Do or Do Not
Written April 22, 1999
Can't know by reading a book.
Can't figure it out by watching.
It's all about how it feels.
And you think you know when you find it.
Casting Claire is close to what I want to be or have or want.
Very close.
But it's out of touch, reach, smell and taste.
It's just not there.
That avenue has long been closed.
By hate, by ignorance, by whatever strolled along.
Possibly a Pink Shirt?
It was just too hot and too close and it burned itself out.
Intensity does that.
But I do hope she's ok.
There's something about History repeating itself.
And I'm only now listening.
It can't be coincidence.
Somewhere along the line, I lost my will to break wills.
Now I try to get along, flowing where the current takes me.
But I'm no longer fighting for dominance.
It's a quieter existence, but I find more time to watch the stars.
The single life seems to be calling me a lot louder than before.
Got to get past this need for a confidante, a lover, a faux-wife.
If I can.
Be a kid, live life with the short view. Things I wish I could do.
Would do.
Have to do.
Won't do.
Somewhere a wise Eddie said something about no Takebacks.
That once you knew the science behind magic, there was no going back.
No way to un-see what you have seen.
No chance to forget what you know.
And the more I try to not see the unshaven, unwashed magician.
The more I realize that this isn't where I want to be.
This isn't the life I want to lead.
This isn't a gold ring, but twigs wrapping themselves into my skin.
Holding me in place, trying to suck me under.
Didn't I snap out of it in time?
I was happy once, wasn't I?
Without all this thought.
Without all this trying.
Wasn't I?
Female Committee
Written March 30, 1999
Focused.
A single beam.
Stubborn.
A frothing bull.
Arrogant.
A petulant child.
Immature.
Why did I look past them?
They're so big and busty.
No way I could've missed them.
So old and rusty.
Seemed like stepping stones, I guess.
Instead of wishing wells.
It's not even that I wanted you to change.
I've played that hand, lost, and learned.
Even tried to forget the game.
No.
All I wanted was the truth.
The light.
The bulb.
But you chose to remain in shadows, feeding me emotions like candy.
Even though alarms were going off, I remained in the building.
Next time I'll Stop, Drop and Roll.
But for now, I'm left with a tinge of doubt.
Not about you.
Your weaknesses and excesses are clear enough.
The Doubt lies in my judgement.
In my Inner Sanctum.
The Judge and Jury on my Female Committee.
It was never about a dressing room or a web page.
It was always about who would give in.
That was my role, right?
To be the Big Man, the one a Cut Above the Rest.
But I ended up opting out, not giving in.
Does that make you unsure about yourself?
It should.
You misjudged me, ma dear.
I was never yours.
Seeing the Sunrise over a Corporate Megalopolis
Written March 29, 1999
It's 9 o'clock and I can hear a pin drop.
Sucks to be a drone today.
Monday morn and I was here by the crack of dawn.
Too early to be working.
Slowly stripped of individuality, and any sort of self-worth, we endure.
Because of money?
How much IS your life, your self, really worth?
Surely not this paltry sum.
Keep it inside, keep it hidden behind your translucent window.
Move it around, so it seems like a heartbeat.
Like the one you lost.
When was it?
9 o'clock, listening for a pin drop.
Easter Musings
Written April 4, 1999
Replacement for a Replacement for a Replacement.
How does that work?
Boyfriends are not like eggs.
Even though they both want to get laid.
Replacement for a Replacement for a Replacement.
Doesn't really work.
Just puts a new finger in the dyke.
The crack remains.
Ready to explode.
Don't catch the wave, the streets aren't really paved with gold.
Pave your own street, rock your own world.
Replacing the love that never was.
Replacing the security that was never there.
Insecurity is all you'll find.
But you can pretend it was me, right?
Pretend it's always someone, something ... else.
Never you, right?
Because, if it were you, then all your struggles would be for naught.
If it were you, then you and I were never doomed.
Isn't that amusing?
Sleep well.
I know I will.
Suffering in Silence
Written March 24, 1999
Didn't you know?
Didn't you hear?
The time has come again.
Time to sing a fond farewell, kids.
One of our favorites has passed.
The Clown-Man, the Rogue, the C h a m e l e o n
He's gone the way of every one of his fathers' fathers.
To Hell.
Or whatever you call it.
That place, with that guy, with those things.
Didn't he ever mention it?
Which one finally got him?
That thing, down there?
With the pain and the blood.
Or, maybe it was that ick, ick in his wack, wack.
It's killed the chances with 2 now, and counting.
Can't take the chance on a might-be, definitely could-be, dead horse.
Beat me, Beat me!
I'm alive, feel alive. Look alive, Soldier!
You've got many more fights, so many more battles to lose and learn.
Bring it to others.
They see, they know, they feel.
But do they admit it?
Do they help?
No.
Because they don't know.
It's a Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy.
Can't you see the note on the door, the blank page?
How can they know the extent?
How far it's gone.
How can they know how much, how little and how bad?
It'd scare them.
And me.
Watermelon! Anybody got a melon.
Or two?
'Cause it goes down so nice, so smooth.
Buys me an hour or two, maybe three at the outside.
Outside of?
The group.
Looking in, it looks really warm, and cozy, and snuggly.
But you know how hot I get, how much I just can't catch my breath.
My lungs, my life, my stomach, my mind, my blood.
It's my Blood.
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