Tag: beautiful

Thank You

“Yes, I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.” – Oscar Wilde

My birthday was Monday, October 16th. Thank you to everyone who took the time to send your well wishes, and to answer back to many of you: Yes, I had a great day. I spent the first half of my day working on a movie, and the second half baking my traditional lasagna, and pumpkin pies, and enjoying it all with my children, my mother, and her husband, and the woman who helps me see the beauty in the world when our world seems to be lacking it.

And to those of you who wished me a happy birthday on Tuesday: all good! If you know me, you know how frequently I'm late for things, so I am far from qualified to hold that against anyone.

I share my birth date of October 16th with Oscar Wilde, the famous, and some would say, infamous author, playwright, and poet. Like many artists who are ahead of their time, the true scope of Wilde's fame didn't become realized until after his death in 1900. Among a controversial life, Wilde disrupted the Victorian societies of his time with brilliant stories such as The Picture of Dorian Gray, The Importance of Being Earnest, and An Ideal Husband. Stories which examined in their time societal morals, norms, hierarchies, and the hypocrisies woven throughout them. Although these stories were written well over a century ago, if written today they would be just as timely, but perhaps less controversial.

Birthdays are often a moment where we pause, and reflect on life. It seems as though most people look upon this reflection in judgment of themselves; their regrets, their mistakes, what they want to change going forward. Like the annual practice of “New Year's Resolutions,” there is a statement of ,“I begin truly living today!” that seems to take place for many. I have never sought to live an ordinary life, I have only sought to live fully. In my past I have let many things prevent me from doing so, but as I've grown, and matured, I find fewer obstacles within myself, fewer inhibitions, fewer reasons to not take risks.

Fewer reasons to not see the good that is all around me, and take in as much of it as I can.

“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.” – Oscar Wilde

My reflection is not one of regrets. My life, like every life, has been filled with moments of wonder, and moments of despair. I have struggled, succeeded, failed, risked, lost, and continue to pull myself back to my feet, and push forward. I know I have never been perfect, but I cannot change my past self. I accept who I am, who I once was, and all of the growing that has occurred in between. I continue to work diligently to forgive myself for those imperfections, and sometimes the specters of past mistakes still haunt my mortal consciousness, and scream from their subconscious prisons. But where their voices are silent, I focus on living in the moment, and loving everyone in my life as deeply as I am capable.

Everyone that has entered my life, and that includes the many who have only been temporary tenants of my time, and energy, have taught me valuable lessons about myself, and how I create the world I live in. For that, I am grateful to everyone. And as a life lived, much the same as Mr. Wilde's, I intend to continue living mine to the fullest, through my passions, my love, my art, and my creativity, challenging the things that we accept in our collective lives, and hopefully, seeing the world change for the better before my time here is done.

My growth as a person continues. For my children, I will always strive to be a better father, a better guide, a better mentor, and the lighthearted, loving balance they need to deal with the grim seriousness that often envelopes us in our society.

For my love, and my inspiration, Cortney, I will always strive to be the partner that she deserves, give her the best parts of me, and do my best to reflect how she inspires me, and brings beauty into my world. As I once told her, she is both the Sun, and the Moon – shining a light to help others find their way, and reflecting the light of others when they cannot see how they also shine. For me, she is all of this, and more.

“You don't love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear.” -- Oscar Wilde

What more can be said? I am looking forward to our every adventure together!

Many thanks, again, to all of you for your warm wishes.

Where Do You Go

Sunflower fields forever

We love to play in summer blooms
In fields of green, under a silver moon
With petals so bright
Shinning stars, and sun light
The bluest of skies
Her crystal blue eyes
Warm skin, warm within
A lover's embrace
Kindness, and grace

But where do you go
When the skies turn to gray
Empty fields where you no longer play
Scattered remains of happier days

Where do you go
When the colors all fade
Summer warm replaced by Autumn's change
When the wind rattles skeletons
Of those happier days

Do you still come to visit
When the sun goes away?
Do you still find the beauty
In these cold autumn days?
Do you still hold tightly
When everything has changed?

Where do you go
When winter's slumber begins
Eyes fade to gray
And the cold bites your skin
Will you still come to visit
And find the beauty within
A colder embrace
Less kindness, and grace

Where will you go
Until it is summer again?

Prolific Quarterly

Living In The Buff, along with Cortney Chyme, was featured this May online in Prolific Quarterly's webetorials. The full article can be found HERE. Yet, another publication featuring Living In The Buff.

