An Open Letter To You

Another poem from my book; "Redemption Songs"
(available on Amazon.com)

An Open Letter To You

if i had but one chance to tell you goodbye

i would say it without ever using the word

i would tell you of long walks headed no where

and longer conversations headed toward the same

i would recall countless moments of you being there

a warm shoulder to sleep on

a soft voice to get me thru the night

or maybe just a constant reminder that

trouble don’t last always

i would go on about crowded sidewalks

filled with frantic lives

and how your comforting presence

restores me to self

for i have searched the world over for peace

and found only you

i would try to make you understand

what you have been to me

more than a companion

closer than a mere lover could get

in the midst of the darkness

you have been a light ray

brighter than the starry skies at night

you have forced me into your orbit

i accept

i would tell you that a part of your identity

will remain with me forever

for you have left your fingerprints

indented upon my soul

how many times can two spirits die

and be reborn again

lets find out

and when our paths do cross again

time will yield her forceful hand

restricted expanse will be no more

and we too shall build

another castle in the sky

Poetry

I was recently honored to be the featured poet in the e-magazine J'Parle Literary Magazine.

The link can be found here: http://issuu.com/jparle/docs/jparleliterarymagazineissue5

And here is my interview for the magazine.

NAME: Julian Thomas

HOMETOWN: I was born and raised in my hometown of Tulsa, Oklahoma.

FAVORITE PERFORMER: My favorite performer of all time would be Jimi Hendrix. I don't think the world will ever see another artist of that level of pure abstract expression. The videos of his old concerts still give me chills. His Fillmore East concert on New Year's is one of my favorite albums of all time.

FAVORITE AUTHOR: My favorite author is Kahlil Gibran, but my favorite book of all time would definitely be Ralph Ellison's “Invisible Man”.

WHEN DID YOU START WRITING?: I started writing poetry in high school, But my first official piece of original writing came back around my first real acting performance. Somehow for me the two have always been closely tied. In the third grade I was cast in a production for the older middle school kids. They were putting on 'A Christmas Carol', and I was the Ghost of Christmas Present. Good times. It was that year that I wrote my first mini novel, a novella of sorts, I suppose. It was about a young boy who didn't quite fit in with his school peers.

WHY DO YOU WRITE: For me, expression is more a way of life than an occupation or a hobby. I write so that I can live with myself on a day to day basis. I write to bring calm to the inner tempest, and to get back to my center. But often, I simply write in order to get back to sleep at night.

WHAT INSPRIES YOU THE MOST: I get inspired by a really good acting performance in a movie, or a particularly emotional song. I'll end up doing a lot of my poetry writing to old jazz music, often Coltrane.

WHO ARE YOU: I am a poet, an actor, and an educator.

WHAT WOULD PEOPLE BE SURPRISED TO KNOW ABOUT YOU: I'm kind of into metal music, more like the industrial stuff. A couple years ago I became fascinated with the whole Euro-metal scene. I get bored with the club scene. These places tend to have a more interesting crowd.

TELL ME ABOUT YOUR POETRY: Jazz poetry, beat poetry, spiritual musings, my poetry is a reflection of the life that produced it. Acting has led me to travel a lot, and so I'll often pull from the lessons of the landscape as I attempt to describe a deeper mood or theme. The topics range from political to spiritual to love, and I try to take an honest and thorough look at whatever theme I'm exploring. There's a lot of exploration and longing and self-examination, and I think that is one aspect that makes my poetry so appealing to young people.

UPCOMING PROJECTS: I am currently promoting a collection of poetry titled “Redemption Songs”.

