Tag Archives: He/She/It/They

Amorphophallus Titanium

Avenging my own unrelenting despair,

I and I,

And I,

In the same moment of space and time,

Dimensionally confused, refused, abused

And consumed,

Looking on myself from the outside,

As you see me,

Though none of you really can nor do,

Purging toxic stress,

Leaving me rattled and shaken,

The physics of my despair containing the meaning of life,

Yet I know,

Each day… survival is the name of the game,

Though soon I will,

As Muse will guide the way.


Presupposing that I was meant,

To feel this pain and suffering,

That it was mine by birthright,

Divine majesty of terrific torture,

This Black Dog screams,

Not knowing what is in store,

Though knowing that it involves words,

Words from you,

Those propel me on,

Pushing me from my own unrelenting struggle,

Pulling me to an awaiting greatness,

Pulling me ever closer,

Through the laws of motion,

To you,


Who will set me free.


These words,

To you, may seem nothing more,

Than something which defines life,

But to me,

A word is power,

An unnerving power that jangles my cage,

And causes,

Sobering thoughts,

Plagued by a mind that never stops,

Both blessing and curse,

Hiding behind a well rehearsed smile,

And a thin veneer of extroverted exuberance,

That so few of you can see.



And reclusive,

Most nights,

I sit in the darkness,

Pondering a world I’ve left behind,

Gladly, as it surely would have killed me,

And a new world,

Unfurling right before my eyes,


Reminding me that this struggle,

It is the joyful transition that makes me me,

I and I and I aware,


Amorphophallus titanium,

Ravishing to be sure,

As surely she will be,

My Muse,

She that will guide me from my darkness with nothing more,

Than her radiant soul,

Majestic spirit,

And what I know will be beautiful big brown eyes.



You have honoured me,

The Ether,

Giving me this blessing and curse,

And I in turn,

Honour you,

I and I and I

Acknowledging those imperious,

But leaving them,


As I go forward,

Will you come with me?

Oh Buddha,

Whatever God there is,


Let loose the hounds of hell,

My Black Dog,

Bring to me my greatest temptation,

A Muse,

To alight the fire in my soul,

To inspire the fire in all those around me…

I long to be slave to your master,


Of Muse,

Delivering me from me,

For you…




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At every point,

That I have turned,

I have been disappointed,

And disappointing;

Blessed and cursed,

As I struggle to comprehend,

How I end up this way,

How we all end up this way;

Searching and not finding,

Seeking and discovering no solace,

Leading to problems of the spirit and the soul,

Crushed intentions and broken hearted,

As Leonard Cohen,

(through this beautiful rendition, extraordinary)

Tugs at the outstretched strings,

As picturesque and subtle beauty,

Only comes in black and white,

Moments of sepia exaltation,

And the only word I can spare,

Is Hallelujah?

At every point,

Of this tragic life,

Divine comedy,

I have pushed on,


(Though no Hemingway pulled just yet)


(Though not sure of what save love)

Figuring out,

What I know,

And what I do not;

Knowing that the latter is winning that battle,

And yet, the war rages on,

Deep within,

Returning still to the faint hope,

Of the sun as it reaches a cross,

Just as it has in my life.

At every point,

I have reached toward the heavens,

The glorious celestial body from which I came,

Spiritual and not religious,

Every atom of my being,

Star dust,

The wisdom of billions of years,

Contained in this fragile frame,

As I thrash about,


Cohen beckoning me to believe,


Just not sure what,

Nor is he.

At every point,

I have found,

That I am lost,

Wandering lust fully engaged,

Doppelgangers and Black Dog’s,

The voices in my head and temporary delusions,

Polar opposites,

Attempting to know,

That which refuses to be known,

In a useless quest,

That will only leave me,


Crucified on my own submission,

To that tender emotion,

That is rife with terror,

Fears and in my case, always;


At every point,

One way here,

Another way there,

Lonely and yet surrounded,

Never quite alone,

Never quite inside the line,


The clouds,

My tears reveal,

And again,

Leonard pulls me back,

A giant,

Pulling out of me,

Everything I have left,

But can I show it?

Did he?

Do you?

And if I do,

Then what?

Manic depression,

The continual vicissitudes,

Posited dimensions,

Whereby my demons are my shadows,

And the circles of hell constantly invite me,

Ever nearer,

To a fate we all know,

Since the moment of our first breath.

At every point,

Loathing save for when I love,

For whom I love,

Is like an angels choir,

Many voices united,

(not like those in my head)

In prayer,

But to who or what,

Is not so clear,

And if it were, would it still be so majestic?

Leonard says he has done his best,

And I know he has,


As I have,

As I do,

Continuing daily

To begin the process anew,

Of healing,

Still torn, not tattered,

Battered but not beaten,

And yet,

For us both,

It is vain,

That we wait for something we will never know,

At least not in this life,

Could we?

