For you

You are perfect. You feel so right in conversaion and in touch. Intelligent, creative, never a bore. You and I can see the clouds animate themselves, take a moment for a kiss, then delight in the new surprise in the sky.

We'll envy the lucky ones across the lake. The ones with the patch of sun peeking through the clouds to brighten their spot on the hillside. Our turn in the spotlight will come if we lay tangled perfectly together.

I opened to you, closed and alone for far too much time... welcomed you inside and in return you taught me how to feel again. This revival made me feel alive. Just when I was certain everything had died.

You are perfect. I'm afraid to talk to you now that circumstances keep us apart. I can't call. I can't write. Just thinking about how perfect you are. Little dreams at night give glimpses of you by my side. If I could talk to you, I'd tell you the things we do. But you are perfect. And I can't talk to you. I like dreaming better... because in dreams, you are mine.

10/12/07

The conscious mind shows what needs to be seen.
It's all a very slick user interface if you think about it
The subconscious stores away all the data of our experience
We build our characters, motives, desires from the entirety
But we look back to give homage to experiences creating the end result
Or draw conclusions of how we got from A to B based on what's left in the memory banks.
Underneath not-so-pretty files that quietly fold over and into one another

I think it's ok.
I am one of the fortunate ones that chooses to see beauty
I know all of that other stuff is there
I know it is equally integral a part of my totality
But I choose to pull from experience
Beauty
Love
Passion
Kindness
To look at as the portrait of my life
Everything else is there
Like the rabbit skin glue
Or the gesso
Or the foundational strokes
They give the texture, paint and linseed a strong home to rest
So that I’ll sleep with ease

Writing

My pilot concept is in full swing active mode. Writing, writing and more writing. I promise it's going to be juicy-sexy-intense. HBO is in my sight.

My Monologue

I just wrote my monologue in raw honest prose and delivered without voice over yahoo and gmail. Just so sick of being put on a pedestal. I give away my strenghs without ration or fair price. They carve of the golden outer edges and reveal the raw soul swaying in passion’s pendulum. Sitting high enough still enough alone enough that worship turns into critique.

But you, you thought there was something about me you just had to figure out. You asked enough questions. I know I’m a mess, but I’m sensual intelligent and complex. They wrap their minds about attributes of excellence and turn a blind eye to blemishes and defects. I always give the best up front. But they don’t ration, all that is left is a valley of imperfections. An uphill climb for us to endure is too much of a bother just together so I can recollect assets. Its fractures and scars are baggage they won’t accept. I’m alone again and I learn to breathe again… to love myself… to regain faith. This time I gave him the dark, the ugly

I just want to start off when it’s high knowing the lows so that there’s no struggle uphill. You see the worst of me explicated in brutal humility… the best is all that’s left. If not you, I know I’ll find somebody looking to roll downhill side by side.