Thursday, March 31, 2011

9 Days Paradise - Third Chapter

He was surfing, a glistening streak of bronzed sinew cutting through the crystalline white and blue. I stood rooted to the sand, toes curled in the hot grains watching him slice the sea. At the tender age of 18 my mouth hung open in a gauche display of gangly teenaged lust. I barely felt my friend's bony elbow dig into my side as we both watched him step from the surf like some kind of ancient god come to life. 
He flashed us a brilliant smile laced with mischief and candor before coming to stop in front of us. Dropping his purple surfboard at our feet he laughed and struck up a conversation. I no longer remember what we talked about or for how long but I remember every line of his face. Every curve and twist of his body. Every strand of hair of his head. 
He spent the day with us showing us the sights and sounds and smells of his home, his Kona-town. And when my friend slipped into our hotel room in the early evening cursed with a sunburn in need of aloe, I spent the evening with him. Dinner and a walk on the sand under a full luxiourus moon blessed me for the next 15 years of solitude. 

Monday, March 28, 2011

9 Days Paradise - Second Chapter

There's ocean beneath me now. I'm flying in the great metal bird toward the brithplace of a king. It's a fathomless blue at this height, a dark royal blue kissed while white as the breakers crest out in the sea. There is a whale breaching just below us, says the happy voice of the captain from the PA system.
There is no one sitting next to me, so I lean over to to see if I can catch a glimpse of the leviathan below. I can't.
I'm alone with my thoughts for this short jaunt to Kona. Only 55 minutes trapped inside the steel hull of the plane.
Will he be there waiting for me at the airport? Once I had gained control of my pounding heart and racing blood, I responded to the soul changing email. I raided a box buried in the closet. Buried under the past, buried under everything I am trying to forget. Until I found it. His smiling white teeth flashing against bronzed skin.
I responded.
Two simple words.
I'm coming.

9 Days Paradise - First Chapter

This story will be written over the course of ten days utilizing only the notes function on the Ipod or Iphone. This will be presented warts and all.
It is also available on Textnovel

The sun hasn't risen yet by the time I land in Honolulu. Walking in the dark between terminals, my bag heavy on my shoulder despite being almost empty, I look at the sky. It's that early morning pink, the same color of the underside belly of a freshly skinned salmon. In a few hours I'll be on kona. I have no idea what I'm doing, dressed in a cheap box store tee- shirt, oversized faded jeans and flip flops in Hawaii.
I'd been to the islands once before when I was 18. Firmly on the cusp of childhood and adult life, the wispy summer before high school grads make that all important jump to college, the islands had pulled me in for a jaunt that lasted a month. I'd boarded the plane bound for home back then without a backwards glance and set my life on the path I'd been treading ever since.
Hawaii never crossed my mind again in those 15 years...until a week ago.
The email was simple. Two words from an unknown address. Something burst in my head, a flash of intense longing and pain I'd thought I was having an anuyerisum.
I shot away from the computer, fear making my hands shake. It couldn't have been from him. It's been too long. He no longer kept me up at night with the constant replayed of shared memories. Until now. Two simple works sent me packing instantly.
Come Home

Thursday, March 10, 2011

The journey continues...

I have found the path once more.
There was a time when it diverged away from me,
I let myself be swept away from the true calling.

I am writing plays again. I am writing again. For a while there I was gripped with an all consuming writer's block and I couldn't write word. The floodgates have opened and I am once again gripped by my muse. I want to write everything and anything. I feel all powerful in my prose once again. My art is breathing and screaming inside of me. It is an amazing feeling to have.
There is a sense of loss when you as a writer, as an artist, are in the deathly clutches of writer's block. There are phantom pains in your hands and fingers, those appendages that help us express the very thoughts locked in our heads and souls. Your head hurts as if your brain is in a vice that is constantly being tightened. As long as you are under the evil spell, you forgot who you truly are.

I am a writer. I write. It is something I need to do. It is as essential to me as oxygen or water. If I could never write again I would shrivel and wither like a dried grape on the vine passed over by the vintner.

Back to work I play is calling me to finish. After that I will treat myself to sleep.

I love being an artist.

Sunday, March 06, 2011

I want to be an ostrich

I wish I was the kind of person who could stick their head in the sand and not care about anything beyond their sphere of existence.
I am an activist. I donate my time and money to making this world a better place. When a crisis happens I think of same way I help. Many times I feel as if I am not doing enough. Sometimes I wish I could be like people I know where the world's struggles don't bother them. The earthquake in Haiti was deemed, "Oh that's sad" and the BP disaster "Guess that means we don't get fresh fish this year" A massive earthquake in New Zealand leaves them asking me...Where is New Zealand? Half the time these people have no idea what is going outside American Idol and Keeping up the Kardasians.
The kind of person who has no idea what Prop 8 is why I fight it with every fiber of my being.
There are some many things out there that escape those people's notice.
It would be some much easier to live my life like that. My head stuck deep in the desert sand, my world only encompassing me. But I'm not like that. I simply can't look away when people need help. I have been blessed with an amazing family, wonderful caring friends, and good life. I need to give back.
I am an activist. I am an American. I am a human being.

If you want to help me help others here are a few organizations I support: