Dave Grohl - Times like these acoustic
The shock had gone, at least the initial. The news. The absence sudden shocking. The crush. It made no sense. Not to her. Not to anyone. The lingering loss that seared her. Each time a pause. Each time a question why. It made no sense, the passing. It wasn't supposed to be. No hallmark after-school special ever addressed. Slight whispers never passed moments when parents tucked her in as a child, The promise of a new day waiting expectantly on the horizon. This was not supposed to be.
That is when she reached out to a rogue cavalier from the past. A simple move, perhaps he would notice, perhaps not. But he did sending a reply simple. Words, perhaps raw, perhaps eloquent, or maybe something more... by being less: Poetic Truth.
Should he remind her? The simmering beautiful confidence he saw in her whiplash smile every time he saw her. The greetings she passed with the mischievous look in her eye that beckoned one to join... just for fun. It would be fun, subtle reminder in her smile that never died. The shaded shock of blonde that stuck out beneath the sandy strains. The pink pursed lips that never failed to hold a smile for him, some nights making him believe that they were for him only.
Did she know what she needed to know? She was precious. Her trait, her persona, that called to life all that surrounded her? She may bear new scars from a pain unbelievable. But she will survive. Scar tissue is stronger than regular tissue. Not only that, but it is proof that she survived. She is a survivor. He would never forget the moments of escape when they were merely one. One with the other. Dangerously speaking truths each to each. To live in defiance of a world sedated in its slumbering half truths. All the while the pull, the undertow drew and danced each dangerously close to each.
Perhaps she forgot. When he had heard the news he kept his words to himself. She had gotten a job in an industry where the extension of only a promise was held as somehow more real than reality itself. Paper men and plastic women would cross, would remain resistant to her exuberance for life. They would not know. Or worse they would not care. They only longed for the saccharine. They longed to be fed only by daydreams of neverworlds. If their sight was clouded, they wouldn't have to see the reality. He had lost one to such a world. He could not bear to loose another.
But where it was? Where she was, he knew not. Where should he guide? Where should he console? Did he reveal too much in his shirtsleeve diplomacy? Did it matter? In the end... no.
She needed to know her strength. She needed to know the life that erupted in her eyes. She needed to know the truth she cried out stood forth as a beacon that shattered back the encroaching darkness. She was bold, she was beautiful, she simply was. And that was, and would always be...
more than enough.
Poetic Truth.
Saturday, July 8, 2017
Tuesday, June 27, 2017
Two simple rules
Elvis Costello & The Attractions - Beyond Belief (Early Version) (by the way if the song bleeds into Elvis Costello's You Little Fool... that's okay)
So what is to be said in the vulgar age that desperately searches for heroes if only to rip them down. Especially at this hour. Almost after 10:30. The magic twilight that has replaced the water cooler. Where fine and happily married Christian men and women post pics of family, or of the day. Perhaps in honesty, or maybe a silent subterfuge calling out to another out in the darkness for one flirt, a doge, a smile, to feel young again. To escape the mortal coil, if only for a moment. To go from the known, to what might have been. To be wanted... if only in an illusory manner. As long as all can imagine and agree, it works. If only for a moment.
So what can I say. Two things. First: Everything changes. The ones you know, sorry to say, they can change. They might change. Pressure doesn't make character, it reveals it. The petty, the base, that which lies underneath... its all there. Charged vows made in a moment of passion go the way of the dodo. Can they change back? Perhaps. All moves. All twists. Some value their words, others... well let's just say not so much. Perhaps eternal love is too much to ask for this mortal coil. After all... They need new jeans. Or perhaps they must go to buy leather boots. You know the designer names. They are so important. More than that, they got a deal on it. Post.... brag... the acquisition of goods trumps all, n'est pas? Much more so than being one of character, than standing upright, than remaining outstanding when the rest of the world so desperately tries to make you fit in. It is so much easier. Everything changes.
The second rule is much more simple... everything is eternal.
Welcome to humanity.
Just never forget my two simple rules.
So what is to be said in the vulgar age that desperately searches for heroes if only to rip them down. Especially at this hour. Almost after 10:30. The magic twilight that has replaced the water cooler. Where fine and happily married Christian men and women post pics of family, or of the day. Perhaps in honesty, or maybe a silent subterfuge calling out to another out in the darkness for one flirt, a doge, a smile, to feel young again. To escape the mortal coil, if only for a moment. To go from the known, to what might have been. To be wanted... if only in an illusory manner. As long as all can imagine and agree, it works. If only for a moment.
