I think that I shall close my eyes and dream of far away,

of mountain tops

and rivers of stars in galaxies far away,

I shall close my eyes and think of you and dream of far away.

As I dream of this distant place where ancient gods like to play

I shall hide among the thorny bushes

in shadows

among the things you cannot see

I shall close my eyes and wish things different tho they will never be.

In this dream of far away there is a chance that I might wake

inside the myth

breaking the dream and bringing it to light

And I find you standing there before me in this place so far away

your hand outstretched

And you say to me, It’s about bloody fucking time you joined me.

Posthumous Cut List

I have decided that there are certain souls I no longer wish to know.  I mean this to apply to  future incarnations and time spent in the heavenly realm.  I have been watching you here in this existence, studying your behavior and how it impacts me and my behavior and I do not like it, ergo I do not like you enough to want to wander eternity as a soul mate, be ye friend, lover or acquaintance.  I am making a physical notation in case I forget when I die that there are as of this moment in time ten of you on this list.

Oddly enough some of you, in this life, I consider to be close to me, but I really do not like the manner in which you have chosen to exist as it is hypocritical and immoral.  You choose evil over good time and again.  I am far from perfect.  So perhaps you would not choose to know me either, but I really do not wish to recycle into another lifetime with some of you.  I would rather not reincarnate, but I do not think we are given much choice in this matter.  There are at least three of you that I would not mind seeing burn in an eternal hell.

YO YO YO ~ apologies to William and Elizabeth

Here I speak the words my heart emotes, yo’ Betty Browning what’s that I choke…

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I am spinning high and falling free Willy Shakes, sing it with me.

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date

From green to gold and then crumbling brown I love you baby even if the skies fall down.

I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

From green to gold and then crumbling brown I love you baby even if the skies fall down.

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimmed:

From green to gold and then crumbling brown I love you baby even if the skies fall down.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.

From green to gold and then crumbling brown I love you baby even if the skies fall down.

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st,
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

From green to gold and then crumbling brown I love you baby even if the skies fall down.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

From green to gold and then crumbling brown I love you baby even if the skies fall down.

From green to gold and then crumbling brown I love you baby even if the skies fall down.

From green to gold and then crumbling brown I love you baby even if the skies fall down.




Notes Left Behind

Pick up milk or bread
I’ve gone out for a bit
I have the kids
I fed the dogs
There’s food in the fridge
We are out of beer
Mrs. Dashiel called
Water the plants
Do not disturb

I’m tired and I cannot take this anymore please know I love you and this isn’t about you.

Closing Time

Man made time, and dates no doubt to bring order to the chaotic idea of eternity.  In open ended reflection I seek to create new resolve.  I heard it said once, that when you stand close to someone you catch their dreams.  I wonder if anyone has caught mine?

I grew leaps and bounds in 2013.  I learned letting go does not mean giving up.  Cling too tightly to one ideal and you lose sight, perspective and hope.  Releasing myself from the anchor expectation has allowed me to rise to the surface and fill my burning lungs with much needed life.  Much of the year has been spent treading water.  Stupidly waiting for an anchor to rise.  I can see the scars where I let destructive ideals bind me.  Then I realized I did not have to stay close to the anchor, I am free to swim away, and yet for so long I stared at it in contemplation.  People around me prodding me toward the shores of reality saved me from my folly while still allowing me, to be me.  I spent so long with this anchor, thinking it was security, hating the pain it brought by its weight but needing the fixed point that I did not realize it was drowning me.  Stealing my life from me.  It is a crazy amazing thing when you realize you want to live life and not the shadowy idea of one.  I thank my Shooting Star for saving me.  Sometimes goodbye really is a second chance.

I am on the shore now and the horizon that draws closer is the most amazing, scary, thrilling, and wonderful thing.  New beginnings await.  2014 bring it on!


Via Galactica

We are the stuff of super novae

The dust of cosmos and stars

Crafted by the hands of Providence

Crushed by the gravity of implosion

A moment of violent erruption

Silent arching forward motion

A beautiful vale revealed

I shall sit for a moment like Kundun

Draw deep meditative breaths

Eyes closed; heart open

I will see where we have come from

Opening my eyes, know, where we are going.

Zomer Bliksemflits


Verlicht de hemel

Donder ontploft


Morsen als tranen over mijn wangen

Wind waait hard bomen zwaaien

Ramen weggeschoten en wazig

Blad en ledematen
Zwaar van het gewicht van het water

Donder rommelt

Geluiden drijven weg

Regenval verzacht

Nabijgelegen vogels kwetteren

Geïrriteerd door de douche
Wormen en insecten komen te voorschijn

De aarde is te nat om te ademen

De zon gluurt

Schijnt en droogt

Achter de grijze weg


Building on Sand

A sketchy future is nothing to me.  Most days I try not to look ahead.  It is not some grand gesture of philosophic superiority but rather a stone cold fear of reality.  I do not have much.  I have a computer, I have an old car with hundreds of thousands of miles on it, I have two kids.  I live in someone else’s home.  For the moment I have work.  I am in a bit of a mad scramble to find more work, permanent work, before this job winds down.  I know I can do almost anything.  Someone might take a chance.  I cannot think that way though because that gives me hope where there really is none.  The broken bits of me are crumbling unable to be repaired.  They say time heals… all time does is erode. 

I will think good thoughts.  I will do good things.  But I have not been given a foundation of stone, I have been given millions upon billions of micro pebbles which shift in wind and pull you down to trap you in water. 

I so desperately want to break the curse laid upon me, if not for me then for my children.