Motionless waiting, without a breeze to spin the cobwebs with wind's fingers, into one silken thread.  Meadows larksong lifted in the morning light, as the dew lifts from the clover, shaded beneath the wildrose in bloom. My smile of gladness greets my daydream, while wind's fingers trace hello on my skin.

Motionless waiting, without a lover to comb my hair with supple fingers, smoothing out the night's snags.  Afternoon heartsong lifts to the heavens as your face invades my thoughts, hidden beneath a dreamtime shadow.

You reach the door, which is a dull brown, one of more than a dozen stamped into the long hallway.

Dave was fun. Maddie was fun. "Moonlighting" was fun.

Then it happened -- they got together.

Dave and Maddie were happy. But Dave and Maddie were no longer fun. "Moonlighting" was no longer fun.

For a while, after Robin Williams stopped doing cocaine in the mid-eighties, he was very happy, yet not nearly as fun.

When Fonzie got a girlfriend on "Happy Days," Fonzie was happy, but no longer fun.

Fun comes from angst sometimes. Sometimes angst comes from fun. Sometimes they seem to be joined at the keister.

I think sometimes I am afraid of what happiness would do to me.  Would I become the sort of monotonous bore as a snail on Valium?? 

Happiness doesn't seem to suit my life.  I thrive on angst.  The kind of angst that makes life fun... from sharing tears and tortures as well as aphorisms and anecdotes. I am half mad, after all -- a burned-out professional who can't stop screwing himself.  And most bloggers, on some level, relate to that. And it's fun -- the way it was fun walking ten miles with 25 of my peers to A Safe Place after our church bus broke down on our teen trip to the World's Fair in Knoxville in 1982. The safe place made us happy. But it wasn't fun.

Maybe fun is the journey and happiness is the goal.

If I ever reach my goal, I will stop being fun and start being happy.  I could keep writing, but it would be tantamount to my teen group walking past The Safe Place just because the walking is fun. The walking was more than fun. It was hot, grueling, and exhausting. The Safe Place made us happy. We stopped.

We knew that it was much better to be happy than have fun. And until I wrote that sentence, I always thought they were the same thing.

I am depressed like everyone else right now and wish I was dead.... wait, no.  Not dead.  Happy.  My bad.

Hey... what happens if you absolutly love someone to death, then realize you're completely creeped out by them because dead people are horrible in bed?  Not to mention the smell....

You wonder, as you read this, whether I know you know about me.  Welcome to my world.... the shadows in which I live.

What am I hiding here, you wonder?  Why the shadow world?  Why the soft whispers and the anxious looks?  Is it about me?  Is it about you?  Is it about another whose name remains a mystery?

Should I have told you?  Would you have listened?

Whose rights have been violated?  Mine?  Yours?  And what should be done about it?

Should I stay?  Can I stay?  What is there left to salvage, when truth and honesty are confined to darkness and silence in a shadow world?

I awoke from the deepest of sleeps, refreshed, to find myself in unfamiliar surroundings.

All around me seemed unreal, impossibly neat and contrived.

In front of me, a vast flatness, broken only by several paths leading away and out of sight, lost to distance.

To one side, a sheer vertical stone wall, with perfect storybook cave entrances.

On the other side, a pristine city of metals, plastics and brick.

I turned and found behind me a forest thick with trees and plants, but with clearly defined trails.

Finally, I noticed I was standing in a chalked circle, atop written words, "Take the simple path."

I looked around again, considering all the paths available. Surely the simplest would be on the plains? With that in mind, I considered the three paths before me. One of clean-cut marble, perfectly smooth. One of flat stones, neatly sunken into the ground. One merely a trail of dirt, worn into the surrounding grass.

'The marble one,' I considered, 'is surely simple, for it is flat, no bumps, no roughness.' With this in mind, I set off walking along that path.

I walked, and I walked. After a time I glanced back, and saw nothing but the path I was on. The forest, the stone and the city were all far out of sight. And in front, the path continued, still, as far as the eye could see.

