Writing

Sweating, muffled breathing, toes curled under, arms wrapped around my torso, fingernails dug into my skin, I awake ... as I usually do. Slowly, as the anxiety demons slip away, I slip off the covers I call out her name, I listen intently, like the warm comfortable sound of family laughter in a distant room or the words “I love You” whispered in your ear, I hear her tail thumping gently on the bed I feel a warmth in my heart ... as I usually do. The stopwatch has clicked on, the rat race begun. I open the blinds I close the blinds Do I let them in? Do I let myself out? I open the blinds I close the blinds ... as I usually do. Mind is racing, a lone air traffic controller on a Thanksgiving Eve I get by ... as I usually do.

It was like being in a black hole, not even our thoughts escaped. A magical village in a far away land. A painting by a man named Kurovsky. Is it metaphysical? Freudian? or just plain, simple beauty. Twins exploring, twins drinking pilsners, twins sharing deep friendship — Always twins of the night, with the moon their bond. Transforming colors of the night, the castle's white, no it's green, no it's yellow, no it's ... San Nicola, basking in the warm light at night. Framed forever in my mind by the St. Charles Bridge Watchtower. Framed forever in my mind by the magic of the night. Who are these two twins? Why do they so easily see the same magic? But of course — they're twins. Every hour a new surprise, a new adventure, a new memory. Dark cavernous bunkers, cold creamy pilsners, violinists in the ally, a smokin' quartet at the Reduta, music emanating from crystal, ... Vaclav, you've done well, but I do have one request: Keep the beer halls open a few hours later — I only jest. Praha, you are a dream. A dream come true.

You hold the key to the doors of your destiny Take the least travelled path Follow the beat of your own drummer Take the high road but ... what if you see many paths what if you only see darkness what if parts of you are going through all the doors I'm seeking magic glasses that will provide me with perspective, vision. Will drugs create these glasses? Books, consciousness? I don't know. my vision is “blurred”

While there should be pain, there is only relief. Why is that? Was there love? Or was it lust and need? I'm not sure, I know I searched and wanted deep love, but I'm not sure if she is capable ... too distracted, too many internal issues. Someday, some place, somehow. Time will tell (cliche, I know, but true). I feel like waiting to see, I believe that the truth will prevail, no decisions need to be made, they will happen on their own. Crossroads seemed to happen more frequently for me than most. Other folks get on the highway, not me, I'm a back road kind of guy — turns, stop signs, circles, lights, dead ends, bright lights, random dreams, energetic abandonment, hills, both up and down ... I guess you could call it “Life” on planet Earth. Attached for 13 years, sometimes you have to be alone to find yourself, to know yourself, to trust yourself, to understand your limits and strengths, weaknesses ... reflection is good ... separation is, or can be, good. My next 10 years are to discover my innate talents, desires, spirituality. I hope for something to positively surface, having no doubt, maybe it will, maybe it won't, but I do believe something will crack the surface enough to be able to live and enjoy my second and best of lives. I will only be a prisoner for half my planet Earth life. I will not be a prisoner all of my life and die! As I do not feel certain there is an afterlife. Catholicism has created a guilt that is taking up half my life, but I will not let it take my whole life. My challenge will be to overcome this guilt and anxiety, and let loose, and let my soul control me in my second chance at life on this planet. It can be, if you let it be. — JZ

Caught on that thin line between uniforms, grease spots, work shoes, two-week overdue haircuts, simple pleasures and hard times and well-to-do, new haircuts, trendy shoes, sweater pins, moisturized skin. But both with their burdens to shoulder and their hidden demons. Both with a beer for their needs, a shot for the friends. Escape, escape at the neighborhood bar...

Angst, bubbling up from deep within. Those little demons hurting me, hurting you. A tirade, a catharsis, push you, push me, where are the lines, can they be crossed when they're not drawn? Expand oneself by violence and love, visit the extremes but don't stay too long, for you may never come back.

How many streets must I walk before I see a reflection of myself How many tears must I shed before I receive the love that I crave How many shadows must I pass before I realize they are shadows of myself How many oceans must I cross before I see a reflection of myself How much darkness must I endure until I see the light that I desire How many mirrors must I see before I see myself How many people must I meet before I meet myself How much loneliness must I endure until my heart is warmed How many times must I look to my past to find love