Been punched and knocked down
Been spun right and left and all around
stood up and i looked him right in the eyes
Gonna beat you - Gonna catch you by surprise.
Gonna **** you right here
Gonna shock you, gonna make you disappear.

I walked into the ballroom - surrounded by tuxedos and long revealing gowns. An orchestra was playing a song from Our Town. People stood together, as if protected from their fate. I looked towards the door, but I knew it was too late.
Too late to leave, too early to stay.

Play me that sad song the one we used to play.
Song called, "Evergreen" from another lifetime ago. Do you remember the way I held you as we danced so slow.

Where are you - is it too late for you to get here?
Is it too soon for you to believe?
I can see you standing against the wall - would you like to dance with me?

A piano is playing, an older man tickling the keys. playing a song for dancing, playing a song for you and me.

"Touch me in the morning..." We stood close together, through the window we can see the stormin'.
"Then just walk away..." Your arms around my neck, my arms around your waist.
"We don't have tomorrow..." I kiss your lips, I feel your tongue...
"But we had yesterday..." The piano stops and the orchestra is silenced.

The doors open and we walk our as one - tuxedos and long revealing dresses, piano man and the storm.

I put my arm 'neath yours - you place your head on my shoulder. The orchestra begins to play a song as we walk through the doors. The music fades as we walk in the rain - we walk towards a tree and we stand beneath it. The roots of our love keeping us warm - keeping us close.

Lightening and then Thunder - striking 100 times for you and me. While the old man sits by the piano - playing that old song for you and me.

Together through life - each other's stories run together like the days and nights of our time...our tree has blossomed and its growing so fast - if we don't have tomorrow our yesterday will keep our memory alive forever.

The tall man placed his hat on the table by the backdoor. Rubbed his hands together to warm them from the

cold, turned the kettle into a cup that was left on the counter - sipped it and felt the warm coffee flow down his throat.
In walked Bill with his notepad in hand and pen behind his ear. He smiled at Abe and sat by the table.

"Love this hat Abraham." He chuckled.

"Well thank you kindly." Abe replied as he swept it away suspiciously. "Don't think I have disposed of the memory of the last time you complimented my stovepipe."

In came Jack laughing, "How can anyone forget that!"

"Oh great here he is 'three initial man.' Hey Jack, how are the crops shaping up?"

"Oh you should come out with me for dinner Abe, I am having dinner with three shapely crops tonight at Maxwell's Plum."

"I am fine, take this bard with you so that he can stop writing and live a bit."

"Come on Abe you act as if you are scared of the women or maybe you are just scared of the possibility of feeling a sense of that strange and alien emotion you seem to be allergic to - happiness."

"I am not a coward, gentlemen."

“A most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise breaker, the owner of no one good quality.”

"Here he goes again quoting himself."
"The whole world, for over 500 years have been misquoting me or quoting me at the most inappropriate moments. Scenes of stupidity being played on stages at every second of the day. I, dear sir, have an unlimited license to quote myself at any moment."

"Always bear in mind that your own resolution to succeed, is more important than any other one thing." Lincoln responded.

"I know that...you said that in some letter to another. So now you are quoting yourself?"

"As Bill over here stated - I have been quoted, misquoted and my words contorted in order to rationalize acts of evil, acts of stupidity or acts of callousness. I may as well quote myself even if it is permissible by you three initial man."

"Jack, I don't feel like going tonight and I feel it is my choice to make."

"A man does what he must - in spite of personal consequences, in spite of obstacles and dangers and pressures - and that is the basis of all human morality."

Silence.

"What, I can't quote myself?"

So sad, flying away and leaving home.
So sad, saying goodbye to my only one.

Who will hold me when I feel alone.
Who will caress me and kiss me at home?
Who will look me in the eyes and open her arms?

The window is open and the time is now.
To dream about forever and forget about now.
Through the fields of flowers and the roads of cracks.
We can live our lives tomorrow and never look back.

I know you feel this way too - far away from you.
I guess that's why they call it the blues.
When you are no beside me I cannot choose.
Between smiling or crying - smiling always will lose.

The window was left open and a cold wind was blowing.
There were no birds singing, no crows crowing.
Nothing but the blood stains upon my shoes...
A tear fell and I thought, I guess that's why they call it the blues.

Somewhere in time there is a song playing, a well dressed man and a lady in a gown are dancing slowly in rhythm to the music. There is a live band playing that song - all of the members are dressed in a tuxedo and the piano player is singing. Somewhere in time.

Somewhere there are horns honking, sirens blaring in the distance and a couple in a taxi in the city, heading uptown. New York City - as if there is any other place in the world that can call itself "The City." Outside there is snow softly floating, the temperature is falling and the night is coming on way too soon. On the radio is a memory disguised as a song. He takes her hand and holds it tight. A tear falls from her eyes and he catches it with his kiss.

In another place - somewhere in time - there are children playing in a park, on a spring day, dogs and baseball catches, the sound of a lone performer singing a James Taylor song as lovers walk hand in hand. A central park unlike any other - Can you hear the music?

Somewhere in tune with time, where sweet memories are made, there is a child who is now an elderly man. He is struggling to remember just who he is, once was and if there will ever be a moment in time when he remembers clearly...

But there was a moment in time when he would walk straight, with inner music leading the way - music of love, joy and faith. There was a moment in this vast universe when he changed the course of the stars, made the sun shine even brighter and made the world a better place to be. Cooled the summer and warmed the winter - soft hugs and kisses and music all around. He made the choruses sing and the children laugh...Can you hear the music?

There was a moment in time when he would stand by a window, sweating, accomplished as his children each sang their own songs, moved to their own rhythm, each one leading their own way - yet always united as one.

