosion bringing release.
What if it didn't

What if you were curled up in a bed,
Two, three times a day for six years.
What if every step up and down stairs,
Was a jab of pain.
Your back full of knives when you bend over.

Pain sucks.
Pain is horrible.

There is no desire in pain.
Only a cry for relief.
The desire for 'not pain.'

Pain doesn't make you appreciate living.
It just hurts.

Winter Urges

Your body seems silent.
Quiet for the long dark.
In truth,
Your heart beats harder.
Pushing the sap like
Crimson blood to the furthest
extremities.
Your insides burn just
To bring a slight warmth to
Your fingertips.

The inner heat becomes
Something else.
The embers and white hot
Soul coals
Burn,
Yearn.

They are a hearth.
Deep and warm,
Welcoming.
Calling out.
Insistently reaching into the
Winter winds for someone
To come and sit by its fire.

Your body aches and tenses.
Hands itching for
Another.
Your fire crying out to be
Stoked.
The flaming logs wanting
To be turned, loved,
Given attention.

It years for flesh.
To warm.
To consume.
Protect.
Ignite.
Transform.
Draw in,
Make a place for it.
Give it a home.

You are dizzy with the power
Of your winter urges.
You smolder from within
Watching the snow.
Waiting under the bright
Winter stars.

Bright Food Shop

Dark green pozole,
Spicy Hispanic waiter.
Beads of sweat bubble
On the bridge of my nose,
More on my brow.

Welcoming host,
Kindness in his eyes,
Arms and smile.
Knowing.
Alone on the eve of
Thanksgiving.
No pity there,
Only understanding,
And a gladness
That I chose to spend
It with them.

The red head with the
Coffee and the smile.
The old man who
Remembers Janet Reno
And her girlfriend
Sitting where he is now.

Quiet, comfy, full of smiles.
Homey.

My Letter of Resignation

Dear America,

Thank you for the opportunities to grow and succeed over the last 31 years. You have given me the chance to learn, develop, make choices, form ideologies, debate, vote and so much more.

I regret to inform you that I must resign from my position as Patriotic Citizen. The recent leadership has given me doubt as to the sustainability and dependability of this country. I have watched and protested as you have taken violent action towards increasing capital interests for the elite and systematically worked against the rights of many American citizens. The sense of loyalty and patriotism you instilled in me during my childhood is lost as I have seen you wrongly and prematurely adopt war in the middle east, ignored jobs and economic failure at home, and supported legislation that dehumanizes me as a gay man. The very principals you taught me, fairness, equality, and justice, are the ideals I have watched you abandon, squash and ignore over the past four years. I had hoped that these wrongs would be righted, but now I see that it is not just the leadership, but the very citizens within your borders that disappoint.

I wish you luck in the future. The resources, intelligence and passion you hold should not be wasted, and my dream is that you will recognize your faults and work to correct them before you do more damage. I will be focusing my time and efforts elsewhere.

Thanks again, and good luck America.

Sincerely,
Jeffrey V. Lindquist

Patirotic?!?

A tear in my eye,
Just from checking
A little box.

Who knew!

I think I'm a bad ass
Cynic.
I'm such a softie.
My well
Of emotion released
In the tiniest gestures.

Halloween

Masks and lost inhibitions.
Youth remembered.
Daring taken.
Being someone else.

This is the obvious.

What's underneath.
What do you want to do
On Hallowwen.
What motivates the change.

I abandon my shyness.
A sexy lumberjack
Isn't ashamed of his body.
Doesn't shy away from
His masculenity and power.
Embraces his chest hair.

No need to hide behind
Words and wit.
Intelligence is a pleasant surprise.
On this night it's about the body.
No shame or hiding.

Wear your mask,
Let the inside out.
Release your deepest fear.

Setter/Hitter

Exploring new territory,
Setter turned hitter.
I like Hitting.
I didn't think I could Hit,
And now I find I'm a right and a left hand
Hitter.

I'm still a great Setter,
But there is a thrill in Hitting,
A power I didn't know was there.
One I enjoy.
In control,
Directing, pushing it down the line.

I have to wonder,
Is it the control I enjoy?
Am I afraid to let go?
Which position has more power?
Now that I think about it,
Setters really run the game.
Maybe my new found love of
Hitting is an indicator that I'm
Letting go.

