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L’Amour Fou, always there

it was 6 months since a word had been spoken. 5 years of mountain top highs and hellish lows. When we were good I knew nothing like it before in my life. When we were bad… I had never felt pain like that before. I was smitten with her with in weeks, perhaps days of meeting her. And I saw in her eyes she felt the same. For years mutual friends had been encouraging us to meet, while making off hand comments of the possible craziness which could ensue.

We sat a kitchen table in Brooklyn for 3 hours, staring at each other and having one of the most natural and effortless conversations I had ever known. It felt right, for lack of a better word. but things were complicated at the time and it was to be 2 more years before my lips met hers. We talked over those two years, she told me everything and I returned in kind. I listened to her every word, and she mine. Those conversations when she was out of state opened the door to my love for her. I wanted to come to her rescuer, hurt her perpetrator, and carry her back to her home. to me.

Our affair began quickly and complicatedly. the details are irrelevant now.  But our feelings were undeniable, unflinching, and unyielding. So began a 5 year love affair. where the current developments will take us I truly don’t know. I have betrayed our trust many times, she has broken my heart multiple times. but if those transgressions could be put in the past… I’m excited for what the future may bring. Love is a son of a bitch.

 

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A Cinema Femme Fatale aka A Movie Chick

With dark locks hiding troubled eyes, she draws me in. its a story told many times, yet still thrilling on every occasion. It was a fortuitous meeting to be sure. Myself, a hardly human crazed mutant (too weird to live, too dumb to die) her, a sumptuous beauty who shook when not properly lubricated with ethanol. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times” lets go with the latter on this occasion, trust me. We met under a sky illuminated by LED and candle light, no natural light to be seen in my apartment in those days (months). Our initial union was unorthodox to say the least and in this case saying the least is already too much. Her and her companion entered my den in the fall of… the exact month escapes me. Her intellect lured me in, her voice a revelation, and her words were whiskey in my ear. We fell in together in all senses for hours which turned to days. Hedonistic to be sure, but entirely honest. The two are not mutually exclusive.
Much ado about many things in Brooklyn that night. What exactly, is a question… not asked.

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Blood from stone

The obsession has made me a beast most monstrous. Take a chisel to my frightful form and carve a monument to the Collective Strength of spirit. There’s Beauty to be found in the seemingly impossible… True Grit and time can make the impossible a reality.

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The path wandered

The paths a man may follow are as varied as the moves on a chess board. High or low, inhale the flora and fauna to make the memory of a singular moment. Absorb the vista offered by time alone. With the wind at my back and feet on the road, no stopping till I get home.

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spirals 4

We returned to spirals as I have before. At the moment my spiral rises upward towards the skies. I look, head upturned, trying to make out the clouded shapes coming towards me. As the coem into focus I realize the tremendous beauty, the breath taking power of whats before me. What those things were is for me and me alone. All i can share is; ride the spiral to the end. That’s life boys and girls, or at least thats my life.

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The Dark Knight returns

After a long time running silent I’m back to offer more tall tales and slightly sociopathic musings. As I’ve said before I make no promises. I have an assortment of new half true stories, misleading diatribes, and some utter nonsense about various romantic entanglements. It all reminds me of what I heard inside the absinth bar in Amsterdam; the laughter of the insane. “I don’t suffer from insanity. I enjoy every minute of it.” – Edgar Allan Poe.

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Pushing and Shoving

You can push and shove me, down to the floor. But this is an action those who perpetrate will learn to regret, nay, lament when I am done with them. For it is the broken people, those bearing internal and external scars who have the most to offer another openminded individual. We must celebrate our scars for they remind us of what once was and what is now, and what could be again if the high road is not taken. more to come

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Life and Times

I was born James J Hayes Jr in Manhattan, NY. I came silently into this world at 6:35 am in Cornell medical center on 68th and York. I say silently because the ambilical cord was wrapped snugly around my neck, and the blue color of my skin signaled something was wrong. Birth and death happening simultaneously, though I came through relatively unscathed. A month in the hospital to start my life. I attribute my intense trouble of forming meaningful emotional bonds to this first month of solitude, and the many more which were to follow. Don’t misunderstand me, I relish my time alone. Someone once said ” I can be alone without being lonely”. That describes me quite well.
I pay my bills through a meaningless job which isn’t even worth mentioning. But my true passion lies in the written word. The problem is, you see, no one else seems interested or intrigued by my words. Six publishing houses and nothing but “this isn’t what were looking for right now… sorry” Yeah right, sorry. Sorry my ass, though you will be soon enough. But now I’m getting ahead of myself. A little foreshadowing perhaps…
The insomnia started when Carol left for the last time about 4 years ago. At first it was a nuisance, causing me to be tired at work or over sleep if I ever finally got some. I tried it all; sound machines, eye masks, ear plugs, not to mention a cornucopia of pills. All of which were prescribed to me by a doctor who I’m assuming got his medical degree at the University of Fuck-all, or some other equivalent non-confidence inspiring institution. I must describe insomnia to you. It is like a chill slowly creeping up your spine then settling in your brain, happy as can be.

This is the beginning of a short story, more to come…

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Sunrise on the Curb

I awoke sitting on a curb, my head in my arms. I was dreaming of something pushing me, pushing me towards a precipice beyond which I do not know.. I lifted my head and slowly opened my eyes. The Firenze sun immediately assaulted my senses.

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My Spanish Caravan

Carry me caravan, take me away… Take me to Portugal, take me to Spain. I love to journey on this caravan, it takes me to new heights. Allows me to be the man I know myself to be. Strawberry blonde locks fall perfectly into place, with emerald eyes peering out. Eyes larger than life and her personality suits this fact. It was during a glorious summer seventeen years ago I first hitched a ride on this illustrious caravan and I have not gotten off since. A brilliant light to guide me in my quest to achieve the happiness we all seek. A beacon of home, not necessarily your childhood home but a place to lay your head in comfort and with peace. From the moment I laid eyes on her I found a place to call my own. And this home has sheltered me from the storm these many years, offering solace when I thought there was none to be found. With the wind at my back and feet on the road, no stopping till I get home. I say this with all the Honesty I am capable of; I love you truly… I respect you, I honor you. “Neither the angels in Heaven above nor the demons down under the sea can ever dissever my soul from the soul of the beautiful Annabel Lee.” For she is not my bride, but she is my darling, my darling, my life, and a star in my evening sky. -James J Hayes, December 2nd, 2012