cirque de la nuit

The inky journey of a modern day Troubador


Thanks so much to MJ Cobra for nominating me for the SUNSHINE BLOGGER AWARD!

I feel this award is less about honor and more about community. Engaging with each other and growing our writing, so I’m extremely happy to be able to participate!

The Rules:

Show the award on your blog.
Thank the person who nominated you.
Answer the given questions.
Nominate a blog(s) and give them questions to answer.
Link your nominee(s) and let them know of your nomination.

The Questions:
What’s number 1 on your bucket list?
What’s one of your guilty pleasures?
How do you envision your handwriting if it were a person? Would you be friends?
If you could bring someone back from the dead, who would you choose?
What is your kryptonite?
If you owned a restaurant, what would be the best selling dish?
What is your favorite part about blogging?
Do you have a crush on any fictional characters?
What is the best writing advice you’ve ever received or heard?
Which of your blog posts is your favorite?

My Answers:

1.) What is number 1 on my bucket list?
To write a song.

2.)What is one of my guilty pleasures?
Cheese. I can eat cheese all day long. And i eat it straight out of the bag…the shredded kind you buy for tacos? Yes, that. I eat that out of the bag.

3.) How would you envision your handwriting as a person? Would you be friends?
My handwriting would be a mess. Pen ink on his fingertips, dirt under his fingernails. He might have spaghetti sauce stained on his shirt, and drying splotches of spilled tea on his pants. He would be rambunctious and boisterous. He would be a little too much for me to handle, we might be acquaintances, and frequent the same pubs, but I would not be his constant companion. He would be to unpredictable for me.

4.) If I could bring someone back from the dead, who would I choose?
Wouldn’t do it. I’ve read enough books with that premise to know how horribly things would go wrong…no matter how much I might want to see them again.

5.)What is my kryptonite?
My wandering soul. No matter where I am I wonder what it could be like else where. I can never fall into a place of contentment for more than a year. The stars pull my hair and the wind pushes my soul. I always wonder if I’ll ever have a real home.

6.)If I owned a restaurant, what would be the best selling dish?
The mushroom stroganoff, or the rabbit stew with dumplings.

7.)What is my favorite part about blogging?
The feeling of getting all the writing I hold inside my heart and mind, out and releasing it to the world. It is like a weight off my body when I put words to the (computer screen) page.

8.) Do I have a crush on any fictional characters?
Holden Caulfield was my first book crush, and Phineas (Finny) from “A Seperate Peace.” I took his death so hard, it took a couple days for me to start reading again. And lastly- Grigory Alexandrovich Pechorin “A Hero of our Time”

9.) What is the best writing advice I’ve ever received or heard?
Break the rules.

10.) Which of my blog posts is my favorite?
Probably Time to Travel. I have always been an avid reader, but usually have read books that not many people have. I love sharing what I’ve read. The worlds you can find in the pages of books are endless and timeless, and I wish I could give everyone a piece of every world/time I’ve visited within them!

The Bloggers I award:


Hot White Snow

Man vs Loneliness


My Questions for them:

1.) What was your worst nightmare?

2.) Describe the most inspiring piece of artwork you have encountered?

3.) What is your morning routine?

4.) How close are you to the person you aspire to be? What is hindering you?

5.) Describe what pain feels like to you.

6.) What do you think deja vu is for?

7.) What was the last great book you read?

8.) You become a world leader, what societal problem would you first tackle.

9.) Use one adjective and one color to describe your current mood

10.) Where does your mind wander when you hear “that song”? (the song that you love/takes you back/gets you too that place..)



Actually everyone who reads this, you are welcome to answer…i just love reading people’s thoughts!



The full wolf moon
woke me up at
4 am.
shining a beam of perfect
reflected light
across my eyelids

it struck me like a camera flash
and I opened my eyes
to be blinded by
the moon radiance.

J stirred in his slumber
and draped a pillow over his face
choosing death by smothering
over death by insomnia
(exacerbated by my
Lune d’amour)

I stared at its blurry visage
through the cracks in my
shuttered blinds
for only a moment

As a small child,
I wanted to visit the moon
and slice of a little piece
of mooncake to eat
in solitude

because they say the moon sees
all your sins.
I wish I had believed them
then I wouldn’t have tried
to hide mine in nighttime

But seeing the moon peering through my
that night.
I knew
there is no such thing as

The beauty of mystery

It’s okay to not proclaim in writing
and shout atop your
sustainable soapbox

How and who you are

it is incredibly okay
to be who you are
without defining
who you are
for the eyes and ears
around you

Not everything has to be said out loud
and not every story needs to be written

the loss of mystery
is the failure of the individual

every silky scar on your body
has its own narrative

but sometimes
that story is just

Invisible Scars

How I wish
you could see through
my own muddy brown eyes.

Taking in the stark (partially blurry)
world through the filter of my
intrigue and amazement

You could see then
the beauty I find in your
delicate insecurities
that you hide with sarcastic
backlash and caustic jokes
at others expense

You’d know that I have x-ray vision
even better than the super man
because I see how truly uncomfortable
you feel when the room around you
spins out of your control

Your nervous chuckle is absolutely stunning
and the way your eyes prickle with tears just
before you let out a sniffle is dazzling

My eyes can see the breath-taking moment
that you get angry and are about to pounce
like a lioness
the tensity in your jaw, and the furl of
your brow before the strike.