There was a moment in time when he felt as if he was 'the man.' Just a moment when he felt a happiness, though fleeting it was felt and that moment he replays each time he lays in bed to sleep. Music and rhythm of love.

Autumn - leaves have completely left their trees, the branches are bare and the sun goes down way too soon. Cool evenings, a glow from the TV and shadows on the wall of someone walking - not sure if its past, present or future.

In the valley by the riverbed there is a sole soul sitting on a rock. He looks around him and the hills are filled with people, family, friends and strangers...the sun has just risen and a new day is beginning.

In another room there is a lady shedding tears surrounded by the love they created. She remembers the taxi ride and the way he kissed her tears away...the songs they danced to and the songs they sang out loud - somewhere in time they will be dancing again.

If you listen closely, put down all distractions - you can feel the rhythm. Close your eyes, let go and listen. Can you hear the music playing?

Lone pianist, playing softly and slowly. He's playing a song he once played, long ago...or was just yesterday? He plays the song and is back in time - slow dancing, tuxedos and laughter.

Listen for the music and you will find your way.

She walked up the stairs, swiped her metro card and made her way up the stairs to the platform. As she walked towards the front end so she could get on the second car of this F train headed to Manhattan, she felt the cold winter wind snap at her. Pulled up her collar and wrapped her arms around herself bracing for the cold.

She was wearing blue jeans with boots over them – a small black ski-jacket with a red scarf. Her hair, shoulder length blonde was covered by a knit cap, also black.

It was the 5th or 6th month of her working at the Union Square Barnes and Noble. She still wasn't even sure what her role was there, her title was “Music Manager” yet there were two other “Music Managers” there as well. She enjoyed working there because she loved to see so many people enjoying the books, music and the other stuff that they sold there. She also loved to sit during her breaks and read. She loved to read anything that was written around the 1920’s. F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, Gertrude Stein, T.S. Eliot, Edith Wharton, and so many more.

She had always felt “different” from her peers and this caused her to find herself alone some nights watching TV or forcing herself to write on her blog.

Julia was 26 years old and had graduated from Kingsborough College 4 years earlier. She had thought about graduate school but then realized that she really wasn't interested in any specific degree or even future.

She had been diagnosed with depression back when she was 16 years old. She had never tried to **** herself nor hurt herself but would spend too much time in her room and away from any social life.

When she was 18 and a freshman at college she fell in love with Mitchell, a senior with four different girlfriends and a future as a politician. When she found out about one of his other girlfriends she broke up with him. It was a couple of nights later that she found out about the others while browsing through Facebook. The fact that she had been so blind and naive to not even catch any clue that he was actually dating 3 other girls, hurt more then the loss of having him around. She was hurt and she closed herself off from any social life after that.

“It wasn't the fact that he was with the other girls, it was the fact that I was stupid enough to fall for someone like that. Thank God we never had *** – that would have really put me under.” She had told this to her therapist and the therapist only cared about asking her. “Why didn't you have ***?” She felt creeped out and stopped seeing him.

Her friends tried to bring her out of her slump but it was way above their ability. Love can heal all things but some wounds can only be soothed not healed.

The darkness in her room followed her  wherever she went.  It wasn’t until her 26th Birthday when she decided to go to see a different psychiatrist, a female Doctor this time. Towards the end of her first appointment it was suggested that she should begin taking medication. She felt she could help herself without taking any medication.
“When you feel you want to try them out you just let me know. We would begin with a very low dose…”

She saw the train in the distance approaching in its snail like pace. The wind, the cold and the clouds all conspiring to make it feel as if the train is at a standstill just two blocks or so away. Finally the train crawled in and came to a stop; the sound of the doors opening, the electronic ding-**** and the voice – “next stop Avenue N, stand clear of the closing doors.”

She finds a seat by the window of a two-seater row. She likes to look through the window and watch as the different scenes come into view and just as quickly disappear. It reminds her that her’s is not the only world that exists. That the world does not truly revolve around her. She watches as the train rolls along McDonald Avenue; school van picks up children, two people are sitting eating breakfast on a second floor apartment directly across from the train. She concocts different ideas of what they are conversing about – are they expressing happiness and love or are they scared and feeling alone?

She looks inside and sees an older man reading a hard cover religious book, perhaps the Talmud or something? Two seats to the left of him is a Haitian woman speaking on her cellphone in Creole – really loudly. He looks towards her and nods his head in disapproval. Down the way a large man sits eating with his jacket open revealing his sizable girth, as if in pride? he is downing a bagel and licking the cream cheese to avoiding it from spilling over. He has a Yoohoo chocolate drink in between his legs and is in some sort of comatose gorging ecstasy. A lady is applying makeup to her cheeks and when the train stops at Avenue N she draws her eyeliner pencil under her eyes – framing her Asian eyes with the imperfect blue she decided to use.

Avenue N and the doors open to a black man wearing a yarmulke and looking Jewish but for the color of his skin, in these parts at least. He is of Ethiopian descent and is Orthodox – she knows this because she once heard him speaking to another passenger on the train. A fifty-ish lady walks on and is, of course, on her phone giving orders to one of her children, it seems. Julia looks away and checks her phone – no alerts, no emails, no missed calls. “Next stop Bay Parkway.”

Across from her on the other side of the train, she can see the Verrazano Bridge and outside her window she can see thousands of graves lined up. She thinks about their lives – mothers, fathers – they were all once babies who needed to be fed, dressed and changed.

