One of my favorite poems…

“The Great Poet Returns” by Mark Strand

When the light poured down through the holes in the clouds,
We knew the great poet was going to show. And he did
A limousine with all white tires and stained-glass windows
Dropped him off. And then, with a clear and soundless fluency,
He strode into the hall. There was a hush.His wings were big.
The cut of his suit,the width of his tie, were out of date.
When he spoke,the air seemed whitened by imagined cries.
The worm of desire bore into the heart of everyone there.
There were tears in their eyes.The great one was better than ever.
“No need to rush”, he said at the close of the reading,”the end
Of the world is only the end of the world as you know it.”
How like him,everyone thought.Then he was gone,
And the world was a blank. It was cold and the air was still.
Tell me, you people out there, what is poetry anyway?
Can anyone die without even a little?

Well that’s one way to lose these walking blues …

“Study the past if you would divine the future.”

- Confucius

This little gem is a product of Campus Movie Fest. Please mind that this was done over three years ago: Patrique in the younger years. My friend Julia and I had one week to put together a movie, and we decided to focus on the seven deadly sins. Well, I should say I had a push to focus on the seven deadly sins.

Still, I’m rather proud of it, if only because I was able to bring my friends together to create something. And, finding this online reminds me of the reasons why I want to do films. The memories of filming each scene. Trying to work out the logistics of filming, with everyone’s schedule. The need to improve my acting abilities.

more about “Vice Versus Virtue“, posted with vodpod

The entire process was just a lot of fun. When I find myself in a creative slump, I’ve found the best remedy is to surround myself with products from the past. Pages and pages of poetry strewn about my room. Shades of different colors on various textures intermingled with the bits of poetic delights. Canvasses of art work begging for completion or contemplation. Also in various hues, mixed in with the textures and bits of poetry. My hope is often if I can create a maelstrom of creativity, then lightening will strike. As it often does.

And, in addition to putting on my pants, surrounding myself with past accomplishments helps to overcome creative slumps and  low points. The internal self talk that used to run rampant, in the variety of “what do you think you’re doing?” , “what have you accomplished? nothing?”, or “you’re a hack. mediocre at best,” is instead replaced with reminders of things I have done, ways I’d like to improve, and ideations on how to get there.

In therapy, once, I mentioned to my counselor that when I was feeling a bit down I would go back and read my journals from other times when I felt down. She asked me “Does it help or does it only fuel the spiral down?” My initial reaction was ambivalence. I sat in silence for a moment until I answered that reading my journals helps me to understand where my mind has been, and that those moments I was feeling depressed passed. Going back into the past helps to remind me that this too shall pass. It is as though my collective body of work turns into Gandolf the Grey fighting the dark demon attempting to cross the bridge. The body of my collective work raises its staff and proclaims “You shall not pass.” At least, that is the visual I have in my head when I surround myself with momentos of cabernet, tangerine, sapphire and ferns.

In the maelstrom of my collective works from the past, Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Wilde, Fitzgerald and Hemingway come out of  the ether, reach down onto the ground where my halo has fallen, and places the crown back atop my head.

«Eh! quoi! vous ici, mon cher? Vous, dans un mauvais lieu! vous, le buveur de quintessences! vous, le mangeur d’ambroisie! En vérité, il y a là de quoi me surprendre. »

- Charles Baudelaire ” Perte d’auréole/ Loss of a Halo“

In reviewing the past, I can say Baudelaire saved my life. In more ways than one. Baudelaire came along at a low point, and spoke to me about all the terrible things in the world. Les fleurs du mal. But inside the flowers of evil were beautiful gems, of living a life sans regrette. Rien. He told me to get drunk, and I spent two years getting drunk, first on wine, then poetry, and now virtue.  My own Baudelaire, well we sang in the middle of the night walking next to the Seine after reading Baudelaire to each other and Ingrid. We sang “Your Song” at the top of our lungs, not giving a damn who in all of Paris heard. She divining Baudelaire and I divining Hemingway.  At any rate, this letter is now turning into an homage to Baudelaire and how he saved my life, but I believe there’s a place for that in my next letter.

