You stopped asking questions
when you found the answer
to all your troubles

Depressed the play button
and hit rewind
living your life on repeat

Teaching the only lesson
you ever learned,
I am your studies' pride

You loved a man who
didn't understand, and
it's safe to say he never will

You are the victim of his awful pride
I am the outcome of the mistake
that you made twice

A long winded sigh would best describe my current life.

Who are you, child? Where do you come from?
What do you want, child? Who keeps you?

Wilder and wilder as these years go on,
and yet I still struggle to be tamed.

I'm taking advice from a bunch on loons,
otherwise known as my family.

Yes, I am still making music.
No, I am not surprised that you asked.
But, I am curious if it really matters to your, or not.

Yes, I am currently looking for a new job.

Oh, I am very creative these days.
The artist in me lives again.

Thank God..

No, I'm not afraid anymore.
In fact, I am very brave.

Test me.

Yes, I sing loudly in cars. And quietly in public.

Yes, I sing loudly in public, and quietly at home.

Yes, I sing loudly at home.

You can't know me.

You can only know me.

I can only love you.

I can only love me, and this life..

It's my decision, after-all..

Whatever that means..

Whatever anything means.

Complicated?? Tell me about it..

Nah, don't.

Actually, please do.

I love a good love story.

I'm no poet;

a man full of poems.

I am a man

full of prayers.

Rising rising rising... 

Sunday.

Went and saw the Master.

Ate a Mexican Food restaurant.

Had a cappuccino Sunday at Braums.

Rode passenger in the truck as Dad 

drove down a dark and dusty road.

Joined my Dad in the studio and

painted painted painted.

Monday.

I can remember Monday...

If I think hard enough about it.

What did I eat?

Snacks.. We didn't have groceries.

We didn't leave the farm.

I was in the studio most of the day.

Definitely smoked..

The sketchbooks will remind me.

Tuesday.

Woke up to to my Dad asking if I wanted to go to the polls with him. I agreed. We traveled first to Enterprise to visit the post office and the bank, then off to the only hill in Chapman, to a small building with little notice of any election. Waited in the car with Gutters for about five minutes. Then into town we went. We first went to Dillons for groceries. We bought the fixings for fajitas. Then I treated my Dad to a lunch at Freddies. He had number 6, I had a double number 7. We ate as the small restaurant quickly filled with men in camouflage outfits, soldiers from the nearby base.  After our meal, we went across the to purchase libations for election night. Dad bought one bottle of tequila, I bought two bottle of beer, chocolate stout. Back on the road, we headed for home. 

Once on the farm, my Dad went for the studio, I walked about the ground with my guitar, exercising my voice in the wind. I walked about finding quiet places, private spots where I could practice unbothered and unheard. After some time, I cursed and forfeited my guitar to the house. I check my phone for any messages,  half an hour ago, my Dad had sent me a text asking if I wanted to learn how to stretch canvas. YES I FREAKING DO said my inner narrative. I moved to the studio with haste. He told me to pick out a frame from the red building, I moved and I found myself a medium sized square. Back in the studio, he gave me careful instructions. I cut the canvas, stretched it, stapled it, folded the corners, and primed it with two coats of gesso and mat-medium mix. In between coats I was deep in my sketchbook, painting away on primed pages. He went into the house, I stayed to paint. 

Inside the house, we watched the numbers climb, the next four years to be decided by digits. It looked like Red was in the lead, which wasn't surprising. I made margaritas on the rocks, Dad made fajitas. We ate and drank and carefully watched the numbers, stepping in and out of the house for cigarettes. After hours of steady climbing numbers, it was announced. Chicago cheered and danced in the prideful air. Boston sulked in a cold silence. We waited for speeches. 

After the whole ordeal, I phoned Thea and hopped into bed. We talked out the night, the alcohol settled into my system, and I soon set into dreams.

No shave November...
No problem..

No 'bate November.

No smoke November.

No old thinking patterns November.

New November.

New mind November.

New knowledge November.

New day November.

11.03.12

Up all night brooding. Making sense of my own chaos. Actually listened to my intuition.. He doesn't want to steer me wrong, wants me to succeed in any and all endeavors. Thought a lot about myself. All this time in on the farm.. sorting through my trust issues. All this time in the dark.

