Scattershot Musings

to watch you dance with a man deemed 'vagrant'
to smile and giggle, to be his shining moment;
to see you toil for others so that a greater good is done
to seek not your own praise, but bestow it;
to hear the glee in your voice when praising your children
to observe the wrenching of your soul when they are not happy;
to know your pains and watch you heal
to experience the overflowing love from a damaged heart;

I see the complexity of your life and the chaos within
I see your fierce punk persona and the fragile girl
I see intelligence, beauty, uniqueness, and you -
I see your heart

Everyone bears scars of some fashion.  Some have emotional scars that they bury way down, choosing never to talk about; some have scars on their heart, wounding their willingness to love and be loved; others have physical scars, the visible tale of all manner of things.  I have my fair share of all of them and last night I added another.

It will forever be a visible mark on my left hand.  An unfortunate cut brought on by the careless slip of a knife while cooking.  What makes it special though is the meaning behind it.  This scar represents a man showing a woman in tangible ways that she is more than special. It says, with its jagged edges, that pain wrought out to show another that the loving heart of chivalry is not dead is a pain indeed worth bearing.

I'd like to think me sober
but some times I find
that face down piss drunk
is a better state of mind

It's a strange feeling when someone that you've known passes away. Every time when people have passed in my life it has come with some mild grief but that grief has always been shrouded in the calm of the knowledge that my path and theirs had been at peace. No ill words were left hanging, no biting remarks etched out - until today.

A few moments ago I received word that my former boss had passed away. A massive and ultimately fatal stroke claimed him. I wish I could say that we parted on good terms and that my memories of him were fond, but we didn't and they aren't. My last words to him where not kind words - they were venomous and full of rage.

While I seek daily to always do what is right and fair and just what bothers me now is that I cannot honestly say that I would take those words back if I could.

Well it's cold on this mountain when winter comes on
the dew in the meadow is sprinkled along
this road down to Nashville like crystal and stone.
It's a place where a man sells his soul for a song.

God knows I loved her too much I can see,
much more than she could have ever loved me
if I was the last man in east Tennessee.

Well at times I feel I need the rain at times I need the sun.
Pleasure is the threat of pain when it is undone.
My moments of insanity are never like a jail
I only know I am not free the nights when I am sane.

So do not be concerned my love if you see me cry
for the laughter does not choose to free the happiness inside
just as there may seem to be a smile that's out of place
it only means there is a pain that hurts to much to face.

Well it's cold on this mountain when winter comes on
the dew in the meadow is sprinkled along
this road down to Nashville is like crystal and stone.

I'm just one man, sometime I wish I was three.
I could take a forty-four pistol to me
put one in my brain just for her memory
one more for my heart and I would be free.

It’s no secret I have a man-crush on Al Pacino. He is quite possibly one of my all time favorite actors. I was first introduced to his work through a film called Frankie and Johnny and thereafter I was hooked. In Scent of a Woman a rather poignant section of dialog occurs towards the end of the film when Pacino’s character chastises the moral certitude of a prestigious school, he opens with:

“As I came in here, I heard those words, ‘cradle of leadership.’ Well, when the bough breaks, the cradle will fall. And it has fallen here; it has fallen. Makers of men; creators of leaders; be careful what kind of leaders you’re producin’ here.”

Be careful while kind of leaders you’re producing indeed. As we wind down eight years of the Bush administration I began going through notes and clippings that I had made and I came across this gem.

In 1946 during the Easter break of the Nuremberg trials German psychologist Gustave Gilbert was allowed to interview and record conversations with Nazi leader Hermann Goering. When the conversation turned to leading a nation into war Goering had the following to say:

Goering: Why, of course, the people don’t want war. Why would some poor slob on a farm want to risk his life in a war when the best that he can get out of it is to come back to his farm in one piece. Naturally, the common people don’t want war; neither in Russia, nor in England, nor in America, nor for that matter in Germany. That is understood. But, after all, it is the leaders of the country who determine the policy and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along, whether it is a democracy, or a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship.

Gilbert: There is one difference. In a democracy the people have some say in the matter through their elected representatives, and in the United States only Congress can declare wars.

Goering: Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same in any country.

I end with Thomas Jefferson, third president of the United States and principal author of the Declaration of Independence.

“I love peace, and am anxious that we should give the world still another useful lesson, by showing to them other modes of punishing injuries than by war, which is as much a punishment to the punisher as to the sufferer.”

The room is dark except for a couple of flickering candles, Nat Cole is playing on the stereo and the balcony door is letting the cold night air drift in. This is the perfect setting for night time kisses, soft whispers and warm embraces - yet I sit alone. It's not for my lack of heart or passion that makes it this way, more my own insecurities and foibles.

Every now and then I find myself trolling across the internet, reading blogs and looking at photos of people.  People with lives, friends, parties and - fun.  And then there's my life which could best be described as an introverted workaholic.  Tonight - to sum up the way I'm feeling I'll pull from a favorite, Rufus Wainwright:

"Every kind of love
Or at least my kind of love
Must be an imaginary love to start with"