becoming what I already am

It has been a long time.
Far too long.
A long time since I wrote without the restraints that my mind creates, wanting every word to be perfect, threaded, alluring.
Enticing.
It has been a long time.

I threw myself into the game, threw myself into the work I do,

But in doing so I lost a part of me. I was more focused on shining, not digging down to where even the shadows cannot reach.

 

I go on. Somehow, I go on. I work hard at creating a new dream, realizing it, and it is coming into fruition – but slowly. Much slower than my wants, but I know that it will get there, I will be there, in time.

Saturday afternoon. I sit at my makeshift desk, a gift from Victoria, and try to plan things, I try to plan my life, what I need to do, what I want to do, what I want to give. The driving factor is what I want to give. Give back.

This is my primary goal. I help others and in doing so I help myself to be able to help others. This is my life, my design.

I have immeasurable gratitude for my first client, Jeri of EverChange fitness, who I am writing for on a weekly basis in exchange for getting my ass back into shape – a daunting task, with all the nearly dying stuff I did in the past.
I create content and information to educate her clients, and in doing so, learn a tremendous amount meself. Through educating her clients, they share and create more business for her. That’s the way it works…

But I am still starving in order to do what I believe in, and that – that is just fucking wrong. I know that things will be better, I know that I will grow – I mean hells, I made CultureFlux bordering on profitable, and this is intelligent cakewalk next to that.

The stringing together of words has always been my most prominent strength.

In helping others, I now know the value of writing.
It changes lives, makes them easier – even in the simplest of ways…

And this life is good.

 

This is not what I intended to write.

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The Skin You Carry

She asked me if I was lonely.

All I could do was laugh to hide what I truly felt, and then realized that it was Vic I was talking to.
“I don’t know. Sometimes, definitely. Other times less.”
That’s all I could offer.

:We get older, we grow. I am not the same as I was even ten years ago. I could see the most exquisite woman and push her off. I could have a good conversation with another, and it doesn’t matter what she looks like – I just may fall in love.

How we want to appear to society has a tendency to bind us…

but I would rather tell them all to fuck off, that they have no idea how exquisite the person on my arm, in my heart is.

There are so very many different kinds of beauty… and it has nothing to do with the skin you are draped in.

or leave it.

It’s been a long time. Especially living in the Tenderloin District of San Francisco, especially living the lives I have lived and loving the loves I have given myself to, it just doesn’t happen every day, Or every month. Or ever.

And I miss it.

That moment when you see someone and your heart pumps so hard that it climbs into your throat,  when all of the sudden all of the roles and restraints you have taught yourself go out the window while you still try to remain a gentleman and not gawk, not let on, and all you can do is hope, dearly, that you see them again.

Maybe then I might be stronger, maybe then I won’t think of all the shit she constantly puts up with, maybe… maybe then. But I doubt it.

Those were only the fewest of my thoughts as she walked by, and I though I recognized her – from somewhere in the past, a love, an infatuation, a mistake I made not only drove her away, but made her disappear without a word.

I think I’m unfortunately pretty good at that, because even before death was so close, I tested – and sometimes, almost always, it was too soon. I wrote, not all creepy but saying what I felt, and… and yeah, so I feel too much. Sometimes.

I saw her face, something sparked… I think… I think… and then I knew.
She was the person who handed me white lilies to lace on Bean’s ashes in Austin, she was one who I pushed into silence. She was one I pushed away because of me.

She couldn’t be here.

But then, I learned different, and I only hope that we may be friends, maybe. Again.

I can’t promise that I’m better now, but I have been through some shit, and I have learned a lot…

 

And then that makes me think. I’m fucking ME, take it or leave it. I will not push down my love for you, I will not call my passion “wrong”. I am me, and the me I am was brought into being by a lover… and then more.

There are a few that called me “too intense” – sometimes it didn’t work out, some just abandoned, and others had the grace to see the balance.

I am cursed with knowing who I am, and not being afraid to share it.

Sometimes I wish….

What a sublimely different life we live, our words creating worlds, destroying the same, when we learn how to believe in someone and know enough to let them go.
For them, because of an innocence that they won’t admit to, and for those who would not taint it

I am human. I have my lust, my adoration and my ultimate respect. 

Though they make me into who I believe I am, sometimes I wish I were less…

But I could never be.

Not even for you.