don't panic

Oh, we're sinking like stones,

All that we fought for,

All those places we've gone,

All of us are done for.



We live in a beautiful world,

Yeah we do, yeah we do,

We live in a beautiful world,

Oh, we're sinking like stones,

All that we fought for,

All those places we've gone,

All of us are done for.



We live in a beautiful world,

Yeah we do, yeah we do,

We live in a beautiful world.



Oh, all that I know,

There's nothing here to run from,

And there, everybody here's got somebody to lean on.

day 24

"There’s a smell here that stands my hairs on end
Dog hair in the heater, gas pumps and cedar
And jackknifes on the nine
and seabirds choked on fishing line.."

I am not sure where I am these days. Day 24 and it's pretty much a done dealio. I have washed my hands of it and am pressing on. And just like all kicked habits, you wonder what in the fuck you were thinking to begin with. The ticker-- it's a delicate organ full of feeling that when shot through with holes you have no choice but to lie there and bleed or harden it again and lose a little more idealism about love, relationships, happiness, truth, trust.

"Clouds say hush but the chainsaws mush on to Custer and Columbia
Salty tentacles shrink in the sun but the red tide is over
The mollusks they have won

There’s a smell here of gravel and cigarettes lit
When the match made them sweet
When the engine turned over and beat up our street.."

Sigh. I will never be okay. I will never be good enough. This is the way it is. How many years has it been now? There is no more changing after trying like hell to change. This is it. This is all there is.

"Oh, that was the day
To remember

I remember because of the fires that leapt
From the caves of the things that have not happened yet
When I think of it now they smell to me quite sinister

I want to go back and die at the drive in
Die before strangers can say
I hate the rain
I hate the rain..."

I miss him

it's been 12 days. Not sure if the rain compounds the lonely feeling or if the flat-out void of a person just blows through me like a winter wind.

so we busy ourselves with life and avoid feeling; we curl our lips at lovers and institutions that no longer work for us; we deny ourselves the purging of feeling and instead congregate with other like-minded, burned individuals who all essentially are looking for the same thing: love.

its always in the fall, too, making it the dreariest, loneliest and hardest of seasons for me.
someone please wake me when its summer again.

by the sea

I used to start with a short stanza of a poem on my blogs. But I have found in the past four or so years that poetry doesn't speak to me anymore. I value the lyrics of my favorite songwriters to divulge their poetry to me and whisper in my earbud. Tweedy says it best-- "music is my savior. and i was maimed/tamed by rock and roll."

It has been a long time. I scanned the old blog-o-sphere and smiled to myself. We have all grown up, thank God. Apart. What a tremendous pontificating went on here. I am glad to say I have made the switch to an even lesser form of the written word by subscribing to the dreaded facebook. Still, it is a way to manage relationships with people that you otherwise would not be communicating. It is easy and fast and well, universal.

I have grown up. I can feel it and I am so glad. It took me long enough though. Pushing 40 I am SO damn glad to be moving on. So--a great summer. I guess it is time for a farewell to summer since we stared back to work last week. I know--it's only the 2nd week of August. People in Indiana are dumb and they need all the learning and re-learning they can get. So--back to werk.

I managed to make time to set goals and achieve all of them this summer. Home improvement, mind, spirit and body improvement and lots of time with the only person that I should focus on: my girl time.

So last summer was the summer of the desert. This was the summer of water. I managed to work my way solo up to Niagara and OT and biked the river out to the falls--50 miles round trip. Never been there-- was lovely and a religious experience passing under the falls in the mists. I loved every minute of it.

I also trekked up to the dunes indiana-michigan for a spiritual immersion. The waters were calling and the northern cool waters won.

I am well. I am centered and grounded and focused and strong. Very strong. I don't take shit from anyone anytime.

It's a great place to be. Can't wait to be 40.

Ciao.

the slow road to recovery

32 days.
The loss of someone whether living or dead always throws me into a strange, empty place. It feels not quite living fully but obviously not functioning well.

As the skies darken, cloud up and prepare for another series of rainstorms, my heart is heavy with feelings of inadequacy as the patterns that appear with each failed relationship resurface. I marvel at the buoyancy of these men who seem to be moving on unfazed by the lack of my presence in their lives. We are fed this line that every person is special and a gift to the world. I don't believe that is true. It seems that some of us are just obstacles, conquests, or just here to guide others but are not ever fully understood, appreciated or loved.
The defense mechanisms we build up to protect ourselves run deep and instead of trusting others or relying on others, it is far safer to step away and remain aloof with our intimacies and feelings.

I am hoping there is some sort of higher purpose for me, as it seems these exchanges with the opposite sex are futile. Yet, as I continue the search for meaning, my heart and mind reflect back to these men--all now happily invested in other relationships--married with children, living together in bliss, soon-to-be-married.

This isn't meant to be a pity party. I am just to the point of questioning why I continue to put myself out there knowing the end result will be the same, again and again.

Guess it's time to find higher ground.

Not Too Late

Tell me how you've been,
Tell what you've seen,
Tell me that you'd like to see me too.

