Unopened Letters to an Imaginary Husband part 7

I was asked why I started this series of posts.
There is a few reasons.

1. I'm working the Soulmate Secret by Arielle Ford. 
2. I believe in the Law of Attraction (remember it's just another form of magick )
3. The blog was getting too heavy with all my rants and crying
4. I like poetry
5. There is nothing wrong with showing some gratitude to the universe ahead of time for bringing the right guy to me (remember it's the law of return too- what you put out you get back)
6. The right guy might stumble across my blog and see the pretty poetry and be so taken that he has to contact me.
7. I love the idea of love letters.  And honestly, I think men do too. 

I've been told I wear my heart on my sleeve.  Um yeah, it's covering my tattoo.  I'm a deeply emotional person, good bad or otherwise.  I'm also brutally honest.  If I love you I'll tell you, if I hate you I'll tell you, if I just want to freal you, I'll tell you that too.
Yes, I'm as immature as a cat in heat sometimes... well most the time, but I'm also loyal.
In the movie Trick or Treat (1986)  the character of Sammi Curr says "You should be loyal to your heroes or they may turn on you".   I think that goes for love too.

I don't know what you want from me

You hide from me when you need me most,
You rip me from myself when I need me most,
Under a pale spotlight of trust, that slowly binds us together,
I'm tired and I can't take it anymore, I need to feed but I'm nothing more then a vampire in a room of zombies, empty and alone
I don't know what you want from me, you have never said, never shown, never explained,
Is it the moisture on my lips, as you lick them sending a shiver up my spine, or is it something else that you've planted in me burning me up from the inside,
You say you are my friend but yet you haven't tried, I'm still stuck walled up brick by brick inside, while you stand there in the cold snow, ankle deep and wet
You hide from me when you need me most,
You rip me from myself when I need me most,
You're not the spirit of the show not the host
I don't know what you want from me, you have never said, never shown, never explained,
Just pointed to your chest telling me your way is the best,
I don't know what you want from me,  and I've cried begged pleaded with you to let me know, to kindly thank you, to open up just a little of your locked door,
But still you hide, like a shadow in the darkened corner of my mind, of my heart, daring me to start over again my song, to hit the beat and drag it on,
I don't know what you want from me, you refuse to say refuse to give me the time of day,
But you expect me to stay, to be waiting for you without love without passion without - you
I don't know what you want from me,


By Ardeth Blood   April 12th 2010

Muse me

Someone left a comment the other day on one of my other posts, asking me what I am looking for in a man.  My reply was actually really snotty.  Totally asshole of me. 
The last 24hours because of a crazy situation of information coming to my attention, information I have to admit I didn't like finding out,  I have been thinking.  
I've talked about the fact that I need to have a guy in my life or at least a crush in order to be creative.  I need a Muse.
I've never admitted it before, but what I want out of a guy is to be his Muse.  I've never admitted it before because I never believed I deserved to be seen that way.  But it's what I want. 
So to answer the person honestly and without venom, I want to inspire a man. 

I 'm guessing that is  big key to finding the One, my soulmate,  (yes remember we've gone over this a million times, I believe in soulmates)   he'll have a new creativity when he meets me.  I'll be his Muse.

Egotistical - no.  Honest for the first time in years - honest to myself anyway.

Some of my art

Why?  Oh god only knows why I am daring to make a bigger hoser out of myself, but I am.
Okay, you're getting a taste of my failures now.  And I've failed at everything I have tried my hands at, art, poetry, music, television, plays, films, the only thing I haven't failed at is comedy and that's only cause I haven't tried comedy yet.

This is the one painting I keep getting asked if it's for sale.  No it's not.  It took me a year to do, and I was not smart enough to right down the mix for the skin colour.  There is about 5 different colours in the mix for the dead skin.  I call him   "The Incubus"

This is a poem I wrote last year on March 28th 2009 that was turned into a song for a friend's play.

Somehow I died that night
Covered in memories of forgotten times
he spilled the wine
blacked out on a canvass of a better line
coked out and strangled by his own design

seems he loved me not as much as I loved him
seems he loved me not as much as the powered white lines fine
well I died that night
covered in memories of broken rhymes
locked out of moments that should have been mine

I died that night
burned out and battered like a prized fighter in a caged fight
lord knows I gave and I tried
but I somehow died that night

his vision cleared
but left his eyes bloody and wide
his smoke cleared
but left him sweating like a cop  was tailing him high
his vision cleared
but I had died that night

seems he loved me not as much as I loved him
seems he loved me not as much as the powered white lines
fine
well I died that night
covered in memories of broken rhymes
locked out of moments that should have been mine

