well, except for a few complaints from the bible belt and board rooms (with all due respect), the last entry seemed to go over well... at least with the few of you who read it... and without any really shocking revelations, without any of my typically politically incorrect statements, without the flash of body parts or doing the naked dance in the streets or otherwise throwing outrageous fodder or controversial logs on the fire, the entry seems to have been simultaneously comforting and offensive, and they said it couldn't be done... no really, I just may have subtly written one of my most revealing entries we've seen here behind the candoor...

or maybe not...

just imagine if people actually read every word... I mean all the people reading every single word... I know a few of you actually read me beyond the first line or few... think of the ideas that might slip into unsuspecting heads without much notice while the eyes are focused on my personal confessions while the brain tries to make sense of the seemingly endless stream of consciousness combining revealing personal information with philosophical ramblings with corrective footwear (not to mention the roller coaster of emotions from whiney depression to pragmatic acceptance to euphoric idealism... huhwhatwherewhenhow?)...

how's that for providing incentive to click back and read it?...

excuse my laughter if it requires excusing, it is not you I laugh at, it is us, mostly me, if that helps... and my laughter is love, not any sort of negative judgment or energy sucking invasion of privacy... if my words reach you, touch you, strip you naked and leave you bare out there, please understand that I hope the limb tickles you, I hope the wind gives you breathtaking chills, I hope the rain feels cleansing and most of all, I hope you realize that unless you want to tell, only you and I know...

I wish you could understand that my intent is to open you to the wonder you are, the energy you can feel, the goodness you can be... I hope you might consider that any discomfort or fear you might feel is not necessary with me and I hope that you stick around long enough to acquire the proof you require to believe this...

and if you choose to run away or to close your door I will not give chase or disturb your seclusion except to leave a note on your door to remind you that you have a friend out here if you ever should wish to open up and come out...

I offer no judgments, no claims of knowing right from wrong for you or anyone outside of myself and the illusions in my head... I offer only my best attempts to actualize honest love for you to share as you wish...

I am Homer Simpson of Springfield... I am Homer of Iliad and Odyssey fame... I am a writer of nonsense that might accidentally make sense someday, if only in bits and pieces... I am a writer of puzzles that only you can put together in your mind... I am a writer of nothing and the words are everything to me...

I am a mirror...

I am no threat unless you find yourself a threat for I offer reflection at best and a mockery of language and thought and feeling and everything at worst...

you decide...

I am the words...

I am not profound unless you find the profundity in the words... I am not amusing unless you find the laughter in the words... I am not wise unless you find the wisdom in the words... I am not clever or witty or wonderful unless you find these qualities in the words... I am nothing but what you find in the words, so you see, I am nothing without you...

and to find any of this in the words you must (whether you acknowledge it or not) find all this within yourself as you absorb the words and make them your own... you give the words meaning, profundity, wisdom, amusement, cleverness, wit, and wonder in your mind... and more, you give yourself the opportunity to be or do anything within the words...

you are the words...

dare to reach into their body and turn on their meaning... dare to reach into their soul and experience their spirit, their ka, their anima... dare to reach into their mind for the thoughts they can mean, for the ideas they can bring, for the inventions they can create within you... dare to embrace them, to love them, to make love to them... dare to let the body of words make love to you...

and if you dare to share them as only you can, giving them individual and specific meaning that is all yours, imbiding them with your presense, your being, your heart, mind, body, soul, ka, spirit, anima, everything... then...

we are the words...

(we are the children)...

and what we can share is infinite... and what we share is eternal... and when we share is anytime we want, anytime we choose to read or write and become the words...

and do we come to only dream, to live our lives in distant words, to recreate some other's scenes, and is this comfort or absurd... I grow to envy those of you with daily lives full of the roller coaster of relationships and families and work interactions to write about as I find so many words I write echo hollow, devoid of concrete activity, bereft of any tangible evidence that I am alive short of my imagination and observations because I have nothing concrete with which to imbide them...

just my imagination, running away with me...

oh, how I long for love, for a loving relationship and oh, how I long for more interactions of creative depth and profound meaning, but oh, perhaps my love of words keeps me from more elsewhere... and perhaps my comfort in exposing everything keeps people from entering my life...

or is it something else...

