Despite my flaws and although they may be weighty or lengthy, and despite whichever challenges I face, deep down, I know what love is.
No. Really.
I do.
So regardless of where I find myself in this big arena, which is also known as middle-income or middle class, or dead center and on the scene; and even if I rush to the upper echelons and become posh or if I clean up and polish up nicely; no matter where I end up on this big conveyor belt, which I call Project Earth, I know who I am.
No one can tell me about me because I know me, personally.
I met me first. I’ve been with me since the beginning, which is a power that I refuse to submit or to surrender. However, there are times when it is fine to allow someone inside the gates, — or to allow them a view behind the mask with no guard, no decorations and no disguises. No.
Just me and my naked self.
I am aware of myself. I know about my strengths. I am man.
Hear me roar, Goddammit!
and hear me cry or whimper, or breathe as I sleep.
Allow me the courtesy of showing you my soft side, or my weak side, and humble as ever, or even more than modest, let me take down the chains and rid the weapons of their work, so that I can sit without the need for constant protection or worry about some unwanted infiltration — or attack.
I am all too aware of where I am weak and where I need to improve.
Safe to say that I will never sell out an arena to have people hear me sing and I will never strike it rich in the oil business. But nonetheless, I am alive.
I have never walked across the stage to accept a diploma. However, it would be wrong and further inaccurate to assume that I am simple, or stupid and uneducated.
I know the difference between up and down, good or bad, and I have seen the vastness and the variations of life in places which are dark, or places where the world is unsafe or unkind.
I’ve been here and I’m not the only one.
I know that I have seen places, low and shifty, or shady perhaps, and seedy as ever. I have seen the worst of my City yet, even in the worst of places, I have seen the sunlight shine through brownstones, or in otherwise war zones, I have seen moments of peace, to which I can say that maybe I have not seen the world, but this does not mean that I have not seen anything, or that I am unworldly.
I am as worldly as anyone else,
less-travelled, perhaps.
But not less-than as a person. Therefore, I am deserving too.
Do you understand?
I have seen good things. I have been to the best places and the simplest places and at the same time; although it seems as if I have seen everything; I am aware that I have not seen anything,
at least not yet.
But I want to.
I want to live.
I want to see it all.
Even if it’s only from a small place, which I currently live in, and yet, I hardly view the world from my window or walk around in my temporary town.
Instead, or more so, I choose to view my world from here.
Perhaps this is my best way to see you or to reach you, or to be understood.
(Get it?)
Perhaps I should say that I choose to view the world from my special little porthole, like a cruise ship at sea, and me?
I am simply a passenger and looking outwards at the sea, just hoping.
Whereas, The Great and Almighty Mother, Mother Earth, herself, who intersects and coincides with none other than Mr. Father Time, himself to whom I understand that if anyone is in charge, it is them.
Or therefore, it is they who tick the time and it is they who allow fate and destiny to do their job, like the spirits of the sea, or the Gods of the Myths, I understand there is a pecking order and there is much to see and more to learn.
As it stands and dawns upon me now, I understand that I am simply part of a much larger equation, and along with this, I equally understand that fate has a purpose for me —
and as for love; my answer to the riddles are yes.
I know that whether the hour is late or if I am early or just on time – I know that there’s something good out there.
They say that you’ll know when you know, or that when the feeling comes, or when the time is right and the mood hits, the moonlight takes over, and the music is playing in the background, and something overwhelming takes over, like say, the spirit of some unbelievable romance — and yes, I swear it can be this way, somewhat mind-erasing or essentially, you find yourself in a moment when nothing intrudes, or interrupts and the only thing that comes to mind is the moment— and that’s when you know.
There is more than just a charge or some crazy impulse of sexual energy. There’s more than the aftermath of some physical earthquake to which both, or two bodies collide and combine, and they explode together, in a mutual form of sexual revolution.
This is when the question which is and has been the inspiration of this journal, and though I have been asking myself, the basic, “What now?” questions for as long as I can remember; I swear, once the connection ignites, this is when all else fades and the grief subsides.
The pain vanishes.
The feeling and the mutual sway between two bodies overpowers the powers that be, and in the moment of newly splendored affection, there is wanted and much needed theft that takes place—and essentially, this is when you think to yourself, “wow,” and then you remark to yourself our perhaps you might convey this out loud and say, “You have stolen my heart.”
There is nothing else but the moment and the warmth from the sun, or the kindness from the sky, and more, there is nothing else but the orgasmic need, like it was as a teenager, when the only rule was to break all the rules or when our top priority was to dare the line or dare the edges of your own sanity by being as crazy as you can be.
Crazy.
Yes, this word still means something to me.
But please, let me explain.
I have always been a fan of a song called Sweet Thing.
I mention this because this is how I believe love feels. And to be clear, although this is a song by Van Morrison, the song Sweet Thing is what I always wanted my love to feel like this part of his lyrics:
“Just to dig it all, not to wonder. That’s just fine. And I will be satisfied, not to read in-between the lines.”