Pink Walls

Pink Walls with yellow flowers staring at me.
juxtaposed against Orange columns and a silver
Tin ceiling.
Riots of color, rubbing up against each other.
Aquamarine and evil clown faces.

It seems like a scene from a nightmare.
It's just a coffee shop.
A nightmare in and of itself.
Gay men.
Cruising. Studying. Reading. Online.

The reading material is as diverse and
Clashing as the walls themselves.
Next, HX, the toughest challenge for some.
The Times, an anatomy textbook, the Post
A novel.
Some don't even adopt the pretense of reading
Or writing.
Just looking.

The place reeks of possibility, hopes, yearning.
A breeding ground for desperation,
Flirting, disappointment, posturing.
It's filled with late night recovery and
Delightful post-coital coffees and smiles.

Love and angst. Pink, Orange, Aquamarine.
Somehow it doesn't clash as bad as you'd think.

New Digs

It's amazing what a change in location will do for a body. I'm back downtown in Manhattan and finding different ways to occupy my time. I suddenly have two extra hours a day and not really sure what to do with them! I'm thinking about expanding my hobbies a bit, or adding a new one.

It's nice to be part of the city again. Inwood was nice, and pretty, but it reminded me of suburbia. I like the Urban Sprawl with the soaring buildings, brownstones, corner bistroes, shops, restaurants, and those great flower paintings on the sidewalks in the village, the art galleries and spaces, mini parks and people walking their dogs. I actually enjoy being on top of everyone. A condensed soup of people, emotions, energy. Sometimes it can be maddening, but mostly it's exhilarating!

See ya on the streets!

On Death and Taxes

I've recently been reading the autobiography of Benjamin Franklin. He has inspired the headline of this entry.

Death, not taxes, has touched me twice in the last week. I heard recently of a friend's acquaintance that committed suicide that unsettled me. I have my own past brushes with suicidal tendencies, so the news triggered some unsettling memories and feelings despite the fact that I never met this person. In a way, I feel I can relate. I've been there before. That precipice is such and easy place to return to once you've been there.

My friend and co-worker Matty died last night. He was such a great guy. He was a friend and an inspiration when I first started working here on his team. I think I remember describing him before as one of those "perfect straight guys." You know, the guy who all the girls want because he's so sweet, so funny, and full of joy. The one who treats people with such respect and honor, comfortable in his own skin and always wearing a smile.

Good-bye Matty. You will be missed.

Return to Music

Music has been such a huge part of my life.
It was a place for me to express the
Deep emotion I had inside me as a child.
Music, along with religion was an acceptable
Way for me, as a boy, to cry, exalt,
Sing, dance, mourn, emote and thrill.

Ultimately music won over religion.
Religious college, music major.
Sometimes antithetical.
Music the free form of emotion,
Religion, emotional, but only within bounds.
Both triggered deep wells of sorrow, tears, joy
Elation, fear, wonder and power.

Music consumed, directed, propelled.
In many ways I allowed those around me
To drive me instead of the music.
Expectations I was trying to fulfill,
Standards to exceed.
Perfection to be obtained.
Life also competed with music.
Bills, money for head shots,
Traveling for auditions, rehearsals
Conflicting with work, roles that didn't pay.

Work now dominates.
I pay my rent, my school loans,
My power bill.
I can see my family without my
Train ticket breaking the bank.
I have friends, routines, sports,
Nights out, dates, coffee shops.
Sometimes emptiness.

Yesterday I sang.
I sang with abandon.
My voice soared into my heart and
Soul and revived sleeping emotions.
Today the world seems brighter,
Happier, clearer.
So simple.
A return to music.
My music, none other's.

Severe Intensity

I think that I intimidate people.

In fact, I think it's becoming more and more evident that I am an itimidating guy. Apparently I can even be considered cold and heartless. These are disturbing revelations to me. Mostly I'm bothered because I know that on the inside, I'm not that way at all. Certainly, after people get to know me, they understand that I'm one of the most approachable and open people they've ever known. They can't imagine that I'm actually a shy, reticent guy. Shy and reticent. That's the way I see it. These are things I challenge myself to overcome, and now it's even more important as my shy, reticent behavior, and my concentration on overcoming that behavior, is sending wrong signals.

