In the Shadow of Orchids

In the Shadow of Orchids

There was no room for doubt, a storm was coming. He would be alone again, snowed in for a few days. Thank the gods for dvds and video games. Jacob ran his aching fingers through his curly mop and sighed thoughtfully. Maybe he could somewhere like Boca Raton and soak up the sun instead of being stranded with foot upon foot of snow baricading him in. He pushed the thought to the side and poured another of Jim Beam. Between the liquor and the fire he would stay toasty. Soon his mind lost all focus and it was as if it were floating in space. Everything in his brain swam around and he swore some fell out of his ear. It wasn’t too long after that when sleep wrapped its loving arms around him.

A knock echoed through the living room eventually hitting the floor where Jacob moved. He rolled over to see it was two thirty in the morning. It had better be important for being so late. Or early, it depends how you look at it. The second knock woke him completely.

“Dammit! Hold your horses, I’m coming.

What if it were an axe murderer, or worse yet, Bigfoot. No guns, just rusty silverware. Dammit again. He tip toed so he could try to be quiet, but that only worked until big toe met the couch. The one thing Jacob knew he was bad at was not cursing out loud when in pain. His cover was blown and now whoever it was probably thought he was an uneducated turd.

“So yeah, before I retardedly open the door, who is it?”

There was no answer at first. Just a noise that sounded a hand slapping the door. Than a whisper, a woman’s voice.

“Help me.”

Apprehension had saved his life many times before.

“Okay, what’s your name?”

“I’m cold, please.”

Jacob slapped his forehead and reached for the doorknob, he steadied his hand. He twisted the knob gently and prepared himself to jump back if need be. As soon as he opened the door she fell through. She looked no older than sixteen, was only wearing shorts and a t shirt, and was covered in blood. He was thankful for having brain enough to start a fire. He quickly wrapped in the nearest blanket, lifted her into his arms, and brought her near the fire. He stared past her into the fire and realized things had just got a bit more interestin


The Following of Fata

The Following of Fata

The hunger strikes me, elevating my stomach into my throat. Far too long has the moon played the dirty trick of changing shape, but I could smell her. Fresh and virginal, untouched by the duplicitous heart or hand of man. My natural instinct was to devour her like life can a mental invalid. Her sway as she walked was hypnotic, I found my mind flailing for release. I rearranged my shirt and straightened my tie. I had to make my approach.

She was twirling to music only she could hear, she was a ball of happiness. She would be mine. I hastened my step and was a mere three paces behind her. I imagined she could feel my breath on her neck while I envisioned my lips making their way from her ear to the small of her neck. My eyes glazed over in a premature elation, I was addicted to a flavor I had yet to taste. Her flesh caught the moon light and listened as if she had bathed in star dust. My lips quivered at the thought of making her lips quiver and her body convulse with unbridled ecstasy. To touch her divinity I would die, I would kill.

My tongue moved behind my teeth longing to taste her. I wanted to drink her in, fall asleep in her arms, and dream of us buried within each other’s atmosphere. Two paces. My composure was coming more undone the closer I got to her. She was the breeze through my hair, she was the perfume passing beneath my nose. I reflected on my patience and decided I couldn’t be patient much longer. I had to capture this butterfly. Spread her wings and kiss gentle flesh. I would know the pleasure of her. My body trembled with anticipation and a shudder set me motionless. I watch in misery as the distance between us grew. I wanted to scream to her to wait.

Again, I woke from a dream that was a dream about a dream. She was fluid, she was ether, and she was gone. I believed this time I would feel her skin brush against mine. I was for certain that our mouths would mingle their spices and we would be struck numb in that moment and erase ourselves together. For naught, my bed empty.

Melt with Me

Melt with Me

Tongue to flesh. Ripping. Fingers tracing razor lines. Gripping from behind, stabilizing. Our love, our torment. Suspended from reality we break away towards our special place inside something born out of nothing. Our muscles now atrophied from the time we’ve layed and bled into one another. Our dance is our dance, who are they to mumble any words under breath.

Caught in your arms. Falling. Dropping farther down. Too high of a dose of reality sprayed into our faces. As petulant and rotten as the ripeness of our sweat ridden sheets. Our love covers all the imperfections except for ours because that is where we connect and make our perfection.

I wail into the wind. Held high. I crawl out of you. Satiated. On knees holding breath, I exist. On back finding myself in your eyes, I’m seen. Blanket me with your loves perfume, snap me back to a dream half remembered. You were standing there. I inhaled so shallow that it felt like my last gasp. You took me there. Without you death would only be five paces.

         Twisting and turning. Don’t faulter. Burning from the bottom. Find the light switch. And you believed in it, in this. Did you find the proper illumination here? With me, within me. Expectations were thrown away. Smile

Perfection and Compromise/Vicarious Daddy Syndrome

Perfection and Compromise/Vicarious Daddy Syndrome

Im an array of imperfections on display – Grimm from Darwins Waiting Room

There is not one human being that is perfect. That being said, we still try to touch the intangible. What is perfect anyway? No, really. What is it, I don’t have a clue. I am sure that I could ask one hundred people and get one hundred different answers, even if just slightly. So are we looking for our perfection, others perfection but by our definition, or do we not even know. Fuck, I know I am confused.

I personally rather pursue the best version of myself as opposed to perfection. I will never be another person’s definition of perfect even if I am perfect for them. Compromise seems to be a skill that we should innately have, but some folks have an unapologetic approach to life and I them well. Me? Imperfections I can deal with, assholism not so much.