'cause my heart is full of no blood,
My cup is full of no love,
Couldn't take another sip even if I wanted.

But it's not too late,
Not too late for love.

My lungs are out of air,
Yours are holding smoke,
And it's been like that for so long.

I've seen people try to change,
And I know it isn't easy,
But nothin' worth the time ever is.

And it's not too late,
It's not too late for love,
For love,
For love,
For love.

it all comes down to..

..what's going to work right now.

to everything, turn turn turn.

It has been some time since I have had time or even the desire to write.
Granted, I am not a writer by trade. In fact, I suck at it it.
I also feel that writing in this place, under these circumstances dictates that I censor what I write.

I mool over the prospect of writing a memoir someday given the circumstances. Still, I suppose others' have had the same, if not more sordid tales to tell than my tame story.

Call it purging; call it grieving; call it exploiting; call it making peace with myself...it is a book that must be written some day.

Our stories all start out the same. The exposition and rising action follows...but it isn't until the climactic moment and the denouement that our stories diverge.

I have no ping.

10 pm. act 1 run.
After the torture talk on the way home, I decided to make matters worse by reviewing the past and reminding myself of why I am here in the present... staring the future in the face and wanting to change everything.

the tears flow. it has been awhile since I felt anything but exhaustion, rage, rejection, doubt so it is a welcome change.

oh, the holding pattern sucks. as does the disappointment of hope. I lack the skill, the monetary means, the time or drive to make a change.
But I need to. so much. I need to make a change.

I am a failure. I am unworthy. I am a place holder.

Still, I want to understand what about me is not good enough? Why do I remain a single seat in the front row for my favorite show?


I feel cheated and betrayed, lied to and pacified.

When do things start going my way?
How long must I live in this shadow?

"You Who Never Arrived"

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment. All the immense
images in me-- the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and unsuspected
turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods-
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.

You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house--, and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me.
Streets that I chanced upon,--
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled,
gave back my too-sudden image. Who knows?
perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening...

Rainer Maria Rilke

the painful paradox

"She met him at a fireworks display..." Tobias Wolff starts off in his short story entitled "Face to Face" fm In The Garden of the North American Martyrs. Good reading on a cold winter's day.

I have been thinking.

How does it turn into the happy ending? What is the happy ending? How does my story go? So far, a tragedy--or is it more of a murder mystery? It could become a murder mystery. Is it better to live an uneventful, quiet life with regret or a complicated one where one lives the highs and the lows?

When posed the question, "Do you hope to settle down with someone?" my first reaction is, "And change my way of life as I know it? I don't think I am ready."

Am I willing to give up the freedom that I have at this moment? Or does love change all of that? And at what cost? What kinds of compromises would have to be made?

The idea of starting over with someone terrifies me. And not so much because of the aforementioned so much as considering investing in that kind of relationship again and then it not working out.

Leslie Feist writes, "the saddest part of a broken heart, isn't the ending so much as the start.." (fm. Let It Die)
I would have to agree with that. Still, the thrill, the hope and actual possibility that there is someone out there to fill in the void makes it worth the risk...until it ends. And it always ends badly.

I suppose having this talk with myself reminds me that I have a long way to go. I give too much too easily and to the wrong people. My timing is always off.

I hope you are out there. I am waiting for you.

Chill Factor

She’s getting older
Yeah, she’s getting wise
But a change has changed the girl
Gone’s the sparkle from her eyes

She wants to be a good mother
So she’ll do the best she can
But what about the other
What about the man

Well it’s cold to leave a woman
With family on her own
It’s chill factor
To the bone

Resignation
In her sighs
Is a sorry indication
Of how time
Can brutalise

Take away the hope
And the will will follow
Take away the faith
And goodbye tomorrow

Well it’s cold to leave a woman
With family on her own
It’s chill factor
To the bone

She had her dreams too
But how can she pursue
Her ambitions, be they great or small

You took her wings and flew
But remember when you’re through
Your rise was due
To somebody else’s fall

When the hard part’s over
And the kids are almost grown
You’ll be their big hero
Whenever you make it home
Shower them with presents
Things she could never buy
Delight them with your stories
About the great big, great big world outside
But dig -

It’s cold to leave a woman
With family on her own
It’s chill factor
Chill factor
To the bone

hold on hold on

The most tender place in my heart is for strangers
I know it's unkind but my own blood is much too dangerous
Hangin' round the ceiling half the time
Hangin' round the ceiling half the time

Compared to some I've been around
But I really tried so hard
That echo chorus lied to me with its
"Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on"

In the end I was the mean girl
Or somebody's in-between girl
Now it's the devil I love
And that's as funny as real love....

"And Because Love Battles"

I decided that I have been moving too fast and doing too much.
I opted out of the workout to write a little, because I feel if I don't put it someplace, I will literally self-destruct.

If you wish to read something uplifting or happy, go find another entry, because it won't be this one. My group would tell me I am feeling sorry for myself; that I should look at all the blessing in my life. OR, if I don't like the way things are going, change them. It could be worse, you may not have a job--or a leg.

