THE MESSAGE AND THE MEANS

(Original Image by Stefano Pollio)

Week. Week. Another week at an end. And thank god for that. Week. Week. Like the clock's secondhand movements. Like the dripping faucet. Week. Week. The weekend is upon us floating in a glass of wine, Viognier for the afternoon and Cabernet for night. The hours are open. Bosses and obligations are overtaken by the mist. Anything could happen. I'm looking forward to it, though I've learned to temper my expectations.

The key is to shake out some meaning before returning to the mines. The key is to make sense of one's life before it returns to drudgery. You finally have the fruits of your labor available, and you can do whatever you want with them. You can call on whomever or roll solo down the moonlit streets looking for more than Jesus on a stick. Shit. I'm waiting for something to crack open, something besides the bottle, though that's a given. I'm looking for love to come calling, beckoning me out of the city for a spiritual journey, one that I’ll cling to on my dying day.

I told my wife last night that the bowl that holds my spirit has become too small. My flesh presses against glass. My eyes press against memories when our energies aligned, when there was no politics, no pressure, just a coalition of spirit as we ambled forward, drunken or not. What I wouldn't give for that feeling now. Another man's passion is another man's annoyance. Sorry, but I can't help myself. I follow my passion down to the depths of being, and it's a lonely place, a darkened place where one child sits, head in hands crying for someone, anyone to love him. It's not stylish to say so. It’s never stylish to be honest. It's embarrassing to talk about and even more embarrassing to hear. But frankly, my dear, I don't give a shit. I can't help but do it this way. I can't help but be honest to the page, otherwise just what the hell am I doing here? I tell it how it is and to hell with the rest. This is not a talent show. Yes, you must master the basics of written communication, but, beyond that, the rest is window dressing.

Best to express yourself as raw and as imperfectly as possible. The shining, shimmering efforts, on the other hand, are an academic exercise. They communicate only to the aficionados of the Word and not many else. Just be honest with the message and the means. What's the worst that could happen? At least you're not wasting your time trying to be somebody else. I've spent the first half of my life doing that dance. Now, I'd rather give it to you as straight as possible with little thought and little fear of failure.