E is for Everything...

fast, faster, fastest

2011-09-26T11:41:00.000-05:00

You know what? I like The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift. I like it a lot. I watched it Saturday afternoon for the 4th or 5th time. I know it catches a lot go flack, but the haters are just ticked that it's not a Vin Diesel flick. But I love Lucas Black. I don't think we get to see enough of this young man in movies or TV. I know, I know, Tokyo Drift is basically "Karate Kid" with ricers... albeit fast ones... but I love just love this movie.

In all fairness to the film, the second outing 2 Fast, 2 Furious isn't a great film at all. It's a very poor sophomore outing (on it's own*) with a weak plot, though it does advance the mythology somewhat (as did Tokyo Drift), but the way I see it, the first two films enjoyed some continuity in that Paul Walker stars in both. The third outing, Tokyo Drift messes with the continuity thing very differently, in that Vin Diesel shows up at the end, and one main character, Han, dies... which is strange, because Han is in Fast and Furious, the 4th film. The events of Fast and Furious take place before the third film, as one scene shows Han saying he's going to Tokyo where he's heard about an interesting racing scene happening. Strange continuity, but I love these films... especially Tokyo Drift.But Lucas Black is a good actor, and has far more depth than the likes of Shia LeBeouf!

*Strange Continuity - It's all explained here.

One of the most intriguing lines in Tokyo Drift, to me, is what the Yakuza uncle said to his nephew in reprimand... for an "overlooked detail"...

For want of a nail, the horseshoe was lost
For want of a horseshoe the steed was lost
For want of a steed the message was undelivered
For want of the undelivered message the war was lost

Speed-- too much of it --allows for greater slacking in one's attention to detail. No detail is trivial. Every step on any journey of any distance is important.

Scientists have proven wrong, it is feared, the foundation upon which modern physics is built.

Speed of light 'broken' at CERN, scientists claim

The science world was left in shock when workers at the world’s largest physics lab announced they had recorded subatomic particles travelling faster than the speed of light.

If the findings are proven to be accurate, they would overturn one of the pillars of the Standard Model of physics, which explains the way the universe and everything within it works.

Einstein’s theory of special relativity, proposed in 1905, states that nothing in the universe can travel faster than the speed of light in a vacuum. But researchers at the CERN lab near Geneva claim they have recorded neutrinos, a type of tiny particle, travelling faster than the barrier of 186,282 miles (299,792 kilometers) per second.

The results have so astounded researchers that American and Japanese scientists have been asked to verify the results before they are confirmed as a discovery.

If it turns out to be true, don't expect too many people to be banging the drum for the "new world order" in the physical world. Change comes slowly to enlightened thinkers. Especially when said change threatens to alter the established order; careers, fortunes, prestige, and power could be lost. Truth get's blurred when fortunes, careers, and power structures are threatened.

German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer (1788 - 1860) had this to say about Truth...

"All truth passes through three stages. First, it is ridiculed. Second, it is violently opposed. Third, it is accepted as being self-evident."

This is seen even today in the fields of medicine and physical science. As it was in the days of Galileo, so it is today: western medicine, man-made global warming, evolution. Anyone who publicly doubts these canons is branded a heretic, or 'flat-earther,' and no better than a racist.

Regarding Medicine and Physical Science, there is too much money to be made off the fear of the eschewing the former to lift its metaphorical boot from the throats of its victims, and too much ideological capital already spent to allow the latter to ever admit its obvious flaws.

Here's a truth: The unregenerate heart will always seek to build its fortune on fear, be it of the personal or the preying upon variety, and fear will drive it to untold mongeries to build its fortunes higher than mere necessity dictates.

Avarice is king, necessity and truth be damned.

great quote

2011-07-27T17:04:00.004-05:00

"You can only eat so much corn..."

--Terri B.

Truer words were never spoken... today, at least.

twenty-seven, dung bEetles, & epitaphs

2011-07-25T15:31:00.013-05:00

What do Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Brian Jones, Kurt Kobain, and now Amy Winehouse have in common?

The number twenty-seven... the age at which each of them died-- Welcome Miss Winehouse, you have been unceremoniously ushered into an auspicious, albeit rare, company.

Have you ever seen video of a dung beetle pushing a ball of poop around? That little ball of shit is this particular beetle's lifeline. It defines who and what this particular insect is.

Now look at the above names; members of the 27 Club. Each of them was pushing their own ball of crap around, and in the end that ball of crap is what defines them. Some will naturally protest that and say it was their music which defined them, but I would have to argue against that point. And here's why...

Music is what they did; they were good at it, and are famous for it. They each made a name for themselves because of it, and made-- or were in the process of making --enough money to change their individual paradigms. But none of the above mentioned 'artists' were able to stop pushing the shit that defined what they thought of themselves. The reason I put it this way is I've been there. Drugs defined who I was for a time-- an addict. I was, of course, much more than that I was an artist too... still am, but back then drugs colored every other thing I did-- just as it colored everything the 27 Club did in their own lives.

'Drugs' was the ball of shit I pushed around. It was the ball of shit they pushed around. But unlike Sisyphus, they weren't 'chained' to the futility of rolling that ball of shite up the hill. Had they only opened their eyes to their own sense of self-worth, they could have abandoned that ball of crap and moved on, and, in all likelihood lived to a ripe old age with many accolades to their name. Now, in spite of their talent, 'overdose' is the one accolade that will color every other accolade they managed in their short lives.

For myself, I managed to see that ball for what it was... when I was twenty-seven. I've been rid of it for more than two decades now.

Amy Winehouse, like every other member of the 27 Club, is now rid of that ball of shit too. But what separates me and Amy Winehouse, aside from fame, fortune, and good looks, is I managed to walk away, and the name I carry today is untainted by the ball I shit I pushed around. Unfortunately, like all the other members in that sad club, her name will carry with it the unfortunate addendum *drug addict; died of an overdose.

That's a very sad legacy to leave behind, and a poor epitaph to the talent she had on loan from God.

May HE have mercy on her soul.

the old man remembers what the child once dreamt

2011-07-14T16:43:00.003-05:00

For everyone of a certain age who loved Edgar Rice Burroughs; who dreamt of being John Carter, living and fighting on Mars...

Here's the movie trailer for Disney's "John Carter" [of Mars]. It's awesome. It's big. And it's out March 9, 2012.

Here's your link to the official site, where a larger version can be viewed in addition to a couple production stills-- hopefully more will follow.

I never imagined, as a sixteen year old [whose face was buried in anything and everything Edgar Rice Burroughs], that I would ever have an opportunity to WATCH "A Princess of Mars". But now, in eight short months, assuming the country hasn't collapsed or I've died, I'll get to see what I never thought possible a short thirty-five years ago.

July's Nuclear Dream

2011-07-12T11:38:00.003-05:00

The sky was once blue
Now its a gray ashy hue
And its burned on the memories
Of everyone I knew
Gone are the abbeys
The parks and the bars
Gone all discussions
Of Venus and Mars
Everyone's gone
Or near enough, anyway
Time to start over
If I can just find a way

Did we really think heaven
Would forgive us this day
Or forgive us tomorrow
Have you nothing to say?
Silent as a tombstone
And dead as the sky
Who's now left to ponder
Every dream's dying sigh
Cause I can't find a reason
Or an answer just the same
Why I should stand here living
Amid the dead and the flame

Color me pessimistic
Color me a fool
Things could be better
Wading my feet in the pool
Where the bodies lie floating
Or to the bottom submerge
While the shrill keen of missiles
Sing their hideous dirge
I'm just hoping for something
Some substance I cannot see
Looking for the evidence
Of a greater faith in me

Only I can stop this
I could wake from this dream
Beat my swords into plowshares
Cast my fears in the stream
And let the waters carry them
To rivers and to seas
Give my life to understanding
to flowers and to bees
Show the world I love them
Not in word but in deed
There is nothing in these weapons
We should ever want or need

ELAshley
071211.112535.1

Not my best work. Not by far.

... and halfway through The Voice

2011-06-29T09:10:00.003-05:00

Broken

Broken in two
The sky full of blue
Sun shining brightly
On the day I lost you
Heavy as a cloud in the sky
Light as the tears burning in my eye
I'm broken in two
Nothing left to do
But say goodbye

Broken in two
Thought you loved me too
Thought your heart yearned for me
The way I yearn for you
Every bird in its high high tree
Sings a dirge for the heart in me
Broken in two
Nothing left to do
But weep and cry

If my heart were an ocean
There'd be nothing you could do
Oceans can't be broken
They're not in love with you
And if I weren't so tangled
In all the pain you left behind
Perhaps I could forgive you
But you don't care either way, so...
Never mind

Broken in two
I'm broken, it's true
Tomorrow I'll forget you
Or in a year, maybe two
I could take some time to lick my wounds
Try to get my heart strings back in tune
But today I feel broken
With nothing left to do, but
Weep and cry

If my heart were an ocean
There'd be nothing you could do (to me)
Oceans can't be broken
They're not in love with you
And if I weren't so torn and tangled
In the pains you smugly left behind
Perhaps I could forgive you
But you won't care either way
So never mind

Tomorrow I'll forget you
Or in a year or maybe two
But today I'm still broken
Nothing more I can say but...
Goodbye
Goodbye
We were two
Now I'm one
Goodbye

ELAshley
062811.1048.6
Revisions
062911.090545.1

Halfway through the last performance episode of The Voice, I began writing. This song is the end result.

and in the spirit of tEa...

2011-06-25T16:47:00.002-05:00

Another 'Tea' poem from last summer... The notes below are from that day in July.

The Zebra Tree

We drank our tea 'neath the zebra tree
All eyes upon our riche aree
Amber creams amid darjeeling hues
The crackled skies and fields our views
We didn't mind what minds should think
Easing in our honeyed drink
Caring much less what eyes might see
There beneath the zebra tree
We spoke ~ Our eyes! What heralds we sang!
Two hearts a'thunder in pealings rang
Love and tea caring naught for eyes
Not lips kissing, nor delighted sighs
What need have we to e`er look up
When upon tea and love we choose to sup?

ELAshley
071910.044526.6
Revisions:
071910.045220.6
072010.094406.1
050511.021352.6
051711.051216.6 (punctuation/spelling)

Unable to do any work because of virus scanning, and unable to even play Hearts, I resorted to doodling. A 'zebra tree' (if there is such a thing), coupled with the soft pleasure of tea still on my tongue... what else could I have written of? This is the first real bit of poetry I've written in months.

And for the record, the italicized words 'riche aree' were meant only as 'holding' words until proper replacements could take their seat. They mean nothing in real world terms, but my intent was to convey a sense of 'rich ease' as in a 'luxuriant taking of' one's ease. I don't wish now to remove these words, and, as I figure it, if Carroll could get away with this device, why can't I?

an affair over tEa

2011-06-24T13:36:00.011-05:00

An Affair Over Tea

I came for the tea,
Said I. And she
With eyes like kohl
In diamond lit dew
Smiled. Whereas we,
'neath our lush camellia tree,
Sojourn singly, the soul
Of this deep amber brew,
Bids us sit. The bowl,
To its subtle brim,
Where ripples swim
Sings, 'Drink deep of me.'

Our cup is empty
Said I. Then she
Lips blush like figs
Bright softly wet,
On this lets agree...
I'll fill you, if you fill me;
My soft petal to your stout sprig!
Our engagement now set,
'forget the din,' * quoth she
Then plunging ladle deep and up
Smoothly filled my empty cup
Singing, 'Drink deep of me.'

I came for thy tea!
Spoke I. And she
Cup shy to tongue
And a lilt to her gaze
Answer now, I challenge thee...
Lovest thou my heart more than tea?
For though we are yet young
Wilt thou love me all my days?
Stay thy cup! Thy troth unsung!
'Neath stars, moon, sun, camellia bowers
Pledge thou me thy love's endless hours?
Ne'er tiring to drink deeply of me?

Of thee, thy tea?
Asked I. And she
'Yes' in her eyes,
Come drink of me
Of mine own heady brew!
You sing to me, and I'll to you
Of our live's desires
'neath the circling sun!
And I smiled, filled with its fires
I would that our cups never empty
That your lips soft and chastely
Ever desire to drink deep of me!

I came for the tea!
She said. And she,
A dapple of sun
On her soft silk brow,
Smiled, I would drink thee
Daily, nightly, bold and lightly
Oolong, White, Matcha, Pu'er
Hot, cool or chill,
Wherever you are
And her lips kissed the brim of her porcelain cup
Brow softly down, her eyes looking up
Come, drink only of me!
For an age of me!
Forever of me
Come, my love, let's tea!

ELAshley
062411.044007.6
Revisions:
091211.105641.1
102011.125103.6 [including last two stanzas]

Only me?
Then come, let's tea...

-----

* "Tea is drunk to forget the din of the world."

--T'ien Yiheng

e's improving on E

2011-05-28T22:59:00.004-05:00

The Fundamentals/Basics:

Who do you listen to?
Teachability Index
Training/Balance Scale
Four Steps of Learning Information

Thoughts on the Foundation:

"If you know and do not do, you do not know."

"If you want to be a master, you must be a master of the basics."

"You can only build as high as your foundation is deep."

"God gave you two ears and one mouth. Use them proportionately."

"I am not afraid of the 10,000 strikes you have practiced once. I am deathly afraid of the one strike you have practiced 10,000 times."

"Focus on the fundamentals; master the basics."

"If your attitude is right, facts don't matter."

"How you feel is 99% of success; when your thinking is correct, the how doesn't matter."

of whEels and wind

2011-05-18T12:13:00.004-05:00

Received a call yesterday. Surprise! I wasn't expecting a call back, let alone a response, so I promptly forgot about it. I didn't sleep well last night because of it. I'm operating on very little sleep right now. I can't let anyone but Cristal know.

I just called back a bit ago. Made an appointment. I've been a bit like Lennon lately, just watching the wheels turn round and round, never imagining their turning could involve me in any personal way. Times are tough here. Money is scarce; every dollar has a name and none of those names involve any of the things I'm wont to do with my paychecks. No movies, no chai at Starbucks, no books, almost no money for cable.

Can't let anyone know about this, however. I shouldn't be telling you. But there it is. Can't afford to let anyone get wind of this.

e's says, "it's monday!"

2011-05-16T08:25:00.009-05:00

Let's start with a beaver. I like beavers. I like Mr. Beaver in the first Narnia movie. I like anything with innate ability to build a house... especially as it has to cut down the forest with its bleeding teeth to do so.

I also like Mel Gibson, despite the all-around angry guy he's become, or has finally allowed us to see. I've loved him as an actor ever since Galipoli, my first Mel Gibson film, a beautifully poignant and tragic historical epic.

I'd title this post as one in a long line of my "Pithy Reviews" but I haven't seen this film. I simply hope to. Judging strictly from the trailer alone it appears to be just what the doctor ordered for Mr. Gibson... both personally and professionally. I can only hope there is a lesson in the sets and dialogs of The Beaver that will give Mr. Gibson some personal clarity and, perhaps, a point in the right direction.

One review I've read claims this is not a drama... and is not meant to be comedic. I can only imagine how uncomfortable some might feel watching a man brought to this depth of depression and not be asked to laugh. The previews takes pains to make us want to laugh, so... how does that work? A drama that's not a comedy but asks us to laugh anyway. What is funny about a man who breaks down and struggles to find his way back? I hope I get to find out.

* * *

Pithy Review
(a few years late)

The Wrestler, starring Mickey Rourke. The most depressing movie I've ever seen. I want to say it was also beautiful, but now that I think about it... many of the camera shots were beautiful; the imagery was captivating, but there was nothing beautiful about the story. In short, The Wrestler is a personification of personal despair and flogging loneliness.

I'm not even sure I liked it; I felt enthralled by something I couldn't pull my eyes away from, like a train wreck you see coming but can't turn away from. There wasn't even a Rocky fanfare at the end... not at the beginning, the middle... no where. It opened without a shred of discernible hope, and it died that way. Even at the end with the hope of a Talia Shire moment in the person of Marisa Tomei... Nothing.

Disaster porn. You don't want to see the blood, the tears, or the bodies as you drive slowly by... but neither can you turn away. I've always liked Mickey Rourke, and his performance here was stellar, but a more depressing film he could not have made.

In the end I was, perhaps, more impressed that I sat all the way through it without changing the channel. Which means I'll likely watch it again sometime in the future.

* * *

Excerpts from:

The Trouble with Happiness
Alexander Green, Whiskey & Gunpowder, May 16, 2011

"Every life is lived between the poles of joy and sadness. Laughter and love are part of it. But so are pain and suffering. To deny the tragic aspects of the world is to suppress a large part of what it means to be human...

Great artists often try to awaken us — or stir our conscience — by reminding us of the more doleful aspects of life. In response to the 16th Street Church bombing in 1963, an attack by the Ku Klux Klan in Birmingham that killed four girls, saxophonist John Coltrane wrote "Alabama," an instrumental work that expresses anguish and sorrow more eloquently than words.

In 1890, Vincent Van Gogh, overcome by feelings of worthlessness, walked out into the southern French countryside and shot himself in the gut with a pistol. Just 37, he died from the wound two days later. Yet in the previous two years — and despite his bleakness — he completed more than 200 paintings, many of them masterpieces.

Handel, after years spent at the top of the musical world, fell into terrible poverty, ill health, and deep depression. Yet from the depths of profound despair, he completed his greatest work, "Messiah."

Beethoven raged against advancing deafness and his own finitude, yet created immortal works during this period, including his Fifth Symphony; his only opera, Fidelio; his late string quartets; and the Ninth Symphony, with its triumphant "Ode to Joy."

We all want to be happy. But life is also about education, work, courage, honor, empathy, and resilience in the face of hardship. Real contentment comes from a feeling that your life is worthwhile, that it is dissolved into something meaningful and great. That leads to gratitude.

And gratitude, it turns out, is an indispensable part of happiness.

It's worth a read, if you have time.

robots... all is not full of love

2011-05-09T08:46:00.008-05:00

Perhaps the strangest music video I've ever seen. I've been a fan (of sorts) of Bjork for years but I never thought to search out a video by her until today. My reason for the search? I'm trying to compile a list of songs that contain the word 'robot' or 'android' within the lyrics.

My list so far:

1001001 - Rush
Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots - Flaming Lips
Mr. Roboto - Styx

Strangely, Bjork fails to make the list, despite her best visual efforts.