“Snap out of it! She tells herself.” She stood up as if to wash crumbs off of her clothing – shook a bit and sat back down again. She would not, could not allow the darkness to seep back in again. It always began with a thought…since she finally gave in and had been on meds for a little over a month, the fog had begun to lift a bit. A bit. The “low dose” had been doubled since her first week and now she began to “See a little clearer, is that one of the benefits?”
“You are seeing more clear because you are not running as fast as you used to. You are slowing down and able to live at a healthy pace. So now the colors you once defined as green, yellow and blue have a deeper meaning to you, am I right?”
“Yes, its as if I can focus now>”

She looked out the window, looked back into her bag and took her book out. “The Corrections,” she had yet to read it but loved the title. In her mind she had pictured it as someone in the middle of their life who decides to make “Corrections.” She was afraid to begin reading it because she knew it wasn’t about that, specifically, and preferred the definition in her head.

“I am making corrections these days.” She thought to herself.
The fact that she decided it was time for her to take the leap and swallow a pill once a day was proof in itself. “I want to be the best I can be, to enjoy life…” Lately she has been having vivid dreams – only to wake up, try to remember only to forget quickly.

The train goes underground and where once she would get anxious she now welcomed it as if an embrace.

“Too many stops to go until I find my way…” She heard a voice inside of her say, or sing? Or was that the lady behind her?

“Too many corrections to make within myself so I can even begin to find my way anywhere.” She thinks to herself as if answering someone.

“Corrections…yes…can it be as simple as that? Look within myself and accept what is wrong and right and make some corrections?”

She walked off the train at 14th Street and found her way upstairs and out onto 6th Avenue. She walked east towards Union Square and felt the cold air hitting her face – feeling like a pale of freezing water in the August heat.

She feels a bit more at ease and knows that there is a change happening and it could be from that small pill. A sense of hope, not full blown hope but a ray and that is more than she has felt in a long time.

She looks across Union Square and sees the celebrations of everyday life on display. Men painted in silver and gold, a clown dancing or riding in a small child’s bicycle, chess players lined up and waiting for challengers. People walking quickly chasing time trying to catch up or outrun it. Cold wind blowing pieces of paper high up – churning around and around.

She looks up, crosses the small street, smiles at the guard, opens the door and walks inside.

italicThere are countless stories of people in this world chasing memories, dreams or hopes that were once so vibrant – now laying dormant on the side of empty streets. Ghost towns where youth and optimism were once at play in the streets where dreams were erected only to fall in a lost battle against the ultimate thief – time. Julie turned out to be one of the happy stories in this world…she ended up meeting her cousin at the store that same day. He was with a friend of his named David – he smiled and she smiled back. Sometimes good things do happen and they happen when you least expect them to. She is still working on her corrections and has yet to even read the first page of the book.

Walking through these streets, Brooklyn New York, late October. There is a soft breeze blowing cool air, a lady walks her dog as she smokes a cigarette, a car alarm is blaring somewhere in the distance as the trees slowly, methodically rid themselves of the leaves and dreams of summer past.

October sounds; squirrels climbing rooftops, birds calling out songs and the chalkboard sound of the old man raking in the leaves.

A man walks across the street, staring down and then looking up. Looking within and then looking about; as the dreams of a long forgotten spring are amassed on the sidewalk by the old man.

O time, it stops and just goes forward at a pace we can never control. The seconds hand keeps on moving no matter whether the clock breaks or slows down – aint no controlling time in these times.

Gray hairs begin to accumulate as the darker strand seems to disappear – strength begins to be measured as will while the physical begins to fade.

Sun rises, sets and then begins once again. No death has ever stopped that from its dance.

I walked across the park towards the street to make my way to the platform where the trains come and go. I walk towards the platform and onto the train that takes me to my work space. “Cubicle mania – I wonder if that’s a legitimate craziness. Suppressing ones natural feelings and need to freedom and expression  - into staring into a screen and keeping ones voice down.”

I know you love me, I know you want me - but do you care?
I know you see me, I know you can hear me - but do you care?

What is it like to be you?
With your long legs and your soft *******?
How can you say "No" when you love me, can hear me and know how I feel when I ask?

March with me, let us sing songs and carry signs. Hold me, hold my hand let us chant healing words and walk into the light...arms locked.
March with me, in defiance of the hatred let us walk side by side. Look into my eyes and see that I am sincere, my heart cries out and my soul lives in fear.
March with me, not in front, not behind - but by my side...
As one...
As one...supporting the arm of Ms. Liberty...
Let me hold you as the cold wind begins to blow.
March with me my friend although no words have been exchanged.
Peace, love, acceptance and understanding...

Freedom

I want to live my life based on peace, love and understanding. I want to look into the eyes of strangers and not judge them, even a little bit, based on their religion, race or beliefs.  
I want to live a life based on love.  
To sing songs like, "All you need is love," or even "Masters of War" and believe wholeheartedly in the words I am singing.  
I want to fight for the innocent women and children being *****, killed or perhaps even worse, kept alive, starved for food, air and freedom, in a lifeless life. In an uncaring world.  

