Author: jason

6:52am 3/25/19

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une préface… – avec mon stylo lamy 2000

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EMBRACE COMPETITION. RISE ABOVE CONTENTION. INSPIRE EVOLUTION. THIS EXEMPLIFIES FRONTMANN’S FEARLESS STANCE AT THE JUNCTURE OF HIGH FASHION AND COMPETITIVE SPORTS. APPAREL FOR THE DRIVEN AND ACTIVELY FASHIONABLE. COUTURE THAT ABOUNDS WITH THE ART OF ATHLETICS. THIS IS THE PARADOX THAT DEFINES THE COMPETITIVE CORPORATION. SEEK ADVENTURE. MOVE WITH PASSION.

– wrote this for E.V.N. for his birthday a long time ago

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My hubris. Your egress. Echoes of
the pride before the slip.
As the world fell around our
walls. Brick by baleful brick.
The contention of our world
so nihilistic – bent on consumption.
As I was digested whole.
Love – a relic we stow in boxes
both secular and modular.
Us – a vintage coupling with
the intention of something better.

12/2/18

When my unusual became routine.
And they came as dew to the
morning petals. As noon when
the markets settle.
Coy, the ever shifting focus of
millennial streams. The eclectic
dreams that we chase in never
ending stupor we deem.
When these ripples, purposeful
and willful, seep into my
pulse like an impatient
sculptor. That grace, that in
generations wane, will wax
when, ever hopeful, I see
you in an ever after.

11/24/18

So we part, you and I.
Above ourselves, under the sky.
So we take our last leave.
No lines to pine.
Your easy dismissal my reprieve.
From that we turn
and cease never to see.
That lilt in breath
that takes us eagerly.
Freely I loved, openly I
grieved. That from the
earth we all receive.
The pen is my intent.
Ever mocking what
could have been.

11/17/18

There had to be you
In that tract I swallow through.
This moment after that I
savor and lament.
Those times before we spy
with instruments meant for
dissent.
On this pond. This small body
that I try.
This last time I pen in
hopes to find you again.
The beginning of another strand.
Another skit. And I still
think of us in a land
where our home may stand.

11/10/18

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seulement toi…… – avec mon lamy numéro de 1604

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If I had the agency to make you free.
That we could meet, no longer guilty,
and ease our minds to make amends.
For the times we wavered,
feeble with doubt, that defense
mechanisms, unyielding,
shrouds our minds.

If you had the regency of capitous time.
That we could bend, every rigid line,
that delineates this Camelot we found.
For those times we intersected,
ruly locked away, that I abscond
from time, hoping,
to see you smile.

If these days had the urgency of us.
That we could meet, as lovers must,
without the cruelty of parlay.
For these times we miss,
the pith of love, that we weigh
with scales, unassuming,
of one lovely day.

10/28/2018

If you please, an enduring lease.
Bits of you, all of me.
Context rather than personality.
The consensus of identity.
In absentia, the thought inuring.
This play of ours, a yes to dreaming.
When awake I no longer see you.
When sleeping I held you.
We cannot be.
This tragic dramaturgy.
A pursuit never ending.
The lessor of our intent in default
of our pedigree. Our dive
so easy into that our
murmurs pledge unheeding.
Your navel to my brow leaves
etches of a mandarin complex.
A sense too tense, a lapse of
a sensibility wise to malcontent.
Still unravished. Quiet in this
chase where my lines repent.
My fleeing muse.
Am I almost to you?
To that beautiful closing
we muse?
Stay your steps. Turn my way.
These irises. When they
find yours in an intimacy
too binding to break,
then will I know
compulsion to this
instant ever.
Know this is
certainly true.
When, at last, I am
faced with you.

