Transfered from a blog I'm deleting The war on diversity
Once there was a magical city built of thoughts and dreams. There were skyscrapers of inspiration standing tall on the horizon and deep canals of gloomy depression, flowing with dark rivers of pain. It was a wondrous city built of big dreams, magic moments, rousing realities, mystic streets to meander through and towers of imagination to climb.
The citizens of the city were each unique and each had a skill only they could perform to build the city. Each added colors and fragrances indigenous only to them. It could have been the mega center of the teaming I-universe which surrounded it but…..
Some did not like the types of buildings and the inscriptions placed on them and began to secretly bomb the construction. In time all the buildings and inscriptions began to look alike and the despised architects became discouraged and stopped building their unappreciated structures. The varied colors began to dim and turn gray and the fragrance of the city became stale.
In time the builders of grand structures, those who marched to a different drumbeat than was acceptable to those who wanted all the people to march to the same, found it impossible to continue to dwell in the city that was beginning to look more like a prison of the mundane than a wondrous metropolis of meeting minds and they left the decaying city, for adventure in far away lands that welcomed diversity of thought.
In time the city became just what the secret warriors had wanted, a place where they could praise each similar thought and guard against each different one. A place where conformity was valued above all and pats on the back for dullness and intolerance were passed around each day so that reality no longer had a voice and all threats for change were removed and all non-conforming voices silenced.
And so in time the lights went out in the city and vanity of expression wrapped in vain religion and political stagancy held all the citizens in the prison of ignorance where they were contented to spend their days, loving the darkness and each other.
3/31/05
Poetic love is not grounded in this physical world, it flows from a celestial place beyond. Not burdened with the harsh realities that destroy love and passion, it flows sometimes gently like a placid river and other times it crashes on the shore of consciousness like a turbulent tidal wave. Poetic love is not germinated in physical attraction, but in meshing of minds, the melding of souls and the releasing of their depths. Though it may manifest itself not only in romantic poetry but in searing erotica, it is not an erotic love but a soulful one, erotica being only one expression of love. Poetic love embraces and communicates all facets of love, devoid of the negative forces of reality which work against love's perfection in the material world. It you are a poet, you will understand this and make use of it to release the beauty, the soothing, exciting perfection of poetic love into the world.
2/28/05
Today the dam finally broke and the words bounded through my thoughts and fingers like quicksilver. Poetry lived for me today, took me away from here. Sometimes I suppose the dams break when we arrive at that place where we just don't give a damn anymore about almost anything. I'm so tired of battles and bruises and disgusting injustices that have demanded my attention. Tired of enemies who want to pass themselves off as friends and friends who turn their backs when you need them most. Tired, tired, tired of all of it and I just don't give a damn today about anything but the words. Today is all we have, one day, that's all and we don't even know if we will have all of this day. Death comes surely to all of us, we just don't know when, unless we are prophetic souls and have a premonition. So since there is only today I want to learn how to embrace every moment of it. I want to cast away all the barriers in my life, all the things that have pulled me down instead of lifting me up. I want to step away and as if I'm just a channel, allow poetry to flow through my mind and fingers without any stops or questioning of where a particular style or words are comming from. Just be whoever the words dictate at the moment, this is where great poetry orginates from, it comes from beyond the poet and entwines with his essence while being expressed on the page. Some of us will never be great because in our art, like in our life, we are afraid of not being completely in control!
3/2/05
When winds of change are blowing I get excited. I have never been afraid of change, have always embraced it. The mundane everyday grind is what depletes me of energy and creativity. Change is good and stimulating. When I grow old, I hope I die before my life becomes just one big, unchanging, mundane nothing. I can sense those wild winds all around me now and it feels good.
3/15/05
I think a true poet really has no choice but to write poetry, it's like a fire within that must find expression or burn you up! Some use poetry as a form of therapy, some as an art form others as an amusement...but when you are a real poet, the poetry uses you. It surpasses and floods your intellect and soul with concepts beyond your limitations and pulls the very best of your spirit along with it onto the page.
3/17/05
There comes a time in life that we make peace with what we have lived. We no longer resent the sorrow or the lack and somehow there is just a melting down of resistence and we become comfortable with who we are, where we have been. Yet there is always present the desire for more, more than we've known intellectually and emotionally, even and especially, spiritually. Strange as it may sound I believe that quest for more will never yield it's rewards until we make peace with the past, it's good, it's bad and are no longer distracted by it's injustices and in doing so we become able to focus on the journey into our future and all the good it may hold.
