(too used to unchecking FP box, so have to promote my own damned FP piece… – promoted by pfiore8)

I’m listening to a musician, new to me. Sam Prekop… heard his music playing as i passed by a small shop. i walked in and asked… who is that. Sam Prekop. Oh.

So now i’m listening to Who’s Your New Professor. I love it. I love the acoustic guitar. And the acoustic piano. The tone… the depth of the music. And listening, i hear the electric elements there too. but it is the acoustic parts that are warmest, most intimate.

Can writing be acoustic? … a writer so intimate with a pen or keyboard… wanting nothing more than to touch a conversation…

Writing like this is the closest thing to reading for me. There is nothing hard or fast about the images, yet I know it… the room, the people in the room, the sound of voices, the lights, the smell of evening, and the crickets, like generators, humming, vibrating in the background

I wonder about you, though. You could be living on the Baja Peninsula for all i know. Maybe you’re playing it down low… down under. Ha! you could be right next store. Maybe it’s slipping into spring where you are. Or dipping into evening. my dutchman is more than 3,500 miles from here.

where’s the touch then? being able to get up and walk over to you. rub your arm. hug you. kiss you. pull your hair. pinch you. bite you. where are you????

i’d love to see how you smile. or hear your laugh… do you snort or make funny contorted faces? i want to touch your laughter with my ears and my eyes… take it with me into my mind.

wait. there’s more to it than that, isn’t there. i want more than just your body. i want your mind. to touch THAT.

so while your steeping that tea for our tete-a-tete, i need to warn you: i have eXpectations. about talk, ideas, challenges, being eXposed, being heard, hearing. no!… listening to you.

think about it for a minute. i am… i’ve been given a forum. a platform. hoLY shit. it’s HERE I AM and then some. because you should know what you’re getting into, here. you have eXpectations. so do i.

read me… love it or pull me apart. make me better. don’t come here for personality (i lie)… i want to get somewhere… i have eXpectations. i don’t want to be a shell. i want to get to you. i want you to grab me, astound me. take the damned thread over, if it’s meant to be… argue… be maudlin… but be something… feel something… be aroused and want something… we deserve to have some… eXpectations

touch you… touch me…. no smells and nothing to quell the need to touch. it’s raw… it’s writing in the raw… here, it is allowed to be. here, it is just us and there are no mirrors, just perception and our minds creating at the speed of sound who we are… who we want to be… getting closer in every keystroke…

there’s cold comfort in the electric warm touch of my laptop. the keys, the touch pad. the screen… and this wormhole mess of wires and cables, the only portal i have to you out there…somewhere.

buhdydharma, he always says here i am… well, buhdy, HERE I AM. the question is, where are all of you?

tell me a little something about yourself on this first of what i hope will be many Thursday nights… of writing in the raw.

welcome to docuDharma.