Stranger still, Bjork is pretty hot as a robot... not so much in real life.

---

Afterthought ...[11:40am]
Bjork tends to mumble and draw out whole words over long vocal runs so...

All Is Full Of Love

You'll be given love        You'll be taken care of
You'll be given love        You have to trust it

Maybe not from the sources        You have poured yours
Maybe not from the directions        You are staring at

Twist your head around        It's all around you
All is full of love        All around you

All is full of love        You just ain't receiving
All is full of love        Your phone is off the hook
All is full of love        Your doors are all shut
All is full of love        All is full of love!

All is full of love... a nice enough sentiment for those who are in love, surrounded by love, enveloped by love... but what does it mean to the homeless? the hungry? the lonely? the dying? God is love, the spiritual embodiment of love; for some, this is enough. But look at the world. I mean REALLY look at it. All is NOT full of love. It's filled with the longing for love. For those who don't wish to look deeper, this, I assume, is enough.

The world is in love with provocateurism-- lesbian robots fondling and kissing each other. There is something very wrong with the world.

...

I actually love this song. I just didn't know there was a video associated with it. I almost wish I hadn't found it. I say 'almost' because despite my distaste for the imagery, I am human and drawn to it, nonetheless, by both fascination and lust.

pithy rEviews

2011-04-08T13:17:00.004-05:00

Sucker Punch
viewed: 040211

Anyone who's seen the trailers? That's pretty much the movie, in terms of action. The creators chose not to tell you that there was another dark, depressing, less visual facet to their film. Nor did they bother to inform you that it is this other facet which propels all the action. Without the part you didn't know about, the rest falls apart.

As a whole, the movie is ultimately tragic; a Romeo & Juliet without a Romeo. You know how it's going to end in the first 8 minutes. They tell you. So don't be surprised or ticked off when it happens. But it's this knowledge that keeps you rooting for Baby Doll. You want her to win. You want her to escape her fate, but with the final rap of a small hammer it's done.

Sucker Punch succeeds very well in this respect; the investment you make in wishing her well. Another plus in Sucker Punch's favor is the music-- forget the art and color, you already knew that was in there. But the music! Specifically, White Rabbit (originally of Jefferson Airplane fame) by Emiliana Torrini.

She totally owns this tune. Before Emiliana all we had was Jefferson Airplanes cheap two-and-a-half minute, albeit great tune. Truly great. But Miss Torrini's version, clocking in at just under 5 minutes 10 seconds... modern, embellished, loud and explosive, is worth the .99 cents I spent to download at Amazon. Jefferson Airplane ends White Rabbit abruptly with little fanfare, leaving you wanting more. It's a shame it took 40 years for someone to explore the lengths to which Jefferson Airplane could have taken this iconic tune.

You may have heard Sucker Punch described as 'eye-candy'. Well, it is. The whole thing, not just the hookerishly-clad chickies. Even the depressing parts. And that's about as negative I can be. Would I buy this on DVD? I haven't decided yet.

But I am pleased with my music download.

capulet

2011-03-31T11:50:00.002-05:00

I've got a headache. The kind that shoots spears of lightning down the muscles of the neck and back-- it's a vice that seems to know but one direction. Headaches, for me, cause everything else to grind to a near standstill.

I wrote a poem once, while in the beginning throes of a migraine. As short as it is, it still took more than an hour to get right.

This time around my inspiration came not from the headache, but from a single word which caught my eye while scanning a random page of text... That word?

Capulet

Capulet sing
To the morning sun
Of all the things you haven't yet done
Ask him to stay
A little long 'neath the cover
Give you more time
Alone with your lover
Capulet sing

Capulet sing
To the dark starry night
Sing of the things you haven't got right
Ask them to shine
A little long in the sky
Give you and your lover
More time for goodbye
Capulet sing

Soft-throated murmurs
And sighs on the bed
Clasped and fervent
To the boy you have wed
Oh, Capulet sing
Of eyes deep and burnished
Tongues steeped in honey-sweet dew
Your lips on the curves
Of your dear Montague
Oh Capulet sing
Poison and daggers
Are terrible things

Sing and let go
Without fear or doubt
To your sweet Montague
Unstained and devout
Sing Juliet and maybe you'll see
A life beyond whispers
And cold rosary

Capulet sing
To the cold fates of love
Pray to the God who watches above
For Romeo rises
And Mercury too
Tumult and Tybalt
By the hand of your poor Montague
Oh, Capulet sing

Soft-throated murmurs
And sighs on the bed
Clasped and fervent
To the man you have wed
Oh, Capulet sing
Of dreams for the future
Of love, unembattled and true
Your lips on the breast
Of your dear Montague
Oh, Capulet sing
Capulet ring
Capulet love
Till the morning takes wing
Oh, Capulet love
Oh, Capulet sing
Daggers and poisons
Are terrible things

ELAshley
033111.110726.
.113625.1

in case i haven't told anyone...

2011-03-30T16:38:00.005-05:00

...i am a Christian. Really. You'll find all kind of things on this blog; some consistent with that profession, and some not. For the record, I'm not trying to be anyone other than who I am, good or bad alike... This is the most common human failing there is... not trying. Selah.

For those of you who didn't know, it is impossible for a Christian to not commit sin; it's simply not in his nature to be perfect. But being a Christian is not about being perfect but, rather, it's about being perfected. Daily. Assuming of course I allow myself to be perfected. There is still within me the desire to seek my own will, and it wins more often than not. When all you've known, your entire life, is the tactile sensations of your very skin; nerve endings, and the pump and flow of blood rushing; sensations of pleasure and of pain; how does anyone deny the the very thing that tells them they are alive and living in the world? that gives them means of expression and communication? How does anyone die daily to their flesh? let alone a Christian?

It's been said by all and sundry at some point in their vocal lives that truth is relevant, and I have to agree. But allow me to qualify that. When most people hear the phrase 'truth is relative,' what they're really hearing is that my truth is not necessarily their truth. When I hear that particular truism uttered, I hear that truth has specific relevance not only to me, but to everyone, whether I like that truth or not. Every truth is relevant to everyone, whether they recognize it or not. You can say you don't believe in the law of gravity, but try stepping off the edge of a cliff. You can say you don't believe in God, but just wait until you stumble across eternity's threshold.

So, what are you saying E?

What I'm saying is that truth cannot have private, singularly individual interpretations. It is either true for all or it's not true at all. It's either true every time or it's an aberration. Some will argue this distinction, and I understand that need, but I won't argue the point. Except to say that if a thing is true, it is always true; circumstance and geography become irrelevant determinant witnesses in the face of absolute truth.... What's that? You say there are no absolutes?

Too many people-- Christians especially --make excuses for the truth, particularly in the abortion debate. One Christian will call abortion evil in any circumstance, another Christian will make pointlessly arbitrary exceptions for rape, incest, etc., while still other christians [and no, that's not a typo] proudly claim they celebrate a woman's right to choose. Okay...? Many of these latter types are quick to make the distinction that they personally abhor the act; it's only the right to 'choose' that they're celebrating, but this is equivocation. They believe there is nobility in defending a perceived right that, in this arena, only women possess, but even women squabble over this trope... a woman's right to choose. Even women can't agree. But where is this right codified other than in the nebulous 1973 Roe v Wade ruling.

Does man's law supersede God's law? If we are to render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's, and unto God the things which are God's, in the case of abortion, specifically, who's law do we follow? Caesar says 'Rip It Out!', but God says, 'THOU SHALT NOT KILL.' Who's law is greater? Unto whom are we to render the service of obedience?

So the moral of the story is (assuming there is a story in the body of this post) you should never judge the book by it's cover, or better, by its title. I can call myself a Christian all day long, but that won't make me one.

"date a girl who rEads" filed under...

2011-02-28T14:00:00.003-06:00

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.

--Rosemary Urquico

true, so 'very' true...

2011-02-09T14:25:00.003-06:00

"...So avoid using the word 'very' because it's lazy. A man is not very tired, he is exhausted. Don't use very sad, use morose. Language was invented for one reason, boys-- to woo women --and, in that endeavor, laziness will not do. It also won't do in your essays."

--John Keating, Dead Poet’s Society

I have been guilty of this in the past, very guilty indeed!

artist watch - Melissa Haslam

2010-12-13T16:49:00.004-06:00

Kinda reminiscent of Audrey Kawasaki, and lovely in it's own right. Melissa Haslam has some beautiful moves.Here's a link to her place. Check it out.

This piece is called Honey Hive

what's wrong with american 'disEase' care

2010-12-10T10:51:00.008-06:00

Not a question, but a statement...

What is wrong with disease (not 'health') care in the U.S. is our rejection of commonsense basics. We glibly recite the mantra 'You Are What You Eat,' but we reject everything it implies... or at least the most important parts. It's not enough to eat 'health' foods. What we should be eating are 'healthy' foods. And the only truly healthy food is one that comes in its original raw state.

I own this DVD and it is an eye-opener, to say the least. I've been moving toward a raw diet for a year now, and believe me, it hasn't been easy. But I'm almost to the 50% raw point (currently 40-45%). The goal is not to make sure each week or month's intake is 51% raw foods; the goal is to make sure each MEAL consists of at least 51% raw. And trust me, that is a very tall order for someone who was raised on cooked food, and lived by cooked food for near 50 years. But this is the answer to disease and illness. It's not a pill, or an injection, or a shot of radiation. It's fresh, organic, nutrient rich, foods. Your body has the amazing capacity to heal itself, even of cancer, if you give it all the nutrients it needs.

I highly recommend this video. And, if you act before the end of this month (Dec 2010) they have a half price deal going on... you can get this video for 10 - 12 bucks. That's not a bad deal at all.

of the light and dark of our musical drEams

2010-12-01T15:35:00.007-06:00

I'm glad someone else has noticed this as well; that song lyrics have drastically changed since I was a lad. Not simply in quality, but in simple beauty as well. What follows may not be a fair comparison [it's not] because even the seventies had some silly lyrics, but I'm finding it difficult to believe 70's lyrics were as vapid as this 2010's example...

To be fair, there are some fine lyricists today, but has anyone noticed how dark [and stark] music has become? What I remember of the 70's was a far more light-hearted feel to music. There was some darkness, but it was mostly overpowered by a bright lightness that has all but disappeared today. Much of what you hear today sounds dark and gloomy... as if our children have awakened from the dreams in which we've chosen to stay.

Now, Kashmir is, admittedly, a dark tune; the lyrics are lofty but the tune is brooding, to say the least. On the other hand, Like a G6 is upbeat. So take your pick. For me, Like a G6 makes absolutely no sense.

It almost feels as though the Law of Entropy has wreaked itself more quickly upon the imagination of modern music, than on the rest of the world. For if, in 35 years, we've degenerated from Kashmir to Like a G6, is their any hope at all left for intelligent, soul-stirring music?

e's songs

2010-12-01T13:14:00.007-06:00

I've been listening to The Flaming Lips lately; and this is important-- the album, I mean. It's the sound and feel. I began thinking about a story I'm writing and began to think about it in terms of musicality. So with Fight Test in my head, I quickly hammered out lyrics for my story-based, Flaming Lips inspired, song...

Where You’ve Gone

[1] What happens to the soul
As it moves through the door
Does it know where you’ve gone
Can it feel you anymore
‘Cause you’re here to stay
Until you find the way
Did you know where you were going
Before you stepped through the door

Can heaven find you should you die here?
Does it even know where you’ve gone?

[2] How does it feel to know
He can’t hear you where you are
You’re not merely lost in space
Nor circling a foreign star
If Universes were city blocks
Would you have considered their locks
Crossed the street without thought of a key
Would you have thought to bring a key
Before you stepped through the door

Can heaven find you should you die here?
Does it even know where you’ve gone?

[Bridge] How did it feel when the door closed
And you knew something important was gone
Did you ever think you could ever miss
What you casually took for granted

[3] If universes were city blocks
Would you have considered their locks
Crossed the street without thought of a key
Would you have thought to bring a key
Before you walked out the door

Can heaven find you should you die here?
Does it even know where you’ve gone?
Does it even know where you’ve gone?

ELAshley
113010.114316.1
Revisions:
120610.041450.6

Listening to The Flaming Lips’ Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, and considering my own novel in the works, it’s said that emulation is the greatest of flatteries.

So what do my lyrics mean? They're derived from some of the philosophical questions asked in the story I’m writing. I don’t have a melody as of this writing, so here’s hoping the music also flatters my aforementioned muses.

the frog in the well

2010-11-23T14:55:00.007-06:00

I spoke with a man today at my favorite Indian restaurant. He described his "ascension" to the American way of life as a frog in a well. He said one rarely recognizes the climes one inhabits when it is all one has ever known. It is only when one climbs out of the well of his life and sees beyond the rim of sky, that he learns to appreciate what he has attained, and from what he has come. America was an eye-opener for him. He knew things here were different, but it took coming here and spending time to really grasp the differences between living in India and living in America. I understood all too well what he meant; I've spent time in foreign countries, albeit many years ago. But I've recently come to learn there is another kind of well... the kind we can fall into.

I've never been rich, but neither have I been so poor that I feared for where I might sleep at night, or if I could keep my dog with me. I know I have a home in Panama City-- my family would take me in --but I never considered how important it was to save for a rainy day. I, like too many others, have spent the money as it came in on the 'necessities' of living in America. I never thought I could ever be homeless, but now I find myself tipping on that very edge. I am that frog... on the edge of an abyss, with the forces of economics (among other things I'll not speak of) pushing me closer to the edge and into darkness. I need money. Lots of it. Or the cart throws a wheel; the horse, its shoe, and the frog leaps free-fall into obscurity.

I still have my job, though it has never really paid enough. I still have my car, though it is twenty years old and in constant need of repair. I still have a roof over my head, though new circumstances threaten to strip even that away. I've been in the well before, though I never saw it as such and, I'm sad to say, never thought to catalog its lessons, let alone remember them. But this is new. I spent the last two decades climbing out, in pursuit of riches-- those things I thought declared loud enough that I lived above the earth (though beneath the sky) --and even they seem to have eluded me.

One man climbs out, another falls in. I could blame partisan politics for the current state of the economy (and do) but that does nothing for my present predicament-- I could blame myself and be closer to the mark, but who truly thinks such things could come to harry them back into obscurity? The economy is not getting any better, unemployment is still too high, and inflation is still right around the corner. And I may also be there soon, just around the corner... me, my dog, a guitar, and every scrap of dignity I have left in a small canvas bag.

That may seem an image worth hanging like a Rockwell, but it's frightening as hell to be the one on the other side of the lens. I don't know what's going to happen in the months ahead. But this I do know... my job will still pay me less than I need. My car will still need repairs. I will still need a place to live. My dog will still need all the love and care he currently gets from me. And if that's all I'm ever able to manage, I guess it will have to be enough. Because, to my eternal shame, I have never been good at trusting Him.

rEtreating to the obscure art of pen and paper

2010-11-04T16:28:00.001-05:00

From early afternoon to closing time yesterday, my office computer was running diagnostics, so I was left alone with nothing to do; nothing I could do in terms of work productivity, and I found myself falling back into well-worn reveries - wishing for an upcoming change to hurry. I reached for the keyboard thinking I'd come to this or another blog and write... until I realized again the computer was doing its own thing. I was shut out.

So I took out a pen and paper, immediately wondering how long it had been since I had done that, and began to write... What follows is the result of near two hours of drafts and revisions and I'm still not sure I like it.

We Came

We came to play
We came to sing our troths and vespers
At the closing of the day
We came to dance
We came to toast long love in whispers
At the closing of the day

But will it, my Love
Will that this night should last forever
That these few hours of sharing
Fit as sure as a glove
Take hold, my Love
Thrust through the burning heart of the sun
Don't let go, break away, cease from kissing me
Feel the tides of our love
Fit as tightly as a glove

We came to love
We came to drown in waters changed to wine
In the soft fall of night
We came to learn
We came to search each hill, leaf, and vine
in the soft call of night

But will it, my Love
Will that each touch should last forever
And our long years of sharing
Should defy the coming day
Take hold, my Love
Thrust through to the blinding light of the sun
Don't let go, break away, cease from rocking me
Feel the tides of our love
Fitting tight as a glove

ELAshley
110310.051521.6
Most Recent Revision:
110410.040459.6
110410.042707.6

tuesday's child a'quErying....

2010-10-12T10:05:00.003-05:00

Where is the grace in aloneness?

It's everywhere you look, everything you set your hand heart mind voice soul to. That and much much more...

today is awesome poetry day... 'cause E said so

2010-09-30T14:51:00.008-05:00

Here's a poem I stumbled upon by Gabriel Gadfly...

Beautiful Like...

STOP!
Right there.
I want to remember this image
for the rest of my life.
I want to remember the shape of
your thighs clamped tight around mine,
the shine of your tangled hair,
the sheen of the impassioned sweat
on your slender, outstretched arms,
and the gleam of the blade
on that really big knife you're holding.

Just Stop,
because I've got to tell you something:
you're beautiful.
And I don't mean run-of-the-mill
girl-next-door kind of beautiful
You are stunningly, terrifyingly,
shock-and-awe beautiful.
You are beautiful like
bullet tracers over Fallujah are beautiful,
beautiful like the thousand shapes and colors
swimming in your vision
after a too-soon flashbang
in a Baghdad bakery are beautiful.
Beautiful like the grenade at your feet
still has the pin is beautiful,
beautiful like the bullet that kissed your dog tags
and only went halfway through is beautiful,
beautiful like the bullet that kissed your throat
and went all the way through is beautiful.
Beautiful like the bright instruments of a British medic
in a field camp hospital clamping your veins,
and stitching your flesh, and saving your life are beautiful.
Beautiful like three bags of
Typo O negative blood are beautiful.

Stop
Right there.
I want to remember this image for the rest of my life,
like I'll remember the image
of you stepping out of a C-130 transport plane,
and realizing that when they told me
they never leave one behind,
they didn't mean they wouldn't leave a few pieces.
You are beautiful.
You are beautiful
like the edges of the broken pieces
of a celebratory wine bottle,
glittering like razor wire all across
the earthtone tablecloth are beautiful.
You are beautiful like the stares of people in Wal-mart
when the bang of a box sliding off a shelf
puts you screaming on the floor are beautiful.
You are beautiful like nightmares are beautiful.
You are beautiful like
“Honey, Mommy might be a little different when she gets back.”
“That's okay. I'll still love her, Daddy” is beautiful.

