Toff Down Gutter (Introseduction)

The setting:

Provided the child’s youth is spent under the nurturing, loving command of a woman of moral strength, intelligence, character, savvy and grit such as that of my mum (proper lady that she is), the boy when grown may away to soar with easeful wings into the hearts of prospective partners, to discover his “one”, his first, last and always. Where individual success is assuredly inevitable, success in the right love partnership fortifies it ten fold.
Sufficiently equipped with the correct sensibilities in active loving, social conduct, consideration, affection, communication, teamwork, and the ethereal poetry of the romantic and magical, he would fare well in that of faerie-tale love or a fighting fray set upon his fortune, in long or short term; to freely enmesh himself without reserve, joining hers unto his own, and to all that he holds dear.

Defining moment: 

My core pounded quickly, and more quickly, as her pale visage moved to mine. I paused, about to draw the kisses out of this girl, I knew in a flash that I would be indelibly married to unspeakably cinematic imaginings in the quivering ghostly breath she allowed, that my mind may gamble this play at once, like the mind of God in children, crossing bridges within that perish behind us. At a halt, I stilled myself, listening for seconds more to the ring of harmonic laws of being, vibrating within the heavens. Then we kissed, emboldened and bound by the knowing of it all. As our mouths sought each out, she unfolded and opened like a bloom, and her butterfly was born. Transformation; completion. 

Early on, I made a decision (challenges and obstacles notwithstanding), which, eventually, I declared. I had decided there could be no way I’d ever allow to lose her, let her be lost, or fail her grace. I could not. I would not. Beyond the best of my masks for shortcomings, fear, “undeserving” man’s complex… in each parting, lamenting, and being driven by my absences from US, but with only the feeblest attempts to make known to her that which I’d not yet made known… that she was the one for my love… and then I simply told her. And she knew. The Universe, God, Providence, whatever, had been at work in the most magical way, relentlessly. 

It hasn’t been too elusive why the Celtic relationship to the ethereal, the mystic, the profound poetry of spiritual love is central to our millennia of seeking and discovering our twin soul. There’s an endless number of soul types formed and flourishing out in eternity, but as to ours, we are the ones branded in that infinity by the fulfillment of that singular purpose of being. She knew that. And that is at least one thing I knew too. Our resonance together spoke that like a constant hum. Like a banging drum. Like a vintage guitar playing a sacred bar where the pentatonic pulse gives a shiver. She knew that of us, innately. And so did I.

This vibration, this language of ours is like excruciatingly exquisite long foreplay, throughout a whole day, as intense as being with, touching, seeking more of the core of us, in all my thoughts she is the song. I am pounding with blood, I know she is there like warm breath. I won’t release it, I live and feed on her, it hurts almost, waiting, sustaining… her sweet hands, her warm center all bring me to her, to home. 

Infused with brilliant gold liquid fire blazing, we feel a burn by candle light, red rose lips bite, we as lovers sit face to face, eye to eye, cheek to cheek, flushed, and speak soft staring, seducing, inducing, intoxified, intensified, mesmerized… the marrying mouths, hearts dancing feverishly, frenzied ripping cloth, racing pulse, sounding vibration, rhythm.. our dance of tangled bodies pressing to the deeper beyond them, locked, pressurized, pleasurized, tender, sweat, sweetness, surrender, liquid life flows over in pools of love, perfect unity… fitting… we have always been that way.

There is a woman’s look to a man that beams her highest visions, belief & love that he is hers & will ever be. An enveloping wind on a Broad Highway, thrice the wideness of all before, pushing him full force to his greatness. I’ve sought the grand grace of this gaze and say to all: if you find or have this, do anything you can to be her joy, inspiration, safety, love & all else that will keep you in her glowing regard. That “girl”, that woman who is truth, who is all the self owned bubbling of her essence, has an intoxicating scent, a taste, a touch an electric air, a vibrance, a spell, a waythat comforts and inspires me like no other creature could. She is the reason I would fight these battles, inwardly and outwardly. She is the reason a man like me would even dare to crack his false self open and pull out his hidden better nature and character to offer to her. She is the reason to confront my shame and abandon useless old tools, and build up a life of meaning and value at all, around her and for her, for once she was there, my path would never mean without her as much as with her… not to replace my mission, but to clarify its meaning, as I had not quite ever seen it before.

