This is where I came from. All my journals or my thoughts have all come from the same place. This is my past, of course, and these are my little secrets or my tiny recollections which I hold like old notes, folded in paper and kept away in a small pocket in my heart.
No one sends notes anymore.
Everything is texted and emailed.
I miss notes.
I miss seeing handwritten letters and reading the words I love you in a signature other than some kind of computer-generated text.
But that’s just me . . .
My biggest fears are that I would always be “that one,” or if anything, I would be that person who was always in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I was always afraid that I would never find my spot or fit someplace.
I think that shame or shame-based ideas are far more deadly than you and I believe.
And please, let me explain.
Shame is like fear and both are excellent motivators.
Excellent to say the least.
I was always afraid that I would never succeed or find a platform for myself, —or worse, I worried that I would always have to pretend to be someone else.
With all my heart, I do not believe that by any means, a man should be afraid of another person.
I do not believe that I should be afraid of anyone. Yet, I am.
At times, I swear that it seems like I am afraid of everyone (including you) because at some point, I fell for the tricks and slipped into the trap.
I believe that fear is draining. In fact, nothing drains us more than irrational fears. Nothing breaks us down or takes us away from ourselves like the fears that grow big and tall or become so huge and insurmountable that fear is all we see.
I hate the snowball effect, but I know this is real. Then again, it can be said that fear is an excellent motivator.
Fear can drive us in either direction. This can cause us to rise up and fight back. Or fear can have an adverse effect, in which case, we can turn inward and retreat, like a scared child who lives too afraid of the monsters in the closet or beneath the bed.
I would not call this a note of my most inspiring times, and nor would I consider this the glories of my youth. There is nothing romantic or cool about this time in my life and I would never say that this was me at my best. Not at all.
To be clear, this entry is more for my own discovery to trace myself back to a lineage where I was always booking for “something” to help me feel better.
I saw myself through a case of mistaken identity.
I was unsure of myself and my body.
I was unsure who (if anyone) would ever look at me with an interest that extended further than a handshake or a simple introduction.
What I am about to describe is real and an honest description of what took place after my nights out.
I had my struggles, of course. But there is something beautiful here, which is why I expose this to find a fair and honest representation of desire that went unaddressed.
– The colors across my bedroom walls took on a new style, and the room began to move in a way that was perhaps demented and wild, or bizarre to say the least.
I used to love this.
It was clear that the LSD had begun to take its turn and the trip was about to begin.
I have seen things unlike the usual or the norm and yet, I have never seen anything like this.
Yet, I was not a novice to this kind of experiment. I was not new to the hours of trippy or self-inflicted insanity.
I can’t say that yesterday was my last lecture. But I can say that yesterday was my last lecture of its kind.
And yes, this hit me hard. This also points out that despite our plans and our wishes, life makes changes no matter how we wish for something else.
Back when I was a boy, I suppose I would always be the way I was. I never assumed my Father would die or that his business would fold or go under.
I assumed that I would work in our family business.
But life and the fortune tellers of fate and destiny had other plans for me.
I am told that all men are animals.
I was told this more than once.
All men are animals.
Each and every one of us.
And maybe this is true.
I was told “from 8 to 80, blind, crippled or crazy.
All men are animals”
In the spirit of making this easy, I can’t say that I know where fantasies come from. I cannot say where my fascinations came from or how they began.
I know that I consider myself to be open-minded. I do my past to be perceptive and pay attention.
I can’t say that I am a person without challenges or problems.
I am as crazy as anyone else here in this world.
I have a drive.
I certainly appreciate the swerve of a woman’s body.
At the same time, I cannot say that I have a type or a style. No, and to be very clear, I have said this to you before. But in the interest of discovery and to further the meaning of this journal; please allow me to repat myself.
I have a feeling or a connection, and this? This is my type.
Looks and body parts are attractive. But this?
This is more.
We live in a very different world now. You and me.
Our universes collided, for sure.
I know this.
But now, or at least as of this morning; it seems as though I am on the other side of the galaxy.
We are alive and living in different worlds (for now)
This is not because we come from different sides of the spectrum or that our age, generation or culture is not the same.
Not much has changed at the core of us.
At least, no.
I don’t think so.
What I mean is we all have our motivations and each are to honor a thought, a want, a fear, or a need.
We all have lungs to breathe and eyes that see.
At least, most of us do.
Music . . .
I’m not sure what moves you or makes your body need to dance. But we all have a vibration and a beat or rhythm that makes us move.
