maybe it's not dead after all

sometimes i wonder if i still believe in love. i really wonder.

but then i laugh with my children, they grab my hands as we cross a parking lot, or they hide behind me when we run into someone they don't know, and i realize that love is very very real.

 

ghost

just great.

just as i'm really getting comfortable with this newish website, i
receive word that the service is shutting down as of april. so that
means i've gotta relocate. again. i really hate doing that, as evident
by my first blog running for like 8 + years. this one has been up for
close to 2. which reminds me, march is my birthday, bloggerwise. 10
years in a zoo, in a spew. something like that. it's hard to believe
i haven't run out of things to say by now.

The Golden Boy and i have been kicking around some ideas for the new
digs, but i want to open it up to you all as well. any ideas?

let a spooky brother know.

ghost

putting in work

3 a.m. scribble

i sometimes wonder at all the changes that i can suffer in the span of
a day. near dawn, a sort of dread, a scaled down desperation for more
oblivion, before a blaring reminder pulls me from the grey place. i
stretch and feel a rush of blood and swift elation as my body comes
alive.

dark banished by the flip of a switch, unaccustomed eyes react, focus,
and perceive a kind of bliss. body chills once the heat of shower is
finished, then it's dress quickly, feed the dog, pet the kids, and out
the door to find clouds, dark clouds. and silence. the day progresses
in fits and starts of manic fevered work and slow absences of
attention occupancy. glimpses through windows reveal the rain, the
wind, the sun again.

drive home, winter descends in the form of early dark, the taste of
loneliness. return to the horizontal state, considering whatever i
have seen in the light, eyes deprived, heartbeat slowing. the sensual
rhythm of a train makes me think of you, or rather my imago, and i
slip away, a thing of many faces, a soldier by day, a god by night.

ghost

fade

here we find our hero in these last days of winter. although the sun
is shining, it's that weak faded light. i can tell it's struggling,
losing it's fight with winter's soft but insistent call. She cannot
just let go. it is not her way.

the inevitable change of seasons brings memories and allows us the
chance for new ones to be made.

mini chapters every year.

ghost

on a happier note

Dimples and i on my wedding day in 2005. 

an angst filled week

it's been a banner week for me personally. i have managed to estrange
several people by simply saying what's on my mind. this includes a
fellow teacher, a life long friend of my family, several students, and
the aforementioned thug wannabees at walmart.

generally, i'm a pretty easy going sorta dude, but for some reason
this week i've been letting my opinions be known rather than simply
leaving others to voice theirs unopposed no matter how stupid,
uniformed, or flat wrong i find them. nature will eventually erode all
the sticks and stones, but apparently words will stay with us until we
f*cking die.

so, come on. let's do some permanent damage. i'm in the mood.

ghost

i love this

of wolves and children

three post tween thug wannabees manning their corner near the entrance
to walmart. they are heckling people as they come and go. i see one of
the elderly employees formerly known as door greeters trying to
convince them to leave as i walk in. where is the manager? delegating,
i'm sure. spineless.

all i need is poster boards numbering four. no hassle. no trouble.
negative, ghost rider, the pattern is full.

but.

as i leave, i see the elderly woman almost in tears. another woman,
younger, pregnant, is making a stand, telling the boys they need to
leave. they laugh and call her names as men walk by without a word.
balless. where's the respect? i'd slap the taste out of my son's mouth
if i ever heard him say these things to a woman.

choice. to walk. to stay. to retreat?

"f*ck off, you fat b*tch."

i put my items on the concrete and close in, teeth bared.

ghost

muse ing

painting again.

feverish. there is so much work to do, so much time to put in. the
ideas have been coming in waves, which is good because the commissions
have been keeping pace.

i find it odd that when i'm in one of these sessions, one of these
creative frenzies that you've all seen me go into from time to time,
how people start watching, start wondering, start asking whyhowwhen.
they are most interested in what inspires. i do my best to explain the
need that is always just below the surface, that waxes and wains but
mostly waxes within artists (this one, at least) to make the lines and
colors they see in their heads into something tangible.

it's like putting your jacket on when you know you're about to step
out into the cold.

except that it's a straitjacket, with long sleeves buckled to the
back, and you are bound with chains and locks, hanging head down,
immersed in a pool of water and you only have a few minutes to escape
before you are lost to the delirium of hypoxia.

or something like that.

ghost