Assorted Scribblings From The Eggman

If I See Any Of This Stuff Published Any Place Where Money is Involved, I'll Sue You Silly!

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"I find miracles easier to come by when I'm willing to give God a little bit of help."

"Sometimes I think so far ahead of myself that I forget what it was that I forgot to remind myself to do."

"Mediocrity is like Arsenic. Small doses over time will kill you just as dead as one jolt in the gut."

The best things that I say are often best said when I say nothing at all."

Grandma’s paring knife.

As a child I only remember a few things that were classified as 'absolutely forbidden' to touch, get close to, or even vaguely think about. Aside from the obvious; buttons, levers and stuff in the car, truck or on power tools, daddy's guns, and the oil furnace, there was a special category -- grandma's paring knife.

Long after I was old enough to shoot a gun, use power tools or even start the truck by myself, Grandma's paring knife remained off limits. I could use any knife in the drawer, even daddy's hunting and fishing knives, but not that little wooden handled scalpel that she kept by the stove and honed with a nearby razor strop.

It didn't seem to matter whether it was apples, peaches, pears or potatoes. Whatever she held in her hand seemed to spin against the blade on its own will. Meanwhile, a perfect, unbroken, paper-thin ribbon of vegetable peeling cascaded into a waiting paper bag. All of this was done autonomically, in a rocking chair, while she looked in another direction and carried on a conversation with two or three other people in varous parts of the house. This was the same way she would knit, braid or crochet, without looking, and seemingly without conscious thought.

I've never been able to match Grandma's degree of skill and craftsmanship. Just once I'd like to peel an entire apple into a single long thread, without of course, also peeling away most of the apple. Not enough, however, to be eager to match her seventy some years (at the time) of peeling vegetables.

Grandma's paring knife is in a box, buried somewhere in the basement. Who knows, maybe the next time I'm down there I'll finally feel as if I'm old enough.

-##-

What made me think of this was a visit from a teenager. For whatever reasons, she was faced with the daunting task of peeling a potato. A lost look of panic welled up in her eyes when the possibility was raised that we might not own a potato peeler. God forbid, she should have to try it with a knife. To do so would be like trying to drive a standard transmission, or make a cake, pasta sauce, biscuits or pancakes from scratch. (Without directions on the side of a box covered with government warnings -- all part of the skills and knowledge set of a long past epoch.)

Hey Kid!

You’re such a young thing!

You’re right on the edge, just a bit too young for Woodstock but a bit too old to be ‘hip.’ (I can’t believe I used the ‘H’ word.)

At least I didn’t say Hep! (cat)

Kerouac?

Whack!

Who me?

Step to the rear please ...

Only for these?

And the spirits of the Natives and the Damned screamed in the breeze,

We think -- so we think we must be.

Existentiality -- we, me, the, he, she, thee?

And we thought we were free.

Step to the rear please ...

Who me?

Whack!

To Lovecraft

Take me up oh frightful nighthings, and down to the land of caves. Wrap me safe and cold in scaly wings, shield me from sunlit days.

Take me down beneath the sands, where eldrich horrors squirm. Touch me with your rotting hands, show me the realm of the worm.

I feel your fetid demons breath, and claws of childrens screams, Our gods abandon us in death, and nighmares haunt our dreams.

Reach deeply into my mortal chest, and tear out my beating heart. Satan has taken all the rest, come to me now, and take me apart.

In fearful memory of H. P. Lovecraft The True Master of Horror

There are two ways to deal with infatuation -- time, and reality.

The former is a good treatment, but the latter is a sure cure.

The Angel in the Artists Eyes

I watched an artist dance behind an angels eyes last night, colors billow, flowing -- playing mind games with shadows and light, sunlight mellow, glowing.

Touching textures that exist only in her mind, her senses turning -- toying lightly with her design, in creative yearning.

Today the angel danced behind the artists face, in lively mental pirouettes -- bringing her visions to life in space, with lovely gentle steps.

I watched in facination as her true self was revealed. the artist within her -- and I shared for the moment the excitement she feels, dancing around her.

Crystal Visions

Like the cry of a hawk in the night, reality shatters the crystal visions, and they fall away revealing a beauty surpassing even themselves.

The magic man, unprepared for the strength and grandeur of his creation, stands motionless in awe of that which lies before him.

Plunging head first into the canyon, he finds himself soaring above the clouds, like a Hawk, whose cry, has sattered the crystal visions.

The Romantic Symphony

Being a romantic without love is much the same as being a musician without an instrument.

The moods, melodies and symphonies may fill your head and your heart, but that is a far as they go, there is no way to share your joy with the world.

As the first hesitant notes of feelings blend into gentle harmony, an orchestra of light appears.

The moods, melodies and symphonies fill my head and my heart, and like a magical conductor, every thought, mood and motion brings fourth mystical music.

The comforting smoothness of French horns merges with the light hearted mystery of a flute.

Tympani and tom tom, cello and chime,

the moods, melodies and symphonies fill my world with the magical, mystical music of joy.

Don't Blame Me

No, I did not put you on a pedestal, no one can put YOU anywhere!

