I won’t call this imagination a curse. It’s just that the future doesn’t play out as I imagine. Our winter romance, that didn’t happen.

It was supposed to be a letting go, two people forgetting the world together. Two people to keep out winter’s chill. Two people to love like they had never learned from failed love of the past. Two people to make the winter an endless summer.

But, like I said, this imagination never comes true. Reality has something else to say. It says, “I have learned that this may not be a good idea.” I say it is not a bad idea either. It’s the cold you avoid. Don’t look back. The future is not the past. We have all learned, loved and lost.

Perhaps we move too slow. When I die, when we die, will we wish we had been more cautious? Or, will we wish we had thrown caution to the wind and smile at the adventures and foolishness that we shared, at the memories we created?

Perhaps others do not see this how I do. Perhaps it is strange for some one to say, “Stop. Enough is enough. Let’s go. Let’s ride these waves. Lets love and lose. Take me to those heights so I may fall, sprout wings, and ride the wind that blows through this canyon, between these mountains of past and future.”

Everything takes too long. I want to live an hour in a minute. Look into my eyes and fall. I won’t catch you. We’ll fall. It will be beautiful.

Life is beautiful. We are free. Strategy disgusts me. Not really, but when it comes to feelings it does. When it aims to manipulate others, that is when I am disgusted. Just speak your mind! “The truth will set you free.” Aren’t you tired of hiding?


My writing is taking a turn away from philosophy and life. Until I change my mind it will be about romances I imagined, but they never happened.

Typically this is the case. My imagination runs off with possibility. If everything was a yes it could come true, but to date that has never been the case. All I’m left with is what I feel could have been.

I won’t call this imagination a curse. It’s just that the future, that reality doesn’t play out as I imagined.

The thing is I want these romances to happen. So, that is why I am going to start writing them out. By writing them they will be expressed. If my romantic visions can not exist in real life they will at least exist on paper.

They will live their lives. I will share them with the women who have inspired them. I’m not sure if this is a good idea, but we have been quiet long enough. I don’t see how sharing is a bad idea. It’s an honor to be a muse. In sharing I will simply be breaking social conventions.

So, if you appear here, do not worry. It’s not about you, or me. It’s about two people who forgot the world, together. It’s about a perfect romance. A perfect romance that I wanted expressed.

That is all.



























conglomeration (of) amalgamtion

representation (of) classification….





Traveling. The roads blend. Destinations shape shift into an arbitrary reference point. This journey is continuous.

My cocoon?Absence. Darkness. I move. I wriggle. A cocoon. The Planet. Pressure. Tight fit. The Chrysalis torn open by death. What emerges?

Life as a process. Life. Death. Flowing. Changing.

The golden rule. Treat others as you would like to be treated. I am thirsty. I am hungry. I am human. It is strange. I must eat food to continue existing. With out food I die. I must drink to continue existing. With out water I shrivel into non-existence. Why? Why must I eat and drink to continue living. Why must others? Explained scientifically the mystery remains, but in different words. Why must we eat? Why is this basic need central to the foundation of my life and EVERYONE else’s?

It is a fact. The why does not matter.

I am Hungry. I am Thirsty. The Golden Rule. A Hierarchy of Needs.

It must be.

I have been reading some biographical accounts of WWII Nazi Concentration Camp survivors. The following is a poem/mind-stream that followed. History has shown us that the concentration camps are not an isolated event. Many countries and nationalities have partaken in travesties. It is unfathomable, unless you are there, then the unfathomable is your reality. I consider it important to realize that we all have the capacity to be the culprit and the victim. Actions are important.Image

Trail of our Tears

Woe to be human. Millions dead. Perhaps Billions.

Millions tortured.Perhaps Billions.

By humans.

Woe to be man.

Subject to this all. Subject to idiocy.

Object of travesty.


I act. You act. He and she act.

Summation. Insanity.

Why? How?

The roar of an ocean. Why? How?

A peaceful lake. Why? How?

Countless Droplets.

So much beauty. So much travesty.

Potentialities solidified.

Man moves forward.


The image pictured is the tamest of all the photos found. Search for death camp photos. The results are abhorrent  and feel inhuman, but they real!

What kind of scars has this left on mankind. The effects of these action do not disappear. They have shaped the world as it is. The world never forgets as all action is recorded in it’s future. The world is continuous. The shocking thing is the horrors that spawned this were done with action. They had a choice!!!!! It had to happen because of chosen actions!

After reading this I feel enough emotional hardship has been caused by the events that spawned this. Learn and move forward. NO need to maintain negativity. Let the scar heal. Be happy. Help balance. Learn. No need for unnecessary damage. We are sorry.

The character Grand in Albert Camus’ “The Plague” Grand wants to write a novel that is so good the editors exclaim “Hats off” at the first sentence. He spends all of his time searching for the best way to express his imagined scene. The sentence must trot along like the scene it paints. At the end of the day all he has is one introductory sentence written many times. It is ironic because in this man’s search to express this sentence perfectly he never gets to express the novel as a whole. He speaks of words and the difficulty to express oneself completely. Perhaps that is the challenge that words have to offer. Basically I have been like Camus’ Grand. In an effort to express myself well I have only stopped the expression.

Happy Holidays.