At every point,


My cross screaming out to be seen,

Born as we all are,

Of suspicions and longings,

Wanting to be felt,

Aching to be known,

For what I am,

For who I am,

For when this life is over,

My words will remain;

I did my best,

And whatever you are;




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Mon Cles Divine

With one look of your eyes,
(Those I had long since believed did not exist)
One peering glance,
(One I never thought I’d see)
You break through the chain male armor,
(Male as in Me)
Of a soul that longed for you,
Prayed for you,
(He/She/It/They or the Ether listened)
Dreamed of you,
(Nightly since a little boy)
With every adult fiber of my being,
(Knowing true Muse must eventually appear)
Considering virtue,
(Despite invitations from the Sirens)
Fostered by an unshakable faith,
(Two souls eventually collide)
An unprecedented belief,
(Save for those with an artistic slant)
In the power which understood,
(More than I ever could)
Acknowledged and revealed,
(With one blessed look)
The infinite wisdom,
(Of blessed truths)
Of love requited unconditional,
(For Muse is always without condition)
On a foundation,
(Rock solid)
Of daily discovery and affirmation,
(Kisses, more kisses)
(Anew and Reinvigorated)
Angelic grace,
(As your face clearly paints)
Through virtue understated,
(But not mistaken)
By you,
(In spite of my faults; Black Dogs and voices)
In the revealing reflections,
(Of mirrored souls)
Of your eyes,
(The window)
The universe unfolding,
(In multiple dimensions)
One atom at a time,
(The “God” Particle?)
(With every breath)
By promise,
(At once believed)
And the realization of potential,
(Infinite loops and unified love theory)
On wings only visible,
(Less Icarus and more Cherubim)
By those that truly see,
(And I now can, see)
Through something that can’t be explained,
(Nor should it)
You have come,
(Mon Cles)
And with the grace of the tooth fairy,
(Imagined friends, less imagined)
My pillow,
Every morning,
(A gift from the stars)
Has born the just reward,
(Of a lifetime of want and need)
For the daring,
The curious,
(And I)
The scared,
(And I)
Who can believe, I and I and I,
In the sacred power,
(Of my Mistresses Serendipity and Fate)
Of a divine trust,
(Between lover and loved)
Wisdom in the revelation of this song,
(Only for you)
That glorious song,
(Syncopated breaths and beats)
All lovers hear,
(Listening to the bodies desire)
At the smack of the soul,
(Meet, Greet and Complete each other)
Manifested by the lips,
(Gleefully, more kisses)
Thank you Sages,
(For revealing to me)
Best friend, confidant, and every day more,
(Knowing what I have always known)
(With a delirious chuckle and desirous smile)
Virtues eternal curiosity,
(Where these words dance)
(Every moment of every day)


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Blade of Grass


Walking through an imaginary park,
With what you would call my imaginary friends,
(though their words commune with me daily),
Hemingway was carrying a basket,
Really just a code word,
For anything filled with booze as we approached,
The meadow was soft and inviting,
As in a dream,
(fitting no… for that is just what this is as is life)
Zelda and F. Scott as per usual standard operating procedure,
Were dancing about like two love sick children,
(how I wish to be a love sick child for all the rest of the days of my life)
Their love propagated in equal measure,
By a steadfast admiration,
And empty bottles,
(perhaps a word or two if they could stay sober long enough)
Picasso had already set up his easel and was painting something,
The cubes not making sense to me yet,
And truth be told,
I wondered if they ever would,
His sly smile lighting not just his canvas but also this meadow.

Joyce, Eliot and Pound were deep in conversation,
Wondering how spectacular the vistas might be if they had some opium,
From the corner Picasso yells out;
“Do you want some?”
The ignored him and continued their loud and verbose considerations,
Gertrude and I were hand in hand,
Like a mother and child,
(her caress moving me to my safe place)
Swinging our arms to and fro,
When a glint hit my eye,
So powerfully that I was stunned,
I could not move,
I was transfixed,

for I saw love’s face,


in time,

this time,


Stein asked;
“What is it?”
I dropped to my knees,
Putting my head neatly on the hardened ground,
As tears welled up in my eyes,
I pointed to the blade of grass,
Just one simple yet affirming blade of grass,
Like none other I had ever seen,
Even in a dream things seem unreal if they are too perfect,
And this blade of grass was just that,
“A blade of grass?”

Without missing a beat I pleaded with her,
As a boy does his mother,
To join me on the ground,
She bent down,
Placing her hand on my shoulder,
Which I took as a cue,
To unravel the secrets of my twisted soul,
Reciting as I do,
Whitman immediately came to mind;

“The wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.”

Upon finishing,
Hemingway had set up court,
And passed a series of drinks around,
Gertrude summoned them over,
As tears fell from my cheeks,
I wondered if one might be so fortunate,
As to live out the rest of its short life,
On another blade of grass…

Each in their own way asked,
What it was,
Why I was so enraptured,
Why such a thing as a blade of grass moved me…

You’ve all heard me ask,
Where is God?

Hushed hums and hahs,
Yeses filled the air.

In that reflection,
That little glint of dew,
Falling to its ultimate demise,
Is the prism that reflects our lives,
That reflects our passions,
Our concerns,
Our hopes and our desires,
Right there,
As I pointed.

