A mist… a gentle cool… a bridge… a walking distance that we never reach… it seems to me to be more like that… a place we long to reach that in the remains of the day we never get nay closer then the finger tips caress… the mind likes to play those horizon games where what we long to reach seems just before our eyes and in actual life is far beyond our reach… the mountain moves or appears to move as we take each step… remaining at that same distance forever… never do we get any closer… only further away… taking one step up and two steps back… I let time ease my mind… the bridge will be there if time is right… and if time is wrong then my words will not extend beyond the reach of that witch…

Periodically we need a good smack… or perspective altering smile… some times it is one of those sensuous kisses that open our eyes… or close them in a sigh… so deep we step off the precipice… a jolt of some thing so central to the core of us we know it is sweet and pure and right for us… we never question its lingering smile or haunting laugh… we smile immediately in anticipation of the warmth it brings… we put off till we can know more… till we can know the wonder of release into the arms of falling deep… of washing the mind clean of what was there and replacing it with the knowledge… a step in the direction that pulses with desire for the dawn… passion for the night and sharing of the experiences… I am surprised at how many need a good spanking… and how many smile when you suggest it…

The wonder of possibilities explored… or at least they linger on ones mind… as a means to an end… a sudden frustration released into the air… a scent of passion a kiss to one lips… wet is the appetite for the physical pleasure… of hearing the sighs and laughter… of playing the heart strings and listening to the voices… the whisper of waking silence… a brush to the ear… a gentle breeze that peaks ones interest… the hair stands on edge… to catch a glimpse of the rising sun… to feel the warmth of the day wrap around… a single touch I have found enticing… the veil of mystery peeking out… just enough to keep the eye aware and the imagination aroused… a kiss to the palm… a bit of tongue swirled a sinsation… a grip… a gasp… a pull… a song plays and the with every stroke we must surely be learning… the tears are joy filled ones… pleasure filled exertions of emotional waves… alerted two… to see the love there that is sleeping… while the music gently weeps… instruments in hand… to trip the delights once more… a gasp follows a sigh… with follows another… and the tide rises higher still… for each stroke of wonder brings the edge closer and the ultimate… ecstasy into the realm of possibility… swirled…

Know one lives in reality more then the realist… in a dream more then a dreamer… most of us balance the dreams with the reality… yet at times we slip into the dream in the middle of the day… or we allow a touch of reality to creep into our dreams… a cook adding some spice… a touch of this or that… a way of wetting the appetite… and creating a twist…

The placid silence of content… the angry silence of slight… or perceived slight… matters little… one is a sigh the other a twist of ones knickers… one opens the door the other closes… yet it is silence… one of those double edged swords we imagine… peace full it is to ponder… yet when we have some we wonder where have all the flowers gone off to… chased away by the solitude for they crave more then the silence of content… they want for the language of being there… some wish to be the rock or the shoulder… others the foundation… some the ear that listens or the voice of logic in an illogical moment… what we become to others is what they desire us to be… nothing more nor less… we may wish to be the end all or be all or their lover… friend… significant other… what we are is what they make of us… without logic or justification or principle managed upon us… we are placed in these roles… and here we sit… the imaged… of course in time reality knocks hardest against the illusion… or fantasy ideal… as opposed to the ones closer to the real person… each has a hurt of a different kind… one hurts because of the awakening of reality and it is a hurt we endure within for they never created that image we did… the other is a hurt of one to another… where we knew… where we fail to raise ourselves to the need… of the other… we miss the slight in words or the acceptance of the facts and fall upon our faces… the angry silence speaks to us then… for they go off and we are left to ponder the moment… most times in wonder of what… we feel less… as it should be for the loss…

A simple skill so much over looked… awareness of the pleasure… being alive enough to explore the avenues of touch… an over looked art of adventure… those who have it are open to possibilities others leave off their alternatives to imagine… a seed of thought allowed to venture… to poke wonder… to fill the void of time… a touch of hands… a caress of thought of is that a whisper across ones ear to listen to the sighs and follow them inch by inch… space upon space… time upon time in the moment… to hear the beat of ones heart mingle with the rhythm of the magic of another… the song becomes one… imagine the tide rising in inches as a measure of progress till the water’s edge is crested with an explosion of the ride within the depths of hue… where the water wraps in warm waves and each ripple extends the pleasure from head to toe… the spine ignited… the imagination full… we push the limits further and imagine more… more tides… more ripples… more gentle tongues to extract the fire… to pull from the physical hue the waves… the emotional hue the embrace and the spiritual hue the deepest sigh…

