Focus Stall Ranting

I enjoyed your article, as I also find myself in the unenviable position, of freezing my life due to heart breaks, to reflect on the patterns in the pain of the past. As you said, my symptoms are flight, fight, and freeze.

On my blogging adventure, I’m fighting by writing for the growth of my well-being, and yesterday I watched an interesting video on the study of perspective in time, that helps build my serenity for that purpose.

In the flight from emotional pain over the last year, I’ve become fascinated by how time relates to my spirituality and identity. It has a harsh impact on the judgements of others for who I am(an emotional trigger you shared too),so you I hope this video helps you too. Food for thought in The Secret Powers of Time.  The only criticism I would give, is that I wouldn’t choose to represent the present tense derogatorily as “Present Hedonist”, as I find the spiritual practice of “Mindfullness”, and living in the moment, bring me contentment.

I used my desire to comment on your article, as a motivator to edit my long list of backlogged drafts, so thanks for sharing your struggle, it inspired me to improve this article from 2012:

Why am I doubting the darkness, and interrogating the sun? Why does the cold make me angry, and the heat make me sad? What is this thing that makes me look up, expecting to see the ceiling, and finding the closet floor? What is the combination of the lock to the cellar door?

Why am I so tired, with rest evading me like a bouncing deer? Staring at one of my biggest fears, shaking my head and grinning, a mantra uttered to survive. Turning on the music, taking a shower, shaving, turning up the music, dancing, singing, drinking water….

Taking on something simple while physically demanding, as a challenge that will exhaust me to complete. A work that takes all of it away, and leaves me trembling for a different reason, than the one that motivated me to write this.

It’s a precipice, a focus stall, a pit. The scattering fragmentation and suffering of doubts, popping up like bubbles in a boil.

Putting my ear muffs on to cancel out the noise of the chain saws hitting rock, in my head, and again, turning up the music. Dancing to feeling it, loving it as a moment in time. Always as my salvation, the double safeties with end knots, rescuing my lost soul.

A place of absorption with mind whipping like a snake rattle…I’m barely alive. Outside the door lying under the floor, lurks my passions, perseverance, drive, resilience, sanctuary, art, and focus. Play that makes me tall, a work that fixes all.

It’s the decision that’s already been made, and a willingness to pursue it with dogged focus. Getting it done for me, means learning to transcend the focus stalls with grace.

So if you see me with bloodshot eyes and grinning, sweating while lifting, moving at high-speed, know that what you see is glee, buried in an uncontrollable passion to finish.

I have no choice to make at this point. My life has become make or die, and I love being an Artist Builder. Thanks again for inspiring me to lift this back up, by writing about the dynamics of your mental health, and the scientific study of it. Be well.

This is little blue man.  He glows in the dark.  My third puppet.  Made from reclaimed Douglas Fir, Yew wood, and an assortment of semi precious stone beads.

This is little blue man. He glows in the dark, and is my third puppet. Made from reclaimed Douglas Fir, Yew wood, and an assortment of semiprecious stone beads.  His strings are cut, because making him was my passion, and controlling him didn’t bring me happiness.



The spunk in her bones

Feral eyed the young man came in, he walked beyond where he was told to be willing, and a taint of happiness trailed behind in his footprints. As the sand of time trickled into the barely contained rattling inside her bones, he became nervous, as he’d seen the inside of the tigers mouth….and he loved it.

She sat there as a hungry wizened maker of madness, a whippoorwill across the valley of hopes in boys. With each breath there was a timing in her heart, it brought memories of deep sighs, open armed with claws reaching, and the steep fall of broken Stupids in ruin. They should have let her sink the lock, brought they’re dreams into her conversation, and showed her the actions of years building them true.

He ran into the stream of her boom, it’s beckoning force catching the gale and whipping the sheet-bends across her bow. The stutter stepping began with questioning the directions of the other men who had failed, and he paled while hoping for her smile. It may have taken hours, weeks, or years, but the colors fading in her hair brought him satisfaction in the moments she met his gaze.

