Enjoy...

This photo is named "Kellie Pickler" and I'm almost certain that most of my friends would not understand why, well, not before a quick Google search. I found this photo while riffling through my One-A-Day album on Facebook and naming each photo, something I'd previously neglected to do. I found that the thoughts that flooded my mind each time I switched to a new one, if verbalized, may have sounded bizarre but somewhere in a crevice in my mind, they made all the sense in the world. It's all a matter of appreciation, I think.

Kellie Pickler's 'Red High Heels' is still one of my favorite contemporary country songs. Yes, that's right. I said contemporary, meaning I like Classic country too. In fact, my appreciation for music of all genres, goes much deeper and was established well before I took Music Appreciation at Northern Caribbean University. Earlier this morning, my work day started with Mobb Deep's 'Shook Ones' and Rahkim, Nas and KRS-One's 'Classic'. A few days earlier it had been a trip through the 90's R&B junk yard and before that the boulevard of broken punk band's dreams with Sum 41, Limp Bizkit and Blink 182. I understand why each of those types of music appeal to the people who love them and I know why they appeal to me, each in their own unique way.

I watched the pilot episode of the new HBO show "Girls" this afternoon and my cousin could not fathom why I would watch such a dreadful show. I will not assume what he saw while half-watching the show, but what I heard was wispy, sometimes witty dialogue and what I saw was an almost entrancing lead actress in over her head and intriguing artistic direction and wardrobe, complimented by engaging cinematography. What the show lacked in dialogue and "action", it makes up for with odd-ball characters and great storytelling, with quick cuts, brilliantly composed shots and an unpretentious film grade. While I will probably never watch this show again, because the story failed to capture my attention, I was able to appreciate the positives in this project and I understand why that show is on TV.

When the writing stops, I try to fit into boxes that are perhaps more acceptable since all that I have to say stays bottled up. There's no making the words come or the urge to write. Sometimes it just does and at other times its no where to be found. My pen (or keyboard) allows me to only be myself, stripped of all pretense. Well, maybe not ALL; I retain my innate sense of pretentiousness well past the third paragraph of any essay. Maybe it all makes me strange. But it all makes ME.

So, I'm back to writing what I want to write. I'm gonna shoot what I want to shoot. I already watch what I want to watch. And most importantly I'm gonna enjoy every hop, skip and leap along the way.

Enjoy me. I know I will.

Maybe...

Maybe this is the answer. Maybe I've spent too much time away from here becoming more and more confused and overwhelmed with these thoughts of loneliness, grief and a contented sense of achievement. Perhaps all I needed to do was return to my safe space, where all my thoughts form words that form sentences that some times don't make much sense to neither me nor my reader but have an immense capacity to free my soul. Maybe this is just what I need to do; get the words out to clear space for me to function 'normally', if how I function can be described as normal.

My life has become increasingly complex since I dropped out of University in December of 2010. I say complex because I refuse to search for another word to describe the lopsided manifestations of extreme glee and intense sadness that have filled my days since. ..."And I, in my darkened threshold, am pawing though my pockets, the receipts, bus schedules, the matchbook, phone numbers, the urgent napkin poems; all of which laundering has rendered pulpy an strange, loose change and a key." This is my life and all of the circumstances that have created the conditions which I now live under have taught me lessons that will stay with me forever.

My father's death taught me a great deal, about the true uncertainty of life. Most people survive through each day and a few try to live each day like it's there last. But it's my opinion that living either way is a tad mundane and so "inside-the-box" and living each day like it's your last may just make it your last day. I now choose to live each day like it's my first, making a conscious effort to enjoy each opportunity with the fresh eyes of a babe, the wonderment of a child and a cultivated sense of innocence and curiosity that affords me such grand perspective. And strangely, I find that rather than count myself insignificant in the vastness of the universe, how favored I realize I am to exist and to carry on the legacy of a great man, "A Giant in my Eyes".

I could scarcely retrace the steps that my father and I had previously walked together, far less for even attempting to lace up his wing-tips and walk more than a few steps, but I have found a way to keep his legacy alive. His words live through me. "Always have your own!" "Love those who care about you!" "Care about those who love you!" "Be a good man!" "Research your opinion and stand for what you believe in!".....And I Love It!!! 

Maybe this WAS what I needed!!!

Rebel...

Who are we, if peeping eyes, wayward lips and deceitful tongues

'Cause us to cower into recluse and shy away, silently, scoring our days with sobs?

When those positioned to over-see, instead over-look that role; I guess it's oversight either way.

Where is all the zest and passion that February is supposed to stir up in us,

Having been refreshed with memories of Marcus, Martin and even Kunta?

When have we ever laid down, playing victim, when pressed on either side,

And pricked with the thorns of resistance. When have we ever accepted change,

That we never prayed for, and scarcely care for, for that matter?

How do we now stay peaceful, like stagnant river water hosting flies and parasites,

Unable to overflow our banks and ruffle the feathers of those at play on our fringe;

Unwilling to let us join in the fun. 

War! Warrior. Fight!  Fighter.

Wrestle! Push Back! Don't Take This Crap Lying Down!!!

Rebel! We are but after all rebels.

-HalfCrazy

© Elias O. Dupuis 2011. All Rights Reserved.

Not A Drop Less....