As this year quickly draws to a close, and I chant in my head “2008 was great; 2009 will be divine” I can’t help but turn to the past. To review how far I’ve come. To know it is ok if I dance like Josephine Baker in my skirt made of bananas, combined with Ziz Jeanmaire, doing my own little dance, talking like Marlene Dietrich and Bette Davis if I please (get me drunk off wine and I adopt a british accent, for some reason); knowing fully well there are, in fact, diamonds on the soles of my shoes. Remind me to tell you the story of the time I had the honor of meeting and knowing the most beautiful dimond in the world. She was friends with Andy Warhol incarnate. And for a short while she stayed in Waterford Palace. She too had diamonds on the soles of her shoes.

We all must dance our own dance, never minding who is watching or what others may say. And knowing in my head there are miles to go before I sleep. Light years, in fact.

Mon Dieu et Mon Droit: Entheogens

Seeing as how the top three search terms for my site are ‘drugs, black men, charmed,’ – and I’ve no idea what to say about that combination – I do have a fairly strong interest in talking about the matter. What if we legalized drugs?  Even if they’re legal or not, people are going to use them. Though legalization of a few would probably increase public coffers and take a lot of people out of jail, not to mention create new jobs. But that is not the focus. I don’t work for NORML.

I ran across this article, What if we legalized drugs? I thought first about the legalization, but then my thoughts turned to the effects of drugs, why people use them and what they can learn from drugs. Some have wonderful lessons to offer, if practiced with care and guidance.

I do write about drugs quite often, admittedly. Hence the reason why the number one search for my site (to my chagrin) is drugs. Also black men and charmed. Go figure. First, I should define what I think a drug is. When I think of drugs, I think of mood altering substances. Alcohol, nicotine, caffeine, and marijuana. I also lump in psilocybin and LSD. In the words of Baudelaire and Leary : Get Drunk (Enivrez-vous). Light up. And Tune Out.  Albeit slightly changed. (Fully- Turn on, tune in, drop out.)

I sat down to write a post until it turned into multiple, multiple pages. Hence the decision to break it into series. Look, I have a lot of time here in my office, and when I’m not busy dancing to “Get Me Bodied” , “Proud Mary” or “Livin Your Life,” I write. But I digress.

I’ve no idea how to structure this series, so I’ll do my best as I learn along the way. Here is my take on drugs viewed under the perspective of an entheogen:

ENIVREZ-VOUS; to use the drugs and have a vague understanding of their effects. Get drunk on wine and every pharmaceutical delight

LIGHT UP;  to take what one has learned and find it within oneself. Get drunk on poetry, or in other words get drunk on life.

And finally, to TUNE OUT; To master the drugs within while enhanced with the drugs from outside. Get drunk on virtue and the pursuit of self idealization.

:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::

Explore the depths where your life wells forth…

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
William Shakespeare You Like It, Act II, Scene VII

Dear Eternal Abyss,

Oh, how I despise separation and good byes. I’m listening to “La Vie en Rose” by Josephine Baker again. The separation from friends has begun to unfold and manifest in ways I tried to braced for but couldn’t have anticipated. Admittedly, I’ve been “homesick,” for those people who formed the nucleus of family for the past four years. The fortuitous meeting of Amy in Paris and our shared Moon River moment on a train back from Nice. The assignment of Andrew as my roommate. Being under the tutelage of Chris, and finding solace in Lola. And of course, the ever needed objective point of view provided by Eric. Just as importantly, I learned lessons of life and love with Linda and Kai. These people were my family, and still are. Perhaps the most important guest starring role was Ricky, as he provided the ever objective eye to that which was and is Waterford. Even with all that’s happened in the past and where relations stand. I use first names because this is an emotional letter I write to you, now that the melancholy has passed and I can focus on the present. Then the numerous guest stars that passed through those apartments by the river.

Dramatis Personae

“Degenerates are not always criminals, anarchists, and pronounced lunatics; They are often authors and artists.”

-Max Nordan, Degeneration

Dear Baudelaire,

I have aspirations of being more than just a dilettante, of merely perusing through what I deign interesting. I also have aspirations of getting my body to stop resisting (my nails are surprisingly brittle; I just broke one this afternoon shutting the dryer)

In other news, I want to bring back dandyism. Or, rather, I think dandyism is on the rise once more. I find contentment in studying historical trends because it only confirms there’s nothing new under the sun. These trends (finance, social, political) have appeared before in various forms and continue to appear, reinventing themselves as any good magician or magical being will. I can only surmise, from this, that I too must be a magical being. I’m confident I’ve existed before, in another form. Then again, I’m also highly confident I’m volatile and crazy. I walk around addressing my alter ego. Though lately I have been trying to fuse the two together.