Saturday, February 25, 2006


The sand is cooling,
sun has bid Adieu.
Like voyeurs
we lie on our blanket,
watching the night sky
dressing in diamond raiment.

The moon is quarter full;
winds have opened
the curtain of clouds.

Ah! The throne of Nut!
Egyptian Goddess
who swallows the Sun-God Ra
each dusk,
to give birth to Him
at eve`s end.

I feel your breath on my neck,
warming, caressing.
I open your eyes with a kiss,
traveling past the stars
into your soul,
marvelling at the wonder
it arouses.


Originally published 10/04/05 as "At The Beach".
Painting by J.A. Fitzgerald [1832-1906] "The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of"

Friday, February 24, 2006



Bright lights,
the bathroom seems
The little boy`s dread
seems to heighten
his senses.
Confused, alone,
he faces the babysitter
who draws him to her.
The sadness that lives
within her
coils, strikes

Thursday, February 23, 2006

FURTHER, further.

Further thoughts on comments by Ayn, Tianka, Theresa, Judi, Bedazzled and Tammy.

I`m so pleased to see other`s thoughts on this quandry. The subject is so difficult to grasp, even for the esteemed writers that have philosophised about it. As I read my original post, the language seems stilted, too precise. I think I`ve read from some of my favorite bloggers that a true writer labors over the simplicity of his/her words.

To try again, with more humble words, I believe, with Rank, that most people shrink at the knowledge of their mortality. On an unconscious level, the various defenses that define our personalities {Obsessive-Compulsive, Hysterical, Narcissistic, Depressive, Passive-Aggressive, Schizoid, etc.} are the means that a human denies his/her mortality, denies his/her animalness. For most of us, life goes on day to day, familiar, comfortable. Of course, at times we all face hardship and misfortune. It is at these times that we shrink further into our personalities, our defenses becoming more pronounced. We may even reach levels of stress such that our usual characterological defenses are not strong enough to alleviate the anxiety, driving us to resort to more primitive defenses. For example, an obsessive will become more paranoid when his/her intellectual defenses fail him/her. This is the usual pattern.

However, be it genetics or life experience, some of us do not as easily repress the anxiety that life presents to an animal that is God-like in his self knowledge. As my commenters have so wisely stated, this anxiety seems "free-floating", it does not ordinarily congeal as death anxiety. Yet, for these people, there seem to be only two ways to alleviate this anxious feeling. One can further constrict their world by expanding the strength of their usual defenses to the point of neuroses or one can try to make sense of their experience through the creative act. Again, even for the artist, these are generally unconscious acts; there is just a need to become.

Finally, for me, all art is equal in its heroism; some is more admired because of the artist`s talent, but I feel equal admiration and love for all of us strivers.


Further Thoughts; A Comment To Christina.

Re: Thoughts On Creativity And Faith; Reactions To Christina, Theresa, Aynetal And Tianka.

This entry first appeared as a comment in Christina`s blog. Her entry was titled "Morning thoughts about Vince and Theresa and the debate".

Hi Christina. A few thoughts...

Johnson wrote the 1st great Dictionary of the English language; Boswell was his biographer and diarist.

Do you really still have access to the poem I deleted? Could you email it to me? I don`t have a copy, don`t remember all the words.Maybe I should rethink its deletion. Hmmmmmm....

I`m on the side of faith in the Creator. I agree with Becker, Rank and Kierkegaard. There`s a sadness in Freud`s life that his genius could never be humbled before the Being who endowed him with its power. The artist, which I define as anyone trying to live his/her life to its fullest potential,{see Aynetal`s comment} can feel most fulfilled if he can accept himself as that animal who must attempt to be as God, yet in the same breath, bow to the wonder of his Creator. Not an easy task.

In an earlier comment, Theresa wrote of the French describing the sexual act as "la petit morte", the little death. I believe the root of this lies in its being the ultimate creative act, more so than even art, since it is something that we share equally. In the grand scheme of things, this is as close as we get to Godliness.