I'll still love you, baby.
We'll get you the help you need,
but you need to give me the knife.

It's absolutely beautiful... stunning imagery. I tend to write introspectively; desire, personal fear, reflection, metaphysics, sometimes of war, but again in terms of desire, fear, reflection etc. But Gabriel here, writes viscerally; he's pulled no punches. Got to admire him for that.

If I had to place one of mine next to his; not to contrast or compare my introspection with his clarity, but in addendum to clarity, I'd choose what follows below. We tend to see each moment of our lives as having absolute clarity, we see what we see and interpret as rightly as we know how the meaning of it all. One man sees the knife in his traumatized wife's hand with far more clarity than a man who's never seen the ravages of war-- personally or second-hand --while another man sees from a distance the high cost of war in purely clinical terms; of numbers and lives and flag draped coffins... Taps echoing across a field of white stone.

I've been in the military, but I've never seen war, let alone fired upon another person, enemy or otherwise. So I write introspectively... romantically. If anything war produces could ever be described as 'romantic.'

But if I had to place one of my own next to his? This would be it...

Resurrection

I draw the muslin over my head
Feel my breath mist beneath its weight
Trapped and drawn again inward
Last moment's breath
Called upon once more
Weaker now; bearing life still
        My brother lies near
        No mist beneath the muslin
        No breath revisited
        No life ~ weak or otherwise
        Only the sure knowledge that moments are fleeting

I pull the muslin down and away
Breathe in the cold chill of night
Fresh and unsullied air…
Open my eyes and see the heavens turn
Each breath new
Filled with life ~ strength
        My sister lies near
        Unmoving ‘neath the muslin opaque
        Oblivious of the passing of moments
        Oblivious to the sound of my heart's beating
        And the sure knowledge of the song it sings

Sing Brother!
Sing Sister!
Draw the curtain from your eyes
And let life ~ Fresh and unsullied
Beneath equally pristine skies
Fill your bodies once more
With hope and new breath
Let your wounds draw closed
Your limbs bind with sinew and bone unshattered
And let's walk once more ‘neath the stars of heaven
In the sure knowledge of life everlasting

ELAshley
020306.014802.1

Mr Gadfly understands the visceral human connection, I grasp the metaphysical. He sees the human toll, I see the spiritual. I'm sure he sees the metaphysical as well, but he chooses to rub our fine sensibilities in the hot coppery truth. And I wouldn't dream of faulting him for it. Bravo, Gabriel. Bravo.

disrEgard - what follows is meaningless without context

2010-09-27T11:43:00.001-05:00

Aubade

Morning comes and the dream thins
Paint from heart world's canvas washes away
Sun's herald cries aloud, and our whims
Shall be forgotten come the light of day
I would that you might stay
Here in our gossamer bed
Where our souls lie safely wed
But the tapestry grows thin
Stay, my love. Stay

....

Auspicious our beginnings
How real the love of our dream

.....
092710.114302.6

Context will be made plain (clear) in time. For now, this is a snippet of notebook..

kisses

2010-09-23T11:42:00.002-05:00

Kisses kept are wasted;
Love is to be tasted
There are some you love, I know;
Be not lothe to tell them so
Lips go dry and eyes grow wet
Waiting to be warmly met
Kept them not in waiting yet;
Kisses kept are wasted

--Edmund Vance Cooke

sensuality and haiku

2010-09-16T10:37:00.004-05:00

Simple is best. Simplicity is the soul of grace. And the simplest pleasures are free. Take sex, for instance; assuming you're not paying for it in some form or fashion it is free. It is an exchange. It is more than simply give and take... give and "accept" is the greater form [for the semantically challenged, yes, there is a difference]. But what does all this mean? If my words don't lead to a responsible conclusion I've wasted my time.

I believe I find myself exploring the topics I do because they hide themselves from my own personal experiences; they rarely darken my door, or brighten as the case may be. Is it my fault my life has not lived up to my expectations? But this is a digression.

Sensuality. I love the feel of silk on my skin. I love the feel of no clothes on my skin. I love the feel of bare feet on plush grass or carpet. I love the sensation of clove in my mouth and rushing through my nostrils. And like countless others I love the sensation of being inside a woman. I would consider it the height of pleasure to simply slip inside and stay there... unmoving... just relishing in the enveloping heat, arms, and vision... the sound of unhurried breath, the scent of soft, clean, unperfumed, skin. Just to be inside and stay there for as long as desire and patience will allow.

And then there's this. Written this morning. For no particular reason at all...

Our love lies squandered
Souls spent swift in sweat and seed
Soft lips hot with breath

ELAshley
091610.092621.1

My Haiku... Eleven long years down the road from this gem...

Her eyes slid closed
Emeralds. Slowly and softly
And her form unclothed
T'was bathed with light. Softly
She smiled and posed
Her lids eased softly
Open. Then shut and dozed
Dreaming slowly. Softly
Her legs, lithe and hosed
My hands caressed softly
With desire prosed
In tender words. Softly
With moistened lips I 'trothed
Kissed her throat softly
Thighs parting she glowed
Mystery and pleasure. Softly
Her scented petals flowed
My tongue did taste her softly
She to me bestowed
The jewel of her love. Softly

Her lips. Her scent. Her taste. Her touch. Softly
On this deepest of nights proposed. Softly
The union of lips, scent, taste and touch. Softly
Her warm embrace held me enclosed. Softly
And I gave to her my soul,
Completely

ELAshley
060199
Latest Revision:
091610.111117.1

I wrote that when I was 39... a young man yet. Now I'm 50. Why am I still thinking the same things? Why do I still dwell on sensuality?

artist watch -- Moony Khoa Le

2010-09-03T15:15:00.005-05:00

"Birds" by Moony Khoa Le, Moonywolf at Deviantart.com

"Little Voice" Moony

e at fifty

2010-09-03T10:41:00.004-05:00

I reached this milestone early last week on the 23rd of August. I can't say I'm happy about it, neither can I say I've accepted it, let alone become comfortable with the idea that half my life is now in the tank. But there it is, whether I like it or not.

And without any fanfare.

the promise of shared synchronistic stirs ?

2010-09-03T10:01:00.006-05:00

"If It Should"

And if it should happen
that one day you play our song
when I am not there
know that I will hear it
because you are hearing it.
Know that I will not
turn my ears from you
when my chimes ring-
they are yours.
Know that I find instances of you
in distant songs
faint music
old books.
Know that I hear you when I drink
your soft voice
your brush of hair
your tongue full of eden.
And if it should happen
that one day I play our song
when you are not there
know that I will listen for you
as wind listens for doves.

--Michael Gravel

..::(e)::..

If it should indeed. I know this feeling all too well, and have even managed to capture some near-equally fitting imagery myself, but I must give credit to Mr. Gravel for capturing "it" so succinctly... so beautifully.

A sample of my own, you ask? Here... enjoy.

Souls are not bound, as are bodies
To a point of reference
On a geographical map
Nor should they be thought of
As bound by the laws that govern flesh
They are transcendent
Larger than human form
Which cannot hope to contain them
My soul lies beside you as you sleep
And it whispers to me in my dreams
Every wonderful detail
My soul’s arms ~ Such as they are
Hold you throughout the wheeling of stars
In a sky much like my own
We share proximity…

As I said... near-equally (in my own estimation). For the entire poem click here. My stirs, in this offering at least, are not as strong. Here's a link to something stronger... Resonance, and something immensely more satisfying here, The Dance. IT is this last one I feel the most affinity for; it most closely shadows my inner turmoils. It more truly reflects my heart.

signpost ahead...

2010-08-31T08:10:00.007-05:00

..::(1)::..

"You know you're in trouble when Rod Serling is in the room talking about you."

e's tuesday covers

2010-08-10T13:49:00.007-05:00

An absolutely amazing cover of Rush's Subdivisions, by Jacob Moon. This is the musical standard to which I, as a guitarist, am striving toward.

something E chooses to remember...

2010-06-30T11:07:00.005-05:00

In the Wild World

In the wild world
I would love you
without guilt
I would call you
trembling,
I would seduce you
with words,
eyes, hands, lips
careless as wind,
I would speak
all the names
of your hidden desires
and give them to you,
day after day
until you are breathless,
aching
and burning for my touch.

J.L. Stanley, 2006

a pueblo indian prayer

2010-06-18T09:43:00.003-05:00

Hold on to what is good,
even if it's a handful of earth.

Hold on to what you believe,
even if it's a tree that stands by itself.

Hold on to what you must do,
even if it's a long way from here.

Hold on to your life,
even if it's easier to let go.

Hold on to my hand,
even if I've gone away from you.

__

Beautiful

the wisdom of oscar wilde

2010-06-10T17:23:00.008-05:00

...who, though the few quips below are indeed shaded in hues of wisdom, was not necessarily a wise man. [disclaimer]

"A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it."

Muslims die for a lie each and every day.

"Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future."

No one is perfect, especially Christians. Sinners will never be perfect, nor forgiven.

"Self-denial is the shining sore on the leprous body of Christianity."

Christians don't follow Christianity. They follow a real and living person who can be known, loved, experienced, enthroned, and embodied... Much of what passes for Christianity is not Christianity. And, paraphrasing Mr. Wilde...

'a man is not necessarily Christian because he believes he is.'

a form to explore... on another day

2010-06-09T11:42:00.003-05:00

Dodoitsu - a fixed folk song form of Japanese origin comprised of 26 syllables total in four lines of 7, 7, 7, 5 syllables respectively, unrhymed and non-metrical.

e's muse - no. 001

2010-06-09T09:18:00.008-05:00

E has been overworked for much of the last two months, but still he's found some time to post here-- mish mash mostly. He hasn't seen, let alone heard from his muse for much of that time. Not a single poem written in almost two months, talk about dry spells!

But E has had other things flashing through his mind; images of canvas, fluid lines and rose madder. Wood, nails, tears and spears. Rough-hewn sketches of pain and lamentation... and hope.

E knows that the idea of 'hope' has been over-hyped and misnomered by rough political beasts on their slouching journeys toward Washington, pregnant with hate for traditional values, insistent upon allowing the unwashed unrestricted access to the killing of their unborn, all the while eargerly pushing their own malorifically dark seeds into the light of day... unabashedly and unashamed. But E is also here to tell you that there is real hope left in the world; there is real light, which has never ceased to shine, yet remains, astoundingly, unseen to so many who believe hope is altogether lost.

Where is my muse? She is here; she never left my side. I have simply ignored her that I might please others who are less lovingly appreciative and understanding of the length and breadth of my many and several talents.

Ignore her and she'll sit quietly still-- she'll never leave --but ignore her too long and she will make you earn, by sweat and labor, the return of her good and graceful attentions. Her smile alone is enough to make a man fill great canvases with seed for untold others among the muse-led multitudes.

a song of life unrEalized

2010-06-04T16:06:00.005-05:00

Fear is the thief of dreams

fun at the chinese buffet

2010-05-28T08:40:00.004-05:00

Here's a fun game I was introduced to early last summer, and it can only be played at the end of your meal at a Chinese restaurant. It's called "...in the bathroom."

So how's it played? At the end of the meal everyone cracks open their fortune cookie and reads aloud their fortune, adding 'in the bathroom' at the end. It makes for some great laughter at the end of what is the heaviest meal you'll likely eat that day.

Case in point. A buddy (the other E) and me went to a Chinese buffet for lunch yesterday. My fortune?

Your efforts are budding - results will soon appear

...IN THE BATHROOM!

HA! Get it?

...

I reckon ya had to be there.

better yet, don't tEach them to read

2010-05-09T16:23:00.008-05:00

"You don't have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them."

--Ray Bradbury

Isn't this where we already are? Government education is less about teaching than it is about indoctrination. Public education graduates more ignorants today than ... pick your own metaphor.

Here's another great quote:

"Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools."

The Apostle Paul, Romans 1:22

Don't know that book? You've proved my point...

"Because that, when they knew God, they glorified him not as God, neither were thankful; but became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened."

national day of prayer

2010-05-05T16:27:00.000-05:00

Managing to put a lot of babies to bed this week I'm taking tomorrow off. It being a National Day of Prayer, I need to spend some time on my knees. It's a shame I actually need an excuse to pray. Normally I wouldn't even mention such matters, but no one reads this blog; no one cares, so I'm bragging to no one.

I'd go to the 1st baptist Church's prayer breakfast at 7:30am... but that's awfully early in the morning, and I'm not sure I want to be eating anything that early. The church I attend has midweek service on Thursday evenings so this works out well.

bEware the man of one book...

2010-05-04T11:38:00.001-05:00

--Thomas Aquinas

[quote]

black white left right juxtoposed spEak and be quiet

2010-05-03T11:10:00.006-05:00

Don't let me confuse you, only let me love you when and how I choose and feel...

Learn To Be Quiet

You need not do anything.
Remain sitting at your table and listen.
You need not even listen, just wait.
You need not even wait,
just learn to be quiet, still and solitary.
And the world will freely offer itself to you unmasked.
It has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.

--Franz Kafka

someday soon...

2010-04-30T10:26:00.004-05:00

...i'm going to turn this article into a very sensual poem, sans much of the crude imagery.

Mind Of Man: The Types Of Women That Really Turn Us On

ditto, the certain dark things

2010-04-30T08:54:00.003-05:00

"Te amo como se aman ciertas cosa oscuras,
secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma."

— Pablo Neruda

bound by yet another human construct? or freed?

2010-04-29T11:14:00.005-05:00

It's easy to become distracted and, once ensnared, hard to break away. I heard it articulated last night thusly: Sin is like a comfortable bed: easy to get into but hard to get out of. I'm not equating distraction with sin-- only comparing.

I find myself distracted. I wasn't the moment I walked in this morning; there was work to do and a firm deadline of 10:30am. So I knuckled down and got it done. Ahead of schedule.

But now I find myself distracted... I'm here, aren't I? That's right. I'm here wasting time when there are 3 other looming deadlines on the desk as I speak. But, since I'm already here, let's consider my deadlines.

Between each momentary "now" and each of my multiple deadlines is an ever shrinking value called time. For those of you who followed Farscape and enjoyed the finale, The Peacekeeper Wars, a bit of dialog...

Einstein:      Time...
Crichton:      ...Flies
Einstein:      Time...
Crichton:      ...Bandits
Einstein:      Time...
Crichton:      ...Wounds all heels
Einstein:      Time...
Crichton:      ...Rosemary and
Einstein:      Time...
Crichton:      ...Time ends.

The point being? Time ends. Deadlines come and nothing you do can halt its approach. Like that last line from 'Dust in the Wind'... "And all your money won't another minute buy..."

While I'm wasting time, my deadlines cometh. Welcome or not, they approach. The sands slip through the hourglass.

Another movie quote: from The Matrix...

"Do you hear that Mister Anderson? That is the sound of inevitability."

So there you have it. Each moment I spend here, distracted from those things that must get done, is lost. This means I will have to work doubly hard to get my tasks done, which makes me a slave to time. We all are. Our lives are ordered by time.

But time is a construct, right? A human construct? Can't we just tell time to go away? That we refuse to play its game a moment longer? Ahhh! Not a moment longer? Even our tongues speak the truth of our serfdom to the rule of time-- a construct no longer but, as Agent Smith declares, an inevitability. We are born, live our lives-- for the most part --obliviously or semi-aware of the cost of our daily and momentary choices. But there is hope, albeit emaciated...

From Fyodor Dostoevsky's, The Possessed...

"You've started believing in the future eternal life?"

"No, not future eternal, but here eternal. There are moments, you reach moments, and time suddenly stops, and will be eternal."

"You hope to reach such a moment?"

"Yes."

"It's hardly possible in our time," Nikolai Vsevolodovich responded, also without any irony, slowly and as if thoughtfully. "In the Apocalypse the angel swears that time will be no more."

"I know. It's quite correct there; clear and precise. When all mankind attains happiness, time will be no more, because there's no need. A very correct thought."

"And where are they going to hide it?"

"Nowhere. Time isn't an object, it's an idea. It will die out in the mind."

--- Kirillov to Stavrogin

It will die out in the mind.... so very true! But, in the mean time, the sands slip through the glass, moments die; perhaps consumed by voracious langoliers.

Stavrogin hopes to reach a moment where time suddenly stops. I wish to hope for the same. Perhaps even turn the hands back a decade or two. But I'd settle for keeping the hands at 11:14am on this day of April 29, 2010 for a week or two... allow myself some breathing room, and time to catch up.

But time is an enemy to everyone. Because we know what it has in it's nasty pocketses.

Ha! To think some one could actually have a door in its pocket.

Who would we call such a one but Death?

promising news, yes, but a cure already exists

2010-04-27T13:09:00.003-05:00

Scientists make cancer cells vanish
--Helen Puttick, Health Correspondent, The Herald Scotland
April 21, 2010

Scottish scientists have made cancer tumours vanish within 10 days by sending DNA to seek and destroy the cells.

The system, developed at Strathclyde and Glasgow universities, is being hailed as a breakthrough because it appears to eradicate tumours without causing harmful side-effects. A leading medical journal has described the results so far as remarkable, while Cancer Research UK said they were encouraging.

Dr Christine Dufes, a lecturer at the Strathclyde Institute of Pharmacy and Biomedical Sciences and leader of the research, said: "The tumours were completely gone within 10 days. It is fantastic. When you talk about 10 days that is the time frame for curing a cold. Imagine if within 10 days you could completely make a tumour disappear."

Researchers around the world are trying to find ways to use genes as a cancer treatment, but one problem is ensuring they attack the tumour without destroying healthy tissue.

In laboratory experiments the Strathclyde research team used a plasma protein called transferrin, which carries iron through the blood, to deliver the therapeutic DNA to the right spot. Once in situ the DNA produced a protein that attacked the tumour cells.

The findings have been published in the Journal of Controlled Release, with an accompanying comment from editor Professor Kinam Park, of Purdue University, Indiana, saying other attempts to target genes at cancer cells have "seldom shown complete disappearance of tumours."

The research was initially supported with a grant from charity Tenovus Scotland, which supports the work of young scientists to help their ideas get off the ground.

