birthdays

time to reflect,

time to eat--time
to drink

and drink

and drink.

i've turned a digit
(two, in fact).

now there's

no more sitting back.

i'm once again

blessed to know

how much i'm loved,

how much i owe...

calls, cards and all messages implied...

fight the demons

that are outside.

no more headaches

from the boss,

no more fires

all ablaze

because my friends

and family--new and old--
remind me,

i've the strength

to change the fold.

c'est gateau!

12 foot supermodels

yesterday i was kung foo fighting and today i'm fast as lightening. vindication reigns supreme. i've finally found success in air and plan to play full speed.

but there was a tale at first unheard...then offered up so free: the manly men went out to play and left the girls behind. today we heard six worthy tricks and one connection fine. perhaps these women had it made--now we'll never know. but one things for sure, what we heard, was you simply don't belong.

again the time has come to develop a new routine. devise a plan to take a stand--united front redeem. so we can one day (soon) make the scene behold: 12 foot supermodels, life, lights and glitz--a little real mixed in--but only for some kicks. for now we stand around and adjust our frowns for those to never see. the hurt that comes from being left behind to battle the stormy sea.

licking lines

content in silence...almost

standing at my window, i look upon the great outdoors as muse, rufus and lennon play behind me. their words mingle with the tornado of thoughts ravaging my mind.

another landmark nears.

the cityscape taunts me. laughing at my wandering eye, the desires that have brought me here--that are defining me, my destiny. memories greet me tenderly, diminishing the torrential winds.

minutes closer.

my lips mouth the word blessed. peace settles the bent trees and i look to what is ahead from behind. time once again awaits my next move. and imagine plays on as dead meat assaults the doubt to nothingness.

i move closer still.

weight lifted

i step outside. free

i imagine.

i imagine you there. still in form. tough hands resting on lifeless timber. head cocked, catching the sound of wind howling beyond the pane. voices murmuring in the room below. i imagine you there. surrounded by four walls. whimsy dimmed by stale smells. a bed sinking into the floor below. i imagine you there. thought seeping out your pores. gears churning. words gathering. sentences forming. expressions of passion seeking release. running to me. i imagine you there.

je desire tout le monde

mes doigts
touchent
l'eau
les arbres
les etoiles dans le ciel
ma bouche s'ouvre manger
tout tout tout tout
ma bouche s'ouvre manger
parce que je desire tout le monde.

you can fucking do anything

inspiration. that budding sense of hope that seizes you in the midst of a yawn , adds zip to your solemn step and catapults thousands of mischievous thought bubbles into a whirlwind of spinning insanity.

sweet inspiration. the point of climax at which you understand i can fucking do anything. and now i want you to know that you can fucking do anything--in fact, we can fucking do anything . com . . .

the epitome of today's inspiration.

lifeless art in modern times...in my times

lifeless art: a topic of subjective commentary for which i'm sure thousands of artistic intellectuals spend millions of seconds a week exploring over hot tea and cookies or wine and cheese. yet, it's a subject i've not pondered in quite some time (possibly this is because i'm no longer the artistic intellectual i once thought myself to be and/or booze, sleepless nights and hot men have eradicated this from my being--jk about the hot men--i'd never blame them for anything as negative as this--kisses to my muse indeed).

stop. okay. start again. i set out this weekend to develop a masterpiece. to put on canvas the visions in my head. and yet, these visions of late never seem to be replicated. so when someone (much younger and much wiser) raised the topic of life in art today, it made me wonder: is it the flowing blood of my veins that is missing from my work? is that what is causing an overwhelming, personal dissatisfaction with what my hand, my mind want to create? am i unconsciously suffering the madness of the start, stop, never finish game of ideas because i cannot find a way to put life in my art?

hmmm...perhaps life--in my art--is the missing link. because i dare not suggest that life--the zest of being alive and living to the fullest--is missing from my daily existence....so i must find a way to translate this beautiful, exotic, erotic life of mine onto the blank canvas and the empty notebooks i wish to fill with breath...living, breathing emotions--of me. now the question is how. anyone?

something big...how big?

i have moments of utter frustration. feeling greatness at my fingertips...the pulsating electricity of creative energy delivering shockwaves of ideas, images, words...but all a complete disconnect. where is the focus? the drive to create greatness? i'm afraid it flew out the window on the Q line between prospect park and canal st. possible?

time will tell as this dog stalker sifts through the sparks to discover that constant current--the energy to create something big--so very big.