On I went, still, sure I must have chosen right. Eventually something came into sight ahead. As I approached, it became clearer: a stone wall. A city. A forest.

And, in the end, a circle, with the words "Take the simple path" written within.

Somehow unwearied, though I had been walking for what might have been days, I looked again at the flat paths. The worn path, I considered, is so primitive, so simple, it must be the right path.

So I walked and I walked, not glancing back in case I somehow would be turned around, and eventually a speck appeared on the horizon. I approached, with trepidation, and again it grew: a stone wall. A city. A forest.

And between the three, a chalked circle, and the words, "Take the simple path."

'Well,' I considered, 'the stony path can't possibly be right, as it only shares qualities with the other two.'

I looked at the alternatives. The caves, simple, I supposed, in their lack of light and natural formations. The forest, considered simple by so many, yet boundless with complexity. And the city, simple enough to have been created by simpletons.

With no grounds to decide, my most logical reasoning having already proven false, I set off through the center cave. I walked and walked, as the light faded into the distance behind me, until all was consumed by blackness. I trailed my hand along the wall to my left, and walked and walked, and eventually saw a speck of light in the distance. It grew as I approached, and eventually revealed, of course, the forest, the city, the plains, and the chalk circle. And the words "Take the simple path."

"How am I to choose the simple path?" I asked myself, "I have tried the easiest path, I have tried the least complex path, but still I am stuck here in this strange place."

Still untiring in body, though feeling emotionally aggrieved, I set off into the city, considering that the forest, like the stone path, shared simple qualities with the others, and added only its own complexity.

I walked through the gleaming streets, bright signs flashing at me, water dripping from rooftops, yet not a living thing in sight. Most of the signs merely advertised unpleasant food and drink, which, anyway, I felt no need for.

One sign caught my eye with its sheer plainness amongst the others, then held me with its words. "The Way is simple. That does not mean it is easy."

I stared at the sign for a time, then walked on. I didn't go far before, on rounding a corner, I found myself back in sight of the stone wall, the forest, and the plains. A few more steps, and I was back in the chalk circle. "Take the simple path."

I shrugged, and headed for the most overgrown of the forest paths. 'Not easy,' I said to myself, 'but simple, in its way.'

And I walked and I walked, pushing through branches, scratched and stung by sharp leaves, and still not a creature stirred, and not a breath of wind moved. Eventually, far from the chalk circle, the path grew easier, branches thinned out, and I found the way much easier. I breathed a sigh of satisfaction, and started to walk faster. Some time later, I slammed to a stop, in horror. Ahead, through the branches, I saw the plains. Only a little further on, and the whole scene was again revealed, the city, the stone wall and the chalk circle. And the words "Take the simple path."

I walked to the circle, and cursed at the words, and screamed, "I have taken all the paths, and none have been simple, and none have led me anywhere, and all I have to show for it are these cuts and scrapes. Why? Why am I here?"

I looked to the sky for the answer, and yelled into it, "Why? What is the purpose?"

And I smiled. And I saw the simple path. And I spread my wings, and flew.

In our shadow world, life passes by unseen until someone throws open the door.  In the fierce sunlight we sense joy but cannot clearly see -- the kind of joyful fear that makes a thousand windows open in your skin so you can feel even the smallest draft and it makes you shiver gleefully.

"How beautiful!" we murmur, weeping, our tears like music.  "Why haven't we known this all along?"

In an open field we dance under sun and moon and stars.  You press my hand.  You say: "I can't believe it!  I can't believe life has always been so wonderful!"

I tell you, my darling, I tell you now, yes!  Yes, it is, my darling, yes. It is.

You were once the river, flowing silver beneath the moon. High tide filled your body with shadow and light. I dipped my hands in dappled water as gulls floated downstream on a nightmare of half-remembered ice.

Trapped in my cage of flame, I returned my feathers to the sun. 

Awake, I lie anchored by pale visions of moths fluttering on the horizon. A sail flaps canvas wings speeding my way, backwards into night. A feathered shadow ghosts fingers over my face. Butterflies stutter against shuttered windows. Strange hands reach out to grasp me and again I am afraid of the dark. 

