The Previs Project

2010-05-11T20:05:00.000-07:00

Afternoon After Evening
Apr 8th, 2010 | by Previs

sunset in Quincy

No way of getting there and you come here

Breaking the rules and staying up late

It is afternoon when you leave while there are clear blue skies and a crisp winter afternoon in January

Your boots and your bags in the front hall

An embrace I hope you felt to your core

Headed down the stairs I wait till the door closes itself

Watching where your feet were until only a crack remains

The door locks and my thought process stalls to begin again

I see the space you parked in from my window

It is empty

Not the same one as before

How strange of me to remember these little things

How peculiar to consider something of your touches and glances

It seems I’ve been this way for hours now

Suspending my mind in irrepressible reflection of you

Hours turn into these months

Comeback?

2010-05-11T20:04:00.000-07:00

Posted by: Previs | Date: Apr 8th, 2010 | Poems | Edit | No Comments yet |

ComeBack?
Apr 8th, 2010 | by Previs
Stella

Maybe somewhere all this forgiveness and difficulty

Exponential heart tears and running from feelings yet still having too much to survive

Will end.

Where?

Hope in my head where love died and I was dead ,

Motivated, diligent, consideration;

My ideas never stop as you would know,

My thinking has no end…

This scheming-intensified-stop-at-nothing-die-for-you-climb-the-highest-mountain-for-you-walk-five-hundred-miles-for-you-severely-serious -romantic

Has some crazy ideas.

Like;;

For example:

Catching a plane; approximately tomorrow morning,

Running to where you work on the other side of the continent,

Casually reading a paper; sipping a coffee, and greeting you.

Surprised, you would probably hate me, and send me home.

It was a thought.

I have more, but they are worse!

When you know someone and love someone at the same time you can easily within a few minutes of thought – bring them to shock.

Possibly without realizing.

Like;;

For example:

What would be on that paper I am reading?

Would it even be a paper? Or would it be a million words I have written about her?

What would I have behind that paper? Would it be flowers? A cd? A picture album? A matchbook? A book of emails?

What shirt would I wear?

I think I would start by ripping out the soduko part of the paper.

I would be prepared to leave just as quickly as I got there and without reservation say goodbye again.

And then one day again;

Most likely a few more times.

There has never been un-love;

It hasn’t all been good, but

My being is completely completed by you.

This may be an infatuated statement.

Come back?

Let me surprise you one day?

—-

The truth is,

She will probably never open the doors and find me sipping a coffee while reading a newspaper with a square cut out,

No

I wouldn’t take that chance.

It has been a nice thought for the past few days though;

And wondering and hoping and caring and loving you are just what my life seems to find enjoyable at the current time.

With that;;

IWillRefrain

Weight of the World

2010-01-24T08:53:00.000-08:00

Weight of the World

I am always amazed at how much hurt there is in the world.

We are full of emotional walls and parameters that keep us in a false feeling of security, or worse; a world of incredible fear. The emotional abuse we take as humans is sometimes catastrophic in nature and can literally ruin an entire life, preventing us from achieving half the life we were meant to and leaving us wondering why we can’t just be free, why we can’t just leave. It’s our own insecurities and fears that keep us in these boxes that we have made for ourselves.

Why is it when something troubles us we cannot speak out? Where has our voice gone? Somehow something renders us incapable of saying something, incapable of going somewhere, doing something, being someone. I don’t know how hard it used to be, but with all these laws and rules and certificates and needs it seems impossible and impassable. Many of these things cost so much money or take so much time or require such emotional healing that something stable is never reached in a lifetime.

Where do these people that have it all together come from? What did they do so differently? Are we jealous? Do we wish for their lives? Are they happy? Are they hurt?

The weight of humanity can sometimes drag us down, especially when you have had a week from hell itself. Not only are your own problems overwhelming, but everyone else seems to have hit the bottom too. Its times like this when broken people connect in their brokenness and find something to fill them up because they are so done with life that even their bones cry for something to rescue them.

I suppose this is where I bring God in, His promises and desires for our life. That’s great and all, and happy to think about the fact that there is always our Creator to fall back on in our emotionally corrupt empty state as if He has finally managed to get our attention by allowing some tragedy to happen. Without a doubt the effects of sin is consequence. That’s not even anything to do with God; that is simply life.

What if you don’t deserve that? What if you never did anything that would amount to that consequence? Then what do you believe? Do you sit at home paralyzed in fear because of the way your body looks? Are you unable to express genuine emotion because you have been so trampled in relationships? Do you believe lies that say you aren’t good enough, you can’t do that, it’s your fault, you’re a bitch, a whore, a slut, a fuck up, a fake; worthless?

We let words set in and actions in the past control us in our futures, even define us. Who are we when we are scared and frail and stripped from who we once were? What the hell is wrong with us?!

There was this guy named Jesus who I feel very far away and disconnected from sometimes but I still know He exists somewhere in the pit of my heart. He quoted the prophet Isaiah while speaking in an old–school church saying that he was sent “to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed”. Are we then, supposed to look to, and realize that this Jesus and this God who is his father is going to free us from all those prisons we have created? Is he going to make us see? Is he going to restore our hearts to a point of wholeness and freedom?

My answer is yes. You may take a different side of that simply because of where you are at in life and what point of hardness a heart has experienced or what brought you up to believe things and the impressions and stereotypes and messed up views of anything Jesus related and religious in your life. Regardless of this, I believe that freedom must be found, sight must be restored and wholeness must be achieved. If we can see that essentially what this Jesus dude came to teach us is a life of love and compassion, of being content and joyful always, sharing in brokenness, encourage, strengthen, and having the faith in Him and comfort in the fact that yes, this world is messed up, but we don’t have to live in prisons of emotional darkness and insecurity.

It seems many of my friends as of late are going through great difficulties. These are big, grown-up, real-life problems. Things that define you for long periods of time and cause havoc with your emotions, things that destroy you socially, leave you poor, helpless, and alone.

These are the times when we are able to realize that we cannot do it on our own strength. Countless hours can be spent in anger or regret or tears, focusing on how bad a situation is. Life is hard, yet in the midst of the wreck that seems to be your life there is a good God yelling “freedom!” at the top of his lungs in hopes you will notice.

Identical Ingredients

2010-01-13T11:56:00.000-08:00

Identical Ingredients

Once in awhile something comes along in life that inspires you to think about how much a life is worth. The details, not just how much the insurance company puts on your head.

Value.

Worth.

These have been completely degraded in our society, so much so we actually seriously will feel, talk, and act like someone is of a lesser value then ourselves. Where have we gone wrong and is this right to a degree? Have we not maybe destroyed ourselves and found our own being worthless? Is that why we result to things that harm us?

There is someone I know who has, I think, to a very deep degree been treated as though they’re human value is of a certain inferiority. They may not even realize. Our actions sometimes are a pre-requisite for our self-worth, in which case we think of ourselves as some pretty low people sometimes. We waste so many years of our lives doing things that we know are not good for us, being around and involved with things that do not deserve our time, effort, and money. Everyone is allowed mistakes and low times, but our human worth should on top of it all remain the same. We can be struck with a tragedy that marks our lives forever, yet it is how we live the rest of our life that counts.

So to you, who are worthless in your own eyes sometimes: you are valued, you are well-liked, and you have managed to bring my value up by simply knowing you.

I just find it ridiculous that a human being can give or take away another person’s worth without realizing they are also a person made of the same ingredients.

Small Town

2010-01-11T09:14:00.000-08:00

If it is easy to explain a thought to this person then I have been fruitless.

Forget the meaning of desire, it is traded and stolen for something I will never personify:

Two very different worlds now have their fingers woven together and legs knit between legs,

All too quickly it seems I have my emotional arms around your body, gliding romantic fingers on your back and memorizing passion in your lips.

