It is not these dreams that I chose to live –
I did my best to forget them
and I did my best to dull the pain
and I did my best to play the game, but

and I did my best to go away, but
the dreams chose me.

Give up everything to chase them down
and fight like hell
to create my own impossible,
over and over
and prove it wrong.

I did not choose these dreams
I did not choose this frustration
or lonely…

but this is me
and through it all
there is nothing else
I could ever hold my head up to the world
and be proud of.

This is me.

broke
homeless
always fighting for the better tomorrow
by fighting like hell today
to create the worlds
that just might be seen, and just might inspire,
just might make someone smile…

and just might remind someone
of the fire they had in their heart
as a child.

These are not the dreams I chose to live
they chose me –
but I know, without question
that I would not still be here
nor would I have this strength

without them.

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there are times…

times, when nothing makes sense, where it all seems like it is futile.
Times where the wings of this warrior want to do nothing but fold inside of themselves, an wither.
Times where I want to be
to know
to believe
that it is all nothing.
and I can go away.

Then, when down means more, I recieve this from a friend:

Subject Thinking of You
Message
What I meant to say that night was not that I like you now but that I’ve always liked you and still do, perhaps even loved you and still do.

I have seen your light and when I catch it just right it is magnificent and glorious!
There have been times when you have allowed yourself to fall into the darkest parts of your past where there is barely a glimmer of light, this I have seen and it is frightening, not for me but for yourself, one that I care and have so much hope and faith in and I know that it is only temporary as no one as strong and with your faith would allow to hold his breath in the dark for too long before feeling the need to shed his bright and beautiful light on others. My selfish side hopes to sit across from you again and find a way to secretly bathe in your light.

That night was surreal a dream, I’m still not sure it really took place and or that it was really me and not a character I was playing. What I felt was real, there was a moment in which I was completely present, perhaps one of the few times in my life in which I was so present. I was able to feel and appreciate your touch, you and your friendship. Thank you to me, the universe and you for teaching me to be more present in life.

Have an amazing weekend.

xo

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

and at times, maybe i do make a difference…

and life unfolds.

Thinking about getting back into knife throwing again, the beauty of the throw, the depth of the sound when the point finds home.

yeah, I’m an archer, and a damn good one – but that takes at the very least 20 yards, 300 feet in order to put on a good show – and targets that can stand the impact of an arrrow flying at 260 feet per second when they hit.

time to get back into my knives. I have about 20ish, (I LOVE knives)  but only three are true throwers.I need more to practice, to create a show.. I’ll get them. 

I have a DVD from a world record holding thrower coming to me. I will get more throwers, somehow. I’m tired

need to sleep

It has been there since shortly after Bean passed. September 28th, 2005.
Gods, of  the few  days I remember so well, why does that one have to be the clearest? Every fucking second is constantly remembered, every second still haunts. I drink in order to forget but it only makes me remember more. Feels better, though. A Dream, nothing more. I still kiss her teeth in reverence every time I drape myself with her smile, and every time I take her off. I have never worn anything like this. EWhat I created out of her love…

In my head, my heart. something that at sometime I knew I needed to do. My heart, fire in the pain and growth in the beauty. I see it clearly, have since it became inside. There are few loves as pure as what fuels this.

Copper, steel, glass. My heart. eloquent, a sincere beauty yet in it’s strength, a fragility, a wanting. See through it, see all of the people who keep it beating.Let the heat of the fire penetrate you as you come inside – this is no easy journey, it is my heart, and you will be wrapped in heat and passion. This is my heart, I invite you in with all of me but you better be fucking strong. You will need to be. There is nothng small or safe here. It is my heart.

Veins pulsing through it inside and out, veins of fire, of love. Can you see it?

I see it clearly, always have since she went. This will be for my Bean, and all. I wanted to make it in the forest but couldn’t. I want to make it.

need to.

However it is happening, it is happening. I don’t quite understand, but I believe. That’s all I got. That’s all I need.

Big Top Magazine is coming together with a vengance, and emerging out of the purest elements of will, dreams, and manifestation.

This rag encompasses all my wants, my dreams. Make it happen. Connect people, teach. enlighten and learn.

CHANGE the fucking world. Change.

The submissions are coming in, from places I couldn’t have ever imagined – and from people who I thirsted for. They believe as well.

This is not anything small, this is not anything temporary. This is us, and what we create. This is you, out to the world.

In order to do what I want – something that hasn’t been spoken of until now, but is a necessity – in order to make enough money doing this to support the amazing people who contribute to it – and most importantly, to make enough to survive well and give the remainder back to the worldwide community – that is what I want. I NEED to give, give back. A debt long unpaid. I want to have a fund, a foundation that helps people create what they need to. An imagination fund.

