finding yourself in a fresh bed

It is curious to note how different women approach me. Some bearing gifts (or gifs). Some with great opening lines, some with earnest expressions of interest in my work or my person. Some with questions, some with rules. Some thanking me for pasts that never were, some challenging me to futures not to be. Some only reaching out when they want a handout, some only when they know they are welcome, some passing through to lob a few stray kisses and leave behind their attar, like a scar on a lonely heart. One forbidding me buying her gifts. Another only talks to me when she needs a favour.

It's a complicated universe. Mostly because we are all so busy hiding behind illusions and constructions that we forget who we are. If you tell yourself a lie often enough, you start to believe it. When you sit still and ask yourself some honest questions, sometimes reality comes into focus and it doesn't look a lot like what you thought it was a minute, an hour, a year, a decade, a lifetime ago.

And, believe it or not, that is exciting. A close friend recently said she was trying to find herself. I understand that, I know so many people who have invoked those very words (I try to avoid them, as they are very cliche and I try to avoid cliches like the plague). I wish her well on the journey, but it is the acres of diamonds journey. Usually we already have who we are, we just didn't believe it, and start our search by journeying as far away from ourselves as possible, thinking this will cleanse the emotional palate and revitalize our tired eyes. I know most who I am when I shut down the outside world and meditate (yes, Lauri, I meditate) on the essence of who I am. It's funny, I can;t recall an interview where an interviewer really asked who I am...they usually open with "Who did you write this poem about?" or "Did you ever sleep with anyone famous?" (I chide them that anyone I sleep with becomes famous...)

I just got through wrenching out another song (yes, I've dropped the pretense, even though my vocals are closer to dramatic spoken word readings than singing, these one-eyed humpbacked crossbreeds of music and poetry are songs...) I used the new poem "Skyscraper Ambition" (one metaphoric hint: Jaz is very tall) and found the right guitar riff and bass line and drums to impart the sexual malevolence implicit in what I wrote (kids, this poem is not about visiting the big city...unless there's someone waiting for you in your hotel room there with lustful intentions).

I'll share it later, after I am through futzing around with the final mix. Again, thanks for the inspiration...I know you have trouble sometimes figuring out what to do with the crown you accepted, but just relax...no one here means you any harm. Unless, of course, that's something you'd like. (grin)