You are not used to me, nor have I ever been acquainted with someone quite like you:

Inimitable experiences and stories put you in a class of your own,

A mission to understand you would fail, so trying remains intriguing:

Trying to see through the softest skin I have known, – wandering and feeling all these perfect curves with eyes closed -

(A heart radiating through these meticulous hands with rough skin but the best intentions)

Embraces are pronounced, tight, fused; complete.

Two hurting worlds finding solace in each other.

Tonight together again we will feel safe and secure like there was nothing that could hurt us there; in that closeness under those covers and maybe we will sleep in peace and minds will stop their unremitting darkness at night.

For that brief time I am living again, breathing a feeling, knowing that falling asleep with you in my arms is the best part of this life in the present.

2009-11-20T16:21:00.000-08:00

2009-11-20T16:08:00.000-08:00

The Death Of One

2009-09-30T22:09:00.001-07:00

Its like a damn death.
Death I say!
The meeting, transpiring, association, and ending of a relational get together we have called this epidemic of a so called love.
Or like.
There is no difference.
We know what love was designed to express.
Circumstances find their way into this and make life impossible and hard and absolute chaos in our minds…
As we lay sleepless;
Without each other,
Without that someone;
How many days can you go alone?
How many times can you say you are content?
Until
You and I are together and we are fabulous in love in heart and in being with one another beside each other
Your body in my arms, your head in my hands, your cheek resting on my shoulder
I live for these moments, times of embracing,
At least we feel something, at least we are not dead,
There is life, as little or big as it may seem to you, it is something of value, something of worth,
The adulterated ending is already conspiring against us, thoughts of distance and timing and readiness un-available.

Romance? I Know Nothing Of It.

2009-09-30T16:32:00.001-07:00

Yes, of course I realize this is ridiculous.

--------------------

I stopped for a moment, realizing I was where we were four years and one month ago when those sprinklers came on and it began to rain on our blanket under the stars.
You kissed me and said “you made it rain!” I was so happy you were happy, with your green shirt and white skirt and gorgeous eyes done to match.
I wondered if the sprinklers still came on at 11:42pm on a Wednesday.

People I find attractive it seems are only that because I have known that look before: it is familiar.
They are beautiful because they in some way remind me of you.

It is as if there is a man inside of me attempting to construct a perfect scenario, like an artist with canvas or an architect of a fine home, he has days of such deep thought he wants to forget, yet he writes everything down whether or not it will be of use.
Now ;
In mid thought I…I…
He pens these words:
“Dearest Alie,
I miss you. It is thunderous days like today that I am reminded of our dancing in the streets and our kisses on your deck. I write these words as thunder booms and lightning flickers outside. I went out, and the second I did I thought of it - it always being rainy somehow in that summer of love we first shared. Now as I watch the lightning bounce off these massive rain drops I miss you deeply, and long for you to run out into the streets like the kids we were. How un-tainted by the world, yet tainted we were. I say all this to say I love you, and whatever may become of our lives I will always think of you in joy and goodness; especially when it rains.
- Noah.”

What ridiculous man would write such horrendous cheese?

Here I am with time passed still thinking about you everyday, waiting for you to return. Waiting for something to return, since we left there is that chasm that I try to ignore and step around and some days it just takes over the rest of the land, and that canyon becomes a mountain that I want so badly to climb like it is un-avoidable, and I wish it would get dark again so I don’t have to look at it.

I never really liked airports much after that.
We would forever cease to lose it you know, and I cant imagine us ever being able to get rid of that massive heart trouble.

I sit here right now as I am on a balcony sipping Strawberry wine; (then a flash in my head ) there I am walking in the streets of Calgary and I cant get her away from me, somehow a tune manages to find me and whisper a sweet memory.
Be yourself is all that you can do,
In your honor;
You are SO cool!
To walk into a kitchen is a disaster; you always leave the cupboard doors open.
Our socks always on.
The element of danger and excitement that comes from expansive adventures continental in size right down to sneaking into rooftop hotel pools.
A fine frenzy was a lover not an almost when I remember you in an apron, winning shuffle board of all things; paddling in canoes and cold nights in mountains, new years eve in a hot tub, endless patios, beaches and sunsets. There with each other for each other.
I always kept cherry chapstick in my left pocket, when it came to our lips meeting they never said goodbye; I think of you skipping school and summer days when my lips couldn’t go on but they would willingly find a way.
All this just off the top of my silly head that never stops thinking and a heart that never stops feeling.

Everything carried on, everything found a way; not because of the physical body telling us to, (with its strange chemical reactions to emotion and romance) but because there was passion driven with the strength of more locomotives then the world has, and the station to which they all arrived was
You and I.

I HAVE A DISEASE

2009-09-12T00:50:00.001-07:00

date unknown

I HAVE A DISEASE

At first I write about your eyes, words I have inked down before with the same classy speech and intentional poetic genius. What a lady you are, how fine and maturely carried.
I have known you two hours and noticed more things about you then most men notice in months. How you walk,
how you smile,
how to make you laugh,
Your colour of hair eyes earrings shorts and shoes; and,
what you want to do with your life, what you like to eat and how you like to paint.
I have looked into your soul and from the few words you have said its almost like I understand you;
it is almost as if I knew you from days past - yet now one sentence later:
I have known you for 5 days and they feel like years.
Care is now taken, and feelings that are from a deep spot rise to the surface and we talk every night and we stay up late with each other.
We wonder what the other is doing and how they are and if we can make them smile and laugh.
Text messages are sent in a recurring cycle of updates and inside jokes and we can see each others faces as our phones vibrate and we will laugh and reminisce as if its been too long since we have last embraced.

I should have a warning sign on my chest, or a tattoo on my forehead that says “I have a disease”.
I do believe it has been impossible to find the cure.
You will fall in love with me, and about every two weeks I will find another one of you.
It’s a disease.
I have a disease.
I think it may be due to traumatic heart failure in my adolescent years.
Nothing is saved, nothing is unique, everything is shared. Those albums have been played, those songs have memories with someone else.
We discredit everything; nothing means the same and we are left with something that should have been special, previously un-done and gently used.

We have both done this before, yet still certain situations will make us unique.
This is the kind of thing you talk about for years, the kind of stories you will want to tell everyone but you cant and you wont and you will probably fight to forget one of these days.
Still; we don’t need consequences, and we imagine for ourselves a silly forgetful world of just two people, because that is all our minds will see.
When they do come (those damn consequences), and they will come; we will be in thought and a slight emotional state hanging on to our memories and laughter and best times and vivid clear romantic nights full of great conversation and passion of words with shocking surges of electrical touches.
Then one day as we sit all by ourselves we will hope and pray that we will have a God-like encounter and our hearts will be whole again ready to be mangled and used by someone else of just the same calibre only less, because we are less and less, born of dying.

In contradiction there is a romance, a life, and a
Living
          Growing
                      Learning
                                   Striving
                                              Fearless
Heart inside of us that is destined and determined to find love somehow; and though we may fail and repeat processes we carry on always with the best intentions and:
I still have a disease but I still care and I am still human and I am capable of a love that is far better then you ever will know.

The cure is always coming.

The human conundrum…

2009-08-24T18:11:00.001-07:00

The Human Conundrum
June 27 2009

Sometimes lessons come easy to people, or they hear things like advice, and they follow that advice. Some people aren’t so fortunate. Most of us learn from our mistakes, but there are many of us who still make those same mistakes after we learn from it the last time. What is wrong with our human head? Do we expect to wake up one day and not pay for the consequences? The mind is a scary place. If no one knows, and no one ever finds out, and no one ever has to know, the problem is you still know. Though you don’t want it in your head, its there, and what you did has and will be there for eternity in you. So then, what is the solution, and, I ask you, is there?

Are we hurt?

