Things to consider...

[musingsofinsomnia]

Muse

My fingers become electric.  My tongue tastes of wine and my skins bite with sunburn. I can feel watermelon dripping across us leaving nothing but the sun and water and skin to kiss. The sweetness of your skin, like maple, and your hair hurling the light into my eyes. The air even changes, shedding the tired leaves. In all of the poetry I forgot your smile.

[musingsofinsomnia]

What incredible timing Magic Hat.

[musingsofinsomnia]

I did a thing. Didn't have the chance to finish it but I'm content until I get my own oil pastels. Hash brown #nofilter #artsy #artsyfartsy #pastel #unfinishedbusiness

[musingsofinsomnia]

I think it was Banksy that said "Everyone dies twice: first, when their body dies; second, when someone says their name for the last time." Well here's to Round 2 Trevor. You've got a lot people that will be saying your name for a long time. Nektar Dwarf Invasion mead. An unconventional beer for an unconventional man. Cheers mate.

[musingsofinsomnia]

Another analog story for a digital world

[musingsofinsomnia]

Just like these records...

I see them spin around and never really understand how they work. I just see how they spin around and sing something so clear to me.

I imagine us naked on a canvas and painting masterpieces that we will erase with sweat. Covered with paint and making each other what we want each other to be, waiting for it to be erased by our own passion. Smeared on bed sheets that will be washed clean and forgotten. We reserve that touch we cannot share for each other.

[musingsofinsomnia]

An analog story for the digital world.

[musingsofinsomnia]

A strange thought on past lives...

I have been told so many times that I am an “old soul”. I have read numerous things about and discussed the idea of old souls with friends. One idea of an old soul, that I feel parallels the conservation of mass, is that all newly born are those that adopt the soul of someone before us. We conserve the mass of that soul. So, the idea of the “old soul” has literal meaning. We draw in that passing soul at some point in our developing years. Our thoughts, our interests, even our tactile fascinations are directed by this previous soul. These souls contribute to our intrinsic knowledge and how we view the world. This also could be an explanation for disassociative personality. Maybe these people could not reconcile the old soul with new life, or perhaps a new soul attempted to attach itself to this new body as well. It may sound spiritual and outlandish, but perhaps it is just a part of some dimension we are not yet capable of perceiving as a species. Maybe it is something we can quantitatively measure in the future.

Just a thought.

[musingsofinsomnia]

The lighthouse.

The lighthouse is regarded by most, and for my purpose more specifically cited to Joe Panek, as a symbol of strength, guidance and safe harbor. Generally speaking, lighthouses reside close to the sea, on high outcroppings of land in order to make them most visible to travelers. Panek draws connections between the lighthouse and The Hermit; one of many cards contained in the Tarot deck. The Hermit is depicted as a single hooded figure on the top of a mountain, holding a lantern. And, by nature, The Hermit is a symbol of isolation and wisdom. These two parallel symbols, constructed in times quite separate from each other, share not only a physical resemblance - the tall, slender figure only made distinguishable by the light it bears - but also in their meaning. The isolation of The Hermit parallels the need for the guiding nature of the lighthouse to those that are lost - those that are themselves, alone - those that are given the wisdom of where they must travel next. Between the two they, figuratively and literally, embody the cliche and “show people the light”. Most importantly, they are only able to do so because of their isolated and solitary nature. It’s no wonder that the lighthouse becomes a focus of much intrigue for many people. Some kind of sympathetic attraction to the idea. Perhaps even a romantic attachment to the notion. 

[musingsofinsomnia]

Jazz bar.

The resonance of love requited and lost rings through the brass and skin layed down in a tiny place of virtue the beat of something held softly too hard pulls at the heavy string of a standing bass pumping and pulling something lost grasping, pulling the notes play, not echo the sound of a love not lost I imagine the musty smoke that once filled a place like this an ambient death ignored by the ever pulsing life of this forgotten oasis of forgotten years. Play another, brother. Pour another martini and serve me life and death preserve for me some forgotten sound I know I was born for play the played out play me me the new play me something that feels true give me a life I thought I knew born in new but borne unseen in some era between. Good lord, my man play me something I don’t know. Take me away from here let me give into these unknown  chords and pieces no one knows or have heard. Give me something to hear and feel, to live and breath something I can know give me something no one has heard give me a pull from the know play me something no one has heard and you could never repeat, a secret between friends that never met. Pull from the air some inspiration I can milk and feed from let me know the origin of  the original. Breath into me a life known by so few it becomes our secret. Just between you and I, player you on the stage, in the bar in my mind in my heart Give me reason Give me rhyme Tell me why I should let the innumerable chords and notes play on and make me something that means something to someone.