Tears drip like rain pours 
Washing away all my hopes and dreams
 Like chalk on a blackboard 
As I find that what I have to do, I hate to do 
And I hate myself for not loving you
 And I await the day I'll be able to.
 Like when I fell for you, I hit hard
 And it shattered my make-believe 
Jolting me back to the reality that 
We connected! Unlike any connection before or since
 And my hesitance to go down this road
 Is actually not that different from yours 
It's like I kno what I'm capable of
 And I hate to think that I've hurt you now 
But I'd hate to be the one to drag you down
 Even though you think you're ready to go
So
 Tears drip down my face too, Like rain
 Pouring down window sills to the ground; 
My chest, to the pot hole my belly button forms 
Like a baby, I pour my soul into my hands,
 Poor baby! It was my choice and I know I punked out,
But sometimes the best thing is the hardest thing
And the hardest thing is the worst thing
'Cause head and heart don't communicate like they used to;
Head remembering heartache and heart turning love into a headache
And I can't bear being the cause of this and
I find myself sitting and wishing
That we could find some common time, Some place
Where we could stand, face to face, and
Wipe each others eyes dry.
And I...
I lay my head down
And rest seems to refuse to come
And then it does, leaving me at the mercy of my dreams
Tossed about by turbulent brain waves
There is no peaceful rest for me tonight
But I find rest nevertheless.
.......And I Find That, On Awaking, I'm Still In Love With You
.....And It Still Hurts, Not A Drop Less!!! 



-HalfCrazy
©Elias O.Dupuis 2010

It Was About Time.....

There are few occasions in life that call for a re-assessing of priorities, a refocusing of ideals or a change in directions. These events, though not everyday occurrences, force us to take stock of our lives so far; whether that means our connection to a higher power, how close we are to the ones we love and those we share DNA with or simply how far we are from having the lives we painted ourselves in as children. And whether we realize that we have fallen short or that we've far exceeded what we set off to accomplish, the fact remains that we are humbled by the experience.

There are a few birthdays that call for such a soul search, like 21, 40 and 50. There are weddings, graduations, promotions, births, deaths and funerals. The effects of these, whether they happen around us and especially if they happen to us, are undoubtedly immense. With each milestone we are constantly bombarded by what a necessity it has always been to truly enjoy the life you have, even if it's not the life you think you want or deserve. From the beaming faces of sheer joy at a wedding, the flash-flushed smiles of relatives and friends alike at a graduation or the pride in a father's eyes as he stares knowingly at his newborn, to the unexplainable grief that fake smiles can't hold back at a funeral as tears flow like rivers; they change us.

It causes us to love harder and deeper and never forget the reasons we have others to love, holding on the why that makes us love them and letting go of the envy and jealousy that sometimes blinds us to the fact that the ones we hurt the most are the ones we ought to cherish dearly. We feel because we are. And we are lucky to 'be'.

-HalfCrazy 
© Elias O. Dupuis 2010

Lost Identity.....

You touched me....so,
How is it that you expect me to be,
Without lips to lay my kisses on,
Without a heart to hide my emotions in,
Without a mind to share my dreams with,
Without ears to whisper my secrets into...?
I am scared,
It hurts and I,
I tear up from inside
All of the profoundness that is me.
Running from the intense emptiness
That lingers still.
My soul like is an abyss for want of another,
With whom to share my pain,
With whom to share my smiles,
With whom to whisper secrets.

Do you expect me to continue?
My desktop is already littered with abandoned notions.
How can I even finish a poem,
When I can barely
Stitch together ideas,
Expressing the agonizing horror that
An existence without you truly feels like;
Cold, lonely, empty, dark.

The mirror mirrors nothing despite my intense gazing;
Pain like darkness absorbing me,
Refusing to relinquish it's grasp,
Despite my best attempts to escape it.
What do you expect of me?
Who am I to be?
Without you.

-HalfCrazy
© Elias O. Dupuis 2010

The Benches......

They destroyed the benches yesterday.
The ones under the big flamboyant tree
Where we etched our names with knives
And pledged eternal, unconditional allegiance.
Seems like a lifetime ago since we liked each other
When, like opposites, we attracted to features
Unlike our respective own. When in the company of you,
Me felt complete and whole, because we filled the holes
In each other, left by previous lovers.

I remember the sunlight kissing your skin so perfectly,
Like the leaves of that tree were arranged so that
One day you could sit in that spot, 
Head tilted to the side; slightly
And it would appear that their sole purpose 
Was to diffuse the light,
So perfect-like and lay it on your cheek, just right. 

The benches where, as you read loudly, I laid my head in your lap
Looking up into the vastness of the wide open blue
As if staring into the infinity our future appeared to be; then,
And if only for a second, the blink of an eye,
I caught a glimpse of us, in some far off time,
Me, still hopelessly orbiting you, and you me, 
For sheer gravity. 

And in those moments, 
With all the sunlight, shade and company
That we could ever need
We let go and fell head-over-heels
Face first, without the slightest care of bruising.
Without the worry of breaking bones or hearts
Not caring how fragile or brittle either were.
Untamed and unbridled, to love and believe.
And the memories will live on,
Even though the benches are gone.

And I hope to God you remember like I do,
Because....

They destroyed OUR benches yesterday
The ones under the big flamboyant tree
Where we etched our names with knives!
......And I wonder, what ever became of US?

-HalfCrazy
© Elias O. Dupuis 2010