Caught a wave.

Fake away the day
and you fail miserably
who you wish to be


p.s. under the radar and all tangled in tales, love.

Off the grid.

I have come to terms with the fact that eventually I am going to have to mention it. Will it be with sweeping metaphors or outright denial? Perhaps no one will understand.

For now I am listening to the little voice, and reevaluating priorities.

My lovelies, you are free to assume whatever you choose, but I will not be ignoring you. The electricity just doesn't buzz the same and I can't always find the switch.

End of the year...this shit is always out of hand.

p.s. this is how I have always imagined it for someone else.

Turn the breadcrumbs into baked goods.

It is quiet, and the weight of my somber mood holds my thoughts in check. I have given thanks. I meant each and every word. But I can't escape the boundaries defined by custom.

And I am grateful for you. The remarkable way you hold your ground. When I turned to myself for answers, I found strength and pride. When I turned to you, I found wisdom and patience. I could use some of that now.

Balance.

I think I will sleep tonight. I will allow my dreams to lay and lie along with me.


p.s. grateful for you as well (and the diversion).

Independent Endeavor

This is overdue. Please forgive me as I have been preoccupied with family. I had meant to post this earlier, in time with all of your moments of introspection, during "this is me". I think it is in good timing, as it seems a distraction could be in order...



I am a contradiction.



I am a planner, I plan everything. But, I have also been known to make snap decisions.

I am an idealist.
I am a realist.

I research the hell out of everything, but I am always changing my mind.
I am a workaholic, but can very easily sleep in too late...I have insomnia so the appeal of my dreams can be somewhat overwhelming.

I am a good listener, but I tend to talk over people (I am really working on that one).
I fear rejection on every level, but I am always drawing attention to myself.
I fear failure, but I am not afraid to try new things, and this constant change in scenery allows me to masquerade achievement.

I think I am always right, but I acknowledge that I make mistakes.
I am very independent and a control freak…I like to do things my way, myself. Yet, I am high maintenance and a bit of a scatter brain…therefore I require someone to look after me.

I have diagnosed clinical depression, but I can be the life of the party.

I have outrageously high standards for myself, but I am generous in allowing others to fault.
I am very loyal, but I have been known to wander off towards a novel stimulus like a moth to a flame.

I am empathetic.
I am selfish.
I am stubborn.
I crave change.

I have enjoyed kissing both women and men, but prefer women.

I am shy.
I am eccentric.
I am erratic.

I work hard, and I am passionate. I love life, my friends, and my family. I am always expressing myself

...even in silence.

Best Friend

The brick and mortar embellishment
conceals despair.
I buried it in the backyard,
along with that old rag of a dog,
that I loved and held to my heart.
Passed on and by too fast for
my eyes and hands to grab tight.
And I wonder now, if I had held
just a bit tighter, would I have
a handful of fur rather than dirt
and hurt?






p.s. been body snatching...Mayo is Keyser Söze.

Final, but not departing words...

I understand your need for answers, information, and reassurance.

I have been asked to offer a tailored invitation to each of you. I cannot in good conscience fulfill your request, not now. With the current climate here, I am afraid this would only escalate hurt feelings and finger pointing. What if I get it wrong?

Some of you are more open and I may know more about you, others are more reluctant to reveal themselves, or are perhaps new…how do I deal with this? I know your names, and yes, I can speak to most of your personalities, but not all...so you can see where that may lead. You have all come here with your individual voices, with your own intent, wanting to be heard, wanting to listen. All valid, yet you do not require my validation to set your sails.

"Mayonaise" is an important place for me. Although I make every attempt, I am unable to read all the heartfelt comments that you leave. I spend time with you after I post, and then I return when I am able to give you my full attention. You would be amazed at how skilled I have become at finding that time...somewhat of an artful dodger. If it ever appears that I have missed something, I apologize.

Please understand I am not evading, I am not ditching your request. I only fear that any misinterpretations at this time could be disastrous to whatever chance you have of restoring friendships. This is no longer about me. Stay here for each other. I will continue to post on “Mayonaise”. You may listen if you choose. Or you can ignore me, and continue to use this space to gather. Or you may choose to disappear.

I cannot take you for granted.
I am accountable for my actions.
I need you.

I have been asked to reveal myself to you. You all know me. I am whoever you want me to be, I am an artist, a poet, a singer, a motherfucker, and a contradiction, a mouthpiece, a friend, and an enemy, a brother, an informant, a whipping boy, a basket case, a queen, and a criminal...(credit to John Hughes.)


p.s. my fear, again...and I am hungry, but often I forget to eat.




"You have the exclusive right to be an exclusive asshole. But I don't have to like it."

Duplicitous I am not, a three dollar whore…well, maybe.

I am sad, no I am devastated.

Never once has this been about favoritism, cliques, or status. I just couldn’t fucking hear with all the noise and needed a little space.

I needed a place where it could be less abstract for me, and for you. I guess perhaps I am a cheap, greedy man.