I've not forgotten what an active social life feels like, but I believe I've forgotten the skill set required to develop and maintain one... or at least to develop one... it is a cruel irony that these words, the very thing that has allowed me, the being I am, to survive in this world where I am such a polar opposite from so many, these words might also keep me isolated... such torturous protection they offer, and perhaps that is for the best...

what will another layer torn from my soul be worth to you?...

will I wake up and wonder where am I? one day?... and when I wake up will I find that I love where I left myself?... or not where I left myself... she took away the music, she took away the words, she took away the freedom, she took away the birds, she took away the answers, she took away my hands, she took away the only place that I could land...

I paraphrase Patti Dahlstrom, who's music I miss so dearly sometimes, who sits on vynil in storage for nye on eleven years now along with the rest of my inspirations and safety nets... and now all I have left is the dream, broken and battered and yet, even in pieces, whole and clear and hopeful as ever...

so is the dream enough, I wonder...

and even as I hear both yes and no from voices in and out of my head, I can not deny the sense that something is missing, the unfulfilled desire to share more than words, the aching hunger for sensory perception, the primal imperative for sensual stimulation, even as I deny myself the experience, I can not deny the awareness of the desire...

the dream of love,

of sharing love,

when it is shared...

and is sharing the dream through the written word enough,

I wonder?...

and the yes weakens considerably as the awareness awakens and asks why am I still in this body? and I answer because I so want to share more and I am not sure consciousness remains or if sharing is possible without this body... as much as the science fiction and spiritual theories may reason that an essense of consciousness lingers, even exists in some astral or ethereal sense and some sort of sharing may be possible in that form, I know not then or there, I only know here and now...

how can we be sure? (and there's a song long loved)...

and is sharing the written word without a face enough,

I wonder...

and the eyes cry out, no demanding to know why they exist if not to incorporate visual stimuli into every sharing... such greed these eyes behold... and therein rests the case against the written word, requiring more confirmation of existence, the lingering effects of being so betrayed by the written word that it is no longer holy as it once was, that it too, like everything else in this world, can lie...

and is sharing the written word and photographs enough,

I wonder...

the yes returns more confident of it's stand, but the no knows that no still photograph can capture a whole person and waits... look me in the eyes and ponder the infinite and the finite, the eternity of true love and the dream that creating family brings immortality to such love... and the brief span of physical life, the meaning found in the moment shared in the physical spaces, from the shoulder to lean or cry on to the hand to hold to the tickles to the hugs to the passions of the flesh, this yes does not stand a chance as long as I am in this body...

even as I accept it for now...

I always want more, closer, towards the infinite knowing of everything there is to know, perhaps more than can be known, but I refuse to believe that... share more, then more, then still more as we embark on the road toward sharing everything...

each of these, the dream, the dream shared in words, the dream shared in words and photographs, the dream shared in words, photographs, and voices, is enough in it's way in it's place as an experience unto itself, as a part of the whole, but the whole of satisfaction includes the sharing of all the senses, of everything that can be shared...

so the dream is only enough when it is shared as completely as possible and at least one part of the sharing with at least one person on the road toward the infinite eternity is required for it to be enough, for that is the ultimate dream to be shared...

so here and now all we have are words... and maybe these words express what you feel... or maybe they are just somebody else's dream... or the could be nonsense... in any case you decide what is real... the words become yours to understand as you see fit... you open or close doors as you make them yours... your mind creates the meaning you understand...

once I write them,

release them,

let them become the written word...

all I can do is watch...

. o O ( NOTES ARE THE NEW HAPPY PILL ) O o .
(just let me know you were here)