Look into my eyes

If the eyes are the windows to the soul, I am afraid. I am not afraid because of what I saw when I looked into your eyes. I am not afraid of the hardness I saw. I am not afraid of the coldness I felt. I am not afraid of the intentional and harsh lack of emotion I stumbled on when my gaze sought to push past the initial barrier that it encountered. I am afraid because I found myself unsurprised and unmoved. I did not encounter anger, nor did I see pain. I simply encountered a severe and direct refusal to acknowledge any emotion whatsoever.

Would that I could block my thoughts and refuse to recall the past.

never never

In vino veritas, comes the battle cry
reminding us incescently that truth outlives the lie
In vino veritas, from you I will keep
my secret thoughts and feelings and burry truth so deep
that only strong elixir brings it to the light
it elicits cries of anguish in the ambience of night.

perhaps the syrum brings the truth, or the truth inspires the drink
inherantly it floats to life, much stronger than you think
despite efforts to stamp it out and burry it away
it constantly reminds you, truth is here to stay

Today's Horoscope

Here is your horoscope
for Saturday, March 31:

They say you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. But you very sensibly ask, 'Who wants to catch a bunch of flies?' You manage to ask the no-nonsense questions with just the right amount of charm.

sounds in darkness

the sounds i remember most are the sounds i remember in the dark
whether the soft whisper of my love
the rustle of tree branches in the wind
or the loud crass sounds of the city
they all mean more when they are in the dark

in the light of day the sounds all blend
with one another they meld into an ambiance
that is representative of the spectrum
and brilliance not found in the absence of light
and it is in the absence of light sounds, thoughts, dreams, and fears become clear

a snapping twig, a cricket's chirp, the whine of a mosquito
would be lost in the sheer ambiance of daylight
but in the darkness, each sound retains its unique
vibrancy and gives to the night its full and undivided resonance
eliminating the need for light and replacing it with a crystalline comprehension from darkness

for darkness does not deceive, it is not darkness that distorts
shapes and colors--it is light
it is not darkness that lends itself to illusion--it is light
it was not the darkness of the cave that held captive plato's prisoners
the firelight cast the shadows--it is light

in the darkness it is possible to know without being blinded by sight
hearing sound which is not muffled by seeing
experiencing feelings which are pure and uninhibited by the confines of the spectrum
and the laconic pace of light

Today's Horoscope

Here is your horoscope
for Sunday, March 18:

Whoever said it's impossible to have it all clearly didn't know you. As one of the zodiac's most can-do signs, you set your sights on a goal and get there. Your trick is that you take it one step and one day at a time.

Thank you

Thank you for the conversation
for quiet thoughts and words
spoken over bold dark coffee
while fleeting minutes blurred.

So carefully they were chosen
with care and measured pace
painting pictures of the person
hid safe behind your face.

Will they gift me understanding
of who I've only met
and help me unlock the secret
and draw a crude vingette?

And bring me appreciation
of your mind, heart and dreams
and that you begin to know me
for nothings as it seems.

The Train

My thoughts drift back tonight to years ago
When I stood in night's cool air and gazed out
into the dark and silent Napa night.

The only sound that cut the velvet night
was the clacking of the train as it crept
along the valley floor among the vines.

From the platform on the tail I cast my
thoughts into the darkness where they fell and
came to lay scattered lifeless on the tracks.

Like terrace high on palace grand I watched
the kingdom of my thoughts made barren with
each passing railroad tie supporting rail.

And like the moments passing with my life
rail-bound ties pass into the darkness
with clacking-echo fading to the night.

Man of La Mancha

"...he conceives the strangest project ever imagined. To become a night errant and to sally forth into the world righting all wrongs. His name, Don Quixote de La Mancha!"

The U.C. Davis Performing Arts department produced a live-action/puppet production of Dale Wasserman's Man of La Mancha, a musical version of Miguel Cervantes' Don Quixote.

This particular version of Man of La Mancha was unique because of the use of puppets to convey Cervantes' imaginary world. Wasserman's version of the Quixote story places Cervantes in a Spanish prison awaiting trial before the infamous inquisition. Cervantes tells the prisoners the story of his fictitious Don Quixote to prevent them from destroying his belongings. In a typical version of La Mancha, the use of costumes and make-up on the principal actors conveys the story while making the audience aware of the cruel reality of the prison and the inquisition during the 1600's in Spain. By using puppets to convey Cervantes' imaginary world, the director contrasts reality with fiction against the backdrop of a dungeon-like prison.

The production was phenomenal. While the vocal and acting talents were decidedly college-level, the puppetry, scenery, and staging was incredible, clearly professional quality.

Don Quixote has always represented admirable idealism. His impossible dream is one that everyone should have. The ideal of the knight-errant riding with his trusty squire, fighting evil, living to his ideal, honoring a code of ethics that is beyond reproach. In La Mancha, Cervantes, when accused of being an idealist, says, "I never had the courage to believe in nothing." Does it take courage to believe in nothing? If It takes courage to believe in nothing, then how much courage does it take to believe in something. Do you have the courage to fight in your Dulcenea's name, tilting windmills and fighting dragons that no one sees but you? Do you have the courage to stand vigil in the courtyard of an inn, dreaming of how history will remember your legacy?

