Friday, July 31, 2015

A Sky Without Stars

God, harden me against myself,
The coward with pathetic voice
Who craves for ease and rest and joy. 
Myself, arch-traitor to myself,
My hollowest friend,
My deadliest foe,
My clog, whatever road I go.   

O. Sanders.  

Andrew Tipton

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Massive Quiet Waves

 Journal Entry July 28th,
Out on the surface of the ocean this morning..   no wind at all.    The calmness is enchanting.   There are massive quiet waves undulating beneath my boat;  smooth as glass, and heavy and dark.     It feels like the sea has fallen asleep, and I am riding the smooth ripples of its enormous heartbeat.   

I am still young and discovering joys from being in the presence of the ocean,   but today its stillness and unwavering surface reminds me of life's simple constancy.  
 On dry land,  surrounded by the hectic, bustling, striving, loudness of modern life..   sometimes I am convinced that the universe is just as vested in the madness as my mind pretends to be.      But out here..   I am the witness to truth..  to the fact that the ocean, the universe, god...   doesn't give a damn.      It is not apathy...  it simply knows that it is greater than the madness.     And it quietly reminds you that you are greater too.     
 Alone, surround by miles and miles of silent turquoise water..     I felt relieved of my desire and opinions of ordinary things.   I felt unencumbered.. not due to distraction...  but as a response to the limitless "observance" and quiet attention of the water.     The only turbulence that existed out here was self-perpetuated...  the resonating, clanging of my own thoughts. 
Somehow the ocean makes it easy to release those feelings..   to find the wholesome delicious heart of yourself.        
Andrew Tipton

Saturday, July 25, 2015

The Soft Animal

When I am most myself,
I am imagining how I seem through your eyes. 
And in that moment of recollection,
I am reclaiming the essential clarity of my motion,
allowing you to peer into my truthfulness,
believing, that you are offering the reciprocal of that experience back to me,
so that we may both witness the soft animal of one another,
dislodged from the weight and burden of our unnecessary selves.  

Andrew Tipton

Thursday, July 16, 2015

Reading Books in Bars

My boots are propped up on the edge of the table.   Leaning back in my chair, I gently slide my fingers along the thick pages of my leather journal.  In my left hand, my pen hangs loosely, working up the nerve to speak.    The red flannel shirt I'm wearing is unbuttoned, my skin feels hot underneath its rusty softness.  My hair is a managed mess, my face unshaven..   any bohemian, drifter or a vagrant would feel at home in my company.   Regardless of my appearance, an elegant, blonde haired girl sitting at the bar keeps looking my direction and smiling invitingly -  but I am disinterested.    My eyes wander to one of the large windows next to me..  I stare out into the night and I admire the streetlights casting shadows on the people passing by.   
 I'm sipping on a cold glass of Avondale Ipa, quietly at a table in the corner.   My head is spinning; somewhat from the beer, and somewhat from the currents of intense thought rippling beneath my relaxed exterior.   I come here to read, to write, to ponder my most pressing questions.    Its a very solitary experience..  which is ironic.   The bar is loud and engaging, there are voices chattering, glasses clinking together as drinks are poured,  music meshing everything into one glistening, visceral distraction.     But for some reason, its easy in a place like this to "uncover" my inner thoughts -  writing seems to flow carelessly and potently.    There is nothing cautious or respectful here..  the people and interactions are open-ended and emboldened.        I enjoy discovering myself in this atmosphere.. among the rowdiness and cliché purposes.     A place like this is about "feeling" yourself at a deep and unfiltered level... stripping off niceties and getting vulnerable.      When I catch glimpses of conversations about sex, the frustrations of work, or the complexity of relationships -  these are all catalysts for my own sensation.  
Sometimes I feel as if the path towards arriving at my best self must be controlled and organized and intentional.    Some part of my practical side scoffs at the idea of writing poetry at a corner table in a dark bar.    But often its the release of those boundaries that elicits the full potential of my muchness.       And so I'm here.  

Andrew Tipton

Friday, July 10, 2015


There is no reason to forfeit our greatness.   Never.  
To speak empty words, or to offer anything other than genuine action... is to surrender our magic..  to deny ourselves the experience of that moment.  
 For the sake of others, for the sake of ourselves..    it is absolutely necessary that you be you.. and I be me..    unedited and translucent.  
To be ourselves,  to turn our wrists over and give the rest of the world a glimpse of our palms, of our deep scars, our stories, our questions, and our beliefs.   to be known by other people.    This is necessary so that we don't vanish into a soft and indistinguishable place...  So that our intensity and our ferocity remain intact! 

I feel more and more that the inner part of me longs to move past the convenience of practical and methodical interaction.   It whispers, "deeper, deeper deeper!"  in my ears,  I hear its hunger for substance..   When I am about to speak,  instead of the words dripping automatically from my mouth...  I feel their weight pressing against my throat.     The whole piece of my body feels the difference between sincerity and bullshit.     The whole piece of my body urging me to obey my truth.

Do you also hunger for this!!??     
There is not space for anything lesser than this.    

Andrew Tipton