Beautiful Helplessness

Beautiful Helplessness

I am not willing to accept the world is without a man

of unfathomable range & a remarkable inventory of art

I wonder if he let himself be surprised by his grandeur

the kind that broke through the noise to quiet our cores

I imagine him falling upwards in beautiful helplessness

his endangered spirit held hostage by an addict’s bargain

measuring a severe distance from celluloid to Heaven

a banal romance expressively trenchant & lastly ruinous

I am not willing to accept the world is without a man

who delivered a tiny fraction of what he was meant to do

to touch the marvelous depths of every breathing thing

to tabulate immaculate perception through artful elations

I imagine me rescuing him from a tremendous darkness

to return his pensive stare & wicked smirk & muted orange

hue back to the refuge of earth & oceans & sooty city streets

a valiant response to his urgent audience in profound mourning

I am not willing to accept the world is without a man

whose efforts leave me inconsolable & arrowed in the heart

yet fortified in my creative disposition & ambling toward ecstasy

the trajectory of his brilliance was boundless & commanding

it projected an upside down reflection to be staunchly revered

I am not willing to accept the world is without a monumental man

& just how his absence will be calibrated is yet to be determined

those of us drowsy flowers left behind bend in the sad music on the wind

bankrupt of the currency lost in a single drought of one incomplete story

I am not willing to accept the world is without a man who smoldered

until his last breath shattered him into a billion pieces of silver star-lite

**

Philip Seymour Hoffman's death had a grave effect on me.  He has long been one of my favorite actors and I have always appreciated his creative process, his work ethic and his incredible body of work. When I learned he had passed, I began a long homage to him by way of watching and completing my collection of his films.  My tribute via this film festival has been an incredibly inspiring and at the same time a gut-wrenching experience.  He is commanding in every single scene he has ever done, whether he has a cameo, does a voice-over, is a supporting actor or the lead.  He makes you take notice, he demands your undivided attention, he envelopes you.  It is surreal that he has expired.  It is unbelievable that we will deprived of his cinematic genius forever.  The above poem may be trite and cliche and somewhat elementary but not since Heath Ledger's death has any actor's passing touched me so deeply and caused my heart to ache.

I love Philip Seymour Hoffman, I always have, I always will.  This, my tiny eulogy to a man worth so much more than a few pithy words in a poor poem by an amateur.

In propinquity,

Nic

We Say Goodbye in Circles

We Say Goodbye in Circles

Lancaster,

It is always a day of constant rain and a solid refrain of roaring thunder.  It is always the same when I try to walk away from you.  I am bound by my practical wisdom to flee, surveying the exit and then feeling the expected sensation of the driveway gravel grinding into the arches of my feet through my flat summer shoes, trying to run so that when we say goodbye we do not say it in circles.  It is a pattern, a tearful farewell perpetuated by old ghosts that permit us to move in a slow circular motion from an almost ending and guilelessly back to the beginning.  It is a sequence of changes that veer us back into our original position.  It is time to break the cycle.  Time to set our burdens free.

It is your estimation that our bond is profound and irreversible, it is what you always say, how you ensnare me, convince me to stay.  You, who would rather foster something that is an old delusion and me, who would prefer to sever the tattered ties, mend the broken pieces and advance.  I no longer wish to meditate on perdition and set my sights on something more idyllic and peaceful instead of re-using old romantic tenements to convince ourselves we belong.

We belonged once.  But, we are nothing more than a short story.  A well versed poem even.  A history lesson at best.  My spirit is not arranged in such a way that I can pretend.  I do not wish to be immortalized in an orbiting, prosaic picture of what people perceive love to be.

I wish to make my departure soft and civil.  Let me run, in a straight line, in the weather.  Let us not circle the drain and let what goodness we’ve spun expire in vain.  I wish not to emaciate you on the inside as you’ve so crudely suggested, I wish not to harm you. I wish you well, I wish you love and I wish you contentment.  And more, I wish the very same for myself.  I desire it.  I need it.  These are things you can no longer provide, not because you are not every bit as lovely as you always were but because I am every bit as different as I ever was. 

