The Diluted Reality Of Dreams

Last night was one of those long nights, where sleeping did not feel like an option. As lay there, wishing I could relax and drift away peacefully into the night, I was fighting the urge to sleep. With sleep comes dreams. My last moments before going to bed were too perfect. Any dreams that I could have, would be a diluted version of the perfect reality I had been living. These words are meant with respect. And, they are filled with appreciation.

Curving.

Lithe.

Lovely.

Warmth.

Fondness.

Flesh.

Sublime.

Elegant.

Exquisite.

Alluring.

Poetic.

Picturesque.

You.

The Heart Of A Tree

One day the sun shines and warmth fills my home, then the next, rain spends the day. I am constantly changing my mind as to which side of the windows I want to be on. My house feels dark and quiet today. No matter which songs I put on the stereo, none of them are sad enough to give me hope. I want to hear a song that will tear my heart out of my chest and force me to look at it. To open it up and count the rings like a fallen cedar tree. None of this should be misinterpreted as sadness. I want my heart out of my chest. I want to look at it and see what makes it work. I want to have it in my hands so that I can present it to you.

The Pages Of Your Diary

I spent the better part of the day trying to think of something to write. I looked deep within my hopes and tried to find the one thing I could write, that would truly change my life. One word stood out. My name. I want to write my name thousands of times. I want to find your diary and write my name on every page. That way, no matter what you chose to do with each of your days, somewhere, you would have to find a moment for me. I could take comfort in the fact that I will still be a part of your day in a week, a month, a year, a lifetime. I want you to be able to flip to any page in the book of your life and see that I will always be there.

Ocean Breezes and Cohiba Cigars

I am happy that I had the experience of a Cuba that was untouched by the grasping fist of America. I knew an island comprised of kind, considerate, articulate, and wonderful people. A place where the notion of the KFC Double-Down, or the Big Mac is as distant, as the American people's understanding of life in Cuba. Health and art are on the forefront of people's minds. Not simply if they can afford heathcare, and how much money they can get for their art. Fidel Castro has stepped away from power.

The Decadence Of Hope

Eventually you become my day. The sun rises, and shines through my bedroom window. I think of the way the warmth gently caresses me, and makes me want to start my day. That makes me think of you. I eat a chocolate covered strawberry and it reminds me of you. It is so sweet and decadent on the outside, but at it's core I know it is good for me. I look for you in all of the places we meet, and even though you are not there, I have hope that I will find you somewhere new. I resist the urge to relive the great moments you have spent with me, because I want to live in this moment. Even if this moment is empty, I know that soon you will be there to give it substance.

A Priceless Painting

Sometimes you take a small dab of paint from my palette. You dip your brush into my words, and sweep them across the canvas of your life. You inspire me to create, and you inspire me to search for colors that I have never known. I want to find a new color. I want you to paint a portrait with a shade that only we know about. I want you to be displayed in the galleries of my mind forever.

Dreams

A long, twisting, solitary highway.

Many Wants, And A Couple Of Pillows

I want to wake up one day, and even if I can't find you there, I want the sheets to still be warm from your body. I want the pillow to smell like your hair. I wanna look out the window and see a dry patch of pavement where the rain couldn't hit the ground beneath where your car was parked. I want to see your empty coffee cup in the sink. I want your perfume to linger inside the door you just walked out. I want each of these things to be a reminder of the reasons I want you to be in my home. I want to share a pillow with you. I want to write my thoughts on your photos, since your photographs inspire so many of my thoughts.

Clumsy

I want to meet a girl who is clumsy. Who leaps into a room and doesn't care what is on the other side of the door. Someone who enthusiastically tosses herself into life, even if it means she will take the occasional tumble toward Earth. I want to find a girl who is so clumsy that she could accidentally fall for me.

Wrapped In Comfort

Trust is a warm blanket.

Stain Myself With A Story

I want to dig into the earth of the past. I want to get the soil on my hands and see that every grain has a story to tell. I want to wipe the dirt on my shirt, and on my jeans, not to get my hands clean, but rather to stain myself with history. I get comfort from knowing that we stand on the same Earth, and stare toward the same moon. And, although I may never get to share the same sunset with you, I know that we share the same sun. Somewhere far away, I know you are reaching for the same stars that wish me a goodnight. One day I may be caught in the darkness with my hands to the sky. I won't be reaching for those stars, but I will be stretching my arm with the hope of finding your hand. If we ever touch hands, forgive me if my hands are a little dirty. I was probably digging through someones past, hoping to find a story to guide me toward my future.

Knots Of Thoughts

My mind bends, twists, and wraps around a thought like ivy on a trellis. A thought never seems to stop, it may double-back and cover itself again, but there is never an end. Knots of thoughts, entangled amongst the pillars that support me. If only you knew how precious a moment can be. If only you had an appreciation for the joy that your simple smile left in a room. If that smile was a mask that you wore for other people, then you wore it very well. I truly hope you understand that we cared about the person behind that mask.

Death.

I accept you. You confuse me. I understand you. I hate what you do to others.

Spirituality, Pretentiousness, And Black Leather

I need your help. It isn't that I need to be told what to do, and how to do it, but I want to know why? Why should I bother trying? When I look to the past, I see the end. Life from before no longer lives and I'm not sure that life from today deserves to see tomorrow. The end of time edges closer with each day, and yet people get millions of dollars to make life easier. An easy life makes death look bad. In actuality, death is the purpose of life. Lust of life is the worst kind of greed. By forcing a longer life, one can then deny a more deserving person of a life. Remember when lives lasted a few short years? Now people live so long that they begin to think, and wonder what if? And, how? Environmentally, this world is about to shatter and that is not fair. We are a modern day dinosaur. A species waiting to be eliminated. Our problem is that we want to take the planet with us. What does all of this mean? Am I just angry, or venting? We can't just talk! Kids grow up saying things such as, "I want peace!" "We must recycle!" And, "I want peace, love, and happiness!" Me personally, If I could have anything, it would be a shiny red car. But that is just me!

--this was from a note I found dated June 24th, 1993. I wrote the note, but I am not really sure of it's meaning. I know that the ending is still very much the person I am. It is sort of a humorous take on the notion that people just speak, and their words mean so much less than their actions. I still believe that we are a species that takes itself far too seriously. I have never really been all that interested in a red car though. Weird.

My Name Is Mute.

The sun, gently dripped light into my eyes, awaking a dormant mind. Seeing the color of your world has shown me the beauty of love, and kind. I know that your eyes have been painted with the warmth of water, and shown stories of pain. A life of experience may astound or impress, while I am happy you knew my name....

A Way With Words....

Away With Words....

You Do Have A Way With Words....

But....Oh, How I Wish....

We Could Do Away With Words.

The Stone Archway To My Heart

I love the look of an arch. The sensuality of a stone archway is something I have difficulty explaining to people. I wish it was as easy as saying that the arch represents the contoured back of a beautiful woman, or the curves of her hips. Sometimes it is the mere idea of a stone arch that has stood for many years. I think of everything that archway has seen, and the lives that have at some time passed through it, and since passed on. I love to surround myself with things that have a story, even if I will never be so lucky as to know those tales.

I find great irony in typing these words for the digital world. Will my blog be discovered one day with the excitement of an archaeologist finding his first petroglyph?