It is available online through a number of outlets. (http://www.amazon.com/Redemption-Songs-Trilogy-Julian-Thomas/dp/1438949588) I have a lead role in an upcoming horror movie coming out on dvd soon, “The Year After Infection”, we filmed all over rural Missouri, and it was a lot of fun. I'm also in current developments for a poetry tv show that will highlight local artists from across the country.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE POEM THAT YOU’VE WRITTEN AND WHY: Choosing a favorite poem would be like a parent choosing a favorite child. Some are closer to you than others, some speak more loudly to a crowd, while some of them are quiet and pensive, and full of soul spelunking. Dark and cavernous, or uplifting and bright, all of them are beautiful in themselves.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE POEM FROM ANOTHER POET: It would be difficult for me to pick a favorite poem, but some works that come to mind are Amiri Baraka's “It's Nation Time”, and Gil Scott Heron's “On the Corner”. That was one of the first poetry albums I discovered at an early age from stumbling upon an old LP store in Harlem. Other works that jump out would include “Black Zodiac”, by Charles Wright, that was a major influence on my writing, and of course Gibran's “The Prophet”.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE QUOTE: “My soul has grown deep, like the rivers.” --Langston Hughes

WHAT IS THE MOST VALUABLE LESSON YOU’VE EVER LEARNED: When it comes to writing, you can not sit down to write a great poem. You have to attempt to describe the indescribable. Aim for that, and you'll land somewhere around excellence.

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT LOVE: I think Kahlil Gibran put it best:
“Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these by your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.”

I think its hard for true artists to find a partner that is willing to love as openly and honestly as we might prefer. For writers and actors, we are used to drudging up the most difficult parts of our souls for the world to see on display. That's pretty much the life we've chosen. Its difficult to be with an artist, so I try not to be too demanding.

YOUR FAVORITE COLOR: My favorite color is Gray. For me it represents versatility and constant change.

YOUR FAVORITE PLACE TO BE: My favorite place in all the world to be is at a live theater performance. On stage, or in the audience, there's no better moment when the air is more full of charged energy, and rapt attention. To me, that's a slice of heaven.

WHAT IS BEAUTY TO YOU: Beauty is rhythm, motion, and soul. I remember the first time I saw Fred Astaire in one of those old Audrey Hepburn movies. The graceful, effortless dance movements really left an impression on me. When I think of the most beautiful things, I think of a movement toward balance and harmony. The best poetry makes me want to get up and go do something, to make a difference, to make a change. To me thats beauty.

YOUR FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF: I have to admit if I had to pick a favorite thing about myself, it would be my work ethic. When it comes to my two crafts of acting and writing, I really dive in and work my rear off to get a piece to where I want it. I'm a bit of a perfectionist, so in some ways it is a difficulty of mine because I'm never fully satisfied with a performance or a piece I'm working on. Its good to always keep reaching.

This is just so poignant to me right now that I had to share. The latest events of this
week and this month have us all rattled, but there's nothing new under the sun.
This would've been written in the late 70's. Speaks even louder today.


An excerpt from Amiri Baraka's "A Poem For Deep Thinkers"


Such intellectuals as we is baby, we need to deal in the real
world, and be be in the real world. We need to use, to use, all
the all the skills all the spills and thrills that we conjure, that we
construct, that we lay out and put together, to create life as
beautiful as we thought it could be, as we dreamed it could be,
as we desired it to be, as we knew it could be, before we took
off, before we split for the sky side, not to settle for endless
meaningless circles of celebration of this madness, this madness,
not to settle for this madness this madness madness, these yoyos
yoyos of the ancient minorities. Its all real, everythings for
real, be for real, song of the skytribe walking the earth, faint
smiles to open roars of joy, meet you on the battlefield they say,
they be humming, hop, then stride, faint smile to roars of open
joy, hey may man, what's happening, meet you on the
   battlefield
they say, meet you on the battlefield they say, what i guess needs
to be discussed here
   tonight
is what side yall gon be on

The industry is strange

'13 has been a good year so far. The industry has been kind.

There's a lot of really great networking opportunities going on in New York right now,
and I would recommend checking out all of them. There's a great group called T@9 that
conducts weekly table readings of various writers from around the city. Met some kind
and quirky actors out there. And lately I've gone to a couple of agent workshops through
TheNetworkStudioEast and they've been very helpful in getting that elusive "face to face"
with city agencies, and couple of encouraging casting directors.

