key west, florida

The landforms carve out of the ocean like a ribbon of dotted wishes along the coast. The keys play out of tune and in all the right places. The keys peel off from their country like a beautiful array of fuck yous – a tidy sum of rainbows distancing themselves from the madness of the motherland. The everlasting wind blows taffy hair all about the island – purpled and pinked pops of truffula flowers announcing themselves on the street corners. The wild roosters knowing no bounds. the freedom of the island is implicit – it sinks into the smoke-filled bars, bras and dollar bills affixed haphazardly to the ceiling and walls like a wayward bridge to the endless horizon. Something sacred hangs in the sub-tropical abandon ; in the hard liquor and white, angling 2nd story porches. the pastel creams and lilac shutters flutter in the wind like a wild, peaceful fever ;; the coral bones and chunks of sunken ship debris ; a rebel patch of land floating away from its rebel of a country ;; the half spun dream melody of a twisting madness or a bobbing wonderland

the mythology of treasure, of great men writing in rowdy dive bars, of mermaids and horror stories ; of key lime sweetness and rainbow revelry ;

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austin, texas

the words are not what you’d think perhaps ;;

the wind rattles down the texas highway, past the blue bonnets and the highway long grass and the low-laying live oaks stubbling just past head height. the light filters through the shy little spear-leaves and shelters the cobbled grass stragglers at our feet. everything feels the lack of water. everything edges towards and away from the heat.

but the city – is it liquid; flexible; gathered at the edges and perking up at the center — it is rich, local, flavorful, pungent, spiced, metropolized, conscious-eyed and sprawling with creation. the city it is a galvanized portal to seven new realms and 3 recycled ones. the city is a map unfolded in ten hues of gold leaf, ash, soot and metal — patina and reckless abandon — to turn the rust of the south into a subterfuge for society and counter-culture

and me, i feel the sunshine on my skin for the first time in months – i forget it’s blaze and fire-tongue. i forget the way light shines through colors like platinum and endless power. i curl into cousin connection – into the courageous forever of a lifelong friendship // into comfort and endless discovery // i pound my feet into pavement and walk until my feet find my body at the end of the hours – peeling back towards the darkness of twilight gathering on empty branches and i fold my legs inwards towards the comfort of emlyn’s little house rattling in the wind. the wind rattling down bennet and 46th — keeping austin just how you’d think, perhaps — strange, unique, and all to its own, a lone star amongst a thousand others never quite like it in the night sky

i rotate the cuffs of my heart through the paneled glass revolving doors of the world;; through all the plate glass panels playing with my perception. i pummel towards purer perception;;

i close again, a gift;; a loud musical reverie;; of soaring notes and blissful heels pounding the stage; of bedazzled bodysuits and prayers to release the oppressed – of pinks and purples, hues of ancient words and melodies laced on top of one another ;; of friendship and love and labored breathing and long black wigs and dancing in the wing-light of transfixed song wonder ;; of silliness and laughter — of fruition and togetherness — of joy on joy and the gratitude i have once again for the incredible gift of what creations life lets me be a part of

to more creation, more joy, more laughter

a chaos of addition

adjust to the adjustment of justice never sitting just with you // with the world strung out like a lullaby in reverse ;; with the fire of indecision sitting like a bullfrog in your stomach – croaking out of key and at all the wrong moments / acknowledge the restless build-up inside your intestines, how the sky plays with the lid of the brain – tipping off the top, ripping off the rot — pulling you towards that longing of satisfaction – of the life that makes sense, of the life that equates out in all directions.

things don’t necessarily equate anymore — add up, ring out, roll up into the same tiny sleeping bag case in came in. the numbers don’t equal anything at all. i’m not lost or losing, just on the underside of a chaos of addition. how to get from a to b to c is nowhere in the alphabet anymore, nor do i even know what letter i am racing towards. but i keep racing. and i keep walking. and i keep dancing. i keep dancing towards pools of light and the love that pills in and out of them. i keep dancing towards the alphabet and the hope of making a word that can be read. i try to remind myself what it is i am trying to build. i try to understand what it is I am trying to build, for that matter. i flood towards the light and hope my moth wings turn into butterfly’s wings. or hope that i am contented enough to be a moth.