If you are there, it's because you climbed up there yourself.

I just noticed.

I Will Never Be Alone

Sometimes I just get desperate for someone to whom I can really talk. Someone for whom I can pour out my heart, and they just give me acceptance, cradle me in their arms and make love to my soul. No solutions, just quiet understanding.

If it were not for you sweet quill, I would have no confessor. Words of power and pain flow from my fingertips, and you, understand. You open yourself to give me unconditional escape. Frantically scratching across the parchment, you release my essence.

I am free of bonds and boundries as I gaze on the blankness of the page. The very universe is at my command.

Thank you for shaking me awake, and reassuring me that my dream, is the only reality.

Spaces
We all have empty spaces. Its what we fill them with that makes the difference

A Virtual Visit

I've come to see you tonight softly as you sleep your soul bathes mine in warm sweet light and together our hearts sweep

along golden pathways in the sky above streams and fields your hand in mine we reach so high the earth beneath reveals

her sweetest secrets of times long past known only to ancient sages shared with us together at last the joy and wisdom of ages.

*REVELATION*
I'm gazing at a sunrise, through a broken window pane, I'm looking out through sleepy eyes, and all I see is rain. There comes a chilling feeling, slicing quickly to the bone, my wounds have not been healing and I realize, I'm alone. The room begins to swirl as my eyelids slowly close, I see an empty world, enveloped in a crimson rose. I'm staring at a rosewood ceiling, and lying on a velvet floor, I feel my senses fleeting, reality is no more. But rises then a piercing scream as the ceiling approaches the floor, the walls are closing in, life could be no more. I reach to catch my soul as it flies through a gilded door, eternity is turning cold, and salvation could be no more.
	An amber sky with a crimson sun, I see the colors and I need to run. The blood of a soldier running red, the pallid pale of a soldier dead. Black isn't white and white isn't black, silver is the knife they thrus in our back. An amber sky with a crimson sun, I see the colors and cannot run.
I feel a searing heat, I see my body as it burns, I look down on blistered feet -- reality returns. I hear the temple in the distance, the faintly ringing bell, and I needed no assistance, to create this living hell. For prophecy can never be sold, and life will not be bought, and open now is the tortured mind that hungered for purpose and thought. Icy fingers of death may close around his throat, the world may cease to be, but the warmth of an angels breath filled the page as he wrote, "at last, I can see."
	An amber sky with a crimson sun, I am the colors and they begin to run.
I'm gazing at a sunrise, through a broken window pane, I'm looking out through bloodstained eyes, and all I feel is pain.
Mama -- please help me --I think I've died in my sleep.

DOORS

Doors. Some open, some close, and some revolve.

Look up! Like an open door, she stands before you. If you let it close in front of you, it might latch forever. Should it continue revolving, it may never stop. You know what's on the outside, step through.

Let her show you what your world can be. And should it close behind you, you will only have grown.

BIG COLD CITY

Be careful where you're going, it's rainy and cold outside. Be careful who you're being, and don't toss it aside.

Think about your answers, they're what life's about. You can join the magic dancers, or forever live without.

So take an offered hand, and walk by their side, or take another stand, and watch them dance by.

The Ice Palace
First and Final Chapter

Inside the Bright and Mystic Ice Palace, is a cold beauty of darkened depth, drinking my life from a crystal chalace, and leaving behind, her warm, icy breath.

She's nothing to fear nor dread, walk into her arms if you dare. Share her parlour and rest your head in her soft but frozen lair.

Your heart may falter, tighten and clutch, your very soul may ache, by now you're numb to her icy touch, and you will sleep before you wake.

Its not just simple reasons we seek, but the very questions themselves, and when her frozen lips begin to speak, her secrets, she never tells.

I walked into the warmest, brightest light, looking for simple reasons, and emerged in the coldest darkest night, searching for the seasons.

The Crystal Forest

I walk. And as I do, magic swirls around me like ferns in a forest.

Sunlight! Splattering, spattering splitting into a million iridescent shapes. I focus - a simple spot of color on the floor, of a crystal forest. Is it God? Is it you? Is it me, or, could it be us?

I sigh.

The crystal forest exists only in your mind, and my dreams. You are the artist! Bring it to life for me, and I will teach It to talk.

On Renaissance Men, etc.

A real man is threatened by no one, especially a real woman.
A real woman searches for no one, except maybe a real man.

The opposite of tough is not weak, the opposite of tough is tender. And in extreme tenderness there is immense strength. And I'd rather be strong than tough!

The Flood

The words flow, I can't stop them. They come gushing out of my heart and soul in torrents so strong that they wash me away.

I let them carry me on currents of insight and wonder to the very center of my soul.

And you were already there, waiting for me.

Lightness of Thought

Read my verse, sing my songs, and touch my thoughts, for you are truly grand.

Find with me, the friend that you need, as I find mine with you.

Cast your spell turning the rain in my soul to sunshine, and with the softness of a feather falling on snow, touch your thoughts with mine.

20-20 Vision

If you could see yourself by my vision, and not through my eyes, you would be amazed.

You are quite a wonder you know.

Who gave you those dark glasses and that cane anyway?

