There are two ways to live an open life. Be above reproach, or be shameless. Most folks shoot for the former but I'm finding the latter to be much more pleasant.
He was as small in character as he was large in ego.
Life is for the moments, not the accomplisments.
The trouble with healing your broken heart is that as soon as it's well it jumps off the next cliff it sees and gets broken again.
I had a little plain bouquet of old carnations, baby's breath and greenery left behind at work. I had it in a plastic cup of water in the basket of my bike as I biked home through "whore alley." That's the street where the girls walk. I saw one there, she looked tireder than usual and I suddenly decided to give her one of my flowers. I reached into the basket trying to extract a stemful and she turned around in alarm and said "Oh, I thought you were going to throw something at me!" Just as she was saying this I extended the flower and I replied "No, I'm just giving you a flower." Her smile was radiant and her thanks heartfelt.
This tiny gesture. More grace in this simple gesture to this woman so hard pressed by life than in all the charity of the world. I feel so much better about myself now than I did 30 minutes ago. It was so easy. Would we still have whores if we were all nice to everyone?
Across the battlefield the words echoed again and again as the weeks, then months went by. "You're not so tough." Soon I knew the war would end. There would be no armistice, no treaty, no victory. Only a battlefield of the heart with a lone combatant panting beneath a scarred weeping willow tree.
I love that look, bright gold eyes and eyebrows ringing sky blue in a russet and pink flesh pale and deeply rose, topped by spun copper as bright as a new penny. Fair indeed these copper folk.
I love you like fire
I miss you like rain
I hunger as the dry earth
You call to me with jungle longing
You're deep within my heart belonging
I reach for you, a sailor's berth
I weep with your pain
I'm made of desire
Geese in flight
In the dark of night
Shining bright
In the city's light.
There's places I've driven past where there were literally millions of migratory water birds taking a rest stop. It's truly awe inspiring to see. The picture I took in my head has an orange-blue sky with grey-orange clouds. The water ripples and is irregularily edged and many many linked ponds. The water brightly reflects the gold of the setting sun on the edge of the western horizon, just sitting there like burnished gold. All around filling every empty space in the air and cluttering the water and lining it with feathered density are millions of birds. Ducks and geese and countless other mystery species cluster in nearby fields and lift and wheel above the lake of ponds. They seem to weave an intricate dance of mystery and life, drawing alien pictures and lines upon the air. It is as if one knows it is text, but not what it means. This is in a valley running east west and the land lifts above you as your highway slides smoothly across a causeway with this scene on all sides of you for miles away to the horizons.
How can you not hear my heart breaking? The sound is so great, so terrible, so sharp that it must echo it's rending scream across the universe! Yet you seem oblivious. Still you pose as lover and enemy, secure that your game is still a long way from ending. What is the goal of this battle you engender? What is your prize? I don't know what move to make next. Do I pick up the Jack of Hearts or the Queen of Spades? Do I play my ace or fold and take home my chits? How do I keep my face straight when I know the game is nearly over and I lose? Poker faced I stare across the table at you. Is it my move? Is it yours? I don't even know.
Another piece of my heart breaks and I lay it on the table, ante up. How can you not hear the thunder of it's destruction? How can you think that a heart delivered in shattered pieces will have any value? I may as well play out the hand I think, since I don't want this heart anymore, it grieves me too much. But other times I just want to get up from the table because I'm tired of your smug winner's smile. Well, it's not like I have anything better to do with my time.
Sarah's mistress's hand had something funny on it. She couldn't quite figure it out but it made sense deep inher animal brain. Some deep familiar instinct but she wasn't sure till she sniffed and licked the hand again. That was it, yes, her mistress was bleeding. Sarah suddenly had a flash of realization, her mistress was NOT an immortal god but in fact a living animal capable of being wounded and even dying. Sarah licked her chops and sized up her mistress and how far away that weak white throat was. Next time Mistress was cross or tried to feed her that kibble shit, Sarah was going to enjoy some real food AND a tasty hunt. Sarah continued to wash her mistress's wound dutifully like a good dog, wagging her tail and smiling up at the face above that vulnerable throat.
Come on now and try some Jello, it's little jiggle will make you mellow. When you giggle you're a happy fellow so why don't you have some Jello?
Tonight the river is like the coiled muscles of a strong man asleep. I could speak of it's calm surface and how it shines back man's glory in the city-shine, but what I really feel is the quiet power, sleeping still tonight. I remember how it can kill and rage but tonight is quiescent as a toddler at midnight.
The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, the way to a woman's is through his wallet.
I do not trust You, God/dess, although I believe in You, and in You're Power. I do not trust because I know that all things must continuously grow and learn to be alive. Even You, my Dear Friend, must forever be learning and growing or You are stagnant. We learn and grow by our mistakes. Therefore, my Deity, I do not entirely trust You. You are not infallible.
Pacifism has no value in times of peace. It is only in times of strife when pacifism is most difficult to justify and keep when it's magic shines brightest.