I can’t believe how the sacred finds me. How the sacred colored hues of the earth and the sky peel towards me like an entire history written and rewritten without words. I can’t believe the stretch of ocean beneath my feet. The rattle claw lobster head of the cloud jetty that is seizing towards me on the horizon — the endless sacred unfolding that twirls around in a circle with the rotation of the earth, not forwards on some blind, human line. It goes around on an axis, the wheel of this life, you silly thing. Not a linear line. We need more strange shapes to our stories, words, conscious expressions. We need more of that place beyond the words. We need more of the indescribable color of the history of the world sitting on the horizon each night at sunset. Those answers. Those answerless answers which hug the mystery tight and see the words written right in front of our faces. We need more recognition that we created our language – arbitrary, pulling sounds out of the wind and the way our mouth shaped against the air that bounced off the rocks around us. We need more acquiescence to the rhythm of bottomless song.
nothing i can say but a thousand metaphors for my aching heart; the riptide; my savaged insides — the ravaging; the raging /
nothing here but bad poetry; and the outline of your face against mine, just waiting endlessly for the other shoe to drop — and now the shoes – a pile in my front yard / my piercing dreams of you – more real than any collection of coins i’ve ever totaled together
// and ow, again, right through my heart; palpable
funny how death can make spring feel cold and mute ;; the color is still there but not registering anything // the flowers still beautiful but only registering a melancholy of what he’s missing // the numb impossibility of grasping the present
At times thoughts are very far away from one another; you stare at the ground or out the window with no words coming at all — just blank;, you feel carved from the inside;, your interior spooned out like a melon;, scraped off the sides until there is only shell (and thin at that)
time slows, wheels back like an accordion, fumbles for the door keys. memories crystallize in the moment, no longer present but past, all changing colors and meaning now, now the only last strands to grasp, now an array in a timeline which has a finite point at the end, now a riddle of human love splayed backward out of order;; the brain is clogged by memory, by questions, by filling in the blanks;; the sounds screech, the colors blow out, the feeling of the wind on your cheek feels immense; tangible — then the crash;; the grappling numbness — a rapture firming inside your bones, dead-faced, stone-cold, energy at an all-time low. molasses feet, your flesh carrying so much weight. then the rippled laughter at some little memory. then the tears just rushing; oxygen, oceanic, somehow endless — how is there this much water in your face? how do your eyes have this many tears behind them? how is it so easy / how is it so hard to stop them // then the guttural sounds: ugly, ratcheded breathing, the ache in the chest, the stomach;; the flipping — the waking up feeling, the remembering again feeling;; then the nagging guilt, then the flashes of anger;; then the wheel repeats. then i feel you in the light, the breeze, the air, the chlorophyll, and i know you’re free. and i know you’re peaceful, joyous, rapturous. but still the endless unreality pierces through the circles and cycles, the unstoppable, unbeatable tears, the swells of emotion, the plateaus of nothingness, the firmness of gravity bearing down on your body. your body. your body. and the rip in our space-time hearts. the searing tear.
no more deaths to drugs. no more lost friends. no more tattoos to keep permanent what has danced in and out of view. no more, no more. friends, where does it begin and end?
and then time means nothing. accomplishment means nothing. the only thing that matters is the grace he gave, the love he gave, the light, the support, the inspiration. and all our ego climbs seem empty and worthless. the number of years means nothing, the endless strive towards the future. all that matters is the present, the love, the giving, the creating of community, the reaching out. and he did all of that. everyday. so there is nothing but success in his story. there is nothing but beauty in his memory. and now we begin the immense climb towards the light. towards the creation of something in his image, with his inspiration. to live like that, to build community like that, to be focused on others like that. let’s try, let’s try.
i love you forever. i’d like to be inside your arms one more time. love never dies. and love multiplies endlessly. you become everything now, you give everything now, everyone should be shaken open by love now. and your work goes on and on. love and community. we’ll remember. and we’ll give it around and around. let’s build. let’s love. forever.
