Writer's Lament

Some people are people people.

Some people are paper people.

Some are both.

It is WAY more important to be a people people,

umm, person.

Good To Know

“Where there is great love, there are always wishes.”

Willa Carter

Remember this whenever a relationship does not seem to be enough. A longing for perfection is natural for some. Especially those prone to delusion or fairy tales.

Focus on the great love.

“Some memories are realities, and are better than anything that can happen to one again.”

Willa Cather
The few who know were never the same.

Perspective

I said:

"Sometimes I think I just complicate things to have something to write about just to fend off loneliness, but maybe that's telling secrets so nevermind :)

And I laughed.

And she cried.

...

...

sitting here (my book of memories)

it was thirty years ago
sheesh I feel so old
I was four miles from Woodstock
and my feet got cold

all my thirteen years
I dreamed of getting high
but somehow my spirit
was not ready to fly

...so I sang myself to sleep again...
...so no one heard but me...
...and I put another dream away...
...in my book of memories...

just a few years later
if the truth be told
I was so lost in true love
that my heart was sold

and I heard his voice
if you know what I mean
and I knew my heart
would always be... seventeen

...and I sang myself to sleep again...
...still no one heard but me...
...and another dream slipped on the shelf...
...in my book of memories...

there came dark years
when I tried to die
there came bright years
good old college try
there came lost years
when love passed me by
there came light years
when I learned to fly

still I never learned to say...
still I never learned mean...
still I never learned to do...
good bye


it was eighteen years ago
I was deep in denial
I heard he was dead.
life was put on trial

then I heard his voice again
and somehow I knew
that I had to live
and I wanted to

and I sang myself awake - alive
but still no one heard but me
another dream that still survives
in my book of memories

see I've sang his songs for myself
like I hear you do for others
and it may be just a dream for me
but I still feel like we're brothers

there was always something that stopped me
from stepping out on the stage
maybe fear, maybe pride, maybe life denied
I just watched the turning page

and I always told myself
I was waiting to share
waiting... for... the one
now sitting here alone
it iss becoming clear
I have not yet begun

for I've only dreamt while I was asleep
singing softly to myself
living in a book of memories
I've created by myself

and I wonder now, if it is too late
sitting here all by myself
is there any worth in the words I wrote
sitting here... up on my shelf


it was just tonight
I read about your show
wishing I was there
but I didn't go

I live far away
feeling old and tired
but reading your words
I felt... inspired...


...so I sing myself to sleep again...
...does anyone hear me?...
...another dream begins and ends...
...in my book of memories...


and now I sing myself to sleep again
it's still comforting for me
another dream of finding friends
to share
my book of memories

pretentious obscurantism

it may be that i lack an audience because i enjoy irreverence (and word play leading to repetitive redundancy and parenthetic distraction) so much my appearance of persona may present as pretentious obscurantism... or prehensile epicurism, no doubt... perhaps i am just misunderstood... could be that i am simply a lousy writer with no sex appeal (or whatever we might call a writer's appeal) in spite of my brilliant tweets... it's only wordzzz (and word are all i have, after all... but truth is (can you handle the truth?) that i do wander into wonder a lot and can easily be distracted by almost anything, yes, even a squirrel... and infinite variations... and then there are those profoundly meaningless questions that come to mind like why are brits afraid to smile... of course meaninglessness, like pretentious obscurantism, is in the mind of the beholder... everything is always a matter of perspective and opinion, after all... except what we know for sure, that is... but don't mind me, i am still looking for empirical evidence of my own existence... narf :)

when you get here

why is everyone so afraid delusions taught from birth are destroying the earth irresponsibility blessed by holy trinity thank god for human frailty so you don't have to be responsible for reality when you get over yourself when you get over your fear when you get over the lies you tell i'll be here when you get here

death of love

i believed in love that reached beyond this life into eternity and accepted the feeling as the energy of eternal infinity you can call it what you like but it was everything to me so real it cut my heart out when it stopped leaving only misery i don't know how she held her breath so long i hid in a closet to avoid reality a crumbling person pretending to be strong life became a pretentious fantasy and over the years the hole was never filled even as it became ancient history scores of poets lamented and noblemen killed reaching for a glimpse of the mystery they called it glory same old story sudden whispery the mind of god and everything in love's simplicity I believed in love that could never end and then i learned how people can pretend and then i learned how not to trust a friend and then i learned how low people descend to destroy the purity of all they "amen"ed right up to the betrayal of a best friend

frustration

i know i create my own nightmares by trusting people with more power over my life than wisdom would grant, but wisdom is a lonely place and even nobody has it better than a fool who knows better and still gives more trust than is wise just to get the pretense of feeling less alone but... there are other perspectives...

when memories fail (the written words)

when memories fail... as they do in an aging mind the written words will keep who i am from being left behind when the mind goes... as it does as time goes by the written words will keep who i am alive and high the blues come when we forget who we are the lows come when we forget what we mean depression comes when we forget the star we cast our dreams upon and life is over when we forget we were here when we are gone the saddest thing in life may be when trust is betrayed especially when you trust someone with the memories and all the plans you've made when memories fail... as they do in an aging mind where are the written words left behind when the mind goes... as it does as time goes by where are the written words that kept me high all the reminders i wrote all the songs i sang the tapes were made to be the map to me understand i trusted you with all that the map that leads to me can you remind me now who i am? when memories fail...

the game of life

In a game, winning is making the other guy fail... in life, winning is working together to help everyone succeed. We all need to stop playing games with life.