I’m not sure if my rhythm is good or bad or if I dance well or not.
But whether I am good or not is not the point of this entry,
I think I learned something last night.
I saw something beautiful.
I saw something pure and brave and to me, this was perfect because this happened at the perfect time.
Social media seems to know too much. Then again, so did the radio back in the day. Remember the way it was before technology took the place?
I say this because the so-called algorithms seem to know when heartache is in the air.
The radio used to know this too. Only, I was never sure how this was. Or maybe I was hypersensitive. Or maybe fate, God, and destiny have a sense of humor because the radio would never fail–at least, not when a break up took place. Somehow and suddenly, every song that had relevance and every song that had meaning between myself and my ex-girl came on the radio.
I saw this as fate’s cruelty or perhaps this was destiny showing me a new way, as if to purge the emotion and make me hurt so I can heal.
What I am about to say is something that I have to say again because I am still unsure.
I do not know if this is manly of me or not.
I do not know if it masculine to admit to these things. Then again, perhaps, my definition of being a man or manhood is in need of being updated.
You do know that things can always be worse, right?
Then again, I’m not sure that anyone wants to hear this. At least, not under bad circumstances.
Of course, things could be worse.
I know this. And you do too.
I know that despite the wrong turns and the pitfalls, somewhere, someone is hurting far worse than I am. I know that I have two arms and two legs, two eyes, a mouth and a nose. And while admittedly, yes, my age has crept up. I can still function.
My body does not function like it used to. But nothing does. No one functions like they did when they were younger.
Age is undefeated.
And I get that.
I am on a train with my back towards the westbound direction where I have been heading for more than three decades.
It is hard to think that I am still here or that I am still making this trip.
I often think about my exit or my great escape. At the same time, I am looking back as if to remember the way things were.
Me, younger than ever, alive and well and working my first real job as a grownup.
In fairness, I looked like a high school kid in a suit. And still, school was over. At least for me.
I never finished school. I never walked with my graduating class. I never did much with college, aside from a few semesters.
I was not a student and nor was I interested in classroom subjects.
I have always wanted to know what it would be like to be good at something.
I’m not sure if you understand.
And when I say good, I don’t mean good.
I mean really good.
I have listened to poets read their work and thought about what it would be like to be as good as them.
Could I be?
Or am I just below average with hopes that are better than my talents?
Who knows?
I have watched people do their craft and wondered if this was all a case of practice makes perfect.
Or is this something internal? For example, no one could do what Beethoven could do. And no one could do what Mozart could do. And the same could be said about Chopin or the other composers.
This . . .
This right here is more than more.
This is the most I have.
Right here.
I don’t believe it when people say they have a type. Or maybe this is just me. Maybe I should keep it this way and remain subjective.
But I believe.
More than anything, I believe in the fact that there is only one person who can steal your heart and never give it back.
I think that chemistry overrules the typical version of someone’s type. At the same time, I understand the ideas and the feelings that come with physical or sexual attraction.
If it were up to me or if given the choice, I’d say that love would be easy. I’d say that insecurity would never intercept our truths and so, if it were up to me, then it would be up to me to wipe away the harm from our past so that we can face each other without worrying about our yesterdays.
I saw something the other day that had an impact. I saw this woman talking on a video about what happens when we reach out and find ourselves rejected or ignored.
She said something happens to us.
She said the rejection registers in our brain the same as when we experience physical pain.
I get that.
The funny thing is I remember the first time I looked at a woman and realized I had a special fascination for the female anatomy.
And I was young too. I was in second grade to be exact. And what’s more is I remember this clearly because my second-grade teacher was cruel. She was an awful looking woman who was both witch-like and equipped with gnarled fingers that resembled the limbs of crooked branches that stemmed from an old white birch tree.
She had bad breath that smelled from coffee and evil beady eyes that beamed with a cold and brutal sense of angry disapproval.
I assumed that all teachers were like thos, or like her, and angry, ugly in more ways than one and, too, I never assumed that a teacher could be younger or anything close to beautiful.
And then one day. . .
Mrs. Rowan called out sick.
I always go back to the saying that goes, “If you don’t know, then you just don’t know.”
I’m sure you understand this, at least from your own perspective.
I love this, by the way,
The way no one else is here, except us.
I love that you and I can speak freely, at least here.
I love that I can close the door and share my things here, without worry or fear that somehow, my old truths will find their way back and the retaliation will be swift and merciless.
In fairness, I am just a kid.
I am that boy, I told you about.
