One in Billions

Flame rolls off the bark licking the stiffness from my fingers.
Face flushes
Deep red pressing to the surface
Boyish good looks or childish features?
One of ten billion
yet
feeling so unique
Like a snowflake
Not possible to be original.

Time passes
The same for everyone?
Each individual mind frozen in a block of consciousness.
Dripping moments of life into the wax bowl of human experience.
The flame rolls back
Hardness sets in
Blue, Brown, & Green
Fish bowl
Forever.

Haiku

When you're feeling sick
The world contains no odor
Will this ever end?

Poem written backstage before a performance

Sun sits on the horizon
Time to rise then
Take the stage
A brilliant sage
Or a failure
You're never sure
Until the lights are out

My bones shivering, shaking
They'll see that I'm a fake
Can I walk out there
face my fear
Find the bravery
The only way to see
my commitments to the end

I find my center and calm
Shake my hands and flex my palms
stretch my hips
breathe in sips
twist my head
Blow out the dread
And find I'm ready to go on.

The loss of my Grandmother

Turning the silver crank, I watch my grandmother sink into the shining casket.
They fold in her blanket and lower the lid.
I watch them push the lid,
Open it,
Adjust her body,
and reapply force.
I'll be carrying that casket in a few minutes.
I have no worries about the weight:
It won't be much more than the weight of the casket.


Where has she gone
The woman who couldn't have a friend over without a deck of cards.
Who loved gambling
A penny a point
or
A trip to the casino.
Only the dealer is wild
And she was a wild one
Full of life.


Until Parkinson's hit
Then...


She became scared,
Left her home,
I won more card games than I lost
She saw the water and the spiders spitting their disease.
She was found on the floor
Christmas Evening
Trading turkey for physical therapy


The promise of home if only she would get "better"


She pushed herself through the pain to end in a nursing home.
On her deathbed she whispered the hope of returning home.
Withered, Dry, and Dying with only one request:
To Go Home!


It's hard to think of her at home when my hand wraps around her cold wrist,
Or as I lift her permanent home by the cold chrome


She wrote a letter that expressed her belief that she was joining my grandpa.
All I can see is her joining him in a house of dirt and worms,
Locked away,
Dropped down,
Sealed in,
Covered.


She'll be missed,
but is she mist?
Is she somewhere
Living
And Loving
Or
Lost?

The Ring

This was inspired by a poem which was inspired by a story which was inspired by a young boy on a bus holding a dogs collar.

He holds her wedding ring
Remembering the water shift tones
As he washed away the color or her

The cold gold.
No substitute for the feel of her radiant hand
Between his fingers.

The tears start
The Wail
She will never dry those tears again
Never comfort the heart

So:

He lifts his child and rocks her,
inadequate,
but all that is left to guide her back
from the maze of grief.

Time for a Break

Cacophony of voices fill the room with bodies in every position:

Standing, sitting, squatting

Adults

more difficult to control than children.

Silence sweeps across the hall.

Dust bunnies of finishing conversations remain.

Diving into lecture she scares away the last bunny.

Hopping to its hole of politeness.

Information flows

but food has obstructed the ears.

Ideas are sucked in but the vacuum is clogged

A lack of power

A small cough

And dust spurts out again.

Motors are slowing down

Almost out of oil

Brain seized

Time for a rest

Time for a break

Trembling

          Why do I shake at the tree of the populous?
          A leaf falling from the branch of a poplar.
          Blown by a wind of people screaming the details of their life.

Hypocrite

I write of myself

I think of myself

I'm concerned for my health

I see myself as a sensitive soul

Yet I have no belief in a soul

          I hate entitlement

          Everyone is an expert, an artist, must be heard

          My ideas are artistic and I should be heard

I'm a joke!!!

Everyone is laughing but it's not me they are laughing at because their every thought is of themselves.

And so I shake

alone and afraid

Falling

Forever

PHONY

FALSE

FAKE

A poem in my current state!

Have you ever:
washed the dishes?
cut the grass?
taken a shower?

The never ending tasks!

