Take this Razor

There could not have been a more opportune time in my life to discover Metallica. There have been several difficult times since, but seventh grade (1988-89) was the most miserable point in my life; the time when I felt most low about my life. It was the worst and greatest year of my existence. That was the year I chose to learn to love the one person I cannot escape - myself. And in doing so, I began to grasp the keys to sharing that love with others. It is still a work in progress...

It would be years before I learned to begin writing about it, but it was during that period in my life when I began studying lyrics. It was that period when the deeper meaning of lyrics, in the songs of the bands I enjoyed, began to take shape in my mind. I began to understand the stories and the ethics of heavy metal music, and I knew that I wanted to write like those guys.

I studied Ozzy and Lemmy, Paul and Gene, Peart, Mustaine, Axl, Cantrell and many others. But the guy who's lyrics I studied most, and whom I most tried to emulate, laying on my bedroom floor for hours pouring over liner notes, was James Hetfield of Metallica. His were the lyrics that spoke to me most.

This piece, (written 07/21/2013), is about my most profound memory of how that came to be. It is not my intention to get mushy or sentimental about it. But I am grateful for that perfect moment, when ugliness crashed into hope, and for the privilege of experiencing everything that followed, bad and good. My choices are my own, and Metallica was the soundtrack to the biggest choice I ever made. "Take this Razor" is dedicated to James and the rest of the guys, and to anyone who has ever felt lost or helpless...

Take this Razor

I was lost but now I’m found

So much emotion carried ‘round

Gathered strength in raging sound

‘Cause I won’t live life underground

Life is all but slipping sand

Love of self is my demand

Only I can make my stand

Take this razor from my hand

So unhappy in that time

Imprisoned silent as a mime

Rage cannibalizing my own mind

Served the sentence without the crime

Impending sense of growing doom

Moping around in my veil of gloom

Found liquor cache in a darkened room

My vow of silence a stifling tomb

That drunken fool thought he was king

She would not hear when I tried to sing

He planned to steal her soul with a ring

And powerless I could do nothing

Life is all but slipping sand

Love of self is my demand

Only I can make my stand

Take this razor from my hand

I wanted to push him down the stair

But no act of hate would make her care

Only metal brought comfort there

While I slowly suffocated on despair

Felt so all alone in that year

Too distraught to shed a tear

The jump, the bleach – survival fear

Rusty razor blades enticed quite near

Throbbing urge inside my brain

A plan to bleed away the pain

And wash it all down the drain

This soul of fire and eyes of rain

Screaming riffs from bedroom rolling

Bathtub faucet turned and water flowing

Then Fade to Black crescendo growing

I chose right there, I am not going

If life is spite than I spite life

I will not escape into the night

Strike the hammer, break the ice

Ride the lightning and roll the dice

Life is all but slipping sand

Love of self is my demand

Only I can make my stand

Take this razor from my hand

In the moment we seldom know

How present seeds in future grow

The march of time is straight and slow

Courage feeds courage as you go

Past love is prologue if I am right

With these swords that I write

Commit myself to stand and fight

And slash the darkness with my light

Though wisdom often makes us pay

I had to say what I had to say

To open her eyes to a brighter day

And then we two were on our way

Life is all but slipping sand

Love of self is my demand

Only I can make my stand

Take this razor from my hand

Full Moon Fever

Any guy who has lived in New York in the summer knows that there are certain kinds of moments that make your whole week worth while. This poem is about one of those moments...


Full Moon Fever

Full moon fever on a hot summer day –

Fabric mottled; white with Rorschach black,

Ruffled like rose petals in the spirit of play,

Enraptured blossom around the stem of a lithe body.

Stolid chowder air sliced by a renegade gust,

While traffic trudges languidly up baked asphalt

A flash in the street as cheeks go flush

An instant that echoes in eternity.

Bumming a ride on the backside of a long haul caboose

Burrowing deep into the tunnels of my mind,

This eyeful like the holy grail out on the loose

A chalice in an unguarded oasis between the sands.

Rays from the sun bring the nether to light

A vision that I alone am privileged to witness

My rapt eyes in awe of this glorious sight,

If there is floss I do not notice. All I see –

Two perfect scoops of butter brickle ice cream

Sweetening the harried plot of a stifling day,

Twinned bubbles floating through a walking daydream

Like clouds across the curvature of a city crosswalk.

While mind shutters burn this footage into my brain,

The gaze of my companion distracted by thoughtful chatter
This indelible image already threatening to drive me insane,
As her soft hand gently slides the carriage door shut...

As if a granule of sand slipping through narrow glass

The scars of time leave naught but fragile memory

Of soft skin and trembling flesh, unless, alas -

She blushes slightly beside her ambling beau.

The moment went as quickly as it came

Yet satisfaction finds me with one fleeting glance.

I never even had the chance to learn her name,

But then, perhaps, I did not need to…