Within your discomfort and fidgety energy
I can see the grace.
In each twitch of your bouncing leg
and the curious way your eyes roam the room
bouncing from subject to subject
like electrons across your brain.

You are so full of those instants
and they pass, quickly forgotten
or discarded in a pile of unmentionables
The face the world sees is the facade you prefer

but just for a moment, look
through my eyes
and see the
wonderful human
with invisible scars
flashing magnificently
through the banality of reality.

*To exist is to dare to throw oneself into the world*
-de Beauvoir

Rolling Thunder

“Holy water cannot help you now
See I’ve had to burn your kingdom down
And no rivers and no lakes can put the fire out
I’m gonna raise the stakes, I’m gonna smoke you out”

*Seven Devils lyrics by Florence and the Machine

I can feel the tension in the way the air tightens
even among friends

I can sense it when, unprovoked, I hear
“I just can’t talk about it”

The grief borders on despair now
and the fate of us all hangs
in the balance.

People love a war,
when its fought on foreign lands
over starry ideals
and the concept of manifest destiny.

They don’t like war,
when you take it to their homes
and fight with weapons of your mind.

when you push and prod them
to sharpen their mental swords,
and prepare to spar.

People can’t understand a war
being fought over nothing.
It’s almost nothing
but it’s the right to have the
rights you were born with.

It’s everything.
And if the crowns must crack?
They will.

Love, part deux

If you can’t map the scars on my skin

And create a masterpiece.

If you don’t hear a Symphony,

With crashing symbols,

When my heart breaks

Then you have icicles in your veins

And my love cannot be yours.


The hacking
Death rattle of regression
Is incredibly loud

It feels the slight prickle
Of hairs
On the back of
Its goose pimpled neck

And senses the cold
Touch of curved steel

The reapers blade

It must have its last
Sickly grasp
of the scepter,
Bending neck
With fear and blame

Even the beasts of the field
Sense their own demise.

Have your last cackling
We crack the crown

And take what’s always
been ours


They hold me so carefully
and caress me tender

they salve my wounds
with delicate touches
and stay with me
through the black

they stay in the corners
of my mind and awaken
the otherworldly
dozing passively

They set ablaze apprehension
and embolden me to
boundless, unbridled passion within

If you need to love me,

Love me like my demons do

Dinner Time

Soups on
its simmering
Oven has been on
the pan of tomatoes is
almost overcooked
their ripe plump skins
splitting down the side
as the juices expand

no time to dice the mushrooms
its okay though
they shrink
turn bitesized when roasted
long enough

Whip together a creamy butter sauce
throw in quickly chopped garlic…
watch your fingers!

Put the first record on
skim the needle a bit on the surface
the screeech sends shivers
up your sweaty spine
sweaty because its hot
steamy hot
steamy because of the


soup needs to be turned down
its warming time
dash in some more wine
adds to the flavor

pour some
okay a lot
in a glass

sip as you stir.
did you forget anything?
nightlight in the bathroom
incense on the mantle
shelf dust pushed
to the corners and shadows

Try to relax before..

knock knock

there it is
the first door knock.

Dinner party begins.


My head is fuzzy with ideas lately
but I can’t quite grasp them.

I’ll have to wait until they harden just a bit,
and hail down on me

Can’t avoid them then

But I look forward to the


I’m not one to wait in the
eye of the storm
safe and beautiful as it is

I can only grow
through the tempest




Image via: Samantha Clark at Q Gallery studio, Saltmarket

Tinted Windows

Littered with cigarette butts
and muddy tracks

reeking of whiskey and
sensitive to the sunlight

Covered with bumps, bruises
and dry patches on your skin

dirt caked and fuzzy headed
muscles weak
heart tired

confused and dizzy
depressed and anxious

the constraints of who and what you should be
will bring you to your knees

society wants you to bow
to humble yourself in its shadow
and be #grateful for the #blessings
it bestows on you.
the warm drippings from its high table.

If you take it, you owe fealty

But isn’t the world bigger than that?
Haven’t you seen things that inspired you
in the broken glass on your bathroom floor
when you finally have had enough?

Haven’t you felt at home
in places that seem otherworldly?
An empty art gallery where your steps echo back to you,
validating your existence

Don’t stay down too long

And don’t kiss the blood-red ring
of tacit hierarchy

They don’t create your trends
and they can’t forgive your sins

There are too many wicked alleyways
that lead to ethereal destinations
even your corybantic imagination
can’t fathom.

Go ahead
break the tinted window
see for yourself
what’s inside


Cowboy Coffee

J drinks his coffee super hot, and dark black
cowboy coffee I call it.

The kind you drink
on a cold mountain morning
out on the range
you get up off your sleeping roll
in the same clothes you wore
And you sit on a stump, or broken-off log
and sip out of a hot tin cup,
the steam mixing with puffs of condensation
from your mouth

fog still looms low over the ground
but the blue peaks rise above it.

I prefer my clouds as
thin swirls of
to break up the heaviness
of the coffee bean

but that’s just me.

I love that he likes Cowboy coffee

it feels like he
even though we are a generation apart

is connected to my mountain majesty roots

like he was on the front range with me
chuckling at me
while i tried to swallow
mouthfuls of the heavy stuff.

He likes the taste.
I like the warmth.

In another time and space

He would be a seasoned cowpoke
surlier than even Clint Eastwood could

But today he just sips his coffee
and stares at nothing.

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||“This is my invariable advice to people: Learn how to cook- try new recipes, learn from your mistakes, be fearless, and above all have fun!” ― Julia Child ||


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