2009-08-20T08:57:00.001-07:00

August 11 2009

We hurt people sometimes.
I hurt people sometimes.
Sometimes I think that I have managed to have a dozen lifetimes of hurting people and a slew of wreckage and emotional debris trailing behind me.
When I think about how much hurt and pain I have caused people, namely ex-girlfriends, I am sleepless. I become an insomniac not because of something that has been done to me but because of something that I have done to them. When someone hurts me that is something I can control, I can get over it in my own way, and control my reaction, and seek Gods strength and give them forgiveness and grace. When it is me that is hurting someone I become completely helpless in this situation. I cannot undo the hurt I have caused, I cannot take it back. What’s done is done. I did not mean to, I never meant to, but sadly in this world of sin and temptation and life circumstances even the strongest falter. I can beg forgiveness till I lose my breath but if that person does not forgive me and make conscious efforts to repair themselves nothing is ever going to be better.

Today, if you are in the midst of trying to forgive someone, please don’t get hard, don’t get bitter. Maybe that person doesn’t deserve your forgiveness, maybe you will forever hope they choke on a couple honey roasted peanuts and die. If they have asked your forgiveness it is up to you now. As un-fair as that sounds - your heart could be ripped apart and the other person could be fine, but if you go off the deep end after that, then man, that’s up to you. Strange hm? There needs to be something that we turn to that helps us heal. Whatever that is for you, if it is building a strong network of friends then rely on them as much as you can, if it is God seek Him out and find Him, if it is taking up your old hobbies, going on a road-trip, reading a bunch of books in the sun…

God has this unlimited bountiful supply of a thing called grace, and what that does is eliminate a memory of the sin that you have just caused. I read something recently that basically said God doesn’t forget your sin, He just chooses not to remember it. He limits Himself. Humanity has a little more difficulty in the matter however, for example there are whole countries that never forget the wrong done to them, children that never speak to their parents, and people that have been so cut up that they spend their entire life in disrepair. I would suggest the impossibility of world forgiveness and grace here. There have been people in my life who have hurt me deeper then you can imagine, and that has shaped me to a degree, just like I know you have hurt that has changed you somehow.

Its up to you to forget, as much as it has hurt, as much as it has cut you apart and ripped open your seams, forgiving is what is best for you. Someone said three words to me once, and they were three extremely powerful words at the time: let it go. To which my reply was “I can’t.” Now my reply is I have, and I am a far better person for it.

In regards to hurting someone else; if you have sincerely lamented, apologized, and asked forgiveness then that is all you can do. It is up to that person now, and maybe you might have to sacrifice a relationship. You need to forgive yourself. I know the worst kind of pain for me is living with the thought that I caused someone suffering. It is a deep deep pain in my heart when I hear or see that someone has been made worse by knowing me.

I really was in Michigan this time

2009-08-19T09:25:00.001-07:00

Port 412, St. Joseph, Michigan

A trip around Lake Erie:

The noise of windmills, birds in the morning, and your breathing;
Created an un-founded never discovered beauty.
It didn’t matter if I was here before,
This was so different that it felt like it was the first time being someplace new.
We’ve been on the road for a few hours, who knew what we could find: we are alive and we are breathing and we are happy and it is raining.
Raining life.
Then it stops.
Long enough for beauty in nature to be explored passing over hill and moving away tree branches, opening up to views of a Cliffside and beaches and water that never ends in these eyes.
We are here at a time I have never been; three-hundred and fifty feet above lake Erie.
Jumping off the edge and landing in a serene abyss of colour and waves;

- Freedom becomes a reality in a place that is away but not so far -
Suddenly we find ourselves in a green field looking out a moon roof watching stars in this absolute darkness away from the city and all things people.
Nothing but the noise of a windmill is around us; arms around each other falling asleep in an un-comfortable place.
Comfortable.
You are here and we have made it, the sound of blackbirds and finches in the morning, stepping out to reveal a warm sun and a fast wind.
They are moving, those windmills, and as we leave there is a kiss under the massive white spinning strange giants.
A kiss for adventure, and arms wrapped for living;
Being alive and singing off key, smiling, making fun of each other, snuggles, and kisses with coffee breath.
Apologizing.
We are fun and there is joy along this road with diving swallows and fields of hawks and vultures and small towns.
Arriving home we are spent. Our days together will never cease and these were far above our roles as romantic partners.
This is love and this has been an adventure.

What Matters?

2009-06-24T19:00:00.001-07:00

What matters.
June 16 2009

It seems that all of a sudden we are faced with things that matter.
Where priority was of great importance, we find elsewhere over time.
Neglect.
That’s a word we all know, we don’t dwell on it for the most part, nor do we realize what it truly is.
Who have we become when our selfish desires out-weight the cost of human emotion? Even, what are we?
Hands trembling I write this with great emotion and say this out loud:
“We must above all costs recognize what our priorities are, and entrench their names in our heads so we think about often, pray for, and visit those we truly care about.”
That is IF you care.
We have dimmed down every possible string of humanity and made ourselves shallow and done nothing but affix a price tag to a persons worth and numbed our feelings. Time is of a value we know nothing of.
Ask anybody who has lost someone close to them and they will tell you they wouldn’t even think of the price tag, and pay whatever the cost was for five more minutes with that person.
So why do we wait? Why do we want to get to the last stretch of life, and then, as if we didn’t see it coming, all of a sudden open up our emotions and embrace those we never have?
Here, with an honest heart, I am willing to say I have failed in this matter, I have seen things coming, thought about them, and even slightly prepared myself.
Its just so hard to show someone you have seen your whole life how much you love them sometimes, how much you care, how much you respect, and how much you value them in your life.
There is a frustration here.

So I look at those people with eyes that scream out an emotion and maybe they look at me back the same way, but it will never be verbalized. At least not until it is to late.
I remember never hugging my grandfather (at least to my knowledge) and then my grandmother passed away. I gave him a hug the day of the funeral. It was awkward, but I wanted so bad to just embrace the man.
So, I shake his hand every time I come in the door and every time I leave, and I look at him with those eyes, and I am not so sure if he gets it, and I am not so sure if he knows what I am trying to communicate.
Then, one day, it will be to late.

There are no pictures, because we cared to much about our own life, our own things, our own friends.
There is no understanding. There is mystery and there is un-fathomable depths of information we never paid attention to. There are places and people and stories that you never heard about because it wasn’t convenient for you. It wasn’t forced on you.
Now all of a sudden just when you want to see into all this life of intricate detail the man himself can’t quite make it out.
Maybe if you talked about it.
A memory forgets things that never come up, and they are put in hiding for good reason.
Why a war shapes the rest of someone’s life I hope I never know. Why that map is so important and what those medals stand for, I should of asked. Years ago now.
And so;
This particular day I find myself giving my Grandfather a hug. It has maybe been ten years since the last one.
Why does it take us so long to realize the importance?
It seems just a few years ago I was a clueless little boy who completely misunderstood the value of a life.

That’s what our world does though right? We look out for ourselves and have no concept of time or what the word neglect means for us. So today maybe just think about what really matters, and I guarantee you will come up with a long list of people you haven’t thought about in awhile.

Rain Drops

2009-06-24T18:25:00.001-07:00

Rain Drops

It rains some more, the music plays:
As the guitar comes in a rain drop slides down a window pane,
Hit’s the bottom just in time for the;

Beat

Like my heart is a little faster [more].
All the fields are lush green on this long highway,
So much that this two hour drive feels like a second of a dream sequence …

Smiling and content my first thought as your eyes leave mine is to say a prayer:
Bless your genuine squeezed heart.

Rain drops and puddles in parking lots

Passing places of old times
Laughing while making new times.

I remembered all the scenes where we held hands.
Every time I see the colour I have a picture of a -face-
Its on all natures growth and in the walls of every house I spend my time in.

