All The Good Ideas Come From The Words We Exchange
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Is that suppose to be hair on top of the head?
She asked.
No, it isn't hair,
I replied.
What is it then?
She asked.
It is supposed to be ideas,
I said.
They don't look like ideas,
She said.
What do ideas look like?
I asked.
I don't know,
She replied.
I don't know either,
I said.
I guess they look like ideas,
She said.
I think so too,
I replied.
There Is A Photo On The Wall And It Is Of Tomorrow
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It's just the two of us in the house tonight and she is the shower and I can hear the water running from the floor above me and I am here at the keys and there is a wine glass and a lotto ticket and a lamp and addresses and numbers scribbled on a piece of paper and on the wall is taped a photo of my dead grandmother and I talking in the Michigan sun and she is leaning in very close to me because she couldn't hear very well in those final days before it was all over and the picture reminds me not wait for things to happen because they won't and you have to make them happen and there is a stack of paintings to my right and behind me there are paintings drying on the desk and just now I hear the shower turn off from the floor above and
everything in this moment
is now silent.
...Enjoy!
The Luchador (a reminder to step away once in a while)
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When you spend hours over the paints and keys under a desk lamp at early hours of the morning, you start to become those paints and keys and you turn inward too much and you start exploring and thinking and not that there is anything wrong with either of those two things, as a matter of fact, I would highly recommend both of those activities for 100% of the human race, but you just need to know when to temper the large doses of solitude with light hearted thoughts and imagery and ideas and remember that there is a world that does exist beyond the exploring and thinking and that there are many miles beyond the desk lamp and as much as you might not think so, it is then that you can truly create whatever it is that you feel like creating.
...Enjoy!
Proof Of Our Existence
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It was late as we walked and
there were stars and
the sky was dark
but not black and
we didn't talk much because it was
one of those nights that we didn't need to.
It was late as we walked and
there were clouds of steam coming
from our mouths as we let go of
each breath and
proof of our existence was behind us in the snow and
in our hands and
in our eyes and
we didn't talk much because it was
one of those nights that we didn't need to.
...Enjoy!
Conversation Between Friends
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Will you do a portrait of me?
You can draw my big head,
he said.
You don't have a big head,
I replied.
You can write about my big head too,
he said.
What am I going to write about
your head?
I asked.
Write about how big it is,
he said.
You don't have a big head,
I said again.
Sure I do,
he said.
Make it big,
he said.
I still don't know what I
am going to write about your head,
I said.
You will think of something,
he said.
...Enjoy!
Under The Chest
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I just don't have the words tonight.
That doesn't mean that there is
nothing up there
above the eyes or
under the chest or
flowing through the veins or
in the fingertips.
It just means that I don't have the words tonight
to make sense of it all.
If you always know what to say
then you aren't feeling enough,
he said to me.
I am fairly certain it was his drink talking
but he made sense and
I knew
I would use that line when I
ran out of words.
...Enjoy!
In That Moment You Are Absolute (#2 in the Typewriter series)
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There is a brief moment when I wake up in the morning and the room is pitch black and the air is silent and my eyes are not able to focus, that the world is absolutely perfect. It is like there is no time or place or motivation or desire or wasted minutes or wasted hours or wasted anything.
There is only you and in that moment, you are absolute.
There are no morning commutes or corporate ladders to fall off. There are no traffic jams or obscene hand gestures or sirens. There are no lotto tickets or dreams of golden tomorrows. It is only you and your hope that all good things stay good and that everything else gets lost in the pockets of pants that are not yours.
There is only you and in that moment, you are absolute.
Blue In Big Sur
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The music has changed. The sad German composers have been replaced with Thelonious, Dexter Gordon, Fats Waller, Coltrane and more and it makes me think of that beat writer, you know the one who was on the Road and some think he's the only one but I know better and I bet you know better too. I don't think of his stories of the road but I think of the days after he was on the road and he split to Big Sur to get away from it all and the only thing he found was
the bottom of himself and
it wasn't pretty.
The music has changed. The sad and dark and lonely sonatas have been replaced with Hawkins, Sonny Rollins, Coleman and Davis and more and there is a new lamp over the desk that shines new light on a new face and new colors and brushes and it lights up the empty paper and in it's reflection the only thing I see is
the bottom of myself and
it is just the way it should be.
I Still Don't See It
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She taught me that
sometimes when we search too much
we miss what we are trying
to find.
When I look at your paintings,
I don't see anything natural,
she said.
That is too bad because it is
all in there,
I replied.
Your colors and your lines are
not natural, I don't
see it,
she said.
If you look, you will see nature is
not about color and lines and I swear
if you look, you will eventually
see it.
I still don't see it,
she said.
I still don't
see it.
...Enjoy!
In His Eyes And He Talked (#1 in the Typewriter series)
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There words are nothing more than just that. Words. There is no music in the air tonight. Only the sound of these keystrokes on this paper and the dog scratching on the floor by my feet and papers rustling as she goes through a drawer looking for something. I am looking for something but it is not found in the drawer. I know because I have already looked in there.
There is still only the sound of these keys and nothing more.
I think of the man in the wheelchair who asked us to get the cup out of his wheel and he had to be cold going around the city in just a t-shirt. You could see the drink in his eyes as he talked to us. As I think of him I am certain that he has forgotten about me and the cup and the cold and the talk and it all.