I suppose all that unsolicited advice has its place. I am sure I have divvied out my pearls of wisdom from time to time--falling on deaf ear as well. Still, here I am again.

Lately I have had a hard time.
Call it dumb luck, carelessness, the usual bad timing, Mother Nature, fate, bad karma, Mercury Retrograde, the season, the day.. I feel that I have been cursed.

Things have shifted. I have shifted.

For a time I was feeling ok with myself--grounded, or at least working through my stuff. Then situations arise where I go back to self-doubt, beating oneself up, and asking myself, "What is wrong with me?"

I consider my family for a moment-- wishing that I had some kind of relationship with them that resembled normal. It would be nice to have someone to hold me and say it was going to be ok. I suppose that is what spouses are for. Or friends.

But I want something for myself. I want something pure and true-- and impossible.
I understand the eastern philosophy that you have to let things come to you. You must be open and receptive for those things to come. I have tried to be open and willing. And things have come...and gone.
And after 4 1/2 years I can't help but wonder what must change? What must I do?
How can be anything but who I am? How much longer must one wait? For life, for real companionship? For love? And at those moments--when my expectations are too high, when I am let down due to my own shortcomings, I feel myself turning wintry. Detached. I let go just a little more. Retreat into myself further. I insulate the wall even more.

To the outside world I will put on the face. Be as productive as I can and throw myself into my work. But inside, I am little more than a pulse with legs.


Here's to a warmer season...

And because love battles
not only in its burning agricultures
but also in the mouth of men and women,
I will finish off by taking the path away
to those who between my chest and your fragrance
want to interpose their obscure plant.

About me, nothing worse
they will tell you, my love,
than what I told you.

I lived in the prairies
before I got to know you
and I did not wait love but I was
laying in wait for and I jumped on the rose.

What more can they tell you?
I am neither good nor bad but a man,
and they will then associate the danger
of my life, which you know
and which with your passion you shared.

And good, this danger
is danger of love, of complete love
for all life,
for all lives,
and if this love brings us
the death and the prisons,
I am sure that your big eyes,
as when I kiss them,
will then close with pride,
into double pride, love,
with your pride and my pride.

But to my ears they will come before
to wear down the tour
of the sweet and hard love which binds us,
and they will say: “The one
you love,
is not a woman for you,
Why do you love her? I think
you could find one more beautiful,
more serious, more deep,
more other, you understand me, look how she’s light,
and what a head she has,
and look at how she dresses,
and etcetera and etcetera”.

And I in these lines say:
Like this I want you, love,
love, Like this I love you,
as you dress
and how your hair lifts up
and how your mouth smiles,
light as the water
of the spring upon the pure stones,
Like this I love you, beloved.

To bread I do not ask to teach me
but only not to lack during every day of life.
I don’t know anything about light, from where
it comes nor where it goes,
I only want the light to light up,
I do not ask to the night
explanations,
I wait for it and it envelops me,
And so you, bread and light
And shadow are.

You came to my life
with what you were bringing,
made
of light and bread and shadow I expected you,
and Like this I need you,
Like this I love you,
and to those who want to hear tomorrow
that which I will not tell them, let them read it here,
and let them back off today because it is early
for these arguments.

Tomorrow we will only give them
a leaf of the tree of our love, a leaf
which will fall on the earth
like if it had been made by our lips
like a kiss which falls
from our invincible heights
to show the fire and the tenderness
of a true love.

Pablo Neruda

synchronicity

When I have a series of setbacks, or potential ones, I have to stop before things spiral out of hand.
There are things that are out of my control. Like the weather, for instance. Who would have expected a foot of snow to fall in less than 2 days?
Still, it has thrown my whole work schedule out of whack, contributed to a cracked windshield and a three day hiatus from tech rehearsals and the start of the choreography for the musical. Not to mention throwing my workout schedule completely off. I live by schedules and bells...

The idle time has been good in other areas; for it has forced me to slow down. I guess one could compare the paralysis to an injury of some kind, where the surgeon orders you to stay off your knee for six weeks until the wound heals.
I guess this is nature's way of healing me.

Lately I have noticed my anger has started to rise to the surface and with very little provoking. I hate the way I handle situations where I should be more rational and cool. Instead, I resort back to defense mode and shut down, or "slice and dice" the person towards which the anger is directed. I feel ashamed and embarrassed. And instead of just saying that, I act out.

Show is in 1 week. I have been known to perform miracles before--but this one I am not so sure.
Lots on my mind today. Hopefully a long run with my new (old) Michael Jackson as well as The Police Synchronicity will get the levels down to a more manageable place.


"..With one breath,
with one flow,
you will know:
Synchronicity.

A sweet trance,
a dream dance,
a shared romance:
Synchronicity..."

"your laughter"

Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.
fm. 'your laughter" by Pablo Nerudo

Here in the depths of winter, I find myself longing for the warmth of spring days. Usually with them comes the promise of new life or rebirth, and new beginnings.
For me, it starts with the scent of earth. She has a musky odor that saturates. I could breathe March air long into September.

The birds are another tell-tale sign for me. Their song changes to reflect the mating time and celebration of life...
(will write more later)