I want to tell my French friend that Jews do not dislike the French, that we do not begrudge the fact that 35% of the French people think "Jews today, in their own interest, exploit their status as victims of the **** genocide during WWII," and 25% stated that "Jews have too much power in the fields of economy and finance."  
I want to be proud of the President of the United States for leading the world towards a better world. I want to say that Islam is a religion based on Love. But tell that to the millions of people who have had their lives turned upside down by cold blooded ****** in the name of their prophet.  
I want to believe that it is religious extremism across the board needs to be addressed and discussed. But it is not religious extremism it is Islamic Extremism only, that has brought us to live in a world where fear and vigilance have become words that surround us on a constant basis.
I want to tell Israel to take down the walls, to just get over the murders, the bombs, the rockets and the destruction of peace in their lifetimes, in their homeland. (Which, by the way, is 1/19th the size of California.  It is only 260 miles at its longest, has a 112-mile coastline, 60 miles at its widest, and between 3 and 9 miles at its narrowest! Surrounded by land occupied by 22 Arab states 640 times the size of Israel.)  
I never wanted Israel to destroy Gaza; but no country in the world, hell, no person living in a home that is constantly being bombarded with an aim to destroy, would show as much restraint as Benjamin Netanyahu and the Israeli Army did.  
Freedom of speech, freedom of religion, freedom of ****** orientation. Freedom to assemble and to protest, to demonstrate and to mock or satirize anyone. That’s Israel.
Netanyahu, in his Christmas message to the Christians in Israel stated, "Here in Israel religious freedom is a sacred principle. Israel’s Christian citizens enjoy the full blessing of freedom and democracy. Their equal rights are enshrined in Israeli law."  
There are so many websites, news organizations and social site impostors who post and write about destruction caused by the U.S. and other democratic countries and equate them with the Islamic Jihadists and the Arab countries that bankroll them. There is a difference.  
The United States and its Allies are fighting against terror, against evil and against a ideology that is based on the destruction of all freedoms, lives and civilizations.  
The destruction of peace, love and understanding.  
I want to, I want to love all peoples.  
But more than that - I want to live, I want to be free from the vigilance and fear. I want to be free - and I believe that freedom should be fought for and should even be the excuse for war.  
I don’t want war - I really am a lover of all people. I want peace.  
But if it’s a choice between killing or being killed...I am going to do whatever it takes to live.  
A world without freedom, a world filled with fear and destruction is not a world that anyone should be part of.  

Freddyzalta.com

As I walk across the midnight streets, aglow from the earlier rainfall, I sense a sudden gust of fresh air coming from the north. I lift up my arms and I spin around, like a madman or a clown in a circus somewhere. I feel elated, I feel free and these feelings feel like an old friend I haven't seen in a decade or so.

The moon casts it shadow across my upright stance as I wait for the several cars to splash on past me, I hear an old tune inside my head, its a Dylan tune about a "Simple Twist of Fate." I think about the giant clock atop the bank on Park Street and I know that fate has not been kind to me or her.

There are no clouds up in the moonlit sky - just stars spread upon the face of heaven and forever.

I feel a sense of sadness and sense of hysteria entwined. I am full of emotional contradictions...passionate liquid running through my veins diluted with gelled indifference.

The moon is being covered by fast moving clouds and I sense the end of something that has yet to begin.

I walk across the park and I am lost...A red rose is pulled across the lane - petals pulled apart perhaps in she loves me, she loves me nots...

Love is forever if not forever love - its an emotion that leaves its impression and never goes away.

It begins with the birth of an emotion. Unsure of just what the nature of it you shrug it off and try to force sleep. Suddenly you are aware of your heartbeat...
Breathing becomes uneasy and suddenly sweat appears upon your brow and your upper lip. Throw off the cover and then you begin to shiver ever so slightly.
Your heart is beating and its like a pendulum only you feel as if it is speeding up as the tempo of your emotions begin to unravel.
You want to jump up, you want to disappear, you want to scream although you do not know what it is you fear.
A feeling of lying in a foxhole, dug up to hide from the enemy. You lay there cowering yet you have no idea just what, who or why you are cowering from.
A shadow casts upon the walls and you cover your face...Shaking, shaking now, are they coming for me?  
Suddenly you see yourself as if watching from an overhead camera. You are invisible and your inner thoughts are easily seen. There is a lone lightbulb hanging on a chain bringing a soft glowing false illumination. You are in a fetal position laying on a cot and your eyes are darting left, right, up and down.
You stand up but you fear your heart will explode, so you cautiously move across the floor. Invisible prison bars hold you captive, invisible emotions are driving you insane as you search for freedom.
A fly is circling around and you can hear it as it takes off and then lands, rubbing its arms together as if ready for a meal. Its in the air now  and flying in disorganized flight patterns. You can hear it clearly and you can see into its bulging eyes as it frantically searches...for what?
Your heart is so fragile and its beating to the rhythm of insanity and you are hot and sweating...you feel a breeze ever so slight and you begin to feel a sub zero chill and your teeth begin to chatter...you bury yourself in the covers and then feel the need to run, to run to freedom...you sense yourself running in a maze only you are still standing still.
The fly is stuck  on a fly ribbon now and I can see its wings attempting to take flight but its no use, its legs cemented into the trap. Still its wings continue to flap...as if he will be set free.
The lone light bulb begins to flicker and your heartbeat begins to slow down as you inhale the dusty stale air.
A tidal wave, a tornado, these millions of emotions stop me from moving. The prison bars are coated with oils of anxiety and fear, unable to be grasped, held or pulled apart. Like the fly I am waving my arms searching for help, for salvation, for freedom from this albatross that hangs over me.
Sleep will come and when the sun rises the bars will be open and the day will begin anew. But the scars will remain as souvenirs from a midnight captivity in a prison cell, in a fox hole, in a bed, encircled forever by the emotional demons that have plagued me.

Love blossoms, blooms like the buds on the branches across the botanical garden.
In may,  in new York,  it's sweating,  glowing and knows where you've been.
Love has no clear definition,  comfort,  needs,  wants. ..tears fall from love and love can make you sweat.  
Love fades like the colors on the leaves,  petals on the roses sun light to the evening.
Love returns like the leaves on the barren branches and the darkness of the night lit up by the rising sun.

Shaking, alone, missing her lips...
Shaking, under the covers missing her back...
Waking alongside her leaning inside her
Simple words - simple movements - passion is forever just don't let the flames turn to dust too soon.
Lips of fire - love or desire - is she looking at me or just staring?
Beauty is simple, desire is human but love is a blessing.
Don't waste it - don't destroy it - just be there and love.