10/14/18

Dear P,

I find myself drinking to numb what I’m unsuccessfully denying –
that I truly do want you in my life.
I know this means me as the man in your life.
A life you’ve created on your own and one that I’m learning,
as I’m growing, to cherish and honor as much as my own.
These stones I carry, heavy with the past of my misgivings,
become easy when sleeping I hold you tenderly.
With our foreheads touching – pressed in a loving
tête-à-tête that is telling of Shakespeare’s best musings.
All this happened so quickly in this head of mine
that rarely believes such possibility much less a real beginning.
So truly I see what might be – those things in your life
in close immediacy to mine.
If asked of this from a younger me,
I might not be so earnestly forthcoming.
The luxury of youth fleeting.
Your hand in mine a sign that the world is still steady.
A dot, pale and blue, that I never knew held intimacy.
This part of me that you now see.
Those moments of us yet to be
become dense with vulnerability;
but these insecurities fade when, as one with you,
I learn to love completely.

Yours,
J

I resented you a bit.
Leaving as you did.
I faltered a bit.
Remnants that once hid.
The irony of proximity
with your face to mine
is hard to breach.
This almost treatise
between us teases
at what could be.

What once I drew from.
Numb with years.
What once you grew from.
Sums my fears.
The needless pageantry
of reasoning.
I want you.
But you may
not see that
as possibility.

You resented me a bit.
Watching you walk amid
the midnight motes
swaying a bit under
the moonless grid
of our parting.
I think of you.
With the hope
of impossiblity.
I resented you a bit.

9/1/18

Having rarely looked when the sky held you.
With the stars aligned on that cosmic pew.
Rushing I fell. In getting up, I rue.
That heliotropism was all I knew.

The shades we mistrust. The past we peruse.
Those moments, like an odd glamour miscued,
Is my obstinate wall lowered. Confused.
This lunacy that a full moon imbues.

Our lives in tandem, our hushed breaths subdued.
The lives we nurture, the hopes we pursue.
All coalesce, unhindered, in this view.
Longing for this half moon I never knew.

8/19/18

(retrospection of 9/17/17)

That you would still reach out in the night.
That I would still be that old light.
What games we play for spite’s delight.
That take our breaths in even based flights.
Should I? In these evenings made for rest.
That you, ever molting, in rhyme and zest.
Would in your route of angst confess
Your hand in mine is but a farce at best.
A year passes. Months like rapid eye movements.
That trial of even keels and that marker since
Is my manhood in disarray – such province.
That moves me to write for you tonight.
Those lonely whispers so sullen in the night.
Those half smiles that find so little to mind.
May they find some respite in kind.
The kind that, in our times, may find…
A kiss left unpersued. The kind that you and I
Left on shores unkind to the memories
I swallow each time I write. Each time I,
Reaching out, dream to be.

4/21/18

That you would still reach out in the night. That I would still be that old light. What games we play for spite's delight. That take our breaths in even based flights. Should I? In these evenings made for rest. That you, ever molting, in rhyme and zest. Would in your route of angst confess Your hand in mine is but a farce at best. A year passes. Months like rapid eye movements. That trial of even keels and that marker since Is my manhood in disarray – such province. That moves me to write for you tonight. Those lonely whispers so sullen in the night. Those half smiles that find so little to mind. May they find some respite in kind. The kind that, in our times, may find… A kiss left unpersued. The kind that you and I Left on shores unkind to the memories I swallow each time I write. Each time I, Reaching out, dream to be.

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angles of descent…. – on the SE

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tête à tête…. – sur le SE

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the wasp and the M…. – on the SE

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on 9/7/17 she wrote:

Its like I want to be alone, but i want to be touched.
Im waiting by the phone, cause the cravings i lust
for are feelings I clutch to
like meat to a bone.
Is that too much?
Is it so wrong?
To write you lyrics just for that chance you’ll be singing along?
To give to you in hopes that
you’ll do the same…
So that hopefully in the end
more than nothing will remain?
Yet, I want to be alone;
Can you even see my soul?
If I only give you parts of me,
How can you see my whole? Hardly.
You cant.
Its hopeless romance
Its belief with no stance.
We’re given cards, see where they land
either make a move or throw the hand.
We either choose to sit or stand
Its either yes or no I cant.
Damn…
Do I want to be alone?
Or do I want to be touched?
Either way I have the feeling that it’s just too much.

