Each month, write a new collection.
Who I amI am...a master of the artsTaking nothing and making somethingTurning a fantasy into realitya brush stroke on the canvasa line of poetry in a poema creative mind Sometimes...I am, misunderstoodWhen people say he is eccentricor they may just call me crazyI am all of these things and with normalbecomes anybody not normalwhen what is normal?And when there is a difference then this is what createsartAnd in the artworkout of nothing createssomethingof a lifetime
love the lines "and when there is a difference/then this is what creates/art"
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Thank you Stephanie, I thought so as my wife agrees with you on that the crazy or the eccentric is the artist as I was thinking of the ear being cut off is a little off?
Love it man!!
I am from hula hoops that I don’t know how to use so they lean against a corner of my pink room. I am from a tea set on a little cart and the tea cups are really china and when I push the cart the dishes clink and clank and clatter and tell you it’s time to play pretend and be fancy.I am from the dolls that I throw out the window because why should Juliet and Romeo not be together? No reason, so they escape by jumping off the balcony and running away to Coney Island where I have never been, but which sounds fun and far away and theres’a a roller coaster and cotton candy. Ergo the perfect place for lovers.I am from the accordion which my mother makes me learn because everyone learns piano and she is concerned that I be different and never ceases to be slightly horrified that she gets her wish. And then some.I am from blue uniforms and blue knee socks and blue or black headbands, because this is a private school and we have standards here in New York City.I am from blue jeans that I buy at a place near Bloomingdales that my parents do not let me keep so I burn them because I am a rebel. Which means in Manhattan — I throw them down the incinerator in our apartment building. But they DO burn there, I’m pretty certain.I am from french kisses on the landing between the penthouse and the roof with a boy I met on the street and just started kissing but since this is the east side he’s a rich boy from a fancy private school. Still he seems pretty dangerous. I am from depression. The first time when I am 15 when I sit in my pink room and listen to Tim Buckley records over and over until my mother screams at me to stop. I am from there many more times.I am from dancing. In my room by myself, and with friends in their rooms, and then at dances, and then at discos, and then at punk clubs and on and on. Bar mitzvahs, Halloween parties in North Carolina and China. And still sometimes when a song comes on the tv or radio. Sometimes I dance by myself because it feels good. I am from writing. In my white diary with the little key, to notebooks, to the backs of envelopes, to computers large and small, to tablets, to phones. I am from Ph.D. I looked at my transcript the other day, and felt proud of all the hard courses I took. It is good to know about things. I feel proud about that. I am from funerals. I arranged the funeral of my best friend from work. The funeral home lady asked me all these hard questions and I knew all the answers. No flowers. No embalming. Yes, a rabbi. I am from reading because there are so many books and magazines to read and I know people who write books and who write in magazines, and so now, more than ever, when I read something, I am finding a friend and reading what that friend thinks about the world. I am from Jewish, even though there are a lot of people who say I’m not, because I converted with a Reform Rabbi, and not an orthodox one and I don’t keep kosher and I don’t cover my hair and I think being gay is great, and I do not support the Israeli government but rather like food and complaining and trying to be funny which I am much better at now that I have converted. I am from getting older which is weird and scary sometimes but other time is ok because I get to be alive and in pretty decent health when many people that I know — including my almost adopted nephew person Jackson — are not here and they should be but since they can’t be I guess I have to be super alive for them, if that makes sense. I am from extroverted. Until my friend with the funeral died, I thought I was an introvert, but now I know I’m just a shy person who loves people but who needs time to feel comfortable. To look into their eyes and see a friend, a family member, a loved one. To feel at home with that person and to look at you with curiosity, wondering if you will be one of those for me too.