The Sound. (Part 3)

I tripped over my own shoelace while I wondered what you were staring at. And it made me frustrated at the time that you didn't say anything, but only now do I realize you were trying to tell me with your eyes.

And talking without listening is a way to say you remember the past instead of hearing me now. Because losing that small anchor you had means that you cannot go back, even when you know the truth.
The places and people and things, all these proper nouns (now-ns) you hold in your heart, are long gone outside of you. Everything you have seen will live in you for as long as you have loved it and continue to do so. You cannot be lost from it. Not ever.

But it seems that no matter how far across the world I reach, you will keep looking at something else, at some other warning sign. And still, even in this isolation, I hope you feel all the warmth I have for you. I want you to do and get the best.

I hope, someday in a fairly distant future, I may be allowed to speak at your wake or throw dirt on your coffin. And then I will know how just peacefully you rest.

Originally performed on 1/27/11

Originally written on 3/29/09

The Size. (Part 2 of 3)

I run into this kind of problem all the time. I cannot sleep at night because I oversleep in the morning. Or perhaps vise versa.
The silence shared with one person is screaming about sadness while a loud concert with someone else is so peaceful.

It's just the little things you have to really watch for, all of them can speak in echos that count frequencies in the thousands and depths that no one has the strength to see. The way you can miss someone so new to your life or feel the way a memory plays out even when the sensation has passed.

These are just the small parts that speak so loudly. So when your eyes splinter your vision into a million sights and chairs become mountains, you'll learn to navigate your way to the shore and calm yourself before walking away again.

Originally performed on 1/27/11

Originally written on 3/29/09

The Shape. (Part 1 of 3)

There is something clear to me.
Part of it is that you haven't gotten it yet.
Another part is that I see that you're not ready to, but you want it.
I wonder if you have this clarity in a different way, though. Like seeing what you know I'm not ready to see.
It is a shame this misunderstanding is actually an inability to communicate something so subtle and so obvious.

When it comes to it, there are feelings and motions that I cannot begin to narrate so I make do with what I can. In the meantime, I hope that someone will pick up on the subtext of it all.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I want to know telepathy. I want to speak in measures and notes and heartstrings. I wish you could feel what I am feeling because I think it would mean so much more that way.

Originally performed on 1/27/11

Originally written on 3/29/09

Compulsive

I keep checking the mail.
Looking for a package I know will never arrive, because no one is going to send it. But I just keep checking to see if the courage has been gathered for anyone else but me to shout out words into the rain. I'm singing out my life story and I'm wondering if anyone can hear me. And I'm pretty sure I'm being heard, but I'd like someone to shout back and tell me they think I'm doing well enough and could be on TV one day. I'm blasting my radio with my favorite song and I'd like to see if anyone else will make a fool of themselves with me. Because I'm dancing like an idiot in the supermarket and I'll always be doing funny things if it'll get a smile on someone's face.

I keep going out of my way to make a scene. And maybe it's not the best idea I can have, but I'm digging my nails in until someone screams out with an actual reaction. I'd like to hear a response filled with opinions and thoughts. I'd like to know if my being forward makes others uncomfortable or gives me freedom. My freedom to do the extraordinary will always be a free invitation for others to join in.

So when I ask what you thought of what I did, it isn't because I want to hear praise. I want to hear you. So come grab my hands and dance down the dairy aisle with me. I want to feel someone else screaming lyrics in the car seat next to me, I want to lose my voice between the raindrops. I want to open the mailbox and have something outrageous come flying into my world.


Originally performed 1/20/11
Originally written on 11/12/06

common knowledge

I am mining in my history to find that simple nugget I can sell to someone. Perhaps I can just keep trading up and find something worth a lifetime of searching. It doesn't have to mean a thing to anyone else other than me, so when I find it, I'll know.

But until then, I've just been looking at what I've done. I hope that I can uncover something that was accidentally great or subtly indicative of genius. I'll bring it out into the light and expand upon it. Or maybe just show it off to people who haven't seen anything like it before.

The truth is, I won't find silver or diamonds in my history, only rackety old buildings filled with dust. In all reality, and all realities, those places are abandoned for a reason. One cannot create a masterpiece by piecing together one's individual failures. The past can only teach you, it cannot build you.

There is no possible way to make gold out of cobwebs.


Originally performed 1/13/11
Originally written on 10/12/08

Ghost in the Doorway

I had this dream where you were a large skeleton. You still had organs and a face, but I only saw your bones. Just like the world still had grass and trees but the only thing that mattered was the moon. Perhaps it was too dim to notice anything other than stark white or maybe that is all that needed to be paid attention to. It was more a matter of what was happening than any of these surface details.

You walked with me, like any skeleton would, and we didn't say a word for a very long time. Finally when words came, it was music and images. Light dancing across fields in places we had never been, wind traveling in trees we wanted to climb. I do not remember where we were, but that we weren't going anywhere special. What we would find did not surprise us, but reached into us and fed us life. I couldn't hear anything but your bleached thoughts and I don't remember how I looked. Perhaps I was just as naked as you were. I only know that when we touched it was like fire and when you held me there was nothing but the heat from the furnace inside your chest.

It will be a long winter if I don't see you again.


Originally performed 10/21/10
Originally written on 10/7/08

Encounter.

when the muse comes for you, you will know:
she is not a kind lover,
but she IS beautiful.
her breasts, despite the cliches of mountains,
are but sleek river banks---soft and warm,
but before you rest your bones,
she will find a flood
and drown all your comfort.
when you look into her eyes,
you will see not stars or lakes
or pools of ethereal light
but vast deserts---you will see
where oceans have missed the land
and you will learn
of desire beyond your physical body.
the type of ache that
stretches for miles and eons.

she will appear in the shroud of twilight,
just as the sun is escaping the sky
and the opposite horizon echos a purple hue.
at first, especially if you're not paying attention,
she will seem to be an old maid,
bent over with a cane to support her wilting frame.
but as your eyes learn of her image,
you will see the waterfalls of hair
flowing down her back
and a face that tells fortunes for a smile.

when the muse comes for you, you will know:
she is not a kind lover,
but she IS beautiful.
remember not to run as you see her.
at first she is frightening,
and as you look on,
she will only become more so.
don't pretend that you are brave,
just let your fear wash over you.
though her gnashing teeth may make you falter,
and her claws seem sharp and angry,
her hips are built to rock you
her skin sewn together to fulfill every wish.

when the muse comes for you,
put down everything else you are doing
and run to her side.
she is not here to comfort you,
but she will show you things you've never seen
before and could never see without her.


Originally performed on open mic 10/14/10
Originally written on 10/12/10