Wrote For One

I drive away an ogre night
Through a deep dark want for light
A bathing ball of bright’s the tired moon

She seems to shiver like I do
And, as well, she’s pale and blue
Her sweet song always ends a bit too soon

And as I long for a home
There’s a song I sing alone
It’s my soft melodic moan to the road I run
Down this highway long and bare
It’s a lonely begging prayer
That I don’t share, because
It’s only wrote for one

Love is wonderful to feel
I’ve never doubted ours was real
But love has never changed my natural state

So, I’m told I’ve lost the game
Because to change is not love’s aim
To just be loved for who you are’s the highest fate

© 2006 brent david fraser, all rights reserved

Love Ends Too Soon

Morning sky’s been on my mind since seven, pretty bottles from last night are dry

I dreamed of taking a bus ride up to heaven, dripping candles light the room

waiting for the spring to bloom, and love, yes I guess it ends too soon

I never should have left my mother’s womb, and love, yes I guess it ends too soon

on the roads outside of town I wander, drunk in my religion to be alone

they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, my empty pockets I assume

are cause I bought up all impending doom, and love, yes I guess it ends too soon

another bad investment I presume, and love, yes I guess it ends too soon

opening a lovely wine this evening, sip it slowly and savor gracefully

the whole thing just gets worse its quickly deepening, I’ll forget that sweet perfume

the more and more that I consume, and love yes I guess it ends too soon

story of a lost and laughing groom, and love, yes I guess it ends too soon

November 20, 1990 Copyright 1990-2022, brent david fraser, all rights reserved

Heaven, Your Eyes Are

I prayed to the saints that you’d fall on me, Wash over with truth, rain, set me free

I was so dry til I tasted the drops of you, So thirsty to laugh in the lonely blue

I’m so delighted to believe you’re the end, felt I’d broken what no healing could mend

But now I’d found, in your eyes of brown, showing me Heaven, your eyes are,

Heaven your eyes are, Heaven your eyes are, yes

If I hold your heart, I will have it all, You brought me to rise up, from such a fool’s fall

I step, as a newborn, to a new shore & with you the waves won’t drag me to the floor

I’m so delighted to believe you’re the end, felt I’d broken what no healing could mend

But now I’d found, in your eyes of brown, showing me Heaven, your eyes are,

Heaven your eyes are, Heaven your eyes are, yes

Your eyes see some magic in me, your breath is the thunder of songs I’ll write to the

wise, your touch is a million angels hands and your kiss is the light of starry skies

I’m so delighted to believe you’re the end, felt I’d broken what no healing could mend

But now I’d found, in your eyes of brown, showing me Heaven, your eyes are,

Heaven your eyes are, Heaven your eyes are, yes

©2022 brent david fraser, all rights reserved

Waited For You

I’m gonna wait for you, the days are long and the nights are loose

I’ve got a place for you, my heart has all the space you can use

How will I wake up, how will I make the clouds get out of my head and see

How will I meet you, how will I greet you, what will I say when you come to me

Chorus:

I’m glad to see you smiling back at me

I’m glad the miles have brought you back here to me

I’m glad I waited

We’ll run away into another land

Under the sun and I’ll be holding your hand

I’m glad I waited for you

I said a prayer for you, I sent my thoughts up to the stars at night

I sent my love for you, and wondered when I’d ever see your light

Chorus:

I’m glad to see you smiling back at me

I’m glad the miles have brought you back here to me

I’m glad I waited

We’ll run away into another land

Under the sun and I’ll be holding your hand

I’m glad I waited for you

Bridge:

I’m turning around to see, you’re coming to me tonight

Now I know that I’ll be free, we’re running away this time

Chorus: out——

April 3, 2003 ©2003-2010 brent david fraser, all rights reserved

Maintaining Spiritual Fitness

Be grateful for everything you “get”. Be grateful for everything you don’t “get”… It’s the only way the Universe can really do with you what is limitless and magical, from the infinite. You can’t take only the “good” and reject the “bad” as defined by a finite mind… Rejoice in ALL results, because they are the loving way of God.

There’s really nothing to “GET”. It’s an illusion. None of this life is “MINE”… I’m a caretaker, a custodian, given the privilege of looking after it all with loving gratitude. I receive as much as I’m willing to use on behalf of love & service.

I, despite the odds, have never stopped believing i could fly, the way children do imagine themselves to actually be living the lives of superheroes, secretly, patiently awaiting the perfect time to take to the sky. It’s more fun, that’s for sure. I think a lot of lives would benefit from deciding to imagine things that are more fun, than things that are catastrophic and awful.