I'm a serious guy. I take my work seriously, my art seriously, my play seriously (well, at least my volleyball!). I want to be the best. I want to work towards improving myself in all things. I want to make things better. I want to excel, be perfect in all that I take on. There are some good things that come out of these attitudes, and, some bad. I'm beginning to see the effects of the bad side effects. I need to challenge myself to relax and find a balance between serious intensity towards bettering myself and being the best, and having fun. Challenge to relax. There are problems even in that statement. Maybe I just need to relax. Not relax in the traditional ways, massages, lazing in front of the TV, sleeping. Relaxing needs to happen in the serious moments. I need to relax in the volleyball game, the business meeting, at the bar or at parties, during rehearsal. Relaxing within the activity and the moment.

Relaxing into the moment. Maybe it's less relaxing into the moment then it is finding the joy. If I concentrate on the fun, joyous aspects of my job, my social interactions, my games and my practice, I have a feeling the relaxation will come. Hopefully that will come through on my face and those people who have never met me, will see the me that my friends and family know.

Cold and Heartless

Alone is so much better.
No one to get in the way.
No other opinions muddying the water.

No one else gets it.
No one can comprehend.
They are too slow,
Or couldn't understand.
I'll keep to my own,
And they to theirs.

So much simpler to rotate independently.
No chance of friction or fire.
No possibility of errant wrecks.
Safety, security.

Cold and heartless is not an
Evil thing, only a lonely thing.

Sadly, I can't be lonely anymore.
It's time to open up.
Let go of the past and open my
Heart to the possibilities of the future.
People are not there to
Stomp on my heart or
Reject me.

Cold and heartless must crumble.
It won't fall from outside
Influences, but from my own
openness.
Letting in, even one person,
Will break the barriers.

Soon the return of the child.
The happy, bright child with
Sincere smiles, yet with the balance
Of memory to truly appreciate the
Happiness of the moment.

Tears

Crying reminds me that I am alive.
The shuddering chest stirs my blood,
My heart torn asunder shows me that
It still exists.

Business, life, cynicism, the City
All work to remind you that
Being vulnerable is weak.
So quickly saddness is rejected
And forgotten.
Emotions are locked away safely
In an effort to control them.

Tears, so seemingly small,
Powerfully rip through the walls
Of protection.
Hard stone barriers disintegrate
As quickly as the tissue used
To wipe the moisture from your cheeks.

Crying is not to be feared,
But embraced.
You are alive!

Thunderstorms

So quick and intense
Passing by with fervent
Intensity.
Gone before they are really there.

Just like men.

Passionate Nights

Hot summer night,
Dreamy summer guy.
Dark mid-summernight bedroom,
Dark mid-summernight body.

Books and plays about summer magic,
No comparison to Shakespearian
Fairy dust sprinkled
On two souls in the city.

My weary spirit lifts and flies
High above the New York skyline.
My summer doldrums fade away
A memory drowned in new kisses.

Status Quo

I wake, I eat, I work, I play.

My life is moving forwards
Backwards, nowards, everywards.
Uphills and downhills are
Now plateaus or little bumps.

Age and perspective don't always
Creep up on you.
Sometimes they hit you
Like a ton of bricks.

One day you wake up and suddenly
You have perspective.
Maturity? Perspective?
Stability?

Is this what life is about.
Moving ahead even keeled?
Stable and steady.
Each day like the last.
Nothing new, just merely rearranged?

In this state of mind
sadness has no sway.
Perhaps it's a coping mechanism.
Unfortunately, happiness is also elusive.

There are happy and sad moments.
Feelings that appear like novelties
In the palm of my hand.
My mind notes them, and I utter a little
"huh."
I place it back on the shelf
Move on.
Merely a footnote now.
"I remember that moment.
Wasn't it interesting?
I wrote something about it once.
Where is that notepad?"

Being Gay

Being Gay is scary & exciting,
Terrifying & scintillating.
Simultaneously blessed & cursed.

On the edge,
In between,
A mix of the races.
Neither man or woman,
Or both at the same time.

Outsiders, different,
Shunned, misunderstood,
Disrespected.

At best, a novelty.
A wonder, a freak-show,
A great mystery to be marveled,
But not understood.

A tribe, a pack,
Fighting amongst ourselves.
Our human weaknesses & strengths
Amplified a hundredfold.

Helpless & strong,
Powerful & weak.