Facebook is my personal devil. I keep a close eye on what is going in Florida with my daughter Gianna. Sometimes getting rewards of cool pictures, but sometimes getting vicarious daddy syndrome. I see enjoying her life with another man in the picture as a father figure and sometimes it hurts. I guess I really beat myself up a lot, probably more than people know. I feel out of touch with her at times and wish I could go pick her up and go somewhere. It may never be like that again, but a man can hope.

Not Afraid

Not Afraid

I am not afraid.

This is a picture of me when my wife and I stopped at south of the border on our way home from a Florida trip.

Any ignorant bastards think I am Gay?

I am not, and I am also not afraid to put this hat on and parade around. I have gay friends and I love them.

My question is besides sexual orientation, what makes them different from any other normal, a very relative term, person?

I guess I can’t understand the idea of passing judgement on somebody because they prefer to have a relationship with someone of the same sex. Who cares? That isn’t what makes the person who they are, that is just a part of who they are. Slander and violence should not become involved with something because you think it is wrong in some way.

We are human before we are anything.

That goes for race, religion, and anything else you could think of. I personally have my arms open for whoever needs them and shows me respect and honesty.

Equal opportunity hug giver.

On the other, but seemingly same side, of the coin I will not judge a whole group of people based on something one person did to me. I have been wronged by many different kinds of people, but I did not openly crucify that whole group. That is far beyond stupid.

I gently refuse to push people aside, I enjoy different. My life would be too boring if I had people around me that were exactly like me.

I embrace everybody until they screw me. My respect is there for people to lose. I feel like respect should be given and if it is shit on then goodbye.

We are all crying for wars all over the world to stop, yet we carry out personal wars. How can we expect change?

I promise to be the change I want to see. Thank you for the inspiration Ghandi.

My First Angel

My First Angel

2002 was a year for two incredible firsts for me.

I recorded my professional demo cd with a band.

More importantly, Gianna Marie Scott was born.

At first I was so afraid that I tried to deny that I was her father and practically ran from her mother. I was not there for her mother too much during the pregnancy. It wasn’t until a close friend of mine Neaka basically forced Gianna’s mother to bring her to one of my shows so I could be outside and meet my new first little person. I held her for the first time and I decided that I had to make an attempt to be in her life. She was and still is my angel.

The main problem for not staying with her mother was I wasn’t in love. I tried being around her mother to see if it could work, but I noticed that if I did I would have ended up miserable. That in turn would have created a miserable relationship I would have eventually left. Instead of showing Gianna how to not be in a healthy relationship I decided not to stay.

I know that this has the Darth Vader affect where who we see as the villain is really just doing what he thinks is right. Believe me, while most of the time I stick by the opinion that it was the right thing to do for Gianna, there are some times that I miss her so much that I wonder if the exchange would have been equal trading relationship happiness in order to be around a shining ray of light everyday.

Off and on I used her mother for the obvious plus, at one point, a place to live. This was a huge scumbag move. I really messed with her heart that I knew was still beating for me. Back then I looked at it like self preservation, but I think about it know and I am so ashamed that I took advantage of a person who had love for me.

That is a big regret for me because I think that may have had a detrimental repercussion on me being able to see her.

But this isn’t about me.

13 years of daughter goodness. Even if from a distance I have watched her grow from an acorn to a tree. She was a princess then and she still is. Gianna has grown into a young lady that I am very proud of. She is kind, funny, and has a personality that is going to make her mother buy a bat to beat the boys off.

Did I mention that she is beautiful?

Don’t believe me? Go back to the picture.

I wish we could be closer or she was here with me. I am a better person when she is around me. She is my center and my grounding.

I love her.

There is a need inside of me for her presence much like a sprouting flower needs water and sunlight. Maybe she keeps me young and vibrant, but at the end of the day it’s more of the idea that while daughters need daddies, daddies also need daughters.


Stranded. The heart fickle and having a constant want. Fall down and slip away to be haphazardly strung back together. This is the one thing duct tape couldn’t fix. The isolation is cold, but is it really there. Feeling the puzzle disbanding around and the pieces fly over my head. Loneliness is the emptiest feeling, and the most demeaning. Questioning the validity of it all, what’s the worth? Is everything meant to crumble?

It’s hard to feel, especially if you feel deeply. That combined with the depression is a recipe for destruction that I hope I have the appetite for. If not it will roll me over. I love pancakes, but I don’t want to be one. Life is rich with reward and positive energy, but can one exist without the other?

Negative feelings can be like Storm Troopers from Star Wars. When you least expect them there they are, and unless you have a Wookie handy you might be screwed.

This too shall pass!

While it is difficult to go through everyday not knowing what it will be it is true, in my experience, that what doesn’t kill indeed makes you stronger. Even if you don’t notice. Strength can be deceptively quiet when that person is aware of said strength. You don’t have to show off or any other such bullshit, that’s is called assholism. The ones with real strength are the ones who don’t need to convince you that they have it, you know by the way they carry themselves that they have it. Every little step and misstep is a chance to gain wisdom of yourself and how you handle things.

See what I mean about Bipolar?

This post actually started because I was depressed. Half way through the post I was paying attention to what I was writing and something changed. Everything I wrote I wrote for me and I guess I finally woke up to it.

Talking yourself out of the spiral is awe inspiring because you go from feeling like you can’t do shit to helping yourself. The brain is a fantastic, confusing thing. You can barely live with it, but can’t rip it out.