i replied:

i lived much of my life alone.
having touched none.
living unknown. shying from the sun.
i only wanted to love you.
all of you. but i only got parts of you.
parts that scathed. fragments that maimed.
the pieces, in pride, you claim
as righteous were the same
as shards of angst that you drove
into me. won’t you see? my whole
was for you. in every shade.
in every piece of this mosaic
that you once called me.
i never was good enough.
eggshells beneath my feet
made me numb to the earth
beckoning for love.
there will never be nothing.
there remains the promises
in lyrics i sang long before
we twined our hands.
there is only standing.
i was never one to sit.
but to stand and take
your hail was more than
i could bear. so i walk.
in leaving, i see
your ambivalence more
crushing than your abuse.
you don’t know if you want
to be alone or be touched.
i only wanted to love you.
was that too much?
i live my life alone.
still having touched none.
an old soul. shying from the sun.

9/8/17

We were bereft from the world.
Cast as stones from sullied hands.
You were casting stones at me.
Had me second guessing myself.
I knew as one always knows
when baring oneself to your hail.
I know. I thought I would love
the way it hurt. No.
Still I soared at the
thought us. Belief and trust.
Gliding over your ocean.
Still loving you so.
Your mosaic of land.
These wings alighting
on your soil. Native earth
foreign to the touch yet
welcome to these eyes.
I spied you from a perch
long held dear.
From a vantage aloof to despair.
In swooping, I fell.
Dashing myself. Breaking my ire.
Finding sharp corners grinding
against the hard tang of
my denial. Now I know.
In flying and falling,
what most I desired from a distance.
What I disdained close to you.
That, my love, and times hence
is something true.
Adieu.

8/7/17

0

My footsteps were heavy.
A child to the rain falling.
I should have stepped lightly
now that you are falling.
In dead space, you were floating.
Tears suspended in time.
Knowing was a painful thing.
Slipping sometimes when you climb
that arduous path back up.
The witchery that keeps you down.
Hovering silently above
an ocean where you may drown.
Nebulae apart, I smile a prayer.
For the ineptness of my ways
when our days were spent together.
That your star may, laughing, blaze.
To break this inert latitude of space.
So that I may once again see your face.

– His

7/27/17

Time traveling I lost you.
Discordant, concentric skipping.
Sipping slowly I saw you.
Trapped in your plane of view.
Reaching out I missed you.
As though another held you.
These delta dreams mock me.
Free of waking reasoning.
The gravity of my pining.
Bending my course of travel.
Dilating, my heart unravels.
These coarse strands of us.
Our impossible paradox dust.
It was the past I adored.
The tomorrows I strove for.
Faring these lines of time.
You were only briefly mine.
Time traveling I lost you.

– His

7/26/17

daydreaming i missed you.
wanted to tell you about these skies that murmur
when you and i are away from the other.
i shiver. muttering thoughts moving
ponderously from the center.
if ever i forgo the usual.
if ever i was hopeful.
know it is you i hold
this sky for.

deep in this spell we fell up.
bits of perception. an adjunct angle of view.
every turn that breaks from what we are used to.
what you used to be used to.
what i may not be used to.
as if our minds unbalanced by a bit.
as if our wills were misfit.
this binary disposition of mine.
that hexing grin of yours.
these engaging days of ours
like memoirs in a golden bottle
cast into space to fall
back into deep waters.

i thought i lost you.
tides in my eyes.
the swells that rise
and bring me closer.
you ground me.
running your fingers
across my demeanor.
i hold you closer.
this current that binds us.
this land charmed
by our endeavor
if ever there was an ever.
if ever lovers err.
your hand in mine.
we can do this.
let us swim for
those farther shores
of deep learning.
your hand in mine.
we can do this.