I was awake at 3 am, laying there, thinkin’ like i usually do, about what more i can do, whether i’m holding onto anything and justifying it, whether i’m carrying resentment or self pity, or shame and anger with the ideas of “No, not these, in these ones i’m right to have them” and then it just quietly, peacefully hit me: Forgive EVERYONE! not just a few, not just the good ones, or the ones i like, but all, no matter what was done, no matter the “crime”, and be grateful for the grace to do so… and don’t be condescending or self congratulatory about it, because it’s more than a “have to” it’s a “get to”. Withholding forgiveness is the main block to new life, abundance, freedom, flow, and all the good that may come.

I never really was much of a “dater” in the traditional sense, i had dates with bottles, ballads, wretched old cowboy poets I emulated, full packs of smokes, poolrooms, jukeboxes, storm culverts, alleys and magical diner special plates, ferries, borrowed cars, cruising old back roads, reading aloud sessions, and if you happened to be there, I’d consider you for my next hostage.

Circumstance has been a far greater motivator than virtue, at least for me… So yeah, I had a Moment of clarity… While traversing between to be or not to be, but without the personal moxy that a glorious suicide would require, a sickly 134 pound shell of me sat cluster-fucked in the dark corner of some cracked-out-Sunset-Boulevard-trashy-hovel-motel sucking on a glass pipe for a blurred three day bounce to Hollywood in complete languor over sweet lie exchanges with my lower-companion-shot-out-low-rate-lipstick-smeared hookers and their amateur-played-out-no-game pimps, depressing needle plungers into bruised arms, vomiting out the bathroom window into the alleyway, all of us sweating and blissfully near death, or on the nod, my “musical twin” in the corner opposite to mine, fluttering between flat line and vegetable and, which is worse, all while my tiny white teacup poodle, Bela, shivered, nervously waiting in my ‘81 Merc Cougar for me to just drive us home to the family ranch. “Genius” entered a rapid detox the next day and now I was on my own in my mess. It shook me.

I realized that my way of life was so far beyond how my family would imagine it that there was nothing they could dream of me that I needed to fear. They could never conceive of how pure and uncut my insanity was. That kind of thing just doesn’t happen to “people like us.” The requisite confession took longer. The novelty of sincere rebellions in which I could really stick it to them with viciously honest declarations had lost its luster long before. And the idea that I had even thought I had anything to “stick to them” was the most shining insane “cherry” atop my demoralization/degradation sundae… “Three scoops, please”. -BDF

Quote · January 7, 2020May 7, 2021 · Leave a comment ·

My Reclamation

Into my warmed-up truck, I tug the gear shifter down to R, wave to sister on the porch, click on my portable Goodwill $1.99 wind up radio, and back away from this wet wooded setting. As I pull off from the house, tooling up and down narrow avenues, I take account of the tree lined lanes & mossy houses, toys left soaking in front yards, bits of open sky flashing like slide shows above my head, winding down to the main road, bigger, more purposeful, calling up thoughts again of what I have done, what happened, and what pilgrimage I go to do now.

I adjust the blinker switch to indicate a right turn, check for on-comers and pull onto Sudden Valley Road, into its blind turns, past the golf course and the general store, navigating the back woods road maze that leads to the last chance for fuel before the Freeway. Inside I get coffee to go, as the pump draws premium grade from their underground stores and walk back to the truck to top it off. Throttling out of the petrol station, over the Freeway to the southward on-ramp . . . I pull off to the dirt shoulder . . . I take a breath, hold, exhale . . . visualize my whole endeavor.

I’ve been working my way to this trip and wrenching on this old Chevy I adore for about four months, aided by numerous friends, loved ones; angels. What remains of my entire life is tucked in the bed under a tarp, where I’ll sleep and camp my way down the coast. She’s road ready and we’ll be off in the wind, from the trouble I’ve got myself in, commanding this Chariot from the remote corner of Washington State, to drive, drive & drive, all the way back to Southern California, leaving the emptiness & smallness I’ve deconstructed my life to be, led by a building sense of actual departure and new discovery. I go to reclaim something that lay there. I go not by sight but by Faith; the evidence of all I don’t have yet. I roll the window down & turn up the radio with Stevie Nicks landing her words directly on or into me –

 …Mirror in the sky, what is love? Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life?

Well, I’ve been afraid of changing, ‘Cause I’ve built my life around you, But time makes you bolder, Even children get older, and I’m getting older too…

I REV the engine, kiss the inside of my right hand, smack it on the dash, drop the shifter down to D, wheels spit gravel & chirp grabbing pavement, I gun it onto the Freeway, laugh & humm… And so it begins. And so it IS…

There’s nothing like miles and miles of highway for the opportunity to reckon with oneself. So many things to see, and each becomes a mirror, and I see them not as they are, but as I am. As the road changes, the reflection changes revealing more & more of myself to me, inviting me to accept the shifting landscapes as what they are. Forcing me to accept my inner shifting landscapes as what I am. Remembering that inevitably, around that bend or over that hill will lay an entirely different view.