Strangers grappling in the night,
Looking for normality, release,
Enlightenment.

Being Gay is being led by
Your body & your mind.
Torn,
Following two opposite directions.
Driven mad trying to strike a balance.

Sex, love & relationships.
The chosen, or damned,
Are so few.
A thousandfold challenge.

Gay, the worst and best in life.

Circles

Everything comes around.
I feel like I'm moving forward
I realize I'm going in circles.

I'm back where I began.
Yet, I'm not.

The situation is the same:
Newly single
Working
Going out with friends
But, I've moved forward somehow.

Last time I was here:
Pain
Self-destruction
Self-pity
Regrets

Now:
At peace.
Knowing more.
Healthy.

Maybe one day my love life
Will be a forward moving path.

For now, I'm glad this new
Familiar place is happier,
Healthier,
Better.

Living

Party.
Visit a friend in the hospital.
Work.
Look for a new job.
Relaxation.

Learning more about your insecurities.
Feeling your mortality.
Frustration.
Trying to find a path.
Calming the storm.

Conquering low self-esteem.
Being there for support.
Getting by.
Back to square one.
Need more time.

Stepping forward in a relationship.
Cherishing your friendships.
Hoping for a better future.
Recharging for the next step.
Trying to bring peace to the day to day.

A Moment of Passion Expressed Only by Words

I put down my book and my mind is alive
Words, wonder, emotions.
The letter I wrote him is alive
Living, breathing, hot, writhing.
My heart scrawled on inadequate paper.

The letter betrays the intense passion I feel.
My body, my spirit yearns for him.
His blond/blue scorches the inside of my eyelids.
His arms are achingly real to my empty grasp.
I want him close.
My head on his chest.
His lips.
The feeling of him inside.
I want to press my chest against his sleeping back
Draw his slumbering soul into my safe haven.
I want his head on my arm
My hand snugly around him in comfort and care.

His neck and shoulders are a wonder.
My lips kiss and caress them involuntarily.
His laughter, quickness, intensity,
suppressed fury, deep sorrow, sweet innocence,
Fear, longing, loyalty, love, passion and mystery
Haunt my waking moments and deepest dreams.

I see in this beginning possibilities
Of years of discovery.
I fear losing the future,
So I allow only the present.

Very soon I will see him again.
How simple and beautiful it will be.
I do not know the details,
The words exchanged, or activities engaged.
I only know that my fingers
will once again touch him.
My eyes look on his stunning beauty,
My breath catch in my throat.

It is enough to know I will see him again.
How wonderful it would be to have a lifetime
To see him again and again.

Foreign Rain

Even the Rain is different here.
Lush, sensual.
Every drop laden with sexual fullness.

The men, beautiful.
Each nose, darkly lashed eye,
Curl of hair falling into the face
Worn unknowingly with grace and masculinity.

At home there is a frantic job.
Unfocused and frighteningly pointless.
Pushing pixels and images around on a screen.
Channeling money and going home with little.

A relationship, shifting.
Intensity, indifference, passion, ambivalence.
I was warned,
Told what was coming my way.
Does that make it right?

It's so easy to fall into tropical oblivion.

The sun blasts away thought.
Body and mind washed in blowing sand, bobbing waters.
Some come to lose and refill their soul.
Mine, already full, seeks only a moment of peace.

Sun, sand, water and luscious rain
Now strengthen me for the trip home.
I am armed again with the joy and wisdom
That set me apart when I was young.

My body craves the physical strength
It has forgotten and never fully explored.
I shunned and tortured it because
I fear the power of beauty.

Power no longer scares me.
Full lips, strong muscles, sexual energy
Flaunts itself in front of me.
An endless parade of willing bodies
Which no longer tempt me.
I remained true to the doubtful one.

Self restraint has opened up the world.
My body awaits, my mind itches for more.
Sumptuous rain, burning sun
No longer temptation but rejuvenation.

A Chorus Line

Dreams and thoughts,
Memories.

Memories of nervousness,
Adrenaline,
Powerful legs,
Weak arms,
Steady breath,
Cracking that note.

Auditions were different in school.
Safe.
Art didn't pay the rent.
The adrenaline was ego induced.
Bragging rights.
Experience building.

An audition today?
Terrifying.
Can this vessel contain
All those youthful emotions?

