Up Heavy Full


(For Faye)


I dreamed of you last night

as you were once

as a child

big rain drop tears

pudge and cheek

my sweet girl

and up the hill we were walking


and our faithful friend was there in his stubborn way

the golden contrarian

collared little wolf

we did reach the top

but it didn’t seem worth it then

as we stood on the precipice of the next hill

which was a mountain

jagged and rough

the incline our enemy always

but the sun beamed a fire love

and your face was aglow

as it is each day

when I leave you to walk through the door

into your world

the space that will never be mine again

except through your telling

of this breathing life that is up, heavy and full









Tell the truth

now don’t you lie

just sink your teeth in nice and deep

and let the blood of angels seep

while you and I fall fast asleep

you’ll hear the devil’s laugh and creep

When you decide to leave

the darkness where you dwell

You’ll learn there is nothing to believe

and nothing left to sell

Dreams, That Deep Well Of Ideas

Okay, I was going to do this eons ago but never got around to it for various reasons, but after last nights nocturnal adventure, I just had to share.

I dream a lot.  Not one night passes through my being without a jungian stroll through the subconscious.  I always know the difference between a dream and a psychic episode,  but no matter the origin of my night time escapades,  I have to admit the images and sensations I experience when in a hypnogogic state have bled into my work time and time again.  If I never went rummaging around the muse room, or culled characters and stories from real life it wouldn’t matter because at night I get all the material I need, trust me.  Therefore, I will now regale you with last nights trek through the cosmos of my mind/soul.  After you read it, if you are so inclined it would exceptional if you shared on your blogs your most recent dreams either in verse or a straightforward account.  I’m going with the straightforward account because quite frankly, it’s too damn weird to tell it any other way.

The dream begins with me sitting in a studio audience of a talk show.  I’m the only one there and just as I’m about to leave, a generic talk show host walks on stage with his microphone and makes an announcement:

“Right now I’d like to welcome a wonderful actor and a truly kind and lovely man.  I’m biased because he and I grew up together in Santa Barbara but trust me, he is the best….ladies and gentleman lets have a nice warm round of applause for Mr. Mike Connors, aka Joe Mannix.”

Mike Connors proceeds to walk on stage and walks to the centre where a table is located.  On the table is large picture frame filled with sand.  The host instructs him to put his face in this sand filled picture frame, as if it were one of those pin pressions  that molds itself  to your  hand or face when you press into it.  Once Mike Connors Face is in this sand pression frame, he is holding his breath and for some reason I feel as if I need to hold my breath also, so he and I don’t breathe in any sand.  It’s as if whatever he does I do and whatever I do he does.  I can see the shape of his face but his lips change to a ruby red clown mouth and I am shocked!   More than this I’m disturbed that he won’t pull his face out because I seriously need to breathe and soon.  In my mind I’m screaming at him ” for gawd sake pull your face out so we can both breathe. ”  I know he can hear me, but he is purposely ignoring and continues to keep his head in this sand pression thing.  Eventually, I can no longer stand the lack of air and start to breathe and choke until  it wakes me.  I sat on the side of the bed and was shocked to realize I had actually stopped myself from breathing while reacting to something in a dream.  I seriously sat up and choked and sputtered for a good while, it was that real.

I have no idea what the hell this means, but I’m interested in reading about your subconscious wanderings, that is if you are brave enough.  😉

Cats, Sunsets and Crustaceans


After work today I went to the grocery store for some sort of easy to prepare sustenance.  As always, I made my way over to the lobster tank.  As I watched, I thought, how like writers these lobsters are.  Okay, stay with me, I promise I’m approaching a worthy comparison.  The lobsters were all scrambling to find their place in the tank, crawling all over one another, occasionally having an eye to eye standoff over territory. One lobster in particular began his/her climb immediately after being clawed down.  When one got to the top of the pile, and that much closer to the top of the tank, a few, not all, tried to claw it back down to the bottom.  

 In fascination I watched this one individual creature relentlessly attempt an escape, no matter how futile it seemed time after time.  Why?  Because the top of the tank didn’t move, it was still there.  The opportunity for freedom didn’t cease to be simply because of the behaviour of the other lobsters.  My point is simple, the dream is not going anywhere for any of us and the opportunities are more abundant than most lobsters/writers  think.  when we’re  at the bottom of the tank being clawed down by fear, doubt, melancholy and discouragment, we miss seeing the top of the tank because all we see is the bottom. Be the lobster who keeps climbing despite the ever present negativity of a writer’s life, because my friends, like most bogeymen, it’s  just not real.  Hope is.    

Be good to yourselves and as always, send out the good vibe to other writers who may be looking at the bottom of that damn tank.  🙂




may0509-009Sparkey, AKA, The boy, Beast, Badness, and Baby.  Could be we love this feline eh?




Sunset on an old farm road, not far from here.  Just lovely, if you can stand the accompanying aroma.


And of course, those crustaceans.  I took the other photos, but I had to pilfer this one from the internet.