Or when he sings, “And I shall drive my chariot down your streets and cry, ‘hey, look at me, I’m dynamite, and I don’t know why.’”
This is the way that I have always wanted to feel for myself or for you, or for love, or for life—and to be clear, and to be present and to feel the way it is when you raise your hands up and just give in, as if to say, “ah, what the hell,” and then you just go for it . . .
This is the way that I have always wanted to be
(with you).
That’s what I want. In fact, I wonder and yet, I doubt that I am alone with this.
I’m sure there are more out there who want to walk or talk, or be so crazy or be so swept away and feel so alive, or electrified, and yes—I do believe in this.
Of course, I believe in the greatest theft of all times which happens when your heart is stolen, and in the grand scheme of all things, and when we face a certain understanding or when we realize that time is ticking; and while, yes, I agree that age is just a number, I fully agree that time is always ticking and more importantly, the hour is later than we think, which means now is the right time.
No. Wait.
Now is the best time.
Now is the time to be as crazy as I can be or to do like Van Morrison said, now is the time to drive my chariot down the streets and cry, “Hey look at me!”
“I’m dynamite. And I don’t know why.”
Just to dig it all would be perfect and yes, not to wonder, or worry, or to be preoccupied or distracted by the world—that would be just fine. Yes, I would be more than satisfied not to read in-between the lines.
That’s what love is to me.
And now, I tell you this and I tell you how I have been coming here for years, which is more than a decade and to me, this seems like I have been here for more than centuries, and just waiting, or looking, or hoping to find what it feels like to have that charge, or to feel that crazy fiasco in my heart that both stops and starts my heartbeat a thousand times over, again and again —and yes, of course, this is what I want and this is how I want to “be” or “feel” for the rest of my life.
Is that so wrong?.
I could live this way. I could let go like this and abandon all hope and not worry about the tricks of fate or destiny—because essentially, I will have been stolen in the best way possible, and secured and taken, and gently, I can say that at peace, I swear to you that I can be the best lover. Or even in a state of unrest, I swear that I have paid enough that this would be so valuable to me that I would never let go, no matter how hard my life seems.
I will have come to the turning point, and stood at the crossroads, and awakened by the dawn of revelation—and like the great lighthouse, I could find my way to my port so that my real life could begin.
Or perhaps it would be best to credit Colin Hay, who sings a song called Waiting For My Real Life to Begin.
This is another song that I associate with love, or should I say true love. I mean this, honest and truly, because like the song says, “any minute now, my ship is coming in.”
I keep checking the arrivals . . .
Or as it sings in the chorus which is another part that touches my heart, “And you say, be still my love. Open up your heart, let the light shine in. But don’t you understand, I already have a plan? I’m waiting for my real life to begin.”
Well?
I am too.
But more, I am building this so-called playlist of mine because (and I swear this and you can hold me to this later) there will a day when the top of some dreamed of convertible is down and the sky is blue, and the world is kind enough to allow us a drive down some long, and open road, uninterrupted by traffic and unmolested by the past or any sort of intrusion—and when the time comes, I swear, it will be as if someone hit the relief button. And ahhh. . .
Relief.
I have never seen the coast along the shores of Italy. And I have never been to Cabo, Del Sur, which is on the list.
I’ve never been to Monte Carlo. And I never saw what the sky looks like in say, Brazil, or maybe there are places, such as Varadero, Paraiso, or Santa Maria—or like I said, La Isla, Espiritu Santo where the world resumes to its natural beauty.
And no, I might not have seen too many places like this—but I have seen beautiful things and I do know what the sky looks like when the sun comes up over 100 Lincoln Road.
I know how the shore looks when you walk the beach in South Florida, and perhaps I might not be fit or perfect, and as flawed as I may be — I am perhaps not the best result of this world; but I do know what love is — and more importantly, I know the benefit of a really good song.
But, if I can for a moment — I’d like to ask you.
Let’s say you’re about to embark on a drive like this and it’s time to turn the ignition and start the car. The top goes down and the open road is ahead — I suppose my question here is this:
out of every song you’ve heard in your life, what song would you want to hear first?
I only ask because as I look to grow my infinite playlist for life and love and for the rest of my life (or longer), I want to know which song to play first—just to set the mood, so that as we drive off in our chariot, we can both scream and be dynamite.
Only, this time, we’d know exactly why.
There are signs everywhere.
Like, say, random ladybugs in places that we never see ladybugs.
There are signs all around, drawing us nearer, and preparing us for the greatest theft of all times — to steal our hearts, and to steal back a few seconds from Father Time, and to drive off beneath The Great and Almighty Mother, Mother Earth, as we take off with the top down.
Dream of me please.
And dream well too.
I can’t say much else, but I can promise you this —
that somewhere, your chariot awaits you.
So, get ready to be dynamite
and together, we can drive off and cry.
Okay?
The Written Addiction 