I miss the rush,
Not the insecurity.
I miss the ART,
Not the aggrevation.
"you're too serious"
"your voice is beautiful,
not powerful"
"too fat"

What kind of life is that?
What kind of life is there
Without the music,
Passion,
Emotion and heat.

Birthday Boy

31 is just like 30.
I guess I'm in my early 30's now.

Most feel their years press on them by now.
I'm embracing those years.
I want more.
I want to move forward.
Dwelling on the past has been too destructive.

I'm stronger.
Faster.
Smarter.

I felt the same when I turned 25,
30,
and now today.

Did I do anything special?
I sat on a bench in Washington Square Park
With two of my best friends.

We were quiet and enjoyed the sun,
The people,
Each other.

They left, and I sat,
Enjoying the sun,
The people,
Myself.

Birthday's are great!

Married Men

Silently reading their papers.
Glasses on one,
None on the other.

Middle of the road clothing.
Not too flashy,
Not too dull.

The train crowds.
They move closer to make room.

Words are not necessary,
Your matching rings say it all.

You are our dream fulfilled.
I don't cringe with jealousy,
But pick up pen and paper,
To celebrate your quiet happiness.

I see and know.

It will happen.
It can happen.
It does happen.

Someday the world will catch up.

For now, you ride quietly together on the train,
Sharing your Saturday morning
On your way to a destination unknown.

Missing a Man

My thoughts bring you back to me.
Your golden hair and blue eyes.
Such a sappy sentiment, but I can't help myself.

I remember your lips,
Your sweet "hey."
The thought of holding your hand and hearing your voice,
Send me over the edge into la-la land.

I can't wait to hold, talk and be with you again.

Who knew this cynical soul
Could recapture the childhood wonder
I thought was gone forever.

Earth Air Water Fire

The world presses in on you.
Red tape, emails, bills, politics.

The sun hits your skin and warms your cold blood.
The air brushes across your face and dries the tears of frustration.
Water sprinkles on you and cools the heat of anger.
Earth, plants, dirt, soil, loam.
All help remind you of the simplicity of a bud of a flower,
The sweet fruit on the vine,
Mud pies from your childhood.

Peace again.

Juxtaposition

Sunny days and corporate bullshit.
Companies that "do no evil" and pay their employees like crap.
Massages and parties in lieu of sustainable income.
Free lunches when all you can think about it how you're going to feed yourself over the weekend.
Working twice as hard for half the pay.

All common themes.
Everyone deals with this.
Is this what corporate America is like?
Even at the "Good" companies?

Wrestling

Last night the sun and the moon wrestled.

Blazing burning passion wrapped in the arms of slow burning intensity.
Blue eyes meet brown.
A tangle of white lips and limbs, touching and groping
Coming together and moving apart
Only the blond and brown hair gave distinction to the melding parts.

Souls and bodies intertwined like a fleshy yin and yang.

High energy meets cool passion.
Burning rays of the sun give light to the moon,
And the moons gentle tide-moving power entrances the sun.

A beautiful pair, wrestling in the night.

The moon weeps from joy as it bathes in the light of the sun.
With out the sun it weeps in the darkness
Craving the warmth and intensity of the sun's gaze.

The moon is used to waiting, watching and timing the seasons,
Patiently he moves through the sky
Looking forward to his next match with the Sun God.

A Sharper Image

Love is like a picture.
(don't you hate it when someone starts like that... but it's so true!)

Love is like a picture coming into focus.

It's fuzzy at first, but you're curious.
You've paused to see what's behind the blurs.
The water lillies-esque facade is, by itself, beautiful.
The blend of colors and amorphous shapes exude an intoxication.
You fall into the delightful uncertainty, the freedom from form and constraints.
Color rules.

Over time the picture sharpens.
The lines become more distinct.
Airbrushed effects lose their power.
Every flaw comes into full examination.

Love celebrates those flaws.
Clairty brings more facets of wonder.
The morning light brightens the scene,
And allows you to look deeper into the eyes of love.

You're patient for now.
Enjoying the colors,
Observing the slow work of focus.
You bide your time and enjoy the journey.
Just as wisdom lightens your steps over time,
Deepening your understanding and brightening your path with age,
So too does love.

All comes clear in time.

Nerves

New things can cause nervousness.
Excitement is so easily transformed to nervousness.
Fear is a major cause of nervousness.

