A New Dawn Emerges, AKA This Is The Part (For Orson Welles)

He is angry. Upset. Sick and tired of doing the same old thing day in day out. So he said to himself, alright! That’s it! No more! The final nail on the coffin has been hammered in, if this isn’t a wake-up call to him now, he doesn’t know what else will be.

It’s time to move onward, ahead of the game he has desired for so long, but has sat on his laurels and waited. What is he waiting for? No one else is going to do it for him; he has to do it for himself. No one but one deity has given him the signal, the sign to move ahead, go forth with a project that he abandoned so long ago, because the struggle was just way too much.

In the beginning there was life and plenty of it, now it has shifted to the pond of stagnation & it doesn’t seem to be moving any longer, almost as if it’s take a permanent vacation; a dirt nap.

Where was it that he first arrived that he has now taken residency in? Where did he once belong to that he no longer feels right in? Where did he once fly to and build his nest that he has now outgrown? Where did the original ideas and dreams he had go to? Where did the thoughts, feelings & sensibilities he once ran miles for on any given day, now walk over whenever he feels like it?

Did he become lazy in his focus? Did he become lame? Did he become forgetful in fear? Did he adapt to surroundings that no longer feel like it should feel? Did Orson Welles finally arise from his grave run up to and reach behind him, slap him on the back and gleefully say, “Welcome home, Charlie my boy, welcome home, I knew you had it in you to finally realize that your great potential far outweighs a dozen like theirs.”

In his own life’s recollection, there have been similar situations where he has awoken from the long winter’s nap that he had been taking, only to realize that it’s not going to get any easier or better until he makes the change. And the change starts immediately. This hour. This minute. This second.

The part of the mind that had been comatose like a flock of sheep being tended to by some Average Joe is no more. He ceases to exist. He goes home to feed. He is packing up, pulling up his roots and not looking back. And for the first time in a very long time soon he will be able to say, he will be an extremely happy, happy, happy fellow.

This Is The Part (For Orson Welles)

This is the part where I don’t write
This is the part where I don’t sing
This is the part when I don’t dance around the room with a girl on each arm
This is the scene where I don’t cry on cue, even though I’m supposed to
This is the woman I’m supposed to live with even if she can’t make a commitment
This is the world I’m supposed to understand with all of its predicaments, complications and frustrations, but I just can’t plug them all in, watch them explode and just walk away
Ahhh, but alas, this isn’t what I meant to say
This is the tea brewed for me
This is the soul I was meant to love, yes, it’s mine
This is the part that is supposed to be so fine
This is the dream that flies so high like a birdie, kind-a purdy
This is the vein that pulsates at the drop of a dime in the jukebox sublime
This is the part where I don’t write
This is the part where I don’t fight
This is the part where I eat my way into the language past death
This is the part where I’ve parted, destined not to return again
This is the part, this is the part where I start, I middle, I end
This is the part; this is the part where I don’t write, where I bid the old self a final goodnight