Saevio Eterno

2008-04-19T11:56:00.000-07:00

Two by Two

2008-02-19T01:04:00.001-08:00

Two Step lyrics - Dave Matthews Band lyrics

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Dave Matthews Band Music Videos

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Look into my eyes

2007-04-08T17:02:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-05T18:05:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-31T09:34:00.001-07:00

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

2007-03-25T23:16:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-18T11:05:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-15T21:56:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-09T23:27:00.000-08:00

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

2007-03-04T19:42:00.000-08:00

"...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

2007-01-12T17:20:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-09T23:43:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-07T23:26:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-06T00:08:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-05T01:33:00.005-08:00

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

2007-01-01T13:14:00.000-08:00

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.

Anthithesis of My Soul

2006-12-25T01:10:00.000-08:00

Antithesis of My Soul

The cold of night casts dark shadows which chill
the very being of my soul with icy
longing which takes my breath and leaves it short.

Alone I sit, and fight the chill only
to find the fortified bottle cannot
protect against that which haunts my soul.

Can God forgive a sin committed by
a heart blinded by wants and needs unknown
and quite without a form to see or grasp?

Can God forgive a love experienced
through a desire which has no place in this
world that cannot reconcile with my heart?

Can the Blessed Virgin help to heal the
great wound which splits my soul in two great halves
and causes agony with every breath?

In looking back with clear green eyes all that
I see is wrongful pain for all who were
witness to this a crime against my love.

I reason with my tortured mind and try
to reach a numb accord to hold at bay
emotion's cold and sharp unfeeling blade.

My memory turns and wanders through time
it scrambles to see and understand how
mistakes can be so easily made.

If I could numb my senses with some crude
and subtle potion to hide my raw hurt
from a world which has little pity,

Then perhaps I could conceal my own pain
from myself so my memory could half
forget the things which passed two years ago.

But, should I leave the pain behind I might
forget the love that I held so strong with
another that I do not dare forget.

And in my pain I give myself to those
who will only use that which i have to give
so that nothing is left, I am alone.

It Is Not My Body

2006-12-11T23:35:00.000-08:00

It is not my body.

When the body that is not mine walks onto stage, the ears that are not mine fill with the drone of music I cannot hear. It is not longer distinctive, it does not have the properties that one might consider musical. It is simply a drone—a meaningless soundtrack to meaningless actions performed by a body that is not mine.

The features of the body that is not mine resemble my features. The tone, the shape, the texture, the scent of the body that is not mine resemble those things that make me who I am. And yet it is not me.
The ears that are not mine respond to music I cannot hear, translating every pulsing heartbeat into movement –sensually executed by muscles that are not mine. They tense, they move, they quiver, and they grind in the red faces of men that I do not know.

The movements that are not mine make their faces grow redder, their short breath more urgent, their gaze becomes more penetrating, but they are not looking at me. It is not my body.

When their breath falls heavy in the buxom that is not mine, the eyes that are not mine search for something in the room, for anything in the room to distract the mind that is not mine. This mind that screams out for something better behind the knowledge that there is nothing.

However, it is my soul that attempts to climb, dirty, torn, bloody, and raped from this body which is not mine. It is my soul that begs for the intercession of a God that does not exist. It is my soul that cries for help, but it is silenced by the mind that cares not, and it cannot escape this body that is not mine.

It is not my life. But I am trapped within it.

Universal Church

2006-09-25T23:08:00.000-07:00

Universal Church

The pulse that runs through the Living Church is slowing. The life-blood that at times has run blue with wealth, purple with majesty, green with envy, and red with hatred for thousands upon thousands killed in Her name.

Kyrie eleison

It has lasted centuries, Holy Mother Church, outlived the greed of man--the sin of man--the hatred and jealousy, the deadly sins that plague the world have plagued Her. Continually, She purges herself of disease, purges herself of infestation, purges herself of the imperfections of man that she, like a Phoenix may rise from the ashes reborn. The cycle continues--condemnation, crucifixion, death, and resurrection--the Church takes on the cycle of rebirth.