I'm starting something new.
Something young and in it's infantile state.
I feel like a new parent, unsure of what to do and afraid of hurting something so small, fragile and precious.
I also feel excited.
Such possibilities ahead of me.

How do you combat the nerves?
Looking too far ahead can cause too much anxiety.
The future is so unsure for all things.
Looking hard at the past makes you second guess every decision, thought, nuance and inflection.
The past is unchangeable.

It is hard, but I will combat nerves as I do with all new things:
Enjoy each and every moment, do not look too far ahead, and try not to dwell on the past.

This is my new mantra.

To be read at my father's funeral

My heart is torn asunder.
My soul rips in two and grief fills everything I have ever known.

Words are not enough.
How can you say how much he loved me?
No one can accurately describe the depth of his love for his wife and children.
If words were like grains of sand or stars in the sky,
There would be too few to capture it all.
If only everyone in the world
Were lucky enough to have someone
Love them so fully, completely
And unconditionally.

In his eyes, I was nothing less than perfect.
In my eyes he is perfect,
And I will miss him.

You will live in me forever.
You will be with me forever.

You wanted nothing but happiness for me.

So, when I am happy, that...that is where you will be.

Kisses

He held my hand, stopped me in the street, turned me around and kissed me. I wish I could say it was only the kiss that made me swoon. Though it had the power to do so, it was the combination of delightful chatter, intense looks, the feel of his knee beneath my hand, the beautiful words, his brilliant mind and his lips. All of those things coupled with a kiss that steals breath away has taken me to a higher place. I'm in a child like state of wonder. Everything is beautiful. Love songs chime in my head. Works of poetry and novellas of love are simultaneously composed both trying, and failing, to capture the pure intensity of passion, romance and budding love that sparks and charges between these two bodies.

I had forgotten what it was like. I had forged a new way of looking at relationships that had nothing to do with love and only to do with convenience and comfort.

Now I realize my foolishness. I've met someone where I can see love and comfort in beautiful harmony. The kind of person with whom I can see growing older. I touch his hand and see the moment and all of the subsequent happy, painful, sweet, emotional, upsetting, joyous and intense moments that are coming in the days, weeks, months, and coming years.

Besos, Baci, Kisses. So much promise, beauty, passion all bottled into such a simple meeting between two people.

It's a beautiful thing.

Amtrak is Overrun!

Lower middle upper lower white trash have taken over the first 16 seats of my Amtrak train car.

Younger middle aged grand parents with 3 couples: Oldest, Middle, Youngest with accompanying spouses. All couples trailing two or three children. Even the early late teen girl with her street-beard wearing boyfriend slash fiance slash kid who knocked her up have a little one.

Momma #1, tripping over her double negatives to barely legal teen dad over the head of sugar juiced child #1: "Don't be fuckin' with dat 'tude af'er you done ask me to marry you."

Momma #2 to Daddy #3 after Whiny Spoiled Brat #2 complains about losing her seat to Sleeping Teen Dad #1: "Don't say it's okay to sit back dere, she [Whiny Spoiled Brat #2] lost her fuckin' seat.

Momma #3 chiming in after previous statement: "Don't be fuckin' talkin' shit like dat to my husband [Daddy #3]"

The script that followed could have been transcribed from two ghetto teenage girls squabbling in a school yard.

My cheeks flash red with blood on their behalf, as none seem phased by such a display.

And some think I'm a threat to the sanctity of marriage and family!

A Philadelphia Story

Philadelphia in the spring is like a walk through the west village.
Historical buildings, pretty tree lined streets, quaint businesses.

I wonder if I should move back?
Be a big fish in a small pond.

Who knows. There's good and bad, just like all places.

TRAINS

Trains here, trains there.
Sneaking glances at other passengers.
Looking, while not looking.
A face, crotch, Greek coffee cup, umbrella, Prada.
Yelling people, conflicts upsetting the uneasy truce to which
Everyone silently agrees when riding.
Emotions on faces. Some with masks that hide what's inside.
A connection.
A wink or raised eyebrow.
Sometimes that is enough.
Knowing you were noticed.
Touching briefly the Possibility.

Yesterday the eyes led to something more.
Today, briefcases, ad for the beach, trendy watch, unkempt beard, nice ass.
Train stop.
Next.

