Wednesday, January 18, 2012


  It's who I am trying to be. I was not this before. I might have had it inside of me, but I wasn't it. I can feel all of it, I can feel the world just under my skin, and I WANT to let it free... but the real world encroaches and stifles. It drags its claws over my art, through my dreams. It rends the hope I try to keep close to me useless at times.

     The real world sucks the art out of a body, and injects it with morbid fascination. It creates desires for the common, and numbs the spirit. It clamps our wings closed and makes us earthbound, with only a memory of the sky in the fleeting corner of out imagination.

     Who do you want to be? It's getting late, as Derek Dick once sang, for scribbling and scratching on the paper.  It's time to grab the tail of a star, hold it close to your heart, and fly. It's time to resist the gravity of the everyday. It's time to see the sky under you, time to know the feeling of freedom, and not just the ordinary freedom of escaping from the bland, shriveled existence most of us eek out. It's time to know freedom as the rushing wind tearing past the tender skin on your face, seeing the ground come towards you as you reach terminal velocity.  Feeling the sky, itself, pulling at your shirt tails begging you to slow your descent, but throwing a hand behind and loosening its grasp.

     I am the Sun, Chasing his Mistress Moon.
     I am Whispering Willows caressing Faery Skin.
     I am the Servant.
     I am the Master.
     I am Powerful.
     I am Loved, and Lover.
     I am Light and Darkness.

     I am Wicked.

     I Am Artist.

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Sparking the Muse

The two old men walked carefully over the loose gravel drive towards the barn. They were dressed in their Sunday best, circa 1930, one in grey pinstripes, the other in black. They had their jackets open in the heat, hats pitched askew as they dabbed their foreheads with white cotton handkerchiefs. The taller man took off his jacket, throwing it over his shoulder, the dampness showing through his white shirt as a darkening spread between his red suspenders.  In the background, Billie Holiday could be heard singing "I'll Be Seeing You" from the rolling green back yard of the house, and from inside, the occasional wails of grief overcame the quiet music. They walked quietly, reverently, towards the large white building at the end of the drive, to their left, a well-planted island created a circular area where other guests had carelessly parked.

"Joe was a hell of a guy. I wonder if he kept up on the insurance?" The shorter man questioned off-handedly in the heat.  The taller man just shook his head and shrugged, patting his head again as he pushed his hat further up his brow.
"Not sure.  Probably. He was pretty practical. I doubt he would have left Mary with nothing..." he trailed off and they kept walking.

The barn door loomed before them, waves of heat fuming up off the dark gravel. It was white, the siding fixed vertically upon it, the paint ancient and cracking. There was no lock, only a single handle in the center of the door, near the ground. The two men stared at each other and blinked, their faces questioning as of to say, "Well? Think we can go in?". This time both men shrugged. The tall man leaned down, grabbed the handle and lifted. There came a sound that could only come from an old wooden door that hadn't been used in decades. The springs creaked and moaned as the weight was taken and it slid up, pivoting in the tracks on either side. Dust escaped from the long-sealed building, and both men coughed automatically as they smiled together, then turned their gaze back to the now-cavernous opening.

The light barely penetrated the darkness inside. It was as though the years had worn the shine off the sun, and the dim corners of the barn drank in the glowing yellow light as a man crawling across the Sahara might drink from an oasis. The men waved their hats around to clear the air, and slowly made their way inside. The shorter of the two stopped just inside the opening and stared, open-mouthed, at a shape covered by a dusty white sheet. It was enormous, and from the state of the sheet, it had been there for quite some time. The taller of the two instinctively reached out his left hand and found the ancient light switch, flipping it on with a gnarled knuckle. The single bare bulb above the shape ignited in a brilliant flash of white, then dimmed slightly. The heat from the now-glowing bulb began to burn the dust from its surface, and the rising smoke trailed along the fabric-covered cord suspending it from above. The men hushed and stood reverently in the harsh juxtaposition of light and darkness. The shorter leaned over, touched the dusty sheet and turned his head to the taller man. "He never said he had a car"

"Maybe he didn't want to brag"
"Well, it's probably just an old hunk of junk. He didn't ever seem to be real handy, even with Mary," The men chuckled a bit. They were comfortable with each other, with the memories they spoke of, and it showed. Old friends holding each other up in a time of grief. They shared the hush of men in church, greeting before service. "Think we should?"
"We're here. What's it going to hurt?" The taller man folded his coat over his forearm and leaned down in front of the shape. "Here goes, I guess..."

Like a barker of old, the tall man gracefully lifted the cover, baring the treasure hidden beneath so very slowly. He grinned as a bumper appeared first, then a tall grill followed, both gleaming chrome and looking so very new. The cover became caught on the hidden hood ornament and it took a bit of fumbling to get it untangled. When he did, both men hitched their breath in their chest and held it in. The shorter man spoke first, with admiration, "It's a Muse.  My good God, he's got a Muse."  The tall man tugged the sheet hard and fast, belying his years, and it fell at his feet in a dusty heap. There, in the middle of their dead friend's barn was a car so rare that it was thought to be a myth among collectors. A 1924 Muse.  It was worth more than the property the two men had arrived at today to share his widow's grief.  They ran their fingers over the graceful lines, touching the steel and wood. They brushed their knuckles delicately over the chrome trim, careful to not scrape anything. They drank in the beauty, the elegant forms, and the luxurious textures with their eyes, with their very souls. They caught glances at each other, smiling like schoolboys, and feeling younger than they had in what felt like ages.