Having a brain-dead moment.  As a practicing vegetative-statetarian, I have these quite often, allowing for the higher vegetative intellect to kick in.

I've been feeling so inspired lately, it's weird not to have something flow right out of me.  Having to think is not one of my strong points.  I always like to FEEL my way through life.

Yesterday I had a long talk with myself.  I didn't really respond much, mostly just listening.  Actually, not even that.... I got bored half-way through, and started fantasizing about.... this girl.... this AMAZING, fantastic, wonder of a woman....

Well, you can guess where my imagination went from there. 

The first birds awoke the pre-dawn night as I leafed my way through the lace of branches and starlight. I reached the clearing, perched myself on a chunk of soggy wood, and waited. 

I could hear the secret rustling of animals.

I could hear trees smile and groan as they reached towards the east.

The horizon itself was smiling... golden and rosy and absolutely contagious.... And I found myself melting like powder in the liquid sunrise.

Within you is the power to be free, to love without restraint, to see what is not clear, to live without regret....

We often do not feel this power within, because of the fear of what's inside our head, inside our hearts.

The body is a mysterious thing.

Only time will show you how to release what you hold inside.

To lie.  To tell the truth.  Is there really a difference, when the result is the same?

There’s nothing wrong with me, I tell you... yet the truth is nothing you can see.  You can’t see I'm broken within.  You can’t see the pain, nor the tears I hide while standing in the light; you can’t see the secret I hide, the things I wish I could change or have time fade into the background. 

I’m broken.

My broken pieces came from hiding from the light.  As each piece was hidden, the light within began to slowly fade.  I have nothing to give you... can you not see?  I have nothing I can give you....

At least nothing that I can see.

Another turn around the sun.... another year of life is done.....

May God bless you in your days and nights among the stars.....

Dreams have a logic and structure all their own, falling apart into unmemorable pieces that make no sense when subjected to the scrutiny of the conscious mind.

The essential paradigm of dream interpretation is creating partially situated identities out of actual or potential reality in terms of canonical forms of human contact.

Of course, this involves renormalizing the phenomenology of narrative space and requiring the naturalization of the intersubjective cognitive strategy, and thereby resolving the dialectics of metaphorical thoughts, each problematic to the other, collectively redefining and reifying the paradigm of the parable of the model of the metaphor.

Pretend you're Yew, the lead character in an adventure videogame, living out an epic quest. Pretend, as you go about your day, that everyone you meet has information relevant to your mission, especially if you don't know what your mission is. Pay special attention to how events transpire in relationship to one another, as this often provides clues to a deeper understanding of the events themselves, and also the system of which you are part. Do not be concerned when you encounter obstacles, they are built into the game -- as are the means to overcome them. Successful completion will bring rewards and the tools you will need to solve future problems. These challenges, some might even say, are what makes the game fun. Don't worry, failure is implicit; you'll get your second chance again and again. Either you'll quit or you'll overcome whatever stands in your way.

Some people say this is analogous to life.

But, if you don't think so, don't worry, just pretend.

I'm telling you, this is going to be the biggest development in animal-imitative cybernetics history. Everybody's going to want a piece of my discovery! The military, all the megacorps, the private sector. Everyone! I'm going to be the richest man alive!

I can see you don't share my enthusiasm yet. Just wait. Accompany me to my lab, and we will see who has the last laugh. You'll be begging me to take you on as a lab assistant after I--- Oh, here we are. You first, my humble reader. Just get the lights there on your left and go on in.

You see, I had already come up with the perfect cybernetic engine, capable of mimicking any life form. The question was, which creature would be the best showcase of my discovery? Humans and apes are overdone; you might remember the android last year that got everyone all excited? Yeah, I agree. Damn snake-oil salesman is all that turned out to be! That "miracle man" couldn't remember its own name after a week. But this is different, because I've utilized a life form nobody's considered for cybernetics. It is powerful, graceful, intelligent, and best of all people love it. I chose the tiger!

