[...] and therefore I've experienced a quiet, isolated agnosticism - free of both strife and warmth. Submerged. Imagine me as The Nautilus-- a tired Captain Nemo with less ambition yet an even deeper longing. It's a nuanced contradiction.
I'm starting to appreciate that I'm on a bridge. I want to just jump but it's too far. I want everything to suddenly be different but all I can do is change the angle, the optics, the perspective, and appreciate that I am moving.
I want balance, not to divide the world into good/evil, dark/light, and conveniently place myself in the middle (self-justifying) but rather to find a workable middle and stretch my tendrils into both dark and light, knowing that Good is a matter of compassion and humility while evils are obsessed with consuming and dominating.
CPJ-1, where I ramble about names I've assumed and then reveal that I think I've been a poet all along. TBC
Months ago I polished my silver-plated trumpet for the first time since I bought it. I didn't do "seven minutes in heaven" with a new horn at a music store in spring of 2004. Mr. Danny Barber and I arranged a parking lot rendezvous outside of "Lunkers" restaurant in Edwardsburg, MI. He played this 1974… Continue reading The Process of Polishing
If I don't jam, I can't become CactusPearJams. The only way to cultivate a voice is to make it speak and sing. I want a new voice. I can't find it. I can't buy it. I must cultivate it.
I started writing yet another reflective essay about how I'm not writing the way I wish I were writing. I decided a free verse poem would be more compact -- thus, this column of thought.