There is God! There is my God!
Right there,
In that specific blade of grass,
In this moment,
In that droplet,
The mysteries of our lives,
Of our place on this earth,
Of the universe,
Is right there…

The collected giants joined me,
In weeping,

For in that spectacular moment,
We all felt,
Embracing us,
As humanity can never embrace God,
And love,
Love ruled the day,
Fulfilled and fulfilling,

In a dew droplet on a blade of grass,
Missed by most,
But not us,
Not on that day,
As the enigma that is love revealed,
The promise of life,
In one simple blade of grass,
My eternal love,
And hope;



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Lunatic Fringe – A Departure from the Norm

Now examined! And LIVING!

Now examined! And LIVING!

Thoughts like a piano’s keys filter through both my conscious and subconscious, striking a chord that only the demons of my own creation can hear. Flittering fingers plucking the keys of my own discord, disquieted, frightened, the black and ebony reminiscent of an Icelandic tribe. In this case, ebony representing good memories and black representing bad. My black cup runneth over while the ebony is so difficult for me to enjoy as the darkness reigns.

Though I fear I am without control as they filter through me like blood, water, neurons firing and synapses attempting shock therapy. Temporary relief from memories that deviate from that thin line.

The deprivation of sleeps causing hallucinations of the most horrible originations. Apparitions that beckon me to death, a death I die a thousand times or more daily, as I struggle with the infinite and the quantum. It does not get easier, as I age, as more questions mount and the answers become more reticent.

A less than subtle requirement  for this fractured mind to put itself back together again only to discover that the final piece is missing. Where is that piece? What is that piece? As I throw my Black Dog a bone I am left to consider more than a poetic soul should have to bear. Though I do. I cry out to Apollo, God (He/She/It/They), Oracle, Prophets, where pray tell is my burning bush?

A nightmare, the nightmare, nightmares that harm my own personal recollection of self. Reflections on Reflections.

Mirror images of a life once lived but in the pursuit of the joy of others where now there is no joy that I can submit. For no longer will I subjugate my own self-preservation so that another may soar. It is my turn to allow these apparitions and nightmares to guide me, freeing me, to unleash a furious torment of words that dance across your eyeballs like Fred and Ginger. Those same words that handcuff me like an as yet prosecuted fool.

When at the witching hour, the stroke of midnight, I’m yet to become anew the pumpkin that cradles me and prevents the world from the stringy innards of a dastardly conviction to which you are not a party. No. The spirits of my ancestors and the voices in my head, press me forth, through dialogues that would confuse even the most wise of sage, unnerve even the most prolific of prophets and may in fact be the desecration of the godly appreciation of all that I hold dear.

Or maybe, just maybe, this is the lunatic fringe of my own self awareness as I trod ever closer to the demise of sanity, slipping into a world where I am no longer king but instead jester, holding court over my own self. I and I and I agree for once though my fingers will continue…

To flicker.

And flicker they have. Leading me back to life. Leading me to a land far, far away from home, to find a new home, a place where I belong, a place where I can truly live and not merely exist.

Freed now from the torment of pharmaceutical intervention and instead liberated by the triumphant power of requited love. Given back my life in the most unexpected of ways. By you, those children, those that have released me from a lifelong burden of sorrow.

While the bitch still barks, and is black as night, I have reason, meaning and purpose and this has given me back my life and I am living it. No longer afraid. No longer hiding in the corner but instead standing on a soap box teaching the most wonderful life lessons that I have learned to those that need it most. The next generation.

So while the night is long and the terror is real I am pleased beyond measure to admit that the fringe of this lunatic, while still intact, has harnessed his potential and found the will to carry on, at all costs, for those who hold me dear.


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The Distilled Essence

The distilled essence of I and I and I,
The distilled essence of me,
The parts trying to break through,
To the other side,
The proper side of lunacy,
Feelings that have crushed my spirit,
Those of self loathing and ill repute,
Those that leave me restless,
Praying, though not to a deity,
Save the one of my own salvation,
Resident inside my head,
That some day,
In some way,
Someone may look into the darkness of me,
And in so doing see a light,
That is invisible to everyone else,
The light that holds this soul complete,
Replete with a darkness reigning,
Though not cascading into refuted self control,
My Black Dog ain’t the boss of me.

The distilled essence of I and I and I,
Is here,
In nuggets,
A word here and a phrase there,
Easy enough to see,
Should you stop looking,
And begin seeing,
I am love,
I am compassion,
I am loyalty,
I am kindness,
I am I,

The distilled essence of I and I and I,
Is love,
Nothing more simple,
Than repressed issues of abandonment,
Those resident in me since my early teens,
Where with every ounce of me,
I have sought love,
A full and rewarding love,
A lifetime,
That someone, perhaps you,
Perhaps not,
But someone,
That can finally reach into that light that no one else sees,
That light that you can draw out of me,
The best,
Rather than festering wounds,
The worthwhile,
Rather than the pieces of me,
That I would rather be without,
And together,
You will discover…

‎”To love someone means to see him as God intended him” Fyodor Dostoevsky

Whatever God there is,
He/She/It or they,
Intended me to feel this pain,
Experience this sorrow,
Express it here for all to see,
As a manifestation of love for those I will never meet,
But held true for you,
For you.


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