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Thursday, May 19, 2016


It started with a line
A pencil sketch from a steady hand
Vertical and straight, right down the left margin
Until a sudden curve
Quite literally draws it away
Mere seconds before it would have run out of page
     and died a smudge on the desk

The curve became a spiral
A slow and determined movement
Building a path
Traveling around and around itself
As if it were seeking its own center
Seeking some sort literal closure
     in the absence of an emotional one.

It started again with a square
One on top of another
Connected at the corners building a cube
Shaded on the side and
Casting a shadow to block out the spiral 
A box to keep everything in
     and the walls to keep everything out

Because this picture isn't worth 1,000 words
It's only a sketch worth 500
Just a moment in time, a second really
To explore the white space and
Rob it of its purity
Spreading darkness like butter onto bread
     feeding consciousness with beauty only to be thrown away

In the end maybe its enough
It might just happen that this sketch reached its full potential
And died happy in the trash
Balled up in the corner, hugging itself
Finally loving itself and being happy to do it
Or maybe that's the lie
     and every sketch that ever died in the trash is mad as hell

It could have been so much more
The next Mona Lisa or
Something as bright as Starry Night
Cathartic as the Scream
Only how will a sketch ever know
Huddled up around itself in the trash
     the junkie of art

Then it starts again with a line
Only the hand isn't so steady now
It shakes, trembling with urgent desire
An artist's need to create
To get that next fix
An explosion of self-expression in an image
     saying everything that must never be said

This line is darker
Striking in its boldness
Running to the edge of the white
Daring itself to jump from the page
To the sky as a bird in flight
A masterpiece sculpted from the meager beginnings
     of bold lines on a page

Instead the jump is a break
A right angle across and another up
Sketching the path of an elevator
Down to up and down again
Then back up and down more quickly
Cycling faster and faster rushing to the right margin
     where it will die, a smudge on the desk

It started with a line
A brushstroke from a steady hand
Vertical and straight, right down the left side of the canvas
Until a sudden curve
Quite literally paints it away
The beginning of a new picture born from trash
     a masterpiece worth 1,000 words. 

Saturday, May 14, 2016

The Minotaur and the Satyr

Did I ever tell you about the time I caught the Sun?

See, where I grew up; it was dark all the time. Cold, and really, really hard to make your way without constantly tripping yourself up and falling face first into some shit. But everyday, there was the Sun. So high up and somehow still so bright. And my Gods the warmth! It was like being wrapped inside joy; as if love was something tangible that you could touch and wrap around yourself like a blanket that would never get cold.

I looked at the Sun everyday. I admired it. "One day," I told myself, "One day, I'm going to catch it and I'll never be cold or in the darkness ever again!" It was such a higher power to me. Everything it represented was everything I felt inside about myself. I knew that I belonged with the Sun; that I had somehow been born wrong and the darkness that was supposed to feel like home felt alien next to even the idea of the Sun.

The day that I caught the sun was the happiest day of my life. For the first time I felt complete. I felt whole next to a love that matched my own. I felt every drop of its light as a kiss on my thirsty lips. My soul was sated in its arms and I felt safe away from the darkness that had been my home for so long.

And I clung to this love so tightly that, through the light, I didn't see the darkness that still surrounded me. I held the Sun to my breast as a greedy miser; desperate to escape the cold, loneliness of the past. I burned myself in its heat and I blinded myself with its light until I could no longer see anything but memories of days gone by.

What did the Sun do? That day I learned that the Sun's light is for everyone. That the darkness follows us all. The Sun is so bright that it can see the beauty that I couldn't. The Sun is so warm that it turns the barren wasteland of the coldest heart into all of the love in the world when flowers bloom and trees blow in the breeze. The Sun is so much more than the love of a good man that was born into darkness.

So I let the Sun go.

And the Sun, it did set that night, it's parting gift to me the return of my sight and healing of my burns. With eyes that looked upon the World anew I watched it go. Our time together must have taken its toll on the Sun as well because as it sank to sleep it seemed bruised; purple and red and blue as if it too had been battered by my greed. I whispered an oath of my undying love and devotion to the wind in the hopes the message would be carried on the horizon to the Sun's ears. Then I turned and I returned to the darkness that had been my home; after all, you don't expect a sunset to admire you back.

But that isn't the end.

No sooner had I turned my head than I saw a something emerge from the dark. Beautifully tanned skin covered rippling muscles from torso to head where two massive horns curved backward in a spiral. Soft, brown fur covered the legs of a mighty beast that seemed ready to pounce at a moment's notice. A lopsided grin twisted his mouth and melted my heart as this beautiful Satyr let out a bellow of laughter.

"Beautiful man," he laughed, "Where do you think the Sun goes at night?" And he wrapped me in his arms and I felt complete. I felt whole next to a love that matched my own. I felt every drop of his light pass through me as our lips met in a kiss dominated by passion. My soul was sated. "You only need let go, because even the Sun needs a break from the darkness."

"Will you stay?" I asked.

"Not forever." said the Satyr, "But for a time. For a time. And then the Sun will have to rise again."

"What will I do then?" I asked fearfully.

"Always remember that the sunset does admire you back." he answered.

Tuesday, May 3, 2016

How to Operate With a Broken Heart

I'm trying to find the words
Or a way to explain what's in my heart
All the feels piled on top of me
Pinned under their weight, I couldn't breathe
Until this crack in my chest opened to a chasm
And I stood up feeling numb.
The real fuck of it is
The world looks the same and nothing's changed
Just a slight tint from my eyes that makes everything look just a little blue
So I just put one foot in front of the other with a smile
Walking through an unchanged world that doesn't give a damn
Inside I'll ask "what about me?" and "what about my plans?"
Then I'll choke back that sob and keep walking
Keep smiling
Because nothing's changed.
It's the end of the road
And I still got bills to pay
I still got to eat and sleep and work and dream
With this mask upon my face
Stepping one foot in front of the other with a smile
Passing all the faces that taught me what it is to sonder
Don't you know this hurt?
Can't you feel this pain?
Fuck no they don't care
Why would they give one fuck when
I can't wake up in the morning feeling happy or
How I cry myself to sleep every night because the nightmares just won't stop and
There's fear bleeding out from under the bed and coming out of every closet
And I'm trying to find the words
A way to explain what's in my heart
Just to show you, to show me, to show everything
I got ulcers in my belly all from worry
My back is out and I can't stand up carrying all this weight
It hurts here in my chest
All the way to my soul
Drowning in a river of tears that only flows inside until everything is just a little blue
Because nothing's changed
And the world still don't give a damn
So the mask smiles when I can't
And I'll walk through day after day
Until I stand up and feel numb
Because the real fuck of it is
The right words only matter when there's someone to listen