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Reverie

Hear Me Now

Hear me now, I’ll not be silent or still…
lonely or left alone.
Down a long road, so many years ago…
fortune threw me a megaphone.
Hear me now, your burden is mine…
but I’ll not cry for it on my own.
Lights turned low, but I’m louder still…
darkness won’t shelter my sound.
Up the highest peak, feet swept in sand…
fingers pulling the clouds.
Lights turned low, the curtains are closed…
I’ll not scream but I’ll say it out loud.
Hear me now, I’ll take part of the stage…
it was always yours and mine.
Lights turned up, but I’ll not turn away…
I’ll not turn away from me this time.
Across the lines, eighty-sixing what’s done…
but not on a dime.
Lights turned up, so bright you’ll lose your mind.
Hear me now, hear me through the storms and sun.
Hear me now, hear me through everything…
everything that makes us alike and like no one.
 
 “I’ve got my orange crush….”

 

 

Final Smile

 

 

 

Perpetual Parade

Our minds are tame but our souls are so strange.

We watch the wild sun burn up love’s setting facade,

as the day walks away, into the night’s starry stage.

Everything moves along in the perpetual parade.

 

“Everything and the Kitchen Sink” blog can be found here.

 

 

Short Story, “Love is a Continuum,”  can  be found here.

 

The refusal to be made a mechanical audience member.

 

 

Between the Frames, Inside the Tracks

Focused on light-beats between the frames
Veiled in vain to disguise she’s still the same, yea though she’s ever changed
While self-prescribed tracks are dosed by the singing stereo
Echoing the vertigo traps of circular thoughts
Warm hands and soft tears never rival robots
Inside her there’s no game, just an animal finding the wild
She slings her laughing lassos with static smiles, too blue to mock
Never holding still for the darkness, looping around and around again
The sounds in the songs are her eternal clock,
repeating a softer still stinging earth to comprehend.

-Natalie Wheeler

  

 

 

Mirror, by Slyvia Plath

“I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful-
The eye of the little god, four cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall. 
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.”

 

“Night rise
Like the evening prize
In a turnstile backwards we fly

Cold bones
Tied together by
Black ropes we pulled from a swing

Little one
Just a little way
Today all of the dreams are waking

Can’t stand on crooked legs
I’m cross-eyed to the wall
Will these harbor lights
Satellites”

-Beck, “Little One” Sea Change

 

“If I could make the world as pure
And strange as what I see
I’d put you in a mirror
I’d put in front of me
I put in front of me.”

-The Velvet Underground

Subliminal Liminality

 

 

Lost in Lines

Silent Sounds

 

 

Exploring Edges

Shadow Patterns

Ceiling Street

 

This series of photos was inspired by some of my all-time favorite song lyrics:

“Forget your perfect offering

There is a crack in everything,

That’s how the light gets in.”

They are from Leonard Cohen’s beautifully haunting song “Anthem.”  These words have been a reminder and a source of strength for me many times in recent years.  Indeed, chasing perfection instead of embracing our flaws, would be misguided and pointless.  Our imperfect is what has immeasurable value and makes each of us like no one else.  Perhaps it is also worth considering what we let out through those fissures. We are all cracked and so are our surroundings, nothing and nobody is whole:

“You can add up the parts

You won’t have the sum.”

-Anthem, Leonard Cohen

 

Fever-free and happy to be healthy again.

….that the universe works in tandem with inverses. It’s life’s see-saw splintered thighs and calloused hands, with a smile spread across the face.

 

The Gray Attic, 1989

A short story/stream of consciousness.

For the full story click here:

“Maybe my bonds are aberrant in how they are so few and very visceral, but I will gladly remain naive and put all I have in too few hearts if that’s what will take me beyond the surface and into the deep.”

 

 

 

When one way is the only way.

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Ok….why in the world did I take selfies in the bathtub?

Well, that’s where I was at the time.  I have found that holding still always seems to give my mind the best chance to be busy.  I was thinking about how crazy the political climate has gotten, and how we all have so much stuff in our own personal lives on top of that.  All that stuff that’s going on… how does it makes us “feel”?  For the emotions we have within, how many can actually be seen and recognized?  I have a terrible, really, the worst, poker face, and I’ve been feeling a lot of everything more intensely than ever, so I thought I’d see what kind of emotions I could get out of myself in a few minutes time.  I thought about different scenarios and took the pictures, and this is what came out.  Our expressions and emotions are infinite.  And what I find so fascinating about portraits is that the most subtle change in the subject’s thought, or camera angle is noticeable and can never be exactly seen or replicated again before disappearing. 

***Stay tuned for part 2 of this bathtub series: “Laughing Therapy: Many, many distorted mouths and crazy eyes reflected in the bathtub faucet.”***

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Grieve. Be sad if you are sad. Let your heart fall and break.

Close your eyes. Clench your fists. Be still and silent. Cry thoroughly.

