marilyn in the moon

I went off with my hands in my torn coat pockets; 
Becoming My overcoat too was ideal, 
I Travelled beneath the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal; 
Oh dear me! what marvelous loves I dreamed of!
My only pair of breeches had a big whole in ’em. 
– Stargazing Tom Thumb, I sowed rhymes along my way. 
was at the tavern My Sign of the Great Bear. 
– My stars in the sky rustled softly.
Listened to ’em and I, sitting on the road-sides 
On Those pleasant evenings while I felt September drops 
Of dew on my forehead like vigorous wine;
And while, rhyming Among the fantastical shadows, 
I plucked like the strings of a lyre the elastics 
Of my tattered boots, one foot close to my heart!
Arthur Rimbaud
i can remember writing with intention for the 1st time at 16. i was engulfed in melancholy about leaving home and making hard decisions although that is hindsight describing them. at the time- i was just puffed up like a blowfish reacting to a fearful situation and i penned a simile poem  about the vastness of the once-seen ocean as it reflected the enormous terra i had stumbled upon in my world.
i didn’t write again for about 8 years. i did however, craft a number of drug inspired song lyrics sung to the tune of “i can’t really sing” and performed on the front steps of brownstones along chicago’s near-north side. these were seldom heard by anybody else but me. however there was a time i deciphered an image of marilyn monroe in the face of the moon. on many warmer weather nights, i crooned unabashedly to her image and bled some poison from my soul somehow feeling connected to the tragic quality her life represented. 
i journaled for awhile from 1983 until 1985- sporadically at best, and i got a taste of the relief that this activity could provide. life, however, hadn’t provided me with the surety required to make syncopated entries. at best there were scribbles and partial cave drawings which upon revisit conjure up ghost fragments which are both chaotic and sublime. 
since my hiv diagnosis in 1985 until 2005 after finding recovery, i had mostly  hidden this specific part of me from the world and worked hard to deep it separate. this certainly fueled my addiction. the darkness that settled in those years left scars and pockmarks that still  have memory. but i picked up writing again in 2006 in the form of blogging and have been adding entries without fail since then. this is the 2nd generation blog and a style may have begun to emerge. i have found peace, distortion, friendship, inspiration, trauma, challenge, freedom, and fight through the tip-tapping of the keyboard as my musical instrument crafting my lyrics and music to my inspirational  marilyn in the moon. 
i am very clear that i write because i am able and because it pets my soul like i might caress a chinchilla collar. it keeps me warm and feels like a hug. there are many times when i can’t feel my muse. this is overshadowed always by the times that there is clearly a constellation of the points of light in my world. 

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3 replies

  1. Sometimes(not usu)I feel like this blogging can be inflicting ourselves on one another. But then it occurs to me that one party can always click the x on the top if they feel inflicted. You wrote: I have found distortion… I love that. At least you never write any PR spin boiler plate. You also appear to be keenly aware of how the petting affects you, some aren't.

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  2. your post actually got me thinking about the transitional nature of this obsession of mine we call blogging. i received a channeling today and inquired about the nature of all this. i seem detached from it and wonder if i should try to paint for awhile. the answer i got was don't give up and yes start something if needed. thank you very much for your support…

    Like

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