This at least is a step in the right direction. Gene therapy is far more promising than anything embryonic stem cell research has to offer. But something even more promising than gene therapy (with a caveat or two) is the silly notion that diet can cure all that ails us... well, most of what ails us. Which brings me to the caveat.

Your body can heal itself of just about any malady, condition, or disease... provided you're feeding your body all the things it needs to do the job. Do you have brain or pancreatic cancer? Your body can heal itself without chemo or radiation or any number of drugs whose list of side-effects are worse than the cure. But imagine if your cancer could be cured in as little as ten days.

Utilizing natural means, ten days could... could... be enough to turn the tide, but the sooner you attack the cancer via natural means the greater chance of succeeding. Given six months to live I'd personally take the natural approach. Six weeks? I'm not so sure. Ten days? If it's the tumor that's killing you, and the tumor can be entirely eradicated in ten days? Five days might be enough to 'turn the tide' using Gene Therapy. And since it's your own DNA doing the work, that makes it as natural as you can get short of six months of juicing and oxygen therapies.

This is good news. Good news that is, until pharmaceutical companies manage to patent the process and make the cure beyond the financial reach of what Americans will be able to access through Obamacare.

[oh, you!]

2010-04-26T12:18:00.009-05:00

"The secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources."

--Albert Einstein

Albert speaks volumes in only eleven words. Who said brevity is the soul of wit? Shakespeare? What about the sole of wisdom? If you can manage to keep your sources and inspirations hidden you maintain the veil of mystery you deliberately-- whether you realized it or not --affixed to the product of your hands. Or, as Montgomery Scott once said, "Oh, laddie, you've got a lot to learn if you want people to think of you as a miracle worker."

..::[e]::..

"Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever."

-—Mohandas Gandhi

Perfection of the Christian condition as expressed by a Hindu. He nailed (no pun intended) the following quote just as beautifully... "I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ."

..::[e]::..

"Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything-— all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure --these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart."

--Steve Jobs

He may be dead tomorrow, so watch out! More iPads, and iWhatzits on the horizon! All kidding aside he speaks the truth. In the face of death, what does it matter if a big part of you thinks you're out of her league. Go talk to her anyway; be yourself, be honest. Only God knows the true value of your efforts, your honesty, and your self...

..::[e]::..

"The clever combatant imposes his will on the enemy, but does not allow the enemy's will to be imposed on him."

--Sun Tzu, The Art of War

Wow! Did you read that!? Can you even guess at the magnitude of the truth in this? Democrats operate this way. They impose their will on America, but never allow America to impose its will upon them. My, how times have changed! Once, it was 'We the People' who imposed its will upon Washington, but now up is down and right is left. The saddest part in all this is the so-called 'Free Press'. Once champions of Freedom they've sold their birthright for a mess of pottage. Selling us all out in the process.

..::[e]::..

air and light and time and space

"–you know, I’ve either had a family, a job,
something has always been in the
way
but now
I’ve sold my house, I’ve found this
place, a large studio, you should see the space and
the light.
for the first time in my life I’m going to have
a place and the time to
create."

no baby, if you’re going to create
you’re going to create whether you work
16 hours a day in a coal mine
or
you’re going to create in a small room with 3 children
while you’re on
welfare,
you’re going to create with part of your mind and your body blown
away,
you’re going to create blind
crippled
demented,
you’re going to create with a cat crawling up your
back while
the whole city trembles in earthquake, bombardment,
flood and fire.

baby, air and light and time and space
have nothing to do with it
and don’t create anything
except maybe a longer life to find
new excuses
for.

--Charles Bukowski

'to find new excuses for.....' what?

I like this guy. What I see in this? The only thing holding you back is yourself; your fears and insecurities that limit and stifle your creativity... Only YOU can prevent forest fires... And only you can stoke the fire in your heart. Inspiration may be the flint to your steel, but you must nurse and coax the spark of their marriage to life.

Amen, and amen.

deadlines ~ the nature of the bEast

2010-04-26T11:37:00.002-05:00

I'm on the edge of another deadline this week. Not as terrifying as the last one, but a deadline all the same. If it's not up and running by Friday 5pm it could be a job killer-- A definite job killer if not up and running by noon Monday.

That's just the nature of the beast. There's a live broadcast introducing the page at noon next Monday so... if we're directing folk to our page on Monday, the page better be there, right?

Makes sense to me, but again, I'm not worried about it. The hard work has been done. It's just a matter of tweaking and adding.... very little actual 'construction'. It fact, it has to be live this Wednesday for demonstration purposes-- a deadline within a deadline.

I've been absent much of this week. But that's also reflective of the nature of the beast; Mondays's are always a challenge.

e's political bone

2010-04-23T10:50:00.008-05:00

I've recently been immersed in a little political debate over at American Descent, a little political blog I'm a member of. Chances are, you won't like it. I don't like it much of the time, but a lot of the things said there need to be said. If you go there, it's likely your opinion of what you find here will change. I do no support much of what the president has done, and it's reflected there quite starkly.

The subject of Politics in America has lately taken on the view of an aftermath; a Monde à la vision de guerre mentality-- kill them all and let God sort them out. What we see most frequently is a field covered with bodies and vultures gleefully stripping the fallen to the bone. We'll call the bodies "Bones of Contention" and the vultures "Partisan Politics". No matter how many vultures alight from above to join the feast we never seem to run out of bodies. There are more rotting corpses than there are vultures to devour them. Sad, but true.

And that's how it is in American politics. No one is ever satisfied, and no one wants to share. We will glutton ourselves until we can take no more, disappear for a period of time to digest what would otherwise be indigestible, then return for seconds-- or thirds, or fourths, or fifths, or...

The field is never emptied, and the vultures never sated. It's as simple a picture of political hell as I can imagine.

it's always ourselves wE find in the sea...

2010-04-15T14:17:00.010-05:00

I Stumbled across a poem by e.e. Cummings yesterday afternoon, and was struck by the last two lines...

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea

For myself, this is as true a statement as there is. I have been fascinated by the sea for all of my life, having lived on or near it for the first twenty-seven years of my life. And, believe it or not, I've written quite a bit on my fascination. Here are but a few samples...

It was vast, the Great Hall,
The dancers a sea, and I a lighthouse
Casting a light across the undulant deep, wild and flowing
A warning to those who might think to stop…
Dance on, I prayed, beware these shores; hard, merciless, unmoving
Dance as long as Fate allows

--from The Dance

Life is a dance, and the dance is a sea of humanity; no one dancer perfect, but the whole a thing of tremendous beauty.

He looked out over the edge of the dock, looking into eyes that danced crazily on the surface, its form but a vague shadow on the waters rough surface. Without a word it reached into its coat pocket and pulled out a large black gun. It lifted the gun to its temple, squeezed the trigger, and fell lifelessly into its reflection.

--from Thrice Upon a Shore

Three short short stories painting images of life and death at the edge of the sea.

When the waters finally settled and its surface grew calm, Crearachenala searched beneath the waves for Enohtoo's body. When she found him she cradled his mighty head upon her lap and wept.

For all the many years that Ocean's waters filled the basin that is Zon, Crearachenala returned, when the waters lay calm, to where he lay and brought with her the soft rains to sweeten the waters where he slept.

--from In the Light of a Dying Sun, Book One. The Cradle of Giants

Nature has a way, both elegant and powerful, of leveling the balances. Get in the way of the natural order of things and the results can be disastrous.

I've washed my room with golden light
Laid chilled wine ~ two glasses by
Threw open windows to let in the sea
Accompaniment for my lovers' sigh

--from Washing the Room

Eroticism is not the sole pervue of sight... Or taste, touch, scent... the pounding of surf too sings of eroticism.

Sing to me a familiar song
Lips brush mine ~ our breath a song
Like the gentle susurring sea

--from One-Hundred Years Entwining

The sound of surf is perfect for spiritual and physical centering. All you have to do is stand in the surf to know your place, and sleep beneath its song to know cleansing restorative rest.

I have been too long from her garden. I know she is violence, yet I am drawn to her. Though she be calm above, yet am I turmoil within, without her. She is my lover, and I hers. She longs for me to lay furrows across her back with any ship I can find, and looking back, watch her smooth my wake without enmity. She smiles to know I long for her, to ride her swells, to feel her breath on my face and taste the salt of her tears. I awake each morning with that longing, wondering if our paths again will converge. But she is patient, if not always forgiving; she knows my heart is not my own, and that all things return to her in time.

--from Long From Her Gardens

A biographic foray into the fascination I have for sea. I love her, but fear her... I am properly respectful.

She learned my name years ago and has not forgotten it, calling me by name, often whispering to me as I sleep, sighing, "Return to me, you have been away too long."

There's a lot to find at edge of the ocean, not the least of which is yourself. And speaking of which, have you ever heard the band Ivy? I could listen to the following song all day long and never get tired of it...

Edge of the Ocean

There's a place I dream about
Where the sun never goes out.
And the sky is deep and blue.
Won't you take me there with you.

Ohhh, we can begin again.
Shed our skin, let the sun shine in.
At the edge of the ocean
We can start over again.

There's a world I've always known
Somewhere far away from home.
When I close my eyes I see
All the space and mystery.

Ohhh, we can begin again.
Shed our skin, let the sun shine in.
At the edge of the ocean
We can start over again.

Enjoy your next trip to the beach. I will.

[oh, you!]

2010-04-12T15:16:00.008-05:00

"Fear less, hope more; Eat less, chew more; Talk less, say more; Love more, and all good things will be yours."

--Swedish Proverb

..::[e]::..

Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life

--Pablo Picasso

..::[e]::..

For BJ, my recent ex-employer:

"Treat others as you'd like to be treated.
Life's only a bitch if you are."

But she won't listen; she feels justified in everything she does. And besides which, Karma is beyond her grasp.

..::[e]::..

And finally, before leaving...

"Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark in the hopeless swaps of the not-quite, the not-yet, and the not-at-all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved and have never been able to reach. The world you desire can be won. It exists... it is real... it is possible... it's yours."

--Ayn Rand

poetry ~ a rare find

2010-04-12T14:14:00.002-05:00

It's simple yet beautiful, and strikes personal chords...

All You who Sleep Tonight

All you who sleep tonight
Far from the ones you love,
No hand to left or right
And emptiness above -

Know that you aren't alone
The whole world shares your tears,
Some for two nights or one,
And some for all their years.

--Vikram Seth

a new song to clEar the air

2010-04-12T09:36:00.013-05:00

Here's something new to clear my spirit of last weekend's miasma. There is enough disease in my life already without allowing those events permanent residence in E's museum of recollections.

Sheer (She Loves Me)

Sheer. She is. She walks
Naked and the walls tumble down
Sheer. She moves. She smiles
My senses beginning to drown
And the tears in my eyes
Burning lines in the skies
Oh, how beautiful she is ~ to me
And I wonder how she
Ever came to love me
But I long ago stopped asking her why

Sheer. Her heart. Her love
Transparent her desire for me
Sheer. Her touch. Her kiss
There's nowhere else I'd rather be
Than right here in her bed
through the long years ahead
Oh, how beautiful she is ~ to me
And I wonder how she
Ever came to love me
But I've left all my wondering unsaid

Cause she loves me
And that's all I need to know
She loves me
All I ever need to know
Is that she loves me
Standing right here
Sheer

Sheer. Her eyes. Her look
I'm naked in all my designs
Sheer. Her hand. In mine
Soft neath the heavens entwine
Our lives love and laughter
All the dreams we run after
Oh, how beautiful she is ~ to me
And no more wond'ring how she
Ever came to love me
In her eyes I've found the answer

...And it's as simple as

She loves me
It's all I'll ever need know
She loves me
It's all that I'll ever need know
Cause she loves me
And that's all that I need to know
It's as simple as she loves me
Standing right here
Sheer

ELAshley
041210.101536.1
Immediate revisions:
041210.102530.1
041210.104126.1
041310.082334.1

I've got a melody with this one. I'll work out the chords at lunch.

One day, despite my previous declarations, I'll have to get around to recording some of this stuff.

Ciao for now, everyone. It's time to get to work.

Oh! I have no idea who that woman is. God willing, I'll know someday soon.

poetry found: sara tEasdale & tobin james mueller

2010-04-09T17:40:00.003-05:00

Faults

They came to tell your faults to me,
They named them over one by one;
I laughed aloud when they were done,
I knew them all so well before, —
Oh, they were blind, too blind to see
Your faults had made me love you more.
Simply beautiful...

--Teasdale

Wake Up, Love

wake up, love
undress yourself from my skin
put on the sun and let our dreaming rest
come watch the world rise

wake up, love
and be unbalance on the edge with me
of our sagging, remembering bed
come slip on your shoes

wake up, love
and help me sort this tangle of belongings
our thoughts half in day, half still in night
come kiss me full of sustenance

wake up, love
and meet me at the opened door
before the scent of you leaves my hands and hair
come walk with me into this life

--Mueller

Simply beautiful...

the cost of perfection

2010-04-09T16:24:00.012-05:00

As an artist you must both recognize the value of the extraordinary talent you possess, and an unsatisfied critical eye...

Picasso is in a park when a woman approaches him and asks him to draw a portrait of her. Picasso agrees and quickly sketches her.

After handing her the sketch she is pleased with the likeness and asks how much she owes him.

"$5,000," he replies.

The woman screams, "but it took you only five minutes."

"No, madam," Picasso replies, "it took me all my life."

* * *

"Think of and look at your work as though it were done by your enemy. If you look at it to admire it, you are lost"

--Samuel Butler

Armed with these two truths you will both grow and prosper in your gifts.

in E's quest for balance... some things must go

2010-04-02T07:20:00.009-05:00

I'm in need of some balance. I need to drop some of the baggage I'm carrying. I have too much on my plate, too many pans in the fire. My fingers are scalded, and my mind is a kettle on the verge of a steaming boiling scream.

I have to decide what is important, and what I can set aside.

I'm setting aside music for now. Not my guitars, but the desire to record my music and share it. I simply don't have the time or money to invest.

I MUST continue working on the movie poster for "Writing Christmas Cool" but I have to balance that work with the work that MUST get done at the station... a lot of changes in job duties there, and I'm not as confident as I could be that all will be well in the end... especially in THIS economy.

I am setting aside my language studies, TV (well, MOST of the shows I watch), and every book I'm in the active process of writing or drafting... five at varying stages of completion.

Much of my blogging is also going. I'll keep this and Letters to Mary, and my portfolios, but that's it. I simply don't have time for it.

I'm giving up politics. Or rather, following politics.

I'm going to pick up my brushes again. I'm going to stop putting so much effort and emphasis on Photoshop and other programs and get back to the basics. That's where my real talent lies.

And that's just for starters.

UPDATE: Monday, April 5 - 8:45am

Look closely at the man in the picture... recognize him? Was HE saved? or was this photo a study in cynicism by the late Kurt Cobain? Is this something upon which I need to focus more? What am I doing to carry light in an increasingly darkening world? A lot less that those who paid to have that billboard placed. In a search for balance, I can think of no greater duty.

I had a dream last night. I wonder if I have the nerve to actually do it. Especially since it would require using company property off the clock, and for a purpose other than news/work related.

dreamers, bEware!

2010-04-01T15:11:00.003-05:00

Dreams

All people dream, but not equally.
Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their mind,
Wake in the morning to find it was vanity.

But the dreamers of the day are dangerous people,
For they dream their dreams with open eyes,
And make them come true.

D.H. Lawrence

shE makes me want again to take up my brushes...

2010-03-31T10:30:00.010-05:00

Miss Audrey Kawasaki paints on wood... an amazing artist is she.

It's been more than twelve years since I picked up a brush. I went to work one day at a television station, picked up Photoshop, and my brushes have languished like Poe's House of Usher ever since. I picked up a pen in earnest about the same time and began to write poetry... few stories, because they require the patience of a saint and the determined insanity of a free climber. I have patience in spades but not the gritty determination. The desire is there. It hasn't left. Nor will it. My gift's muscles will wither and atrophy, but exercise will bring them back to life. Yet in order to pick those brushes up again, I've got to have something to say. I'm not even sketching anymore, so whatever voice I have it has been as celibate as I have, lo, these many years.

But miss Kawasaki makes me want again to take up my brushes, and in both wide and fine swathes give my dreams a measure of corporeal presence they've not enjoyed in a long while. Few artists inspire me, which is why I even bother mentioning miss Kawasaki...

My Brush, Dreams' Clarion

Lips a' blush
at the tip of a brush
rose madder and silky pearl
on wooden dreams unfurl
our lips brush
while intimacies blush
hands steady
colors wide, heady and thin
in
swathes, corporeally
stand and demand
~ yearning attention
dreams' intention all along

ELAshley
033110.034926.6

Sorry, didn't mean to wax lyrical. It happens.

I look at miss Kawasaki's work and I am amazed-- I wish for talent like hers --but I must remember that she lives with her talent every moment of her life. As do I. What I see as mundane (seeing it every moment of my life) others look and say "I am amazed!". As am I, at times, when I step back and look at what I've created. Did I really do that? I ask. What force directed my hand?. The easy answer is God.But truthfully, He gave me and miss Kawasaki extraordinary gifts, but we can choose to use them or bury them someplace dark where languishment and atrophy smother dreams. Sometimes our hands are directed. Sometimes not. Having a gift is no guarantee that all we do will stand apart. Standing apart is a struggle, ask people like Dennis B. He succeeds, but success is by no means assured. We must work for it.

It's time to go out into the back yard tonight and in the dark dig up my brushes and wanton inspirations and nurse them back to health.

grok thE Naybob

2010-03-30T10:26:00.006-05:00

Remember Spiro T. Agnew? Beuller? Anyone? He was once Vice President to Richard Nixon, perhaps best known for describing Nixon's critics in the media as "nattering nabobs of negativism." Well, I, even I, ELAshley, have my own personal 'Nabob' in the person of a man we'll call Grok. No matter what I show Grok-- flash ad, website, billboard, whatever --he has something negative to say about it...

...it's too fast, I'd use a different font, why did you use those colors? it looks 'kiddie,' it'll distract from all the other ads around it...

...all this while proudly showing off his own work, expecting only praise!

Well, good for him. I'm giving up showing him any of my work. Let him discover my work online like everyone else.