[musingsofinsomnia]

What we talk about when we talk about love.

The whites of his knuckles are all I can really see of him. 

The three of us are on another road trip up north and I notice that when the conversation begins to shift, Mike’s hands grip tighter around the wheel as if he’s considering how easy it would be to turn into the median.

Nolan is in the passenger seat and I’ve taken the bench in the back. I always preferred the back seat on trips like this. With the window down and the stereo on, it gives me an easy excuse to bow out of the conversation and simply pretend I haven’t heard it.

This time, Nolan has begun to talk about his ex. A short tirade on the insanity and generally contradictory nature of the women his has grown accompanied to. In this I find myself a great sympathizer. Mike on the other hand is not one well versed in matters of the heart and has only recently engaged in a relationship for the first time in nearly half a decade.

“SO she cheats on me, naturally I tell her to get the fuck out of my life,” Nolan continues. “I can’t stand the idea of seeing her at first, but soon after I consider it all and realize I still want her to be part of my life. I’d like her to be a friend. I can’t really figure out why.” The page seems to be read out of my book. “I talk to her and she says she wants nothing to do with me.” Yup, I follow that. “Then I wake up 2 days later with a blabbering drunk voice mail saying how much she misses me and wants to stay friends.” Well fuck-all if I can’t think of how much that sounds familiar. “But I’m over it. I tell her to leave me alone, I’m not doing this shit anymore.” Good on ya, man. “Then I get the news: she’s been committed and is hanging on by a thread.” A curveball, sure, but one I’ve taken a swing at once or twice. “I couldn’t fucking believe how selfish that was.”

Leaning back, putting my hand out the window - letting it surf on the curves of the wind - the patter of the gusts make his voice nearly inaudible. Nearly. And that’s when I fall asleep.  

[musingsofinsomnia]

They tell me I’m an Empath.

“The trademark of empaths is that they know where you’re coming from. Some can do this without taking on people’s feelings. However, for better or worse, others... can become angst-sucking sponges. This often overrides the sublime capacity to absorb positive emotions and all that is beautiful. If empaths are around peace and love, their bodies assimilate these and flourish. Negativity, though, often feels assaultive, exhausting. Thus, they’re particularly easy marks for emotional vampires, whose fear or rage can ravage empaths. As a subconscious defense, they may gain weight as a buffer. When thin, they’re more vulnerable to negativity... an empath’s sensitivity can be overwhelming in romantic relationships; many stay single since they haven’t learned to negotiate their special cohabitation needs with a partner.

When empaths absorb the impact of stressful emotions, it can trigger panic attacks, depression, food, sex and drug binges, and a plethora of physical symptoms that defy traditional medical diagnosis from fatigue to agorophobia...”

- Judith Orloff M.D.

[musingsofinsomnia]

One of those nights at a bar.

I walked into another one of those pitiful scenes that are far too common in college bars. Guys desperately trying to get laid and girls desperately trying to make it seem like they weren’t looking to do the same thing. I sat down and ordered a pint of #9. I noticed an older gentlemen to my left and, having a natural gravitation to those that are not in my age group while at a bar, I struck up conversation with the man. We burned through the standard introductory conversation quite quickly and moved on to matters of the heart. At the time, I had been dealing with some kind of trivial romance and he was giving me some kind of cliched advice. Suddenly his tone changed and he told me straight, 

“Being young is great when it comes to love and hate. You can burn through all the hookups and selfish, horny, stupidity. It’s a series of trial and error. Something that I think everyone should go through, to a degree. But If I’m being honest, just forget about it all. What you really need to do is figure out who you are, and not through some girl or some guy or multiple of both. You should really take the time and just think, ‘who the fuck am I?’. Of course, I know you won’t, and in some way you shouldn’t, but you also really should. You can and should take the time to chase skirts, but you really need to figure out who the hell you are. In some way, when you fall in love, you look for what you are missing in someone else. So, naturally, how the hell can you figure out what you are missing until you figure out what the fuck you actually have to offer. This may sound like the cynical ravings of some old stranger, but I mean it. Figure yourself out first. Stop trying. Stop looking. Once you do that, you’ll find it. That much I think I can promise.”