Every pill brings me no closer to sanity, but I try them; I take them.
Pharmacological Russian Roulette

Sadness has settled over my heart.
A student of mine once wrote"...and the birds of sadness had nested in their hair."
My heart is that home: coated! Layers of metal make it hard, constrict it, lock it off.
The home of steel spiders spinning their web of containment.
I throw pebbles at the cull of my heart.
Nothing can break through as I breakdown.

A moment of respite is granted as sleep takes my illness deeper.
The ability to smile in the den of a lion.
I touch the teeth, feeling their sharpness, hoping the waking does not bring further attacks.
Can I make friends with their furry beast or will my death be its last meal?

Never!

The pain drops back in, waking the lion whose claws can tear through the fortress, only to tear open the heart and spill my blood.

The weight of sadness, sedating me.  Keeping me from acting.  Holding me down.

Who is awake now?  Who am I?  What is left of the me I remember?  The boy of a thousand smiles lost in the remaining cobwebs of steel.

I hold on to the promise that life will have purpose once again.  The promise that a smile will not be false and a fear will be the exception that makes the rule.


I know it will get better, after all this is life and not a nightmare...

Sick of being sick

I've sent my ship out to sea without someone at the tiller.  I've been sick and my play and classroom have been going on without me.  I am overcome with fear of what I will come back to.  I plan on getting back to the grind tomorrow, regardless of how I feel.  Will I find the ship has crashed against a rock, or will I be able to hop aboard, stretch, and curve my hand around the tiller confident that my crew has kept me facing due north?  The morning will tell.

Sick days are more work than work days.

So both of my daughters have fevers and one of them is teething.  I think this is the challenge that mothers deal with on a regular basis that they do not get enough appreciation for.  I read a book a while ago loaned to me by daddled, in it was a story about how a woman in a check out line at the grocery store said to the author, "You are such a good daddy."  He asked how she knew and she said, "I can just tell."  She saw him buying a few items at the store with a baby on his hip and that was it.  When was the last time a woman was told, "You are such a good mommy," just because she was carrying a baby and shopping at the same time.  Today I gained a better understanding of what it is like taking care of two children under six with fevers and colds.  The tears, the snot, the whining, the refusal to sleep although they require to be on your lap or will throw themselves on the floor.  I wonder if they might fall asleep if I leave them on the floor long enough.  So this blog is dedicated to mothers who do not get the recognition they deserve.

Snowed in without the snow

I had the day off of work today because of a huge storm that was supposed to bring in more than a foot of snow.  My driveway had drifts of about a foot, but most of it was only about four to five inches high.  That being said, I was advised to cancel rehearsal tonight.  It's a tough decision to make and in the past I might not have made that decision, but this cast is full of three very hard workers and I can see them working on their lines tonight and making the time at home well spent (even if that means sleeping and getting prepared to be fresh on Friday).  I've spent the day sleeping and playing with my youngest daughter.  She is creative, intriguing, and very lovable.  I was thinking for a bit this morning about which daughter I love more.  I know that is maybe one of the worst things a parent can do, but my conclusion was strangely satisfying.  I always thought it was crap when parents said they love both children equally.  I remember when Imogene was born, just a baby, not able to interact in any "human" way.  I thought to myself, that she was nowhere as interesting as her older sister.  Today I thought about both of them again and found myself wondering, if I had to lose one of them who would it be.  I couldn't decide.  How different my life would be without either of them.  I live for my family, especially on the days when I don't want to live or get up and experience life.  I keep going because they are alive and need to me.  I would give them anything they need even if it is me living in pain as opposed to ending my life.  Without them, I would probably not be alive today, so I guess I owe them my life.  Who do I love more?  Impossible to decide.  It helps me realize that thoughts and outlooks change without people even realizing it.  I can't remember when I went from thinking that loving two people equally was crap, but at some time, when I was not aware, my consciousness changed.  My brain turned to a whiteout and when the snow cleared my mind was rearranged.  Now if I could only clear the snow in my brain now, I might be able to once again see and think clearly.

Posters and possibilities of snow

So this evening I created a poster for my play.  I spent several hours working on this as I wanted it to have a multifaceted layered look to it.  I also do not have to teach tomorrow as school has already been canceled due to the snow forecast.  So if the snow doesn't come, can the district call everyone at 5 in the morning and tell them to now come to work.  I don't think it works that way.  I'm hoping we don't get hit with much so that I can hold rehearsal, but one way or the other every thing will work out.  Listen to me, ever the optimist.

