The World of Drum and Bass (ATL)

Strobed light cut across faces and bodies in time to the pulsation of volume, and blood and hearts. The room sprawled to the walls free of obstructions execpt for the support columns, and the colored lights danced across angles of floor and wall and dancers. The din of the explosive bass shakes my body, vibrates my privates, locks a timeframe into my observation, forces unconscious tick and twitches of my body respoding to the flow of input.

I twisted in time to the rhythm and felt myself loosen inside, lacking that clench of stress and the soft stab of hurt, clinging to the balance of light and energy and flow and music and possibility.

My cuz, DJ Jubei, shouted something in my ear that made me smile and I kept looking to the head-bent turntablist onstage and shifting my body to the beat. The beer was cold in my hand, acting as a counter-weight to my gyrations, I suddenly felt a little pooped. My journey was in need of rest, so I found a couch. And while sitting I watched many a person on their night...seeing the skimpy buckhead chicks, the gays, the drunks, the guy that ate too many drugs, my cousin dancing. All of these separated for the girl with the twirly light thingy.

And the night shortly changed after I asked her if I could buy her a drink. And the beat played onward and the buckheads still danced and the gays still showed me how to dress better...but she defined the night, the moment, and the future...which is up to her.

I remember hearing High Contrast...and that's about it.

28 Miles To Go

The adventures of some evenings redefine you, and I had one of those evenings last night. I still wear the gift you gave me, never removing it since your tender fingers placed it on me. It encircles the pulse of my blood with hope and care. You find it hard to believe words that you know and feel are true. Your hand in mine, the laughter of smiling souls, the closeness of your warmth against me; you feel deep inside a stirring that is greater than words can portray. I am patiently waiting for you to decide how willing you are to step into something that is bigger than you ever imagined, and I will be there waiting for you regardless of your decision.

Next

On Forward Ahead Gone (For Jen)

Time has passed over the hurt, and our mistakes have been transversed, and things continually change around that pain point in each of our lives...but we fail to notice it, like the tired traveller on a bus who naps through the sunset and wakes disconcerted in the surrounding darkness.

We blunder onward into that black forecast, wiping the memories from our eyes with petulant fists of frustration. The vision clears briefly enough to ache, then blurs into misgivings, then crosses focal paths in a nexus of care and hate, then blinks to forget. This happens 33 times a second, and is relived in new actuality with each rendition.

Walking across my dreams, midnight and silent, your footprints whisper into my daylight hours. I know that you see life differently after my time with you. Two broken people plod into everyday drama with broken perceptions and burdened with passionate distaste.

We are still together in that we are both half-ruined, missing our love, stinging from errors, unable to trust, and blindly moving on...forward...ahead...until gone.

Published, kind of

I've been published. I'm not posting the link for very particular reasons, but let's say that in the same vein of me proudly proclaiming that I dance, this is me proudly stating that an intensely difficult part of my life is now over...and I'm fighting against the scourge that hurt me, my loved ones, and so many others.

It feels very liberating to talk somewhat openly about what hurt me, ruined me, redefined me, lessened me, and broke me. To be able to scream back against this insanity makes my heart proud.

Thank you especially to my family and friends for your love, concern, direction, and heartfelt care. I love and truly respect each one of you who sparkled shine on my rotten life.

Gratefully giving back what you gave me,
Mark

Blue Reflection Pools

(Background note: when I went to DC last year I stood in front of the long reflecting pools in front of various monuments throughout the 18-plus blocks [blocks are a helluva lot longer up North...for ATL folks, imagine walking from Lil' 5 Points to the Fox Theater] I walked from the Mall in DC. I took long gazes at myself and pondered my life. I came home and proposed to my now ex. But more than that misguided attempt, I saw something in that blue reflection that looked back at me with roaring insight, unfortunately never understood until later. But I knew I would see that cerulean-azure mirror again, like a premonition, and it would be even deeper in meaning for me. I found it.)

I observe more than you show or allow me to see. I feel things that we can't mention. I want, through barriers of doubt or guilt, to taste lips that are locked from my velvety tingle. I need that reflex that quivers in the back of my spine, that one I see you shudder from as well.

