Jimenace's Open Salon Blog

The Art of Loneliness

Sun, 30 Aug 2009 01:08:21 -0400

The art of loneliness

It’s zen.

Here, and back again.

“That was the life I should have led”,

I thought to myself inside my head.

My windows dim,

and my heart whispers

to my soul;

“I have always loved you.”

I cry to know myself,

So I sleep.

Stained instead,

I dream;

And go to the place

Of spinning suns

And faire dust,

Where every day

I know I must

Trust;

the strings

that anchor the light

to simple human flesh and bone.

"El Mariachi: Give me the strength to be what I was, and forgive me for what I am."

Una Palabra

Translated (rough)

One word says nothing,

and at the same time, hides all,
same as the wind hides the water,
like the flowers hide the mud.

One look says nothing,
and at the same time, says all,
like the rain upon your face,
or some ancient treasure map,
like the rain upon your face,
or some ancient treasure map.

One truth says nothing,
and at the same time, it hides all,
like a home-fire that won't be exstinguished,
like a rock, that's born of dust.

If one day I miss you, I will be nothing,
and at the same time, I will be everything,
'cuz In your eyes, I find my wings,
and find the edges, in which I drown,
'cuz In your eyes, I find my wings,
and find the shores, in which I drown,

From Sea to Shinning Sea

Wed, 26 Aug 2009 23:08:36 -0400

Legalize love,
embrace light,
realize life ~
happens.
In each breath and each exhale
of this time,
spent 'this side of the veil.

Drink and remember,
eat this December
dismember,
your memories
of like melodies;
spent;
in quiet anticipation
of the lungs that deflate
by bullets fear tipped;
as full metal jackets
drown out the racket;

of rhetoric.
Regurgitated,
and mixed with molasses
while we sit...

With pen in hand
and thoughts in trance;
incidental metallurgy,
what's to disturb
this surgery?

Think, drink, link,
and connect;
dissect,
your mind-view
of what is your purview.

This life,
This love,
This light,

Drink and remember,
that long July,
when first She was;
our Mother's milk.

america,
America,
God shed his grace on tea?

America,
america,
truth be told ~

you live and die
in me
in she
in he.

in peace we rest
though we fail the test,
to be...

Letter to my Daughter

Tue, 18 Aug 2009 00:08:34 -0400

I've asked myself many times what it is I would say to you if it was the last thing I would ever tell you. Would it be a simple "I Love you Mija" or would it be something really cool and deep like "as the moon follows the sun so my soul follows the light"... ok maybe not so cool and deep lol =D Anyway, my point is simply that there is always so much more that I want to tell you and talk about but never have the time or the opportunity. So with pen in hand and a clean sheet of paper nothing should be able to stop me - at least that's the plan.

Look both ways before you cross the street.

check your blind side Twice before merging or turning - Twice, 'member.

Have a plan, it always helps in the long run.

Remember the long run but don't look so far ahead that you fall in today's hole.

Hmmm....and so on and so forth.

Think about the time when you felt the most joy in your life and picture it in your mind.

Think about another time, and another.

When you wake in the mornings, as your inner eyes start to open, hold these moments in your mind one after the other. Feel them as much as you can. If you can't think of any - you're not looking deep or wide enough.

Mine are –

1) The day you were born. I was in the hospital with your mother not really knowing how to feel while your mother screamed bloody murder. I didn't know until you woke up on this side of the looking glass, a loud brave little thing covered in life and letting everyone know at the top of her lungs. I wept. I'ld never known true love until that day.

2) The day when your brother was born. It was as if I had been waiting on him for a long time. The accident your mother might say - but never truly that, no one is. I didn't think the joy I felt when you were born could be any greater - but it was doubled now with you and him in my life. I wept once again and fell in love with life once more.

3) A day when I slept by your mother's side, I must have been eighteen barely. I woke up beside her and snuggled - I felt so in love I could burst.

4) A day when I lay next to Sonya and felt so in love again (to Sonya from her david) I would die. A deep permeating feeling that goes from the tip of your head to the nails on your toes! It was crazy but it was good.

Those are my days that I think about in the mornings when I remember. I really try to visualize each and relive it as much as I can and then some.

It's easy to do this in the mornings. Now here's the hard part - and its my point (if i had one lol).

Think about them when you are at your most low or most angry, when everything is falling apart or seems to be going against you... think on what brought you the most joy and re-live it. Think on these and know I love you...

My daughter :)

Me and my Son - yes, I saw something pretty in the distance - it must have been shiny, notice the odd look on my face. Daughter took it - she loves to catch me looking funny (lost, crazy, on LSD) lol.

My Girlz! daughter and her girlfriend :) love them to pieces.

peece!

Speak

Tue, 11 Aug 2009 00:08:51 -0400

Live for me

Write for me

what i speak
what i whisper
what i think
what i inter
in a journal.

live but to hear me
and my thoughts,
as defenses
in a long life
of attacks,
and misspelled letters
and mis-placed Notes
of music.

Music
unplayed,
and understood
to be not what I meant to say
but what you bade to speak,

anon

yes,

we wait and understand.

Please; pray; tell us..;

What was it I was to Say?

Seed

Sun, 9 Aug 2009 13:08:31 -0400

The easel hangs uneasy on shaky tripod hinges,

its perfect silhouette a backdrop to my imperfect thoughts.

The canvas is full of false starts and forced emotion,

washed somewhat clean again and again by the water of indecision.

Morning greets me with kisses and tempts to tease

the thoughts lying just out of reach.

With wispy tendrils of will and waning strength, I stretch.

Questing fingers grip this sword I wield to paint

the faded memories of lives not lived awaiting birth -

my Brush, the unwilling midwife and Pariah,

gifted to witness imagined pain eternally.

Soft footsteps stir my reverie and break my concentration.

A day like any other I turn to her annoyed,

“What is it now? Another apple? Perhaps a pear this time?”

She gives voice to her sibilant smile and whispers

sweet wisdom in my ear, “eat and know the answer.”

I give myself a mental shake

and shrug temptation to partake.

I paint instead.

The mute struggle now stamped and etched in fresh paint;

wet potential streams the face of virgin Canvas,

violated -

by the adolescent hands driven not by true love

but by fear of the unsung, the unwanted, the unknown.

I came too late, the stains on what I thought pure,

tongued aside by past indiscretion, only ego remains.

Taunted and tortured,

my will now bleeds in this iron maiden.

I hold the cup of water high,

a shield for errant self expression.

In it, clean and crystal, pure,

another try at taming my aggression.

I hold it to the canvas,

my water of indecision.

I look again,

the shield now gone, a sword instead -

gorged on rampant paint, aborted births too many to count.

The tears flow unabated by self consciousness.

They feed the tree that grows -

inside of me.

It waits to see

if I can be

truth set free.

I feed on the dilapidated remains of temptation offered by She,

Like jewels without blemish they wink at me,

the apples.

Journey through infinite sky

On a comet, birthed by tears from the Creator’s eye,

as She thought love into existence,

and the Other whored resistence,

In the apple that fell from a lie.

Twas the time that we spent,

Without knowing intent,

Far removed from the words of Her Song.

Frozen spirit disintegrates

the Fractal of life; incandescent,

as the Breath of life,

takes the Gift inside -