You were a good companion.  A good friend.  And I promise you that I will regard you fondly when I take pause every now and then and look over my shoulder.  Your footprint in my sand is immeasurable and not without warm value. 

This goodbye is a straight line.  Linear and clean, honest.   Be well and be happy, I will follow suit, on another path diverging in a different direction.

With kindness,

Ursula

**

I had a hard time sleeping early this morning so I did a writing exercise off the cuff, based on the line that is the title.  I wrote for about fifteen minutes and this was the result.  I suppose I am missing Imelda and Brucha just a little to have it come out in letter form.  I was missing my creative self and my pile of notes is growing but my actual work continues to suffer.  It felt good, even if what I wrote in my sleepy haze is poopy, to write.  I've been a terrible blogger this month, I hope it is a fleeting thing.  I have to make sure it is.

Happy frozen Sunday.

In propinquity,

Nic

If I Should Fall Behind

I have been unusually neglectful of The Paper Teapot of late.  My work life, private life and sleep deprivation are preventing me from being my best self, my creative self.  I even sat down the other night with a glass of wine and attempted to write a poem that has been nagging me since I was in the thick of the crowd at the Blue Rodeo concert (which was amazing!).  I tried working it out and ended up writing another new poem that reading it back now I see is absolute trash.  It seems I have lost my groove again.  Darn.  The timing couldn’t be worse with two characters waiting in the wings.  They aren’t talking to me I think because I am not fully present and am instead distracted by those pesky things called numbers and details and worry for a family member.  I haven’t been sleeping well but I do try keep busy and productive in other ways even though I’m not creating: reading, letter/postcard writing/concerts/artist dates.

I have some things to do today but later my goal is to reconstruct the sucky poem to make it something worth posting.  I was successful in acquiring some new stationary that is fun and I can’t wait to use it all up so there’s an excuse to go buy more.  I found Duly Noted again after they moved from Quinpool Road downtown to Brenton Street.  That is a good thing!  I also bought a new pen and it was used on a giant pile of mail anxiously awaiting the mail man tomorrow.  It was a peaceful thing, amassing that pile, destined for a few special mailboxes.

Friday night I ended a rather long work week with an excellent triple bill of rock ‘n’ roll at the Seahorse Tavern:  The Navy Brats, Adam Baldwin Band and Gloryhound.  I was content to be in the underground, sweating out the week’s toxins with a gaggle of rock-heads.  My ears were happy to be full of noise other than ringing phones and my self-loathing while trying dearly not to make mistakes while learning new tasks.  The Navy Brats in particular were outstanding.  Organic, from the gut, honest rock fodder.  I loved them and will keep my eyes open for any future shows to attend.  I really loved watching Adam Baldwin whip the crowd into shape with his set.  I also loved looking around and watching faces in the crowd belting out the lyrics of his original material that can be found on his recently released ep.  And then there was Gloryhoud, back home after working on their new record on the west coast.  We are always happy to have them home to rock us and they never disappoint.  I fell into my bed content and filled up with the goodness that comes from a solid rock event.  Music is a good healer.

Oh and I almost forgot.  I ordered myself some fun business-like cards for writing last night.  My uber talented photographer friend Shelley Wyman (be sure to google her and peek at her work) posted on Facebook about her order and hers were stunning.  She designed her own but I opted for a design that was available on the site for my first try and will work on something else for the next time.  I ordered a pack of 50 with a few different designs.  They contain my contact info and blog website.  You know they do come in handy when you meet someone who is also an artist.  It happened to me one night when I was at The Carleton.  I got talking to someone at the bar and either of us had anything appropriate to swap and instead wrote website addresses on bar napkins.  This will rectify that issue.  I thought about it then, making business-like cards and Shelley’s post kicked my arse to get ‘er done.  Now I wait patiently for my order to arrive in the mail.  Pleased as punch and look forward to seeing them.