The centerpiece of the interview, and article are these magnificent photos of Cortney Chyme, in a series we called: Blue.


Dramatic expression is the hallmark of Cortney's modeling
Dramatic expression is the hallmark of Cortney's modeling
Inspired by Moulin Rouge, one of Cortney's favorite movies, and roles.
Inspired by Moulin Rouge, one of Cortney's favorite movies, and roles.
Cortney is a natural upon the stage
Cortney is a natural upon the stage

Happy Anniversary To Me!

Living In The Buff Ten Year Anniversary!!!!!! Maybe you've noticed, but most probably haven't - my current watermark updated this year to read Copyright 2007-2017.

Yes, that's right, Living In The Buff is celebrating 10-years of photography this year!

Whether it's been events, public happenings, creative concepts, portraits, or just images of everything there is to love about Buffalo, I've amassed quite a library of photography. So all summer long, I will be releasing some never before seen images, dating back to when Living In The Buff got started! I hope everyone will enjoy it, and thank you for being a fan of Living In The Buff!

Returning To The Sea

Drowning in your crystal seas
Reluctantly I cease to breathe
Gripped by storms within your eyes
Never wishing to release me
From torrents wild as your mane
Words and images spin through my brain
Love and lust and hope and trust
Opened chest, and skin of rust
Exposing every nerve and vein
Turning every empty page
Ink and image wane and stray
Of my very soul they will betray
Not magic wands or words of mage
Nor swords of knights will dragons slay
Giving breathy fire to my thoughts
Embers cast on pages splayed
Burn deeper memories as they fade
Dark, in the voice you use to convey
The feelings in your heart, betray
And the love and lust and hope and trust
Inspired by each word, and touch
Each kiss, each breath
Each whisper over neck and ear
My muse to be, whom I hold so dear
Lay with me and write the prose
In summer sun and winter snows
Blooming flowers in your heart so free
Returning the tempest of your crystal seas
Once again I’m held and bound
To drown within you, breathlessly


Swiftly the sun cast a morning glow
First red, then silver and gold, reflecting off the suffocating snow
And the blue that will always follow
Like the blue of her eyes when she gives me that look
The look that says the million things that she can’t bring her lips to allow
Words unspoken
But her eyes
Oh, those eyes
The eyes that make my heart pound like a drum
Eyes that light a fire inside
Eyes that make my spirit feel alive
And I see her eyes, and her smile, everywhere I go
How the sun brings the majesty of our world to life in the morning
She brings my soul to life without warning

And I make her morning tea
Before the sun can even greet me
While she readies herself for the coming day
I dread, I always dread how much time we spend away
Wishing only to spend more time
Limbs entwined
Under soft sheets that keep us warm
And I get to look into those eyes
Sleepy eyes, such sleepy eyes
Consuming my desire
Igniting my fire
As Sunday mornings bless us to remain
The week pulls us from this embrace, when anxieties fuel my pain

But again, I’ll make her morning tea
Our ritual to start the day
Warm, comforting, to remind her in our time away
To remind her of the feelings that guides these words
Feeling within her soul, but words she cannot say
For with each morning, lost from her lips, when she cannot stay

Her scent is left behind
Left in my room, alone in my room, left to remind
While spiders crawl in my mind
Thoughts of everything left behind

Still slowly we move
Through the rapids of the waters we row
Keeping our pasts tightly in tow
While filling our paths with the new seeds that we sow
Can the seeds take root while we slowly navigate such turbulent waters,
Flowing over rock and ridge?
A life that consumes, and suffocates
Like the winter snow
A feeling that we both know
All too well, these feelings we do know
While we navigate the raging waters before us, unsure of where they go

But patience

Patience is the medicine I take
To help in those moments when our fears awake
In those moments when dreams seem possible
But our fears tell us no
When our pasts claw away at our trust
And these soft, clay beginnings quiver and quake
And will wear away
In the raging waters, and suffocating snow
The things we’re more familiar with
The past, the lives, the trials we both know

Then there is the way she looks at me
Often in the quiet of the evening, when we seek refuge from our day apart
On the couch, close and in comfort
With a warm blanket, and mugs of tea, and a dog snoring happily
Relieved to have us both together
On the couch, close and in comfort
In her mind, without complicated thought or judgement
Just the way it should be

