Traded five for less than one
Spent another wondering why
But all paths lead to home in time

Serenity, a calm that echoes quietly in my head.
Optimism, hope, faith that this is perfect timing. Knowledge that everything is what it is, and that all roads lead home in time.
A giddy smile with every text message, phone call, email.

It’s the small things that make life good. It’s balance: for every bit of uncertainty or fear, there is an arm across my chest as I drift in and out of sleep, an early morning hug that lasts forever and not long enough, a soft hand on mine that doesn’t want to let me leave.

It’s the small things. It’s the devil in the details — not the puzzle, but the pieces that make it whole. The touches, the kisses, the half-awake glimpse of silken skin, the warmth of the breath. “Breathe out / so I can breathe you in.” I love that line. I live that line.

It’s the forest, sometimes, not the trees. It’s the passion displayed, no matter what it’s about. It’s the light in the eyes, the supernova blinding brilliance behind the most beautiful face I’ve seen. It’s determination, stubbornness, honesty, innocence.

Falling is believing in the improbable, making plans that shouldn’t work but will, putting stock in the unknown with confidence.

Falling is a picture that makes the worst place suddenly bearable.

Some people have a fear of falling. Acrophobia. Some people have recurring dreams of falling. Some people do everything they can to avoid falling.

Some of us enjoy the ride.

Morning comes too early and nighttime falls too late
And sometimes all I want to do is wait
The shadow I’ve been hiding in has fled from me today

I know it’s easier to walk away than look it in the eye
But I will raise a shelter to the sky
and here beneath this
star tonight I’ll lie
She will slowly yield the light
As I awaken from the longest night

Dreams are shaking
Set sirens waking up tired eyes
With the light the memories all rush into his head

By a candle stands a mirror
Of his heart and soul she dances
She was dancing through the night above his bed

And walking to the window
he throws the shutters out
against the wall
And from an ivory tower hears her call
‘Let light surround you’

It’s been a long, long time
He’s had awhile to think it over
In the end he only sees the change
Light to dark
Dark to light
Light to dark
Dark to light

Heaven must be more than this
When angels waken with a kiss
Sacred hearts won’t take the pain
But mine will never be the same

He stands before the window
His shadow slowly fading from the wall
And from an ivory tower hears her call
‘Let the light surround you’

Once lost but I was found
When I heard the stained glass shatter all around me
I sent the spirits tumbling down the hill
But I will hold this one on high above me still
She whispers words to clear my mind
I once could see but now at last I’m blind

I know it’s easier to walk away than look it in the eye
But I had given all than I could take
And now I’ve only habits left to break
Tonight I’ll still be lying here
Surrounded in all the light

When I arrived, the sun was behind me and to the right, just before I hit the wall of angry clouds. When I left, the sun was again over my right shoulder, a mirror image of 9 hours before, just before I hit the wall of industrial familiarity.

What a wicked cruel game, to leave the solace of you for this.

About a year and a half ago, I traded 5 years for far less than one. And I’m glad I did it, and I wouldn’t change the things I needed to learn, but the aftermath left me wondering who was going to pick up the pieces, or if it was even worth the bother.

I realized about 3 months ago that it was certainly worth the bother, and so I started trying to clean, clearing out space, neatening up, repairing what I could and throwing out the rest. But then, as roller coasters are apt to do, the apex from which I could see the entirety of the carnival, in all it’s colors and glory and myopic beauty – that peak dropped off with a quick and exciting suddeness and, with a jolt, began a long and maddeningly slow climb uphill.

Why is everything flowery metaphor for me?

There is something magical about you. I think it’s something in your eyes. I decided last night as I watched you watching something else that I was falling into your eyes without realizing it; drowning became a very real possibility.

And now I am sleepless, a state I’ve become far too familiar with lately. I am — where? A comfortingly instable place, one that is an old friend that I worried was gone. A crossroads, where there are too many options and not enough at the same time. A silent place of wondering and waiting.

At this very instant, I am too far away from you.

“So, you haven’t noticed that my supporting cast in this theatre of Hell is a veritable who’s who of incompetent puppets?”