[musingsofinsomnia]

Something I’ve come to know well.

Morning sadness grips the heart; deliverance of the day calms the start; then the night arrives, to tear me apart.

Waking up, fully clothed, head still buzzing from the night before, the pieces of a busted apart pen rolling between the curls of my sheets. I looked down to find these words scratched in the open notebook laid across my chest. A twisted string of duct tape wrapping a mass of bloody tissues on my arm. Reaching my hand up to rub my face, I notice I’ve shaved off my beard again. I’ve gotten into the habit of doing that on nights like last night. There needs to be some way of making my face unrecognizable, if only for the time it takes for me to acclimate to bare skin. That is the only reason I’ve come to for doing it. Always seem to regret it afterward. It always seems like a good idea at the time. 

I guess maybe I should just stop having good ideas.

[musingsofinsomnia]

[deleted]

it’s funny how easy it has become to be so.

[musingsofinsomnia]

An old sketch from a dream I once had.

[musingsofinsomnia]

The Autonomic Biology and Metaphysical Existence of Love.

Recently, I came across a quote I found too compelling to forget. It went something like “We as humans assume that everyone else loves the same way we do; when we do not receive that brand of love, we expect it is not there.” Reading this, I couldn’t help but feel how hopelessly true the concept really is. And it got me thinking about a few things.

We as a species like to think of ourselves as above others because we have a concept of empathy, loss, and love. But our brand of love seems to be so selfish. We cannot quite realize precisely what we deserve or see that what we put out comes back to us in a different form. It’s similar to the idea that nothing is either created or destroyed, merely transformed. Looking at such an abstract concept through the lens of natural law brings about a feeling of metaphysical unease. One might argue that you cannot apply the rules of our natural world to such a concept. Love is, perhaps, the only thing we are capable of that pushes the bounds of natural law. Our love results in mourning, which serves no real survival function. It is the one thing we as 4 dimensional beings have that transcends the bounds of our understanding. We love those that are no longer here, we love those that are right in front of us, we love those that are nowhere near us, and, at least I believe, we love those that we have yet met. Each of us loves the idea that we will love something. A new dog, a new family member, a new lover. There is always this anticipation, whether we notice it or not.

Love is the one thing we own that exists outside the constraints of time or space. Because of this, we don’t entirely understand it.

As much as I agree with that sentiment, I do also believe that even this thing that is so beyond our understanding follows some kind of rule. Love is not created or destroyed, it is transformed and preserved in some way or another. So when we exude love, we should never expect it to return to us in the same way. 

Even something as simple as the air we breathe. We force it out of our lungs and it lingers and floats through the air, is drawn into a plant and used to sustain it’s own life. This same plant then creates oxygen, new air that we welcome back. In some way, it is that same breathe. But it is different. It’s new. And perhaps it’s better. No one thinks of it like that; thinking of it like that is neither a priority or even necessary, by any means. 

We apply this same logic to love in some way or another, whether we are aware of it or not. We exude love into the world, some more than others, and it returns to us in a form we neither recognize or even have the patience to understand. So, because of this, many of us go on as if it does not exist. Much like the air we breathe, we simply do not regard it. Some part of us knows it’s there. And if we really pay attention, we realize it is. But we just don’t think of it.

You might say this is a silly concept, because love takes much more effort and attention than breathing. But does it? Love is not something we chose, something we engage with actively. We love, often, without even being aware of it. Much like a heartbeat or breathing. We can try to control it as much as possible, but when it comes right down to it, we cannot control it at all. We don’t make it so, it just is.

The idea about it following some kind of natural law, something measurable, is silly. Things that follow natural law can be tested and predicted. We can neither observe or predict love, but it does seem to exist as some kind physical force. Maybe we just haven’t found it’s molecule yet. Maybe it’s just a few centuries down our evolutionary track. Maybe, one day, love (the way we imagine it to be) will truly become as natural as a heartbeat or breathing. Not this confusing thing that seems to exist outside of our understanding, but something that is so much apart of our existence that we no longer regard it. It will simply be a constant, something every being engages with. And then there will be no downside to it. 

Like a heartbeat, or a breathe, it will simply become something that we feel, when we become still and quiet. Something that pulses through our bodies in moments when we have nothing else to worry about. Then we will press our finger to that pulse and simply be thankful that we know it’s always there and that, when we want to, we can focus on just that.