I can’t stress enough the fact that it was your intense camaraderie that led me to believe that you all had some sort of life line with each other. You finish each others sentences like an old married couple, it's beautiful to see.

I made a mistake by asking one of you to deliver my message, and I am sorry.

In defense of the visitors, they only did as I requested, by keeping the space until I needed it.

I was not attempting to conceal anything. Mayonaise is for you to share, for everyone. It became more your home than mine, and that is amazing.

Kapunua, I would like to speak directly to your recent post, and in doing so speak to everyone. First, thank you. My gratitude may be expected but it carries an enourmous amount of worth. Second, I know that you are not naïve. For you to consider that I would exclude you, or anyone else is to say that you never heard me. And I know that each of you hear me. You are all my insight and my mirror. It is you that I look toward to pass judgment on me, and you have. I have failed you.

I am sorry.

P.S. Please stay, all of you, stay…not for me, but for each other.

You can smell a rat a mile away?

I have never been careful…far too boring. Starting fires and playing with matches, perhaps. But I assure you, I will not burn down my own house. It is comfortable and my friends know where to find me.

I have opened up my rental on the other side of town...I may be there for a while. It is quiet, not that I mind a good party now and again.

It is a peaceful coalescence that I desire.

p.s. with all the finger pointing I can barely hear you anymore.

The ink hasn't even dried yet.

A hollowed out tree hides
a mystery in feathers.
The hoot-hoot sound
claims your ear.

You hear it and climb.
Pull out the twigs and
twine that connect it
to the vine.

The wise old bird
caught the worm,
that early riser
has lost a turn.

Get some fucking sleep already, you crazy mother fucker.

p.s. 1:16am: an answer, let's see...Divine Intervention. Adam can sing so lovely.

Roadside crosses are the result of unyielding left hand turns.

Most of it is gone now.
The rain having pelted the remains
the final time.
I passed by yesterday
and felt what could have been
your hand. The scream,
I won’t let go. Today
I stopped.
I buy gas and cheap
bags of pretzels, she wants candy.
I refuse,
and contemplate
what could have been
for you
in those last moments.
Did you let go
knowing?
Pump stopped.
Ten minutes I have stood,
you are here for eternity.
Always yielding, never turning.

A lucid transaction.

I am sitting at a table with friends, it is dark and loud. I am bored. I am absently searching for something affecting to distract me, when I spot myself sitting across the room. I am at a table with some friends…and I am staring right back at myself. I am unable to look away. The gaze between us has me transfixed. Then he, the other me, shuns me with a smirk and joins the conversation at his table. He is speaking, and his hands are gesturing along with his alluring tale. His friends are captivated by the unconstrained other me. I envy his ease. Now I am alone at my table and I am singing to the other me. My song is pleading for him to hear, to once again find me, but he does not. And just as I am about to stop singing, you grab my hand and pull me up from my chair, and I wake up.



p.s. it is because the light reflected from painted glass is ambiguous. mirror me in your words, and that is where I find clarity. as do you, in each others.

I will give you a hint...leech

If you consider my intention was to assemble you here, and then rip you apart, merely to revel in your dichotomy...well then, you have not heard me at all. I will not strike the match, but you hold the bucket. Is it full of water, or shit?

p.s. allow your wisdom, wit, worry, and wonder to punch, provoke, purchase, and profess.

For the protagonist and the cup of coffee we share...

A favorite...oh how I do love fire.

I Pity the Wind
Gerald Stern



I am taking off my glasses
so I can stare at the little candles
and the glass of water
in pure darkness.

I am letting a broom stand
for my speech on justice
and an old thin handkerchief
for the veil of melodrama I have worn for thirty years.

I am dragging in Euripides
for his strange prayer
and my own true Hosea
for his poem on love and loyalty.

After a minute I fall down dead
from too much thought
and turn to the freezing wall
for an hour of quiet sadness.

I start my practice later,
twenty minutes for breathing,
twenty minutes for song,
twenty minutes for liberation and ritual.

My poem is about the airshaft
and Zoroaster
and the soul caught in its last struggle
with the two-headed cow, father of everything.

My elation has something to do with light,
my misery with darkness,
my secrecy and fear and distance
with neither.

I end up with a pillow
and a painted floor, as I always do,
my head on the flowers, a little pocket for air,
my right arm drifting and dangling.

I end up just humming,
true to myself at last,
preparing myself for the bridge
and the hand that will lead me over, the hand I adore.

I pity this hero,
so in love with fire,
so warlike,
so bent on teaching.



p.s. I couldn't resist you and your agile fingers as they swept over my heart filling it with glory. To follow the mass, my own words prey.

It was the moment when he had the light that it worked.

So you let that go with little debate.
Perhaps it was inserted too late.
Could you please go back in time
just a minute and revisit the rhyme?


The store remains locked.
But the shelves are carefully stocked
with reasons there for all to see.
You are oh so very close to me.




p.s. trust that I try to reflect back to you what you have given to me.