Where have I been?

Up, down, in a haze of sugar glaze, movies, TV, work slurring by, phone calls and emails, Emails, EMAILS! Going home alone. Making plans alone. Getting coffee alone. Fights with siblings. Those who don't understand wanting to run. To sprint and hide, skitter away, slip into the night, disappear into dark nooks and crannies in funked basements lit by flickers of love.

Family Strife = Freedom!

Father is dying. Grandfather is dying. Mom is fighting with grandmother. Siblings battling among themselves.

What a mess!

So THIS is what it's like to have family troubles. I think for once, I feel "normal!" My family has always been perfect. We've gotten along, we actually enjoyed each other's company and now, suddenly, it's all exploded! I think I played a bad part in the downfall. Confidant to all, insight into everyone, I tried to keep things together, plant the seeds of understanding, spread empathy. I think I failed. I should have told them all to quit talking to me and actually talk to the person who offended them!

*sigh*

It actually feels good to have that burden off my shoulders. I don't have to "hold them together" anymore. I can just be myself and allow things to fall into place. I'm excited about finally freeing myself from the yolk of "family glue" and moving fully into my life. I don't care anymore what my family thinks. This is a freeing day for me!

Onward and upward!

Walls Come A'Crumblin' Down

It's amazing how much your life can change in just a couple of weeks. Nothing tangible such as my job, my apartment or my body (aside from a couple extra pounds from aggressive cookie ingestion). My life is different. Attitudes, my beliefs, my system of coping, motivation and drive. It started with a fight with my sister. Then the bitter realization that the people in my life will not ever be the way I want. Then suddenly knowing that everything I've believed and in which I had faith was really non-existant! Don't worry though.. the story has a happy ending. I'm at the threshold of rebuilding.

What an interesting sprial I've taken over the last two paychecks. Depression to anxiety. Crying to desperation. Bitterness to anger to apathy.

Let me back up a bit: I was very mature from a very young age. I realized very early that there was more to the world than what I could see and touch. Beauty was not purely physical but an effort, a journey, the life and blood behind the actions. Sculptures were moving. A single blade of grass a wonder. Laughter like a spring.

This "midlife" crisis didn't happen because I realized the futility of my body and my goals in life (like most people do). Mostly because my body has been traiterous for as long as I can remember. Secondly, my goals have changed and shifted dramaticaly in the past. Like when I decided to not be a teacher and to pursue professional singing and then choosing to follow a business career and put my music career on hold. I've dealt with life changing decisions.

This is harder. In thes crisis, appreciation of nature is difficult to grasp. Sex is no longer even a game I had made it. Dating is a joke. I'm so blase that I'm not even sure I'd make a good partner now. Learning is boring, reading is boring, exercise is boring, drinking is boring, whoring is boring, dating is boring, I am boring. And on and on. Ugh.

Friday, something happened. I reached bottom again. The gay love story I had just watched was boring. Depressing. Annoying. I was low. Very low. There I was in a club, beer in hand, sitting next to my friend and I decided that I had nothing left. No spiritual part was alive anymore. And THAT was really boring!

It was nice to realize that I'm tired of being depressed, and lonely, and bitter. It was boring. It's taking way to much energy to be bored. Time to rebuild. Being at the bottom is so passe now! It's kinda of interesting thinking about finding different ways of looking at life. Different views, different motivations. I have to. I can't continue on the way I was. That would lead to a bridge or a bottle or a blade. No thanks... I've been down that road. Not for me anymore.

So... I'm stepping out not knowing anything. No opinions. No motivations. Just a fresh look. Trying to figure it out. I'm not going to quit my job. Not going to end up backpacking across Europe (althought that does sound like fun). I just can't afford it, to be honest. So... I'll quit being depressed. Turn in my two week notice to weight watchers and low self-esteem. Serve a pink slip to my bitterness. I'm not going to swing the pendulum and be a happy go lucky perky boy. That is just as annoying as the lonely, dark, depressed guy. Just...... something else.

Hunger

An aching in the legs. A pain that needs to be stretched. You can't remain at your desk, you must move. The searing, jabbing pain is unbearable. Fire courses through your veins. Only by rising, rising and moving, working out the muscles do you have any hope. You begin to swoon from the intensity. You stumble and almost fall. Hope. There in the distance is the cure. Just a few more cubicles and you're there. So many options, but how best to get it to the source of the pain? You can't smear it on, you can't inhale it, it must go into the blood. Sugar, carbs, fat and grease. This is the only cure. You are propelled, you are commanded by the pain... Ease me, soothe me, sate me! You must, you cannot deny the pain.