Caught I am at times in that place between… words are scattered like flakes of snow or dust around or about me… the language speaks… a picture is painted with each letter or stroke of a word… in the mind of the artist… an image is held up to the light… a way of healing ones mind or freeing ones soul… when another wanders in the tendency is to hold out a hand… to ask if all is okay… to wonder if the image they gather is the image projected… I have hidden my words before in sealed boxes and secure places only to find them swirling in the back of my mind… when I release them… they wander free of me… the sigh of reflection can be heard miles away… I am free of the space… the sense of the person I was… I change… and with that it is gone from me… to this day only two people have ever ventured within that… the first one I married… the second one was in all ways there… impossible to explain the connection of those two… I am sure there are more… and if I could I would… learned I have to allow the doors to open of themselves… I have hope… so I am selfish in that regard to myself… I am… I guard that peace of me selfishly… keeping it for me… it is safer to do so… for the attempts I have made beyond me have yielded less then positive results… they have in fact destroyed relationships I have had… better that I am seen as some one of a selfish ass then to destroy friendships… people want in at times because they believe they can be of some help to the tormented artistic soul… what they forget is that once within that they are trapped in the same torment… the same passion and desire… trapped in between… not one or another… both… it is sort of like a sexual fantasy… that suddenly becomes a reality… in the fantasy all is perfect… wild… free and lasting for hours or days… in reality there are strokes of genius and strokes of pleasure and moments of awkward unknowing… the fantasy never has the awkward moments… the fantasy moves with fluid grace… the fantasy doesn’t wake up with bad breath in need of a shower and a cup of coffee… he is that perfect dream that shares all and gives all and asks for the same… the reality is not the fantasy… they are the two sides of the same mirror… I never over stood the need to go beyond what is… my experiences have taught me to take what is given… give what is of me to give and let it go at that… I know in time more is possible and desired… what that is will happen when the moments in time coincide… a push results in a push back… natural… expected…I remain aware of my need to write things and place them in places… to be free of them or to learn from the journey I have taken… the fat man must sing for the game to be over… from the trips come steps… from the missteps leaps… and from today… a more realistic tomorrow… a lot of me exists in this looking glass… I am knot Alice… nor the white rabbit… one has to know both sides… of the reflection… one is safe and secure and confident and the other is not…touch one and you get a similar touch in return… touch the other… and you never know… and that is what seems to intrigue most… the touch of the other…

It feels the same… sounds the same… has the same names and references to the same old things I have experience with… there are differences… time… age… place… the perfect reflection it is knot… yet with the differences I can knot help butt sense it is the same old arguments in a different wrapper… a bit of the old with a new twist or ribbon to get back to the old reflection we believed past… change happens and still the song can remain the same…

I have learned from experience with me that when I hide that witch is behind the facade of smiles and laughter… I gain nothing… while if I release what I hold I find that I am able to smile… to breathe deep the wonder of the sunshine and look with anticipation on that witch can be…

I write there fore I am… released… it is my passion that frees me of that witch trapped me… you see… that witch is my creative release serves the wonder and the release… I am released to say what I wish as long as I write it in general and not in specifics… or to some one in particular… I could after all… direct the response to some one or an event in time… I have learned knot to be so passionate… the sparks I hold burn… and few if any can tolerate the press of such demons… as I hold within me… that drive me… that feed the fires within me… so I release them in words… for words are all I have… and they will never be enough… butt they are all I have to give… and for some that will never be enough and for others they are to much… leaving only those in transitions… butt you see and you read… and you write and you know… nothing in life is a guarantee…

I write in this time to free… to feed the desire to be free of what I have inside my mind to write… and write… and write until the words are extinguished and I can begin to rebuild… for as one knows who knows me… it is about direction and keeping ones mind in focus of the smile and laughter… yet for me myself… it takes a few words to break free… of the veil others place upon me… so I can be me… myself… eye… I write on these dazes to be released… from that witch swirls around me… I am in all ways satisfied with me… confident in me… I am aware of where my heart lies and where it is truth filled… I am aware of the journey that others wish for me and the ones I wish and need to take… when an artist writes or paints or creates in any way… what the observer senses is the impassioned release of their creativity that freed their body… mind and soul… and unfortunately all of it is not clean… pure and right… some is dark… better I learned to put it out as well then to keep it in…