Wednesday, February 22, 2006

A Few Words On Creativity and Faith

……the only way to work on perfection is in the form of an objective work that is fully under your control and is perfectible in some real ways. Either you eat up yourself and others around you, trying for perfection, or you objectify that imperfection in a work, on which you then unleash your creative powers. In this sense, some kind of objective creativity is the only answer man has to the problem of life. In this way, he satisfies nature, which asks that he live and act objectively as a vital animal plunging into the world; but he also satisfies his own distinctive human nature because he plunges in on his own symbolic terms and not as a reflex of the world as given to mere physical sense experience. He takes in the world, makes a total problem out of it, and then gives a fashioned, human answer to that problem. This, as Goethe saw in Faust, is the highest that man can achieve.
{Ernest Becker, “The Denial of Death”, page 185.}

Freud also saw the value of creativity in the individual`s struggle to defend himself against being overwhelmed by his knowledge of his mortality. He believed that all of man`s defenses arise from that most primal defense, that of pure repression. Be they hysterical, intellectual, obsessive, compulsive, depressive, etc. postures, man must limit his conscious knowledge of his mortality by restricting his lived experience to a safe existence shared by the vast majority of his comman man. Yet Freud, perhaps influenced by his single-minded devotion to his life project, understood sublimation, the ability to cathect neurotic energy into creativity, as the one defensive posture that seemed to have no life-diminishing properties.

Unfortunately, I believe, that very creative process that allows man to live a less “neurotic” life comes with a terrible burden. The very striving to leave something of value behind, to outlive us, brings into clearer focus the dilemma of our mortality. As the Artist, in Rank`s sense, attempts to create, he becomes terrified at his temerity in doing what is God`s work. It is here that many artists shrink from their creative urges, and fall back on their more neurotic defenses in order to shield themselves. Some others bow to their lack of courage through psychotic breaks with reality.

I`ve always found it interesting that Freud and Jung had such terrible panic attacks when approaching Rome. Yet neither man seemed able to relate their terror to the symbology of Rome as the seat of a major religion. Because of his devotion and single-mindedness to psychoanalysis, Freud seemed unable to reach a personal resolution with nature and its Creator. Even Jung, who always relied on God, could still faint away with the burden of life.

For me, what ultimately resolves the terror inherent in sublimation for many artists is their understanding of their place in the Creator`s plan. As Becker describes the insight of Rank and Kierkegaard in regards to creativity and immortality, ……”one should not stop and circumscribe his life with beyonds that are near at hand, or a bit further out, or created by oneself. One should reach for the highest beyond of religion; man should cultivate the passivity of renunciation to the highest powers no matter how difficult it is. Anything less is less than full development, even if it seems like weakness and compromise to the best thinkers”……….{Becker, op cit, page 174.}

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Theresa and Christina, I`m Back!

Theresa and Christina seem to be speaking to me. They`re saying, “OK, I`m sorry you`ve been sick. But how long are you goin` to sleep? Your blog seems a series of reposts, an occasional new poem. How `bout a little energy?

Aynetal is caught up with her school entries, Christina and Theresa are so energized, Jod is plugging along wonderfully without her “i”, Tammy is warrioring along, Mal is showing his courage, even T has posted! Everyone is up & about, `cept some of us depressives. {You know who you are!}

The first series of saved poems that I wrote were in reflection of an intense love affair, in my thirties. Over 20 years later, I started an AOL journal. {God, it`s hard to capitalize aol, sort of giving them respect. Yet, if not for my journal there, I`d not be writing anything of substance now.} In the past 2 ½ years, I`ve completed one book of fiction, third of the way through its sequel, and have written over 100 poems. Kind of amazing to me.

I read of the dedication that most artists feel towards their work, the singlemindedness, and I am deeply humbled. Many years ago, as a freshman finance major, I took an Interest Inventory. The results stated I was most suited to be a writer, secondly, a psychologist. I escaped accounting and have spent most of my working life as a clinical psychologist after earning my M.A. and Ph.D. Now here I am, later in life, trying to write.

Theresa asked where my interest in vampires came from. The funny thing is, I`ve never had a special interest in the undead. When I was first fumbling in my aol journal, I published my love poems of so many years ago. Then I remembered an essay I wrote as a freshman in my first English composition class. The teacher had asked us to write a “descriptive essay” and I wrote of a farmer who was in his barn when he was attacked by a large animal. With his last surge of energy, he was able to hurt the animal severely with a pitchfork. He then crawled to the back door of his house and before collapsing, banged on the door. His wife heard the bang and looked out the back window. All she could see was the animal, slowly but assuredly approaching her back door. She locked the door and ran to her children.