Desire is quenched when your lips touch hers.
Love is a blessing, don't turn it into a curse.
Desire is a need to feel another heart beat.
Love is for you, for you and me.

I love you aren't just three words - they are admissions of surrender.
They are the 3 keys to unlock the inner self that we try too hard to conceal.
There is no feeling taken for granted such as love...

Remember the buds on the branches of ancient trees, remember the children born in a time of make believe.
Strangers meet and friendships begin, enemies unite and become the closest of friends.
The moon floats above us and the stars they decorate, the airplanes come and go sounding like an old man's serenade.
Musicians stand on the corner, empty bucket and an acoustic guitar, singing Bob Dylan songs poorly and causing all who hear to run.
Children running in the park, lovers waiting for that "Spark." Will it ever come those fireworks they promised to us?
Rivers rush on, oceans pulsate and still are the ponds.
Hearts beating sending blood rushing and causing the mind to ache - in thoughts and memories filled with smiles and pain.
Can you remember that one day we walked hand in hand, looked within each other eye to eye?
Can you remember how I just could not understand what it meant to live and then to die?
He was an old man they say - too old to have lived at all.
"Was he ever a dreamer, M'am or was he born to die?"
Did he ever think about singing or playing ball?
Long forgotten poetry - thrown away and then pulled out and preserved.  
Memories crumpled - they got what they deserved.

The fall board is closed, protecting the ivory keys which once sent the sounds of songs echoing through this room, this house, this city. The keys are broken…
Can you understand the song I am trying to play here, broken fingers touching broken keys on a piano long past its prime. Its a song I once wrote for you when you needed to hear something alive.
I can sense the walls closing in and the broken strings snapping as the chipped ivories fall to the ground beneath the pedals by my feet.
Little children – dancing to the music though the music is off. Can they sense the beauty that once sprung from these fingers, these keys – those strings? I hear in the distance sirens, echoing through the city, into this building and settling in this room.
My fingers have healed and the keys are still broken – can I play a song for you just to see you move slowly to the rhythm?
I once believed in forever – now the echoes are screaming a finality – but isnt it true that something written, something played and something enjoyed truly lasts forever?
Music with broken keys – has its own beauty, its own identity and thousands of meanings, emotions – like an old painting sitting on the corner of the room.
I sense your beauty…
Dance for me – though the darkness is thick I can still hear your heart beating like a metronome forever in time – come close let me feel your heart against mine…beating in rhythm as one.
The piano keys may be broken but the music will play on…throughout the halls, the streets and the canyons of this city. The echoes of love and laughter forever.

Amazing what they can put on trains these days. Full living rooms with Televisions and radios. This chair I sit in - so soft and comfortable - makes me want to just sit here and dream.

I see some people to the right of me and I know that I love them but I just cant remember who they are. But its OK I act like I do and all I have to do is smile or sing a song for a couple of seconds and they are thrilled.

I see the towns passing by like the years of my life, like the people who shared my life...I want to stop and get off yet as hard as I try I cannot stop this train...

Its cold in here and I hear a door close somewhere in the distance and feel the warmth from the furnace driving this train.

"When do we pull into New York?" I ask and get a sad look from the man I know I should know but I just cant place him.
"We are home, pop." He answers.
"So when do we get off?" No answer. I close my eyes and I fall into a dream.

I am on the Lower East Side of New York City and there is a fire across from where I live. People are crying and there are others shouting orders back and forth. My uncle is there throwing one person after another down the front of the building where they are caught and clear from danger. My brothers and I are admonished by my mother who screams to us in Arabic to get back inside - that its cold too cold to be outside.

"Its not that cold." I say looking at the man sitting beside me.
"No its nice in here." He pats me on the shoulder and then kisses my cheek. "I love you, pop."

I fade away a lot these days and find myself lost and confused. Some times I remember the people around me and sometimes Its on the tip of my tongue. I know that lady, she is the love of my life. I always remember who she is even in the most confusing times.

There is that shaking again, must be headed to Troy or maybe Virginia Beach. I see a young girl and I ask her a question.
"How did you find us?"
"I know where you live so I came to see you." She also leans in a gives me a kiss on the cheek.

I am surrounded by people, I am sure that I love and know but I truly am unsure who each one is. I fake it, singing and smiling and mimicking them making them smile.

I see my son walking towards me...that is...I forget his name...but I know who he is.
"Where are the kids?" I ask him.
"They are coming, they will be here any minute."
"How are you doing? Do you need anything? You can always ask me I know a lot of things and I can give you advice if you need it."
"I know that - I learned more from watching you than I could ever learn anywhere."
"That's baloney." I say to him, I feel a surge of love and concern for him but I am not sure why.

I close my eyes...I am in a hotel in Acapulco waiting on my nephew to come from the airport. He is flying in from Alabama, no, Albany to spend a week here. The bartender asks me a question.
"What room are you in?"

"What room are you in? I am in room 265."
My daughter answers me, "We are home, you are staying in your room and I am staying in my house."
"I am in room 265, are you near us?"
"Yes I am right down the hall."

There is a frozen lake with a grand piano in the center of it.
There is an older man playing songs from our childhood as we stand around him and sing the words to his music.
The cool breeze is getting cooler and snow is threatening to fall at any second...
But there is soup on the stove and warm couch for us to sit together and lay down.
Drink a glass of wine, raise a glass for all our times.
Smiles, tears, dances and doors slammed.
Children born, parents gone, friends say hello and just as quickly say goodbye...
The old man is tickling the ivory and the ebony keys - songs like brown eyed girl and I guess that's why they call it the blues. He plays Cole Porter and Ira Gershwin tunes too...
We hold hands and I want to take you in my arms and sweep you off your feet, fly away to another world...another time...
But the lake is frozen, the snow is beginning to fall and the soup is on the stove...I can smell it from here...
So say goodbye to the sadness, say goodbye to that old man, playing Fire and Rain...maybe tomorrow we can do this all again.