minucia by minucia

maybe there isn’t anything definitive – just balls of light and energy and what you make of them and may be all we are given is the gift of light between bodies and then you can contort it and shape it and work on the work of evolving and speaking the right words into existence and letting your words be magic // words shape your consciousness your perspective ;; perhaps we are all just consciousness and perspective and that little tiny neuron battle that we fight to choose the right choice is the whole of our life and it’s in the minucia; it’s in meditation; it’s in letting go; in the small, small choices we make on a daily basis; on a minute by minute basis; and yet somehow there are no choices at all and love is a force of light pushing forwards and near and quarks  and gravity and strong and weak electromagnetic forces and pulling things and we pull through them and that is all really that fate or God is – just these forces pulling on and around and through and we go through them and push upon then; we are acted upon by them; we are part and parcel of it; We are the universe perceiving itself // and yet we have inertia; we have momentum; we have will; we can do better; we can evolve; we can make the better choices every day; minute by minute, minucia by minucia – we can change the world with our consciousness – because we are consciousness – we are gratitude, grace; what we give, what we forgive, what we let go of, the way we perceive and the way we allow ourselves to change;; perceptions are the mind and we are also not just the mind -we are the mind and the body connection and we are the forces; the balls of light

there are no choices;; there is no right path; there is just a path unfolding / there is no wrong choice you can make; there is just what is presented to you and what you can learn from it and how you can grow from it; you can challenge yourself; and somehow when I really pay attention I am always being given something that I really truly need to learn (sometimes it’s chaos) and sometimes it’s clear in front of me and sometimes it is wild and clouded; sometimes the path towards growing up and growing outwards ; towards evolving and towards being your best self is a complicated jagged one that doesn’t make sense until it makes sense;; sometimes the path towards your life is chaos and magic and confusion and mystery and sitting right in front of you (but all we perceive is the tiny steps we take) — and the mystery makes it all

and the mystery makes it all


and a new year. sacred day; sacred turning of the wheel for me.

to 2018. to west side story. a crusty old back room at the kelsey theatre. to san diego and seals on the shoreline of the pacific. to spring awakening and breaking my foot. to purple light washes and love. to the death of my grandfather and einsten. to ohio. to taking refuge. to our 10th anniversary. to may, glorious may. my birthday, my world full to the brim. to all my sons, langhorne little theatre and hair pin curls. to police in the late of night. to frendly gathering, nahko, vermont, roadtrips, june air, june bugs. to american idiot, and the crazy little room in the back of trenton social. to all the bursting of love, love, love. creation and chaos in the backroom. to august and adventures and upstate new york, and maryland and long island and more love. to growing and learning. to jamie turning 4. to death by chocolate. to the philly fringe festival. to september – back to school, class at princeton, performing spoken word. to curtains. music mountain theatre, lambertville, laughing with karl, dancing my ass off. to spain. birthday rainbow for halloween. to keeping jamie, protecting him, facing the dragon. to lion in winter. back to actorsnet, michael, matt, friendship, love, hardship, fighting through. to christmas, snuggled in a bed with my two brothers. new years, trouncing through the streets of philadelphia with old friends and new. to love, to love, to growth, to activity, to movement, to writing, to creation, to dancing, to acting, to giving, to receiving, to working on an inner practice, to making friends, to keeping friends, to loving the world, to the pain of the world, to the hope of the new day, the new year, the new possiblities. to changes and stability and ups and downs and ins and outs and the new, the new, the endless unfolding and rooting. to the rooting down, the growing out, the growing up, the learning in, the loving in all directions. the loving in all directions. to the light in all directions.

to building

like flame i catch disease; i catch bones in my eyes, i swallow heart for breakfast — like love i capsize on occasion;;

i try to find compassion for you, find the most human parts — i look past the brittle surface — i find the motivation for your movement, for your callousness and corrosive words — i look past the fudgey lines of the way we all present, the forms we all form in – i try to see the best in you, in each, in all

up and out and away – i hope for the glow of creation, for everyone, at all times / the past few weeks and months have reminded me of what i really want – love for the other, compassion, creation for everyone, self-actualization for everyone, and the manifestation of what sets us all alight, so that we may all glow – that we may all inspire one another, so that we can all create more beautiful, more meaningful things together. sure, it’s easy to call me too idealistic, but this is the one of the only things that truly matters – all becoming alive together – a world full of people that are fully alive and full of light and love

to building that world

little everythingbox

my heart, it’s always about my little water wheel of a heart; little flutterby, caging wings and servicing kings; little wind chime chiming out of tune; little everythingbox containing more matter than could possibly matter to one person // little everythingheart i cannot be stopped; i thump towards the horizon; dragging myself through the wretched air and the branches that peel themselves from their leaves ;; bringing themselves solidly and singularly back to the surface of themselves – the utter indistinguishable truth of their barrenness – blank page on the sky’s horizon, aimless arrows in all directions — pointing everywhere, leading nowhere, aching endlessly — like my little heart, it’s always somehow a metaphor about my little heart