3/21/05
have offered my friendship so often, to so many and it seems they either want more than I am offering or they haven't yet learned how to be an unconditional friend. It used to almost destroy me, when someone I loved as a treasured friend would walk away. Now I have learned to enjoy the treasure while it's mine and when it's lost look at it as no less a treasure, simply a lost one, with no less value than when I could almost tangibly hold it in my hand.
3/23/05
There was a time my world was so ugly, so painful and then I learned how to use even the ugly things to bring beauty to the world. As a writer we have the opportunity to look at anything and everything through creative eyes, eyes that see beyond the obvious. We have minds that observe and question things others may never even notice or appreciate. We have the honor of bringing those observations to the page and gifting them to others who read us. I've never had writer's block, I wouldn't know what that feels like. Even in the most fragmented state of mind I have been able to write, no, inspired to write, sometimes the very best of my material. Beauty is not always about pleasant things, lovely flowers, sweet emotions. Sometimes beauty is a heart stripped bare where all the pain and confusion can be seen, felt, related to. I thank God everyday for the gift of bringing beauty to the world.
3/24/05
Sometimes the pressures are unbearable, the ones others try to place on our backs. The unreasonable demands you know you can never meet, the unjust judgments heaped on you by those who have no realistic concept of the real situation. When the pressures are crushing, it's time to retreat into a place of inner peace and balance, a citadel of beauty within the human soul, a haven beyond all the battles. Ancient wisdom is always learned in an unending series of hard lessons. Life is not for the faint of heart, nor for those who only feel sorry for themselves allowing the pressures to crush instead of mould them. As a dear friend often tells me, "What doesn't kill us will make us stronger."
3/25/05
Some people who come into our lives are like flowers, things of beauty that scatter their sweet fragrance in our world. Thornless roses that feel like velvet when our souls touch the petals of theirs. People in whom there is no deception and who inflict no pain on us, who only uplift us and help us to be a better person.
And then there are the weeds. Malevolent influences, false inside and out. People who back stab and hate. Those who have never learned the difference in lust and love. Speaking about loving us one day and putrid hate toward us the next. Sick individuals, thorns with no roses, weeds in the garden of life. They only destroy everything that's good... bearing no desirable flowers or fruit.
3/28/05
A corner is one of the scariest and most advantageous places to be. Scary, because you can't see around it to the other side, advantageous because change is a positive thing, change in direction, change in scenery and even change in attitude and outlook. I think I like this corner I'm standing on now, leaving behind some things and people that have only been a negative influence and a drain on my thoughts and feelings. Yes corners are a positive thing.
3/30/05
Today is my birthday, yes I am a red haired Aries, born under the war sign and sometimes I go to war. I like to think the times I war are justified and that they relate to justice and right. I am not easily angered but once I am, it's best to not challenge me. I can be a true and tender friend but I can also be a formiable enemy.
I preferred to die young...forever young, forever fair...but I am thankful to have missed that goal. Life has not always been kind or easy but it has been life and life is a precious gift to be celebrated each day and every birthday. I have seen more history and changes in a lifetime than past generations could dream of. I have changed and become a different person, more than once. You can fight against the tides of time but you can never win against them, so you learn to swim...well.
3/31/05
Terri Schiavo died today and it deeply saddened me, for her and for those who love her, but beyond that for humanity so cold it could allow a woman innocent of any crime, to slowly starve to death when her parents were willing to take care of her. It's a sad time we are living in, man has progressed little from the days of the barbarians, we just sometimes kill now in more civilized ways. That is if you think starvation is more civilized.
4/1/05
If someone had told me a couple of years ago that I would be writing a public journal, I wouldn't have believed them. Personal thoughts and experiences put on a page to be viewed by anyone and everyone in the whole world that might stop by..that seems a little weird. Being a writer you learn to let your thoughts wander freely and to express them on the page as though it's all rather impersonal. I think that may be why writers have such an easy transition to journaling or blogging, the freedom of expression is already ingrained in us. I enjoy the release a blog brings but the only unenjoyable thing about it are the idiots who read your blog then try to attack you with the info they find there, just have to get past it and them.
