I know it’s only rock and roll, but I like it…yes I do!

Goin’ to this show 2/7:

And this one 3/3:

Sweet!

So who are you planning to see in the next few months? Let me hear ya!

…Nevermore

Yeah, this is definitely happening.  I had a wonderful meeting with my young friend Adam this week, to begin work on a collaborative project.  And unlike most of what we wannabe writers do (cloister ourselves away with books and pens and journals), this project is a team effort.  Adam is a film maker, one with a unique eye and dedication to detail.  Check out his myspace page for some of his stuff.  I promise you, you’ll never see Santa with the same eyes again.  But what I really love about working with Adam, or just talking with him, is that he knows what he wants.  And he says so.  It’s really empowering to sit across from a guy 10 years my junior and have my ideas stretched, tested, challenged.  It makes me dig deep, and I like that.

So, we’re just getting started with a new project, a cinematic interpretation of Poe’s classic poem “The Raven” (see below).  While I have never written for film before, I find it thrilling to reevaluate how I’ve always felt about Poe’s work in general, and this poem in particular.  There is a lot going on here: in the poem, the budding screenplay, and the relationship between two (possibly unlikely) friends.  I am expecting great things.  Possibly dark, disturbing images of the breakdown of the human mind…but great nonetheless.

Stay tuned…

Quoth the Raven…

 

Recently, a conflagration that had apparently smoldered in my soul for some time came to full, roaring life.  I found myself devouring Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Raven,” and, mysteriously, identifying with the poem in new, strange ways.  Something is coming, brewing, developing, and I am interested to see what shape this new dark shadow eventually takes.  The war of the soul, the long dark night, is the one true story of life.  Each of us has stood in a black doorway, peering into unyielding darkness, searching for the source of the whispering, the echo.  May we each find what we seek…

Rapture

I’m not sure if I can explain how I feel here…but let’s try anyway.

Music is rapturous. It is the wild, raving mad man in my soul. It is the most beautiful invisible presence I know. It runs, like a rain-swollen river, through the deepest reaches of who I am, and when I play, and the river runs its course (damn the banks!), all, for a moment, is well with my soul.

The song thrills me, yet tortures me. It is the siren’s voice beckoning, calling me in to cool, safe waters, then leaving me racked with pain and starving on the murderous rocks. Music welcomes me home, shuns me, then scolds me for sulking away alone. I will never, ever understand the mysteries of beautiful words and sound. But I am hungry to sing again, to discover the voice, the song, the words rising clear and strong from that cool, dark unknowable spring below. I will drink, speak, and let the words save my soul…

Such Mystery

It is a mystery to me how all this happened. We were just kids, wild, gangly dreamers, lost in our own world of horses, poems, beaches, whispered secrets, smoky fires. Through the tumult of youth, the long, crazy nightmare of teen-hood, we were impossibly crazy for each other, drawn by the invisible, overpowering force of longing. It was as if we knew, from the beginning, that this was no summer fling, no exploratory romp in the hay. Something told us that we knew what we were getting into, that there would be no turning back, ever, that there would be no other for either of us. And there was no other, ever. There was only this one unimaginably deep, mysterious love, and it has sustained us.

And now, I hold a whispered midnight secret, look into the face of a dark, lovely mystery, wonder at the depth of our connection. We have built a life, a family, a home…we have it all. But change is in the air, and tomorrow looms uncertain and grand. There is no way to know what the future holds, where the road leads, what the harvest may bring. But with this dark beauty at my side, with this deep well from which to draw, with my dearest friend with me always, I can, and will, go anywhere, do anything.

I am eternally grateful for so many things: life, health, wonderful children, prosperity, good friends and family…but there is no relationship, no possession, no dream so fulfilling to me as my life with Hope. She is everything, and if every glittering jewel in my life were to disappear, and she remain, I would count myself a rich, whole man.

I love you, Hope. Thank you for a wonderful life.

He Did What?

If ever there was a way to make a statement, to testify to the entire seeing world that something’s going on with you, that a tempest is growing inside and will soon have its way with the world…it must be the tattoo.