Shit happens… well to me it does… conversations broken by the intrusions of reality… I wish I could continue or not be pulled away… butt time is not on the side of any one… time is the master and when ever we enter in one of those age less in depth conversations I seem to get pulled away… suddenly… the sort of suddenly that is negative… that leaves a void… and that is what happens… I apologize and the silence is the void… I am not tired on being… I am tired of knot being… there truly is nothing to be said… so that is the way I will leave it… silence… for the language says… move on… the silence says… there is nothing to say… and still I feel as if I miss stepped… I let the opportunity slip away… shit happens… the timing of words miss directed… and now I bathe in the silence… the routine is some what consistent or normal… the period of joy or happiness… a time of need or want… a strain of ties and finally the breaking away… some relationships are never meant to be more then memories… of what could have been… I am knot a profound believer in that… but in time I could be convinced of such wisdom… I feel use less… worth less… drained of ability to move… so in the face of the coming wave I stand and wish only to be swallowed up… and washed away… swept clean of the memories… of the places I have been…

I have given a lot of thought to the expression of frustration… to the wish to go… to turn away… while I am incapable of such a path… I can see it from the perspective in witch it is directed… easier to wipe the slate clean… to cut off that witch was and begin from a point to create new… my memory unfortunately goes back life times… I pray that some day it will forget… that witch twists me… that is life though… the wonder full twists we thought were distractions to our path… in time they turn out to be what we needed all along… it is not in me to abandon a soul… even when turned away…

Whom do we expect… a pressing silence of anticipation against the screen… a window of opportunity closed… opened… out in the open we dance the summer dance… for it is the heat we desire in the cool morning to warm our hearts and rekindle the spirit for another day…

Water tends to dampen the spirits or raise the expectations for a splash… a frolic in the tides of water falls and rivers of dreams strolling on by and by…

It is true that ideals fail to pay the mortgage… and we all compromise… butt when we compromise the ideals… no amount of financial compensation will satisfy the void…

Sooner of later after we have polished the turd we have to get around to wrapping it… the prettier the paper the less one gets twisted when they open the prize and see that in reality it is not a prize at all… it reminds me of the road to unlimited devotion… a rolling adventure over hill and dale… through dark and light until one catches up with that witch they pursued through thick and thin… only to find it was not some thing that interested them at all… a walk along the beach in pursuit of that shape… that captivated the mind… and as one gets closer realized that their mind had tricked them into seeing a delicious beauty when the long hair and shapely looks were actually of another of the same sex… does that make them gay in a sense… or did their imagination show them what they wished to see all along the watch tower… the turd was wrapped and suddenly when opened our eyes see what our nose knew all along… some thing was amiss… just didn’t smell right… butt then when ones mind is filled with butts eventually one is going to smell a little off…

I cannot help butt feel a bit off… lines are what they are… places to separate or steps to push off from… the twists are necessary to get one… to captivate the imagination… a single number of ideas… can’t you see… can’t you hear… can’t you feel… why know more then any other… immune we become over time being rubbed in a certain way… the clock ticks and we step away… I told myself that the day would come… and even though it does… it still is a problem… I feel a bit off the mark… it is the smell… what is that smell…

Each mirror has two faces… the one we hold to ourselves and the one others hold to us… we tend to be more critical of the reflection… we see the smallest blemish as a defect… while others may see that as an attribute… in writing that one ahs to accept another’s view when they step into their world… I was pointing ones eyes in the direction of stepping out of themselves into the larger view… life is for me a series of connecting imperfections that align perfectly… the perfect relationship does not exist… what does is the matching of the imperfections of each with one another to form a bound that enhances ones wonders and shields ones lesser qualities…

In being some thing for every one we fail to be that witch we are for ourselves… better to be who we are and let others decide if that fits into their lives… in that way… at least one of us is happy…

An experimenter… an adventurer… well one never gets it wrong in a sense… just knot as right as the sounds tell you everything… so many miss that… in the pursuit of one pleasure they miss the wonder of the other… it is not getting to the point of know return… it is in getting everyone else there… take for example cooking… it is about mixing the right this or that to spice the appetite for more… just that pinch that excites the pallet… that creates the urge for a little more of that… it is the hand that strokes the arm that says follow me… and with unconscious abandon one does…