So what can I say. Two things. First: Everything changes. The ones you know, sorry to say, they can change. They might change. Pressure doesn't make character, it reveals it. The petty, the base, that which lies underneath... its all there. Charged vows made in a moment of passion go the way of the dodo. Can they change back? Perhaps. All moves. All twists. Some value their words, others... well let's just say not so much. Perhaps eternal love is too much to ask for this mortal coil. After all... They need new jeans. Or perhaps they must go to buy leather boots. You know the designer names. They are so important. More than that, they got a deal on it. Post.... brag... the acquisition of goods trumps all, n'est pas? Much more so than being one of character, than standing upright, than remaining outstanding when the rest of the world so desperately tries to make you fit in. It is so much easier. Everything changes.
The second rule is much more simple... everything is eternal.
Welcome to humanity.
Just never forget my two simple rules.
Wednesday, June 21, 2017
Nonetheless
Robyn Hitchcock - The Ghost In You
In the night
The tune began to play
As his
Words long to betray
Describing the tantalizing pirouettes
of a glorious shade
In the half light
forever beckoned
yet remained
just a touch
out of reach
He would pursue
Driven
Til
The lights came on
and the shade vanished
It was a beautiful song
Nonetheless
In the night
The tune began to play
As his
Words long to betray
Describing the tantalizing pirouettes
of a glorious shade
In the half light
forever beckoned
yet remained
just a touch
out of reach
He would pursue
Driven
Til
The lights came on
and the shade vanished
It was a beautiful song
Nonetheless
Tuesday, June 13, 2017
Lingering Hesitation
It was the laughter in her eyes. He never wanted to hear them dim. Maybe that's why it was. Her sudden pause. The lingering hesitation. He turned to face.
They had pulled off to a side. A boundary. They stood, each to each, in a world of shadow, save one distant light. Perhaps that was the only place that was safe. A point just distant from the harshness of reality. It was here that she softly stuttered.
It was said, almost in a hush. Three little words.
That was it. It was nothing. It was everything. He was shocked. It had always been there. Those words. The elephant in the room that if by speaking its name both were afraid it would rip the environs asunder. Yet... by saying she had brought the hidden to life. To many they may just be words, but not to him. They marked a moment. An unspoken pledge hidden behind. Accept me. Embrace me. I devote myself to you... if only for a moment... deeper. Live with me, be with me, join with me... love me. Within those three little words was a simple destruction if their was no response.
Her laughing eyes were momentarily silenced by a shadow of fear. Those three words. Even though she had been the first to utter, he questioned if could be held so venerable. He knew the gravity, their seriousness. Indeed they held a power so bold that even though she had said them, could he be held so fragile. Could it be true? Those words. They were for him. She longed for return. He longed for her. He longed to say, to speak, to give life.
He pulled her close. The three words were returned. The shadow of fear that plagued her eyes suddenly dissipated. They pulled one to another. Bodies began to speak in words unspoken. Heated kisses filled with desire aced at times as verbs, at other times as definite nouns. Each touch, each caress, acted as a delightful adverb. The tracing caress drawing the bodies one into the other. The crash of the two, the hard into the soft. The push, the pull, the trace along all boundaries, while tongues consumed furious. All actions repeating the words simple three that both had been so hesitant to say. Words that their bodies had spoken unabashedly in hidden maneuvers long before the lips, the souls were able to catch up.
For at the end...
...the desire, the primal pull...
... had very little time, for any lingering hesitation.
They had pulled off to a side. A boundary. They stood, each to each, in a world of shadow, save one distant light. Perhaps that was the only place that was safe. A point just distant from the harshness of reality. It was here that she softly stuttered.
It was said, almost in a hush. Three little words.
That was it. It was nothing. It was everything. He was shocked. It had always been there. Those words. The elephant in the room that if by speaking its name both were afraid it would rip the environs asunder. Yet... by saying she had brought the hidden to life. To many they may just be words, but not to him. They marked a moment. An unspoken pledge hidden behind. Accept me. Embrace me. I devote myself to you... if only for a moment... deeper. Live with me, be with me, join with me... love me. Within those three little words was a simple destruction if their was no response.
Her laughing eyes were momentarily silenced by a shadow of fear. Those three words. Even though she had been the first to utter, he questioned if could be held so venerable. He knew the gravity, their seriousness. Indeed they held a power so bold that even though she had said them, could he be held so fragile. Could it be true? Those words. They were for him. She longed for return. He longed for her. He longed to say, to speak, to give life.
