The most important thing he taught me was that words require rest to ready themselves for a life conducted in these semiotic orchestras. After a short recess, the words will develop minds of their own, jump from the pages and walk into waiting memories. For the first time, they become excited to go to where you call home. And the conductor will take pride in his own gracious bow.
Yesterday I lied and said I can't write about him.
His strong fingers still holding onto fragile memories.
I want to protect him, keep him from the hurt that can surface
when words pour over an open wound.
So I lied again and told him that all I want to do is write about how I'm crossing my delicate fingers,
waiting for memories to let go
and for me to slip in.
And I lied again. And again after that.
And then it happened
That version of him disappeared. And all that's left is truth.
Sitting together, as words fall on wounds that will take forever to heal, if at all.
We stare at them, and each other.
And let us happen.
And learn that harmony isn't found in the letting go of our long-lived memories,
instead it's found somewhere in the letting go of the fight.
Love needs room to grow, and there's no room left
in a space filled with war.
RIGHT NOW will never happen again, so we compose our memory with snapshots of life's better notes. The melodies of what we hope for are forever stamped onto records, playing through the chirping of birds and the sounds of waves embracing us.
(photo Ventura Beach)
Los Angeles speaks to us in symbols cultivated by a collective soul. Today only variations of a few whispers in primary colors are heard by a select few. Tomorrow English will be heard in Spanish, storefront signs along Sunset Blvd will be written in Hangul and apologies will be painted on walls that only this cities culture can translate. This city, in absence of voicelessness, is where the universe can begin... and end.
Winter is when we learn how to hold our breath, and listen to silence. As the snow slowly melts, 'Patience is a Virtue' is found written on the petals of Spring. But Summer; this is when we soak our souls under the shades of history hidden in trees. And Autumn is a time for anthologies, pages slowly falling from heavens not so far from reach. With the help of gentle winds we can glance and read the stories in the clouds above and ask for nothing in return, realizing that everything has already been given.
i usually take the same road, to the same house, knowing that i'll find the same door. it's the door that my key doesn't open. over the weekend i took a different road, one i didn't know. i slammed my soul into a dark wall. my soul crumbled, with the wall. the key was useless. i discovered that the house i live in is open, with walls made of delicate but fierce love that catches fire when my heart pines for what my soul needs.
It's simple to lose Yesterday
when we have faith that there might be a break in the clouds.
And instead of waiting, we run
where we have never walked before.
Its simple to imagine a Tomorrow, when all dreams come true and boredom becomes a way out; unsettled and longing for desire.
If heaven is lost in Today, Today should be desired. Building a heaven held up by pillars of faith and dreams is a challenge worthy of losing time to.
Some call it peace, some call it heaven. It's that space between the moments of collapse. Found between our ancestors wisdom that we choose to never follow, and those arms we only go to when we shouldn't. It's that place we learn from, but only realize its importance once we choose to forget it ever existed. Some call it peace, some call it heaven. I call it Los Angeles.
(photo San Pasqual Stables / Lower Arroyo hiking trail)
I want to sink myself deeper, deeper into the deepest
of the muddy waters,
where your footprints float
and drift away from a recognizable you.
the waters where your handprints stain
the deepest of the even deeper muddy waters
that still touch a sinking me.
handprints that save a sinking me
Her hands as irons, hot
She relaxes the wrinkles beneath my skin,
torturously massaging my ego
until my head and body fall into it's place.
I've fallen in love with her as she's crowned me queen
while she lies and calls herself a masseuse