I am that kid who wishes and wants and hopes that maybe (someday) I can arrive at your doorstep to see you answer the knock.
My eyes will open wide and my smile will be bigger than my face when I see what you’re wearing.
And I will hand you a corsage and weave my arm through yours, so we can finally have a dance, which I have been waiting lifetimes to have .
All I knew is that I was the young one. I was the kid brother to a big brother and the youngest one in the house.
But what else did I know? Or what else could I know?
I say this as a fair question to myself because what else do we know when we are young?
What do we know, aside from the pecking order in the house. Or if we take it to the streets, or the different social places, what do we pay attention to?
What do we notice, other than the different levels of who’s cool and who isn’t?
We know who’s bigger or better, and other than the relevance of age or what it means to be a grade ahead or behind someone else, what else do you know when you’re just a kid?
I never told anyone if I had a crush . . .
Then again, who would I tell?
Or if I told anyone, what would they tell me?
I know there’s more for me to learn. And I will always have more to say.
I suppose this is why I will close this journal today and start a new one tomorrow.
And I know . . .
I’ve skipped a class more than I should have, —and yes, the Almighty Teacher is always watching and as far as I can tell, She is always taking attendance.
Skip a class, and She comes to find you because the Almighty Teacher is not one to give up on her students, regardless of how defiant that might be.
I hated the politics of the classrooms. And I still do.
Did I ever tell you how I used to hide in some of the closets behind a stage when I was in school?
Did I ever tell you about the anxieties that plagued me ?
Or have I mentioned how this followed me into my adulthood?
I’m sure that I have.
Of course, I have.
I suppose it’s true what they say. You can’t see the forest from the trees. And so, I suppose I never assumed that I would be where I am now, or if at all possible, I never thought there would be a “now,” at least, not when I was alive back then.
There is no future.
There is only this moment.
I see the world like a tiny ball of mercury, which I held in my hand once. Shimmering. Mysterious and odd.
Daring in some ways, and simple in most regards.
It is what it is, is what we always say.
1)
It has been said by many, if you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be.
I was told that it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.
I beg to differ.
Continue readingIf I am to find whatever it is or whatever it takes to get me to where I need to be, then I have to look and be willing to do whatever it takes to get wherever this is.
By any means. No excuses.
And should my fears intimidate me get in my way, then I must allow the depths of my will and intent to grow stronger.
I must let my will and my intent gain the strength it takes to outweigh the whispers that shout louder than my insecure screams.
There is no such thing as being inferior.
Understand?
If I am to be the person I choose to be, then I have to take the steps to achieve whatever it takes to get me to where I need to be.
And so, make no mistake.
If it is up to me.
Then it is up to me.
And so . . .
Continue readingMorning, coffee, my dreams
The machine, which is life and the wheels
that spin . . .
Man, they are certainly turning
too fact.
It is almost March and the mad pace
of everyday life and the subways
are enough to make a man crazy
on his way home.
Another one of the City’s Homeless
decided to see if I or someone else
would take the bait and fight.
I did not meet this man halfway
but I did persuade him
to think differently about me
He agreed.
Continue readingThis is for you
Fran.
I suppose no one else could understand
except for you.
Then again, I suppose this is what makes you who you are.
This is why –
I love you
and this is why everyone who meets you
Loves you as well!
Ah, The East River.
New York City
Early at sunrise. Thursday.
Come to think of it, the sun is coming up earlier now, which means that yes, the winter will slowly give way and thaw of springtime will be here before we know it.
You have always been beautiful to me. And I have seen you throughout the years, always moving, always quiet, and always watching the world around you just like the Ever-loving Mother, and Mother of All, full of grace, Holy with attitude and generous with your judgments.
At the risk of repeating myself, gone is gone.
Dead is dead and buried is buried.
We all know this.
Or maybe I repeating myself when I say that we all know this from an intellectual standpoint.
Emotionally, however, emotions are a different story altogether.
No amount of pleading with fate or begging for something to rewind or replay can change what took place.
We know this to.
Yet, still, we try.
We beg.
We pray and we ask.
Please, just one more chance??
There’s no way back.
Or better yet, there’s no way to go back to what was said or change what happened.
This is a great lesson to learn.
You cannot change or relitigate the past.
And this is another great lesson to learn.
Whatever could have (or should have) happened, did happen, and no amount of pretending or avoiding or negotiating can change what took place.
So, learn.
Open your eyes.
Pay attention.
And learn your lesson.