Go ahead and pull away that dust-cloth there. Go on, have a peek! Ha! Don't look so startled. I leave it powered down when I'm not testing it. It is rather imposing, though, if I may say so. Yes, all the latest technology, including claws, I had made from vanadium alloy. Cuts through steel like it's wet cardboard. Omni-directional piston ligaments, the finest photometric ocular devices I could find, and a cybernetic neural interface, which exactly mirrors a Bengal tiger. The one in New Planetary zoo, actually. The process that I used to get its mind in the computer will be enough to ensure me fame and fortune, but when they see the magnificent machine I've built to house this mind….

Huh? It did move, didn't it? I guess I left it on yesterday. No, don't look so nervous. I can shut off its main power circuitry with this remote right here. Nothing to worry about. No, it won't do anything like that. No, I really don't think it's sizing you up for a meal. Be reasonable--- Oh, God! The remote, where is it? Where?! Gotta find it quick, before it turns on me---

Ah, there we go! Too late to save YOU, though. What a pity. Let's just take the power cells out of the thing. Better safe than sorry. There! God, what a mess. Even worse, I can't call the police now, because the bad publicity would overshadow my breakthrough and definitely frighten the investors. I've got to get rid of the body secretly, somehow. I could bury it, but I might be seen. I could burn it, but the smoke would be awfully suspicious. What to do? What to....

I wonder... How fast can this cat eat?

It's not what it seems... the frosty whiter light of the Moon, refridgerated blanket of the night, woven of cold moonbeams.... the blood-warming orange of the day, its heat and passion burning from within, bounced at night off the barren orbitor, its light coldly sucked clean.... transforming all our blood-rush urges and displaying intimate knowledge of our collective lunacy.

We hide our hurt where waves of feeling rise and fall, ebb and retire and break with feeling’s foam as love sympathy remorse and all life’s music in between.... 

We write our daydreams down, our longings and our lonesome cares -- we paint them as fruitful testaments to the dignity of all creation, our paint the bounty of purest imagination, our liquid art a prelude itself to what could be if we listened, if we dreamed.

"In the beginning" or "Once upon a time," Nothing said: "I think I'll make a rhyme..." 

Then, Something said: "you know that if you do, I will have make one too.... and then what will you do?"

Nothing said, "Well, that is quite alright, we have a lot of time. And since you speak to Nothing, it cannot be a crime. There is Nothing here so, what have you to lose... since you are Something here, then I will let you choose."

And so they went and went on endlessly.... rhyming rhyming rhyming, making you and me.

Something was the light, and nothing was the dark. Together all the forms they made, and made it on a lark. And all the forms created, developed their own life, Happiness and worlds of love.... bitterness and strife.

"My!" Something said to Nothing, "now look what we have done!  Look at all the life we made, I really like that Sun!  And that earth over there, the water and the sod, when we get together they'll probably call us God... Then with superstition, they'll want to kill for us, all because we had some fun, and made a lot of things... I guess when you're creating, this is what it brings!"

Have you looked in the mirror to shave? Or to put on your lipstick? Or to clean your teeth? And found that you weren’t there? Just the empty mirror looking back at you with nothing in it at all? Sure wakes you up in the morning. You go running all over the house, looking for yourself.

When we start falling apart, there are several things we can do. We can tie knots in our bones to hold ourselves together; we can strip labels from beer bottles; we can roll breadcrumbs around our plates. But are these enough, I ask. The answer is “No!”

Hang in there! It’s not that bad. Tie a few knots in the old feeble bones, slap a bit of crazy glue on the toothbrush, and you’ll soon recover.

Black angels, crows, cows: have you noticed that there’s only one letter between cows and crows? And they’re everywhere. Crows, I mean.

Taste someone else’s words. Stare at them like a cat. Don’t blink. Find a snowman. The cold will hold him, the hardness underneath is a sheet of affection. The moment you wake is this stark realization: clarity is precision, an obsession that flies in the form of a postcard sent to an empty house with no address, in the midst of an impossible journey…. the pull of life, of breath, and the heart sawing at the weeds running wild, saffron against blue jeans, yellow spirits filling raw holes, an earth floor concealed.