I have been accused of having an attitude… me… an attitude… I have know idea what would cause some one to believe such a thing about me… I do have opinions… strong ones… that I speak freely of… I am some what force full in my words… butt attitude… I find that difficult to swallow… or spit for that matter… I mean really… little old me…

Hidden within the forest is the one tree… to know it from any other tree is to know the individual… to know the nature of trees and the variety… the same is true of people… to know some one is to know the individual hue… the one that stands a part… of the entire… the peace that is singular in the mass of many… each requires a light… that gives it life… one digs its roots deep into the earth that feeds it… the other’s roots are more fluid and require only steps on the earth to keep them intact…

A single cloud is defined against the sky… one can trace its lines and see its dimensions… a multitude of clouds lacks that definition for they cover the horizon… and one from another is only discerned by the care full eye… the trained eye… to most the sky is filled with one cloud… we know intuitively that there are more… but we are not concerned with the separation of the one from the many… a forest is a series of trees… one similar to another… much like people… one is like another… until they ignite a fire in ones eyes to find them… they fade into the mass of others… once known however forever do they stand a part of the mass… for our eyes see them… our hearts feel them… our ears hear them…

Words heal… when we have the courage to express what is in our hearts… words are the vehicles we use to convey the expression of our soul… at times it takes words upon words to finally get to the words we need to say… for we circle the issues pulling closer and closer… until all the other words have been spoken and we are left with the words we need to speak… I have done that dance… played with the words until I believed I found the best ones only to be disenchanted… and later to respond in kind and found my words to be perfectly suited… there is no substitute for being aware… for being responsive to the play of words upon hue…

Some times one has to drop the pretense and dance naked in front of the mirror… so the reality of hue gets to experience the false image one loves to project…

I have decided to do as the other wishes… and let the veil of silence once more be the barrier that exists… some times all our hope is not enough… but it is all we have…

The old remind us of the places we have been and how worn those paths are… we know them with our hearts… the songs of such times allow us to relive… an experience or two that delight us… I could go back and remember a long line of memories associated with songs… for music for me is the place I put a lot of that angst from teenage years… there seemed to me to be a song for each summer… a title for each happening… a rite of passage to over stand the depth of the words… there did in all ways seem to be another one as I moved forward… even if it was a memory song… today… I look back and find sweet emotion… just for the way it rolls out… and then slams you…

Ride the tides and you rise and you fall… natural… a cycle of nature… a number of them surround us… the seasons of the year… the lives of many creatures… occurring within hours… minutes… a month of time before our eyes… such as we are we ride the hills and skim the valleys… we look forward and remember behinds… we deal with life in endless questions and sentimental poetry of heart… we find our way… we find our peace of happiness and we hold on to its wings… and let the natural cycle of time weave a pattern in our tapestry…

Life is never as we perceive it in another… if I were you I would see that perception of me as well… the tendency of others is to have that view of me… it is a way of keeping a peace around me that is not shared… many wander this way but few remain for any length of time… most find this path a little two for their imagination… a want of some thing that the illusion lacks… and a lack of over stand of what the illusion allows… all this is not real… it only has substance when one allows the imagination to roam… when there is a demand for what is in reality of each life… well the illusion crumbles and the reality fails to hold the force of time… Never have I intended to harm another and yet I have managed it… being thought less and unkind to another… it is a wonder that any speak to me… for I am not what I appear… as you know… but still I am knot all that… it is not mundane that I see in the day… it is that I see more then the mundane… that I feel more in a minute of time then others realize is there in a month of Sundays… I maintain images of those that I still keep… they are how I remember the time… and I still return to them…

Sex or love… the younger the man the more they lean toward sex… for to a young person sex is love… or the physical expression of love that is so important… in time we learn that love is so much more then the physical… so I would say that until a man reaches an age… your guess is as good as mine when… sex is the most important thing… love becomes important after that age… of awareness… once we realize that sex is not love…we place it in proper perspective… sex however or the art of making love to a man remains for his entire life a passionate pursuit…

Men are not talking trash… as much as they are talking about situations… problems… we just do it in a locker room way… so as not to appear as not knowing… it is a defense mechanism… if we talk like that we presume others will miss that we knot in control of our situation… to man control is everything… being married I know a woman controls the situation… but when I was single… I had know idea I was being manipulated… so let men talk the trash… a small percentage actually believe such crap… but then again don’t let all that go without considering all the ladies who profit from such thought… there is an entire industry that feeds this strangeness and woman are both the devils and the angels… if you want men to talk highly of you… stop talking shit to yourselves…

