Creation, Destruction, and everything in between. Musings on the American Renaissance

I am not certain what to think of the times we live in. In one way I am honored that we, the people, fight so fucking hard for what we believe in, and at least today, we win – gloriously, beautifully, arms and hands and minds and determination joined to make even the most ignorant tremble and hopefully, think twice –

but ours is a new Nation, bought and paid for with the lives of others; those we send into battle, those who have told the truth, those who turn in their graves as witnesses to what we have become.

Free? Think again, and think hard. Why must someone who sheds light on the NSA flee to a country that is reportedly what the gov’t, OUR gov’t, wrong? the same government that allows our beautiful, hard working people to become jobless as their work is shopped out to more efficient countries, yet has the disgusting gall to take away their livelihood, everything they have ever worked for in their belief that we are good – and call them, MAKE them poor, struggling, hungry, suicidal or outlaws.

It’s the Wild West all over again, fuckers, and we will come for you, make you repent, see the error in your Wall Street ways, and… and hold you in our poor, needle pocked, caring arms as you lay wondering where your empire went.

It didn’t, it won’t go to us, not without complete revolution – as the poor, the artists, the lovers, the romantics, the believers – it will go to someone, anyone more deserving.

I am not a political person. I loathe politics, for it is destroying this nation that we all hold so dear, and the argument is never won without very deep pockets – or complete destruction.

It is time for a revolution. A revolution of ART, of BEAUTY, of HEART. We have these three things if nothing else, and even I, your lover, your hater, your believer, has something to offer. I know hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands that will stand by me, bolster me, make me strong again – strong enough to conquer you and the horrible thing that you have made this beautiful nation into, and I have the people, hundreds of thousands of people from France, from Russia, from Turkey, from all the nations you blindly call your allies…

So fuck you, U.S. – we are your fear, and we ARE NOW UNITED, all colors, sexual persuasions, passions – and we are 10,000 for every one of you. Your propaganda will not work anymore. These are OUR lives, and the lives of our families.

The World IS Our Family.

This is sent out of love. This is sent out because we know. This is sent out because times need to change – this is the American Renaissance, and The New Circus will fucking take you down – all the men, women, and, of course, dogs. The cats will be busy being indifferent.

And so ends my only political diatribe.


until then


If the wind still holds my soul

if the wind still lifts my wings

then show me the sky

steal me a dream.


I am broken but never destroyed

I am pauper dressed as a king

I am love

I am love

I could be anything.


I am not who I could be

joker beyond a king

but the bandages came off

and you see me for who I am


a fool, afraid, and maybe

someday when I am gone

you will remember

that I once was glory.


But I have whispered to you

some strange secrets

and in those, between us

you and me, you can’t see the sorrow


because I have seen all I need to


So dance with me for now

dance backwards

and force that smile upon your face

hide your tears

and tell everyone that

I died with a strange peace

upon my brow.




secrets unveiled


Nothing fades away. Nothing fades away, only passion sleeps, waiting, seething, eventually and always reminding me of why I am still alive. I had a choice, I could have given up and so many fucking times I wanted to, I wanted to let it end, this pain, this stigma, the way that you look into my eyes and think you see me because of what I have written, disclosed. I wiped off the makeup, disrobed, offered to you pieces of me, yet there is so. much. more. that most of you ignore, fail to see. I give you the words I have, but some things cannot be described. Keep thinking you know me, read my words, and you will be close, but I never give everything.

Do any of us?

Through my words you think you know, through my words you assume, but have you heard my screams to love and life and sorrow? Have I heard yours? What I offer is only what I think you can understand, and I know you are the same. There is a privacy, a solitude that we all need in order to keep plastering the plastic smiles on our faces… but what if we were honest? How would you look at me, how would you think you understand, how would you speak to me if I told you a secret – that I have a shitload of Morphine I am saving for when I feel that I am done? It is not an escape, it is a new adventure. It is a road that I haven’t taken – a road not taken though one which is there, waiting.


This is only one secret, not so much one anymore. We all have them, and I believe that the fear of death is what makes us live so fucking beautifully, so hard.

Trust me, but I lied. I want to give you everything, from the pages to the words to the stage. I want to exhaust myself in what I can do, only… I need to do it again. Admittedly, there is fear; fear of being cut short again, fear of the pain. The Morphine is not a continuum, it is only an end and will remain untouched until then.