I have blogs to catch up on, a poem to fix and a new story to write plus a handwritten review for Ruthie since she sent me a copy of her latest work.  I look forward to tucking in and offering my thoughts much like she did with Town & Country.  I felt so proud of my efforts on that story after reading her response.  I am happy the work resonated and I also love that my circle are seeing themselves in the women I wrote about.  They grew upward from the love, influence and impact my friends have on me.  Friends are electric and should be celebrated, the true friends that find their way to you.  They are the reason magic exists and that is worth putting into words.  Even if it is through the worlds and wisdoms of fictional characters. 

Coffee is gone, CD has long since ended.  Time for me to face this Sunday and make it matter.

In propinquity,

Nic

There isn't always an explanation for everything ...

Now that I am finished ‘Town & Country’ (the writing part of it anyway), I have started paying attention to the rumblings of some new characters of the male persuasion, Alf Minor and Joshua Fox.  There are other faces also appearing but I am taking the time to pay attention to Alf and Josh’s whispers first.  I’ve been listening to them actively.  Alf woke me from my sleep last night to tell me a few things so I’ve tonight I plugged my headphones in, turned on some old music and started surfing and researching some of the things that will take their story to the next phase, the actual meat and potatoes, the writing.

Alf is the older of the two characters but I can’t tell if this is his story or Josh’s tale.  They are both vying for my attention and so I need to be certain as to which angle I take.  It has to be the right one to stay true to the story they want to tell me so I can re-tell it to you.  I have a feeling it’ll take some time to sort out but I have nothing but so I’m good to go.  And, now that I have the proper tools for my craft, I can be as prolific or as relaxed as I want to be.  The forecast for this coming Saturday is rainy, so guess what I’ll be doing during the day?  You guessed it, creating!

This Sunday I have a special artist date planned for myself, a play.  I’m going to see ‘Having Hope At Home’ at Neptune Theatre.  John Dunsworth, widely known as Mr. Lahey on Trailer Park Boys is among the cast.  I’m really excited to take my seat in the balcony and get lost in it.  Nothing more amazing than a story playing out live and in person, right in front of you.  It’s truly amazing.  I’ve also got a week before I get to see Blue Rodeo live.  It feels like it’s becoming a tradition to see them in the cold winter months.  Our seats for this show are incredible.  On the floor, in front of the stage, only a few rows back.  The following night I’ll be off to see Wintersleep at The Marquee.  What a busy weekend that’ll be!  And, then it’s Vince Neil and Platinum Blonde.  My 2014 is off to a great start when it comes to live shows, theatre and music.  Those experiences will all build my confidence and my passion for writing, sounds corny but it really does.  The energy, the lights, the action, the sweaty crowds – they feed me, make feel whole and alive.  Some people feel zen when they do yoga or make smoothies, I am zen, right in the core of my being, when I’m present at a show, watching artists make history and add to the soundtrack and chapters of my life, fuel me, so that I may be able to come sit here at this table and bang out a story.  It’s all full circle.

So yeah, Alf and Joshua are next.  It’s brewing, percolating, forming into something I will eventually be able to share with you.  And, if I haven’t mentioned it yet, the working title: ‘Elder Hemingway’.  That’s all I’m giving up so watch this space!

Must retire to my boudoir and drink red wine.  That’s what you’re supposed to do on Thursday night, right?

In propinquity,

Nic

Saturday Solace

So, here I am in my neighborhood Starbucks.  I am drinking coffee, writing on my laptop and feeling the weight of the world separating from my psyche.  This day, a grey Saturday, is vital for re-energizing my creative spirit.  I am moments away from finishing the first draft of my epistolary tale (still struggling to title the beast) and I am both elated and terrified.  It is the first piece of prose that I have ever finished that is over ten pages.  It clocks in at thirty one.  I’ve been working on it so long I feel like I need eyes so I’ve enlisted a friendly reader for a test run, someone whose opinion I trust.  I think sharing this monster will be helpful, to see what I’ve missed and what I should omit.

