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Sunday, December 09, 2012

Saturday, December 08, 2012

I watched today as two leaves, the last two, fought to hang on to the tree that had brought them into the world. They flailed in the Chicago wind, gritting their teeth to put on a face for the other that strength and resolve were far from broken.

One of them would be the last to let go of the cord that had reared them, unsure of what the next step would hold, be it life or death. Would there be a whole new world to experience or would that world bring nothing more than dirt?

I looked on these two leaves that had grown up next door to each other and spent their lives together; when one eventually gives up the fight the other won’t be far behind.

If not the first to go, by God, be the last.

I wondered if the last leaf to fall thought the leaves that fell before him looked up on him and praised his strength. I wondered if he felt the call to join every single person he knew, as he stood there… alone. I wondered if he more strongly felt that he was in control of his destiny or if his destiny controlled him; would he make the decision to change or would change make the decision for him?

As the sun let the gray sky turn dark both leaves had lived another day.

Thursday, December 06, 2012

Beautiful night for a Chicago walk

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Friday, November 30, 2012

What's colder than cold? (1/4)

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In case you've been looking for the...

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Saturday, November 03, 2012

No Man's Snow

Volcanic ash patterns at Mount Tarvurvur.

Been thinking a lot about the Phoenix lately, and how to rise from the darkness that’s surrounded me these past few years. Maybe poetry is part of rising again… if I can distill these emotions and thoughts into simple lines, which together aren’t so simple at all… perhaps they can balance the tens of thousands of words swirling around in my head attempting to create my novel. Over long periods of time the weight of all those words wears me down, and I just want it to be over...

Light goes gray

Prior to blackened.

In the ash to cross

These boundaries now covered.

Where footsteps remain,

Scarcely remembered,

Barely etched before shaken.

Memories cherish the sun.

Truth shrouded in cloud.

Fact beholden to none.

Over either shoulder,

Only yesterday survives;

Subconscious remission,

Repainted set.

Love now powdered,

Powerless to elemental whim,

Sits still for no man’s snow.

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

There's a story in everything...

Rocinante, camper truck in which Steinbeck tra...

... and in any place and at any time.

I coincidentally met Trek today, a man aptly named for he has spent most of his life living up to his name: months living in the desert alone, a year of driving the States, and other adventures throughout the world. I made the one block walk down to my office away from my office, a coffee shop I can nearly hit with a strong throw of a stone, whereas he'd driven more than 26,000 miles to get to the same place.

For nearly half an hour our kindred souls danced to the music of the things we've done, things we're doing, and things we plan to do, the latter with an exacting focus on the "now." We were two storytellers talking about the ability to find good stories in everything, everywhere, and at any time--in the small towns on the road, in the faces of the clouds or the trees, in the conversations at middle-of-nowhere gas pumps... and in the products, processes, and people of companies.

It easy to think your day's mundane work is uninteresting, but to someone else the things you do are magical. A college professor once told me that there is at least one thing to learn from every person you meet, and I have never found his words to be untrue.

I challenge you to find a good story to tell from the daily things you do, be it from the passion you put into repetitive work or the handshakes you extend as a measure of personal policy or the notes you attached to every purchase as heartfelt thanks.

Stories are everywhere, and they want to be told. Tell 'em!

And I recommend this gentleman's story: The Good in America.

Thursday, October 11, 2012

Taking me seriously? No.

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Tuesday, October 02, 2012

Courtesy flush

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Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Truman says, "Hi, Mom!"

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He's growns and he's growns and he's all growns up now.

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Friday, September 21, 2012

Moving on...

This song has been in my head for two days. It comes back over and over again because it's made me think of all the people in my life who are in such similar places. Where is that place? Trying as hard as we fucking can to learn from our mistakes, perhaps pondering decisions we want to make in the future, wishing like hell we make better ones the second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth time around. I learned from writing my novel that I have a tendency to do the same things repeatedly, expecting a different result, and we all know that definition. We all have a novel in us, but we express it in different ways. As long as we express it, I consider it written, it's through that expression that we learn about ourselves.

My mom said, "In order to find love, you have to know you. In order to know you, you must have the courage to experience and fail. So, in order to know love, you must have failed--hit a note with any of us? Yeah. Duh.

So, I come back to this song, and what this song says to me is that if ever there's a person who is right for me, then I want to feel this way about her, and her about me, because this song is about heart, that unmistakable hold that you happily, trustfully allow someone to have on you and that you have on them--two hearts together that can accomplish wonderfully amazing things that we could never do alone. I believe in this. And this song is about light, how when we shine, then we wouldn't trade each other for the most trustworthy source of light known to man, the sun, because we give each other the light we need to live. I've been writing about it and trying to find it for years, and I still believe in it, and I hope that never changes.

When you have 4 minutes at the end of your day, listen to the song in your ear buds and read along to the lyrics.

And I love her so
I wouldn't trade her for gold
Walking on moonbeams
I was born with a silver spoon

Hell I'm gonna be me
Gonna be free
Walking on moonbeams
And staring out to sea

And if a door be closed
Then a row of homes start building
And tear your curtains down
For sunlight is like gold

Hell you better be you
And do what you can do
When you're walking on moonbeams
And staring out to sea

'Cause if your skin was soil
How long do you think before they'd start digging?
And if your life was gold
How long do you think you'd stay living?

And I love her so
I wouldn't trade her for gold

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Survive before you can feel alive

English: Bronze statue of Rocky Balboa at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, created by A. Thomas Schomberg, as commissioned by Sylvester Stallone. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Had a great conversation with a friend the other night about our hierarchy of needs. We may be fighting for our lives right now. Fighting to put on a smile each day and make it all work. Fighting not to kick someone's ass (in my case it's my own ass that could use some kicking). Fighting with so much effort to stay alive that romantic emotions simply aren't there. We can't force them to be there. When I look at all the women who cross my path each day, aside from those I'm truly honored to already have there, I rarely feel that tug. You know, that tug that makes me want to know her. What's her favorite color? Where does she want to go? Who does she want to be? When she needs it to be quiet, where does she find the place to do it? But every so often, the tug reminds me with a kick in the gut that I want to stop trying to live and get back to being alive, "OMG, I can feel that she's got a story worth listening to."

With hard work (and writing), I expect and look forward to the day when self-security leads back to passionate advance, because I'd much rather spend my time thinking about new ways to love than new ways to survive.