I died that night
I died
I died that night
I died
lord knows I gave and I tried
but somehow I died that night


Here's another poem I wrote back in 2001 under the name Harley Lilith Noir   it's called  "Duet"


The partnership is born mist the mass confusion, over screaming the play, playwright, actors
Burning moonlight in their veins, the desire of hot flashes, gel covered lights, 
foot -candle-spot
The dance begins, tone on tone, the microphones combine intertwine a duet of mass reality, 
voices purge their sorrows, mixing-combining-liquid creamed,
Eyes closed throats thrown open, the final notes nothing but a high pitched scream,
The music's over, microphones recharged as the crowd applaud 
clap-whisper-cheer,
Flowers-carnations-roses appear, at their feet, shoes scuffing on their silky petals,
As the partnership dissolves in the nothingness, 
Shadows emptiness embracing the night,
Until the next duet -until the theater is filled once more from wall to wall,
Against locked doors

And the poem that Paula, Buddy #P, and everyone I talked about in this post here that everyone wanted me to either send to the guy or post.  Called "Stolen Moment" Well, I'll post it and if he reads it great if not ...   


Just a stolen moment
A piece of your time
A wordless glance
Maybe I' ll be fine
Your attention I feel the need to seek
Even though I know you are a million miles out of my league
Just a stolen moment
A second of your time
A polite nod
Maybe I' ll be fine
Your attention I feel the need to seek
Even though I know you are a million miles out of my league
What draws me to you I will never truly know
I guess that is part of your charm part of your show
Just a stolen moment
A piece of your time
A silent smile
Maybe I' ll be fine
Your voice the ultimate temptation
Your eyes demonically divine
Just a stolen moment
One half second of your time
It's all I ask as I memorize every fine line your face has to offer
Before you move back into the crowd and continue your day
A glance, a soft smile, a happy wink
I will return your way
To let you know if you ask I will give to you
Just a stolen moment


So there you go.  Pieces of me in all my morbid glamour

What you learn from Oprah

I used to be a complete devotee of Oprah.  God knows how much I spent between 2001 and 2008 on her magazines every month.  I even signed up for every newsletter her website had.
When I got rid of cable back in 2006, it was one show I missed... for awhile.  Well, I never canceled my email newsletters I still get those every day.
And today's lists this as Poetry Month.

Poetry Month!  Really?  the girl says in her best Miz impression.  REAALLLYYY?
Remember few days ago I was jammering on about how I had written a poem a full year ago for a guy and did not have the guts to send it, and how I needed a sign from the universe... well damn it janet.  I think that might be a sign. Maybe. 

Seriously, poetry is one of the most intimate things you can give someone.  I'm serious here. There isn't another form of creativity or gifts that are more personal then a poem. Yes, poetry and lyrics go hand in hand, they are the same thing after all, and many people don't think of music as intimate, but trust me it is.  When you are moved by a great song, or energized by your favourite band, think about the words, the voice the way you react.  

No, I'm still too much a coward to give the guy the poem, but remember this, Jim Morrison of the Doors was a master at both. Many called him Dionysus in human form, and Dionysus was the god of both poetry and music.

Follow me. 

Some evil to your head

Quoting Artificial Joy Club song Psychic Man for that opening title.

Okay, so I have said on this monster mash over a year ago that I had started trying to learn belly dancing. Trying being the key word. Why I am not getting too far with it, and there for no vid of me yet at it, has alot to do with my shoulder/ribs and back.

Remember the car accident I had back on Sept 1st 2006, it mangled my entire right side from my waist to my shoulder. And well I have that nasty back issue since I was 10. But anyway, I started up again with the trying to learn belly dance. Seems when I am not trying I seem to be able to make a hoser out of myself by half way dancing.

Let me set the photo for you shall I. When I think about doing the moves, my zombie eaten brain can't seem to get my stupid body to move, but when I am standing around just waiting for a bus with my iPod on, well I end up having people stare at me like I am having a fit or something.

Yes that's right my Spudguns, I dance when I am not even thinking about trying to. And I'm sure that I make for a fairly interesting - to say the least- idiot of myself without even trying to.

So the message of the day is .... Don't even think about it. Move, groove and be on intuition.

Which brings me to my next little mouth dropping.

I have shown my ability for poetry. I was published years ago when still in high school, and college and a few years after that, in local papers and an underground American mag (Macabre Manse Best of Gothica and Beyond) And I've added bits and pieces on this bloggy-blog over the years.
Well, last year I had written a piece for a guy. I never gave it to him, totally chickened out cause I'm a total coward. But I did show it off to a few of my friends and their husbands. Wanting mostly the opinion of the very straight married guys. The reactions were like this....