7/16/17

0

on 6/20/17 vania kim wrote “Dream Of Me”

Wisk me away within your dreams
Into your world of conceptualized seems.
Take me with you as you go.
Asphyxiated in waves of your undertow.
Scoop me up and carry me
Spin me round your reverie.
Hold my hand, a clasp to keep.
Please dont leave me as you sleep.
Take me to where your mind wanders
As the clock counts down I ponder…
If we’ll meet before you wake
On the shores of a fancied lake,
We’ll share a moment in the sand
Tracing the lines in our knitted hands.
I’ll hold your gaze as you have mine
Unspoken words sheathed lost time.
You built for me the finest deck
A boat forged from spasmodic wreck.
And as we sail we await the wake
That our real is better than the dreams we make.
I pray this feeling shall never rend
For loving you will be my end.
I miss you even as you slumber
Jealous of inert wonders.
Let me stay with you my love
No second spent will be enough.
Im in the shallows, heel me deep,
Take me with you as you sleep.

on 6/22/17 i replied:

Our history – disjuncted yet somehow connected.
A beautiful kind of scoliosis, in standing, perfected.
I finally see you in a line from your glance to mine.
Your eyes full of language unspoken when we rewind.

Our days fall into nights that fade into our dawn.
A hint of our tomorrows buried, longingly, in your song.
I feel my soul blazing – a once dark star.
You light this life, you lift me far.

Our love huddled like our inner child pressed against our walls.
A steady ship to bear us when, anxiously, fate calls.
I feel your heart blazing where once stardust fell.
Let me show you my love – too wide, too deep to tell.

on 6/1/17 vania kim wrote:

I breathe in your sweet scent.
A redolence Ive grown to covet.
Your steady heartbeat pumping a melodic consonance into my ear
as I rest quietly upon your chest.
Your lips pursed in enervation.
Eyelids fluttering from dreams amidst.
I gaze upon your slumber.
My fingertips delicately slipping in and out of your raven strands of hair in admiration.
Waiting for the morning sun to come, so I can see those beautiful orbs of terracotta awaken behind those
occluded eyes…
Good morning love

on 6/3/17 i replied:

If I took a little time –
selfishly for my own
To do what hearts like mine
are prone to do when every line
traces itself to you.

A bit of time to breathe –
suddenly on my own.
To know this breath of mine,
slow and sure, is a quantum
entangled with yours.

As if for the first time –
Achingly new. Deliberately unknown.
To brave this world of ours,
spinning callously amongst the stars,
together with you….

Good evening, Love.

on 5/14/17 vania kim wrote:

I used to love the ocean.
So deep, so seamless.
A rippled mirror reflecting the mysterious face of sky,
Deluged with the stars and unknown tales of the void.
I was captivated.
I saw in it what I felt in me.
Contained yet empty.
Vast yet underestimated
Calm as a summers breeze yet wild as a storm.
Time and time again my love was left aboard a ship that set sail into the deep, just to return along ghost ships…
Marooned broken amidst the shore.
Pieces of me left scattered like ash, laid to rest amongst ocean bed rocks…
I wait here in the sand.
Just a lighthouse with a broken beacon.
Calling out to you from the dark.
…But you cant see me.
I’m just a shadow in the wind,
And you? A ship without a sail.
Anxious to discover my shores.
You admire my beauty from afar
Through a scope in the fog.
My island of hidden treasures
Luring you like a glitter in the shade.
It isn’t safe for you here.
It isn’t safe for me there.
I still make fire from pieces of wreckage.
I remember nights of inscribing my faith through poems before sealing it in a bottle…
Tossing it out into deep water, just for the current to bring it back to me.
You cannot see my jagged oceans edge from here.
Encasing my island in a wall of defeat and fear.
You don’t see my broken.
This is no place to dock.
Why must I warn you?
Why must I protect me?
If I never have you…
I could never lose you beside a shipwreck.
I used to love the ocean,
Until I realized you could lose yourself in the beauty chasing the unknown.
It made me contained yet empty.
Vast yet underestimated.
Calm as a summers breeze but as wild as a storm.
And still I wait here in the sand.
Just a lighthouse with a broken beacon.
Calling out to you from the dark.
But you… cant… see me.
My ocean.
A rippled mirror reflecting the mysterious face of sky.

i replied:

~lighthouse

swimming in the dark.
at odds with the deep.
i was rowing, somehow, before.
making my way to your shore.
i was sure. certain to find
what this course was for.
this odyssey was odd,
i was thinking and so caught
up I broke my oar.
this feeling was unknown
i was pondering and so caught
up dashed my boat upon
rocks far from the coast
that you call yours.
now, in the dark, i swim.
my heart falters.
my spirit, grim.
fearing death,
i sang a hymn.

