a light at thE end of a very long tunnel

I've managed to finish a rough 'sketch' of In the Gardens of Loveplay, my novel in the works. A brief introduction and the first two titled 'chapters' can be read here. A lot more is written than just this small portion, but much of it has been written out of turn (or order) and those parts wouldn't offer much more than uncontextualized snapshots. But I am posting my summary of chapter titles (subject to change, of course). I am also in the process of developing artwork for the project.

Anything you read within parenthesis are notes to myself, and not part of that portion's title.

Here is the Forward:

This is a story of Venice, but not the Venice you may have visited, or once lived, or dreamt of seeing. This is also a story of love. But what else would such a tale be about? It is a tale of conspiracies, jealousies, broken hearts and the binding of two souls, one to the other. Within these pages you will find a world strangely at peace, boats that float on air, and an angel in search of redemption.

"In the Gardens of Loveplay"

Introduction - What We Shall Find

1 - a Priori - A Glimpse of Heaven
2 - The Severing of Ties
3 - Conspiracy of Love
4 - For Love of a Good Wine

Interlude I - The Last Great War (Diary Excerpts, and Poem)

5 - The Confessional
6 - Early Summer
7 - Walking the Gardens
8 - Aldo I
9 - In the House of Her Sisters I
10 - In the House of the Winepresser
11 - In the House of the Gondolier I
12 - Summer
13 - Rome
14 - Aldo II
15 - Pia I

Interlude II - Leptus Magnus (Plus Poem "Dinner Among the Ruins")

16 - The Inn at Vesuvius
17 - Abandoning the Arbor
18 - Early Fall
19 - Pia II
20 - Dinner and a Kiss I
21 - Late Fall
22 - Aldo III
23 - In the House of the Gondolier II
24 - Winter I - Separate Tables
25 - Winter II - Similar Loves
26 - An Exchange of Gifts
27 - Lisbon
28 - Dinner and a Kiss II

Interlude III - The Dance  (A Poem in Four Parts)

29 - In the House of Her Sisters II
30 - In the House of the Gondolier III
31 - The Inn at Vesuvius
32 - Late Winter
33 -The Patron Saint of Lovers

Interlude IV - To Paris - Precursor to Spring

34 - Early Spring
35 - The Peregrination
36 - In the House of the Winepresser II
37 - Return to the Arbor
38 - The Lowering of Masks
39 - The Confessional II
40 - In the Garden of Loveplay  (Plus Poem)
41 - Walking the Garden II
42 - Dinner and  a Kiss III
43 - Aldo IV
44 - The Invitation (to marriage)
45 - Pia III

Interlude V - In the House of Her Sisters III  (Poem)

46 - Preparation and Separation
47 - In the House of the Gondolier III
48 - The Final Veil
49 - Carne Una
50 - There is But One Kiss  (Includes Poem)

Interlude VI - Carnivale

51 - The Floating Boats
52 - In the Gardens of Loveplay
53 - Till the Lanterns All Burned Down
54 - Subter Astralis Caelum

Interlude VII - Perfection in Romance (Includes Poem)

55 - Isabella

Epilogue - Selah

56 - Christien Vernay, from Father to Son
57 - Don't Dream It's Over

Everything is, for the most part, mapped out. There's still some reconciliation to be done, but those points will be minor. The greater task of plotting this eleven year-old monster out is, at long last, complete. Now begins the serious task of linking all the prose presently written with those portions which must fill in all the remaining gaps-- all the poetry is written, all that remains is prose. The artwork will take longer, but I only need a few key pieces to begin the process of publication.

As a side note, notice that there are nine sections including the Introduction and Epilogue. Nine is significant because it represents finality; the end of a matter, or the fulfillment or consummation of a matter. Interestingly enough (to me, at least) my arriving at this number, in this manner, was unintended. When I looked at the number of Interludes I saw seven, then wondered what the significance of nine would be adding the Introduction and Epilogue. The answer, I discovered, was both surprising and curiously apropos. 

None of these chapters (except one of the poems) will exceed ten pages of print, not including artwork, so right now I'm looking at between 350 and 500 pages.

wednesday's child this friday morn...

"Mountains, Hills, and Mounds of Earth"

There were flowers strewn
O’er mountains, hills and mounds of dirt
Cov’ring over every hurt
Now gone. Cruelly hewn
And felt no more
Honeysuckle in the air
Sweet on winds run through your hair
As you lay lying there
To feel again no more

I cried a lover’s tears
O’er mountains, hills and mounds of earth
Counting all I thought it worth
Now gone. How it sears
This heart for evermore
Strains of birdsong in the air
Singing gaily and unaware
Of you, love, lying there
To feel again no more

Heaven weeps to know you’re gone
From my side, yet not for long
Each day will seem eternity
Until your face again I see

Sore despond I threw me down
O’er mountains, hills and mounds of clay
My every cry a dirg'ed lay
Swearing I would rather drown
That I might feel again no more
Honeysuckle in the air
Sweet on winds run through my hair
‘tis grief you see now standing there
a breath and cry away from where
You feel again no more


ELAshley
030212.104326.1
Revisions:
031212.013950.6

... and halfway through The Voice

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.

an affair over tEa

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

robots... all is not full of love

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.

sensuality and haiku

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?

the promise of shared synchronistic stirs ?

"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.

a new song to clEar the air

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

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...

n the process of crafting something new

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.

something borrowed, something new

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.

something new...

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.

what's listening to E, and vice versa

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)

dEarest Mary Angel

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

the greatest love poems of all time: #4

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.

day one

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.

my own personal midlife crisis: doomed to solitude

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.

why wE kiss?

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

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.

selfless, sacrificial love

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?