He pulled her close. The three words were returned. The shadow of fear that plagued her eyes suddenly dissipated. They pulled one to another. Bodies began to speak in words unspoken. Heated kisses filled with desire aced at times as verbs, at other times as definite nouns. Each touch, each caress, acted as a delightful adverb. The tracing caress drawing the bodies one into the other. The crash of the two, the hard into the soft. The push, the pull, the trace along all boundaries, while tongues consumed furious. All actions repeating the words simple three that both had been so hesitant to say. Words that their bodies had spoken unabashedly in hidden maneuvers long before the lips, the souls were able to catch up.
For at the end...
...the desire, the primal pull...
... had very little time, for any lingering hesitation.
Subways no way for a good man to go down
Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters - Indigo Girls
"So it goes."
That's Kurt Vonnegut, Jr..
“Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.”
That's Jack. Jack Kerouac.
Name of poetry. Eyes of wisdom staring down from some distant star. His sallow cheeks. His eyes bearing the pain of the world. He knew her. He knew what her final words would be to his trash can dream denied. He knew that even his demand of nothing, would be denied. The rich man can ride, and the hobo, he goes down. N'est pas?
So it goes.
But...
He still sees the world for what it is, and loves it anyway. Perhaps the next ones will rise. Not all, he laughed, but the few. Those that the world almost destroys. They are the ones that end up saving it you know. The true revolutionaries who listen for the songs of the city. They hear the voice of the downtrodden, and at least they try... try... to do something. Anything. They try. The pain they have absorbed, perhaps unberable, they use to pour out healing. Maybe this action is little more than them seeking thier own healing. Maybe so. Maybe not. Because they do it regardless.
But they cant see...
...and...
...that is why...
They know not if its dark outside or light.
"So it goes."
That's Kurt Vonnegut, Jr..
“Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.”
That's Jack. Jack Kerouac.
Name of poetry. Eyes of wisdom staring down from some distant star. His sallow cheeks. His eyes bearing the pain of the world. He knew her. He knew what her final words would be to his trash can dream denied. He knew that even his demand of nothing, would be denied. The rich man can ride, and the hobo, he goes down. N'est pas?
So it goes.
But...
He still sees the world for what it is, and loves it anyway. Perhaps the next ones will rise. Not all, he laughed, but the few. Those that the world almost destroys. They are the ones that end up saving it you know. The true revolutionaries who listen for the songs of the city. They hear the voice of the downtrodden, and at least they try... try... to do something. Anything. They try. The pain they have absorbed, perhaps unberable, they use to pour out healing. Maybe this action is little more than them seeking thier own healing. Maybe so. Maybe not. Because they do it regardless.
But they cant see...
...and...
...that is why...
They know not if its dark outside or light.
Tuesday, May 30, 2017
Stir it
Enigma VS Madonna - The Enigma Within (okay so begin to read when the music begins)
The soft stir held in the sway of her hips soft movement. Soft skin danced at the edge of the light. Her eyes posed a question that he longed to answer. But could he? Did all have to be known. What did he know? His eyes were tempted by her dance. The full treasure hinted in the promise of soft gyration of her hips, only a step away. All the while her smile, bore, her longing for more. Closer.
Her hair. The gentle toss captured. Locks flowing, bracing, emphasizing the glory of her face. The fullness of her lips. The perfection of her chin. Jutting forward. The fullness of her body. Jutting forward. Her desire. Jutting forward. The silent and feeble camouflage of her hips pressing in their soft slow flow playing a mere distraction to the desire dripping from her lips.
Half smile hidden in a momentary turn away. Movements fractured, frozen, in time. Tame transforms to wild as the pulse beats slowly, Move to move, moment to moment, transfixing only on the next. Reactions reflecting only the call of the primal. They touch.
Moments burn eternal in the heat of the kiss. The entry into paradise leaves both longing. The bucking press. The press of his hands against her face as his lips tasted her burning desire. The dance of electric bodies caught in the whirlwind. The ballet of contrasts, the hard against the soft, The burning agony combined with the delight of the ecstasy. As mouths continued to speak the language of love unspoken each to each, his hands sought out her soft, her hands lingered low.
The glancing blow, the grace, her rising reaction to his touch. The close of her eyes, the surrender.
In the moment they would live eternal.
He pulled her close. His hands ran along her waist, dipping down, His hands felt the muscular rise. He pulled her close. He felt the heat rising. He longed to be consumed just as she, she longed to consume him. The soft slide, inside, followed by the rise. He felt the heat rise in a simmering boil. His hand drew near, the subtle retreat, only to draw even closer. Her eyes closed as lips laden with desire, softly parted. Waiting only for the burning contact. So soft, so slow. The soft circiling followed by the gentle press. Again. Again. Again.