And there is the way she looks at me
When I feel her hand seeking mine
Sliding slyly across my arm until she finds my hand
And she tips her head to my shoulder, pulling me just a little closer
Just a little bit closer
Pulling the blanket closer to her chin
Just a little bit closer
And she closes her eyes, worn and weary from the day
And there she will stay
No more time away
Close and in comfort
Until the morning sun again shows me the color of her eyes
In the color of the skies
After I’ve made her tea
And she begins her day
And once again, she will go away
Leaving me with my thoughts, crawling like spiders in my mind
Leaving the words she could not speak
Leaving all this behind

Even in the blue of the skies
In the blue of her eyes
And the song in her heart
Her voice in my ears
The song I long to hear
On nights alone when my mind isn’t clear
And I think more about her cup of tea
And where it might leave me

Yellowed Parchment

A dim, incandescent glow reflected off his yellowed parchment
Alarmingly empty, as his pen dripped blots of regret
Between snowflake shaped stains of sweat and tears
Ghostly reflections of street lamps skewed on the window pane
Now flowing with rivers of rain

The rain never seems to end in this life
Sunny days are appreciable, but few
Serving only as a warning of the torrents that threaten tomorrow

Still, the parchment mocked him
And his inability to conjure thoughts into words
Or thoughts into coherent thoughts

His mind swirled and crawled about with the rain on the glass
And the ominous shadows of the tree branches shaking in the wind
Shaking as his hands shook now
He reached for the amber bottle
A little something to settle him
To calm the thunderclaps in his head
The dirty glass sitting beside him
Days old from nights engrossed in the nothingness he was
Reflected by the incandescent glow on the yellowed parchment
He poured the glass full
He drank, and he waited
And he drank
The blank parchment mocking him
And he drank
And when he returned the empty glass to its spot on the table
Defined by the stains of incomplete rings
Defined by the nights spent engrossed in the nothingness he was
Defined by the cycles of his incomplete existence
The incandescent glow traced shadows of the sticky liquid
Clinging to the sides of the dirty glass
And for a moment his thoughts were lost
In the shadows from the glass
The shadows of the rain still crawling on the window pane

He pushed away from the desk
Stumbling toward his corner chest of drawers
His pen rolled unattended to the floor
Leaving blots of regret
Dripping between the shadows of the rain

He rubbed his eyes for focus
And pulled open the top drawer
Sifting through linen handkerchiefs
Threadbare socks, with holes he never mended
Holes worn from the rough soles of his worn out shoes
And the rough edges of his calloused feet
He found an old cigar box
Somewhere from behind the handkerchiefs and the forgotten socks
Somewhere from the past
Somewhere from the regret
Somewhere from the promises never fulfilled

As the empty parchment mocked him still

He returned to his desk
His blurry vision still lost and distracted by the shadows of liquid on glass
And the shadows of rain
And the branches that trembled with his hands
As the cigar box trembled with him
He placed it down on the yellowed parchment
He picked up the bottle
And once again filled the dirty glass
And he drank from it
Exposing for the moment the incomplete rings
Alongside the mocking, empty parchment
Alongside the now open cigar box
Alongside the stains of tears and blots
His pen rolled aimlessly across the floor, leaving a trail of ink
Another dirty glass for the kitchen sink

Streetlights cast shadows across his face
Through the incandescent glow, on his somber pace
Rain and trees, crawling, flashing leaves
And the gunmetal gray now in his hand

Cold and impersonal

He felt the hard, smooth steel as he rubbed it on his stubble covered cheek
He put the pistol down on the table in front of him
Letting his fingertips linger on the cold, impersonal grip
He rubbed his stubble with his dry, and stiffened palm
Exhaling a loud, and forlorned sigh
As another tear fell from his eye
He picked up his pen off the floor
Smudging the trail of ink a little more
The mocking parchment still staring back from the desk
A gun resting within his reach
His bottle and glass, with incomplete rings
Shadows crawling on glass
Like the thoughts he tried so hard to put away
Thinking of the words he wanted to say

So he sits in the incandescent glow
His consciousness fading slow
Mocked by the parchment, but not the steel
Compelled by dreams he still might feel
Life out of reach, but not out of sight
He placed the gun back in the box, and closed the lid tight
He closed the drapes to the storm outside
To calm the storm inside his head, and the ache within his heart
And turned out the incandescent light

Tomorrow is another day

Let the yellowed parchment wait another night