There is this pinhole of light in the distance, I can see it in the dark, through the ghosts of memories, soldiers of love and hatred, fantasy and nightmares - caring and indifference...all my hope seems lost until that pinhole of light in the distance.
In the midnight when the sky has no moon, the street lamps flicker and crickets sing me their tunes - I feel lost and alone - with no hope and no song...
Darkness like quicksand pulling away my existence - then I see the pinhole of light in the distance.
Sunrise and it still feels cold and dark - I remember her song and I remember her spark. She could set me on fire in just an instant. Now I lay alone searching for that pinhole of light in the distance.
Can you hear me whispering songs as I lay frozen here?
Tell me are you also alone or is somebody there?
The rain is pouring as the sun shines bright - I crawl through the day - I run from the night. Spend hours and days searching for that pinhole of light.
That pinhole of light that will lead me through this darkness - through this wilderness filled with unfinished songs, stories and lives...

In a city full of beauty, in a country full of life and a culture full of art and love - strangers have set foot upon the land - where poetry thrives, artists dream and music is composed.
They are burning the books and bringing the flames of hell upon the people...
They are covering the beauty so no one can see it and be tempted to take it away...
Children are shaking, the windows are breaking and the thunder is being silenced once again.
When will it end?
This hatred that is spreading like a cancer?
When will it end?
These questions which have no answers?
When will it end?
For the artist, the lovers and the romancers?
quand cela se arrêtera?
quand allez adorer revenir à la maison et dépasser la haine ?

I came back home last week, big greyhound bus and a backpack full of clothes. That bus rode in on Main Street, that old coffee shop was closed.
I walked across the park and stop by that old oak tree, the one where we carved our initials and climbed on - its still standing tall, our initials are hard to read but still able to see.
There were some kids playing tag and that tree was the safety base...if they only knew the things we did together up above or down below...I can still feel your embrace...
Its been such a long, long time since we walked hand in hand, do you remember?
Does it mean as much to you as it does to me?
Its a strange, strange story - how time just rumbles past us and we find ourselves alone despite the crowds of people.
Its a strange but comforting feeling knowing that the tree is still there. Sort of a confirmation that we did live the life I remember and its not just another story.
That we were together, long nights and my feelings are true and not some made up memory.
I find myself falling at times for the same old lines, the same old attractions, her scent, her voice, lips and touch...but then I remember that she is not you and its just a temporary glimpse into what can never be...
I came back home the other day but its not home anymore...my family is gone, moved on to another town in another city. Tom, Sue and Billy are gone as well to another town in another city.
I walked around and hoped that magically I would catch a glimpse of you again...but all I saw were the smoking ravages of a heart dragged on the road - skid marks of blood and love wasted...
Home is not home.
Home I have no home.
I am alone...sweaty air choking me and I dream of you holding me.
Home I have none.
Home is a place I call where I don't feel so scared and alone. With apron string love and the scent of something in the oven.
Got on the 11pm bus back to New York City...as we pulled away I saw that old oak tree and I could swear I saw you waving to me...

With the twisting and turning of this bridge, the cold, icey wind blasting against my face, the fall on the right of me is over 100 feet down...
Can you imagine the fear inside of me?
Like a fireplace in my gut - aflame, aglow and burning right through me...through my soul.
Look at me, see me - what do you think of me now?

With the twisting and snowy road below me, in front of me I call out your name for guidance...
Surrounded by a moist darkness that stains my skin and my clothes.
Can you lead me or at least push me in the right direction?
Like the ashes floating in the air once the fire is extinguished - its cold, dark and floating blackness.
Look at me, see me - what do you think of me now?

Oh...Oh...Oh...I cry out to you.
No...No...No...I can hear the lady saying to the old man with the camel skin coat and black knit cap. On a foggy frozen fire dousing evening...Remember that day in the summer when we jumped into the crashing waves?

Falling now - hold me - grasp my hand and take me - take me home.
Look into my eyes, see me - what do you think of me now?

I can hear the trains running along the tracks - right by the outskirts of town.
I can hear the sounds of the birds, the dogs and the crickets.
I can hear your voice telling me you need to leave.
I can see the stars shining up above decorating the night.
I can see the waves breaking wildly onto the dunes.
I can see your lips moving telling me you need to leave.
Where are you going and why can't I come?
Where are you running to and will you ever come home?
I can smell the flowers blooming in the garden right beneath this rounded porch.
I can smell the lake just rained on from across the way.
I can smell his cologne on you as you say goodbye.
I can feel my heart breaking into bits and pieces.
I can feel my brain about to explode.
I can feel your hand letting go...
Where will I be going will love come back some day?
When will she show up...where will I be?
Who will she be wearing...no masks please...
What will I say to her...can I ever be free?

Silence...
Then...a swirling tornado, a child crying...Silence.
A waterfall so loud it echoes across the land - infinite drops of water...
Falling, crashing, being born and ****** into a whirlpool - a community of water...
Silence...
Silence so loud it can drive you mad...
Fast transportation - no patience for the journey.
Trying to catch up to the speed of time only to fall short.
Into a white lighted silence...
Love, overwhelming as the water falling into the river. Embracing, caressing...
Darkness - overwhelming as the feeling of drowning...

"Do you hear me? Do you see me? Can you ever understand who I spent my life trying to be?"