50 year old Female friend : "If he doesn't scoop you up right on the spot he's a looser who doesn't deserve you."
Her husband : " That's beautiful. Send it now send it now. That's just beautiful"
Her 20 something year old son : " You have a nice way with words. I could turn that into a song."
The High Priestess : "KIM!!!! SEND IT!!! He's going to love it"
High Priestesses husband : he had nothing to say cause he cried. I made a 35 year old straight man cry with my writing.

Well, I am a coward and just could not send it. Freal, I don't even know if he's into poetry. That would be a big bad had I sent it to this guy I don't even really know, and find out he doesn't even like poetry right... right?

And the point is still go with your gut on things. My intuition was to write the pretty little poem and send it to him. Here I am a year later and it's just too late. This is one fear I don't think I can face. And no, I am not going to post that one here. It's too revealing, too innocent, too raw, too naked. No, it's not a dirty smutty poem either, just very ... sugary. Not the me I have let you all see on this blog. It's more Kimberly less Ardeth.

I just can't seem to get it out of my head to send it to him. The universe needs to start sending me some clear signs cause I'm as mixed up emotionally as a girl can get.

Do I Tear You Apart?

Last December I posted a poem on my gonzo blog. I 'm in the mood to post it here. I wrote it for the hopes a particular male reader would reply. He never did.

DO I TEAR YOU APART?

Locks and keys are made for each other.
Are you the key to my dreams?
Am I the missing piece to yours?
Do I rip you from your own reality when you need it most?
Do you think I should?

Crying in the night only brings misery and headaches.
Do I cause you to weep over the thought of me with someone else?
Did you miss what you thought was your way to me?
Are you anything when I am not beside you?
Do I hold the key to your future?
Do you think I should?

We melt into each person who we are meant to be with.
Have you given yourself over to the idea of me ?
Are you willing to try?
You believe that I am yours body and soul?
Do I hold the key to your future?
Do you think I should?
Do I rip you apart, does it hurt to know we're miles and days away from each other?

Locks and keys are made for each other.
Are you ready to find out if we are a perfect fit?

love always Ardeth Blood

Cheap Skywriting

Communication.

It seems to be the topic de jour.

I'm sitting here listening to my Artificial Joy Club cd Melt, with the song Skywriting on repeat.
My favourite track on the album. And it got me thinking about some of my poetry. I ended up going through some of my scrapbooks looking for a few pieces I did back when I was still with Trainwreck. My most creative time for poetry actually.
Most of which I have forgotten about. Why, well because they are all about him. Yeah, I am that cliched and pathetic. When I am in a relationship or have a crush, I communicate to the guy by making him the center of my art.

Not on purpose.

No shocker there eh? as my blog is living proof of that fact.

Also no shocker that men and women communicate differently. Take for example, I had done a drawing of Trainwreck and photographed it. I gave him the photograph of the drawing. He tossed it into the glove compartment of his truck and did not even acknowledge it. I was crushed for days. Then one night at the bar when he was djing, he rigged the door prize of the night for me to win. I was insulted.
Our communication styles were so different. I think in art and he thought in money.

I think that's why so many women are drawn to romance novels/movies. It's the idea of the grand gesture.

What made Percy Bysshe Shelley such hot dren? You know, I have read his poetry and I find it lack luster. But yet, he was considered, and still is considered, one of the greatest poets ever.
It was part of what seduced Mary Shelley. No surprise when you think about it either, that both of their most popular works shared the same title. Frankenstein or the Modern Prometheus and her husband's Prometheus Unbound .

I'm still searching for that kind of creative connection. But the message seems to disappear just when I think I have found that soul collaborator.

Can you share such a deep intimacy like that without falling in love? When someone opens the floodgates of creativity in you, what do you do when they close the door?
I think Mary Shelley got off lucky. Percy died on her. She lived her whole life knowing he was the One, knowing she had been his soulmate, his muse. There are some of us who still have to turn the corner down the street and hold our breath that we do not bump into our ex.

Least you step in that dog dren again and the stink never comes off.

We have come along way since the days of Mr. and Mrs. Percy Shelley. Maybe too far. Not only do we have a million ways to decode the communications we developed, we have just as many ways to block out the noise.
Men see a caller id and choose not to answer. They text cause it is less stress for them then actually picking up the phone. Webcamming has replaced a walk as a first date.
All this makes the face to face time that much more confusing when we do get there.

I guess it's time we got back to saying what we mean and meaning what we say.