Even with recent surrenders bringing blessings, inspiration, determination, fire, restored confidence, cleaned legal record, my trusty truck, my career experience, and a few dollars more, I feel I’m up against far more highly stacked odds than way back when, but going after it feels to be the only thing to do. If I didn’t go, I’d never know. I don’t know what will happen if I do it, but I know what won’t happen if I don’t. I can’t abide that decision any longer. Throw the runes. Roll the dice. -BDF, June 2011

Quote · January 7, 2020November 8, 2022 · Leave a comment ·

The More I Made My Grave

It appeared the more I made my grave, the more that I would win. My self-destruction brought rewards as partial wage of sin. When all you’ve got is a hammer, ‘course it’s only nails you see. In all the gifts I’d had in life that never came from me, failing upward wouldn’t salvage dignity…

…Not until I would relent. Not until I could have “me” removed from the equation. On my own will there was little hope of that. I expected I’d have to be further broken down, but, given what that had looked like numerous times before and my belligerent ignorance to its obviousness, what would it have to look like, coming current, to cause the required resolute shift? That curious cat would have to have his date with death.

Predictably, all chance of advancement slowed to a trickle, then to a full stop when the Writer’s Guild strike of 2007-08 was in effect. I moved home to Seattle, February 2008, nine days before the strike ended. I hadn’t known it would end so soon, but by then it was clearly time for completely new horizons. I took up working in finance & resource development with a friend of a friend & had hopes of renewal, but took no enduring steps to bring renewal.

I piled it on. I became more ravenous. Relentless. Ruthless, hunting down self-annihilation like a Golem for blood. Swimming for bottom like a Leviathan, as drowning appeared to be the only door to deliverance. I would get what I sought. I was broken.

I was torn down to the low bottom bedrock point of recognition of the one remaining constant I could grasp: That conscious restoration of my human and soul dignity was now imperative to my survival. And “I” gave way, let go, and surrendered to greater forces within and without. The harmonic voice, the writer of mythic roads, the teller of true tales, the seeker of ancient trials, the still beating, breathing, living higher ONE intertwined in all of them superseded, shedding my parodies of “me”. Possibilities held out hands to me in the only solid properties left to be identified; my ancestors, my own flesh an blood, my words, and my heart, as the keystones of potential, successive archways to vital new life.

That shining fact shone like a sliver of moonlight and fired a soul scream of awakening to action; That beginning, dutifully, to clear away my wreckage, unfettering the road to bring bright and bare the foundation my forebears forged in honor of their hearts for my place here, had to be the self-same road to salvaging mine, and the pantheon of their Spirit, and to Spirit ever-present.

I would have to travel time, transmogrify; traverse the Age. I was far from home, yes, but road and bridge building is the truer nature of my blood, and I could erect any actual matter and circumstance with the mantra’d word as well as I had constructed the current. I’ve lived the power of morphic resonance in the voicing of belief’s repeated choruses, I’ve learned how to take direction and what to do when called to act. The brightness of that breaking dawn blinded into submission the misshapen parody that had driven this train so far off course. My heart took the helm & dropped the hammer down… In all I’ve been, can be or will be, I am their result. Own that. Breathe no more words of loss… Build… and give to God whatever I may find should come to me.” -BDF

Quote · January 7, 2020 · Leave a comment ·

Boldness

“Boldness. I love it. Always have. I’ve rivaled, rallied & risen; faltered, fallen, failed and been beaten, much by myself, repeatedly, but I will always get back up. Admittedly, my fervor for the fight itself is sometimes my undoing. True to the legacy of my Highland blood, I have a visceral respect for combat. My intrinsic drive to stay in the game when the chips are down has been called courageous or brave, but I don’t do it for the sake of bravery, but because “fortune favors the bold.”

When called to make battle in life’s worser dictates, or in myself, or in the face of others’ perceived missteps of mine, or earnestly pitted against “outrageous fortune” while not yet manifesting any perceived satisfactory results, I can know: whatever fight I must undertake, in the longest run it’ll be good. Even feeling truly beaten I still remember that I can, will, and do fight favorably. I test well. I’d been known to be a clutch player, and a Dark Horse.

I hold in the front of my thoughts that it’s not virtue but circumstance reawakening this spirit spoken in one so broken, as the irrevocable sense of it all stirs adrenaline, and sensory reception amplifies, just like in any fight. I foresee openings for the possible jab, hook and bell ringer.