Happiness is elusive and unfamiliar when the lights are out, the silence screams and there is nothing anyone can say or do to help you.
Peace can be impossible when the voices are angry and the smiles are few.  
Can you understand how far one falls without being able to see the bottom?
Can you ever truly comprehend the madness in the silence, in the darkness, in the room with no walls only windows?
Silence...
Silence so violent one can never be safe in the safety of her arms.
She cannot understand - she did no harm but she can do no good for you.  
In the dark...
Silence...
A swirling wind, a tornado - the evening never ends and the cold wind never warms.  

"Do you hear me? Can you remember who I was? Can you ever understand that sometimes an ending is the only remedy for an endless drop, a free-fall, in the dark..."

While growing up the son of a vaudeville clown.
I would often watch my father and feel let down.

The music would play and then end abruptly.
Seeing him kissing the chorus girl but never my mommy.

The lead actor would hurry by in costume, while the director would come out of his office smelling of ***** and perfume.
The lead actress wiping her lips on his handkerchief
While the curtains began to lift revealing two actresses in mischief.

The Stage Manager lost all the props,
the producer watched the spotlights drop.
The chorus girls giggling in front of their mirror.
As the perverted preacher peeked through the hole in fear.

A young boy screamed out "liar" as his mother walked onto the stage and straight into the fire.

Oh mother, oh father - will you please get down from the stage?
Before I grab an iron and start beating you in rage.

Oh preacher man can you ever speak the truth? Or are you simply a dreamer who does not believe in rules?

Oh Lord what has this world become? Darkness is supreme and we are still waiting on your sun.
To shine the way home, so we can sit 'round the table in a room, with no stages, no lies only the truth.
Take us home...
No more illusions.
No more acting.
No more big promises with small returns.
Nothing to lose and nothing to learn.
Just plain flavored love with a dash of honey.

The sun set at its appointed time, 438pm - setting a race towards the end.
Drinks were drunk,
Emotions were triumphed, kisses were exchanged and the moon was flying high.
A swap of fluid and hands were held - the countdown began and the ball it fell.
A kiss goodnight, a sad goodbye, then relief and empty bed, a welcomed sight.
A slow progression towards the rising and at 721am it happened without a warning.
A reset of the timer - from 12/31 to 01/01.
Time to start again and try to enjoy the time that will come.

I stare at her as she is speaking to me - I try to keep eye to eye contact.
I watch her as she continues to speak and I am shocked by the visual impact.
Your autumn colored hair falls upon your shoulders and caresses the sides of your neck - revealing a beauty mark, freckles and skin - I am a wreck.
Your blouse is untied, the sides of your ******* are slyly revealed...

I want to hold you, caress you and jump on top of you; i want to kiss you and taste your perfume as I hold you and feel your arms surrounding me...I want you to surround me.

Swirls of fire – smoke is undetected and the deep sleep will go on forever.
Nothing sacred about this – nothing that I can find.
Sinkholes and quicksand where love was, once upon a time.

Swirls of fire and sounds of screams…
the walls closing it and nothing can be seen.

Bearded men in the front, dressed all in black, ladies in wigs sitting in the back.
Prayers are said, in whispers and in screams – searching for answers…
What can this all mean?

Children are lost, confused and asking questions.
Running in circles, grasping at the wind and trying to capture the sun light.
Men huddled speaking softly, what went wrong on that night?
Swirls of fire – smoke undetected but did it have to end this way?

What kind of answer, what kind of reasons can be used to satisfy the ones who question?
Is it the end of the world, is it the time of redemption?

I walk alone, I ponder.
I write some words and I sit and wonder.

I aint looking for no answers or reasons for this.
Just striving for acceptance that this sort of sadness can exist.

Not striving for repentence, not looking to change a thing.
Just living as I always have and hoping for a world without suffering.

I believe, I believe, I believe – what else can I do?
You brought me out of the city and granted me the freedom to live.
You drove away my pain, fed me manna and taught me to forgive.

Those swirls of fire, have taken them away
Eternally children nothing left to say…

I found an old batch of papers - wrapped in an old pony tail.
I pull it off and the papers fall , leaving a trail,
So many memories and times from so long ago.
Wasn't it just yesterday when I was your hero?
Wasn't it just yesterday you would sit on my lap laughing?

I was your pillow, I fed you on that couch and I read you books about caterpillars, giants and dork's diaries. Singing you to sleep - "beautiful boy" and "daddy's home."

The clocks are working - 60 seconds is a minute and 60 minutes are hours. But it seems like years have turned to weeks and I have grown and wilted like a flower.

Time should be measured against itself. When I would walk in to the house you would run to me and I would be beside myself.

In the middle of the night you would cry - I would tell your mom to rest - I would run to see you and I would hold you to my chest.

I would sit with you - bottle in my hand, your hand wrapped around my finger and me kissing your cheeks...

I am so proud of who you have become - but I cannot help but feel overrun by the clock on the wall and the watch on my wrist. Now I close my eyes and I realize I was born for this. A love so magical nothing can be stronger, so unconditional  - a love for a son and daughter.

Twisted road, a river on the left hand side - rolling on and on.
I walk with my dog, leashless on this quiet afternoon.
The sun is begining to set and I can sense the looming presence of the moon.

Can you hear me?
Can you feel what I feel?
Can you hear me?
Can you feel what I feel?
Feel what I feel...

You held me once and I held you too.
It was just for one night but I still think of you.
When I am walking down this twisted dirt road with the moon now shining.
The sun has gone down and the birds have gone into hiding.

Can you hear me?
Can you feel what I feel?
Can you hear me?
Can you feel what I feel?
Feel what I feel...

Our blood once flowed, as one, as this river beside me.
The morning came too soon and your leaving didn't surprise me.
But I felt my heart ripping when I saw you walking away.
I don't know what it was but I still feel it to this day.