Grok's usually helpful when I have questions, though I've been instructed to not ask his help (long story, and not to the point), but he seems threatened by just about everything I do. He needn't worry-- he's years ahead of me on After Effects, and I'm not competing for his job. I should point out that he's admitted to wishing he still had my position, so perhaps that's it.

Either, or, I'm tired of sharing anything with him. My boss is pleased with my work, as are the clients, and that's what's important.

Speaking of competition, there was a time some seven years back when both he and I were tasked to design some large-format banners for a mobile set; backdrops for anchors (you know, talking heads at a local news station). Grok and I submitted our finished designs to the GM in a pseudo-public meeting, and his design was rejected... it was too "busy"... a cacophony of lines and distubia. Mine was simple and colorful. The banners cost somewhere in the neighborhood of $1,400 to print and were used for only 9 days during the National Peanut Festival here in Southeast Alabama.

Grok is a whiz with computers, but prior to a couple of years ago his design ability was unremarkable-- that is to say, he had occasional bursts of inspiration but in the long run he was... well... unremarkable. He has improved of late, but it's more the inspiration of others; what he has seen others do and emulated. Me? I won't brag here... except to say I have ALWAYS been creative. Always. It's one of my higher purposes in this life. I'm sure Grok has higher purposes in his life as well, but...

where E is today

2010-03-25T16:13:00.003-05:00

Dear Mary Angel

I'm tired of just about everything. I can understand Luke 21:26 though it doesn't apply to the present; there is still a great deal of fear in the world today. I spend too much time worrying about the direction of this country than I do the direction of men's souls. I place too much value in the intransigencies of life than I do in life itself. How has this happened?

All I want is to be all that God made me to be, and to be loved by someone God would approve of. I don't think that's too much to ask.

I'm so tired and distracted I haven't been able to focus on work for a week now. There have been no looming deadlines, and those making their approach are nothing to worry over, nevertheless I can't focus on the tasks before me; they pale in comparison to the crisis currently facing me-- my own personal midlife crisis. And I have no one to share it with it.

What will that shore look like when I get to the other side of this? I think that answer worries more than anything else. This world is going to shit in a ziplock, And yes, that worries me, but I'm worried more about where I fit in all this. God doesn't make anything without specific purpose. Each of us have specific purpose, something we are meant to do. How many of us ever discover that purpose? I want to know my reason for being. He's given me so many talents... so many... but I've never known what to do with them, let alone use them for His glory. I wish I had done things differently when I was 17, 18, 20, 23. I wish I weren't the kind of person I was then. But I did meet you, didn't I? A blessing in every brier patch? And what's the point of having a midlife crisis if you don't even have cash enough for a motorcycle?

Something I've considered lately. We are all stimulus junkies; we are sensory beings owing our daily perceptions to the things we see, hear, taste, yada... and it is through these stimulus-imprinted perceptions we categorize it all: good days, bad days, and everything in between. And that's all a motorcycle would be, something mostly in between. I'm tired of being 'in between.' I just want to know who I am in Him.

There's a song getting some air on the radio where I'm at, something about ten-thousand fireflies? Well, the song is silly, but the last line speaks to where I am:

Because my dreams are bursting at the seams.

And my dilemma? Not enough net in which to catch them all.

Thank you for listening,

All my love,

Eric

vir res trunco

2010-03-25T09:07:00.006-05:00

I gravitate between two poles
One of excess, one of denial
And have learned the center, that perfect between
Is both greatest reward and darkest trial
I would stand at the center
If the center would but hold
All efforts put forth in containing that eye
Leave me weak, inconsolable ~ tears untolled

ELAshley
032510.095026.1

a bit of bad poetry, I know

n the process of crafting something new

2010-03-24T15:03:00.008-05:00

I stumbled across a poem this afternoon that I wish to remember. It speaks to someone the author obviously knows and loves, but as a list of attributes this 'someone' possesses. I don't want to copy his form, but I do want to craft something just as personal about that ephemeral 'someone' I have yet to meet. For this reason I can't be specific about her. I can only be specific about MY search, and what I hope to find.

Here is the poem I found:

A Little Love Poem
--by Andy Weaver

Someone who hates scrabble.

Someone who sleeps on her back near an open window in winter, her breath rolling like a river into night.

Someone who wants me to wake her in the morning by reading ee cummings' love poems, giving a small candle-flicker of a smile just before opening her eyes.

Someone who appreciates the architecture of churches, but refuses to step inside.

Someone who has hands fit to hold hurt sparrows and robins.

Someone who threw out an her Alice Cooper records when she found out he loves to golf.

Someone who would swerve a new car into the ditch to avoid a frog crossing the road.

Someone who would tattoo my name on her arm in writing the same colour as her skin, so it would appear slowly from nowhere when she suntanned, people thinking her blood was telling secrets to the world of its own accord.

Someone who learned Spanish to read Marquez, or Lorca, or Neruda.

Someone whose hips whisper their own stories of the serpent and the garden of Eden.

Someone who bites the back of my neck like a leopardess carrying her kitten to safety.

Someone who'll make me wait for her to come out of the shower.

Someone whose smallest movements amaze me: her hair falling over her eyes, the soft swell of her hips when she ties down, a deep sigh when she sleeps.

Someone who maps every ticklish part of my body and then uses her knowledge strictly for evil.

Someone who paints our bodies black and makes love with me under the stars.

Someone who burns through my chest like that first shot of scotch.

Someone whose tongue, if we're kept apart too long, would nervously trace my face into the roof of her mouth.

Someone who practices her signature with her wrong hand, in case of accidents or a sudden arrest.

Someone whose fingernails smell faintly of her hair.

Someone who reminds me of the soft tickle of fog.

Someone who would rush outside in the middle of the night, setting a spider onto the lawn, never admitting it's because she hates rain.

Someone who understands the unforgivable importance of ravens.

Someone who'll flicker into my lips with the ferocity of a dragonfly.

Someone who will open, thick, pungent and vital, like a Mapplethorpe flower.

Someone who has searched for me like a near-sighted woman groping for her glasses, stubbing her toes and swearing in Yiddish.

Someone who would understand why Steve and Dave and Paul and I sat in a bar staring at the mirror behind us for twenty minutes because somebody had asked what would happen if you looked at yourself in a mirror using a pair of binoculars unti1 we had to admit the question was too big for us, and we turned back to the safe optics of the beer bottle.

Someone who would just happen to cut my wrist shortly after reading Ondaatje's "The Time Around Scars."

Someone who'll stare softly but straight at me, smiling reassuringly when I tell her how my 73 year old Medieval lit prof looked up from Chaucer, stared blankly over the class's heads and said that even the happiest marriage will end in death.

Someone who understands the efficiency inherent in suicide.

Someone who knows that love can be the thickest slice of hell we’ll ever taste.

Someone who would dance with me by the sides of highways.

The imagery here is beautiful. And what makes it so beautiful is the intensely personal nature of each 'someone'. Would that we all had the ability to define our lives and loves in like manner.

Stay tuned.

upon the will of prostrate Egos...

2010-03-19T11:31:00.017-05:00

I stumbled across an essay this morning by George Orwell. I'm still trying to process the essay, yet at the same time I don't want to lose this gem. So I'm posting it here in full. I should add, however, that, since there's no need to let this long beautiful essay dominate the page, please click the read more link at the end of this excerpt to read the entire essay.

Shooting an Elephant

In Moulmein, in lower Burma, I was hated by large numbers of people—the only time in my life that I have been important enough for this to happen to me. I was sub-divisional police officer of the town, and in an aimless, petty kind of way anti-European feeling was very bitter. No one had the guts to raise a riot, but if a European woman went through the bazaars alone somebody would probably spit betel juice over her dress. As a police officer I was an obvious target and was baited whenever it seemed safe to do so. When a nimble Burman tripped me up on the football field and the referee (another Burman) looked the other way, the crowd yelled with hideous laughter. This happened more than once. In the end the sneering yellow faces of young men that met me everywhere, the insults hooted after me when I was at a safe distance, got badly on my nerves. The young Buddhist priests were the worst of all. There were several thousands of them in the town and none of them seemed to have anything to do except stand on street corners and jeer at Europeans.

All this was perplexing and upsetting. For at that time I had already made up my mind that imperialism was an evil thing and the sooner I chucked up my job and got out of it the better. Theoretically—and secretly, of course—I was all for the Burmese and all against their oppressors, the British. As for the job I was doing, I hated it more bitterly than I can perhaps make clear. In a job like that you see the dirty work of Empire at close quarters. The wretched prisoners huddling in the stinking cages of the lock-ups, the grey, cowed faces of the long-term convicts, the scarred buttocks of the men who had been Bogged with bamboos—all these oppressed me with an intolerable sense of guilt. But I could get nothing into perspective. I was young and ill-educated and I had had to think out my problems in the utter silence that is imposed on every Englishman in the East. I did not even know that the British Empire is dying, still less did I know that it is a great deal better than the younger empires that are going to supplant it. All I knew was that I was stuck between my hatred of the empire I served and my rage against the evil-spirited little beasts who tried to make my job impossible. With one part of my mind I thought of the British Raj as an unbreakable tyranny, as something clamped down, IN SAECULA SAECULORUM, upon the will of prostrate peoples; with another part I thought that the greatest joy in the world would be to drive a bayonet into a Buddhist priest’s guts. Feelings like these are the normal by-products of imperialism; ask any Anglo-Indian official, if you can catch him off duty.

Read More

A mob [Entitlement Slaves] has gathered. In full possession of its spite and ire for the behemoth [the Constitution] determined to tear down what these squatters have built up, the mob looks to the Imperial [Liberalism], his long carbine over one shoulder, five fat slugs in his shirt pocket-- not unlike five smooth stones and a sling --to bring down this "destructive" giant and replace it with the giant facade of greater personal liberty.

The Imperial doesn't have to shoot the elephant but his growing boot of colonial serfdom has been so long on Liberty's throat it seems best to put the beast-- our Constitution --out of its misery. The mob behind him-- entitlement slaves --both hating the hand that supports them and loving him for the boons he grants them, salivate at the prospect of stripping the carcass. He doesn't have to shoot the elephant but he's oppressed the unwashed for so long he both sees himself as their protector and beneficent lord. He knows better than the pachyderm what nature has to say about freedom, and balance. And in the end botches the killing, forcing it to suffer a prolonged and painful death.

I find the parallels here to be curious: The Mob, ignorant and both distrustful and dependent upon the Imperial. The Elephant struggling to live the life it was meant to live in the face of the Imperial who sees himself as superior and justified in killing the law the elephant represents, and the Mob who wants what it wants, the Elephant be damned. I don't think the Imperial understands what he's done. And the Mob can't think beyond the meat they've hacked from freedom's corpse.

George Orwell later wrote something that perfectly describes this scenario:

War is Peace. Freedom is Slavery. Strength is Ignorance.

hello, can i help you?

2010-03-17T08:55:00.008-05:00

I have no motivation this morning. None whatsoever. This could stem from all the frustration and stress that built up over the politics page I had to build, but since I finished it yesterday, a full three days early, this could simply be the product of a kind of... stress lag? Despite being awake and alert I am in a bit of a motivational fog. I have two things that need doing, but...

No motivation. I guess the last project did take a lot out of me.

I'll get some work done today. I have to build a Space Camp contest page that won't be difficult. There's* also a Golf Contest that needs building but that deadline's still two weeks off. There are a couple of commercials that need uploading to Mixpo and linked via corresponding sets of static ads... but there's always Friday. Better yet, later today.

I'm also feeling a bit... watched... I don't know... kinda like someone is watching me here and not approving at all. But then I can't help that if this someone is remaining silent. But it's probably just my imagination; a result of having been alone for too long. Here's a thought:

Wouldn't it be cool if every time someone visited a site (including this one) you'd be able to see them? Like having an actual storefront where, every time someone enters the store the bell rings and you look up and see them, and say something like, "Hello. Can I help you?"

---
* Never begin a sentence with 'there,' boys and girls. It's just bad.

something borrowed, something new

2010-03-16T21:25:00.012-05:00

I hesitate to post this, but. I may be shy when it comes to the opposite sex, but I'm not all that shy about sharing my thoughts to those who'll listen. And since no one is listening...

I have the melody, and these are the lyrics.

Mary (Go Ahead and Cry)

Ahhh, Ahhh, Ahhh,
Will you marry
Mary will you
Marry your friend
And love to the end?
Mary will you

Ahhh, Ahhh, Ahhh
Will you bury
Mary will you
Bury your loves
With the angels above
Mary will you

Carry your heart
In the bag on your shoulder
Collecting your tears
In every 'I love you' you told her
Don't cry...
Mary don't cry
Though they are gone, you know this isn't goodbye

Ahhh, Ahhh, Ahhh,
Will you love me
Mary will you
Love who I become
In all of Autumn's setting suns
Mary will you

Ahhh, Ahhh, Ahhh,
Will you hold me
Mary will you
Hold me as I lay dying
In my dying breath sighing
Mary will you

Hold in your heart
In the bag on your shoulder
Every prayer on your rosary
The Hail Marys your prayed to her
Don't weep
Oh, Mary you're weeping
They're not gone, they are only sleeping

Ahhh, Ahhh, Ahhh,
Will you marry me
Mary will you
Marry your friend
And love to the end
Mary will you
~For better for worse

Ahhh, Ahhh, Ahhh,
Mary I'm with you
Never will leave you
Ahhh, Ahhh, Ahhh,
Mary I love you
My whole heart and life breaks for you
Ahhh, Ahhh, Ahhh,
Mary I'm here, go ahead and cry

(Repeat to End)
Ahhh, Ahhh, Ahhh,
Go ahead and cry

(Very End)
I'm here, and not going anywhere

ELAshley
031610.090326.6
Revisions
031710.100526.1

It may seem I presume too much, but I don't write for myself. I only imagine the pain I would feel were I wearing different shoes. It is not my voice that sings. But my sorrow for her is real.

what a difference a day makes

2010-03-12T17:19:00.004-06:00

I hunkered down today and built one page of a proposed nine, though I can assure you the count will never get that high. Here's the link, if you're interested. Considering this took me roughly 7 hours start to finish, it looks pretty good. Simple, but good.

As to my deadline next Friday, realistically speaking two of the major pages can't even go live because a) the deadline for qualifying in Florida is April 2nd (however, that's not to say I can't get a start on it), and b) there are no amendments or issues presently driving this Fall's elections, so, realistically, I'm left with only one or two other pages that must be built. And if today is any indication I could have everything that can be completed finished by Wednesday. Early. The remaining pages can be expanded as the information becomes available.

Also. With the completion of this one page, I now have a template for the others, so they will progress more quickly.

And to think the previous few days had me stressed!

in the moment, dEfining the moment

2010-03-11T16:39:00.011-06:00

Okay, here's something new. I came in this morning all stressed and junk, and I just decided to relax and do nothing but write. I had roughly thirty minutes I could reasonably spare and I used every one.

I thought back to a time several years ago when I took a lonesome trip to St. Petersburg to visit my grandfather. My little sister also happened to live there as did one of my aunts and uncle. So there I was the first late-afternoon of my weekend trip visiting at my sister's place. A little hole in the wall that probably cost more to live in than what I pay now... and when I say 'hole in the wall' I mean it was a typical 70-plus year-old Florida cinder-block building-- perhaps a small motel at one time --converted to tiny tiny apartments, hidden in the heart of the city by a small grove of oak and short palm.

Here I was sitting on an old dog-hair covered couch-- doing something I shouldn't have --considering the oppressive heat outside, the relative coolness of the apartment, and a KISS tune blaring from the speakers. And something clicked (as only some things can under these circumstances). I realized that Time has no bearing on 'the Moment'. That is to say, 'Moments' are not bound by any set length of time. Moments can be a split second in duration or several minutes, but the passing of time has no control or say as to how long the Moment can endure. Moments, they are fleeting, yes, but they cannot be truly measured, or their durations anticipated. The Moment begins and ends as it chooses, generally when something new intrudes, breaking the thread. And a new moment begins.

Fast forward quite a few years... this morning in fact. And I'm wondering about the moment I'm in; the one wherein I'm trying to hit the reset button. Trying to get past the log jam and the fear of failing at a task that MUST get done-- a Job-Killing must should I fail. Well, writing has always been good for me in this respect. It always allows me to clear my head and reach that button-- you know, the one that says 'Reset'?

This little poem is not the best I've ever written, but neither is it the worst. In short, it is what it is, and it got me out of one heck of a jam.

Here's what passes for thirty minutes in MY head... a fleeting moment, if you will.

In the Moment

They appear as threads
in the hackneyed tapestry
New, their life and end unfathomed
these moments when eyes first meet
hands first touch
lips first brush
And like that spark struck
burn quickly out
     ~the moment gone
Defined as the space between the when
of eyes meeting and parting
hands touching and parting
lips brushing and parting
Time is the beggar within these little ages
holding out its hand for more primacy
But it is Impression which sits upon
these thrones of relevance
Each new thread in our hackneyed tapestries
is experienced not in time
but in Impression
     ~duration goes hungry here
Moments are fleeting and singularly unique
Moments are texture
in the tapestry of our lives
Eyes see what hands feel what lips soon forget

ELAshley
031110.084502.1
Revisions:
031110.045926.6
031110.055152.6

George Harrison also sang of this in All Things Must Pass. I need to remember the old saying, 'this too shall pass', and not worry about the tensions some moments produce. Fear breeds prolifically in such environments. But what to do with Fear once it has set root?

Frank Herbert describes the process best in the Litany Against Fear...

     I must not fear.
     Fear is the mind-killer.
     Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
     I will face my fear.
     I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
     And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
     Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
     Only I will remain.

Easier said than done... Trust me.

lunch buddy v2.0

2010-03-11T16:34:00.002-06:00

I had lunch last week with the lunch buddy. New paradigm; she's settled back into the familiar comforts of her on-again/off-again ex. It was a very enjoyable lunch and, as it turns out, she has become a great resource in terms of networking. So... all's well that end's well.

I updated my profile on a few online dating services.

log jam clEared

2010-03-11T16:20:00.002-06:00

Big weight lifted today. Made some headway with the Politics Page I'm building for the station. I'll be glad when this thing is finished. All I have left to do are the center column content sections: Issues & Amendments, The Candidates, Districts, and Election Night. The templates are built, it's just a matter of populating the pages with content. I have til 5pm next Friday.

