something to calm the madness?

Why does one actually 'create' a Blog? What inbred desire is it that drives one to put thoughts, feelings, their lives out there for millions to see? I still search for that answer in the same way that I question why I get on stages and share parts of soul to total strangers ... why I scribble on blank pages and do everything in my power to ensure that my words are heard.. I am plagued by these thoughts daily, but while I cannot define this desire, the need to express is still there and so I continue to search for answers in movement. These words may have no meaning to some, but the belief is that someone out there will find relevance. It is a strange space, like being on television or on radio, where the 'audience' is detached physically.

Performance poetry has blossomed, I believe, because of the intimate relationship that is created in bars, clubs, conference halls, outdoor spaces, etc. The space to get energy directly from those listening and feeling.

Finding a way to get that same connection from letters on a page or on a computer screen is harder. But it must be done. Finding commonality between us as human beings is the battle half won. I am optimistic. I am an idealist seeking utopia... it may seem distant, but a worthy cause, in my book. Today, mind in overdrive, words spill, no sense, nonsense, random ramblings leave traces of perfection, sometimes, thinking can be tiresome, i often seek the comfort of the arbitrary....

anger is easy
smouldering souls breathe fire
tongues licking at the flames
throats parched, thirsty
hearts burning
pounding
chasing a cause
any cause

This space, for me, is one where I can - and will - share the words that come to me, in their original form. The perfectionist says the words should be edited ... that is done elsewhere ... here, my honesty resides, with all its flaws.

third eye blurred, in need of spectacles

alien sights ignite soul fires

burn lost souls living white collar realities

and sweat leaves salt residues on forked tongues

we lie to mirrored reflections

and hope that the equivocation of three witches

is justification enough for blindness

our grandfathers never died of stress

they built hills when mountains were impossible

and found peace

they fought not with your education and knowledge

but with the beating of their hearts

and the memories of their fathers and mothers

our grandmothers never blindly opened their legs

to build castles in the sand

they molded family with love

and a strength that came from a bloodline fertilised with hope

your spirit was not carved out of concrete

but from the sands that your ancestors inhaled

the dream is an illusion

wake up and it shall become real

the dream is not a dream

so quit dreaming of dreams about fulfilling dreams

and live

a man once told me that life is what you make it

but failed to define the essence of making it

so we run in circles

and call the end the beginning

when we return to where we begun

city of lost souls is the place we call home

when home is where the heart paints reality in the sand

and identity is who you were as a child

i write words to be heard by my spirit

because i hear clearest when the page reflects my sadness

and turns it into happiness

i am we

an ordinary man

dreaming reality

All I have are words. All I can share with you is these words. Find your meaning. Digest and decide whether these words have relevance.