Stoking the consuming fire.
The soft stir held in the sway of her hips soft movement. Soft skin danced at the edge of the light. Her eyes posed a question that he longed to answer. But could he? Did all have to be known. What did he know? His eyes were tempted by her dance. The full treasure hinted in the promise of soft gyration of her hips, only a step away. All the while her smile, bore, her longing for more. Closer.
Her hair. The gentle toss captured. Locks flowing, bracing, emphasizing the glory of her face. The fullness of her lips. The perfection of her chin. Jutting forward. The fullness of her body. Jutting forward. Her desire. Jutting forward. The silent and feeble camouflage of her hips pressing in their soft slow flow playing a mere distraction to the desire dripping from her lips.
Half smile hidden in a momentary turn away. Movements fractured, frozen, in time. Tame transforms to wild as the pulse beats slowly, Move to move, moment to moment, transfixing only on the next. Reactions reflecting only the call of the primal. They touch.
Moments burn eternal in the heat of the kiss. The entry into paradise leaves both longing. The bucking press. The press of his hands against her face as his lips tasted her burning desire. The dance of electric bodies caught in the whirlwind. The ballet of contrasts, the hard against the soft, The burning agony combined with the delight of the ecstasy. As mouths continued to speak the language of love unspoken each to each, his hands sought out her soft, her hands lingered low.
The glancing blow, the grace, her rising reaction to his touch. The close of her eyes, the surrender.
In the moment they would live eternal.
He pulled her close. His hands ran along her waist, dipping down, His hands felt the muscular rise. He pulled her close. He felt the heat rising. He longed to be consumed just as she, she longed to consume him. The soft slide, inside, followed by the rise. He felt the heat rise in a simmering boil. His hand drew near, the subtle retreat, only to draw even closer. Her eyes closed as lips laden with desire, softly parted. Waiting only for the burning contact. So soft, so slow. The soft circiling followed by the gentle press. Again. Again. Again.
Stoking the consuming fire.
In the growing shadows
Killers vs. Zombie Nation vs Bloody Beetroots - Somebody Warped Kernkraft 400
He found himself at a bar.
In the growing shadows he cursed himself. You see the bar was on the street, her street. He had taken caution to move his way there. A jut, a dogleg, a detour that elongated a simple trip into a crooked crusade. But it was done. He had to spend as little time on her street as he had to. True, the bar was much further down, but it was her street nonetheless. Inside, he looked at the guests. The simple divide of segregated tables filled with separate conversations. A microcosm or return to Jr. High School all over again. Girls with girls, boys with boys. Tongues flickered with the excitement of fashionable bravado of what could have been, might have been, should have... if only a coin had fallen the other way.
Yet the shadows grew. That is always where she found the most comfort, the partial hidden. Any slight sight of skin made her vulnerable. He laughed. He was little different. He preferrerd to hide in the plan open. The mask he wore was one of the rogue caviler. She could be the damsel in distress. She would find someone to save her, even if it wasn't him the fool paladin.
He laughed.
He had little time for that. He had to get her off his mind. This wouldn't have happened to Ulysses. Tempest tossed waves could never drown his vision. Not Ulysses. He would return home, he would break from his second act. He had to. The circle had to be complete. He laughed. A raise of the pint.
Time was linear. The shadows grew.
Well, he must have been a better man than he. The laugh while looking into the trace of carbonation surrounding the lip of the beer in his glass.
He had seen her on that street before. It was an accident. She was with the other. One of many. Walking, laughing, life was good... for her. She wore sunglasses so that she could cast a smile at anyone. Life is easier that way. He laughed as the pain hit his heart.
Inside, he felt it. That phantom pain. A name given to the pain in the arms or legs that had long been separated through amputation. You hear of the numb agony of World War One Vets. The sharp cry arising from a section of the body that is no longer there. The reality, it was nothing more than a ghost of something that would be forever gone. Rather than a limb, his pain rose from that section of his hart that he had given.
Growing shadows brought to his mind the temptation to drive by her house. For what purpose wasn't clear. She was disgusted by him. He had loved her so greatly he had killed her. Was it his fault? Was it hers? Neither. It was the passage of that irrevocable one known only as time. She had the freedom to change, as had he. So, she used her freedom, as had he. While she used hers to go one way, like a fool he had built a house of nothing more than cards that he told himself was so strong. So elegant. Till the winds came, causing it to crash.
The growing shadows at times released light.
The tumult had been too much. As his pyramid crumbled for the second time all he could do was watch aghast. It threw him back. The shock of returning to the neighborhood where you grew up to find that landmarks have been replaced by the new, the brash, which in a way makes them even more garish than they actually are. A piece of you was lost.
