I haven’t remembered more than a half-dozen dreams within the last a year. That is far from normal. In the past I would remember nearly every dream every night, I would write them down just so I wouldn’t forget the exact feeling or moment in my subconscious that felt so real and true, feeling even more real that actual reality. “Reality” (which consisted of work, traffic, lines, banks, bills, sideways girls and unreliable boys.)

I need to remember my dreams, again. They’re amazing and beautiful, frightening and enlightening, clues to my hijinks and links to my past, they’re both poison and sustenance, confusion and clarity. Invaluable experience inside endless scenery.

Back to the point.

Meditation is a thing. A real thing. Breathing exercises, too. I’m studying much of it like I take vitamins and supplements, learning at the same pace that I’m living, about a million miles an hour. Yet I grasp so much but somehow cannot sit still long enough to take notes or absorb anything of import other than devising ways to get out of this town or out of that room.

Harmony, balance and contentment.

Regardless of how elusive those things may be, I believe that solace can be achieved when your chemicals, friends, lovers, family, diet and activity all occur fluidly. When one doesn’t outweigh each other but instead compliments each other, true peace will then be a part of life. My life. Our life.

Actually acting on desires and ambitions is a whole different beast.

Let us release this animal from it’s cage and see what achievements and damage may be left in its wake.

Let us see what art, connections, revelations, growth and actions will occur when we allow ourselves to absorb adventure and run with the wildlife instead of falling in line and sitting with the people.


Growl. Grow. Release. Roar.



XSA (Exes Anonymous)

Why are there no 12 step programs for broken hearts? Why are there no support groups for those who have discovered their men cheating or for those who love sideways women?

I need a sponsor!

What if I get a call from a lover who will hurt me? What do I do? Watch the phone ring? Answer? Take a screen shot so I can look at it later and wonder why she’s on the other end of the line? And then wonder why I didn’t pick up? What do I do if I’m compelled to call an ex-girlfriend or if can’t help but stalk my ex-boyfriend?

If I had a sponsor I’d call them every time I had the urge to reach out or answer that dark telephone.

I’m going to start an organization that’s dedicated to those who have been hurt or otherwise done wrong by those they loved. We’re going to sit around and smoke cigarettes and drink cheap coffee and tell horrible stories that will make our own experience either seem silly and trivial or it will make our personal hell rival things you’ve only heard about either on bad television or in the bible.

We’ll gather in churches and VFW’s, sitting in circles sharing our damage and tragedies while bonding and banding together, kindred and beautiful, tied together by betrayal and infidelity, solid in our desire to grow and driven by our solidarity to heal.

We realize that our collective strength allows us to take the high road above those who have burned us. Taking our shared experiences and lining them up like the front lines of infantry against what tries to destroy us.

There’s groups for every addiction ever conceived except the one that nearly EVERYONE has experienced: heartbreak.

Heartbreak. When what you believed to be something untouchable becomes fondled or distorted, when what seemed to be indestructible crumbles by someone’s actions or by the hand of nature, when what you believed to be true and beautiful turns into something soiled and worthless.

Heartbreak. When the pain in your chest is real, like someone is stepping on your neck while you’re just trying to get through the day, when every thought in your head is about your love that is now no longer your love…for whatever reason. When it permeates every fiber of your flesh and marrow, when it dictates your dreams and destroys your reality…heartbreak ain’t no joke. It’s thrown people off deadly ledges, driven them to dire, violent destruction (yet has inspired the most beautiful of art, music and poetry…) Weird.

Exes Anonymous. Please. For the sake of your sanity and our safety. Come visit. You don’t have to share, you just have to show up. We’ll be there, stinky with bad drip and cigarettes but ready to embrace. Pathetic yet empathetic, shaking hands and shaking our heads, weeping while stories are exhumed from devastated spirits, fighting the urge to lash out or stalk our XSO’s, talking each other down from ledges of rash and emotional destructive decisions…

Exes Anonymous. We’re Here For You Because We’re Barely Here For Ourselves. Rarely Here For Ourselves.

XSA. One Day At A Time.

Town Cryer

The advent of autumn has brought upon a wonderful little retrospective that’s been percolating in my dark little brain for a while now…

This summer has been one of the most astoundingly hot seasons I can remember. Drenched in sunshine for months on end, a beauty and brightness I can hardly imagine to be equalled in the years to come. Perfect for river trips and motorbike rides, 2015’s heated summer has been fabulous for wild adventure in strange towns, searching the earth for a river or a lake or merely lying around the house with the windows swung wide open like French doors or a French whore.

Strangely though, more tears have been shed down these cheeks this year than they ever have in the last 20 combined.

More tears of venom and salt have bled down these cheeks this summer than I care to remember, like a child’s tantrum or a frantic tween, I’ve wept on sidewalks, in cafes, on park benches, in locker rooms, hallways and bathrooms in almost any type of building you can think of. Drained my world and soul into strange sinks, onto shoulders and into dirty bandanas, drenched this little city with enough sorrow measured for a year.

I hold onto the fact that friends come and go. Gripping the idea with strong, stiff, sore fingers like a vise, hanging on with blind passion and naive rage, a relentless little monkey unwitting but unwilling to surrender the belief that the beauty in everyone deserves to be realized. Eventually.

People arrive onto scenes sometimes like wildfire or sometimes quietly out of the woodwork. Acquaintances regardless of how amorous or not, take on all shapes and roles, ever-changing sometimes to benefit, sometimes to destroy, sometimes to feed and enlighten and sometimes to teach and…DESTROY.

Them’s just people. That’s what we people do.

Relationships can quickly disintegrate into the past like lost pets, weird jobs and memorable apartments.

This past summer I lost friends to lovers, nearly lost friends to death, and lost my lover before I even knew she left. Found reasons why I’m like no other and discovered lovers in the midst of madness, on the edge of a gasp or deep in breath.

New leaves turn like corners, new roads somehow found, left pain of the past in the mirror just to get off the ground. Unrepentant, unrelenting venting is my sound, love and rage and lost in laughter, elements forever bound.

Bring the fall!

All us Northwesterners know that after such a scathing summer it’s high time for some hard rain.

45 Years Ago Today

Beastie Boys, Rage Against The Machine, The Doors, Jimi Hendrix.

All else is just music. Background. Filler. These four saved my sanity and the streets of this town by allowing me to vent, reminisce, dream and plot and everyone should recognize the wonderful magnitude of influence of these four musical acts.

Jimi died 45 years ago  today

Most of everyone else on that list is still alive and well. Except Jim Morrison. And of course, MCA.

This world sometimes takes the most interesting people away from us before we can possibly comprehend how incredible they are.

Other times this world takes the most amazing and beautiful people away while they’re at their absolute height of pure talent and wondrous influence.

Dang it.

A Hundred Words About Canoodling and Bamboozling

The dark business of love is truly a testy animal. It is sometimes a savage and relentless beast whose appetite will put your entire world on a plate as you watch it be violently devoured. Other times it’s a tender creature who will swallow you whole with dizzy spells of make-out sessions, embracing each moment with the calm comfort of midday naps and a cozy curling touch that dissolves each sweet hour like cigarette ash.

What adoration does is make everything taste more, escape more, feel more, hurt more.

Thank god, because anything less would be a bamboozling beyond belief.