Kyrie eleison

She is timeless. With Her own hands, She has cared for the poor, the oppressed, the sick lepers cast away from humankind. In the image of Christ himself, She has walked among the poor, the oppressed, the meek--and with them She has inherited the earth. While She has not surpassed Islam, her touch spans the globe, Her arms outstretched embracing the world.

Christe eleison

Often those who work in Her name forget Her mission, Her grace. She is the embodiment of Christ on earth. She is the continuation of His work and spirit. She represents the compassion and mercy of Christ on earth. However, her work is in the hands of men.

Christe eleison

Controlled and driven by men, imperfect and corrupt, Her hands are stained with blood. She weeps but the tears do nothing to wash away the stain. She can be the oppressor. Her priesthood, by no means free of sin themselves, casts stones at those they fear, those who, in many cases, they might be, and those who, under the white protective collar, they often are.

Kyrie eleison

2006-08-30T22:20:00.000-07:00

Dreamgirl Video - Dave Matthews Band lyrics

Dave Matthews Band Music Video Codes

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2006-08-16T21:09:00.000-07:00

At the villa of the Baron De Signac,
Where I spent a somewhat infamous year,
At the villa of the Baron De Signac
I had ladies in attendance,
Fire-opal pendants...
Liaisons!
What's happened to them?
Liaisons today.
Disgraceful!

I am home this evening. For the first time in damn near a month, I am home and going to bed at an early hour. No studying to do, no grading papers, no stress besides laundry. I am listening to Les Miserables simply because I don't have A Little Night Music nor does the iTunes Music Store. Heartbeats would be perfect right now as well, but that CD was lost to the ages years ago. Somehow the shows at Music Circus have rekindled my love of musicals... remembering the performances that I attended as a child, or the more recent London shows brings a smile to my face.

What once was a rare champagne

Is now just an amiable hock,

What once was a villa, at least,

Is "digs."

What once was a gown with train

Is now just a simple little frock,

What once was a sumptuous feast

Is figs.

No--not even figs--raisins!

Ah, liaisons!

Life is so funny.... It takes you in so many places, and while often only for a fleeting moment, is entwined with the lives of the thousands upon thousands that are in existence at the same instant.

Now, where was I?

Where was I?

Oh, yes...

At the palace of the Duke of Ferrara,

Who was prematurely deaf but a dear,

At the palace of the Duke of Ferrara

I acquired some position

Plus a tiny Titian...

Liaisons!

What's happened to them?

Liaisons today.

To see them--indiscriminate Women, it

Pains me more than I can say,

The lack of taste that they display!

Where is style?

Where is skill?

Where is forethought?

Where's discretion of the heart?

Where's passion in the art?

Where's craft?

2006-08-14T22:19:00.000-07:00

Forget about being guilty, we are innocent instead.
Soon we will all find our lives swept away.

The current count-down is D-12... Chula Vista here we come. There is something about the first Dave concert of the season that is both exciting and terrifying at the same time. The excitement comes from the anticipation. A live show--Dave, Carter, Boyd, Stefan, LeRoi, Butch, and now Rayshawn--all on stage together, their energy making an entire summer boil down to one evening.

Take a look again, everyday things change
But basically, you and me stay the same

The past few weeks have been very bizarre, to say the least. Thoughts, fears, hopes, desires, dreams, lusts, they are a tempest within my head. The painful memories that have haunted my dreams for the past year and a half no longer content themselves with playing their draconian pantomime while I sleep. They surface and, in the light of day, become real. A cold sweat breaks my forehead when a car matching make and model passes on the freeway, the color doesn't even have to be the same--the mind boggles.

An old friend, for whom a particular breed of painful memory faded and withered long ago, asked me about the nature of the pain over a glass of red wine--I don't believe he noticed the tears that began to form behind my sunglasses. The San Francisco streets may be the best place to just let the emotion go, to finally let the tears come after such time has passed. But never let them see you bleed.

They are often like sharks, the scent of blood, riding the current like crimson-iron on the current, draws them near. But emotion is not my weakness--far from it. My weakness, and my demons, are much more complicated than simple emotion. They use the emotion as a pawn in this medieval game that slowly plays out in my soul.

And yet, there is so much more. Without the rules, the game is nothing--and without the game, the rules are nothing.