There I go again, with a big stupid-faced dumb smile,
Comforted with five minutes of conversation.
You never remembered much anyway!

So all the best as I back up,

down the drive and around the corner:
Nothing but good wishes and the highest of respect for someone I will never cease to care for

The Promise

2009-05-26T14:20:00.001-07:00

The Promise.

Steadfast; Secure.
When my eyes meet yours there is no hesitation and there is so much response:
Nothing literary could possibly explain,
Something death could not even separate;
For when you die my heart dies and when I die your insides will die with me.
I made a Promise to you years ago;
It said I love you, I said,
I said.
I reached down into my stomach and pulled out an emotion, a reality, a logic, a life, a love, a future, a past.
Now;;
This deep yearning desire is devoted to a human.
I grasp your hand;
Although there are many scenes for my eyes to focus on I look beside me and despite the geographical wonders of the sunsets and the wild crashing beauty of waves,
I can only see you:
I will only see you.
The Promise.
The times of trouble,
The alarms sounding,
Of looming erupting thunderstorms;
You wont go down, no, you wont drown.
Safe.
I will be your man,
Prepared:
When the darkness comes we are there together because that is our lives,
If everything we have is gone;
If nothing is left in this great world,
We will always have each other and our times of significance.
You are all I need: These
Times of fantastic intimacy;
Times of I love you;
Times of glorious sacred adventures;
Times of me beside you:..
The pictures from our adventures, from when we first met;
We will keep those, always, :
On our walls and in our boxes and floating all around the house in very obvious and inconspicuous places.

I know this Promise is something one can never break;
Erosion is not welcome here and building stone upon stone upon stone of great wealth and value is booming in this magnificent community of You, and
I.

Captain Black

2009-05-14T20:35:00.001-07:00

May 17 2006

I watched the water go from completely calm, to wavy, to choppy today.
I sat there warm in the sun and watched fish jump, leaving ripples that went on for days.
There was a bird that couldn’t fly as well as the rest, I thought that he might have been immature or young.
I expected it to fly like all the other birds.
The wind was visible in the distance, and the darker line of an approaching storm began to grow larger.
Colours of the water changed.
What was dead now seemed to be breathing,
Reaching out to grab rocks and rub itself against break-wall.
I saw it before I felt it in the wind.
The line was no longer there but an encompassing feeling of cold breeze.
The water turned rugged like someone was upset.
All this happens as I puff on a cigar,
And in the time it takes me my life is somehow

better.

A Deep Love For People

2009-05-14T20:18:00.001-07:00

Sometimes we come upon moments in our lives when we need to take a step back and see once again why we are doing the things we are doing. It is important to know and understand why you are where you are at, and note the importance of your purpose. We each have a drive, a passion, a hunger, and a dream that keeps us up for long hours talking with great friends.

What happens when we forget those dreams? What happens when they get old, and withered, and die off like a flower without sunshine?

Deterioration.

So it is with everyone who lacks the strength to perform at a constant flow. We as people by nature go through some terrible down times and some incredible high times. My point is, our dreams need to continue.

Write them down. Have a top ten list. There are many dreams that are never completed, but look at history and find all the dreams that were achieved by great sons and daughters of passionate dreaming people.

This life needs some deep rooted concrete desires to push us forward in our character and view of the world. Follow your heart. Create some bigger dreams. If you can do it, your not dreaming big enough, if it sounds impossible I guess you better get to work.

Below is something that reminded me of my dreams, my passion, my purpose. I hope this encourages you wherever you are at to dig deep and push hard for the good things you desire most in life.

June 24, 2008

Last Tuesday Night in Bolton

I think that real love is something that is with you after you leave.

You don’t need to see that person, or those people in order to express your love, they just know by what you have shown them in the little time they have known you.

Why must we have this constant leaving and coming, attaching and disconnecting? New chapters and open doors closing doors, and still more books un-opened. We don’t forget, in fact, what is hard is when we remember. The good, happy, joyful times in life are to be remembered. The only way to truly enjoy these chapters and stories and shifting change is to love, to have loved, to have done great good, and love once more again and again.

Seeing this is what drives my heart and my passion. This goodness is satisfying to me because of what I helped do in someone else.

I am loved, because I have loved.

Think about this; even when one is doing something wrong, the times we remember to be happy were the times we made it through with someone, we laughed, smiled, hugged, had a moment, and a memory of a form of love. Anything and everything outside of love is empty and meaningless.

My trouble is there are still people in this world that would not know this kind of love.

We can fill ourselves with alcohol, drugs, our minds with lust and our hearts with material desire, but what we are all truly searching for, and what we are all truly in need of is this love.
I think as soon as we are born we begin a quest to find this, an adventure back to being whole and complete.
So leaving is not in vain, because it reminds us of that love, and that love will continue until the world runs out.

“I don’t understand how someone can love a group of people and then leave them. Does not love go on forever?”

Here’s where we get back to the beginning. Real love is something you can always come back to, always hold on to, cherish and know.
So when someone asks me why I can leave, I say because I know my love will continue, because it is now apart of who those people are. A part of me is in them.
It is now time for the opportunity to continue love in someone, someplace, and somewhere else.

To those who I have had the privilege of serving and knowing for the past 3 years - you know who you are, and I think you know just how much I love you and care.

Thanks for loving me too.

Smile

2009-05-01T10:44:00.001-07:00

Smile

Walking and smiling and living and
Finding myself here now on a brief brisk beach walk
Wearing hooded clothes of high fashion with great passion
In each step your chilly ivory feet have created
What was dead now living being life and change and
Happy with oneself.

Rain For Seven Days

2009-05-01T09:52:00.001-07:00

Rain For Seven Days

I’ve seen it rain for seven days before.
I watched it and saw it and heard and listened.
The whole time thinking about you;
Impractical,
Confusing,
Lovely,
You.
The grass turned green and the rocks were wet,
the tide came up and the ground opened spewing life.

Idiosyncrasies.
Let me tell you,
They remind me of
Sensible smart sexy simple sarcastic serious sensual,
You.

The skies always cry
Instantly I am reminded of a time on a cliff in the summer of some year asking politely if I can kiss you now, my second kiss of becoming;
A second kiss of a first real love.
Naïve,
Now all grown up I have nowhere to go.

The best part about rain:
Awkward,
Confident,
Honest,
Pleasant,
You.

The Death Of Myself Three: I’m Sick Inside

2009-04-20T13:49:00.001-07:00

The Death Of Myself
Three
I’m Sick Inside

My heart has overdosed,
Its also become a suicidal manic;
Shallow breathing and building of resentment,
Emotionally dead.

The heart is wrecked.
For some reason the outside is even feeling like its sick:
Motionless.

A drought.

Inside is displayed outside.
Shoulders down, slouched;
My feet drag on the ground.
Fate?
Why nothing works escapes me and I am beside myself looking at myself in dry distant eyes.

Say something, anything

My obvious statements are not enough,
This mind has been abused,
This mind has been confused, and;
All the love in the world is out of those windows.

You know its bad when you can touch someone and not feel, when you can swallow fine scotch and not taste.
There has been something wrong here.

I don’t even feel the sunshine.
There hasn’t been wind in days.
She has gone somewhere and I have gone elsewhere.
They have disowned and I have become alone.

A famine.

If there was light inside my body I would find a way to put it out.
Cover it up.
As I am clenching my hands around my face;
My blatant heart screams “I HAVE STOPPED”
I could do anything and not feel anything.

Palpitations in response to this madness;
Regardless of your letters
Death.

Ferocious Angry Tormented Ruined Faithless Hopeless Wrecked Exploded Lonely
Dark
DEATH.

The Artist

2009-04-14T08:08:00.001-07:00

Artist’s are usually those strange people that others find interesting. They have good taste in music and wear funny hats I suppose.

