A Tapestry to Pierce a Veil

So, I've been sitting here in front of the screen staring at the blank box. A lot of my life seems like it has been spent in front of empty canvas waiting for inspiration. Hesitation before response: cute barista, homeless person, waiter, friend, lover, even animals. I'm not really shy in a traditional sense, I just am always seeking out the right actions and am often surprised at how my heart and mind choose to respond. How do I or my gene-fired, circumstance-effected self come up with this stuff?

Hell, I believed in magic so much as a kid that I would run my hand over the candy bars and look into them by making my eyes distant. I would imagine the wafers, the milk chocolate I knew had been poured over them. Visualizing the little pock marks of Kit Kat wafer I would search out the piles stacked in small display boxes running my mind down every cooridor of delicious matter till light poured out in my head. Sometimes I'd open myself to future possibilities and pick the candy bar that had the best future possibilities in store for me. Then I'd let those thoughts drop away and run off to enjoy the candy bar. That freedom to explore and feel is a necessary ingredient to a human existence.

Now the future is here, far from candy bar days. I'm watching the sky lighten at 7 in the morning. The day before last a dream-girl told me she had meditated on the subject and that it (us) was not to be. Being around her has been an exercise in restraint. Painful residue from the Rachael ordeal has not worn off. Having been through so many fires I am a much stronger man. After all, wearing the vulnerability of love in this world cannot help but toughen you up. A big part of the human mystery is that we tranform so many times, wearing and shedding so many experiences developing wilded revised personas and beliefs. Having been flayed and disgusted in so many moments, at so many situations, and the reverb of their implications--here I am. Having been encompassed with so many rounds of nature with so many bees kissing the inner folds of flowers-- here I am. Having thrown freight, and labored with words, and going on long walks to the interior-- here we are.

Seeing Rebecca, hearing her voice, hearing what she says, the way she holds her legs, all the little things I could bore you all with that fascinate me I feel with a tenor I thought I would never feel again. Out of respect for her wishes, and my own fear, I have held back. I don't want to scare her, let alone make her uncomfortable, even if giving expression to what I feel is my only chance to be with her in a romantic sense. I've never liked plugging up anything that feels like truth. And we go farther when we're motivated. Around Rebecca I'm prepared to accept the most startling turns, and they are startling because they mean so much. How do I temper this heightened response? Love, fear, and respect. I hold back. I don't need to be romantic with her. I'm sold, she exists. She is excessively human, imperfectly perfect and all that elated stuff. She is not necessarily for me, nor would I expect her to be without her heart and mind pointing her my direction. I can count on one hand how many times she has called me first. Don't ask me what can cause the chemistry of one person to go hog wild while the other person is merely intrigued. Factoring in my past character judgement (I thought Rachael was an authentic, caring human being who knew all those private, special moments meant something), I accept that my willingness for love may taint my perception of the present. Even tho she doesn't call me I know she authentically cares. We share meals, coffee, tea, picnics, walks, and conversations-- even dreams. I could go on forever romantic rambling and lose you in the process. Time to skip to another subject.

The sunrise sky is reflected clearly in the clean windows of the house across the way. Orange and magenta chunks with pine limbs draped in. This is a hot chocolate morning, finally getting crisp cold. I've been listening to Kid A a lot lately. "Idioteque" is officially a mix-tape song. Got my Blackjack Gum and "Idioteque" running into my ears. And I'm as horny as a ten-peckered owl (sly grin), just kidding ... sorta ... no, I'm really kidding (nod of head). Also picked up From a Basement on a Hill by that greasy haired guy who stabbed himself twice in the heart after wearing a tux to the Grammies. How can a man have so much talent and still off himself? Hey, I can relate. We can all see our inner potential but only some of us have the guts to face the hard truths about aspects of human nature. You've got to understand suicide isn't about rejecting the beauty in life it's about not being able to tolerate the unforgivable cruelty that all-too-human inhumans and circumstance throw at a one, especially what we have chosen to throw at ourselves. I personally have decided not to forgive but to find something approximating acceptance while tirelessly working to overthrow the baser parts of human nature (and no I'm not talking about supporting Christian cellibacy, sex is good). Even with my past spat with suicidal tendencies in tow I can still write: Elliott you sonofabitch how come you didn't believe in the turn-it-around story?

(I'm gonna call it a day after this next paragraph.)

I've tried to keep journals in the past but always turned back to poetry. Dear friends, I'm in this for the long run. Just because some of ya'll are gonna be out there glancing at what I have to say/write doesn't mean I'm gonna be holding back the brutal honensty angle. If you hang with me I may get around to making you laugh. I hope to high constellations that I can help you appreciate the sensuous juggernaut that is life. If you cry at some point so much the better. My prose isn't as sharp as my conversational English or my poetic alchemy but I'll work on it. My personal life isn't sparkling ... but it's mine. My social and personal philosophies are sometimes a bit thick and they integrate and like to climb like morning glory on a dilapidated fence but hey these are wonders of creation/evolution. Consider this a starting point to bridge-building towards those of you who have been perturbed at my evasive ghostliness (a lack of connection is just a modern illusion anyways ... right?). I hope you're smart enough to know that I still care. I will keep finding enough Goliath in my David to keep coming out from under my rock with what I find to be treasures. In case I don't get to say it again in the public domain because I could be killed an infinite amount of ways before I get back to a computer tomorrow morning: I do love you.

Jason

P.S. I'm gonna use the title of this blog as the title of something else ... one of my many literary projects I'll tell you more about later.