It can and should be frightening because the results remain unpredictable, that’s part of the thrill. I’m to the point of readiness and willingness to take on whatever’s going to come ahead because the other options are gutless, frankly. I no longer believe in fighting for it’s own sake, but when the good fight calls, it’s clear what to do. This isn’t some “wiser to just walk away” scuffle. I’m past saving face; I’m saving my life.

Months ago I was only certain of one non-negotiable item: Going to reclaim or rebuild the previous creative life that held purpose and meaning. I knew that I had mishandled and taken it for granted, to say the least.

After wheels went into motion, I was convinced, no question, of a second non-negotiable item: I had to get sober in tandem with my first item, or current & visualized future efforts would be in vain. Sober means truly sober. Emotionally, spiritually, mentally & physically sober, thereby reclaiming or rebuilding a previous life in sobriety that held purpose and meaning. I’d mishandled and taken that for granted too, every time. I’ve been called a “chronic” relapser, but in retrospect, “dedicated” rings truer.

I’ve made countless failed stabs at self rescue, half measures, rejected it’s rites & dues flatly, muscle f*#ked it to the point of crumbling, come back around meek when hurting & then abandoned both options, back and forth, ad nauseum, rarely adhering to suggested solutions with enough humility to climb up out of the darkened soul hole into which one is beaten down.

But, those few stretches in my past say it can be done. There are plenty like me who badly need to walk through that arched door, but the key to the lock seems to turn for those who want it, not who need it. It’s the only thing I want to do, upon which I could found any life contributing to a greater good, whether that be the creative purposeful living to which I wish my return, or shoveling horse manure again.

I am rightly, cautiously, and perhaps foolishly, excited about possibilities. I’m also terrified. I might be crazy. I take comfort recalling two things written by S.E. Hinton: “Blind terror in a fight can easily pass for courage”, and “Even the most primitive society has an innate respect for the insane”.

As I thought about my two accepted non-negotiable items, the past and future versions, I knew there had to be more comprehensive work done than previously; the work of seeing myself more truthfully than I had before would require superior efforts. To recapitulate my life that I might seize pathologies & patterns that had eluded my conscience, yet came to define me yearly, monthly, weekly, daily, minute to minute, second to second, straight to my current state. I seek what’s beyond the visible “2+2=4” conclusions to be drawn. I need broader mathematics to grasp the subtler alchemy of my mind, body & spirit.

All variables are up for question and scrutiny, down to the last word, letter & number, beginning with my honest motivations for drafting the concept and the true aim of its structure, down to the intended meanings of the words “reclaim”, or “rebuild”, and how they really reveal what eyes I customarily give to my known myself, the self I don’t know, or refuse to see and willingness to own my actual agendas. It’d take more surrender than I’d ever been called to make.

Behind any physical or metaphysical phenomenon is a formulaic equation that can appear to be “Magic” & “Sorcery” –Rainbows, Squalls, lightening or it’s thunder all simply intricate zeniths of measured forces & elements, seen & unseen.

With that, any legitimate accounting of my attentions and intentions will welcome a good long look at the real book of my natural fundamentals of forces & elements, inward and outward, the accurate values of measures & masses in my former equations, the independent & self-organizing figures ledgered in the unconscious psyche; the obvious & the elusive numerical archetypes I’ve folded into my math crudely, like, One as the sun, Two as my duality, Three as the Holy Trinity, Four as the elements, or my directions, etc, the facets of my predispositions, including my caricatures and parodies of all those properties, the inner masks of body, mind & spirit that I’ve used to wholesome or unhealthy ends. I contemplate how to convert conclusive calculations into practical causative actions, and laugh at smashed remnants of my immediate, soon dashed estimations of what I had supposed the additions, multiplications, divisions & 3^rd powers would beg.

Initially, I was determined to wage a brutally honest scouring of the past six years or so… but then, maybe actually the last seven to eleven years… well, probably the lionshare of the last two decades… upon better consideration; back to my High School years… better still, my early teens, ah heck, Middle School, Elementary School, Preschool… Y’ know, actually, I’d have to go much further back than all of those. I’d have to go back as far as I could remember, or further, back to my very beginnings, beyond, to the progenitors who made them, those who handed down their hearts to mine. That’s a proper portion of victory’s price in this battle, incalculable until the smoke clears.