Were I a drinking man, I'd celebrate somewhere immediately after work. As it is, however, I'll kick back with a quart jar of ice cold water... at the house.

e is stressed...

2010-03-11T11:21:00.003-06:00

I'm in one of those, 'what have I gotten myself into' moments. I was stressed so badly last night my chest was tight and neck so stiff I had to lay down and chill for 30...

More to follow... but not in this thread.

something new...

2010-03-05T16:45:00.005-06:00

Not sure what I feel about it yet, but for better or worse, here is something new.

Running Out of Ways

You are the golden path
The scents of jasmine and clove
The taste of berries succulent and dew
Naked in the tamarind grove
Dark and glistening 'neath the hems of Summer's few
We are golden in our desires
In all the garments we've wove

We are threshing floor embers
The fires of fullness and rising
Of warm summer starlings and lilies and crocus
Of naked lusts disguising
The weft and warp of which our love bespoke us
We are golden and spent like breath
And in those garments drowsing

You are the brush of silk
Over taut skin in arousal
The fires of femininity, and pear
~ Succulently coital
Sweet and moist every long limbed strand of honey hair
We are golden in our desires
Attired in love's apparel

We dress in the setting sun
'Neath a wakening of stars above
Feasts of body following feasts of flesh
~ I the strong hand and thee the soft glove
Submerging to cleanse and arising afresh
Golden again in our nightly throes
We are running out of ways to say we love

And delight in loving

ELAshley
030410.052626.6
Revisions:
030510.044102.6
030510.045216.6

I seem to always be drawn to eroticism... Is that typically male? Or am I but a fish in a sea of horny fishes?

It's something to ponder.

E expects to get his feeling hurt...

2010-03-01T15:26:00.005-06:00

...in all things dating. I've been on very few honest to goodness dates in my life, so I can't say I'm even remotely aware of the ins and outs of everyday dating. So, I'm going to close the chapter on my Lunch Buddy. Yeah, I like her. Like her a lot. I could even fall in love with her were she the least bit interested, but... it's clear she's not really interested in even being lunch buddies.

I've stopped calling or emailing her; calling is pointless as she never answers. The same is true with emails, so what's the point? She will answer texts... most of the time, but I've stopped doing that also. The most I'll do now is comment on her status in MySpace. Now, should she call and ask for lunch I'll certainly go. But for now it's obvious even to me, a guy with ZERO dating experience (or experience period with women), that she's just not interested.

Besides which, I told her from the very beginning that I'm not at liberty to date. I'm still in the midst of a separation. A separation from, I might add, a nonsexual relationship.... a long-term, 20 year long-term, relationship. I'm tired of waiting for her as well.

I've six months to go and then I'm free.

what's listening to E, and vice versa

2010-02-17T13:26:00.004-06:00

E doesn't care much for smoking, especially women who smoke; in anyone it's just the craziest ugliest thing to do, but that's neither here nor there cause I like this song. Like it lots. Perhaps it's the melody, which is very easy on the aural planes, or maybe it's the sentiments of love and the comparisons of adorations to the simplest complexions.

Here's why I like it so much...

40 Dogs (Romeo & Juliet)
-Bob Schneider

Well if I spell it out, if I get it out,
Will you hear me when I tell you about
What I have to say, before it gets too late?
It's not as easy as I said it'd be,
But there’s something right about you and me,
Something right about you and me.

Well you’re the color of a burning brook,
You’re the color of a sideways look from an undercover cop in a comic book
You’re the color of a storm in June,
You're the color of the moon.
You’re the color of the night, that’s right,
Color of a fight - you move me.
You’re the color of the colored part of The Wizard of Oz movie.

We're like Romeo and Juliet,
We're like 40 dogs, cigarettes,
We're like good times that haven’t happened yet but will.
And I can tell you where we're gonna be
When the whole world falls to the sea:
We’ll be livin’ ever after, happily.

All the boys taking you for granted,
Tell you what they want with their eyes all slanted.
I don’t like the way they look at you,
I don’t like the way they talk to,
I don’t like the way they talk to you.
I wouldn’t let 'em talk to you like that.

Put 'em up high, reach for the ceiling.
Tell them that I'ma walk, damn it, I'm real,
And it ain't no crime, it's just dreams we’re stealing -
Anything to get more of this feeling

You take the high and I'll take the low,
We'll get there before you know.
We ain't got no time to waste,
We got too much life to taste.

We're like Romeo and Juliet,
And 40 dogs, cigarettes,
We're like good times that haven’t happened yet but will.
And I can tell you where we're gonna be
When the whole world falls to the sea:
We’ll be livin’ ever after, happily.

Sometimes you remind me of a moonbeam,
On the ghost of a moonbeam out on the beach,
Down by the coast, slip into Manila,
Like the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

Come out tonight, come out with me, baby.
We'll throw the careful into the crazy,
Turn the sky black into a sky blue,
Turn the close shave into a hoo-hoo.
What I say is true, make a fire, gotta burn a few,
Make a fire, gotta burn a few,
We can do what we want to do.

We're like Romeo and Juliet, 40 dogs, cigarettes,
We're like good times that haven’t happened yet but will.
I can tell you where we're gonna be
When the whole world falls to the sea:
We’ll be livin’ ever after, happily.

It's a free download at Amazon.com (as of Feb 17, 2010)

paranormal frEaktivity!

2010-02-07T22:38:00.003-06:00

E watched Paranormal Activity tonight. Paid 4.99 to Comcast OnDemand to watch, and simultaneously burn to DVD. This was one SCARY movie! I was totally freaked! I had to go online to assure myself that this movie was a fake.

Having done that [as well as taking a dose of GABA and 5HTP] I'll now be able to get some sleep.

Really! For a fake documentary I was on the verge of sleeplessness-- and I need all the sleep I can get going into this very long and tiresome week ahead.

About halfway through this movie I looked at my roommate and said, 'What that chick needs is Jesus! No way a demon's going to get the best of her with the Holy Spirit taking up residence!'

What made this movie so scary for me? I had the luxury of knowing nothing about the film prior to viewing. Even now knowing it's a fake, it's so well done it's still creeping me out.

all systems are go

2010-02-04T11:23:00.003-06:00

Lunch in less than an hour. With her

midwEek brain dump

2010-02-03T16:11:00.008-06:00

When will I learn my lesson? Caffeine, bad! I have a splitting headache all because I love that damned raspberry tea at Sonic. I'll pull in of a morning just to get the Route 44 version... nothing else. I know caffeine is bad, but do I stop drinking tea? no. I know high-fructose corn syrup is uber bad, but do I stop drinking sodas? not entirely. I guess I'll have to end up with a brain tumor before I actually say goodbye for good.

The headache is not as bad as it could be. I've had the kind that leaves you drooling on the pillow, and your eyes throbbing with each beat of your heart. Those are scary headaches. I'm paying for it today, but thankfully I'm only getting the happy meal version. Here's my headache poem...

The Rhythm of Pain

Despondency danced a bitter turn
Each step attuned to the rhythm of pain
And ague ~ Oh, what an insistent pill
A tyranny desirous of a last resort
Where pain is safely put to bed
Clubbed mercilessly and staining the sheet
One pill ~ One retreat and saving grace
And despondency cleansed and senseless in the surf

ELAshley
062006.063721.6
75 minutes of brain-cramping toil
...and a migraine in the wings

More poetry can be found at the Muslin Opaque

* * *

I'm building a 2010 politics page for the station. Regional stuff primarily. I hate having to go through the station's "Clickability" platform. I'd prefer to just build it the way I want it to look, but now it's becoming increasingly clear that I'll have no choice but to use Clickability.

For what it's designed to do, it does make things a lot simpler, but it doesn't allow for any real creativity within a company standards paradigm.

Here's the banner I built for the page. Click on the image to see it full size.

* * *

Lunch tomorrow with my lunch buddy. Assuming, of course, nothing comes up. I've been unlucky of late getting her to a restaurant.

I saw her at the "Spotlight on Business" expo at the Civic Center yesterday afternoon. She's as beautiful as ever.

I have no doubt she'll be just as beautiful tomorrow.

dEarest Mary Angel

2010-02-02T22:11:00.005-06:00

I saw her today for the first time in five weeks. She smiled and hugged me; she was genuinely happy to see me. I complimented her, told her she looked beautiful. She asked if something was wrong with my eyes. I told her she was a sight for sore eyes. And I told her she WAS beautiful. And she was.

We were to have lunch last Friday, but she couldn't break away from clients. We were to meet yesterday, but she was stuck in Enterprise awaiting a transmission repair. We are to meet Thursday, and it is my hope nothing will prevent our meeting.

I like her too much. Far too much. I will only get hurt in the end, but I do not care. I have to try. You can't spend your winnings unless you buy a ticket, right? She knows I like her, but she doesn't turn me away; she continues to encourage me. She's said things to others that indicate she is interested. Or was five weeks ago.

I had a conversation with the other Eric today. Prescott. He laughs to see how bad I have it for her, but he understands. He's not mocking. He listens and offers advice. He says she knows how I feel. And to be patient. I confided to him that even should nothing come of my infatuation-- should she and I never advance beyond the occasional lunch --I would still rather have that relationship that the one I now have. At least with her I feel alive and valued and listened to. I feel alive around her. I can speak my mind. I don't have to hide who I am; I can speak freely without fear of laughter or rejection. She likes who I am... enough to share the occasional lunch with me.

I want to ask her for more... a movie or dinner. But I'm not free to date. Not until I'm on my own. We were supposed to see a movie last month but never got around to it. Just as friends. She hates to see movies alone, as do I. I could use a best friend, and I wouldn't mind if it turned out to be her. Even if that's all we ever became.

As I said. I like her too much. But I can't help myself. I waited twenty years for one woman to say 'yes.' And in the end she has made it clear she doesn't want to marry... not me, not anyone. I want to belong to someone; I want to be happy. And as I said, even should nothing develop us, at least with this beautiful and vibrant woman I'll learn once more how to socialize-- how to befriend and be befriended.

I finally feel as though this ship I'm on can actually get somewhere; that winds will actually fill its sails, and its prow carve a path across this seemingly interminable sea. I've been a long time rocked upon its merciless surface, and I'm looking forward to dry land. I'm looking forward to someone who won't balk at one day putting a ring on my finger-- whoever and wherever she may be.

God be with you and yours,

All my love,

Eric

to fair beautiful disappointment

2010-01-29T16:10:00.008-06:00

I was to have lunch today with the incomparable woman that is my lunch buddy. I haven't seen her in over a month, and I miss her terribly. First she postponed for a later lunch because of clients, then she called to say she couldn't break away. I ate at two. I ate alone.

Though I have no right to, or expectations that she should feel the same, I miss her all the same. And secretly wish there were more to our infrequent meetings than lunch and friendship.

I give too much away, and should erase that last line... but won't. I'm a man: I have eyes, a heart, and my heart likes what it sees. And feels.

I should erase that last bit too...

But won't.

the greatest love poems of all time: #4

2010-01-29T15:39:00.004-06:00

A Decade

When you came, you were like red wine and honey.
And the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.
Now you are like morning bread,
Smooth and pleasant.
I hardly taste you at all, for I know your savor,
But I am completely nourished.

--Amy Lowell

I've written a few myself, though no one has thought to label them as "Greatest of all Time." I like this one because it's succinct; it says what it has to say without grandiosity.

"dEsigning" Christmas Cool

2010-01-21T08:26:00.004-06:00

I'm attached to a movie project as a graphic artist. It's strictly pro bono since it's a church project and this is their first foray into long-form media... of any kind. No money this go-around, but should a second film be in the offing, I could see some compensation. I have already designed the company logo and it's already in use. Now, assuming I continue with the project, I'll be designing a film logo and poster. I already have a music credit to my name, it'd be cool to have a film credit as well.

I say, 'assuming I continue' because I sent a letter last night to the man running the show... writer, director Wayne Patterson. He's a great guy. The only problem I have is the lack of communication and too many chiefs deciding what is and is not muster-passing artwork. The letter below doesn't address the lack of communication because, for me, that's the least of the two issues. In the business I work I only have to please three people: the Client, the Sales Agent, and my Supervisor. In that order. If I had to please the entire building I'd never get anything done. Capiche?

In response to Wayne's "I sent you an email yesterday and haven't heard back. I need to know how to proceed with the project" email, Here then is my reply in full...

Apologies Wayne,

My plate at work has been very full lately. I spoke with Brenda this morning about the project and I am very much interested in continuing. I do have time on weekends and some nights to devote to this project.

As to the logo, I'm still unclear about what you want and, more to the point, what you want the logo to do-- what kind of message do you want it to send? Typically logos are short and sweet; a simple image or design that encapsulates a larger idea or theme. Working where you do you know this to be true; the Toyota logo is universally identifiable. Movie logos are obviously different, but not markedly so, and they are more text-based of a necessity.

The designs you sent yesterday are nice, but I just don't see how they translate to a logo. A poster, yes, but not a logo. I will give you whatever you want. And if that's all you want me for-- I'm happy to do it. But I wonder why you would need a graphic artist for that.

I've thought a lot about your vision in terms of the design-- specifically the poster --and here's an idea I've been thinking about. I like the backgrounds you've been using, but I'd prefer to build something similar from scratch, something that will convey the same feel. I like the silhouette idea as well, but I personally would avoid any structure in terms of the silhouettes being attached to black columns or any geometric shapes. And since one of this film's biggest features is the Big Band sound, I would love to see a similar silhouetted figure of Denver blowing his horn in the foreground below and to the left of the actors silhouettes which would, of course, be much larger than little boy blue blowing his horn.

You also need to think of verbiage. What do you want the poster to say? What message? Because whatever message you decide upon must be incorporated into the design. The message needs to become part of the design... the two elements need to be in harmony. The design must be able to absorb the text without diminishing it's message. Make sense?

As to the logo, please think about what message/feeling you want it to convey. Upbeat? Serious? Dramatic? Musical? And think about text. The logo can and should incorporate some measure of design other than text, but... simple is better; a 'less is more' approach. Remember the clip you showed us all from "The Matrix"? The Logo was displayed prominently at the very beginning and, although it was a purely textual logo, the design lent itself to a specific impression... computer code. Same thing with the movie "300" -- strictly text, but red and violent. "Ice Age"? strictly text, but comedic and frigid.

Forgive me if I sound like I'm trying to run your show. Truly I'm not. I've been an artist all my life. God gave it to me. Something else He gave me was a stubborn streak-- I've worked very hard to curb it, and not always successfully. I just want you to know that I can color in the lines if you want me to, but I prefer less constraint.

I want to be a part of this project, and I guess I've said all this to say, are you sure you want me? Because I've obviously got an independent streak. I'm willing to work with you and the rest of the team. If I'm being asked to do a job, my work needs to meet someone's approval, that only makes sense. But does it have to meet everyone's approval? You are that person, or so I've been led to believe. It's your vision. So, if I have to pass everyone's muster this will become an unnecessarily difficult process.

No! :) My feelings weren't hurt with the rejection of the last logo I sent. What surprised me was how many people had a say in whether or not it was good enough. At WTVY I have, basically, three people to impress: The Client, The Sales Rep, and my Supervisor... in that order. If I had to please everyone in the building I'd never finish a single project.

My heart is open to you. I've poured it out in honesty toward you. I want to be a part. My desire is perfection, however impossible that may turn out to be, but my concern is too many chiefs making the job you're asking me to do just as impossible.

At this late stage in the game, storyboards are not something I have time for. But I do have time, and more to spare, for the logo and poster. I'm also willing to take part in actual filming when it starts up in earnest. In fact, I'd LOVE to be a part of that.

You say you need to know how to proceed. I've shown you my heart in this, so do me a favor and pray on this. If in a few days you still feel led to include me, I will consider it both and honor and blessing to continue walking with you.

Can two walk together, except they be agreed?

Amos 3:3

My prayers are with you whatever you decide

May God richly bless you

Yours in Christ

Eric Ashley

I had to write that letter. I didn't like doing it because I know how it sounds, and it's not my desire to strike back with criticism. "They" didn't like the logo I sent last November? Fine. I have to start from scratch a lot at work. Like the current Health Care debate, sometimes it's better to just start all over from the beginning. So, If Wayne still wants me to work on this project I will. But I had to lay out some ground rules. I need assurance that I'll only be asked to impress a bare minimum of people-- what do script supervisors know of graphic design? Especially script supervisors who've never before supervised a script?

Artists are touchy. Ask anyone who has to work with them. Ask Dennis, a friend of mine, who is in contact, almost daily, with members of the Country Music Industry. I'd bet my next paycheck he could tell you some stories.

I do good work. I want to continue to do good work. But if I'm constantly fretting about what the caterer is going to think about my designs, then my passion becomes muted... dampened... and it'll show in both my enthusiasm for the project and the quality of work I deliver. What kind of cake would I bake if everyone got to throw an ingredient into my batter? I wouldn't want to eat it.

And this is where EL stands in his first movie production. I know I'm in the credits already, but I'd rather see the project all the way through. I joined up at the beginning, I'd like to still be there at the end.

And that's all I got to say about that.

The film, by the way, is entitled "Writing Christmas Cool"

~Fine~

though I do not yet know her name

2010-01-13T09:29:00.005-06:00

I was thinking recently, with the turn of another year, on the desert loneliness that is the sound of most Jackson Browne songs; how free he is to sing as though he were speaking-- straight language and ideas without the usual short-lined verses of metaphor and innuendo that populate most lyrics these days. So I began to write, hearing Jackson Browne sing my song, his voice to my lyrics and melody. This is the result.

