Parole... (now on Home Video)

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Parole

Available:  Here






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When you’ve changed my perspective. When I was looking at the floor. When I was sad, unsure, full of fear – like a cloud of fresh rain; the pressure shifted. Bringing rejuvenation to rebuild my strength. Shifting places to let the sun shine. Empowered, now able to rise again. Where you delivered forgiveness. Despite my natural faults and reckless mistakes. You accepted who I am… Believed in me, when I did not. Where no one else dare to try. Who you are is the best in life. Who you brought me wisdom from. Who you protected me against. Who we met together strengthened our circle. Who you miss left you resting on my shoulder. Who we battled delivered another chapter in our journey. What you said changed my world. What we experienced cracked our hardened hearts. What we laughed about left us gasping. What we remembered had us breathing deeper. What brought anger was drowned by the rain. Irreplaceable moments we cannot regret. Why me? Why does such a bold spirit have the greatest to...
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Just searching for the shoreline. A bottom. Somewhere to stop bobbing, where stepping out of our vessels doesn’t require treading water. Wading or the possibility of drowning. Others want the tour. They want to walk up the long staircases. To see the shining mediocrity. Spectacles that we place in the middle of paintings. Manned or empty… Often it’s the idea of guidance. Lighthouses… For some a magnet. Others see the signal as a warning. They are trying to stay away. Seeking to stay back from the shore. Preventing their natural urges to run aground. Many of these structures have fallen. Some victim to the storm and the seas they are meant to serve purpose against. Time has eliminated the rest. Like great role models. Principles we use as our compass. Symbols recorded in our history... Conceptually we all have our lighthouses. They help illuminate boundaries. Like the ghosts of battlefields. Fallen beacons we carry in our hearts and minds. Perhaps a headstone. A photograph. R...
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  It hurts too much to write.  Putting everything into words requires a painful level of reflection.  Stationary pens don't take you to uncomfortable places.    ~ Michael L. Craver   2025, my home has fewer material objects. The freezer is full of vegetables and pizza; the cabinet is stocked with cigars. Sitting by the open summer window during the hottest year on record. Thermostat on 81. Work is Monday through Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. Ninety percent of my musical choices are instrumental. Pianos or violins play as the quiet house remains stress free. Sleeping when the mood hits, with no consistent amount or routine. Resting in my ergonomic office chair or the twin bed in my spare room. I’ve known it since I was 15. Why not a new one? What’s the difference… Missing the dogs, but not the mess. Tool sit still while the world turns. Last Summer was full of projects. Fresh leather for wrestling belts indoors and trail maintenance to abs...
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