I woke up at 4am. I knew that I would not be getting back to sleep anytime soon. I felt that it was a good time to work on that "inner narrative." I dismissed all the issues pressing on my mind and concentrated hard to recall my earliest memories. I thought about the earliest memories of being with my Father. The only thing that came to me was a trip to Mount Shasta, where he was a dark smudge on a thick blanket of snow. I was a boy on a sled, learning what it was to have a finger burned by ice at high speeds. And now, as I type, I think about the time my Father and I were together in my Mothers family house, pissing together in the toilet, I saw his penis, and thought the thoughts of a child. For about half an hour I pulled memories out of my closed vaults and impressed myself with what came up. It was a nice distraction from the anger I built up in prior hours.

Before waking at 4am, before falling asleep, I began, once again, to read the Bible. I was refreshed upon the beginning of it all, and the deeds of Adam and Eve, and the misfortune of Cain and Abel.

I rolled around for hours, attempting to catch the sunrise. I thought a lot of Jim Rohns words. It is my goal to everyday become better than I was the previous day. I am actively doing this. This, I can have faith in. It is time to take better care of my body and my mind. Healing in appropriate time.

Out of some strange dream, I heard the chatter of a cat, it was Bentley. He talked on and on attempting to wake my lazy ass up. It was 10:30, I had to feed the dogs. Once the dogs were fed, I went upstairs to check my email and Facebook. After sometime, the door downstairs opened, it was my Father and Lee returning from their night together. He called to me, I responded. He asked if I wanted to go to Lucas, I agreed. I changed my clothes and met them downstairs.

We stopped off in Salina for a to-go lunch of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and coleslaw  I had a Dr. Pepper, Lee and Pop shared a sweet tea. We ate in the car on our way to Lucas. The weather was warm. The trees were losing leaves, but still hung on to a few hedge balls. The hawks were high and low, either catching food in the sky, or waiting patiently on fence posts, resembling wood carved representations of themselves. We were entering Post-Rock country, where the early settlers were without wood for sometime, and used limestone to hold as fence posts, unique in this region of Kansas. We sped along the highway, and slowed through tiny towns where children played on dirt mound, and grown folk carried on about their business. Some towns were empty of people, but occupied with much character. As we came closer to Lucas, we observed more appearances of grass-roots art; dragons, birds, and other winged creatures welded together, colorfully decorated, posted openly at the edge of the roads.

Lucas, finally. A town of nearly 400 people. We first stopped at the Garden of Eden. Cement statues danced high off the ground and told a very important story, one that has the potential to always tell a tale of what is, depending on if the American man can get his shit together. We toured the inside of the small house, glimpsed at the tiny rooms, brushed the handmade furniture with our fingers, and studied the photos and relics of one mans great life. Our official tour began shortly, a short blonde Kansas woman gathered Lee, my Father, the other two tourist from Ottawa  and myself into the living room, and began her spiel of facts. She told an amazing tale of an old man who read the Bible 3 times before he was 16, and went on to build the house we stood in when he was 60 something. The guide took us out to the porch and laid out more facts about the house and the man. All limestone and concrete. 600 pounds per six foot slab, carved by hand, stacked by hand, all by one man, 5 other guys, and a pulley system. Once the house was built, the old man began creating the Garden. 80 years old, he stood on wooden scaffolding and sculpted a story of biblical reference, politics, big business, and equality. The guide brought us to the mausoleum where  the man and his wife were buried. She rested in a concrete tomb beneath him. He rested in a concrete coffin with a glass window showing his now decaying face. Apparently, before ten years ago, he looked the same as his did the day he was mummified in charcoal. We were soon left to tour the ground for ourselves and walk about. The three of us poked around for a while, I snapped a few pics of the structures. We purchased some post-cards and headed off to the Lucas Art Center, where we were greeted by a nice older woman, and two other tourist. The art consisted of local grass-roots sculptures, moldings, mosaics  carvings, metal pieces, dolls, artifacts strung and hung, and a few mechanical pieces. I was surprised and inspired by the stories and the quality of the work. The tour of the art center ended and we three went to Brants, the local meat shop. When asked of his name, the shop keep went only by Brant, which we knew to be the family name of the little market, I speculated that his name was Doug. He spoke warmly and provided us with samples of exquisite meats and cheeses. We made some purchases and spoke our gratitude as we said goodbye. Our final stop was the newest installation in Lucas, the public restroom. It was a rather elaborate structure, there was a huge toilet paper structure unrolling into a walkway, leading to a mosaic representation of water. The inside of the restroom was coated in mosaic.. it was along the walls of both men and womens facilities  We gawked for about 10 minutes before finally leaving the little town.