Were you born blind, or just afraid of the light.

Take a chance .... take a peek!, it won't hurt your eyes for long. The worst you could see is nothing, but only if that's what you expect.

Tell me, what do you see through those squinted lids? "A person", you say? A real person, with strengths and weaknesses like any one else? But also a better person than you might expect, one which you could truly call friend.

"What's that", you ask?

It's called a mirror. Excuse me! You forgot your cane.... and are these your glasses?

Oh, they must belong to someone who needs them.

Let's leave them here and go for a walk around life.

Dark

It creeps. It crawls over my body and seeps into my soul like a fog encroaching on an empty shore, enveloping every grain of sand, then turning cold.

Pains are like the grains of sand, ever shifting, ever changing, yet always there.

Would anyone notice one more grain of sand? Will I notice another speck of pain?

You are a wave bringing life to the reef, casting an endless array of sparkling shells on an empty coast.

But a chilling wind settles over the sunshine of my paradise, and a moonless night without the comfort of a single star begins to fall.

Keep me, until the dawn.

The Urban Folk Arts Society

   SPLAT!
   WHAP!
   BAM!
   SWOOSH......
     The graffiti screams at me from the walls and
     subway cars.
     Some are low grade ramblings, devoid of inspiration,
     deserving display only in barroom restrooms.
     Others touch me with their cry of helpless hopelessness.

      "Here I am!". they say.
      "Look at me!"
      "I am real, and I am me!"
      "See?"
      "Look at me!"
      "I Exist!"

    Urban airbrush artists with spray cans, 
    pour their souls onto the canvas of a city.

    Why are these scenes of screams any less than the most
    sacred heiroglyphs?

      Yes!
      I see you!
      And I feel your art?
      It works.
      
    Paint on!

Life's Like That - Inside the Fence

Wait.....!

Don't run, I won't hurt you.

Look....

I'll just sit here quietly and hold out my hand, approach at your own pace.

See....?

You touched me.

That wasn't so bad, was it.

I'm sorry that you are scared, but I understand.

I must be quite frightening to you, you've never seen anything quite like me before have you?

That's OK, I've never seen anyone quite like you either.

Here.....

I'll leave myself open right here in front of you, and I'll walk away so that you can explore.

See....?

I touched you.

That wasn't so bad, was it.

What....?

You're beginning to trust me?

I know you're scared, but I do understand.

Treaties
	The problem with fighting wars in your mind is that no matter who wins, you lose. We must negotiate a lasting peace.

Night in the City

Neon lights of the city cast a dancing pattern of watercolor washes on the curtains of my room. The pastel images and dancing dimensions are infinite.

If I squint and look just right, I can make anything I imagine happen before me.

It’s a lot like life, isn’t it.

Whips and Chains

The mind is a cruel mistress. She controls your every thought action and mood.

She can elevate you to the heights of happiness, or plunge you into the depths of dispair.

One day, you will wake beside her and realize that she is really you.

You will wrestle her whip from her grasp and shake off the chains she has used to bind you.

On the morning of that awakening, you will cease to be a slave, and become the master of your own destiny.

On that momentous morning, you will finally become -- aware.

Jericho
The Dawn of Hope

Softly we reach to touch what we seek but the walls get in the way.

A hesitant touch wouldn't be too much but the walls get in the way.

I can live with the walls for one day they'll fall, and the windows will show me the way.

And maybe a door, perhaps even more, but the walls get in the way.

And in the dead of the night, no reason in sight but to open your mind and our souls and no hesitation sounding, no conditions surrounding our promise and commitment was whole.

And when the mist had cleared there was no room for fear -- the walls had crumbled away.

It got dark outside last night. I remember a time, a long short time ago, when it used to get dark.

And then it stopped.

But last night -- It got dark --

damned dark!

Flight for Fright

I can fly!

I can spread my soul and soar above cloudless skies on moonlit nights to touch the stars.

I have floated in awe at the beauty of Saturn’s rings, and been held spellbound by the clouded mystery of Venus.

I have ridden the tail of a comet to the depths of existence, and crawled low and hidden through jungles of pain.

I have landed in green fields and felt the comforting softness of a blanket of clover, and flown so high as to look down on the moment of creation.

You, were my wings.

Uncertainties

What I may offer you is everything, what I ask of you is naught, What I may bring to you is feeling, what I take from you is thought.

Where I may place you is above me, where I may find you is inside, where I may take you is within me, where I want you is along side

When I may see you is in dreams, when I feel your soul’s song, when I may love you is any moment, when I know I belong..

How I may touch you is with feeling, and soon subtle caress, how I may reach you is by being, only myself and no less.

All I wish for you is the freedom, to be only who you are, And I’ll see you this evening, in the light of every star.

Thank You

Would that it should, and more that it could, makes smiling come easy these days, and the rains and the pains and the shackles and chains have shattered and fallen away.

It’s light and it’s bright and sharp in my sight as I look up and see in my mind, a like minded soul to help me be whole and share in the wonders I find.

And the fears and the tears of forever years have no place further to flow, so I’ll tell them goodbye and look to the sky, and I thank you for making it so.

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