He forced his mind to change tracks. In the ash there was still so much. Traces of iron, thin as wire, continued to connect. Disjointed memories seemingly so insignificant numbed the sharpness of her cutting coup de gras. Driving, he doesn't remember where, or when. He only knew that it was at night. A sudden stop was called for. Like a protective tiger, his arm shot out immediately. Not for the pleasure of a stolen brush, no it was to protect her. To save her, if such a simple token could do anything. Why even a time or two, where there passion play had been stopped, in the flurry he had watched; he waited; to make sure that she had covered herself. So it was. She was gone. It was never him that wasn't good enough for her. It was she that wasn't....
He wouldn't say that. He couldn't. The dying cold of the glass signified that his drink was almost done. He wouldn't do a drive by. He would get off that street as soon as he could. He had to. Muddled thoughts only clouded his mind. The press of the door displayed his exit.
He knew his trip was over.
In the growing shadows he cursed, as he found the light.
He found himself at a bar.
In the growing shadows he cursed himself. You see the bar was on the street, her street. He had taken caution to move his way there. A jut, a dogleg, a detour that elongated a simple trip into a crooked crusade. But it was done. He had to spend as little time on her street as he had to. True, the bar was much further down, but it was her street nonetheless. Inside, he looked at the guests. The simple divide of segregated tables filled with separate conversations. A microcosm or return to Jr. High School all over again. Girls with girls, boys with boys. Tongues flickered with the excitement of fashionable bravado of what could have been, might have been, should have... if only a coin had fallen the other way.
Yet the shadows grew. That is always where she found the most comfort, the partial hidden. Any slight sight of skin made her vulnerable. He laughed. He was little different. He preferrerd to hide in the plan open. The mask he wore was one of the rogue caviler. She could be the damsel in distress. She would find someone to save her, even if it wasn't him the fool paladin.
He laughed.
He had little time for that. He had to get her off his mind. This wouldn't have happened to Ulysses. Tempest tossed waves could never drown his vision. Not Ulysses. He would return home, he would break from his second act. He had to. The circle had to be complete. He laughed. A raise of the pint.
Time was linear. The shadows grew.
Well, he must have been a better man than he. The laugh while looking into the trace of carbonation surrounding the lip of the beer in his glass.
He had seen her on that street before. It was an accident. She was with the other. One of many. Walking, laughing, life was good... for her. She wore sunglasses so that she could cast a smile at anyone. Life is easier that way. He laughed as the pain hit his heart.
Inside, he felt it. That phantom pain. A name given to the pain in the arms or legs that had long been separated through amputation. You hear of the numb agony of World War One Vets. The sharp cry arising from a section of the body that is no longer there. The reality, it was nothing more than a ghost of something that would be forever gone. Rather than a limb, his pain rose from that section of his hart that he had given.
Growing shadows brought to his mind the temptation to drive by her house. For what purpose wasn't clear. She was disgusted by him. He had loved her so greatly he had killed her. Was it his fault? Was it hers? Neither. It was the passage of that irrevocable one known only as time. She had the freedom to change, as had he. So, she used her freedom, as had he. While she used hers to go one way, like a fool he had built a house of nothing more than cards that he told himself was so strong. So elegant. Till the winds came, causing it to crash.
The growing shadows at times released light.
The tumult had been too much. As his pyramid crumbled for the second time all he could do was watch aghast. It threw him back. The shock of returning to the neighborhood where you grew up to find that landmarks have been replaced by the new, the brash, which in a way makes them even more garish than they actually are. A piece of you was lost.
He forced his mind to change tracks. In the ash there was still so much. Traces of iron, thin as wire, continued to connect. Disjointed memories seemingly so insignificant numbed the sharpness of her cutting coup de gras. Driving, he doesn't remember where, or when. He only knew that it was at night. A sudden stop was called for. Like a protective tiger, his arm shot out immediately. Not for the pleasure of a stolen brush, no it was to protect her. To save her, if such a simple token could do anything. Why even a time or two, where there passion play had been stopped, in the flurry he had watched; he waited; to make sure that she had covered herself. So it was. She was gone. It was never him that wasn't good enough for her. It was she that wasn't....
He wouldn't say that. He couldn't. The dying cold of the glass signified that his drink was almost done. He wouldn't do a drive by. He would get off that street as soon as he could. He had to. Muddled thoughts only clouded his mind. The press of the door displayed his exit.
He knew his trip was over.
In the growing shadows he cursed, as he found the light.
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