This, my friends, is my statement. No doubt the range of responses to this action will vary widely. But let me make it very clear that this action, this permanent declaration, means something to me, something very deep and mysterious. Things are changing, life is changing, people are changing. And I embrace change. Let it come to us all in myriad ways, and let us be the better for it.

If you know me well at all, you should get most of the significance of this tattoo. For you newbies, let me sum it up like this. I recently explained the concept of the compass to Emma (my seven year old) like this: “It helps you find your way home.” I have realized lately, as Hope and I celebrate 9 incredible years of marriage, that no matter where I go, or what I do, or who believes in me, wherever Hope is, there is my home. In a sense, I can never be lost, for no matter how far afield the pursuit of my dreams leads me, I know that this dark-haired beauty will be with me, making life wonderful, and feeding the fire in my soul. Many things are likely to change, drastically, in the coming months…how wonderful to know that some things, some loves, will never disappear, regardless of place or time.

November Sunburn

So, Sunday was one of those days. And I know why…

Because I slowed down, and forgot about the shadows on my shoulders.

Because I shut up, and listened to the rhythm of a day without obligation.

Because I sang (badly) old, uncool folk songs with a little girl who sings from the bottom of her heart, always.

Because I pretended to be a talking cat.

Because I got a November sunburn in my own back yard.

Because the weather was perfect.

Because Hope is beautiful in the grass.

Because I waded in a farm pond, held a bluegill, gazed into a north Florida creek, and ignored mosquitoes.

Because I spent less than $20, and felt like a rich man.

We may no longer live close to the land, and may never again. But it is still there, waiting for us to return. Do not leave it to suffer alone…

Why One Way?

What is it with the one-way streeters? The looky-loos, window shoppers, stare-bears, rubber-necks, etc? I am not a one-way street. This not some Rue de Voyeur. This is supposed to be communicative, interactive, expressive…not a peep-hole. If all we ever do to each other is observe, what can we possibly do for each other? Yes, there is a bit of drum beating in this wild, open medium. One must be willing to discuss himself to a degree in order for the idea of a blog to even work. But for me, this is not a platform, not a manifesto. This, friends and strangers, is an invitation…

I write because I want to. It is, in short, the one enduring dream of my heart. But any writer who insists on writing solely for the love of writing, for a “love of the craft,” is full of his own hot air. Writing is communication, the revealing of dark mysteries, the relating of meaningful stories. If no one is there to commune with, ponder the revelation, explore the stories, well then what is the freaking point?

So, don’t just drop by here or here to see if you can catch some juicy new tidbit. Drop by to say hello. Let me know what’s going on in your life. Are these poems connecting with you? Then say so! Don’t just haunt me like some nameless, faceless ghost, drifting in and out of the windows, peering in to the life inside. Grace us with some of your own life. Be a part of this community. This can be an opportunity to connect and learn and understand. This is not the decline of our civilization. It is not evil. We are not being overrun with gadgetry. Because of these blogs and communities, I have connected/reconnected with some of the greatest people I have ever met. Who knows, maybe we’ll connect, and somehow the expression of my life will enrich yours.

But I’ll never know if you don’t speak up!

Peace, ya’ll…

First Refusal

Dear Christopher:

Thank you for allowing storySouth to consider your work.  We have read it
carefully, but must decline to publish.

We regret that the volume of submissions we receive and the small size of
our staff prevent us from giving a more personal response.

We wish you the best in placing your work elsewhere.

Sincerely,
Dan Albergotti
Poetry Editor, storySouth

Yep, that there’s a certified Rejection Letter, my first.

I think I’ll frame it…

My Time of Year

What is it about the Fall? A little dip in the humidity, an unexpectedly early red sunset, a hot, misty bag of boiled peanuts, and I am a kid again. At 59 degrees, something begins to stir within me, and life takes on a fireside glow. Before you know it, we’re seeking out corn mazes, hay rides, pumpkin patches, and boiled peanuts (did I already mention those?). Such was the scene last Saturday at Aplin Farms in Slocomb, AL. For all you Northwest Florida readers, this place is well worth the 60 minute drive. Your little ones will love it. Check out Hope’s myspace page for a slideshow with the inside scoop. It’s way cool with The Frames playing in the background.

Happy Fall…Enjoy the hay ride…