Okay...so a while ago, a great friend and personal guru of mine gave me some sage advice.
"If you want to accomplish something in life you must have the courage to state it and put it out there for all to see."
Another teacher gave me some additional advice that seems to be in the same vein.
"Be careful of what you wish and dream. It may very well come true and you better be prepared to do the hard work that it requires."
It's kind of like dreaming about having a family and realizing after giving birth that this kid is yours FOREVER...you're stuck with it and all the responsibilities that raising a kid entails. (Yeah...I'm not ready for that dream quite yet, thank you very much.)
So I'm putting it out there...I'm sending it out to the ethos, to the muses, and all those things great and small that help to shape good fortune.
My dream (among many others) is to:
1) Have my first chapbook (a self-published book of writing, art, and other creations) completed and published within 18 months.
2) Have my first book of poetry or my first novel published within 6 years.
Although this blog doesn't give much indication of my ability to write a coherent sentance, I do write more artistically significant stuff. Stuff that most of you haven't seen.
So that's it...I'm putting it out there. I've done this before and every time I've stated my goals clearly and with good intentions, I've always been able to realize them.
Here's another poem that was written a while ago. Yeah and it's copywrited to me blah, blah, blah, blah...so no stealing...not that I thought that you would.
She was acutely aware of
The similarity between them
That he and she, that they favored red umbrellas
And their left leg
An unconscious favoritism betrayed by
The uneven wearing of their shoes
A finger raised, once more, urgently
A button pressed, repeatedly, frantically
But here wedged, stuck
In the nameless space
Neither up, nor down
She ignored him consciously, feverishly
In a way that only made their proximity
More ludicrous and obscene
She could actually smell him,
And not only
His shampoo and his cologne
But the smell on his shirt and pants
Unlaundered, crumpled, and overworn
She imagines instantly that scent
Mixed with hers
Embedded in her bedroom, on her bedspread, in her towels
Moist scents, accusing and unyielding
Instantly she imagines
And instantly she craves
And they slip some more
He and she, they can hear
The mumbled reassurances
“Someone is working on the problem”
Voices bleeding into white noise
White sound, white light, white buttons
Her white dress
Prevents her from joining him on the floor
He, ignorant or unbothered
By the hundreds of shoes that have stood on
Parquet, juxtaposed tiles
He fidgets with a button on his shirt
And in his hand,
In no time
There the button lies
Amid the creases
Life line, love line, fortune line
Without changing the shape of his palm
He turns his hand
And allows the button to fall
It lay where it fell
She, unthinking, unconsciously, instinctually
Bends to pick up the button
Her white dress rises
Above her knee
To accommodate the expanse of her hips
Swollen, inviting, beautiful to his gaze
And only after standing upright
Does she realize the absurdity of her action
And once again becomes conscious of his scent
The useless button
Now inbetween her
Index finder and thumb
Pinched, held, squeezed, tortured
She wants it to disappear to dissolve
And with it the image of her
Picking it up
Off the floor
In her dress
Here where there is no motion
Stuck and wedged
Here where there is stillness
As is the rule of physics
They must create their own movement