Today I read some truth about being a human and wanted to share this with you to inspire:
- Growth is a process of trail and error, experimentation. The 'failed' experiments are as much a part of the process as the experiment that ultimately works.
- There is no part of life that does not contain its lessons. If you are alive, there are lessons to be learned.
- When your 'there' has become 'here' you will simply obtain another 'there' that will, again look better than 'here'.
SCREWED FOREVER
Friday, August 31, 2012
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Whoever
you are, wherever you are … I’m starting to think we’re a lot alike. Human
beings wanting to be seen, touched, heard, paid attention to.
In the
last year or 3 I’ve screamed at my creator. Screamed at clouds in the sky. For
some explanation. Mercy maybe. For piece of mind to rain like manna somehow. 4
summers ago, I met somebody. I was nearly 30 years old. He was too. He bought a
summerhouse on the other side of the lake. My yearly peaceful escape was
interrupted by his presence. We
spend that summer, and the summer after together, every day almost, sharing
life stories, reading, staring at the quite skies. And on the days we were
together, time would glide. Most of the days I’d see him and his smile, I’d
hear his conversations and his silence, even when he was on his side of the
lake. It even felt like I was sharing sleep with him. By the time I realized I
was in love it was malignant, it was hopeless, there was no escaping, no
negotiating with the feeling. No choice. It was my first love. It changed my
life. Back then my mind would wonder to the men I had been with. The ones I
cared for and thought I was in love with. I reminisced about the sentimental
songs I enjoyed when I was younger. The ones I played when I experienced a
boyfriend for the first time. I realized they were written in a language I did
not yet speak. I realized too much too quickly.
Imagine
being thrown from a plane. I wasn’t in a plain though. I was in my Pontiac
Firebird ready to leave. The same car I packed up with bags and drove to Los
Angeles every last weekend of every August. I sat there and told my friend how
I felt. I wept as the words left my mouth. I grieved for them, knowing I could
never take them back for myself. He patted my back. He said kind things. He did
his best, but he wouldn’t admit the same. He had to go back inside soon. It was
late and his girlfriend was waiting for him upstairs. He wouldn’t tell me the
truth about his feelings for me for another 3 years. I felt like I’d only
imagined reciprocity.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
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Monday, July 23, 2012
"Warrior" Eric LeGrow
Sitting above a
crossbar of steel, high above the roaring New York, so staggering a view, I
knew a man, though he was not my friend. He stayed isolated from the group,
working the harder jobs along the trim steel, hauling wires and jumping rails,
as if he dared God to let him slip. When the boys ate their lunches hundreds of
feet above the solid concrete, he drank from a small silver flask, the only
sustenance we ever saw him ingest. But that man, alone atop the blaring city,
rivaled the memory of Hercules.
Watching him work, you could image him beating raw ore into form. A brute who a thousand years ago would have been hailed a God, only to be the grunt, the fat ant doling out his life. Knowing him made me scoff at TV; boxing, bare knuckle, even famed blood sports paled in comparison.
Watching him work, you could image him beating raw ore into form. A brute who a thousand years ago would have been hailed a God, only to be the grunt, the fat ant doling out his life. Knowing him made me scoff at TV; boxing, bare knuckle, even famed blood sports paled in comparison.
One night with my wife I sat eating
quietly in a diner adjacent to a club notorious simply for the patrons who
frequented. Out of the blue He came, flask peaking out of his jeans. His eyes
took sight of the club and he gave a roar, his body launching him through the
door. Gunshots fired, quickly overpowered by the sound of fists packing meat
into the floor. I watched as minutes later he poured out of the door, his chest
slipping blood from entry holes, his fist still gripped tight to one man’s
neck.
In the Moment
I close my
eyes and reminisce on this moment...Time stops.
The
smell, the sounds, the emotions feel so alive.
These images
resonate through my mind, echoing.
Serenity, peace,
tranquility. I am home.
Love is my reality.
At this moment it
surrounds me.
It overwhelms me.
I see it in his
eyes. I feel it in his touch.
I’m scared and yet
I feel safe.
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