I like to think we are all artists with certain respect of course given to those “real” ones. Everyone has something inside of them they need to express outside. It doesn’t matter if you suck at it, its you. You are you.

So express yourself in whatever way you want; write, explore, listen to weird music, draw on a t-shirt, spray paint a wall, take pictures of long grass, build a sand castle, write a song, make earrings out of something you found, dye your hair. Do something! If no one understands you don’t worry about it, cause it might never happen.

The Artist

The artist inside lives to be understood by someone, yet no one can; because it is him who he is trying to understand in the first place.

It seems he cuts himself off from reality because he is trying to figure out reality.

They live in different worlds where the rocks are soft and the waves have breath.

He believes, sees, feels, hears, absorbs and makes it into something we already know as something, else, that is
Not obvious

It seems no one notices, or are they screaming for attention
?
With those silly ups and downs and strange
Awkward trendyness.

Circumstantial relativity.
A consistently changing, constantly analytical, sensually associated piece of
Humanity,
Who is:
The Artist.

The Death Of Myself Part Two: The Great Divide

2009-04-14T07:55:00.001-07:00

March 18 - April 2 2009

This is the second part in the “series” I guess you could say. It will be done in two trilogies as I expressed before. This is based more on the spiritual side of death, whereas the last was of physical.

THE DEATH OF MYSELF
Part Two:
The Great Divide

Cave.
A hole.
I crawl out to reveal this:

It is six in the morning as I look across The Great Divide.
Sun hits the rocks and explodes in beams attacking my eyes.
Before I enjoy anything I am cut down,
When I express I digress.

What happened they ask…
Someone opened the door just enough for it to get blown off.
The screws holding the lock lay on the floor somewhere
Well,
I put them there.

It was rough at first, trying to hold that thing shut,
Now I just aggravatingly arrange myself there and watch the distance exponentially increase.
I considered hiking over those hills, across those valleys, crossing those rivers,
But;
It is much easier to sit here in my hole.
In that cave.

Darkness is dark; which sounds silly,
It makes up half my day and all of my night.
Scares and terrors live out here in the barren wilderness.

About once a week I see that Creator;
And I mourn.
I crack.
I cannot.
I am convinced I feel death everywhere and there is life over there.
Across.
Away.
All because of a misunderstood underestimated turn of a knob on a door.

So for now:

Laying and not seeing anything but
Black
Shadowed
Big-haired
Demons
Grabbing at my throat
and Choking me…

Death.
In Repetition.

Apartments and jazz…

2009-03-31T17:59:00.001-07:00

The following three posts are based on stuff that happens at 303.

My apartment.

Its usually rather quiet, so please come visit.

I would like to say once again a big THANK YOU to all who read The Previs Project. It is so encouraging to see people interested in the happenings and writings of little old me. God bless you.

303

2009-03-31T17:47:00.003-07:00

December 11 08

My apartment is haunted.

Its 3:13 in the morning and I sit straight up in my bed as I am reminded of a scene that could play out in my own life.
The moon is full, being washed by a continuous supply of transparent clouds…

Screaming has erupted,

I cant tell whether it is from above or below, and it is an intense yell
Of a woman.
Who has just found a girl on her couch.
In her underwear.
Names and profanity are heard like she was beside me in my room here in 303.
Mostly I just heard a broken heart.
A terrible thing when a man is un-faithful;
Even worse is living with the truth inside you, and having to hide it forever.
Back to sleep with a glance to the evergreens
I wont sleep now, but stare at the moon
Hoping the horror in my head will one day cease

The Apartment

2009-03-31T17:47:00.001-07:00

We need to clean this place up.
This savage disgusted mess of a mess;
My turned out ravaged side-tracked hair,
The stains in the carpet;:
So I sit here a dirty man inside a messy room in a sickly disgusting downtown apartment.

Its time to scrub.
More than just my apartment,
My thoughts have become as dark as a night in the rocky mountains: cold, alone, and sometimes

desperate.

It rains here too.
I haven’t showered in a few days and thinking about rain makes me feel like I’m clean,
Then I wipe my face because I feel beer dripping down my chin and realize that I am an oily cesspool of

Acne waiting to happen.
Its been a long hard cold miserable winter that I am never going to miss.
Its minus twenty outside and the ground has been frozen for months,
much like my feelings and that little thing inside me

Entitled Inspiration.

Needed

2009-03-31T17:41:00.001-07:00

January 29 2009
Needed.

Needed.
Some more than others.
Here a man is in need.
He is me.
He is him.
She is you.
She is me.
He is the gentleman we buy our bread from.
You are needed.
He is needed.
I am needed.
We are needed.
You have been there.

Now;
As I lock the car doors, my hands full
And; walking towards the entrance my head drops.
It is in this time there is a burst of something that I was trying to hide.
My neediness.
Not just for someone to come rescue me from attempting to open this door,
But;
To save me from this corpse like threat of a feeling, the unknowingness of a time and the absence of help.

She is a single hard-working parent.
His name is Hurt.
Her name is Lonely.
He is me.
He is him.
She is you.
She is me.
All are needed, all are purposed for great destinies.

No one will be lost under the coverings of His clouds.

Missing Inspiration

2009-03-24T15:38:00.001-07:00

Missing Inspiration

Sitting here in this city yet another skyline sees it fitting to enthral me in remembering a romance of romances.
What stench it has to walk the streets without a hand to hold,

What I dream of I am not; the openings of the street holes seem like an entranceway into oblivion where you are not there and I am not here.
Walking into store and place and departments of luscious fantasies and empty shenanigans;
Where are the completed realms of you and I and time and seeing through change ?
How treacherous the sidewalks become and traitorous I am to be waging a war in another place.
Down stairs of frustration upon stairs, I am sitting and standing and I am waiting and walking;
Finished is a word that will never suit.

Until.

The Mysterious

2009-03-24T15:16:00.001-07:00

No one knows:

!
Our life adventures and our side-tracked journeys.
They cannot understand what has befallen you, and what you have befallen.
Darkness that I am responsible for haunt me some mornings;
Visions play through my head of days and times that could have been acted out differently,
Missed opportunities for evil that make the body feel good: those I sometimes dwell on.
It was in my hands. Many things were.
And yet;
I get this disbelief in something that I am,
The disbelief in what I have attained,
There is mystery, there are countless hidden stories,
Most never to come out of this tortured mind.
These have shaped my thoughts.
It has been reversed, the actions have shaped the thought…
Am I all there gathered with friends?
Or does this mystery shape me into a man that can never be wholly arrived?

Cosmo Please

2009-03-24T14:46:00.001-07:00

You are so cosmopolitan.
Scarf, stiff heels, buttoned red jacket; even your walk.
The blonde just hanging over your left eye, it gets delicately placed aside and you smile because I see you.
This city is an animal waiting to eat you and devour its ravishing stunning prey.
Careful of his and their; enticing acts,
With their fine wines and trendy conformity.

Acorns In Our Hands Become Trees

2009-03-24T13:28:00.001-07:00

Acorns In Our Hands Become Trees

The conversation about the trees in the backyard:;
Two acorns sprouted life and you remember the very day you gave it to them.
Sandboxes need shade,
So little boys with red hats and blue shoes can bury special rocks and unearth the grounds treasures.

Then; and on to waking at the Spruce trees.
Shade for the pool.
Always thinking about the children, never forgetting their needs.

Chestnuts provided fun for everyone, and within five years “they were doing us well.”
The swing hung from this; Tattered rope, a stained piece of scrap Oak.
“I used to have a couple Birch”
And he watched them grow.

“My daughter went away someplace across Lake Erie”
He remembers the acorns with little caps;
Taking the green watering can out to them and raining in their world.