The industry is strange, and the grind of the work is often tedious. It certainly will
test your mettle. But the old cliche really is true, its a marathon not a sprint. This is
easy to forget. Especially in the throes of a large city, the starving artist lifestyle
can easily beget an all or nothing attitude when it comes to that big meeting, or call back.
This is natural, but destructive.

Walking into an audition nervous is like trying to hide fear from an angry dog.
They can smell it on you.

I had a big workshop coming up with one of the major agencies about a month ago,
and while I knew my monologue was strong, I really wanted to knock out the interview.
Long story short, too much coffee and adrenaline, and I went in there with a shaky voice
and a anxious story about wanting to get signed. Actors should never come off as desperate.
It's not a good look. It undercuts the cooler than life attitude that we suppose to be exuding
in the first place, especially for film work. Even if you're not fully assured in yourself, always
project that you are. At the end of the day you don't know what they're really looking for,
and in most cases they don't know what they're looking for. They're just hoping to be impressed,
so it might as well be you.

Thats why its so important to make time for rest and relaxation.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, the industry is strange. One minute you're moving
to Hollywood with a trunk full of clothes and a head full of dreams and the next  minute
you're craigslisting a room in Koreatown with a couple of shady asians and an aussie
cableguy with no green card. But you roll with the punches. And you bounce back.
No more than 3 months later I had a new safe apartment (safe for East LA), a lead in
an indie zombie flick, and a production company that actually paid me on time. (Taurus Ent)
So I guess in the end its all about keeping that gear in cruise and a lot of coffee in the cup holder.
Or whatever keeps you going. But slow and steady wins the race. That much is certain.

Locks

running my long bony fingers

thru these longs thin dreads

i am reminded of the who i used to be

and the man i will become

my roots

and my future

they remind me of my patient dedication to my dreams

they remind me of my inseparable bond

between my family

my woman

and myself

yes, they remind me of myself

my bond with myself

and my own isolated space in the universe

they remind me of a softly setting sun

casting shadows on a cool drinking hole

at dusk

they remind me of children

black children

naked and unashamed

untainted

cloaked in the warm gentle breeze

of a grassy plain

they remind me of music

a calypso hip-so beat

backed by the effortless rhythms

of an easy skankin’ singer

they remind me of youth

strong and unaware

boldly and blindly going

where they’ve never dreamt of

they remind me of the earth

filling my splayed fingers with handful, after handful

of the rich brown soil

locks, i am not ashamed of you

for no matter how many raised eyebrows

no matter how many odd stares

no matter how many up turned noses

or rasta jokes

or failed interviews

i will not forsake you

let them turn their heads in disgust and utter ignorance

let them cast unforgiving glances of spite and repulse

let them stare

let them stare

let them stare

and secretly wish that they too could love you

the way i do

For Lonely Poets who have Considered Suicide When the Truth Wasn’t Enuff

1.

my inner self feeds on the shadows of my 

subconscious, a feast that my super

ego can utilize to dine with the divine

but the id in me still hungers

my life, like others has been circumcised by stars

no, not those shining beacons of wonder and delight

westward leading, still proceeding toward an 

emaciated ideal glowing brightly in the east

the levitating bar

the internal glass ceiling

as a man i think myself 

to be master of the universe

as a poet i know i am

but what would your happiness be had you no public for which to shine

some cat named nietzsche said that 

like a hundred years ago

over in europe too

wonder how his 

lines can hit me

with so much 

truth 

2.

day follows day and its contents are added

the new contents themselves are not true

they simply come and are

truth is what we say about them

said william james

but the philosophers are dealing in shades

we who live and breathe know truth

with brutal intimacy 

truth, the hand that slowly twists

the jagged dagger into the muscle bound back of atlas

droppin’ 30 pieces of poppy seeds  on the way home

(a retrospective substance)

the noble nature of the great titan 

is steady silence 

eyes saddened and alone

veins pulsing and taut

condemned to gaze upon 

the harsh realities of the world 

from the outside in 

3.