I was somewhere in the eighth grade. I was far from a student and far from someone with a good sense of comprehension.
I hated reading. I hated the books and the material. I hated homework even more, which is why I never seemed to do mine or any other schoolwork, for that matter.
English was never a strong subject for me. Then again, none of my subjects were either strong or interesting to me.
I hated school
It must have been closer to the end of the year. This was the first time I ever heard anyone read Hamlet or Shakespeare.
My English teacher was older. She was tough and she was not someone who I would look at and find attractive.
Until . . .
Years later.
I do not relate to the way things were, back when my times in yellow cabs swooshed through the streets in New York City.
I was well dressed and self-absorbed but more, I was blind because I knew the lies within were about to bubble over at any given moment.
You can lie to the world.
You can put on a brave face.
You can fix your smile and deny as much as you choose.
But the truth is always going to be the truth
I was always told to watch for the changes. I was told that the tides can turn and fortune can turn to unfortunate in a matter of minutes.
I am driving fast on the FDR, heading north and going Downtown while listening to a song called English Rose.
I like this.
I like hearing vintage songs from my past.
I like how this one reminds me of a movie called This Is England and the show which came around the movie released.
I love what this reminds me of.
I love the truth of life, which I feel when I think about my recent crash course with life and the fallouts of mistakes.
I never liked the classrooms or the feelings of anxiety that I’d have when walking in the classroom. I used to panic. I used to fear the worse and believe that something awful was about to happen. And usually something awful did happen.
I never liked the fears that came over me or the change in my chemistry when I was questioned or told that there was going to be a test.
God, the anxiety was awful.
I hated how it felt for me when standing up in front of the classroom. I hated being laughed at or bullied or yelled at by my teacher.. I swore to myself that I would never step foot ina classroom again,
I swore that I would never subject myself to this kind of fear or pain or worry.
It is strange to me now how my life has changed.
So have I.
I suppose the surprising or the funny thing about any of these entries is that I never assumed that this would be me.
I never assumed that I would show this part of myself or share the things that I have shared.
My past was poorly guarded and devoted to the unfortunate side of bad ideas.
I trusted people who were undeserving. And I gave myself away with the mistaken understanding that I somehow had to “sell” myself otherwise, who would care?
Who would like me?
Or who would want me in their life if I offered no benefits?
I am awake again and at the same time at the same place in my bed. I am thinking about too many things and so, it is hard to ease my mind or rest my breath enough to sleep.
So much happens in the span of time.
Too much has gone on between the distance of you and I.
I would rather be somewhere or anywhere else, —preferably someplace warm, like say, far from the world we know and far from the old snow and the slushy pavement along the streets in Downtown, Manhattan.
It amazes me though.
I am amazed at the places I’ve seen and the person I’ve been throughout my life.
It amazes me still, to notice the range between highs and lows or when money was tight or my dollars seemed more like a plethora of chances, which I hoped would never run out.
Continue readingI am at an impasse at the moment.
I have been here before too.
Only now, everything seems different.
I swear, this is like walking down same street for decades
and now, somehow, everything is strange to me
or maybe I have outgrown myself (again)
I suppose I could call this one of my first summers in hindsight. Then again, I am letting this go out to the atmosphere without any kind of decoration or imagery to hide behind.
Foreshadowing is real. Yet it takes hindsight to have us look back and recognize that life shows us things, like windows of opportunities and warning signs that offer guidance.
But I was blind to this.
I was blind in some ways.
However, I was a visionary in other ways and somehow, I was too afraid to let myself see the life I wanted most.
I was too afraid to try and find out that something about me was wrong or otherwise undeserving, and that as close as I came to having what I want, in the end, I would always be close, but never victorious.
What is it now, I ask.
If you think or look back, what do you see?
How does our life look now that all the lights have faded?
The bridges we burn cannot light our way anymore.
Some people say that this leads them to feel “stuck” and if you ask me, nothing is worse than being “stuck.”
The dust of our past has settled down after a late afternoon rain and the brutal heat of summertime was broken by a storm to crack the humidity.
Do you understand this?
Do you remember the summer?
What about the storms that made the sky turn dark and crazy when the humidity was too much?
It is no more out of the question for you or I to revisit where we used to be than it is for us to question what made us go our own separate ways.
And still, I look back.
I think back about the days before stress took place. I think about the feelings that come when we are young and free and nothing is so critical or so important that we have to divert our attention to anything that deviates us from our path of personal redemption.
And what does this mean?
What does it mean to be redeemed or to find redemption?