I posted my remembrance of this essay, then thought, I wonder where this story goes? And that`s how I gained an interest in vampires and wrote my first book.

As far as the number of blogs I`ve been reading, I`ve cut the number from 128 to 66. I feel more comfortable with this number and I`m grateful for all of the comments and support I received over this conundrum.

Believe it or not, I started to write this entry in response to the latest posts from Theresa and Christina. The relationship of creativity and Godliness. Those two always get me writing, though I often ramble. Believe me, I`ll get there!

Hugs to all.

Thursday, February 16, 2006


A human, once bitten, suffers the transition to immortality. All of the old stories appeal to a romantic view of the vampire. The bite sends the victim to shock; he awakes as wolf or bat, ravenous, deadly. It has taken hundreds of years for Valmont`s painting to surface; it is, as far as is known, the only artistic attempt to capture that hypnogogic experience. Valmont was the first of the great French artists to become the undead and he spent many years, many lives, wresting the scene from his victims.Through the use of cocaine and torture, Valmont drew from them the unconscious images he was able to paint, the towers of defenses crumbling, the many faces of the fear and lies a human presents to the world becoming mere epherea, the transition to wolfen complete!


TITIAN "Venus and Adonis" c1553

in his bed
never used to the smells,

his voice now a blink
of an eye,
his dinner by tube,
breathing assisted.

reading done by an aide
slovenly written magazines
who is this week`s star?

oh, but the memories!
daydreams escape him
into the arms of Mary.

twenty years of love
and desire
wreaking havoc on

and then the truck
monstrous, growing
crushing them
sending her to heaven
and him to bed.

he used to fear death
and its questions



Monday, February 13, 2006


There`s something I`ve been wrestling with since the AOL Exodus in November, 2005. I feel very comfortable at my new digs, yet I`ve found that there has been a significant decrease in my posting since the move. I wonder about all of the reasons for this.

To start with, I`ve found that I now have 125 blogs listed on my Bloglines Feeds. I`m sure I`m not the first blogger [or journaller] who has run into this conundrum. I try to visit these blogs as often as possible, yet it is impossible to adequately keep up with the hundreds of notifications that I receive each week. I guess there comes a point when we must narrow our focus; the question is how to best do this.

On the average, this blog receives from 15 to 18 comments per entry, with probably 10 to 12 being constant visitors. If I add the less frequent visitors, plus the AOL journals that remain must reads, I may be able to cut my blogline roll significantly.

This morning, as I was perusing my list for commenting, I realized that there were blogs and/or journals that I have been visiting regularly for a year or more who have seldom, if ever, commented in my blog or, in times past, my now closed AOL journal. Many of these are popular blogs, and it seems unlikely that they would miss my comments so I think these should be the first to be deleted from my visiting list. I guess that`s where I`ll start.

Another reason for my post decrease has been an on again- off again battle with flu-like symptoms for the past six weeks. Next year, I think I`m going for the Flu shot!

For visitors to my private AOL fiction journal, it must be evident that I`ve lost my Muse due to whatever reasons. I`m barely posting 1 update a week since November! Something must be done there. I`m so appreciative of my avid readers there and I have to write more frequently there to keep their interest.

I guess in posting this I`m asking if anyone else has suffered these difficulties. Any advice or comments would be greatly appreciated.


Thursday, February 09, 2006


Bedraggled, besotted
an icy beard
presents itself
peering from the blanket.

Amidst the roiling mist
of the heating vent
he seems a dragon,
probing thru reddened eyes,
watching the world recoil
from his breath of fire.


Friday, February 03, 2006


Gustav Klimt [1862-1918] "DEATH AND LIFE COMPLETED" 1916

In dreams, the past comes alive.
She who has haunted my memories
gains substance,
and presents herself to me,
in all her mystery.

Colors blaze, pain fades
and hopes become reality.

in this moment
of reverie.