It’s a warm night in San Francisco, balmy, humid because of the rain. We have no claim to this, it is supposed to be a predictable city – cold, layered, the fan in my room on as the sky begins to light the view out my window, the view that hasn’t changed for over a year…

I need to create a good home for Ruby & I, a small change apartment where she has no place to play except for where I drive her is no place for a puppy, is no place for me – but then again, where and what is a place for me? For her? She loves sleeping with me on my bed, and I look around me at the mess – the guitar hanging on the wall, the bike leaning against it which I still need to finish fixing from when it was crushed by someone parking my motorhome… my motorhome. Gods, how I miss her. How I miss the magick of the road.

I found home in this city with the beautiful people in the Vau de Vire Society all those years ago, and they are still my family – they always will be – but I don’t feel as if I am theirs, not anymore. Sure, I a an Archer, and one hell of one – but I’m fighting with a show that might make a difference.

That is all I wish to do, make a difference. I want to figure out something with that beautiful woman who calls me her boyfriend, who I feel the same, who I finally admitted that I love because she fucking sees me, and for some strange reason loves me as well, and I need to do things, to do everything, for her.

a reason for forever and now

Quiet mornings, lifeless evenings, days

upon days where I do nothing more

but want something to happen, to be


Take this life,

this empty life

sacred life

and fill me again with passion


a reason to be, because just now,

the reason eludes me.

Perhaps I have been searching

in the wrong place again

under stones, in others words, in others

and outside

while inside, seething

just underneath the surface

is a heart that still beats,

a soul that still knows how to scream

is a reason

for forever and now to be.

you were a home once

I almost begin to think that it’s an accident. It must be. I am not theirs anymore, nor they mine, and though when I talk to Leah, when she asks me, it is my dad I miss, and when she asked if I ever got married I would invite them and my sister, it was only after a brief hesitation, pushing the past aside, thinking more of the good times than the bad, that I said, and meant, that yes, I would.

I wonder if they are afraid as I am. Far too many attempts at retribution, far too many failures, until I finally realized that any attempt at some type of treaty would be short lived and futile, only ending up in all of us carrying an unhealthy weight that should have been let go and buried deep enough so that none of us could ever find a reason a long, long time ago. I wonder if that is the reason for the hidden peek behind the curtain, for the teenage tentative touch, unsure and searching for acceptance… but really – I expect so feeble an act from ‘mom’, but dad? Grow some fucking guts, respect me with trying to match my strength, my passion – even if it is laying dormant somewhere inside. Yes, I’ve gotten lazy over the years forced into a bed, and now that I’m free the covers and escape tangle me, keep me from escape. Perhaps that is why I sleep with my knives, because my heart isn’t sharp enough to cut me free anymore; because my wings have been clipped, and I am afraid also. Afraid to jump again…

Who are you now? Are you someone different, like I am? What have you been through; have you missed me, the me of today, with strength and will and opinions – or has my absence felt like a blessing? I imagine the latter.

Still, you creep towards me again, perhaps asking to be a ‘link’ on LinkedIn purely accidentally, just did an email search, didn’t trim, and here you are, intruding in a life so pleasantly absent of at least *this* part of my past again.

It must be an accident. It must be a mistake. I know you, have studied you, so that I don’t become you – and you have so little knowledge of me.

Still, I want to succumb, to answer, to ask – why? Why for everything and I know you have the same questions. I know you try, that you are, without question, a person who tries to be good, and in many ways you have succeeded.

We can never meet as equals. I see in you what I detest in me – and that is my fight, to become so much more, because I am. Your own mother, my grandmother, was my guide, my solace, my inspiration – and in a few ways, so was your brother, anchored to nothing yet filled with love. Could you even see that? Or did you only judge him because he didn’t live the golden life?

One of these days I’m going to buy your fucking house, make certain that no McMansion  goes up, and yes, invite my friends over – because they are the most beautiful people, far beyond what I ever imagined being in my life – and when that time comes, when you need assistance, I will be there for you – because I am not, nor will I ever be, you. I have learned from experience that you cannot imagine the value of love, of sacrifice, of acceptance; it wasn’t from you, it wasn’t from ‘my’ sister Katherine, but that will not stop me from being for you as much as I can when you need it… and I miss the sound of the seals at night. It was a home once.