on occasion
if the moon is in just the right phase
if the balance of lucidity and calm
mesh with the spirits of the other dimensions
i am able to find and pull the veil of stars to one side
entering the forest of dreams
this is where the conscious mind's governor is removed
and the capabilities of one's imagination is set free
this is where the true domain of thought in conjunction
with the buried brain come alive, awaken
i am without time
without restriction of sound
i am in my truest form
until the nightmare returns

my heart so dark as to shadow thee
I seeketh shade from the opaque
rest thy soul neath a linden tree
smell the life in Grasmere lake

in thy rest a lass wanders by
she chats me up a bit
I see her face as clear as sky
yet something does not fit

she whispers me a lovely rhyme
then turns and bids farewell
'I've loved you since the dawn of time
through heaven and through hell'

she disappears like a foggy mist
in the wake of a rising Sun
our hearts were merged in that first kiss
for a thousand years we've run

it is always nights like this, where everything is so quiet you can hear beneath the absolute threshold, when i begin to wonder if i am going mad. technically, if one were truly losing their mind, they wouldn’t take much notice to the clarification that their reality is nothing but intricate lies spun by their brain.

pushing onwards within the dark, i can feel it. a whisper of a dance in memory slices gracefully across my cheek. the hungry caress of a lost lover. it is a random number between three and four, counting the days of sleepless solitude; as my lover is playing tricks on me.

it is just before dawn. the house breathes and groans like a wretched soul trapped in a bottomless pit long before midnight. in the gray morning light, delicate wrists stained with ink serve as maps through a desolate labyrinth. “lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate.”

from the corner of my eye i see shadows of uncharted men that feed upon the protective covering, encasing us; separating our world from theirs. the barrier is a shield at best, yet doorway at worst.

try to detach your eyes from their persistent, wandering gaze; and you might just catch a glimpse of a shadow gliding out of sight.

don’t second guess yourself sweetheart, you know exactly what you saw.

shadowy figures slightly out of reach, but still quite visible – gliding silently amidst, whispering quietly to those surrounding. looking directly at the figures, a gauzy lace veil delicately masks and covers each shadow.

unseen claws shred the thin barrier before it is tattered and torn. one by one, little by little, each figure sharpens into perfect visual acuity, wholly in sigh(t). as you slowly inch back, eyes unblinking with disbelief, their voices are no longer whispers.

the gaping pits of opened mouths drown you in hollow prattles, screeching rasps; the cruel high pitched icy sneers of laughter.

petrified with terror and shock at the shadow’s newfound ability to speak, you acutely notice that the house is creaking and wheezing. you can hear footsteps on the opposite side of the house, and with your eyes averted, they are gone.

with this, you must take into consideration that i have spent far too long with eyes wide shut, drowning in utter fear fueled by morbid curiosity for this world: things seen and heard. each is a cancerous tumor mutilating my mind beyond repair.

to me, the shadow figures’ tattered veil appears to be a doorway, a portal to another universe. this sheer possibility spawns the magnitude of infinite and parallel universes.
much like the shifting hallways concealed in an e(in)ternal labyrinth.

amidst this never ending maze, man is forced to wander blindly from birth to death; where he then circles back around to his exact place of previous conception, only to be born anew. condemned to blindly roam and repeat his unbroken cycle for all eternity.

in this labyrinth we are all gods, we are all monsters. each creation story is universal, yet individual to each new life.

the sinner and the saint are both born into divinity.

November 26th, 2010.

on the fringes of desolation and delusion.

this is myself at my most naked. my most vulnerable. this is the raw, berating honesty.

I remember this event in its entirety.
this was the peak of my downfall, the climax of my psychosis.

this piece was scribbled frantically during the fact, in a tiny red journal, as I watched this abhorrent atrocity unfold in the darkness that surrounded me.

this is not fiction. yet I cannot tell you with utmost certainty that this wasn't real.

Do you know what we men love, ladies?

We love the raisins in our apple pie
when we just want apple pie
We love the broccoli in every dish
how you beg 'just give it a try!'

We love the fortune in toiletries
so there's no room for our combs
perfumes, shampoos and body creams
blow dryers, curlers and foams

We love how you sneak to the bathroom
just prior to us awaking
we plea for you to hurry
as our bladders are sorely aching

We love to join you shopping
and discuss the cashier's hair
and if we happen to like it
do we tell you...do we dare?

but most of all we love you
for the biggest, most valuable perk
is the motivation you provide
to get our asses off to work!

all in fun! Oops...I hadn't even realized that CDK was responding to another 'About Men'...that'll teach me to read the notes!! LOL

he'd always been a sleeper
to that he would admit
never less than 8 a night
and then he'd snooze a bit

his love of sleep found him sleeping more
9, 10, 11
the alarm was useless to him
his dreams were that of heaven

but his health began to suffer
his weight began to slip
napping more, eating less
his mind had lost it's grip

he checked in with his doctor
then a sleep disorder shrink
they gave him meds and special beds
so he began to drink

11 turned to 12
and twelve to 17
he only woke to have a drink
in the wasted time between

tuesdays were quickly fridays
just blurs when he awoke
catch his ghostly figure
in the bathroom as he'd choke

the gap was slowly closing
the last stitch in the seam
he'd stepped into his perfect story
his neverending dream

they found him with a book of poems
and a grin though he'd been taken
he'd circled in ink the final passage
'never to awaken'

something that came to mind after I caught myself sleeping too much

If the sadness will
last forever,
than I will paint it,
because after
the melancholy
there are silent voices,
humming in my hands,
urging me
to draw the first line,

I have art and poetry,
a belief in a god
who is neither stuffed
or hangs depressingly on
kitchen walls,

I will keep good
look forward
not backwards with
I will love
each person

I will hope,
and hope
and draw stiches
across the borders
that separate us,

just so many hearts
all beating,
all bleeding,
all of us holding
our breath,
all of us waiting for death,

so many people,
silent paintings,
murals of suffering,
coloured black with
their diluted

so many people
who make colours look alive,
that grew in houses filled with

stars that made us dream

they give me courage.

they keep me alive.

and there you are
walking into another lost dream
your whispers and gentle smile
touching the memories  
I hold dear

like the dream
our time was brief
you turn and walk away as you did
40 years ago
you wanted more from me
another day
another week
and perhaps I would have realized
that I truly loved you
but we know how cruel time can be
and I let you go

I awaken to your image
fading quickly
and I decide to find you
maybe to ask forgiveness
maybe to beg

but I am too late
and you have left me
only to be found
in my dreams
in my sorrow

We make decisions in our lives that may seem of little importance at the time, only to realize the immensity later. like the song...I let her go...and regret it to this day. I looked for her again recently, only to find she had passed away in 2009. A punch to the soul that I will never fully recover.
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