In hiding we create more distance then if we embrace that witch we feel…

Free we never are of the care others take in our regard… less of the burdens eases the responsibility we have to one and the other… with the freedom we must shoulder a certain amount of the responsibility for what we dream… dreams have that way of entwining a thread into our lives… we live the dreams of our youth… we are surrounded by the dreams of others as they have manifested themselves into reality… everything we use was once a dream some one had… and so before one dismisses the power of dreams they should open their eyes and take a good look about… take care in what you dream… for most often we get just what we wish for… the hand of fate is a mysterious child… touching one and missing another… it is fate would have it…

Words are all we have… at times they are clumsy and they fall short of the feelings we have… in fact I have been attempting for many years to express one feeling and have written volumes of words in my quest to express what is within me… I have more often then knot failed to convey the depth or even the surface of that emotion… that only means that I have more to learn in the world of words… I believe I will get it one day… until that day my adventure with words will continue…

It has been my experience that when ever words are strained time steps in to separate… a little of the hand of fate… that says… let time stand with you… walk with you for a bit… and time takes you to the places where busy is the way of things… unexpected busy… the busy of chaos…

A conscious dream one should take care with… an unconscious one spills from the heart… the soul… one happens the others is a seed that we plant for our minds to move forward with… one is the trip of unconscious desire the other a play on ones passion and imagination…

It may be better if you sit for a moment in collection of thought… allow the time to wash over hue… there is this bridge that separates… it has a purpose… without it what… with it what… a world on one side… a world on the other… what is it like to invite some one into your world… what is it like to accept the invitation to enter another’s world… we can share a lot of things but when we are within the realm of another we are forced to accept the image they have of us… we are forced to see… hear… and feel ourselves as they do… the mirror is held to our face… revealing us… the naked truth of who we are… the gift in their eyes… often this is a conflict…

We all need… we all get some thing from what we do… it is interesting that the consideration of that is often left out of the give and the take… some times the gift is in the giving without an expectation of return… or a need for one… or a desire for one… we give to repay a debt that we owe in the karmic world some where… or we are giving back what we took at some other time in this life or another… or we are holding to a promise we made… what we take from that is intangible to the person receiving the gift of our time… support… help… we are doing it because we can… because it makes us feel good about some thing… about ourselves… about who we are… if we take a moment to consider this possibility it opens another set of answers to the questions of why… at some point in time we are all helpless or in need of the kindness of strange hers… so when the time reverses it is nice to be able to be that strange her to another and ask for nothing… desire nothing… but the satisfaction of having done what is right…

Our experiences lead us to conclusions… to places where we form a picture of who we are… our pictures are tainted… by our parents… our teachers… if our trust in these individuals has been violated… our opinion of ourselves is flawed… a belief is created based on the dark… of actions against us as if they are actions we ourselves embraced… it is the cruelty of such violations that they hurt to the soul… and we believe we are less… unworthy and loathsome… when in truth it is the violator who is less… unworthy and loathsome… it takes a long time for some to thrust the belief across that road and leave it behind… for it is easier is it not… to believe less of ourselves… to let the worth of self slip a bit… so when we meet some one who points out these wonders… we consider them off… we think them strange… weird… when we meet some one who says what was is just how you got here… that today is a celebration of life… it is easy to dismiss them… and when love finds you… it is easy to ignore its wonder… its pleasure… its touch… all the while desiring it… past experiences hold sway over new… difficult to accept being the gift in another’s life… yet we all our gifts to one another…

Then there is that moment when we find we are faced with believing as they do… for we have stepped into their life and the mirror reflects back the image they love… that they cherish and desire with all their heart… and we realize we are to them… the friend… the lover… the soul mated to theirs… of course it is our choice to accept or deny… to embrace or let go… life is not easy steps… but it is one directional… forward…

Time is the best healer of thought… the more one talks the more the thoughts get out… at times it is important to talk… to talk so long that all the unnecessary words are spoken and we can get down to saying what needs to be said… so much is said that on the surface is meaningless… so many read the surface only… in time we learn to go beyond what is obvious… to seek the elusive… I am knot much of a sit in silence person… until all the words are pulled free… and pull we often must… the plane is cheaper then the train… the car more costly then the ship… the cost is the price we pay… the price we are willing to pay… do we wrap ourselves in the embrace to let out the angst… or do we embrace the day… and let the activity seep away the illusion…