Perhaps God will grant me this courage. Perhaps he will help me to find, in the depths of my being, the courage to be all that I can, regardless of cost. "And the world will be better for this. That one man, scorned and covered with scars, still strove with his last ounce of courage, to reach the unreachable star!"

Subconcious Purgatory

In those fleeting moments between sleep and wide awake
My thoughts wander for a moment, and a sharp turn take
They bring to mind a moment that I once had known
But it was just a moment, before my heart was stone.
And in that fleeting moment, too many things I learned
The lips on mine a moment, the passion how it burned
That single heartfelt moment, I hoped would never end
A partner for a moment, a love not just a friend.

My mind seeks out the moment, when we our love expressed
and in that very moment, our friendship we did test
and push moment'try boundaries to places far away
and forever, for that moment, I hoped that you would stay
Then in that brief moment, when we crossed our rubicon
Our hearts were lost that moment, and all we had was gone
I long for the moment, before innocence was lost
For though we had our moment, how very high the cost!

Icarus, Part II

The LCD panel on the seat in front of me shows a map that places us somewhere over Greenland. It is at least another 4 hours until we land in London.

I have been attempting to formulate a game-plan for my arrival. I have nowhere to stay and was only able to pull about $5,000 in cash together before I left. I know my paychecks will continue to come for at least one more pay-period, and I can pull the maximum out of the ATM.

The major problem is work. Without a visa, it may be difficult to find "gainful" employment.

Icarus Part I

The voice on the intercom that calls the flights is cold and calm.

The authority with which United Flight 1024 is called to gate B2 and American Flight 512 to gate G8 and Delta 256 to somewhere else is reassuring as I doze in the uncomfortable terminal seating. My name has not been called and I wait for that authoritative, reassuring voice to call me--an indication that I will soon depart this place leaving my cares behind. I am really in no hurry. The next flight will do, wherever it goes. It makes me wish that an Eurail Pass could be developed for American flights. Lee Marvin sang, "Where am I going? I don't Know. When will I get there? I ain't certain. All that I know is I am on my way!"

It will be at least two days until someone becomes worried enough to go by my house. At least two days until they discover I've left. I hope I left the cat enough food.

Listen to the Rain

Come walk with me into the rain
that falls like loving tears
And wittiness catastrophic love
that spans the troubled years
and has left my gentle heart in shreds
alone, exposed to fears
too terrible to comprehend
just pray that hope appears.

The sound of softly falling rain
that echos in my head
Is amplified by loneliness
and fortified by dread
The sound drowns out the outside world
and fills my every sense
It takes away my consciousness
and leaves my body tense.

The subtle smell that comes with rain
promises life's rebirth
it overcomes the bitter scent
that fills my hell on earth
reminding me of dead flowers baked
in sunlights brutal rays
their beauty lingers, essence gone
their perfume fast decays

Like tears it comes from darkened skies
to fall upon the dust
of this the desert of my life ,
devoid of love and trust,
are fast absorbed by thirsty cracks
that run across my soul
but nothing do they satisfy
nothing do they make whole.

February 3, 2004

slowly she moves, low to the ground, approaching, watching, listening, waiting for the right moment to catch me unprepared, unaware, her golden watching eyes never for a moment leave, their focus on my every move is kept

i see her approach, i feel her eyes searing fate into my soul and with every breath that gives life to my clay shell, my destiny sealed with the force of a thousand angry gods to which she belongs and to whom she will offer my soul

she cares not for the good that lies at my core, she sees only her prey and with that all-consuming thought she waits for the moment i am alone to pounce for she is nothing but cold, dark, silent reality from which there is no escape.

The Morning After

The Morning After

At one point in the night, the rules became void.

Nearing midnight, the normal decorous behaviors that one might have attributed to the prior year become obsolete.

That clock chime of midnight, followed by cheers of the New Year, the kisses, the hugs, the stolen glances, the raucous and illicit behavior that is normally unacceptable becomes the norm.

Inhibitions are ignored. The party is on.

And as the ticking of the clock begins counting down the seconds of the New Year, the spell wears off, one tick at a time.

The magical and wondrous moments that were so special in the fleeting moments of the previous year become tarnished as the spell fades.

With that stroke of midnight the ball gowns vanish and the rags reappear, the crystal slippers show their tarnish, the noble steed becomes a humble mouse once again.

And the guests who partake in libations increase their intake in the hope that the mysterious properties of the drink will once again cause the room to sparkle but the thrill is increasingly empty.

Those moments of the previous year, lived out in music and merriment, are gone and will never return.

And the one who subtly flirted, who stole glances with me in the candlelight, sees a different person when the lights come up,when the music stops.

How can an individual be judged on a few moments of gaiety?

How can a man be measured by a few brief indiscretions carried out in the magic of the evening?

Not even the artful skills of a furtive godmother can bring back the few moments of splendor as they tick away like grains of sand--one after the other--never to return to the hourglass again.