I’ve crafted some grand illusions, but I wont venture as to what my actual aptitude as Magician could be if it were my calling & venture less as to what skill I’d have at Sorcery. Anything in my life that’s appeared to be of that ilk is owed to Superior powers than mine. I don’t claim great powers as Mathematician either, but as a Musician I get the ratios that Pythagoras felt: “There is geometry in the humming of the strings… there is magic in the spacing of the spheres”… and that’s what grabs my gut. Hesitation leaves me, fear melts into feeling unbound, and I know: If my life’s equation can be as a song voicing the light of truth, illuminating a way to atonement… I’m capable of such a composition… I can write that song. I’ve held and not properly handled that power, regrettably, but I can. I’m meant to. It’s why I’m still here.

To spill out my soul factors across skies as an anthem to the honorables who built before me, the architects of my existence and pledge that it amount to a masterful melody, a Reel to the Benefactors of my dreams & Donors of my tools… I pray they sing in shared resonance, pound in time on the tabor, their wind whistle on the fife, and we’ll dance starry heavens…” -BDF

Quote · January 7, 2020 · Leave a comment ·

Brent David Fraser, Dark Side of Genius, Full Career Story Interview

https://www.spreaker.com/user/brentdavidfraserwriter/brent-david-fraser-dark-side-of-genius-f?autoplay=true Brent David Fraser “Dark Side of Genius” Full Career Story InterviewBrent David Fraser “Dark Side of Genius” Full Career Story Interview

Cops Never Pull Over Volvos

9:34 pm, March 2000, Hollywood, CA The rain greets me with a cross of mirth and mock as I tunnel vision my way along the star lined streets tonight. I’m …

King Albion

Every midday sees no change, His heart is beaten, so down and out, Princess pain, she pines, is now estranged; Maybe a King of clowns, but still a King no …

My Highland Heart (excerpt)

In birth I felt the grip of those before me, Their Highland valor beating in my chest, If ever I would wonder where is for me, In dreams I glimpsed …

Her Refusal

No invention of her, or her love as I suggested it be, to chase and nullify my appeal. In my speck appreciation of the dirty death of her beauty. and oceans of tears. real or imagined. This is my private kingdom.

Romancing Vices

After a bountiful beginning in my teens in Theatre, Film and Music in Seattle, I was invited and moved to Los Angeles, CA in early 1988. I Pilgrimed as a Poet highwayman, an Artist soldier; with my kit bag, my guitar, the works of Brando, Dean and De Niro in my heart, Dylan, Waits, and Bowie in my head, Kerouac & Whitman, Salinger & Patchen in my soul, sincerely, riding a swelling wave of shining momentum –with two hundred dollars in my pocket, fleeing pending legal complications and extricating myself from a drawn out, come closer/go away breakup with a rising Hollywood starlet.

Though only somewhat consciously (and probably poorly) calculated, it was still a pure, decent, great dream… as well as a crafted avoidance of consequences, and a downright, bright light/good night 7/11 crapshoot. I rolled sevens & elevens for a long run, on gut feelings, hunches & intuition alone.

–

I rolled like a wheel into the Hollywood Machine, turning out favor consistently, for the better part of twenty years as a working Actor and Musician in “The Industry”. I’d been fortunate doing what about two percent of Screen Actor’s Guild members get to do; make a living on work in film and television, and better than just survive, I had thrived in my career. I’d worked with great directors & actors, writers, cinematographers, producers, and in my music career I’d had similar opportunity & success as well, respectively. I’d had lovely homes, passionate romances -Celebrity and otherwise, parties with legendary personas, world travel, toys, close friends, strong family relationships, transcendence and more. I was not yet a household name “movie star” or “rock star”; I was working, laying foundations under seeming celestial alignment, bridging spans from past to future, from nothingness to material, from myself to others, and manifesting that life song pretty well. Given the sheer odds of even the most talented people actually “making it” in the industry, those parts of my story are uncommon.

–

Conversely, through mutated attitudes & actions in the fullness of time, I’d progressively repeated decisions and deeds in that awesome forum, taking it as my playground, undermining and alienating myself from it, and the generally assumed, previously predicted, great outcomes. These parts of my story are not original; youthful entitlement, arrogance, indulgence, dark devotions, destruction, resentment, road closures, bridge burning, self-pity, envy, dysfunction, addiction, desperation, and probably thirty two or three other classic character flaws that will destroy a life in any profession. I had cultivated all of these through errors in judgment, faulty choices & indiscretions one after another & another, lost in seeing my case as different or special, it wasn’t me it was them, in evident peril of being terminally “unique”.