Can't you stretch past doubts and fears to embrace these heartfelt offerings I give to you? Can you overcome those blackened-past flashes to paint new beginnings?

I stand here waiting for you in the color splash of a new morning. I'm hesitating for you, to make sure you're on this train with me.

Where are you?

Inner Glow

My previous post combined respect and art in a digital expression. And that felt refreshing. New shine...

I hope all who read this (I see you Santa!) understand that I'm changing. I feel things of old slipping away. I feel the urges and haunts of the recent past ease or lessen. I feel that hard, thorn-edged road transition into an asphalt sidewalk. Those hurtful nights have become only bad dreams that eventually lessen in each days' light.

Transformation is good, natural, and mostly out of my control. Direction is my rudder, alteration is nature's course; prayer and wisdom are two laterns for the unknown and unfamiliar path. But inner shine is the divining rod, which is faith.


But, oh yeah...evil...

You witches and loser lackeys...it is time for you to disappear. I'm no longer available for your sorrowful stories or downward pull--be gone from me now. I wish you away, not luck on your confused demise slide.

I will not change my phone number, or my address, or my desire to succeed. You will not be around long enough to pose any real problem to my direction anyway, so fall away now...like the dead leaf you've become.

The hard days teach lessons to those with ears capable of listening. I've become solid, rooted in feeling positive about this crazy cycle of days called "Life".

Beware: no one, especially not a junky, broken, fuck up like you, will take that away from me ever again.

Move on panhandlers of goodness, I've nothing to offer you...

I'm too busy sharing to want to give or take. Try it sometime. Sheesh, just try living....it is nice here.

Arty Mood II

Not much to say tonight. I'm preternaturally quiet. I'm listening to Gary Allan and thinking about life. Here's a tribute piece to my friend Dan. He drew this and I "borrowed" it and did a remix. Hope you don't mind Dan. I only did it because I like it so very much. It just made my creative side come out, and that says your work is quality to me when you make me open Photoshop on a whim at 1 am. Folks, Dan's artistic creation is on the left and my late-night remix is on the right.

The Safety Dance

I like to dance.

Not ballroom dancing or the cha-cha or anything established...well, maybe the robot just for comedic effect...but I miss dancing. I used to go all the time for a couple of months with someone I no longer connect with and I miss that freedom and energy.

My buddy Heather started up a conversation about dancing today. Apparently she takes group lessons with a tall friend of hers and they are learning multiple styles of dancing. I believe she was to learn the Foxtrot this evening. It sounded like a lot of fun, you know...watching it. Unfortunately the organizers of those group lessons don't generally allow folks to come and loom at folks trying to learn to dance. I think it would be great though; serve some hot-dogs, popcorn, and veggie burgers and some beverages to wash it down, and the audience could generate more revenue for the group than the students.

But anyway, I was talking to Heather about dancing and it was readily apparent how dance is soooo very different and personal to someone. For Heather, she was open and shared with me that she was taking these group lessons and how she was feeling like she had to find someone close to her height and that she might be the one ending up leading the lesson.

I had a completely different conversation. I was literally admitting that I liked to dance. That was HUGE for me a year ago. I used to abhor dancing and anything closely related because I was so scared and unskilled in that activity. Then things changed. Music changed. Dancing changed. I suddenly found myself feeling music to the point where I was involuntarily lifting my legs and moving my head and finding the rhythm...and being overjoyed by the experience.

And that's when I met my dancer friend and we had quite a few adventures. But dancing was more an experience of appreciating a form of music and letting my body express that closeness and not the socio-awkward, chick-picking-up kind of scene that had scared and tainted me in high school.

I felt good to join in Heather's appreciation for dance and to admit to a friend that I liked it too, under certain and narrow circumstances, but it was a relief. I felt we got closer because of our talk.

And it made me want to dance so bad here on this Wednesday night of blah. The lights, the energy, the sweating bodies and swooping hair and captured glances. I miss it.