Afire For You

I I've been alone long, and a dreamer
For most of my life
Though I desire soft clean linens I'll still
Sleep in the desert tonight
Another night of tossing and turning
Another night of sleeping alone
And when the morning light comes to find me
Though every hour spent trying to atone
I'm still very much alone

II Chasing sleep down long corridors
Seems that's all I ever do
All I'm ever left with come daybreak
Are my fitful dreams of you
Another night beneath the cold desert sky
Another night of sleeping alone
Every morning that comes only serving to remind me
Despite every hour spent trying to atone
I'm still very much alone

O, And how I've wandered
How I've carried this torch for you
Never looked in your eyes, never made to ponder
How my love for you strengthened and grew
Though I be cut to the bone
And suffer to atone
I'll always very much alone

III When I close my eyes and dream of you
While sleeping deeply through this night
The stars wheeling 'cross the glittering sky
And making love til the morning light
How do you leave the bed you've made with love
Shoulder your pack and continue to roam?
'Cause I've spent my life, all my sins to atone
Yet I'm still very much alone

O, And how I've wandered
How I've carried this torch for you
Never looked in your eyes, never kissed your soft smile
Yet my love for you strengthened and grew
Though I be cut to the bone
Giving my life to atone
I'll still be very much alone

If there's an angel set to observe me
Dogging my e-ver-y step
Could he have not seen fit
To lead me out of the desert
And into your loving arms?
O, Into your loving arms

With my heart on fire for you
My heart afire for you

ELAshley
Part I - 010210.11>.6
Part II - 010410.11>.6
Part III - 010810.11>.6
Revisions:
011210.111002.6

This was written for someone specific, though I do not yet know her name.

day one

2010-01-01T19:52:00.006-06:00

2009 had been perhaps the most depressing year of my life. I hope to change that this year. My game plan is still a bit undefined at present, but at least it's something I'm actively dwelling on. A few goals for this year:

Move out into my own place
Find someone with whom I can spend next Christmas & New Years Eve
Care more about myself by getting into shape

That's enough to keep me busy without becoming overwhelmed. They're ambitious financial goals, all three. There's lots to do and only so much cash each payday to do it with, but I am determined to see it through.

As to the first, I worry that with my poor credit rating I won't be able to find a decent apartment to rent. I also worry about the start-up costs of actually moving in: deposit, first month's rent, dog deposit, electric deposit. Then there are the other costs, mostly for peace of mind, such as an emergency fund of at least five-hundred, a washer and dryer, and enough cash to move into a new place should such a move become necessary-- always have an exit strategy.

Though not on the list, reliable transportation is part and parcel with moving out. I have to be able to see to my transportation needs when the car must stay in the shop. I'd like a new vehicle, but short of a three to four thousand dollar annual increase, that's not going to happen anytime soon. And, of course, there's the question of my poor credit rating.

Part two on my list of things to do this year can only begin, let alone be accomplished, upon completion of the first. I cannot expect any woman to accept me while still living where I am. It is undeniably true that my present "living arrangement" has own her room and her own bed, and I never see anything intimate in the relationship, but I can't expect any woman to believe it. Besides which, the woman I AM interested in... well, I've already told her I couldn't be anything more than a friend until such a time as I am living on my own. And this is a difficult woman to pin down on anything.

I admitted some time ago that I have a tendency to chase women who are emotionally unavailable, and this woman of whom I speak is just such a one. She too is in a similar spot as I am, pining for a man who's just not into her... kinda like where I am right now, though I'm not pining; I've given up, in fact. Given up trying to love someone who has no desire to ever make an honest man of me. She wants to be affectionate but I'm lost all interest in kisses and such. I'd rather they came from someone else; someone who can look at me and see someone worth drawing INTO her arms, not holding me at arms length.

Lastly, there's caring more about myself. This will involve aspects of spiritual, emotional, and physical well-being. I have neglected myself in all three areas for far too long. I weigh 260 now, and need to drop to 200, minimum. I need to draw closer to the Lord, and I need to believe in myself far more than I ever have before.

I've also noticed some changes in my body's function that needs acute attention. I am not one to seek medical attention, so I will first attempt the avenues I preach to everyone else and seek natural holistic approaches to a short list of problems. I will see a doctor this summer for a prostate exam, but that will be the extent of it. On the off chance cancer should be found I will NOT take chemo or radiation treatments. I will do what many others have done to combat the problem... and I will live. Also along this line, I'm making a list of books I'll need... a tidy stack of them.

And there it is. Not resolutions so much as a short list of resolves.

Finally, at some point, I have to ascertain whether what I'm feeling toward a certain someone is genuine or not, and whether she reciprocates. Or not.

a poem for the new yEar

2009-12-31T19:33:00.013-06:00

She Held My Hand

I dreamt last night she held my hand
and it was as if the world caught fire
though the conflagration grew she did not let go
and i beheld her
as she held my hand

She was a sun and my heart caught
in a timeless ring ~ ever pure and without end
the hairs upon my skin stood with new awareness
as i beheld her
her hand in mine

Her smile soft and contentedly pleased
opened windows long sealed curtained and dim
my heart like a box unlocked and opened at last
to behold her
and her hand in mine

Is there gold or honey left in the world
for all the sweetness and light of her pretty soft hair
or turquoise remaining for the blue in her eyes
as her i beheld
and her holding my hand?

The feel of her, the touch of her
the endless and momentary sense of knowing for true
no vision could more rival perfection
than the loveliness i beheld
she holding my hand

Do i think, do i dwell too much upon a dream?
or do i reach, eyes still filled with morning sands
for flesh and blood? for her?

I must, or be a fool
For i dreamt last night she held my hand
and why should dreams not desire her as well?

ELAshley
123109.115826.6
As my muse she would be amused
should she ever read these silly lines

e's yEar-end brain dump

2009-12-31T18:46:00.006-06:00

It has been a year of epiphanies. A year of hope. A year of change. It has been a year of desolate heartache and a year of light. It has been a candle floating upon a turbulent sea, lit in spite of the storm because no storm could ever put this candle out.

It has been a return to dreams and dreaming; something I've not done in a very long while-- not that I remember, of course. I've begun to dream again. And what better way to ring out the decade? After all, it has been a dark decade and it's getting darker still, but in the midst of the darkness is that candle. Hope... and the promise of change. No not the kind Obama promised, but rather real change; the kind you know is real because you effected it-- You set the stage, you set the ball to rolling, and the top to spinning. Not some ephemeral promise that things will get better, but instead the change you make for yourself.

That is where I find myself on the last day of this year.

I spoke just now of dreams? I had a dream two weeks ago that is still playing in vivid living color... I dreamt she held my hand. I dreamt I reached for her, and she took my hand and did not let go.

You can't imagine how wonderful that was, to wake up and remember that, even though a mere dream, someone thought enough of me to hold my hand. The trick now is to make that vision a reality. I don't know who she'll end up being, but I know she's there.

* * *

I've changed twice now in little more than a year. Same company, different posts therein. If anything, I can attribute my new ability to dream, in no small part, to these changes. Sit in one place too long and walls begin to climb about you. You don't see them but you can certainly sense them, they're the sure knowledge-- understood as such or not --that you're being penned in, that some force is keeping you from being what you were meant to be. Think of the feed lots, how the cattle are confined and forced to dine on a diet contradictory to their nature. That's you. Taught to eat from a trough when you were created to graze freely. That's the way I've felt for good many years.

But that all changed this year. I've been thrust out of the lot, and made to roam... so to speak. I'm not yet comfortable with my new station, but I'm getting there. I've had to make adjustments; some painful, some absolutely delightful.

One, both painful and a bittersweet (at present) kind of joy, is the decision I made to get out of a relationship of 20 years; one that has gone nowhere despite all my efforts to see it bear fruit. Knowing she doesn't wish to marry me hurts more than I can ever express, but I also feel at peace with my decision. I'm out of practice socializing with women, but I'm looking forward to it. I, like everyone else on the planet, just want to be loved. And if one woman doesn't want me, there's someone else out there who does. I just need to find her.

I've become more introspective this year, which is either an utter amazement or extremely distressing depending on your point of view, since I have already been a deeply introspective person for these past thirty-five years. I'm not sure what that portends but it's been a personally noticeable change. There's more of a determination than ever before to build a bulwark of personal honor and self-determination; to project strength in who I am in relation to the rest of the world. There was none of that twenty years ago. None whatsoever.

How this will stead me in the months ahead? I can't say. But everywhere I turn I get, and am given, encouragement... inducement to keep moving forward. And that's what I'll do.

For now, I need to begin work on my New Year poem. I've thought about it all week, and now it's time to begin writing.

i will find
and you will find
and we shall find together here
underneath the bunker...

But that's not really how it goes, is it? Like the song to which you thought you knew the lyrics, only to discover you had it wrong all those years.

i will hide
and you will hide
and we shall hide together here
underneath the bunker...

--REM

I like my version better.

riddles to make one think

2009-12-17T16:49:00.003-06:00

What's the difference between a military engineer and a civil engineer?

A military engineer builds missiles. A civil engineer builds targets.

What do you call a medical student who graduates last in his class?

Doctor.

my own personal midlife crisis: doomed to solitude

2009-12-16T17:38:00.005-06:00

To reiterate. Every thought, image, and response has a musical connection. Some songs resonate more than others, and that is where the "soundtrack of one's life" meme is rooted. But some songs resonate more than others. For me, I can recite that litany of songs which truly, madly, deeply reverberate through my soul, on a single hand.

Pain, or so it seems to me, is the foundation of genuine worldly beauty. Beauty is an expression of defiance against that which would crush us, would we but allow it. There is nothing remarkable about a straight line-- a straight line is unremarkable in a forest of conformity. But curve that line... well then, that's something new altogether. Where pure pleasure is the straight line, pain then is the curve.

Take Celtic music for instance, or the vocal stylizings of groups like Ladysmith Black Mambazo. Cultures which have experienced oppression and suffering sing with a heart that seeks to rise above the pain... whether they realize it or not-- the pain creeps into their musical expression, and however straight-lined their words, their vocals and instruments speak in curves.

And so here I am, long story short, to the point of my own life's soundtrack, and one song from that one hand that has reverberated through my soul for thirty-four years. I've made mention of it here (or elsewhere... I know I've written about this song somewhere), but at the risk of appearing unduly obsessive I return to Yer Blues by the Beatles.

Why bother mentioning it all? Well, I came across a review of the song online and felt compelled to comment upon it.

First the lyrics:

Yes I'm lonely. Wanna die
Yes I'm lonely. Wanna die
If I ain't dead already
Woo, girl you know the reason why.

In the morning. Wanna die
In the evening. Wanna die
If I ain't dead already
Woo, girl you know the reason why.

My mother was of the sky
My father was of the earth
But I am of the universe
And you know what it's worth
I'm lonely. Wanna die
If I ain't dead already
Woo, girl you know the reason why.

The eagle picks my eye
The worm he licks my bones
I feel so suicidal
Just like Dylan's Mr. Jones
Lonely. Wanna die
If I ain't dead already
Woo, girl you know the reason why.

Black cloud crossed my mind
Blue mist round my soul
Feel so suicidal
Even hate my rock and roll
Wanna die. Yeah, wanna die
If I ain't dead already
Woo, girl you know the reason why.

Depressing, right? Suicidal, even? But why? And why does it resonate in my soul? Well, here's one reviewer's thoughts on the song:

For all that chatter about The Beatles predicting the band members' solo work, only two of its Lennon tracks would be of a piece with his Plastic Ono Band, arguably the defining post-Beatles disc. One is the muted, tender "Julia"; the other, the searing, spooky "Yer Blues"...

Following in the grand blues tradition of women doing wrong and leaving a man in pain often simply by leaving him, Lennon seethes in heartbreak. But his introspection (call it his utter self-absorption) turns the misdeed inward, and the song focuses on his reactions rather than whatever wrong she supposedly committed. This is not a revenge story, or an attack on an unfaithful woman. This is instead an attack on the man who, through some or many unspecified flaws, doomed himself to solitude.

—Charles Hohman

And this is the key phrase, for me:

This is instead an attack on the man who, through some or many unspecified flaws, doomed himself to solitude.

This is about what one feels about himself, not what someone else has done to him. And I reckon this speaks as much about my life as it did, perhaps, about his... Lennon's.

I remember a task I set for Mary Angel as her sponsor into Iota Gamma's "Little Sister" program; circa 1983. It was common for the brothers to set an impossible task for their charges, and I, thinking myself clever, asked Mary Angel to bring to me the lyrics to my favorite song, giving her only one clue... "My father was of the earth."

I thought I was clever, but I was outdone by an intellect far cleverer than my own. She called my little sister and asked what my favorite band was. Easy! she was told-- The Beatles. It then became a search for which song held that particular line. Now this was 1983; no PC's worth a flip, no Google, no world wide web to really speak of, so my sister begins to play all my Beatles albums, song by song, until they hit upon a winner.

Mary Angel was NOT pleased by the song I called "my favorite." Not pleased at all. But without going into too much detail-- long story short --I gave her no context so she had no way of knowing why that song, as tragic in tone as it is, was my favorite. And truth be told, I never considered the reason myself till much later.

As a young child I was constantly uprooted and thrust into new situations, new schools, new friends... new bullies who saw in my stuttering reason enough to make my life more and more miserable. I learned very early to simply keep quiet and not draw too much attention to myself.

So here I am years later, 21, maybe 22 years old. I've asked out the moderately attractive Kathleen Tremblay. I've picked her up, and taken her to a party. While there she pretty much dumps me and begins making out with someone else. I leave. Without her. And I go to a place I routinely frequent when I wish to be alone. It's a small but long pier on St. Andrews Bay.

It's dark. Only a sliver of moon in the sparsely clouded night sky. I take out a knife. Put it's tip to the right side of my chest and slash downward. And a second time, but without much enthusiasm. I throw the knife out to sea, stagger back to my car and drive home. I'm covered in blood so I take a shower. Excruciating pain! I bandage myself, and go to bed.

How do you tell your family you did something like that to yourself? I couldn't. I told my father I was attacked on the beach.

There was no trip to the hospital. Just a jar of sulfur to pack the wound to keep it from getting infected. What I got was one big ass scar, and more isolation from people I considered friends. The scar was quite noticeable for many years, but has since faded. The memory however has not, nor do I expect it to.

This was not an attack on the girl who broke my heart but was instead, "an attack on the man [myself] who, through some or many unspecified flaws, doomed himself to solitude." I attacked myself for some unknown, unseen, unfathomed flaws that kept me single, and without friendship or intimacy from girls.

Here's one major distinction between my own experience and that of the song in question. I was not suicidal-- I had absolutely no intention of killing myself. Had that been the case I could have easily pushed the knife straight in. Instead I slightly dimpled the flesh of my chest inward and swiftly sliced down... not in. I did not want to kill myself. What I wanted was to externalize the pain I felt in my heart.

And so this is my fear... my own personal midlife crisis... that I am doomed to solitude; that I will never find love... never share my life with a woman who loves me.

* * *

This song resonates with me. It didn't before that evening. Nor did it resonate for many years after. But today, after years of swimming in the soup of "some or many" of my own "unspecified flaws" it has come to carry a great deal of weight in the soundtrack of my life.

I am 49 years old, and still Solitude Standing. I've waited twenty years for a woman to say "yes" to marriage only to realize at last that she doesn't wish to marry anyone, let alone me.

So I'm moving on. Suicide was never an option... has never crossed my mind-- it's simply not who I am. But I'd be a liar if I said I didn't suffer a modicum of despair over having reached the heliopause of 50 and still single; having wasted the last twenty years on someone who chooses not to love or be loved.

What is left for me to do now? Accept what is and move on. And never give up looking for someone who will love who and what I am in spite of who and what I am not.

There. It's out. Welcome to my midlife crisis.

outliving the culture

2009-12-11T14:12:00.008-06:00

"You spend your life fighting depression; it's the default human condition. The shit we buy, the people we hang around with, fuck and even love are just means to an end, a way to stave off the crushing loneliness that is to be alone and unloved.

"We buy into the idea of happiness as portrayed by the mass media, that happiness is found through social engagement, through the expenditure of the money we earn working for multi-millionaires that don't know us, don't care. If we live or die, we haven't made a mark on the world.

"We check Facebook compulsively, Twitter about our breakfasts and talk to our friends and coworkers about wild parties, prospective mates and expensive purchases: Attempts to show our sociability, our ability to fit in, our willingness to buy into this great corporate dream.

"If you want my advice, write something. Draw something. Tell someone something. Do something, ANYTHING, that will outlive this culture, that will transcend its boundaries and touch someone."

There is but one way I know of to outlive this culture, and that is to free yourself from this culture; do not let it shape you, do not let it affect you spiritually; do not let it define your soul's focus or path. You must rise above-- or transcend, as the anonymous writer exhorts --the ugliness that is this life. How do you do that? Choose for yourself who you are and what relevance you hold not only for yourself but for the world. Choose your legacy-- define it, quantify it, then build it. You can't escape the culture, but you can certainly outlive it.

In case you had forgotten, You are free. That's right, FREE. Now go out there and act like it. Go out and tell the world who you are. Don't let the world tell YOU who you are.

one-hundred seventy-five things...

2009-12-10T14:19:00.003-06:00

you can do

I like no.s 9 and 76

i've learned to love a good many things...

2009-12-10T11:13:00.005-06:00

...including peas; which I hated as child. I hated tea. I hated brussel sprouts, and still do. I've even hated a few people; none of whom I hate still.

And though I once hated peas, I love this poem I found online...

I eat my peas with honey;
I've done it all my life.
It makes the peas taste funny,
But it keeps them on the knife.

--Anonymous

I like peas, but I can't imagine eating them with honey. And what ingenuity! But again, why not use a fork? The space between tines make perfect nestlings for those peas with a wont to wander.

i'n not a big fan of the stones, but...

2009-12-09T16:08:00.004-06:00

Jagger appears to have been an easy client to deal with...

What would it be like to have a reputation so stellar as to allow others complete confidence in your work?

another great quote

2009-12-03T09:53:00.004-06:00

An intellectual is a person who has discovered something more interesting than sex.

--Aldous Huxley

why wE kiss?

2009-12-02T11:23:00.003-06:00

Brie Cadman claims to have the scoop on why we kiss...

Why We Kiss: The Science of Sex
--Brie Cadman

Final analysis?

One of the best things about kissing, however, is that we don’t have to think about any of this. Just close eyes, pucker up, and let nature takes its course.

I'm not sure 1,161 words were necessary considering how succinctly those last two sentences sum it all up.

e's wEekly brain dump

2009-11-29T10:16:00.006-06:00

Here then is a Haiku. One I wrote years and years ago-- and not particularly good but apropos given my direction with today's post...

music lifts my heart
from a deep pit of ashes
the remnants of death

I can't speak for anyone but myself but music does a great number of things for me, which is why I find so much meaning and context in my life through music. I began this post in the afternoon, and returning late in the evening, Huckabee on Fox covered the same material. It would seem that research has been done into what kind of music soldiers have been listening to to get into the kind of mindset that allows them to enter combat... to set the mental-stage for 'kill or be killed'.