Sitting here with you in the back kitchen:
There is a man, I think, here is a man whom I will respect for his respectful stories,
And forget everything that doesn’t earn any.

TREES ARE FUNNY THINGS
How something so tall and spread out can come about from a seed;
Reminds me of a man.

Paintings By:

William Davidson

http://williamfdavidsonartist.blogspot.com

April 6 2006

2009-03-24T11:28:00.001-07:00

Fancies sought out upon discovery
Defining no redemptive qualities
Quantity of self-absorption
Abstaining new perceived truths
Tightening the grip on false
Failure of comprehension
Completing

Questions. The First Real Love.

2009-03-24T09:35:00.001-07:00

The First Real Love.

Do you think its possible that we fall in love once and then the rest of times we struggle to find what we once had with that one person?
Do you think that after that ONE time has been had we are done for?
I know your old, and I know we’ve come a long way and I know maybe even some of you are married.
That still doesn’t change something: your first real love.
The real one.
You know.
The one that you wanted to call everyday and made you smile when you thought about them, the girl that you wanted to be with no matter what you were doing, and nothing else mattered, and you couldn’t work or talk or close your eyes without picturing her and wanting to be with that someone.

That’s the type of love I’m talking about.
If were talking about relational love between humans here, I have that question:
Will there always be that void from our first love?
Will we always love them no matter what? Will there always be a desire in ourselves to be with them?
Why must we see them again? Why must we long for that next meeting? Do we? Are we honest?

Is anyone honest? Or; do we just pretend to move on to something more mature and something more correct and something more logical? Is that someone love? Is love practical?
Read 1 Corinthians 13 and then tell me that love is practical.
You don’t even know what love is.
Does anyone?
It definitely only keeps a record of the good stuff, and it is quick to forgive, and apologizes, and is not jealous or envious and it always does something that we are not used to at all.
It always trusts.
We’ve all broken trust.
Its almost impossible to get it back once its been broken, unless you intend on spending years in repairing mode.

So you look at what you are with now and then tell me if that certain someone is comparable to your first real genuine true love.
Think about your first kiss.
Think about your first date.
Think about how you thought about that person.

What stands out?
Innocence maybe?
Naivety?
Truth?

I don’t think there are very many of us that end up with our one true love, nor do we ever stay put long enough in our teen years to see that first true love flourish into something great.
I wish that for years I would have been with one woman, nurturing and building and training and completing and trusting and kissing and walking and sitting and all these things and actions and stuff and places and years.
With this one girl.
Who, is now;
A woman.
A lady.
Much in love with someone else.
Its like that scene in The Notebook when Ali finds out Noah has actually written her all those letters.
It really was real wasn’t it?
She didn’t realize till now.
She put it in the back of her head.
Maybe she thought about it all the time, and then dismissed herself as a silly young woman that didn’t know any better.
The truth is there was all that emotion and all that heart and all that first time lots of things stored up and shared between that one man and that one woman.

They sit alone now, conversing with each other as if nothing ever was.
Maybe they reminisce of the past in good laughter and happy words and polite gesture.
Then when they have ceased they will feel that hole again.
That hand clenching his heart.
The continental divide in her life.

And we wonder why our insides always hurt and our minds are troubled after these meetings and words.

---------------------

BUT
Let me say,
That it would be silly to think that because one has thoughts in this manner that they would give up what they currently have invested in someone to pursue something that is based on emotion or feeling.

I just want to say what I know sometimes our thoughts are.

We are happy.

We are maybe content with that close personal friend of ours.
We never stop thinking of them, and they will always always be a part of us, like you will be a part of them.
It will continue this way.

If you are young,
Hear me:
You will search for love your whole life.
Everything you do comes out of a need and a hunger for love.
More facebook friends.
Music.
Clothes.
Cars.
Girlfriends, and boyfriends.
Pizza.
That’s right, Pizza.
It comforts us.

All these things fill our void.
My hope is that you will read for yourself what love is, learn about it, decide what you deserve, what you crave and why; because this will shape you for the rest of your life.
All we are is a journey back to being wholly loved. The older we get it seems the further we get away from this ideal and the longer we need to heal from all the tragedies that have become us.
There is hope of course, always, and there is love that comes at you correctly in this disturbed city of lives.

Those Eyes

2009-03-16T17:25:00.001-07:00

I have been experimenting with a few different styles and thoughts lately and have decided that I may put some things up to see what you think. I want to be definitively different in style, and so, there may not be correct grammar used in some cases, (such as capitals mid sentence) yet nothing as crazy as ee cummings. I have been brushing up on my books and seem to be ready to dive into this writing thing, simply because I enjoy it.

I do believe that to create something magnificent in your spare time is great, and it becomes part of your legacy. When you die people usually talk for 5 minutes about your work and forever about your hobbies and the life instances of you and your family.

Life instances is what I am all about, I have had countless moments that I would like to record; it is the art in which it is recorded that makes it different from a journal or diary or even the daily news.

Those eyes
March 10 2009

Completely Connected Concerned and Concentrated.

The stripes of your dress wrapping around your Curves forms a living space around you like a mansion on a hilltop;
Covered and Coveted,
The inside holds more treasures than a lost city.
Atlantis was found here looking in the windows.
Those eyes.
Those glassy diamond Cut pieces of inspiration.
You run about in your slacks and your high boots avoiding the puddles on this silly little path we have Come to follow.
Somewhere along the tedious trail Venus came down and was Caught in the Craters of your gentle cheeks.
I Conjured up Courage.
Those mature Channelled wise winning locked passages of fine ripe fruit you call your silent eyes.
Have they Captured and Caged, Coerced and Consumed?
I point a Camera at you and watch and wait as you spin your insightfully Chosen matched umbrella with those tiny finger tips of yours.
I slip!
You have your Carefully Constructed Contagious eyes all done in attractive attentive Colour.

Coincidence?

The Death Of Myself

2009-03-12T20:10:00.001-07:00

This is an idea I have been working on for the last few weeks.
When I told a few people my idea they were worried I was suicidal, and so, I would like to clarify that I am not and that this is artistically articulated. This sometimes figurative piece will happen in two trilogies, based on real life happenings and feelings and understandings of the life and the death. Death, in its three parts, and life, in its glorious different forms.

On another note, I have really been excited about writing lately and have more than enough material to continue for years to come.
I appreciate everyone that reads and am extremely thankful for your interest.
- Previs.

--------------------------------------
The Death Of Myself

A young death.
Of dying and lacking breath.

Decay that is the natural process.
Smoke begins to fill the places where the flesh once stuck to these old, dry, weary wrecked bones.
Wrecked bones.
Abused flesh.

I remained restless as it were, as all hell came upon me in this undignified moment of breaking and failing.

You sickly diseased cankerous whore;
Like a maggot festering in my stomach.
I regretted and spit up and heaved and wished so badly to be someone, anybody but me and anywhere but here.

A transfusion.

Something had been eating away at me for years,
Eroding my character until I ended at this sloppy bloody mess.
Cancer is intelligent,
So are his friends.

The darkness seems to multiply when there is no light to be found,
The clot thickens and is constantly getting worse.
I feel it pinching my nerves and stalking the surrounding air.
Stealing.

A young death.
Of dying and lacking breath.

Culture

2009-03-09T14:45:00.001-07:00

From February 8, 2008.

I took a trip out to Phoenix and California, and while in Santa Barbara California I write this:

It strikes me that there is so much to learn here. Sure the people are people, but they are not normal.
This culture is so unique. Just that, cultured.
I see it so clearly when I look around this room, when I pick up that book, when I browse through that Ipod, when I see that guitar, when I drive on that highway, when I am in that surf shop, and when I have a conversation with the street people.
I love it here.
I love the culture.
I crave more. More understanding of this culture, I want to see the depth that it is. Its ugly and its beautiful, its simple and its complicated.
A lot of times in my travels the simple things are harder to understand and see then the complicated.