I want to build my fire heart – a piece that i thougt of shortly after Bean’s passing which I have kept inside. and now needs to come to fruition.

I see a heart – anotomical, not valentines. It will stand about 13 feet high. Made of metal and glass, with veins of fire pulsing through it on the outside, and in. This heart is ours. It will be on fire, like ours are.
It will have a steel grated walkway through it, with a low fire underneath. At the entrance you will find some small pieces of wood to write down your pain, or whatever  you want to let go of – and as you enter the heart, as the fire surrounds you, you will drop what you have written into the fire beneath you, and as it burns, you will be cleansed.

This is my heart. Fire, pain, beauty. It will not be extinguished, nor will it ne subtle.

So much to do. Life is exquisite.

The gift of an exquisite crystal from the bottom of Tiger Leaping Gorge in China, the gift of hugs that lifted my soul. That is what I received.
The gift of the someones who I can, without question, call friends. The gift of bringing me back from the uncertainty and darkness that rides shotgun in my soul and is all too familiar, the gift of a klown’s couch and the laughter we share, the things we come up with together. This is what I recieve, what I need so desperately right now, unvoiced but… they know.
Times are fragile. I search for the path and find it in them  – in you. So this is why I’m here? No. To accept and fight like hell to have the means to give back. No one knows the tears that fall in the silence. No one. To give back. For once I want to cry because I have seen you smile, and I want to be a part of the reason.

Homeless, broke, all I have are these words, my dreams, and the people I love.
I have riches beyond all imagination. We all do. Open your heart so that you can see. All I want to do is kiss away your tears and replace them with a smile, like you have done for me. All I want to do is

everything.

Who am I to deserve this? Who am I to deserve these people?

only me.

for you.

As far down as it goes it reaches higher. My van gets towed, my home is gone but there is still hope? There needs to be. I take these broken wings and paste them back together with dreams and passion. One day I will fly again, one day I will be cured or dead, but there is much to do before then. I have you.

Sitting on a couch in the Mission caring for a cat, soon to leave and head to Oakland where I will be locked. Only enough money to get there.

I am not here in vain – but frequently I wish I weren’t here
at all.

Tomorrow, it will all be better. I promise.

Tomorrow I will have a home, tomorrow by books will be out to the world, helping some find an anchor, alliance. Tommorow I will help everyone, instead of them helping me. Tomorrow I will be able to give more than just me. Tomorrow .
Tomorrow I will build you a home, buy you a life, help you out of that pinch you’re in. Tomorrow, today, the tears fall because I am not all that I can be for you, but gods, how I try. Tomorrow just ask, and it is yours if I have it. It is yours even if I don’t. I will find a way. Today and every day I am yours, I always have been. You are my community, you are the people that keep me alive – and whether you know what you do or not, I will tell you now – you are my wings.

You are my wings. All of you. With each hug, with each beautiful word spoken to me that I still don’t  know how to respond to i fly higher. This keeps me aiive, nothing less. A quarter mile motor that keeps going, the passion of a dragster in my works, and you are the krew that lets me breathe, find. Green light go like there is no tomorrow., I’m stuck in the dream, wrapped in the chassis of a funny car that is destined to kill. Me. Please.
I am only one, I am only me. I know solitude, I am intimate with lonely. We play cards, draw runes, try to figure out where and why we are nothing but and waiting for decay, feeling it, not saying. Too much life left inside.  I dance with words of the future and pretend, hope that I will be there.
Today I have nothing to give but a brief kiss on your cheek or lips, only a kiss that contains nothing, nothing less than the beauty in my heart. All of my heart.You’re reading the words, the worlds of a dead man whose passion for the life he has found won’t let him succumb.

The passion of a dead man who refuses to die. Some of you read this and know what I am saying. Some think it is only words.

Worlds.

Fuck you. I love you.

I need to say both because I don’t know when I will go. Fuck you, I love you.

I love you.

A strange dichotomy in that. I release myself from all, but fuck, I am human, and my heart seethes with wishes and dreams and adoration and hoping that someday there will be one that stays.

I live an exquisite life created from nothing. It is what I do, What I am. Nothing but you.

you.

There once was a time where I was afraid to be alone – but now I am terrified that is how I prefer to be. I don’t. I haven’t figured it out. I need you. You, with yout St. Johns Wort, I think of you  and can’t do anything else but say goodbye, good luck,.
I am not anything that anyone in their right mind would want, and lonely has a new meaning, but one that was expected, one I am not unfamiliar with.

As far as down goes, up is there as well. I still have my dreams.

Fuck you. I love you.

I love you.

Today, it will all be better, and I will be able to help.

Quite amazing what a person can still acomplish when by all means, and Dr.s orders – they should be dead.

Flesh is only flesh. Body is not passion, heart is stronger than anything. I can’t rest until I give back. I can’t write anymore.