little gratefulness tune — i keep myself above the water, i take the high road, i ride the tumult of waves, i peel through your pressure, i promise myself the life without judgment of ridicule or mean-spiritness, i promise myself the higher light within shining, i glaze right past your glare ;; i love through the rotten air ;; i punish myself enough ;; i get stuck in my own head enough ;; i recognize my own mistakes, i pray endlessly to know my own faults better and with more veracity and honesty

and still the glow of eyes on eyes and words laying on top of words thrills my facile brain, still the pump and pummel of the stage curls my toes in my shoes and sends my spine serpentine and satiated — still i love the creation, the joy of meaning in words and the fullness of emotion in implication // still i love the full-bodied rapture of the thing, the way the body feels against all the motions, emotions, fabrics, wooden benches and handles of pewter // still i love the full-bodied rapture of the thing

towards wholeness

“Later,
if you have endured a great despair,
then you did it alone,
getting a transfusion from the fire,
picking the scabs off your heart,
then wringing it out like a sock.
Next, my kinsman, you powdered your sorrow,
you gave it a back rub
and then you covered it with a blanket
and after it had slept a while
it woke to the wings of the roses
and was transformed.”
and your rage like a fire in my throat; my twittering bird’s wings fluttering in the shade of your black temple. i stand, the firmament / you rattle the cage // the meanness of intention slicing through the atmosphere / daggers displacing gravity and the molecules in motion around me

i lean in to the friction of the light, the courage of boldness in my bones that reaches towards the higher self, towards the deeper love, towards the love we all must have for one another. i find that love never fails, in any human, body or blanket of cells / i reach towards friendship, towards the lust of reconnecting atoms flying away from one another in space / i reach towards breath, i reach towards myself / i find myself staring back at the end of my hand, myself, myself. you’re okay, bundle of atoms. i pray towards wholeness, towards people that lift other people up, towards finding the best in one another, in each other’s words, in each other’s intentions, i pray towards wholeness.

lift each other up

 

“They sang don’t waste your hate
Rather gather and create
Be of service, be a sensible person
Use your words and don’t be nervous
You can do this, you’ve got purpose
Find your medicine and use it”

alight

and here the ice rattles towards me like a promise. here the tree sparkles its ancient eyes like flecks of gold and silver hulking away from the branch. and here i see you again. and here i see you again. and here the minutes that live inside of my eyes pass like endless webs – like a melody in reverse, back again, back again, the words akimbo, like soft soldiers looking for a war. and here i break towards a new day, towards an endless horizon; here your eyes are like a patchwork of ash and curled nevers; stuck inside the sideways partitions between seats in a row; here you lie inside the little theatre of my heart, forever playing scenes we’ll never write

but the delivery of these half-imagined lines still kills me

DYFS in the dining room. whoever thought my life would get here? whoever thought i would be inside of these kinds of days? whoever thought my life would unfold like this – a bag of marbles and a rolling set of ramps and bridges — i submerge myself in the bathtub, all the way under the water, i know not how this day arrived on my doorstep // i peel back my curtains, i know not what i am supposed to do, but place one foot in front of another forever and ever, thanking each day for each splay of beautiful moments, thanking the light inside Jamie’s eyes for still glowing, thanking my feet for knowing how to walk, feeling my skin getting thicker every year, every day, every crisis / there is always more life coming for you, and there is always more strength within you you haven’t met yet /

i pray to keep you safe, little one, i pray you will not be damaged, you will know wholeness, you will not be afraid, you will not cower, you will not flinch upon approach, i pray you will stay alight through the dark night and all the flames ahead

some amount of neon

three years at the same seat, the same pearled purple and green smashes across the glass as the cars wheel by, the midnight glow of horns and guitar strings, some harmonica no one has learned how to stop playing, some amount of neon that always glows — bliss game and a furrow of brows getting older, getting wiser, getting deeper in the depth; in the art of the world flowing by — you tell us you’ve written something new, you curl your brilliance through a voice pipe, out through the parade of bones dancing in the right order, through the finger army of musical esplanade — we clap, it is the only feeble jungle we know how to enter — we know not how to trace the elegant animal from the line of brilliance to the fuse of firelight and kindling, we see only the flame, we eat only light – all evening long we soak in each other’s fever dreams ; we fill up each other’s sutures with imagined melodies ; a wish for an unending splash of fleeting light – the sparkle puddle electrified in the misty autumn pavement rain – the glow of 1am filling the gutters with a gulp of dreamtime nightflesh : sputters and splatters of all the condesencing condensation of the consideration of conspiracy, coalescence and consciousness;; we here keep hearing, keep listening, keep creating long after the night has turned to morning, long after the clock tells us to tuck in for the night; we here keep hearing each other; keep making in the morning light

to many more years of making, and letting the night turn to morning, and morning turn in to new dawns, new dreams, new songs