Thank you Jason Roque for my adventures in Carpenteria and Santa Barbara.

http://jasonroque.com

My Old Man

2009-03-09T13:37:00.001-07:00

My house is like an art gallery:
All the paintings are done by him.
Some created with imagination,
Others bear the mark of a fashion magazine.
A confusion of colour articulated into precise position.
All the way up the stairs, Springsteen and Presley;
This is the pride of my old man.
He has made a home, accidentally showcasing himself;
Right down to the floors, right up to its ceilings, the art never stops,
The artist never ceases.
The mind wont let him.
And in this property of ever changing figures lives a son, full of pride for his father.

http://williamfdavidsonartist.blogspot.com

Something Gigantic Is About To Happen…

2009-03-05T18:40:00.001-08:00

Don’t forget to check out January and February posts!

Something Gigantic Is About To Happen.

2009-03-05T17:46:00.001-08:00

MAY 2010…

Changing.

2009-03-05T16:58:00.000-08:00

We all go through times of changing and rearranging, of differing our plans and purpose, our situations and places.
Sometimes we shut ourselves off and then one day when we are over inspired or deeply hurt we decide to fix or move on or pursue or remove.
We realize we are robots and have had enough of being controlled by our normality, culture, and those people we call friends.

People have wondered where I was for the past while. I was missing in action for most. I owe you an excuse, and an apology.
I have been through hundreds of pages of books and thousands of hours of thought to get to the point of where I am now.

The Previs Project.

A journey to find, to be found, and connect.
For years now it has been on my heart to travel, and travel I have! God has given me many opportunities to go across the continent.

In May 2010 I plan to go on another trip of a lifetime.
Across Canada, Alaska, BC, and the West Coast of America.

This has been years in my thoughts and more in my dreams. My goal is simple. To love people along the way.
There are more details to come on this, but if you have connections of any kind it would be much appreciated. I am seeing this as a 6 month journey. I will follow soon with more details.
The Previs Project is about more than just some of the writing I have done over the years…yes, more than just girls, haha, it is about loving people. That is where my heart is truly at.

Love God. Love People. Nothing Else Matters.

An Afternoon

2009-02-26T16:44:00.000-08:00

This is such a chivalrous act.
Enticing.
Bold and transfixed.
For you are all I see,
All that awaits.
Sitting there in that chair of yours;
Professional aren’t you?
Demanding the attention of a thousand men, and:
Me.
You are dressed older then you feel, age has become but a number.
Language of wisdom, but it is just noise.
There are many things you cannot know, you do not journey to find out.
There is fear you are hiding.
Did you think I would be like everyone else?
Their lies, their faces, their stories;
I do not want.
I have thoughts of capturing your heart and character in its entirety.
How I wish for the sunset to be upon us and the dead of winter to cease.
You command my attention as I yours,
So elegantly seated beside me on this Sunday afternoon in February.

It Was Your Day

2009-02-06T12:43:00.001-08:00

Chemistry.
Destiny.
Romance and friendship.
Long-standing, nurturing, edifying friends.
Days like today make me wonder if I’m doing the right thing.
Shared dreams and connected goals.
Unified in purpose.
Encouraging and positive.
History.
Intimate knowledge of one-another.
Right under my nose.
How long have I known you?
Your dreams, your attitudes, your looks.
Your respect even when I am at my worst.
Your prayers for the best.
Your skills that I appreciate,
Because;
I have seen them and known them and after all these days and months and years,
I still cant wait to talk to you.

A Day Long After

2009-02-06T12:39:00.002-08:00

When you realize what you have done and time has taken its course and change has become you;
I am years ahead, and you are where it should have been.
Things may have stayed.
Secure.
In days we never really needed, acting on chances that should never have been given.
Gone.
Are careless days and teenage innocence,
Never to become of again.
What selfish dank desire became our reasons?
How boldly we approached this stretch of life that led to this regrettable intelligence.
Numbed now by our monotonous contact,
We slide through a clenched grip to produce this:
New life, New destinations, New encounters.

Confusion

2009-02-06T12:39:00.001-08:00

The confusion in the background.
Here I lie in a dim lit room with the covers pulled up to my throat.
This has become something that we are not, it has made me realize that I am no longer living.
I draw the examples in my shadowed mind, fitting them together like a bridge over this troubling raging beast of a river.
I am there deciding, out in the open, out in this room, out in this head, that out of that window lies a woman who lies next to me even when I am not next to her.
That generates a fear inside, a need inside, a confusion hailing from all the messages and the words and the touches and the places
What is stillness?
What is continuity?
The instability that has become this session of the passing of the clock hands has aggravated and tormented becoming done and un-done
Its ravaging flippant cycles never ceasing
Beginnings are lost on this mattress of thought, and all we are has become a vicious aggressive beast that is waiting to be put to rest.

The Kiss

2009-02-04T08:17:00.000-08:00

2009-01-12

If there was a kiss to start and finish all kisses this would be it.

Do we as breathing people comprehend what it is to love someone without reservation?

The holding back and letting go, in this circle we live.

The most passionate intimate extreme comes to life as if God Himself awoke in you something that had been sleeping all your years.

A kiss of not just mere lips, but a combination of celebrations, body, mind, and the soul.

The soul; of this opening is found not on this earth, but produced in some heavenly realm, held by the God that created these lips and designed them to fit together like the plans of a Master architect.

Pure art.

Like Picasso – each stroke inventively thought out with passion and love, power and control.

We come together so tightly, each of our muscles at their peak.

Embraced.

Involved.

Fixed.

Our hands woven around each other, our legs entangled, desperately seeking any square millimeter that was not touching and finding them a place that was missing contact.

Lips scarcely touch as they dance the world’s greatest dance.

Breath trips up in disbelief of this moment,
All this time the lips have still not wholly come into assembly.

There we are, gathering feeling and momentum,
All the energies of two bodies destined straight for one-another.

A moist tongue lightly wets these lips, and,
There; not tenderly, or gently, or softly, or delicate, or calm they meet with great force.

Everything inside is a rush like everything outside, and the most precious beautiful passionate piece of life is made alive within this moment, this portion of time that will never cease to be thought of and dreamed about.

All screams life after this rainy season, all is in full bright blooming brilliance.

Then; it halts.

The mouth is taking in and letting out air and the eyes stare at one-another.

This continues for there are no words that need to be spoken.

Nothing has been reserved.

Everything is vociferously ecstatically contented.

*vociferously = loudly

Dreamer

2009-01-29T12:51:00.000-08:00

January 28, 2009

Dreams are of such un-attainable things sometimes.
Dreams are of such attainable things.
Always.
There is some way, somehow.
Such is me.
Such is mine.
The dream about the palm trees and about the girl, these are all realized.
Easily.
The dreams of passion, the dreams of reality, the dreams of circumstances un-announced or pre-attained by movies;
Those are mine.
Those dreams that are not foreseeable, those thoughts that never seem to have an ending, those days that never seem to cease;
Those are mine.
That is mine.
That day when all thoughts have come to an abrupt halt and life goes on in time with love and no worry for any circumstances.
Those are my dreams.
That is mine.
I will take hold of these moments, these stations, these times, of selfless fleeting beauties, of ridiculous genuine moments, I will see these and know these.
They are me.
I am different.
I am changed.
I am made anew.
For these moments in time now reflect a love of another, they now distance themselves from normality, they are change.
This is now a man who needs something the world cannot give.
We are all in need of something the world cannot give.
If what inside of us is God, if what is inside of us is nothing of us and everything of Him;
We are the dreams of people, we have become existing dreams.
It is time to dream some more, it is time to make dreams of ourselves, it is time to initiate, time to gather, time to implore.
Let US be our dreams, and achieve our dreams, not with actions or fight, but with reality and knowing, and doing those things that we hold dear to our hearts.
Such things are of the highest regard, and the most genuine of standing.
That is mine.
This is my dream.