find me as i look for you.
find me if ever beauty was truth.
your stars and mine aligned.
your life and mine intertwined.
through the dark, through the dim
a daft dream, yet i still swim.

seamless, the horizon lining
the stoic sky to the murmuring sea.
silent, the waters keep pining.
passing ships, they mock me.
icons of my past begrudging.
but your unseen light calls me.
waves crashing. storms brewing.
no beacon that i can see.

are we ever safe anywhere
when bound in the darkness
or drifting in surly seas?
the antique questions
begs your vintage stare –
to look with the desire
of classic traditions to which
we both adhere.

am i stranded in between
your mirror and my life in tow?
there is no measure to the sky above.
no fathom to the depths below.
if i let go, will i lose your love?
if i let go, will i grow old?
i do not know, but i will swim
without doubt for your shore.
at odds with the deep
no more.

0

i do like you.
so i do.
what are you
going to do
about it?
nothing, it seems.
quite alright.
memory leads me to a smile
and that cannot be taken away.
those things we say to pass
the day are little nothings we
take as companions to an
easy sleep. even easier dreams.
you like me.
just a bit.
maybe.
but that will
get us nowhere.
you live having
been hurt – those burns.
trust is elusive.
slippery. truly earned.
living one’s younger days
should not be in
sad recollection
but in anticipation
of tomorrow.
eager to seize the day.
more so to make momentos.
i can write the most
sullen lines but i
would rather you and i
remember the glad
things about sharing.
laughter at crotchety old
men at the concession
stand the first time we
saw a movie.
seafood by the pier
when that place was
new to me.
water falling crisply
in a narrow, hazy drop
on the flats of chantry.
i see no need to
list faults with you
or the scenario
between us.
if we cannot be.
if we should not
proceed.
you should know,
i still smile for
what has been.

5/13/17

0

i’m a fool with a wall
daft and tall.
i’m a fool for you
when remembering at all.
When the hour slows
keenly to a crawl and
i find myself wondering
why you aren’t here
laying with me,
breathing softly,
needing the simplest
things in life –
good, clean water.
a morning saunter.
each other.

duty calls.
obligations stall.
the daily race to ball
as though we all
had the gift
of gall to
make it at all.
does that even matter?
these trifles and baubles
that line our hall.
these cards we horde
where the check
may fall.
when all we seek
is wherewithal.

these silly pursuits
nothing when posed
next to you.
on this morn when
i can mull it through.
that nag railing
my heart, in truth,
teeters my mood
with symptoms
long overdue.
indicative of a fall.
it’s friday morning
already, and i’m
laying alone in bed.
a fool with a wall.

5/12/17

Your chair across the dining
table sat empty.
A reminder that our hearts, like
my appetite, was arbitrary.
These days of ours, given to fancy,
cast over and through the net, like
currency virtualized for the sake of economy.

Saying I missed you would be faux pas.
In the sense that we all have forgotten art.
The old gods have fallen.
Something, in living today, we knew.
Our inbox, relentlessly, keeps calling.
The likes, and dislikes, we eschew.
That, in living, we embolden.

Surely, my kind is dying if not dead.
My pen, in strokes like recursive computing,
is extant in metaphor only.
When we lament our missed meetings
as if our attempts at trying, an atavus
rising – gave meaning to entwining.
Booting the need from which we were bred.

4/21/17

Your chair across the dining table sat empty. A reminder that, our hearts, like my appetite was arbitrary. These days of ours, given to fancy, cast over and through the net, like currency virtualized for the sake of economy. Saying I missed you would be faux pas. In the sense that we all have forgotten art. The old gods have fallen. Something, in living today, we knew. Our inbox, relentlessly, keeps calling. The likes, and dislikes, we eschew. That, in living, we embolden. Surely, my kind is dying if not dead. My pen, in strokes like recursive computing, is extant in metaphor only. When we lament our missed meetings as if our attempts at trying, an atavus rising – gave meaning to entwining. Booting the need from which we were bred. – sur le SE avec mon stylo parker

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0

sleep learning…. – on the SE

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0

l'habit ne fait pas le moine…. – sur le SE

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