What does it mean to lose ourselves and find what was lost, enough so that we can both redefine what it means to live life or to be young again.
The funniest thing is that I swore I would never grow old. Then again, this is something that young people say.
Or so, I suppose.
I swore that I would never walk the line or conform or be like the people I knew who became part of some kind of system that seemed to be lifeless or draining.
I never wanted to be the kind of typical 9-5 person who raced to get out of the front door and make it to work on time. I never wanted to be “that guy” while dressed in the typical or usual business attire with a newspaper tucked under one arm, a Styrofoam cup with hot coffee in the other and a briefcase in tow.
I have loved these days, though gone, years ago and folded away as if to be placed in little folded envelopes to keep in my inside pocket of my so-called vest and keep them as keepsakes.
This is my worth, right here.
And yes, this is all I have now.
I have these moments of life when the sun was high, the wind was warm, and the feel from the ocean at my feet was enough to leave me with the feelings of satisfaction.
But to add, I have more to this which is far deeper than what the surface mind would catch or understand.
And so, if you wouldn’t mind and if I can lay down my mask and shield and put my swords away, I would like to share my softer side.
Or more, I would like to show you what I fear most and never dare to show anyone.
And so,
I don’t suppose that you meet many people in your life who take part in such a way
And so,
I suppose it would be hard for anyone to subscribe to the idea that heroes are real and that Angels can, or will, or that they do exist and appear to us, here on Earth.
And so,
If you don’t know then my guess is you can’t know.
You wouldn’t know what it feels like to be rejected or unwanted and then, somehow, someone like the above comes to you with no agenda other than to let you know that yes, you do matter.
I miss my walks. . .
I used to take these walks for a reason
I love the way early morning looks and how the sun comes up. I love the emptiness of the quiet streets in my town, which was otherwise sleeping at daybreak.
I love the way my feet felt when they hit the pavement, as if every step had its own individual purpose and yes, each step walked with intention.
I slammed my foot down as if to be determined, and I was more determined with each step.
This was great!
I swear.
This one goes out to all of those “overthinkers” out there
And this goes out to those who sit with their personal plagues and overthink their way into quitting before they even begin –
Write on, Poet.
This is my best advice
Snowfall.
This is the first significant one
of the season,
I assume today would be better spent
if I spent it where I want to be
instead of spending it here.
Today _
I go back to the roots of my dream
Poetry
and . . .
so . . .
I start with this –
Continue readingThis is written as somewhat of a mission statement.
So, I will understand if you choose to abort this now.
Then again, this is not your mission.
Not by any means.
So in fairness . . .
Your participation is not necessary.
I offer this as a personal interference to which I am intercepting the off-putting ideas of self-doubt.
Therefore, do not give up.
If the word never is real then so is forever.
This is to you, Ma . . .
I know . . .
. . . it’s been a while.
it’s been even longer since we walked or talked
or had the chance to sit and eat.
Mom.
No one knows what it’s like.
Or no, I assume that no one could know what it was like for me, or for you
But we do.
We know of course because we both lived through what we lived through.
And such is life, in another lifetime.
And though he changed the scenery and Act 1 became Act 2 and so on, time will always be the undefeated winner because time waits for no one . . .
“. . . it passes you by.”
The funny thing is I don’t miss much about my so-called yesterdays.
Least of all, I do not miss the times or the memories that no longer seem to benefit me.
So much has happened.
But yesterday is yesterday.
I am so far removed from who I was, regardless of how close I’d like to be
Or maybe it would be better to say there are parts of my past which seemed to have happened in another lifetime.
And suddenly, I am someone else and jettisoned to someplace warm, like say,
away from all the useless small talk and the nonsense that takes place in our everyday journey.
I have this dream.
That’s all.
It’s nothing huge or crazy.
This is more simple than it seems.
I swear it is.
This is from the heart, of course.
I swear that all of this is true and that all of this is unfiltered.
I have to do this, by the way.
I have to let this out, otherwise, emotions can spoil and my thoughts can turn against me.
I say all of this without thinking, as if to open the gates and let my thoughts run like hungry dogs who’ve been pent up for way too long.
And same as the dogs, I need to eat too.
I do not suppose that anyone hopes to find the obstacles ahead of them.
Yet, we all have them.
Obstacles, I mean.
I suppose if we could have it easy, then we would choose to have it easy and thus, none of us would struggle.
No one would hurt.
No one would experience the lows or fall into the pitfalls that bring us to our knees.
No.
The Written Addiction 