Stages

2009-01-28T11:32:00.001-08:00

July 14 2008

Some people have problems. I mean real problems.
Reactions.
Or none.
They forget about you, or they act different around certain people.
Sometimes you decide you miss someone and want to talk to them, but 30 seconds later that thought, feeling, emotion… disappears.
Strange.
Then I think you are mature, and then I remember how I thought, and I am much the same.
Stages.
Phases.
As though parts of you leave and then come back for dinner once in awhile.
Speaking of dinner;
I wanted to ask you to come with me, but you were so different that day.
Changes.
Emotions.
As if someone stole a part of your memory, even a part of your heart.
Now no one notices, they put on faces.
I’m still the same, and when you change I will probably be different.
Different.

Broken

2009-01-28T11:28:00.000-08:00

January 10 2009

The wall feels my fist, and then like a toppling skyscraper my knees give out
Crumble.
Naked.
Wind blows through me like an open field
Curled up, as if my knees were the only thing I could feel, certainly the only something that is there
A gnarled face.
My teeth clench.
There in the hallway I close my eyes and deep deep salty water pours from the damn at the very core of my inside.
It drips down onto my chest;
I shake.
I am responsible for the greatest evil, the worst mistakes are mine.
Fists hit the floor, and now there is a pool of water there too
Helpless.
I stretch my legs to get up, hand up against the wall;
And I break again.
My muscles collapse from the thought,
So I lay there until I am too cold.
I remove myself:
Over an hour has passed.

Sunrise

2009-01-28T11:27:00.000-08:00

January 9/10 2009

The sun will come up soon.
I am forced to think about that West Coast sunset. The kind that lasts for an hour while you run to find the best spot to watch it.
You watch it disappear.
Much like a lot of things and people you have tried to hold onto because it, and they; were one in ten billion of God’s creations.
What’s nice about this sad sad going down of the sun is that it rises a few hours later.
It all depends on the time of year.
The season.
Sunrise after sunrise.
I’ve seen a few, I’ve witnessed beauty rising from the ocean many times.
Rise.
What an interesting word.
It makes you feel glad to be alive and then it tricks you; the sunrise that is.
Early rises are not to be desired.
Its cold. You can’t see anything for the fog.
I wonder if God purposed our lives to mimic our days of morning and evening, and sleeping in-between.
Sleeping.

Lost.

2009-01-28T11:21:00.000-08:00

January 9, 2009

Hope disappeared somewhere in-between un-doing your seatbelt and shutting the car door.
I’ve never murdered anyone or known what that is like, but I’m pretty sure I just killed someone.
That someone was going to be the one I would love for years to come.
Her eyes stared straight, I’ve never seen anything like it.
I was holding a dead human, shaking her, wake up! Wake up!
Nothing.
Silence.
The sound of a heart hitting the bottom of where it once stood.
I didn’t know there was a bottom until tonight.
It echoed.
There was nothing left in this cavern of beauty once destined for a great man.
That great man used to be me.
Now this solid rock of trust, aspirations and hope lies in a pile of disgusted mush looking at the ceiling all night long.
What about the man?
If there is a feeling less than hopeless it has become him.
If there was an action greater then desperation he would be it.
For it is one thing to be able to see till the next day, but when you cant see past the next second it feels like life just stops.
So there is that man.
Hanging.
Suspended in time for a time.
The duration unknown, and the pathway to its ceasing non-existing.
A second passes;
Two people have died tonight.
What tragic angry loss becomes a love un-comparable.

Materially Un-fulfilled

2009-01-28T11:20:00.000-08:00

January 8, 2009

I have all these things and stuff and things and stuff

What wretched materials, what empty desires

Money drops in the bucket, wealth evades my being

I have everything already, or I do not

I need more, but I do not need anything

I turn to hate possessions because my possessions seem to hate me

All the comforts of time and space with nothing missing

I would give it all back and I would give it all up and I would tear it all down and I would build it all back up

I would build it the wrong way

I would give it all to the wrong things

I am not happy, happy does not become me

Unless

Unless I am with her

I do not have her, I do not have anything

I do not have anything because I do not have her

How life evades me in its entirety.

Precise Attraction

2009-01-28T11:17:00.000-08:00

August 2008

Precise attraction.
Do you think maybe God designed us to be severely appreciative of one woman’s body?
If He has then I have found one. Each piece is loved more then the next, every square millimeter of skin emanates a beauty that I can hardly stand.
Sometimes it takes all my strength to avoid touching her - running after her and embracing.
The eyes that constantly speak.
The legs that tempt, the back that I massage, the hands that do both.
Right down to your baby toe.
A constant connection in lips, an intense appreciation.
You were built for passion and love and romance and deep desire, and when we embrace this is what I feel:
A precise attraction to my one fantastic individual.

Waves

2009-01-28T11:15:00.000-08:00

Date Unknown

I suppose a lot of people start off a journal with the feeling of being let down.
Stood up.
Un-returned phone calls.
Not from the same person either. You walk alone but your not sure why. Your desire is to always have someone with you. That’s how were made.
So there and here I was and am.
Let down.
How many times can this happen to someone?
I end up getting pizza and walking down to the lake, following this thundering noise.
Its like whats inside of me.
Waves.
Crashing, massive, angry looking waves.
The moon just up to the left in the sky with the clouds hovering around it, bounces off the directionless swells.
As they hit the break wall a rush of water comes straight for me. I’m already cold , so I don’t move and let the mist hit my face.
Alone near waves.
Crashing and angry in the moonlight.

Women, What Powerful Beings

2009-01-28T11:14:00.000-08:00

Date unknown

There is no greater power than the potential of having a woman’s heart, nothing greater than chasing her, or having an opportunity to just sit with her.
Even the mere simplicity of looking into her eyes can be exciting, powerful, and dangerous.
The touch of her lips.
The mere image of them as they dance about with her words.
Such depth of love, such bond of friends, there is much un-claimed; slightly touching her under the gentle wash of a street light.

A woman may be the only thing that keeps me going, the sole reason I drive thousands of miles, why I smell good and try to work out. The chance of only having her heart or attention for even a brief moment is enough to send my entire life off course.
The one person that takes me out of character, that keeps me going, that fights, laughs, and hugs better than anyone I know.
What power of a woman.
She doesn’t even realize.

How quickly I would run all the way to where she is just to kiss her hand and whisper goodnight.

Truly

2009-01-28T11:12:00.001-08:00

January 2009-01-09

The silence.

The lack of sleeping.

The vomiting within.

The pull of a body being ripped apart from its insides.

The holding back of tears, then the tears.

The heaving.

The laying awake and not dreaming, because your dreams have all gone.

The pain inside. Deep, entrenched, gasping pain.

The yells.

The anger and guilt and frustration of oneself.

The sorrow.

The brokenness.

The carpet burn on my knees.

The filling up and drowning of caves and secrets you didn’t know you had.

Such is confessing.

Such is consequences.

Such is the path to forgiveness.

Purpose and Introduction

2009-01-28T10:02:00.000-08:00

This is the beginning of what I like to call "The Previs Project". I actually got this idea from a man down in Santa Barbara California who makes sandcastles all day and was pretending to be a CNN news correspondent, or maybe he was, who knows.
People keep telling me I should write more things down and share more stories, so this is the starting of that. A few notes have been posted on things like myspace (myspace.com/previs) and facebook, but I would like to dedicate this entire blog to my writings and pieces in which I have seriously considered, edited, and put up for public opinion.
I remain open to criticism, and welcome to all opinions. My strongest desire is to awaken a feeling in someone, create a desire, or maybe even gain a smile because of a memory or experience that we share in common.