You gave me that,
That small fragile thing;
To you it was insignificant
To me the entire cosmos.
It was with that,
That you pulled me in.
I couldn’t let go,
And never ever will.
Thank you for that,
That little simple thing.
Video by Third Eye Blind.
This wee sector of 0’s and 1’s on a hard drive in a case with ten other hard drives and four CPU’s…I don’t know it anymore. My little droplet of creativity in an Olympic size pool has become foreign even to me. This website was created to express who I am in a creative and artistic fashion. It used to be a grand corner of the interweb. I’d write a new story or poem that’d knock people off their heels. They’d nudge me to keep at it and suggest improvements. I’d oblige and write another fictional story better than the last. I’d give hints and codes to my own identity. It’s not that hard to figure me out, but I love mystery and intrigue.
I was welcomed into a community of worldwide bloggers from all walks of life. Some of them treated me like family, others treated me like their son. I loved them all to bits and still do. It was a grand time in my life. I have learned so much from so many people. I am very grateful to all of you.
In a strange mist that lasted for months, I verged off the creative path and went down a strange and boring trail. I let people tell me what I was better at, and what I should pursue. I conformed to one small group and have paid a dreadful price for it. This blog, if you want to call it that, was never meant to be a daily log of my life. If I had something important going on or something inspiring to share, I’d announce it. Otherwise, it was fiction and faction (non-fiction that has been fluffed up to make it interesting.) as usual.
To be honest, I’ve not felt like my old self in six months or so. It is imperative that I write fiction and pour my heart out into a poetry, even if no one else ever reads it. I’m real and everything that I’ve ever said that was factual, is, but I also have the imagination of a youngster. It’d be a damn shame to waste that! Yes, I’m a fantabulous photographer and very thankful to those that have helped me along the way. But, I’m a whole package. Not only can I take or draw the picture, I can also tell you about the scene in a way that’ll make your heart melt. 
My writing is certainly not up to the degree it once was, but I’ll get there again and move forward.
So, there will be no more blabbering on about weekends or boring nonsense that no one wants to read anyway. If I have exciting news or a meme to do, I’ll post it. Otherwise, I’ll be going back to the old game plan. I’ll post new photos, poems, short stories, and drawings. Jefferson Davis of auld is back baby!
Be afraid…be very afraid…
P.S.: Please continue your regularly scheduled skimming of blogs. Thank You
It’s a word
No moment can ever fully restrain
It values no limits
nor rules nor mores
nor logic.
It’s a word
that conveys honour
and compassion and focus
and belief in futurity,
manana.
It’s a word
that’s gentle and euphoric
and soothing, a quilt on a frigid night,
a hand, an arm, a snuggle,
a smile.
It’s a word
significantly unique to each expérience,
unseasoned couples engulfed in it,
elders acrimonious from it,
parents fulfilled by it.
But it’s just a word,
four finite letters
cryptic, maybe,
indefinable, certainly-
but just a word.
I am a flame aflicker;
Untamed and dancing freely,
Always fluctuating, still the same,
Come near me, I’ll warm you,
Too close and I’ll singe you.
It is a natural occurrence as Homo sapiens to protect ourselves. Some of us go far and beyond what is required in self-defence. We build barriers around our hearts, souls, and minds to protect ourselves against being hurt. I’m as guilty as anyone. I’m always on the defensive. I’ve always had to guard against those that would gleefully have me six feet under. But, I have realised through experience that the only way to make friends and build relationships is to let down my guard and powerful defenses. Tis a hard task.
When a person builds said barriers and refuses to lower them for any reason, he or she could very well turn into a vile and self loathing person. I’ve seen it happen. People are so afraid of getting hurt that they end up only hurting themselves. Getting hurt by someone you love and trust is unspeakable. When people are hurt in whatever way as children, it makes it that much harder to let down his or her fortifications.
There’s a lass that I know all too well that is loving and kind but evil as hell in the same instance. She had a very hard childhood. She was treated very badly. I’ll just leave it at that. Anyway, she’s very skeptical of men, especially moi. I wonder why? It took me months to chip away her impenetrable (so she thought) wall that conceals a good heart. On the surface, she is vile witch with piss and vinegar running through her veins. We have a lot in common. I saw what was behind that wall the other day. Tis quite warm and picturesque back there. But, as I have explained to her, I don’t have all the time in the world to play games. To say that she has a temper would be an understatement to the highest degree. Those sparkling emerald eyes of hers can glaze over in an instance! She trust me more than most. That means a lot! She knows how to push me buttons!
Anyhow, I scribed this poem ’bout her. Perhaps I was a bit hard on her. What say you?
It’s not angst, it’s accentuated
A decimal point away from being read
Cold, left vacuous and underrated
A deafening shower for a beat head
The sort of rage that’s strangulated
Nearly liquefied, simmering and resolute
A glimmering vanguard that’s underestimated
Designed to defend, conceptualised to be astute
She obstinates, never content
To concede would be curt
It lies in witty comments
But she is often hurt
And it’s a fault
It’s cunning, narking
Not troubling
But it’s a fault
And it’s devised
It’s uncivilised, favourable
It’s not fables
But it’s devised
And she’s just a dame
She’s mad, insane
It’s such a game
But she’s just a dame
And nowt less
But serene blitheness
Would mend this mess
But nowt less
-Jefferson Davis-
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