Can you hear me?
Can you feel what I feel?
Can you hear me?
Can you feel what I feel?
Feel what I feel...

I know you can not or simply have chosen to forget.
I remember you like I remember that wool coat.
Now rain is softly falling as I walk along this twisted road.

I was standing on the elevated train platform on Kings Highway and East 16th Street, waiting on the Q train to come and take me to where I needed to be. It was a late February Brooklyn morning and as I leaned over to see if anything was heading our way - I saw nothing but an empty track. The track rolls along an open path in plain sight, there are no obstacles - so if the train is 3 or 4 stops away - you will be able to see something moving in the distance and let out a breath and say, "About time."

Its not only a metaphor, by the way. The Q can mean "Queen" and the tracks can be a future that one is waiting on. In my case though - I was waiting for the train.

But there is a "Wait" that we all go through - we grow up dreaming of some sort of future and end up living a whole different life. No one is ever truly sure if the life that came through turned out better than the dream - but in each person's life there are countless dreams that constantly are born and alive. Still we continue waiting.

Some dreams can seem like a never ending nightmare where we are hoping for the alarm clock to wake us up.

Other dreams are like a perfect summer's day in June - that we spend the rest of the summer trying to duplicate only to end up falling short but having a good day none-the less.

Some dreams are like a Snow Day is to a child - no school and all play, mommy in the kitchen making some hot chocolate, TV humming in the living room as your sister or brother watch. You standing by the window watching the snowflakes congregating on the cars, trees and the streets.

Some dreams begin and end with no proof of ever taking place. I knew an older man who once told me that everything he had was taken away from him in Germany during the late 1930's and 40's. He was 12 years old, living with his parents and 6 brothers and sisters and getting ready to be Bar-Mitzva'd within a year. One night, they were taken out of their home by force - whatever possessions they had were left in their apartment. Within a month he was alone - his parents and siblings sent to different camps. He survived the war, barely, and found himself an orphan at 15 years old - with no siblings, pictures or souvenirs of a life and a future that had been stolen from him in plane sight. He moved to New York where he had an Uncle, got married and had his own children and grandchildren.

"But somewhere there are millions of souls still trying to get back what was taken from them. My soul was lost - from when I left Europe until I had my first child is all a blur to me. But when I saw my baby for the first time, snuggled in his blanket and safe from this world, I began to live again. I cried for hours, days hell even years. I began to feel and it kept me up at night - we all had dreams...but I had been given the life that so many had stolen from them."



"My eldest brother wanted to move to Jerusalem, my sisters wanted to get married and be mothers and wives - while my younger brothers wanted to just play. Just play - can you imagine something as simple as 'Just Play'? They all disappeared with no trace of ever having existed besides letters typed onto paper. Those letters cannot express the dreams, the joys, the fears they each possessed. The look my mother would give me when she was upset - it would send chills up my spine. The feel of my fathers beard against my face when he would kiss me as I lay sleeping..."

"My friends, who were all excited about getting bar-mitzvahed that year...they had dreams and aspirations back then as well. My friend Avram wanted to be a Doctor - can you imagine? A doctor? What if he would've been the Doctor who cured cancer? Instead the cures, the dreams, the aspiration lay in ashes on the ground. No proof of ever having had the parents or the day to day lives we enjoyed once upon a time. What we did have was our faith - that no one could ever take away"



I would always walk away from my old friend feeling that we have been given the opportunity so many have had taken from them. I would walk away feeling that I was a thief of time - having wasted was allotted to me. I would walk away in awe of people who were able to continue to have faith in a God who possibly fell asleep at the wheel.

This was a long time ago - maybe ten or fifteen years ago - I learned from him that we that nothing lasts forever. Not love, people, time, pain, sadness, joy, laughter - nothing is immortal - everything is transient - from one emotion to the next, from one second to the next - nothing stops moving, evolving, revolving or spinning in its place. The rivers keep flowing and the arms on the clock keep on moving - the sun rises, the sun sets, the moon rises and then goes away again. There is no certainties in this world - nothing, not even the sun. But faith - a true belief is something no one can ever take away.

So dream big, live bigger; love a lot and express it even more.

But if you take the time to soak it all in - to ingest and to invest in the stuff that is vital to existence - the stuff that "Dreams are made of."  You will find that there are things in life that not even time can take away.

Paint your masterpiece and paint it over and over again...that train will find its way towards you in time - all in its time.

I am walking towards a park to feel a sense of life and to await my companion. I walk past countless familiar faces and potential kindred souls only to end up here at a red light waiting to cross.
"Why, how and when?"
The park was alive on this cool October Thursday evening, well, almost evening. I walk across the grassy field, under the trees and upon the fallen leaves which decorated this ground. It once was green and now its an unpleasant brown. I walk and I kick the leaves, feel a breeze and I pull my coat around me. Squirrels are hoarding, birds are chirping and a sole singer is singing a song about Moondances and October skies. This grassy area is surrounded by benches occupied by loners who while the day away with pen and paper.

School children, set free from the prisons they occupy 8 til 4 every day - run wildly, some singing, some screaming, some crying and some laughing. Parents are all in otherworldly mindsets filled with questions...
"Why, how and when?"
I walk towards an empty bench and sit there with my pen and paper. Whiling the time away 'til my love gets here hopefully right on time.

A lone ice cream truck playing a familiar tune hoping to hypnotize the children into begging for a cone, or a cup of Italian ices...but even the kids know its too cold and too late for that and he starts his engine and drives away.

I've been a loner, I have been a loser and my heart has been broken, taken out, cleaned and put back in...with nothing but a scar that runs down my torso as proof. But I stand tall and I stand proud - "I do it my way." I smile to myself. I hear in the next bench a couple speaking and the woman begins to cry...


"Why, how and when?"