Hunger.

RED BRICK

STAINED RED BRICK STARES AT ME.

NOT THE PAINTINGS, CABINETS AND MIRRORS, BUT THE RAW MATERIAL ON WHICH THESE THINGS HANG.

THIS EXTERIOR TURNED INTERIOR LOOKS BACK INTO MY BROWN EYES.

IT IS ROUGH AND RUGGED. THE HANGING CLUTTER CANNOT MASK THE MATERIEL CRAFTED TO WEATHER THE ELEMENTS.

INSIDE ME IS ITS BROTHER FAÇADE.

PEOPLE INTRUPT MY GAZE.

BLISSFUL MOMENTS OF BLAZING LIFE, THEY ARE BRIEF INTERUPTIONS IN MY ETERNAL CONTEMPLATION.

SOMETIMES PEOPLE LINGER. BLUE, GREEN, BROWN AND HAZEL EYES. ENGLISH, SPANISH & PORTUGUESE TOUNGES.

ALWAYS THERE BEHIND LINGERS THE MORTAR AND RED AND BROWN MOTTLED MATERIAL.

I am angry

Alone in a corner in a crowded room an emotion, usually bottled up and hidden away in a dark safe corner of my mind, boils and threatens to spill out. I fear it will pour over the world. My ire will overwhelm those in my path. They will shrink away from my furrowed brow and blazing eyes.

Too long have I kept this hidden. I have stashed this away out of fear. Fear of the power I wield with my pain and vengeance. The anger is not wild, it is controlled. The heart beats steady and strong. A berserker soon is consumed by his own energies and dies quickly. This energy is like the slow tide of the ocean. Roiling and boiling into a great tsunami of unstoppable force. I will not run through the street terrorizing all in my wake. No. My sting will be in sarcasm, ruthlessness, determination, force and tough love. My weapon will be my evil eye.

My heart has been strong and my courage intense. Long have I trembled at the thought of moving forward. I have feared my leadership, and quailed at my abilities. I have allowed others to undermine my confidence. I have invited doubt into the house of my heart and made it my bedfellow.

Now, my light shall burn strong and fierce. The righteous and just will bend to my will and darkness will kneel at my feet and paw at me for mercy.

There will be no mercy.

I will trample darkness and light.

I will use it as a stepping stone on my climb to the top of the mountain. There death shall cower and do my bidding. The elements will battle and rage yet will follow my orders. The worlds will be mine to make or unmake.

It is there, on the top of the world, I will pause. At that great moment when all harkens to me and trembles at my hand, the very hand poised to destroy all existence, I will kneel in the sand and dig a small hole. With my mighty left hand I will assault my chest and tear out my heart and drop it in the hole. My scream of pain will shake the very core of the earth and from the tremor of the ground the sand will slide back over my heart.

My tears. My tears of sorrow over all lost things will water the ground. I will collapse and my last breath in the stillness of eternity will strike a spark against the sand. A spark that warms my heart and shocks it back into life.

It beats.

My blood flows into the earth, pumping, coursing deep into the bowels of fire.

The top of the mountain trembles and with a great wrenching sound the ground cracks and the mountain splits in two. A great tree bursts forth. The branches reach up into the heaven, the roots stretch to the warm core of molten lava.

Stillness.

The world marvels at the Tree. All sadness disappears when you gaze upon it. The world changes in the shadow of the Silver Tree. War ends, hunger ceases, laughter flourishes.

When passions flame people turn to the Tree. Their passions are changes, absorbed, given back pure and used by everyone. A great anger turns into a passionate love-making, hatred becomes a caress, fear, a kiss. Bodies and souls intertwine. Lives become eternal, death no longer holds sway. The last child had been born and the world flourishes in eternal life.

From the love-making comes a new race. Men and women both bear children infused with light. They are creatures that never know darkness. These rare children are so light and beautiful that they move as if they have wings. They breeze through the air and eventually fly off into the sky to the far stretches of the universe. They take the light of the Tree and go to sow seeds in other lands for other peoples.