–

Drinking and drugs were merely indicative symptoms of deeper-rooted shortcomings cultivating in me, and influenced manifestations of the latter in a major way, without question. Believe that this book does not constitute or aspire to be another tragic tale of battles with substance abuse. If what I have come to find were simply that, I would not seek to bother anyone with it by hunting and pecking out another bound printing to heap upon that over fed pile. What I have come to find has been more astonishing.

In my aim to shift my shape presently, I’m painstakingly pushed again to reaching, for even a small glowing ember of the life I previously had and loved inadequately, and to comprehend the hidden degrees to which I’m the architect of my own adversity. I’m way past apprentice by now. It should all be crystal clear.

–

Through years of my extravagance in methods of killing, creating wreckage, denying consequences & defying my blindness to them, I’ve malformed myself to be an unlivable version of me with vicious precision. I’ve lived in constant threat of this sickness while feeding it, wittingly and unwittingly. As told by Sir Walter Scott, “Of all the vices, drinking is the most incompatible with greatness”. I’ve romanced vices far worse.

–

To my good fortune, I’d also been taught a straightforward solution that, at its bottom line, comes down to just three words: “Change or Die”, which I don’t mean to reduce to sounding easy, but it’s simplicity is sound. I had tested and proven it for periods of up to three years and using new tools I did transform to certain degrees. I haven’t maintained anything like my longest period of conscious growth from 1997 to 2000, and I spent the next eight years undoing most of it in conflicting & contradicting forays onto my internal battle field, sobering myself and being granted a movie, TV or music project turning my road to rise again, offending my world in wars to defend my flawed existence, and ego, lapsing back to decline & retreating into self-defeat taking demoralizing “comfort” in the “medicine” I’d taken up again, persistently chipping away at golden opportunities I continued to be given. I’ve had much more than my fair share of grace.

–

©2018 Brent David Fraser, Stratherrick Publishers, all rights reserves (ASCAP)

Surrender of Self Will and Whole Life

The act of surrendering one’s own thinking, designs, or plans for how it must all play out is maybe the hardest act of faith for the fearful, self centered, and …

I Am Anything…

I am anything. I am water spilling across a young girl’s back. I am a fleshy sponge in the rain of the black, brash night. My face is the parade …

Toff Down Gutter

~For the Love I Imagined~

The Setting: Defining moment; Hotel FIVE | A Downtown Seattle Hotel‎ ~ Feb 18th, 2018

PRECEPTS: Provided the boy child’s youth is spent under the nurturing, loving command of a woman of moral strength, intelligence, character, savvy and grit such as that of my mum (proper lady that she is), the boy when grown may away to soar with easeful wings into the hearts of prospective partners, to discover his “one”, his first, last and always. Where individual success is assuredly inevitable, success in the right love partnership fortifies it ten fold.

Sufficiently equipped with the correct sensibilities in active loving, social conduct, consideration, affection, communication, teamwork, and the ethereal poetry of the romantic and magical, he would fare well in that of faerie-tale love or a fighting fray set upon his fortune, in long or short term; to freely enmesh himself without reserve, joining hers unto his own, and to all he holds dear.

It Begins:: My inmost self; my gut, core, root pounded quickly, and more quickly, as her pale visage moved to mine. I paused, I began to feel like I’d been dazed, millimeters of advancement to her lips, mine, heat, shyness, urgency, innocence, an angel hid in plain sight and I was about to draw out the kisses of this girl, ours touched, it was like a tumble down a dreamfall, a crossing over, from a giant King size bed in a red room, and 11th floor, and our first ever actual face into face, being into being, nakedness of our rawness as like children before a mighty power clasping hands to agree, we are no longer alone, we go ahead together from here … I knew in a flash that I would indelibly marry my unspeakably cinematic imaginings to the quivering ghostly breath she allowed, that my mind may gamble this play at once like the mind of God in children, crossing bridges within that perish behind us. At a halt, I stilled myself, listening for seconds more to the ring of harmonic laws vibrating within the heavens. Then we kissed, emboldened and bound by the knowing of it all.

As our mouths sought each out, she unfolded and opened like a bloom, and her butterfly was born. Transformation; completion. 

Early on, I made a decision (tests and obstacles notwithstanding), and, eventually, I told her. I would never leave her. I just never would, nor let her leave … I had decided that. There could be no way I’d ever allow to lose her, let her be lost, or fail her grace. I could not. I would not. Beyond the best of my masks for shortcomings, fear, perhaps remnants of an “undeserving” complex the ego will send to chill me in the presence our the greatest spiritual magic … in each parting, lamenting, and being driven by my absences from that God Shot moment of the realest, truest version of US we’d ever know … I’d been struck farther on, that with only the feeblest attempts to make known to her that which I’d not yet made known… that she was the one for my love… she wouldn’t until I made damn sure … then I simply told her. And she knew. The Universe, God, Providence, whatever, had been at work in the most magical way, relentlessly.