Music then, it would seem, is a multi-faceted muse. To some she brings fire, to others she brings resolve, to some inspiration... and to others?

Meredith Brooks wrote a song called What Would Happen that, though it got little airplay, is the best tune on her hit album containing the more popular tune, Bitch. What makes this song so provocative (and no one's saying Bitch isn't provocative) are the questions it raises. And with them that fear co-mingled with lust everyone experiences at some point in their lives.

What would happen if we kissed?
Would your tongue slip past my lips?
Would you run away?
Would you stay?
Or would I melt into you?
Lust to lust?
Spontaneous - ly combust?

First time I heard this song I thought, 'Whoa! What's this chick doing in MY head!?' The verses were uniquely her experience, but the chorus... it's universal. It's primal, and it speaks to every heart whether it beats in the chest of a man or woman. I keep a list of songs I deem perfect for sex, and this one ranks pretty high.

Now, knowing my penchant for assigning people to songs, and songs to people, do you think I've assigned this particular song to a particular person?

* * *

I spent the bulk of late afternoon and evening watching TLC, watching the super-morbidly obese struggle to survive the milieu they've staged for themselves. At the last was a return visit to David Smith, the 650lb virgin-- sans 400 lbs --and his struggle to navigate the world he spent his entire life watching from the outside... looking in, as it were. I'm nowhere near as over-weight as David was-- a loss of eighty pounds would see me at my target weight. David had to lose 400. I only have to lose 80.

I have the same problems he does, socially speaking (though for different reasons), and I only need to lose 20% of what he lost-- I too am learning to socialize. No, I haven't spent the last ten or fifteen years in a flesh cocoon or morbidly obese proportions, but I have spent the last thirty-three years in a different kind of cocoon.

* * *

To quote another great tune... by The Moody Blues:

I'm looking for someone to change my life
I'm looking for a miracle in my life
And if you could see what it's done to me
To lose the the love I knew
Could safely lead me to
The land that I once knew
To learn as we grow old
The secrets of our souls

And at 49, I wonder if I'm running out of time.

qustions of burden and prisons

2009-11-25T22:58:00.007-06:00

Questions are a burden to others.

Answers are a prison to oneself.

our lives as drama

2009-11-25T14:11:00.006-06:00

As explained by Kurt Vonnegut

“People have been hearing fantastic stories since time began. The problem is, they think life is supposed to be like the stories... But because we grew up surrounded by big dramatic story arcs in books and movies, we think our lives are supposed to be filled with huge ups and downs! So people pretend there is drama where there is none.”

So. According to Kurt, there is no drama in your life... it simply is what it is. Nothing to get mussed about. Just deal. After all, it all comes out in the wash anyway, right... accept for blood and grass-stains.

One day Alice came to a fork in the road and saw a Cheshire cat in a tree. "Which road do I take?" she asked. "Where do you want to go?" was his response. "I don't know," Alice answered. "Then," said the cat, "it doesn't matter."

- Lewis Carroll

Isn't that life to a tee? "I don't know." What with all the foreign bodies (perceptions of reality) pumped into our minds as to what life is all about, and the best practices for life; as devised by writers who are probably more neurotic than the average lab rat sitting in the theater or in front of the TV... where to you want to go?

2011 is coming up. Let's all endeavor to "go" get an intentional life based on reality. Fantasy is always a letdown.

science versus God

2009-11-25T13:13:00.010-06:00

"LET ME EXPLAIN THE problem science has with Jesus Christ." The atheist professor of philosophy pauses before his class and then asks one of his new students to stand. "You're a Christian, aren't you, son?"
"Yes, sir."
"So you believe in God?"
"Absolutely."
"Is God good?"
"Sure! God's good."
"Is God all-powerful? Can God do anything?"
"Yes."
"Are you good or evil?"
"The Bible says I'm evil."
The professor grins knowingly. "Ahh! THE BIBLE!" He considers for a moment. "Here's one for you. Let's say there's a sick person over here and you can cure him. You can do it. Would you help them? Would you try?"
"Yes sir, I would."
"So you're good...!"
"I wouldn't say that."
"Why not say that? You would help a sick and maimed person if you could...in fact most of us would if we could....God doesn't."
[No answer]
"He doesn't, does he? My brother was a Christian who died of cancer even though he prayed to Jesus to heal him. How is this Jesus good? Hmmm? Can you answer that one?"
[No answer]
The elderly man is sympathetic. "No, you can't, can you?" He takes a sip of water from a glass on his desk to give the student time to relax. "In philosophy, you have to go easy with the new ones. Let's start again, young fella. Is God good?"
"Er... Yes."
"Is Satan good?"
"No."
"Where does Satan come from?"
The student falters. "From... God..."
"That's right. God made Satan, didn't he?" The elderly man runs his bony fingers through his thinning hair and turns to the smirking student audience. "I think we're going to have a lot of fun this semester, ladies and gentlemen." He turns back to the Christian. "Tell me, son. Is there evil in this world?"
"Yes, sir."
"Evil's everywhere, isn't it? Did God make everything?"
"Yes."
"Who created evil?"
[No answer]
"Is there sickness in this world? Immorality? Hatred? Ugliness. All the terrible things - do they exist in this world? "
The student squirms on his feet. "Yes."
"Who created them?"
[No answer]
The professor suddenly shouts at his student, "WHO CREATED THEM? TELL ME, PLEASE!" The professor closes in for the kill and climbs into the Christian's face. In a still small voice, he asked, "God created all evil, didn't He, son?"
[No answer]
The student tries to hold the steady, experienced gaze and fails. Suddenly the lecturer breaks away to pace the front of the classroom like an aging panther. The class is mesmerized. "Tell me," he continues, "How is it that this God is good if He created all evil throughout all time?" The professor swishes his arms around to encompass the wickedness of the world. "All the hatred, the brutality, all the pain, all the torture, all the death and ugliness and all the suffering created by this good God is all over the world, isn't it, young man?"
[No answer]
"Don't you see it all over the place? Huh?" Pause. "Don't you?" The professor leans into the student's face again and whispers, "Is God good?"
[No answer]
"Do you believe in Jesus Christ, son?"
The student's voice betrays him and cracks. "Yes, professor. I do."
The old man shakes his head sadly. "Science says you have five senses you use to identify and observe the world around you. Have you ever seen Jesus?"
"No, sir. I've never seen Him."
"Then tell us if you've ever heard your Jesus?"
"No, sir. I have not."
"Have you ever felt your Jesus, tasted your Jesus or smelt your Jesus... in fact, do you have any sensory perception of your God whatsoever?"
[No answer]
"Answer me, please."
"No, sir, I'm afraid I haven't."
"You're AFRAID... you haven't?"
"No, sir."
"Yet you still believe in him?"
"...yes..."
"That takes FAITH!" The professor smiles sagely at the underling. "According to the rules of empirical, testable, demonstrable protocol, science says your God doesn't exist. What do you say to that, son? Where is your God now?"
[The student doesn't answer]
"Sit down, please."
The first Christian sits...defeated.
Another Christian raises his hand. "Professor, may I address the class?"
The professor turns and smiles. "Ah, yet another Christian in the vanguard! Come, come, young man. Speak some proper wisdom to the gathering."
The Christian looks around the room. "Some interesting points you are making, sir. Now I've got a question for you. Is there such thing as heat?"
"Yes," the professor replies. "There's heat."
"Is there such a thing as cold?"
"Yes, son, there's cold too."
"No, sir, there isn't."
The professor's grin freezes. The room suddenly becomes very quiet. The second Christian continues.
"You can have lots of heat, even more heat, super-heat, mega-heat, white heat, a little heat or no heat, but we don't have anything called 'cold'. We can hit 273 degrees below zero, which is no heat, but we can't go any further after that. There is no such thing as cold, otherwise we would be able to go colder than -273°C. You see, sir, cold is only a word we use to describe the absence of heat. We cannot measure cold. Heat we can measure in thermal units because heat is energy. Cold is not the opposite of heat, sir, just the absence of it."
Silence. A pin drops somewhere in the classroom.
"Is there such a thing as darkness, professor?"
"That's a dumb question, son. What is night if it isn't darkness? What are you getting at...?"
"So you say there is such a thing as darkness?"
"Yes..."
"You're wrong again, sir. Darkness is not something, it is the absence of something. You can have low light, normal light, bright light, flashing light... but if you have no light constantly you have nothing and it's called darkness, isn't it? That's the meaning we use to define the word. In reality, Darkness isn't. If it were, you would be able to make darkness darker and give me a jar of it. Can you... give me a jar of darker darkness, professor?"
Despite himself, the professor smiles at the young effrontery before him. This will indeed be a good semester. "Would you mind telling us what your point is, young man?"
"Yes, professor. My point is, your philosophical premise is flawed to start with and so your conclusion must be in error...."
The professor goes toxic. "Flawed...? How dare you...!"
"Sir, may I explain what I mean?"
The class is all ears.
"Explain... ohhhhh, explain..." The professor makes an admirable effort to regain control. Suddenly he is affability himself. He waves his hand to silence the class, for the student to continue.
"You are working on the premise of duality," the Christian explains. "That for example there is life and then there's death; a good God and a bad God. You are viewing the concept of God as something finite, something we can measure. Sir, science cannot even explain a thought. It uses electricity and magnetism but has never seen, much less fully understood them. To view death as the opposite of life is to be ignorant of the fact that death cannot exist as a substantive thing. Death is not the opposite of life, merely the absence of it." The young man holds up a newspaper he takes from the desk of a neighbor who has been reading it. "Here is one of the most disgusting tabloids this country hosts, professor. Is there such a thing as immorality?"
"Of course there is, now look..."
"Wrong again, sir. You see, immorality is merely the absence of morality. Is there such thing as injustice? No. Injustice is the absence of justice. Is there such a thing as evil?" The Christian pauses. "Isn't evil the absence of good?"
The professor's face has turned an alarming color. He is so angry he is temporarily speechless.
The Christian continues, "If there is evil in the world, professor, and we all agree there is, then God, if He exists, must be accomplishing a work through the agency of evil.1 What is that work God is accomplishing? The Bible tells us it is to see if each one of us will, of our own free will, choose good over evil."2
The professor bridles. "As a philosophical scientist, I don't view this matter as having anything to do with any choice; as a realist, I absolutely do not recognize the concept of God or any other theological factor as being part of the world equation because God is not observable."
The Christian replies, "I would have thought that the absence of God's moral code in this world is probably one of the most observable phenomena going, Newspapers make billions of dollars reporting it every week! Tell me, professor. Do you teach your students that they evolved from a monkey?"
"If you are referring to the natural evolutionary process, young man, yes, of course I do."
"Have you ever observed evolution with your own eyes, sir?"
The professor makes a sucking sound with his teeth and gives his student a silent, stony stare.
"Professor. Since no one has ever observed the process of evolution at work and cannot even prove that this process is an on-going endeavor, are you not teaching your opinion, sir? Are you now not a scientist, but a preacher?"
"I'll overlook your impudence in the light of our philosophical discussion. Now, have you quite finished?" the professor hisses.
"So you don't accept God's moral code to do what is righteous?"
"I believe in what is - that's science!"
"Ahh! SCIENCE!" the student's face splits into a grin. "Sir, you rightly state that science is the study of observed phenomena. Science too is a premise which is flawed..."
"SCIENCE IS FLAWED..?" the professor sputters.
The class is in uproar. The Christian remains standing until the commotion has subsided. "To continue the point you were making earlier to the other student, may I give you an example of what I mean?"
The professor wisely keeps silent.
The Christian looks around the room. "Is there anyone in the class who has ever seen the professor's mind?" The class breaks out into laughter. The Christian points towards his elderly, crumbling tutor. "Is there anyone here who has ever heard the professor's mind... felt the professor's mind, touched or smelt the professor's mind? No one appears to have done so." The Christian shakes his head sadly. "It appears no one here has had any sensory perception of the professor's mind whatsoever. Well, according to the rules of empirical, stable, demonstrable protocol, science, I DECLARE that the professor has no mind."
The class is in chaos.
The Christian sits.

* * *

If you didn't get it, here is a brief synopsis. The atheist argument is that since God created everything, He is responsible for the creation of evil. However, "evil" is a word that we use to describe certain things that happen to us (most of which are caused by other people). In reality, it is not a physically created thing at all and, therefore, does not fall within the realm of something created by God. So, the argument is fundamentally flawed. Evil is allowed by God so that free will beings can choose between good (i.e., God) or evil (absence of God). Without evil, it is not possible to choose between good and evil, and the universe would have no ultimate purpose.

selfless, sacrificial love

2009-11-24T16:53:00.004-06:00

I found this while Stumbling across the web... it's beautiful. And it's a sentiment with which I can identify...

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms,
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers.
Thanks to your love a certain fragrance,
risen darkly from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride,
so I love you because I know no other way than this:
where I does not exist, nor you,
So close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
So close that your eyes close and I fall asleep.

-Pablo Neruda

Does anyone... CAN anyone truly love like this?

e's wEekly brain dump

2009-11-22T13:54:00.010-06:00

I was made to remember and revisit this morning a post I left at another blog. It was brought to mind by a movie I watched this morning-- no, I did not go to church. The story was presented differently but the central truth remains: "Every man has both Love and Hate warring within him. Which one wins? the one you feed the most." It's a simple yet profound truth. It seems all of truth is simple. And it seems also that profundity is always found in the simplest of things.

And now, the re-visitation...

EVERYONE is born in sin. Sin being evil, everyone is inherently evil... that is to say, everyone has that "Seed of Propensity" planted in the soil of his heart. But to clarify "evil" : Killing unborn children is evil. Murdering 6 million Jews is evil, but so is lying. So is petty theft. So is selfishness. ALL sin is evil in God's eyes, which is why God felt it necessary to take on mortal flesh and perform what no human could...

Tendencies for good do lie in every human heart, but so too are tendencies for evil.

An old Indian warrior once related to a prairie preacher that inside him lived two dogs constantly at war with each other; one was light, the other dark. Curious, the preacher asked which one was winning. The old man replied, "The one I feed the most."

The same is true of us. We may be good at heart, by man's standard... we may feed, in the sight of men, the dog which represents our tendencies for good. But the other dog is still there, unvanquished.

Until Christ returns and redeems our bodies we will live in a perpetual state of war with the other dog.

* * *

I am still plagued by a deep depression. All of it stems from loneliness-- but then, that's not exactly right... Loneliness is an effect, not a cause. Searching deeper, the cause could be said to be a series of extremely poor decisions some 22 years ago-- but then those poor decisions could also be said to be the effects of loneliness as well. But then, that loneliness I felt 22 years ago likewise had a cause which might very well be due to a lack of confidence which stemmed from another bout of loneliness which coaxed me to seek the approval of others and attach my sense of self-worth to said approval. But then that again could be attributed to loneliness which resulted from the shame, and resultant loneliness I felt, because I stuttered as a boy... the truth of which was a constant source of mocking... which shut me down... which isolated me... which made me fearful... of making friends, of having girlfriends... and so, forty-three years after my first encounter with such mocking, and its resultant isolation-- my own personal gulag --I am right back where I started this thought. I am still plagued by a deep depression.

I have been here, in terms of locale, because of a series of very bad choices. First, I chose a quick fuck over the girl I really cared for, but was too afraid to tell her. I chose the girl who told me in no uncertain terms what she wanted. Second, I allowed this girl to move in and guide and control my every move. Third, I chose this girl over my family and ended up in a city eighty miles away. And I have been a stranger to my own family ever since.

The girl for which I abandoned my family and home, abandoned me a short three weeks after dragging me to this strange new town. So I learned my lesson. And I've been paying for it these last twenty-two years.

My problem is this: I chase after women who are emotionally unavailable. Of the three women who actively chased me, I ran from them all, but of the women I chose to chase, I have been left wanting each and every time. Had I allowed myself to be caught by any one of my three pursuers I'd not be where I am, emotionally of physically. And so I am depressed. And quite naturally so.

Because here I am again. And I have decisions to make; the most important of which is already made. But once I am free, what then? More loneliness? More depression? More feelings of inadequacy?

I must remember that there are two dogs warring within me. One is Love, the other is Hate. One Light, the other Darkness. I choose to feed the Light, and Love. But I also know how difficult it is to change those patterns that have shaped and guided us to this point.

* * *

In one of my many letters over the years to Mary Angel, there is one that still stands out, front and center, as the object of all my motivation. I cannot have Mary Angel, but I can have what God has prepared for me. I have undoubtedly missed that perfect someone He had in store, but I cannot think that He didn't already know I would make all the wrong decisions and so would have someone else reserved in contingency. So it is for her I write. Every letter. Every letter addressed to Mary Angel; every thought, wish, desire. Every story. Every poem... everything I have written is for that someone who God has given me. That I have yet to meet.

I am tired, I tell you. Tired. Depressed... tired of waiting. I've made my decision. Now it's time to begin implementation. It is time to be in a place where I can receive her fairly and honestly, without reservation, holding nothing back.

I am tired, but I'm also ready.

* * *

Because I am so tired, this poem stands out as a forward-looking question to her... whoever and wherever she is.

One-Hundred Years Entwining

Will I sleep one hundred years,
My first night ‘neath your summer eaves?
Will I cry, shed one hundred tears,
My sorrows clatter like autumn leaves?
Away from me ~ forever away
Your lips brushing my tears away
Fall into slumber, the sleep of peace
As in your arms I lay

Will I dream while embraced in you,
Coupled neath linens clean and new?
Wakened to find my dreams come true,
And lost within your eyes of blue
Sing to me a familiar song
Lips brush mine ~ our breath a song
Like the gentle sursurring sea
Rock me soft the whole night long

One hundred years may each night seem
Forever may each day so be
And parting, but a shadowy dream
That has no life in the love we see
Smiling true in eyes bright and shining
Lips caressing ~ wet, soft, and shining
Shuddering, and rising again to fall
Held in your embrace entwining

Will I sleep one hundred years?
Hands brush all my cares away?
Sorrow erased and gone my fears?
In your arms, and in peace lay?
Time and love will tell
Time and love will tell

ELAshley
18 March 2002, 1:10am
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