Another song on the Melt cd has a line that goes "I say what I feel it gets me into trouble I feel what I say "

Miscommunication or what?

Unopened Letters to an Imaginary Husband part 6

My Dearest Love

I'm grateful for the flowers you always bring me even for no reason
I'm grateful for the ability to communicate with you without words
I'm grateful for the time you were willing to watch the that dvd with me even though we'd seen it a hundred times already
I'm grateful for the night you talked me into driving with you in the rain

I'm happy for our time together even when we do nothing but argue over the laundry
I'm happy for the way the light glows off your skin when we walk in the snow
I'm happy for the sound of your voice when you sing off key
I'm happy for fact you are in my life.

Love Always Ardeth Blood

Unopened Letters to an Imaginary Husband part 5

My Dearest Love:

I know what you are feeling, what you are trying to hide when you look at me, your eyes wide, your lips in a sly smile,
You are a hopeless a romantic as I am, though you pretend not to be.
I know you are counting the hours till you can call me up, to ask me how my day has been, but until you can, you settle for updates on my blog, following me silently.
I know what you are wanting from me, when you dream at night of my bed, as you stare at the ceiling in your own.
I know you wish to give me the world, but are afraid to try.

You always knew what to say to make me feel even better in my day, to make me smile despite myself, to make me think of nothing but your lips, your voice as it slips softly around me,
You're poetry in motion, a desert flower blooming alone, your strength scares me, your beauty too much for me at times,
I wait by the phone desperate to hear your voice, hushed and polite as you fill me in on your night.
My strange friend, my secret heart, take a deep breath with me and admit what we both know.
Who needs the world when I've got you.

Love Always Ardeth Blood

Unopened Letters to an Imaginary Husband part 4

My Dearest Love:

The coffee steaming beside your hand as you read the morning paper every Sunday
Reminds me of a black and white photo we once saw at the art gallery.
Jazz music on the radio as you moved around the kitchen, your favourite shirt stained with paint always made me think of my favourite poem.

You've always been living art to me,
A gift from Dionysus, or Aphrodite.
A blessing even when we fight.

You touched my soul with your smile
Caressed my flesh with your eyes, with just one soft look,
I hope you understand what you do to me every time you wink and laugh
at all the silly things I say.

My desire for you grows hotter every day.

Love always Ardeth Blood

Unopened Letters to an Imaginary Husband part 3

My Dearest Love:

I remember the first time I saw you at the bar, dancing like a stiff monkey
The small stain on your shirt from the nachos you had been eating
I remember the first time I heard you speak, as you nodded and winked at my friend first
Your smile was nearly perfect
The next time I spotted you it was in line at a coffee shop, your skin gleaming in the shop's light,
Your eyes hiding behind thin glasses
I remember how you spilled your latte on yourself as you dropped your wallet
You are the cutest when you are embarrassed

For all the times you have made me laugh, on purpose or not,
I have a hundred kisses to return to you
For all the times you entertained me, and those around us
I have a hundred hugs to return to you
For the happiness you give me I have only my heart to return to you

Love Always Ardeth Blood

Unopened Letters to an Imaginary Husband part 2

My Dearest Love:

I miss hearing you breathe beside me in the dark, even when you snore
I miss the feel of your arms around me, even when you elbow me in the ribs as you roll over
I miss the late night kiss, even after you had garlic for dinner
I miss the way your hair falls into your eyes as you sleep, and the way it sticks off in all directions in the morning.

I dream of your touch when you're not here
I forget nothing of your scent as it lingers in the pillowcase
I remember your breath on my shoulder as you kiss me
I long for your return, for when our time apart will once again be over
I long for you and all you are

-Love Always Ardeth Blood

Unopened Letters to an Imaginary Husband

My Dearest Love:

Thank you for taking out the trash today. It was sweet of you to remember without being told five times.
Thank you for picking up the dirty socks from the bathroom floor before someone slipped on them falling.
Thank you for remembering to set the vcr to tape my soap opera while I was shopping with mom.
Thank you for not letting the dishes pile up over the weekend while I was on the business trip.

My sweet man, what would I have done without you making me soup the time I was sick with the flu, even if it was from a can.
What would I have done if you hadn't been stubborn and gotten the leather sofa when your brother's kids spilled grape juice on it. The stain would never have come out of any other material.
How many blankets would I need to stay warm at night if you were not there beside me with your body heat.

How can I repay you for your comfort and security you have given me over the years.
For all the day to day things you have brought to my life, my sweet man, my dearest love, my husband, my friend thank you.

-Love always, Ardeth Blood