How Many Hours Are in a Mirror?

So my life is on absolute overdrive.  I run from one thing to the next.  I have very little down time and right now that is great for me.  Despite my incredibly hectic life, I don't seem to be getting everything done the way I hoped.  I'm not sure if that is due to time constraints or the fact that my mind isn't working quite right.  If I could only have a few more hours in the day I might be able to be happy with the work I'm doing.  I need to believe this because the alternative is that what I do is just whole-hearted junk.  Art comes from the inside and right now I feel like the play I am directing is being damaged by my direction as opposed to being improve.  When you look through the mirror, everything takes on a new color, a different shape, and a new quality.  The question is, which side of the mirror am I on?

Man seeking supporting _____________

So I am on the prowl for a supporting actress to play my girlfriend in an upcoming play.  I'm in a very strange position as an actor in this show and the casting director for the theatre.  Serving two masters, anyone?  If this was seven to ten years ago I would have been able to get a number of college students involved.  Now I'm so removed from college, my best contact is an actress in the show I'm directing.  The search will continue...

Speaking of support, today was a very hard day for me.  I've stopped taking the latest medication that my doctor prescribed for depression because I have been spiraling into deeper despair.  I remember the suicidal thought on Prozac and PrestiQ was taking me down the same path.  My wife was so supportive as I was a complete lump for most of the day.  I laid in bed, on the couch, in the tub, and back in bed until about 2:00.  She made no demands on me.  A truly supportive wife.

At rehearsal today, I talked to my cast about my medication and apologized for any irritability they may have noticed.  They did not need to say much.  I am so unworthy of the loving people around me who give me such incredible support.  Without them I would have fallen into a grave a long time ago.

Blood, Gore, and Theatre

So tonight I had a shoot at my place for the poster of the play I am directing.  I picked up one of the actresses and worked on her makeup for about 2 hours.  Things didn't turn out the way I'd hoped, but they are still ok.  What was interesting to me was the relationship that I had with the skin of this woman.  I spent a couple hours painting and manipulating her skin.  I don't know her well and would have thought this would be weird, but skin is a fantastic canvas.  It is pliable, a neutral color, and cleans up fairly well.  Doing this tonight makes we want to do more projects on skin.  It's strange to say but I think I now know what Buffalo Bill was thinking in Silence of the Lambs.  Not the kidnapping women and throwing them in a hole part, but the love of skin as a medium for art.  Skin wonderful skin!

Occupying time to stop the mind

So I have noticed that I am constantly working to keep from allowing my mind to be idle.  When I am on a planning period at work I will listen to an audiobook or music while I work.  While my daughters are falling asleep I will read or search the Internet.  I work on plays, I watch movies, I read, I dedicate myself to teaching, but I refuse to sit in silence.  When all is quiet, my mind runs.  It races through the ditches and caverns of my brain shining light.  It is the Gollum who lives there that I fear most.  The little man who has not seen light in so long that his skin is translucent.  He rasps his hate filled words at me, threatening to come out and show the outside world the stranger that no one knows.  Medication has locked him away before, but I am currently trying to find the right key to slide in the lock which is buried in the dark.  While I keep experimenting with the new medications that my doctor practices with, he has free reign in my mind.  I can't lock him up.  One day I'm sure silence will be a respite from daily life again, but for now I just keep it loud enough and filled with enough traffic that his rasp is inaudible.

First Blog "who am I?"

Encouraged by those around me, I am starting a blog.  I am a teacher, a father, a husband, an actor, a director, and suffer from major depressive disorder.  It's funny but even listing all of those things does not seem to get to the root of who I am.  This is a question that I have been examining a lot lately.  "Who is anyone, really?"  What defines a person?  Can a person have a definition?  Because we are constantly in flux, I wonder if we can ever have a definition.  Do our thoughts make us?  Our actions?  The way others see us?  Will I be the same person tomorrow that I am today?  So for my first blog, I guess I just have a list of questions.  I hope I can keep up this blog.  If I can, I guess I can say for sure, "I'm a blogger!"