the vampire doesn’t have to say

the light will kill him

he is already a creature of the night

it is the call of the wild black yonder that now beckons me

the shadow that my soul makes when it has fallen to earth 

the part of me illuminated into darkness

an unstill life silhouette of thus and thus

every time i gaze into this non-stop mental mirror

from behind a set of cool dark self mutilated eyes

reflections of my mental state are all that i can see

and yet the cracked lenses are uneven

the sharded pieces scratch and scrape the 

thick greasy membranes of my cerebral vortex

get stuck in crevices

plant seeds deeply

its gotta hurt

there’s just no other way

4.

the days of my childhood have long since ended/ ended but not forgotten/ i done moved on/ from rhythmical riffs of emotion and design/ to mutated distortions of thought 

and funk/ george calls it da cosmic slop/ a multilayered embryo of impulse and destroyed desire/ forced into flight before the hatching/ and even if these wings don’t never sprout

it ain’t gonna keep me from flying/ cause me and brother wind are like a pair of siamese twins/ separated at the medulla oblong-iforgotta lock the gate on the backyard of my thought patterns/ the unchained melodies have escaped me and continue to run free at 

this very moment/ they are breeding with stray mixed bred free verse mutts/ the off sprung mongrel aesthetics that will one day find their home in my pad need not fear/ for they can take nothing from me that i would not part withal/ except my pen sir/ except my pen 

5.

they raised the price on dreams again

now one must choke and bleed and vomit forth excellence

now one must exceed the boundaries of the skin 

just to dance the 2 step

but i gotta tap out savior glover beats 

across the hardwood floors of the milky way

and when i look toward the heavens 

in search of my constellation

my starry guide

i can’t make out the celestial bodies 

from those handcrafted flying machines 

that now plague our once friendly skies 

i never had that problem back home

and i don’t wish to defy gravity

i want to become one with it

only then will i truly be able to soar

6.

i accept my fate and await what may come 

joyfully 

like the gentle brown bear 

who snuggles in to his cave for the winter

knowing that spring will come 

whether he lives to see it or not 

it does come

7.

and when all else fails let the words be a prayer

a holy scripture offered up as sacrament 

unleavened

it is the spirit of my spirit that makes it rise 

never me, never me

8.

i must become like the shapeless smoke rising from a

single spark of incensed stick: nothing but motion, 

impulse, funk, with nothing left to do but spread

no greater power or higher calling or more urgent

matter than to reflect the light until dawn, with hopes

that by morning the people will have found their sunglasses

again

Meditation No. 2

i start

by noticing the stillness

of my body finally at rest

and i breathe

deeply

i try to keep

my thoughts gently flowing

like a calm and steady stream

instead they are like waves

crashing into one another

each swelling crest eventually

curling over and falling apart

into a thinly scattered layer

of serf and foam

there is a central current

from which these waves are born

i have not found it yet

i continue to breathe

deeply

i can not feel my fingers anymore

before me lies complete

and utter nothingness

void of any describable

physical quality

it sort of reminds me of the construct program

in that movie with lawrence and keanu

i am afraid

for i am truly alone

and yet i know this is the way it has to be

because this is the way it is

although no longer certain

if i am still deeply breathing

i begin to feel magnetized

to separate points

on either side of me

and now i am

stretching, twisting, bending

in opposite directions

that don’t necessarily

oppose one another

i do not resist

from some point behind me

i take notice of

or rather am noticed by

a great energy force

something i can not

see or touch or hear

and yet i can not

escape its presence

from some point behind me

a voice more sensed than heard

more felt than understood

enters my space

and all at once

my entire universe

is filled with song

just when i recognize this voice

as being neither internal

nor completely external

to my being

i receive words

to represent thoughts

yet i know they are

a poor imitation

i need to speak with you

the words express

and yet i know

i am the one

who needs it most

but where can i find you

the question

barely takes form in my head

before the answer sounds out

an echo in my mind

even as the words are uttered

in all things

and immediately

i think of at least

57 other questions

i want to ask

instead i find myself

slowly paying heed

to my breathing

the floodgates

of my consciousness

are opened once more

in an outburst

my thoughts

return to me

and i notice

that my foot

has fallen

asleep