Oh, the temptation to posit about how much mercury is in my teeth…

But as of today, my weight is up 13 pounds and fatigue and neural states are wonky, probably for the next four or five months, while the Prednisone is flushed from my system. And who said steroids aren’t fun?

In other news, I’ll never sleep again. Or at least, not this weekend. I’m about half-way through the first edit of LILAH AND THE ALIEN; after that, I have to restart and finish dorothymcdaniel.com. Then, back to LILAH, tightening up the edit, cleaning the audio, and scoring it. Whoo. THEN… catalyst4birmingham.com, hunterfilms.com, and a dating article for the Birmingham Weekly. City Stages gig is coming up fast. And at some point soon, I’ve gottogottogotto get Insomniactive up to speed. Or at least presentable.

Must get a new bass head and a new bass guitar, or at least fix one of the two laying on my bedroom floor.

New windshield would be nice.

Oh, and a vacation. Either New Orleans or the beach. Or maybe the mountains.

What is it that normal people worry about, again?

On the floating, shipless oceans
I did all my best to smile
Til your singing eyes and fingers
Drew me loving into your eyes

And you sang
�Sail to me, sail to me; let me enfold you�

Here I am, here I am waiting to hold you

Did I dream you dreamed about me?
Were you here when I was full sail?

Now my foolish boat is leaning, broken lovelorn on your rocks
For you sang �Touch me not, touch me not, come back tomorrow�
Oh my heart, oh my heart shies from the sorrow

I�m as puzzled as a newborn child
I�m as riddled as the tide
Should I stand amid the breakers?
Or should I lie with death my bride?

Hear me sing: �Swim to me, swim to me, let me enfold you�
�Here I am. Here I am, waiting to hold you�

This morning, I thought of you while I walked shoeless in the rain.

It’s been a while since I did that — played in the rain, I should clarify. And never, that I can remember, at sunrise (or what should have been sunrise, had the sun actually come up). I woke up after nearly 24 hours in bed with a migraine, and the storm was just coming in, and I lay there, listening, wondering when it would pass. And it did, blowing through in a matter of minutes, taking with it the power, and I went ahead and stayed awake, thinking I might run some early morning errands, or finish a book… and then I was outside, walking down the block to the park, barefoot, soaking slowly and revelling in it. And I thought of you.

It’s been a while since I thought of anyone like I do you.

The thought has crossed my mind: is it worse to pronounce something dead before it has ever had a chance to start, or to have to kill it after it has had time to blossom? And I don’t think there is a right answer. Both are painful in the end, to one or both. But to me, it’s more cruel to have to wonder what could have been; I’m too much of a dreamer to appreciate what ifs. I try to live my life so that I never again have to ask that question; that being the case, maybe it’s a little more clear why this doesn’t sit with me.

It’s been a while since I saw this kind of potential in someone, in a romantic way.

I see in you someone that I would very much enjoy sharing with, be it faith or music, passion or emotion, sorrow or celebration.

You’re right: I don’t give up easily. I don’t know that I actually give up, come to think of it. I’m stubborn like that. But last year, at the same time that I got divorced, I gave up after 17 years of friendship. There’s more to the story than I’m in the mood to go into, what it boils down to is that I suddenly removed from my life the two people that I was closest to, that I felt comfortable with, that I could share with. And since then, I’ve met a lot of people, from bartenders to designers to CEOS, women and men, my age, younger, older… and no matter how many of them I meet, none of them have inspired me to share.

And you have.

It’s been a while since I’ve had that.

I hate what ifs.

I thought I had never met a real life stalker before.

I was wrong.

Thankfully, it’s not mine. I’ve always wanted a stalker of my very own, though… Maybe that’s what I’ll ask for for Christmas?

At least I know where to shop for one.

Falling Sky: “It’s one of those many things that makes existence so bloody infuriating – I can barely remember any of the French vocabulary I used to be able to blather at will, yet my brain cheerfully hangs onto every bitter moment from every relationship, as though each glare went through my eyes and burned itself onto my cerebrum, capturing each bitter, spiteful, senseless, shameful second.”

Jon Nagl, I miss reading your stuff. Come back to the forums, Jimmy Dean…