It hasn’t been too elusive why the Celtic relationship to the ethereal, the mystic, the profound poetry of spiritual love is central to our millennia of seeking and discovering our twin soul. There’s an endless number of soul types formed and flourishing out in eternity, but as to ours, we are the ones branded in that infinity by the fulfillment of that singular purpose of being. She knew that. And that is at least one thing I knew too. Our resonance together spoke that like a constant hum. Like a banging drum. Like a vintage guitar playing a sacred bar where the pentatonic pulse gives a shiver. She knew that of us, innately. And so did I.

This vibration, this language of ours is like excruciatingly exquisite long foreplay, throughout a whole day, as intense as being with, touching, seeking more of the core of us, in all my thoughts she is the song. I am pounding with blood, I know she is there like warm breath. I won’t release it, I live and feed on her, it hurts almost, waiting, sustaining… her sweet hands, her warm center all bring me to her, to home.

Infused with brilliant gold liquid fire blazing, we feel a burn by candle light, red rose lips bite, we as lovers sit face to face, eye to eye, cheek to cheek, flushed, and speak soft staring, seducing, inducing, intoxified, intensified, mesmerized… the marrying mouths, hearts dancing feverishly, frenzied ripping cloth, racing pulse, sounding vibration, rhythm.. our dance of tangled bodies pressing to the deeper beyond them, locked, pressurized, pleasurized, tender, sweat, sweetness, surrender, liquid life flows over in pools of love, perfect unity… fitting… we have always been that way.

There is a woman’s look to a man that beams her highest visions, belief & love that he is hers & will ever be. An enveloping wind on a Broad Highway, thrice the wideness of all before, pushing him full force to his greatness. I’ve sought the grand grace of this gaze and say to all: if you find or have this, do anything you can to be her joy, inspiration, safety, love & all else that will keep you in her glowing regard. That “girl”, that woman who is truth, who is all the self owned bubbling of her essence, has an intoxicating scent, a taste, a touch an electric air, a vibrance, a spell, a way that comforts and inspires me like no other creature could. She is the reason I would fight these battles, inwardly and outwardly. She is the reason a man like me would even dare to crack his false self open and pull out his hidden better nature and character to offer to her. She is the reason to confront my shame and abandon useless old tools, and build up a life of meaning and value at all, around her and for her, for once she was there, my path would never mean without her as much as with her… not to replace my mission, but to clarify its meaning, as I had not quite ever seen it before.

The Backstory:

It was 10:21 in the morning, Hollywood, April 13, 2016. The heat of the spring sun was building up all over the city and shone down through eucalyptus branches on me as I lay strewn like a dead body on the grimy sidewalk. Thinking of it even now makes me wanna puke, its so damn gross…

 

©2018 brent david fraser, stratherrick publishers, all rights reserved (ASCAP)

 

My Highland Heart (excerpt 3)

I have a fear, an impending tear, I’ve created some grief for the Gods

For all those who bet that I courted my debt, she could see I had beaten their odds

My best love’s been lost, I’m paying the cost of fears, masking my heart & my dreams

and as a pretender, I’ve had to surrender to see beyond losses and wins

in the name of my father, the wealth of my mother, I beg for my reckoning of sins

And I pray to God my real life now begins, And I pray to God my real life now begins

I have a love for great facts held above all I think, or I feel, or I dream

For all those who thought as I fought I ought not, she saw that the Gods are my team

But life’s old expected has been resurrected, And became what couldn’t become

Anti-hero who tosses his greatest of losses, all I’m not, never will return from

and as a pretender I’ve had to surrender to see beyond losses and wins

in the name of my father, the wealth of my mother, I beg for my reckoning of sins

And I pray to God my real life now begins, And I pray to God my real life now begins

Copyright 2022, Brent David Fraser, all rights reserved

Brent David Fraser, 5 mins of interview for film Dark Side of Genius, on WHOLE CAREER, & unknown Secrets.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pM7yW-Nn3gE&feature=share #BrentDavidFraser, first 5 minutes of an hour long interview in the bonus features of the film #DarkSideOfGenius DVD (#ScorpionReleasing), a full hour talk about his WHOLE CAREER, and some …

I Wanted You

I wanted you, you were “the one”, If any I could have, I wanted to live, live in your sun, And right that I should have, I wanted to love, …