They met at the front of the car again, each leaning down to kiss the beautiful chrome goddess that adorned the brilliantly shined grille. They noticed the crank together. Still clipped into place, awaiting use. again they looked once again towards each other. "There's no way this thing... You think?" Said Tall Man. His partner smiled and reached down, his hands seemingly free from the wear of years, invigorated by this gorgeous white creature lying here, unworshipped for who knew how long. Short Man moved deftly, tipping the crank into position and running it through it's range of motion. "Seems okay," he said. Tall Man smiled and nodded, backing away. It was then, and there, that he noticed how much better he felt than earlier today. His knees ached a little less, his back no longer cried at him. 'It must be the excitement,' he thought to himself.

Short Man cranked. Once, twice, and the third time around the Muse fired. It was an unearthly sound inside that barn, a deliciously sonus reverberation against the men's hearts. They leapt into the air as it rumbled ambrosially, begging them into the cabin... the supple leather gliding across their rears as they slid in and closed the doors. Gripping the wheel, Tall Man grinned ear to ear. His heart was dancing in his chest, and he was laughing as a child might - free from the years of living. Short Man bounced up and down on the seat as he began peeling off his too-large jacket and throwing it into the back seat. Tall Man pressed the clutch, shifted into gear, and they whooped and laughed like boys! "Go Go GO!" yelled Short Man, slapping Tall Man's back with enthusiasm.

The attendees began to move from the house and yard into the drive at the sound of a strange engine - melodic and rhythmic rather than a more modern sound. They were greeted by the sight of a huge white car tearing from the barn, it's wide wheels spinning in the gravel drive as it rounded the corner exiting the building. What might have been glitter streamed behind it, mixed in with the dust, and glinting in the bright sun. Two boys, dressed in someone's Sunday best, were in the front seat, their too-large hats flying from their heads as they ran the car through it's gears and down the drive...

And the sound of laughter filled the air.

"O! for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention."
     -William Shakespeare

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Questions, Questions...

Well now.  Seems I make a little more noise than I intend, so I guess a little Q&A session will (hopefully)  clear up some of the redness and that itchy rash.

I heard a couple questions in the past few days, and I thought I might share them with y'all.  Here goes:

"Dude... what's up with the whole Deux Dames thing on your Facebook Page?"

Aaaaahhhh.... yeah.  Well, see, Facebook doesn't allow more than one person to be listed in a relationship with you even if you list your status as "In an open relationship" (Oddly, that is the wrong description, but it's the closest one that the insane folks over at FBHQ offer).  The two beautiful women I am in a relationship in both deserve to be listed at the top of my page.  Period. It stinks to have to put one OR the other up (remember, I'm all about AND not OR, right?), so I found an interesting way around it.  A FB page for them. It allows me to get their beautiful faces right there on top, and it allows me the opportunity to give  both relationships the respect that they deserve.  Honest.  And even better than that, I had their consent (Really? Yes, really). We discussed various possibilities, but THIS one worked best, and I was more than happy to do it.  Both smiles deserve top ranking, and they get it.  Pretty cool, huh?

And no, it's not bragging or being boastful, but it is fair. I love them both, so why not have them be right there on the top of the page?

"You've badmouthed Monogamy before, and pointed out that it's wrong and backward-thinking. You're an asshole. Do you think that I'm less enlightened for being Monogamous?"

Ummmmmm.... no.  I don't believe I ever intended to imply this to anyone. Being monogamous versus being polyamorous is about lifestyle choices (okay, inside Martin is the belief that it might be deeper than that, and that Poly folks are really wired differently, but that's another discussion).  I don't believe that either one is more valid than the other, although I do think that polyamory is generally NOT accepted as a valid lifestyle, and is therefore frowned upon as being 'wrong'. And like so many things that are near and dear to me, I might have defended my choice a bit strongly in other posts.  Hmm. What to do?  I guess I'll just state flatly that if being monogamous is your thing, cool.  It's not mine, so please don't judge until you talk to me about it and hear what I have to say.  Of course,  you're always free to form your own opinion, but at least give me the chance to point out the joys of the lifestyle before you condemn it, okay?

And here's a funny thing... one of my relationships is with a woman who is not, in fact, polyamorous! We work through issues as they arise, and we talk. A lot.  No, really... a LOT! I'd like to think that there is enough love between us to be able to make it work, and so far, so good.

Thanks for listening, all!
I really am quite happy answering questions, and I invite anyone to ask and poke.


Sunday, January 1, 2012

Auld Lang Syne

I can think of no better way to bring in 2012 than a toast to all of you, my friends, family, loves, and lovelies. 

So, pick up your glass and repeat after me:

Clear Skies and Calm Seas!

Thanks for being by my side all year. Without you, I doubt I could have made it. 
I love you all.
Happy New Year 2012

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind ?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne ?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp !
and surely I’ll be mine !
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.


We twa hae run about the braes,
and pu’d the gowans fine ;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
sin auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidl’d i' the burn,
frae morning sun till dine ;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
sin auld lang syne.


And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere !
and gie's a hand o’ thine !
And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught,
for auld lang syne.