How do you mourn the living? Whose hands are still warm and giving. How to explain the heart’s mystery, Defining more than history. Missing one, while still making memories. Feeling the pull of both life and death: The here and now and the gone. Is this nothing but a con? When the shadow of the future fell One had to squint to see the slight tell. Crossing some barrier of space and time. It was as silent as a mime. Testing destiny, clinging to fate. The hour is missing and so is the date. But the clock on the mantle Continue Reading →
Friction inborn underneath my skin. In some golden pool that calls your name, it breeds. I need no false idol, priest, or Dalai Lama to tell me what grows in its depths. Caught on a blade it shatters stone and cuts ice from my veins. Such a strange sense of un-ease, this Déjà vu. Here where joy purges darkness under golden waves. All these lives playing keep away from the sun, shunning the truth. So long I slept, stripped of the light. Afraid of drowning in this sweet abyss. Now I see it rules my cells, my brain, my heart.
If you were to judge my favorite author list one thing stands out. I like the scenic route. The slow burn reads that build into bonfires. It is why Dean Koontz is on that list. He has the ability to pull you in, keep you engaged until the last page. However, I’ve learned not all Koontz books are equal. Sometimes the slow burn becomes a raging fire and sometimes it fizzles. Relentless falls somewhere in between. I wanted to like this book. I wanted to love it. That is the problem. I’m ambivalent. I was hoping for more because underneath Continue Reading →
Life is one of those funny things. Once you think you have it figured out, it changes. Drastically. Good change, bad change. It doesn’t matter. On occasion I’ve even been known to confuse the two. They both carry an emotional weight that can leave me hyperventilating, wishing I never set foot on whatever path led me there. Sometimes it’s even a small change that brings about a tidal wave. A desire that refuses to be stilled. A smile. A word. It ripples out into the world. The power of change cannot be denied. It simply is, a fact of life.
It starts in a rush, the low thrum of vocal reconnaissance. It carries along the skin, stands the hairs on end. Such a simple thing, this rumble of words. They reverberate deep in your chest, catch in your throat. Live in my ears. All the things you have to say fumbling over me in tidal waves. Trapped and wrapped in vulnerability, this sound penetrates all defenses. It’s welcomed to the core. Changing integral parts of me, these spider fingers of filigree wander old corridors, tickle bones, wrestle muscles and sinew to life. Everything sings because your voice rains down gold.
Oh, the things I am going to do to you. Your death will seem quaint, bordering some line of eloquence and elegance. Okay, so it wasn’t death, but my how you inspire when glimpsed from the bottom of your infinity pool. I cannot tell a lie. You brought me to some strange place with an idea and a face. Emerging from an imaginary queue, as if an actor on audition, though, I’m not sure who is auditioning for whom. With a sparkle in your eye, curled lip exposes fang. Why Tristan, is than an invitation to bite or be bit?
Strumming strings, beaten drums, cascading piano keys sweeter than crashing waves, however it comes, music is the drug. Lyrics, primal in screamed out words or etheric with haunting timbres and hushed low sounds, mumbled and googled for meaning. Sometimes that doesn’t even matter. It is the rhythm, how it repeats, the song constantly playing in my head. I am lost on mountain peaks to voices speaking in ancient tongue. Traveling on sheer emotion, lifted up, inspired, romanced, energized, brought down, the sad song, singing away my blues. Books are the soul of my eyes, songs, the heart of my ears.
Burnt. It was how I made my eggs – which always left me thinking of you. When did I tire of the highborn drama, the ranting and raving? Was that just yesterday? You left me carcinogenic with a rotted out core. Used up and adrift far from the shore. Burnt like my toast, unable to be salvaged with a scrape of the knife. Soul hungry and weary with nothing left to give. And yet there is a spark, a space that cannot be touched, a place where burns cannot leave a mark. Here where I stand, on the opposite shore.
It isn’t often that the two halves of my soul (the reader and the writer) agree on a book’s worth and find something different to admire in the process. Yet this is exactly what Pat Conroy accomplished with The Prince of Tides. I’ve seen the movie, it’s old, and it is one that has always stuck with me. To date I think it is one of the best performances I’ve ever seen by Nick Nolte. His chemistry with Barbara Streisand “Lowenstein” by the end, just gets ya. So here is what I loved as a reader: Conroy pulled me in immediately. Tom Continue Reading →
This year I’m seven four books behind on my Goodreads challenge. What I lack are not books, it’s time. Stephen King will tell you to spend every spare second reading. As a kid I did. Books kept me from being bored but now with 24-hour access to the world via practically any electronic device, on demand TV, games, life, the lost cyber hole of social media, I’m lucky to read in binge fits between my favorite TV shows. All the greats tell you to read your genre and read widely. Stephen King says he reads an average of 70 to Continue Reading →