It took a long time to realize the story’s ending.  And, when it revealed itself I was quite taken aback.  I hadn’t expected that kind of ending but alas it is not my story it is Imelda and Brucha’s tale and I have to be true to their days.  But, the burning question STILL remains, what the blazes is this story called?!  It will come, it always does but I am so used to writing with something that is already titled.  This is something new for me.  I already have the title for my next piece so you can see why this is such a conundrum.

This whole life with a laptop thing is most excellent.  I bought a travel bag for my goods last night, something shiny, red and swanky.  In addition to the freedom it brings from being chained to a desk, it allows me to be outwardly inspired because I can write in coffee shops and wherever the wind blows me. 

I think I may try my first ever fish taco today before I venture home.  It’ll give me more time to muse on a title and today is one of those days where something new is just what the doctor ordered.  It’s been a long week of work and worry and restless nights so I am taking comfort in the little things, the creative things and new tastes, experiences and not missing the moments.  I may even dance tonight.  We shall see.

In propinquity,

Nic

Meet Victoria

She's my new writing partner!  Yep, she's shiny, efficient and everything I've ever wanted in an 'at home' writing pal.  Now I can blog until my guts fall out, write until my heart is content and surf endlessly.  On the internet that is.  I couldn't be happier.  I acquired a wireless printer/scanner/copier with her but it is vexing and I am a tech tard so I'm not sure why it isn't printing since there was a test print in the box when I opened it.  The good folks at Future Shop set everything up for me but the printer situation eludes me.  I called and the young girl who answered told me I needed a USB cord.  That would have been useful information to know when I was there picking everything up.  I will have to get a cord or wrangle someone in my circle who is tech savvy to lend a hand.

Tonight I shall celebrate by drinking coffee while exploring and maybe a bit of live rock 'n' roll before retiring with something Netflixy.   

I am a happy Bean today!  Those few who contributed to this cause by way of birthday and Christmas generosity, I am forever grateful for your love and support.  It is safe to say that when I am finished typing this, I am going to shut down and give Victoria a BIG welcome home hug (one that extends also to my lovely people who made her happen).

Happy Friday!!

In propinquity,

Nic

Destined Woman

Destined Woman

(for Colleen)

in the midst of the original tremble

comes a rough draft of a classic lyric

with sounds as sweet as spontaneous colour

cultivated and managed by a Destined Woman

and set on fire by stars that line up precisely 2x2

reviews decant fluidly from a cluster of caustic critics

lost in a world of deep kisses and beach umbrellas

they say, 'her allure lies in the confines of glorious disarray'

they say, 'she's precocious, thoughtful, an evocative girl'

many are enamored with the Destined Woman

many follow her faithfully into uncharted territory

they harmonize quietly with her melodious message

in the midst of daring to dance in the dark

comes the heart of an Affectionate Witness

a cheery talkative woman wearing a friendship bracelet

caught between calm delight and the things she knows

she reminds the Destined Woman she's as cool as a summer breeze

that 'freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose'

that the dialogue of the faithful and of the Heavens truly exist

that she will elevate high above the hurt and heartbreak warfare

that her destiny is the embrace and gleam of perpetual goodness

the Destined Woman is as loved

as a celebrated and timeless song

the Destined Woman is cadence

the Destined Woman rises and commands an ardent few

the Destined Woman stands in allegiance with thunder

the Destined Woman is surrounded by every particle of pure love

every speck to wash away the regretful melancholy of yesterdays

this poem for the Destined Woman is an occasion 

written by an entertaining raconteur for a heartfelt casue: love

**

This poem was written for my oldest, dearest friend, Colleen.  She turns 40 today, exactly one month after I did.  It can be difficult to choose the perfect gift for someone you've known so long for such a milestone, so I did what comes naturally and I put it down in words.  My life is full of wonderful friends, fabulous women and I celebrate them always for the gifts they give, not on special occasions but each and every day.  I'm happy that my first blog post of 2014 is dedicated to one of them.

Love your people.  Tell them so and celebrate them, not just for the big things but the moments because they add up to something called kinship.

In propinquity,

Nic