Rest your exhausted bones and soul.
Rise and reset.
Pull up every strength to the surface with your deepest breath.

Hug those you love for a long time. Make them smile. Make them laugh.

Make something. Use your vision, your hands, your words, your heart, your soul.

You are needed. You are love. You are life. You are everything.

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Never the same as the moment before.

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Eye light through an inky eclipse.

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Vaporized.

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Harvest love.

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The repose of never holding still.

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Release 

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Peace 

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Fortune in a Fist

She will not rage because there is no right,

choke it all down, swallowed whole inside.

Licking her wounds like a cat in the night,

the moon carves a crescent on her wrist.

shadowing the empty fortune in her fist,

she will curl up, scratched, in her mountain nest.

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The id in free fall.

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No Navigation

Dazed inside infinite doorways of doubt,

no no no, it can’t be, it’s not her, she’s me, I am her.

The compass is pulled apart, broken down.

Navigation is a cruel mess in this town,

where everything is only what you want to see,

what you want it to be.

What was understood is impossibly real,

so the signs, in their profound certainty,

reroute back to doubt, instantly.

Hands feel naked with nothing to hold onto,

looking for a pulse….rubbernecking for a pulse.

Unmoving in the traffic that the mind creates,

the mouth is taped, the tongue is in braids.

Only in the depths of sleep, speak is easy,

and the last silent word floats away.

 

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She’s a Fish

Surfacing from miles down a salty sea,

Formed before highways mimicked trees.

Hold your breath they say…

You’re from a different place,

Where all that glitters is blue,

Here only to pass through.

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Youth’s blanket disintegrates, triggering a weight with rapid pulse.

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Dungeon Girl

Snatched away from her world,

to spend time as a dungeon girl.

Kept away, hidden from light,

plan the escape tonight.

 

Time goes by, year after year,

learned to hide all her fears,

knowing she can’t stay forever…

Think of something clever.

 

We all know her as dungeon girl

She didn’t know it’d define her

for the rest of the world.

 

He’s all she knew and it’s a lie.

He was distracted, she reacted.

She took her only chance,

Ran like hell and blocked his advance.

 

Escaped from the dark but the light is still gone,

she’s living life as The Dungeon Girl.

Hiding out, never will be found,

Hell bound under the ground.

 

We all know her as dungeon girl

She didn’t know it’d define her

for the rest of the world.

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Synchronicity

She sheds her thickened snakeskin

From among the beam in black waters;

Laddering stars to reach the altar of Hermes,

Where his fickle breath takes her again.

 

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Sea of Stains

Her arms awry in an intangible embrace
Unsheltered in the storm of a singular place
Hands turned anchors in her sea of stains
Letting the waves whitewash the sane

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Paralleled

Shadows.
Reflections.
Us but not ourselves.
The intangible but seen,
Glimpses of the universe
paralleled
In between.
Freed.

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Light hooks dark.

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The absence of light is powerfully present.

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Broken Eleven

Quietly heard but not seen
So are you listening
My bones are betraying me
Failing me, failing from long ago

Get closer to me
I know you can’t though
Fall to the floor now
Go and sell off my limbs now

Eleven, broken eleven
You were a felon
You were a felon
Can she give it all back

Get closer to me
I know you can’t though
Fall to the floor now
Go and sell off my limbs now

Sell my limbs now

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High Driveway

Our driveway up on the hill,
Going up lets me be still,
looking to the streets below,
the space that holds my rope.

On our high driveway is where we want to play.
Our high driveway is where I want to stay.

Basement 45s elevate the sound,
circles spiral and I can feel it all,
up here my mind’s not so loud,
reaching up in the clouds.

On our high driveway is where we want to stay.
On our high driveway nothing’s left but decay.

The place over there is full of dolls,
we saw when we walked the halls,
children screamed and babies called,
furry allies lost and ripped away.

On our high driveway is where we want to lay,
Oh, high driveway, don’t, don’t, don’t take me away.

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Pipe Dreams

Bending to the wound, all it consumes

A stone’s throw is far to move,

When pipe dreams become machines,

traveling inside the unravelling.

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Chokehold

Dark delusions and suspended conclusions
Footsteps pacing the lines of loneliness
An iris tracing the path of a soul
A misanthrope with a chokehold
Thinks it’s enough to be alone

Jan198

 

 

 

Monster Rocket

My jewelry box is full of your lockets

So don’t talk to me about your deep pockets

And your so called monster rocket

 

Your words ring…..out like trumpets

As you’re draggin’ me ‘round town

Baby you’re only missing a crown

 

Monster Rocket

Monster Rocket

Moster Rocket

Lift me from the ground

 

Stop talkin’ to me about your regrets

Do you even remember when we met?

Way before….your private jet

 

So stop talkin’ to me about your deep pockets

And your so called monster rocket

Because I don’t care about your boat

….or where you dock it

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