Anyone could see the well watered roots of her sight, a fine layer masked little, and the shock was painted across it in his dirty. She grins now as a perfectly placed approval, curling back his doubts, and an offer for the same lay barely hidden within her lips. He shifted his stance, having gathered into his joys, by her wanting of him more.

The sign said, “KEEP BACK OF SIGN”, so I did that and met this cliff. Returning at high tide is forever a hope buried in time, as the water below crashes into the rocks, and blossoms into rumblings through my feet.

Drained of politeness from her reaping of his underbelly in questions, as a source of glee he wrote transfixed, on the potent of her plots. With each broken line of snow balls thrown to miss, he hoped they made her blush, and dusted her feet with tickling snowflakes. The tea didn’t help wake him up after that, and he passed out in a honeyed bliss, because she had shared the wish of a restart…for her heart.

Letting go of my best friend

In the moment of realization, sadness unleashed, not by an action of another. Having failed to meet a basic standard again, a plan that bore a fruit of grief, was solidified. A windswept waterway white-capped tear. Something I knew was near.

Anticipated it as a spear, brought to a bear. The others were forced into air by a rescue need met. This one shed light on wild open water, the source of our shared happiness. He and I, are a we no more, and watching him see it, was overwhelming.

Upside down and backwards

Originally a meditation as a practiced focus like chewing, and now a skill to share, with people right now.


Place a mirror on your keyboard, print it out, flip it 180 degrees, turn it over, peer through it with a light behind it to reveal, a site of me. Hang by your feet, with a mirror in hand, and build the letters, into an idea. Upside down and backwards, the world is full of wonder.

Buttoned in “truth”, or an illustrious vision, of what could be, becomes the reality of your identity.

What and who am I? Why? When? How do you define the immaterial? Which angle should you project from? Where is the best place to start? A compartmentalized person, a categorized being, a mold to fit or else.

Will I fill your plan, doctrine, dogma, attachment, view, or design?

Build a little box, and watch as I shatter the walls. Expect the unexpected, try something new, paying attention to, I wish I was you, and what really matters events. Moments in time where envy, judgement and reason, cage a personality into pictures of poisonous perceptions. Expect the worst, and that’s what you’ll get. Insecurity is but a fear minimized, transcend it to find your soul.

Can I tell you a secret? I have what you wish you had. And then again, you would be thankful not to be me. I am as you are. I have the same hungers, the same reason for motivation, the same values. What is it but a moment in time? A feeling of sublime vanquished by doubt. And again, now, I throw it out.

Interesting to me the approach, the sliding into home, or striking out. The variable speed, emotional inflection, tonal quality speech, or little to none. I am avoiding feeling undone by your thoughts, feelings, and judgements, I am free to be. You are you, and I am me. We are safe, in a cocoon, a cave, or a sanctuary. You have yours, I have mine, and I’m willing to share mine. Are you? Can we? Why not?

I offer up gladly the pedestal of prayer, shrines of divine, keys to happiness, and hopes for the best. I have not failed your test, so now, I can attest to rest.


This is what I want, with grace, mischief, and fun:

This picture and post are divided in half to keep you from knowing what sucks. If you like that it sucks, please share it on other forms of social media! Thank you for reading my blog!!

The feedback was solid this morning. I am annoyingly divided into fragments of focus and amazingly difficult to understand. Well, that’s not exactly what they said, but it rang true. This is the idea within some of the script on these blogs, as I face the poetry inside the boxy structure of English, and struggle to make solid prose while maintaining a creative edge on grammar. Triple meanings, double entendre, code, abstraction, vague as smoke, synonymous relationship, exotic, mechanical erotica freedom writing.

This is a short story of flow as the post is broken in two. Releasing the before and after together like a well prepared bill for a job well done. Back to back. Shoulder to shoulder. Let the polarization be understandable for the more singular, grounded and emotionally consistent minds. I hope to be one (in moderation) and do that, by doing this: writing here, expressing myself with multimedia networking while honestly pursuing donations, marketing, and promotion of my art…..that I love to give away.

So good morning, or whatever is the appropriate farewell for your time zone, and I hope you enjoyed the mischief. I love to snare attention with play, as it floats my kid joy boat.