the heart that tears at the seams;; peels and purges itself — the heart that batters the rain, weathers the veins of the earth, peers through every open ventricle – vehicular everything;; finely tuned manner of mannerless measurements towards the manic love of living — with fresh air and fresh dirt beneath me
but you, everlastingly in front of me — the pain of the sidewalk everlastingly spreading in all directions
Of course, she says,
No other way could this possibly have ended
No other way could my heart feel the bitter taste of regret so violently
Other than you dropping the phone at the end of the line,, an endless plastic line of webbing drawing all of the fools to the table
You didn’t do anything wrong, you say; I say
I capsized first you, drawing the end of the life raft towards you like a blanket — I always knew I say;; your words tip like the finality of a star feeding itself with its own fire — the metaphors are strong here, the words are weak; the magnetic force is quantum;; neverending and pink
Of course, my heart would butterchurn and evaporate at the sound of your footsteps walking away- how could I never not always know that? Of course, my mind would splinter cell and cut all the corners ;; how could that not be laced into my DNA?
And this trauma too – will it too be laced into my DNA? Passed down the endless line? When do the chromosomes bend back in armor and fold over in rebellion- new patterns and arrangements the strongest fight there is;; when does it wash out?
my insides melt like acid rain, the fire of being close to the horizon of your love like a heart attack in space — my oxygen like an every present stagnation of brittle air on caustic lungs — the folded lifetime between us getting smaller again — I cannot take this many lost lifetimes, my heart cannot bear this much battering ,; my heart flings clusters of ventricles into the cosmos, into the meteoric heart crash of another one burning up in the atmosphere;; into the radioactive pull of memories ;; the laceration that laughter makes on the atmosphere – the joy that glitters out of pancaked faces and half-guaged jokes at something jarring — an instant; the instantaneous transformation of the climate — the radical shift in the tilt in the earth’s axis when you tell me a combination of simple words ;; the way the ocean floor sinks 500 feet deeper into the earth’s crust every time I remember ,, my little old heart cant handle much more
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
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.
what height, what height this light comes streaming through the window, the full-bodied pulse of the collapse of ego; the golden light of the winter day peeling through the atmosphere – the surface of my brain a foggy chapter of promises and gifts – the love i have to give like an army in my chest, ready to march — i, a small winter bottle of light and branches — sky, just let me see the sky — love, just let me feel my heart inside my body;; pumping blood, like so many fangs of the sky tilting forwards – reaching towards clouds, towards the flesh of the air made manifest in me — i, a little buzz of love;; i, a little question never knowing the answer;; i, a foolish warrior endlessly rowing ashore, towards the hope i am not forever blind
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.
they were all here for a moment; for an elapsed, shoe-string collapsed moment – pulled between two parcels of stardust in the universe – family hung like a decadent ornamentation — laughter, brotherhood — not all of us, but the ones still ready to laugh // the day clung like taffy – elongated; elegant, hazy and covered in light – twinkled words, ageless tucked prayers to the moment hung under ever dazzled evergreen — evergreen, it was evergreen; golden hued and pearlescent // i love my family, i love the memory of everything we’ve ever been crashing in to one another over and over again;; i don’t know what i have done to deserve such a family : i don’t know what i have done to deserve so many useful parts clanging against one another in harmony — i know only that i am grateful and that my life should be a love song to this gratitude i have inside — to the wonder of magic that clings to every dappled bit of atomized oxygen around me // and jamie, the little ball of laughter and light, mopped with angel hair and giggling all through the night, dousing me in kisses and perfect words ; the grace of my life, the thing i am most grateful for — thank you for this day, for all of the days that have led to this day, for the year unfolding with unbelievably beautiful wings, for graciousness, for kindness, for care, for brotherhood, and for motherhood – a merry christmas to all, and to all – dappled haziness and the magic of love and how it feels pressed against your ribcage – to all ribcages opening endlessly – if only for a moment (a small, elapsed eternity)