Essential Invisibility

The studio feels ominous tonight. Something shines. And something sings in silence. And when the music stops, it's just me and my thoughts here.

...Seeking to become larger than life...but not necessarily larger than our lives.

A rose must be in the sun AND the rain or its lovely promise will never come true. So when I write I try to capture ALL of the day.

G-d never promised me a rose garden. HE gave me seeds... So I Water the sky with tears... And watch the stars blossom.

"Tonight I walked across a bridge... But there was no bridge there.. I carried a bag full of love... But no one to share it with. And then... I thought of you."

The future of art lay in her LOVE

The future of me lay in these songs.

I wonder if she's even listening...

Very Lonely Places...

I'm having a hard time adjusting to this modest amount of fame... I think I prefer infamy...

Sometimes the spotlight can feel like a black hole...

The writer before G-d. The supplicant. G-d is really only another artist. And we are mere two parts of the same conversation. Sometimes in agreeance. Sometimes in opposition.

It started raining as we walked in tonight... I love the rain. I love what it says. It's hard to hear over the music.

Vain men never hear anything but praise...

Smart men pay attention to the "taunts" too.

My man yells "Toast!" as I pour myself a glass...

As I pour myself out to myself. a

I've been in the club too long.

Behold a Hope...

Crying is just another way of keeping a diary... so give me a journal and fill it.

Loan me your ear and I'll give you my heart.

I'm having difficulties with a flower...

I picked it by the bay of yesterday.

And heard from deep within "Love does not cause suffering: what causes it is the sense of ownership, which is love's opposite” from Le Petit Prince inside me...

The same fire within her that warms me burns me to my soul... so by virtue of her loving me she has to hurt me.

You have to look with your heart to see my intentions.

Read my words and I'll make you the gift of a secret - a secret hope. You.

My Struggle...

I grew up 3 blocks from Hell. The things I've seen beggar description. My life is simplistic, emotional, repetitive, and uncompromising all at once. Days are where dreams are shattered. And nights where we put them back together.

First I became famous for my art. Then I became famous for being famous. And then I became famous for being infamous.


My life is simplistic, emotional, repetitive, and uncompromising all at once.

In the end, I just want to find my place and own it.


Sincerely,

AJS

Genius Child...

Once upon a time there was a child dancing in the middle of an ocean of his mother's tears... to the beat of his own heartbeat.

He wanted to live forever.

Read this poem at my funeral.

Genius Child
This is a song for the genius child.
Sing it softly, for the song is wild.
Sing it softly as ever you can - Lest the song get out of hand.
Nobody loves a genius child.
Can you love an eagle, Tame or wild? Can you love an eagle, Wild or tame? Can you love a monster Of frightening name?
Nobody loves a genius child.
Kill him - and let his soul run wild.

- Langston Hughes

Very Lonely Places...

Words informed by travel and travail.

Pictures of Pain - Series 1

If I...

If I could have one Thanksgiving wish it would be for everyone to go to sleep tomorrow with a full stomach.

Pictures of Pain - Series 1

Shine Thru...

Attempting to write these words that make you want to come closer... That make you want to shine thru...

You Are My Own...

My first pain was a white man's hand across my ass. My second was a black man who let me down... My third was a white teacher who taught me "class"...

ACS. Do you remember? All if it? Not just the end. Every act of creation is first an act of destruction... An ugly beauty. Observation and possession.

Weeping women are my favorite. Thank you Mother.

Though Pain... You are my own.

I'm convinced.... Common sense will not accomplish great things... So my search continues.

On the verge of influential... and tears.

But not for that April 12, I might have wasted my life. No longer afflicted with a sense of wandering, EYE EMERGE.

I fancy it a kind of symbolic death.

This message is bloody. And FOREVER.

Flowers Are So Contradictory!

Student of pain.

Sun of man.

Hope of many.

Notebook in hand.

Pen in He-Art.

I grew up.

And grew in.

To protect the childhood I never had.

In order to live forever.

Dancing in the middle of the ocean to my own heart-beat.

I love lonely. And she loves me back (most of the time).

I can feel you smiling.

She was born the same time as the sun.

She perfumes my planet.

And lights up my life.

Thank you