Art Community Courtesy

I think I've lost my art community courtesy and overall awareness. I remember the days when there was a genuine exchange between myself and any other artist I connected with. However, lately it's been brought to my awareness that I've possibly been, not rude, but neglecting my courteous exchange. I do not look at this act as an obligation instead it's a true pleasure. I am so sorry to those I have not been able to continue communication with or the overall exchange of my thoughts and reactions in the world of art. I will get to the focus point soon of being able to stay grounded, but in touch too. Love all my artists and their love they've given! xoxoxoxo

Glance to Glance CHANCE

Just found this piece of writing that I wrote sometime between 2008 & 2009....

Bloody Crusted Lips
Scab Scratched Face
Blue Eyed Boy
Glance to Glance
     CHANCE

Train Romance "the original"
Scull buckle and all
One Such as Would
        FALL

Starring back
Bukowski at my feet
Camera on my mind
Your kiss Would be a treat

Luck is no matter here
My Decision
True Love awaits
You and With
No Collision

Poking, prawding, and pushing me into the Anger Stage

I have been grieving slowly and in my own way. Tonight I've been pushed to the limit. Everyday day for the last fucking two weeks I have had the unfortunate experience of going through people's emotions instead of facing and dealing with my own. Only one person has been honest and seems to understand the art of communication and I thank her for that. There is however and unfortunate number of people that can not just keep peace by keeping quiet. Maybe I haven't come forward with what I need during my time of need, but I haven't known until now. Originally I was upset at the limited amount of people that actually had the nerve to check up on me, but now I just want everyone to leave me alone until I come to them. This is a very powerful thing/statement, and I understand that, but if all I am doing by ignoring you or putting you off is hurting your feelings then I'd like to deal with that later down the line if it's okay with you. How can anyone be so self involved as to come at someone during the worst emotional time in there life and judge or beg for a certain level of attention. I can't believe that Facebook, twitter, cell phones, and text messages aren't enough for people, what other form of confirmation that people care, or "care", do you need. Let people in suffering rest up. Let them breathe. Don't hold expectations of when you "think" they should heal. I personally don't need to hear anymore stories alike, I don't need words of wisdom, I don't need anyone in my face about my feelings or theirs.

I am angry. It's official, I can't see certain people now. I have reached a limit of calm and content. I have no more warnings to give or favors to ask. I am on the rough road of finding peace, happiness, or any combination of those things that might allow me to live on a some what normal level.

God forbid that anyone, or any of you, loose someone. There's been death and loss forever, but each person struggles or deals with it in their own way. I've been blessed with some fortunate conversations, but I ask for no more. I feel like I'm choking on pudding or drowning in a see of words.

I had a friend that mentioned once that they were sick of people feeding off of their tragedy and at the time I didn't get it. Now I feel like I understand it fully. Every time you make this about you or someone else you take away dignity from yourself and the unfortunate situation.

I'll be in the bar in two weeks with whiskey in hand if anyone dares to discuss anything further on the matter.

Dearest Readers....this is my loss to suffer, please let me do it in my own space and time.

The Coffee Kid

They call me "The Coffee Kid". I wake up with a grumpy grin, or a satin stare. You don't want to try to talk at me until my second cup. I'll be your best friend if you just give me my wake up tradition. After the second cup my thoughts start to warm up...

... i took the best of them both and made a body & soul dedicated to the idea...

...where's my best friend today...

... this day is going to be good, but I have a lot of packing to do ...

... and everything keeps moving forward.

He Asked a Question

A friend asked me yesterday...."What do you want"?

- I want my Dad back. Silly, maybe childish, but it's what I want.

The Devil's right hand Witch and the Fool

Dearest Witch and Fool,

I just want to tell you the truth.
The chance to put you into perspective with everyone's loop.
There may never be a "right time",
I will never tell you while on your dime.

A lack of fullfillment,
A lack of faith,
not of the religous kind.

Someday I hope,
on your own,
you will find tangable things, wealth, and perfection don't fit in a grave.

This I promise you;
friendship
hardwork,
and charity will in time save.

Your efforts will conceal,
all the things you deal.

With a full hand and tilt in the air,
tempting fate I would not dare.

Karma and kindness go hand in hand.

I'm guessing most of your life will not go as planned.

Give up control,
enjoy a little on the roll.

Here's an outside perspective that I hope one day you might understand:

LIVE AND LET LIVE.

