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Toff Down Gutter

13 May


For Ava Francoeur

The setting:

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.

Defining moment:

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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 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 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 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)


Her Refusal

9 Mar

I see only the frightened face of a child within. She has not lost her poignancy, but vacated all of her charm. She has not found use for true humor in quite some time.

Face is red, breath is short and desperate, bearing the foot stomping stubborn mask that is nearer to rude than reason, a sneer nearer to discarding than determined.

She does not understand the language I speak, nor does she have the confidence to try. she is unreachable and will bite a grasping hand that does not solely offer an apology and an admission of guilt. Offer love and she will vanish.

Inside her is a dictator and a tyrant. An offensive, thoughtless tosser of derision and misappropriated condescension. And yet, she is just a child. Meanness knows no age, and does not discriminate, but to gain her own “pleasure”.  A game that refuses to test my proposition of the deepest game of all, no matter how magical may be my silly dream.

There are soft flowers that wilt and let seep the moisture from their stems. They fall to the waves just beneath my window, I can look at them watch them all day if I want. This is where I am king. alone.

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 My Vices

5 Mar

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)

BDF Website Resurrected

4 Mar

Built it, might as well share it: Writing, Corporation Creation, Sacramental Ministries, Film/TV, Music, et al. http://brentdavidfraser.netBDF Vanity Fair



Surrender of Self Will and Whole Life

2 Mar

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 suffering. But, in my experience, it is only by committing that act that we cut away the self-will which always blocks the entry of the more powerful Sprit — or, if you like, Higher Power – into manifesting our new lives. “Surrender to whom, or what”, we first ask. It’s up to you, by your conception, with a simple trust that it must be a power greater than you. No one has to have “found” anything, only sought it. Seeking gives way to seeing that it seeks us too. #BDF

I Am Anything…

1 Mar

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 of snow by the fire. IT is me. The Eternal Sea. #BDF ’92BDF4

A Call to Women of Cannabis

21 Jan

There is a growing movement of #compassionate spiritual healing in the #Cannabis world. I believe this movement is best led by #WOMEN; as individuals, couples, or groups. If you live in NW Washington or Southern California, and are interested in leading in this cause, contact me about how we can make that dream real. While suffering children, Veterans, the seriously ill and disabled are denied access proper treatment to relieve their condition, my work isn’t done. Tell your friends.

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