With a soft word, spoken loudly, a tempestuous flame is lit; illuminating all that surrounds it. What a clever creature this seems to be, not to be mistaken for jest but taken in all earnestness. With a few short words I was intrigued, with a few more I was involved. I will not turn away as I so often do. With the words of a Voodoo woman on my mind and the taste of strawberries on my lips, I walk once more into the fray dear friends. Though this time I do not find myself back at the beginning as the spirals have so often led me. I walk the line, as johnny says, and find a path previously unknown. A dark horizon lit with increasing intensity as I walk closer to the shore line. A magnificent shore, littered with the remnants of a storm which has left most startled… Not me. We ponder our beginnings with a shared sense of propriety. We own our past and all the ghosts trying to hold back what must flow forth…

Show me the way

Show me the way to go home, I’m tired and I want to go to bed. I had a little drink about an hour ago and it went straight to my head. Where ever I may roam, by land or sea or foam. You will always hear me singing this song, show me the way to go home…

A Drop in the Desert

Near or far, the Beast beckons. His sirens cal luring me to a state of fool consciousness. Just a taste he says. Just a taste indeed. But I am a starving man and just a taste will never due. A traveler lost, and this oasis I seek is certainly not offered by that wolf adorned in all the regalia of the sheep. As Odysseus was tied to the mast, so must I be. For it is true what they say; this cat has lived all nine lives. So where does one go when walking on last legs? “With the wind at my back and feet on the road, no stopping till I get home”. Comforting words for the lost wanderer. But detours persist. As I said, beware the sirens call my friends, for she will end you. Crashed along the rocky coast line, gone the way of Odysseus. Walking in circles and spirals only to find yourself farther away.

My attention and intentions

“You desired my attention but denied my affection”
What to do when this is the case? It’s not so simple as to try harder or change something about yourself. One cannot change something intrinsic. My affection is very real, as are my intentions. She is a gypsy woman, no doubt, but to me that is a term of endearment. Of love. A woman who makes you feel that you can move heaven and earth in the pursuit of her and all she has to offer. Apathy is not an option, not now, not ever. At least not for me. Apathy is the lowest form of the human nature. If I see someone in peril, whether emotional or physical, I am compelled to offer aid. Offer shelter from the storm. And no doubt she is in peril; in peril of losing herself to doubt and regret. Of loves gone by, or choices made irrevocable by time. Aren’t we all. Can I help? Yes, I believe so. Should I help? Absolutely. Whatever form that help may come in, it must come. I am compelled by her nature. By the look in her eyes, as she gazes at me with head on the pillow, and her heart still beating a thousand beats a minute. Then she rolls over, grabbing my arm and pulling it close around her. Not a request but a necessity. As we pulled our childhood blankets to our chins, I offered an equal comfort at one time. Can it be achieved again? Though hesitant, I must believe time will tell.

Walking Home

“It seems that all my bridges have been burned, you say that’s exactly how this grace thing works. It’s not the long walk home that will change this heart, but the reception I receive with this restart” – Mumford and Sons.

Annabel Lee – Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know by the name of Annabel Lee:- And this maiden she lived with no other though than to love and be loved by me. She was a child, and I was a child in this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love- I and my Annabel Lee- With a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven coveted her and me. And this was the reason that long, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud by night chilling my Annabel Lee; So that her high-born kinsmen came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulcher In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me; Yes! that was the reason (as all men know, in this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud, chilling And killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those much older than we- Of those far wiser than we- And 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 the moon never beams without bringing me dream Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride In her sepulcher there by the sea- In here tomb by the side of the sea. – Edgar Allan Poe.

My choices define all that I am…

My god how different the world looks through clear eyes. It is a fucking beautiful sight I have not seen in longer than I care to remember. The beast has been, for the moment, put in check. And what a bastard it is, though I cannot hold him responsible for choices made by yours truly. “For he knows not what he does” and I did know. I did. I can never forget that, it is a choice to be blind in the manner I speak of. Never forget that… it is a choice. Don’t allow it to be taken from you for then we have little left to offer, if anything at all.

Ode to an author. (Spirals 2)

“A man who makes a beast of himself loses the pain of being a man” – 1st words of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, by Mr. Hunter S. Thompson
Spiral up, spiral down. We all take the ride, but we don’t all buy the ticket. Shotguns are surely not the answer. But I suppose he had the right to do whatever he felt necessary. He went the way of Horatio Alger and did it with all the style of a madman who was not mad at all. God knows he had contributed to my life and that of many others. What exactly he contributed is harder to define than the simple knowledge of its existence. Let me try; entertainment is obvious, pure enjoyment of a tale well told, a deep respect for brutal honesty no matter what light it painted its author in. But it goes deeper than that. As a person who attempts to write (the success of which is arguable) it is not easy to put your entirety on paper. It is certainly intimidating to share all you are with anyone who cares to look. I have always attempted honesty in my words and looking back over my past posts, I believe I have accomplished that to a good degree. Yet, I strive to be completely comfortable with putting myself out there as I do. For if I am not, neither will be the reader.
I am grateful to all who take the time to read my words, especially the insane ramblings of a man who “makes a beast of himself”. And anyone who knows me knows I have a penchant for indulging the beast. I say this with no pride, simply the honesty I spoke of. Thank you Hunter, and thank you all.

Don’t much feel like…

“Don’t much feel like walking” “Don’t much feel like talking” “Don’t much feel like dying” “Don’t much feel like crying”
Looking back now, as we have all done in one light or another, I agonize and lament my actions. I feel hollow.
“Wasted talent” is a phrase I have grown to hate over these past years. It follows me like Jacob Marley, rattling his chains. I do my best to ignore the noise. Clank clank clank James. We all wear different hats; whether it be a bowler, top hat, or baseball cap. What happens when we take it off? All men are bald underneath.

The Road Less Travelled for a Reason

It has been asked before; is it harder to be a father or a son…? but this conundrum doesn’t just stop there. Is it harder to be a son or daughter? How about a wife or husband…
If you are one of the lucky ones though, you may skate through life never knowing the answer