A Night to Live Again

Tattoo and Music Junkies UNITED

Join us for a Scary frightful Night

Peirce your hearts with speakers Delight

Give the middle finger until it feels just Right

Let the sweat pour Out

Let the screams take Route

It's a night of Sin

It's a night to live Again

Sky Lifting

When the sky lifts and the clouds linger there is an electricity that sets into the air. I watch as the wind picks up as trash cans start to roll down the street. The temperature finally starts to drop with the wind blowing through my hair. Random thunder with no warning, the windows shake. There might certainly be a storm passing through here tonight but not as the sun breaks. A little change in weather can bring relief, but tomorrow will come, good grief.

Creep

One. Step. Away. From. You. Creeping up...on You.

Scott E. Beatty - Dad

That moment destroyed a part of me. There is a type of burnt, black, void that will never be filled again. The world, nature, life, took away the most precious, strong, and ongoing relationship, influence, in my life.

No matter the advice, the kind words, the condolences, and thoughts, this does not, and will not, get better. Fine, you learn to live with it, move on, but the hurt and pain goes nowhere. Sometimes, just when you think it's peaceful, or you might be far enough away from the sadness to take a breath, there's a trigger that evokes all those tears again.

Although death comes swiftly to some and there tends to be comfort in that, there is no comfort in death when you live with a full awareness of life.  A celebration of life is important, and the best thing we can hang onto, however, it's not easy.

Yes, I am sad, and finally angry. I am angry at people and my own emotions. You don't get to forgive and forget just because someone dies. It's horrible to see so many people attempt at accomplishing their own remorse over a dead man's body. Reflection is the only way to accomplish forgiveness from yourself, not other people.

I struggle every single day. People move on so quickly, and they have every right to. What do you do to honor someone that wasn't just a Father or a Best Friend? There are days, weeks, and months to come, where my coping mechanism will alter, during those changes I must find an outlet. Tattoos and memories only take you so far and are not an appropriate crutch. I hope that I can use the strength that might come from this to comfort my friends in the future. This is one of the few comforts I might take away.

Every time I hear a siren is stirs my blood. Every time I hear a motorcycle I find pricks from pins and needles. When I see someone on a cell phone, for any reason, while driving, I want to follow them and destroy their device. Your life is not as important as anyone else and cell phones lend us that illusion. Everyone else can wait if it will save a life.

I will leave you with this poem by Siegfried Sassoon (1886–1967). 


                                                      The Death-Bed

HE drowsed and was aware of silence heaped
Round him, unshaken as the steadfast walls;
Aqueous like floating rays of amber light,
Soaring and quivering in the wings of sleep.
Silence and safety; and his mortal shore	5
Lipped by the inward, moonless waves of death.
Someone was holding water to his mouth.
He swallowed, unresisting; moaned and dropped
Through crimson gloom to darkness; and forgot
The opiate throb and ache that was his wound.	10
Water—calm, sliding green above the weir.
Water—a sky-lit alley for his boat,
Bird-voiced, and bordered with reflected flowers
And shaken hues of summer; drifting down,
He dipped contented oars, and sighed, and slept.	15
Night, with a gust of wind, was in the ward,
Blowing the curtain to a glimmering curve.
Night. He was blind; he could not see the stars
Glinting among the wraiths of wandering cloud;
Queer blots of colour, purple, scarlet, green,	20
Flickered and faded in his drowning eyes.
Rain—he could hear it rustling through the dark;
Fragrance and passionless music woven as one;
Warm rain on drooping roses; pattering showers
That soak the woods; not the harsh rain that sweeps	25
Behind the thunder, but a trickling peace,
Gently and slowly washing life away.     .    .    .    .
He stirred, shifting his body; then the pain
Leapt like a prowling beast, and gripped and tore
His groping dreams with grinding claws and fangs.	30
But someone was beside him; soon he lay
Shuddering because that evil thing had passed.
And death, who’d stepped toward him, paused and stared.
Light many lamps and gather round his bed.
Lend him your eyes, warm blood, and will to live.	35
Speak to him; rouse him; you may save him yet.
He’s young; he hated War; how should he die
When cruel old campaigners win safe through?
But death replied: ‘I choose him.’ So he went,
And there was silence in the summer night;	40
Silence and safety; and the veils of sleep.
Then, far away, the thudding of the guns.