Once in a life time she comes along, removing titles from all others, and setting the bar beyond the rest. You have one chance; one chance to do everything right. Once chance that everything will be in place; aligned with some higher power- beyond yourself, beyond all else, and beyond any plans you have made. Nothing else matters up to this point in time. This is when everything starts . . . or ends. You will break. You will abandon. You will cower. No plan, no meaning, no vision you could have possibly imagined up to this point could hold any significance now. You’ll only know it when it happens. It didn’t exist before, not even in your most vague imaginings of love, or life beyond your own consciousness. Nothing existed before this. Even the very dust will be reborn, re-imagined. It will overtake you. And then, if conditions are right- if you do everything right . . . if every atom is aligned just so . . . she will either stay, or go.
And you will blame yourself for either outcome. Did I do enough? Didn’t I? Was it fate, or wasn’t it. Or is this? Have I known bliss merely for the knowledge of it? Or was this supposed to happen another way? Is this better?
If life is meant for lessons learned the hard way, and broken hearts so we can learn to get along while broken- endure, I want no part in it. I have lived life’s lessons, but I haven’t lived it. When does life begin again after tearing itself apart by new beginnings? When does the dust settle? Nothing else will matter after this. Let the truth be told.

Contest

http://www.myspace.com/seedpage?sproutId=vgBcNlaPMqWtMaIh


I've entered one of my songs into a contest.
Copy and past the link above into your brouser and tell your friends.

Mindee. . .(my latest song.)

what else can i do but give myself to you- and what else can i say- there has to be a way to fix this up- so here's your song for right or wrong- to say the words you never let me say- to say the words you never heard, tho' they were all i could ever say- I love you- I love you- I love you- I love you. . .

i was asked what i am about. . .

i'm about love life and living. Beyond that i haven't quite figured it all out yet. I'm a musician and artist, an actor and writer- a poet in short; by the crudest and most inefficient means, still trying to get a handle on life and somehow grip that illusive dream we call love. What are you about?

Hopes

May 27 2009 Hope is an awful thing- the year started off full of it. Blindly I dove right in. But soon enough the promise of a friend would turn hollow and vague- even into betrayal and lies. But let me be lead on a while. . .

There is an old familiar home in which I have sought refuge many times over the years. It was once a place of freedom and friends, but had turned into a prison for souls. Mine was trapped there for some time- until an Angel pulled me out from the darkness, and with no small sacrifice to herself. But I never lost faith in her- and she has proven time and again her virtues. Together we've returned to that house. But it's foundations were unstable and heading for collapse. Yet there is always some one willing to take on the task of mending its mortar. And so another came. He came like a storm- the great pacifier. But behind his powerful smile was the grinning of a wicked man. He lied, he cheated, he stole. He played like a little child as if people were his toys, pitting one against another and seeking ti destroy them both for his enjoyment.

It was in the presence of this man that I was built up in hope. And as one thing separated itself from my life so did others, but never hope. Even as new love fails my heart, and old love tears at it, I still find hope in it all. But soon lies told with a smile became clear to be just lies. And promises became smiles. Hope? Hope became denial. Denial became life. Life became futile.

-A/C

Sometimes we put up walls not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to knock them down. - Unknown.

I've borrowed that quote from a friend. She doesn't know where it came from, but it's source is no less than truth. And truth is a powerful reference. 

I find this simple sentence says so much about people, especially me. I've built up wall after wall, cleverly expecting them to be rent apart by those who love me; but they are not. So I have fortress upon fortress built to imprison my own soul. Alone for so long, I've been trapped by my own hand's labor. It's time to tear down those walls. And so I tear at them from the inside, and hope there is someone tearing at them from the other.

I hear the faintest voices of those I might have dreamed into the reality of my mind. I only pray now that they are real, that they are not the figments of my mind I have thought them to be.

Layer by layer I burrow towards what I pray is outside this prison. These phantoms grow louder with ever stone I cast behind me. Are they real? Are they louder as I close in on them, or does my mind make them so in my madness? The prospect caused by my hope is too great now to turn back. I can replace no stone. No walls will be rebuilt. My fortress lay now in ruin; a pile of rubble now marks where I have sought sanctuary for so long. There is no refuge now, only forward. Hope. Fear. I had no hope while in my exile from the world. But, without hope, I also had no fear, no ambition. I had nothing but the knowledge of things I should have been. I had regret, sadness and misery, but no fear- but no hope.

In my madness of isolation these phantoms convinced me to pursue hope; a pursuit of great cost; fear; but the further I pursue hope, the more of it I find; and one grain of hope dissolves fistfuls of fear. And so I go on; with fistfuls of hope.