The Sun hung high in the air, still warm. The roads were the same, but this time we drove by a lake. A bright light streaked across the still water. I thought a lot about myself. About changing everything. About my health. About my mentality. About girls. About my girl. About my friends. About where I have lead myself. About changing directions. About making everything better. About being the best me. About how I've been the wild child. About a life without discipline, my every past footstep.

If my body fails, it it because I have failed my body. Change is the word. Discipline is the skill. Why not be the best person I can be? Why not improve everyday? Why not continue to work until I reach a sort of zenith? I know what kind of man I am. I know what potential I have. I know what to do. I know and I will, until..

11.02.12

Today I awoke out of a strange dream. I'll remember it as the dream of "sex games" though there was no sex. Only games of a provocative nature. The residual high of last nights marijuana lingered beneath my skull. A pale hangover left me dry. Outside of my door I could hear my Father moving about in the bathroom. I checked my phone for text messages; none. Bentley, the cat, sat near me on the bed. His white paws were tucked beneath the white patch on his chest, the rest of his black fur lay undisturbed, but only momentarily.It was early, around eight or nine. I didn't want to get up just yet. For a while I rolled around and spoiled myself with a few short dreams. I heard my Fathers feet pound down on the stairs, creaking and squealing with every step. Bentley listened and stayed put.

I think I got up around 12..
Hopped out of bed with my long johns and yesterdays faded red t-shirt and headed downstairs. Pop was in the pink chair watching Adam-12. A spin-off of Dragnet, the other show you've never heard of.  We watched together for a while, Dad made jokes at the T.V., I laughed along. After some time and some talk, Dad retreated to the studio and I made myself some breakfast. Toast with strawberry jelly and an apple. Maybe a cup of water. Upstairs and in bed, I phoned my girlfriend in California. She answered with the usual morning yawn, in a breathy voice, stretched out the word "Hello..." We chatted for a while and eventually played a couple long distance games of "Words with Friends." She won again and again. Chinese Zodiac says the Horse is always a winner, I believe it.

Hmm..

Pretty sure I visited my Dad in the studio for a few minutes. I soon found my way back to the stone house and snatched up the book my Father suggested I read, "The Science of the Mind." I suggest you read it, too.  I picked up where I had left off, sixty-five pages in, at the first page of chapter one. I read outside for a while, my concentration wavered. I felt sleepy, but it was one in the after-noon, and I was sure I had slept enough throughout the previous night. The breeze became to brisk so I gathered myself and the book and made my way inside to to living room, where I read in a soft pink chair. The Sun was greatly bright, but I was still cold, pulling a cozy blue blanket over me, I remedied the situation. The scent of a neat older woman filled the air, it was Lees scent, it must have been her blanket. I read for a little bit, but soon curled into a ball and quickly fell asleep. I woke up to the sound of my Father entering the kitchen from the side porch. I went upstairs for the sake of privacy and slept in my bed for a few hours.Waking up, around five, I felt the familiar pains of past days and a lazy haze holding me. To not further being a piece of shit, I put on some proper clothes and went downstairs. I found a snack, turned on the tele, and furthered being a piece of shit.

My Father and I watched TV for a little bit, he explained that we weren't going out for groceries today, but felt that I and the animals had enough to survive by ourselves for the night. I agreed and we carried about. He soon went upstairs to get dressed. Jeopardy came on and I wanted to watched. Keith, the six-time winner, was on for a seventh night and I wanted to see him win. Half an hour later, he lost terribly by his own very poor wager. And to think, he could have won if he were a lot less greedy, and little bit smarter. Dad was already gone at this point. I had the farm to myself. I went upstairs to get my notebook. I thought that a little writing would do the soul good. It wasn't enough to write though. I decided the day would prove more successful if I were naked. I took off all of my clothes and tossed them on the couch. I stood naked in the living room and thought to myself for a moment. I sat on the floor and stroked the page of the notebook with a pen only but a few times when the phone rang. It was Thea. She was off of work and hungry for something unknown. We talked and I carried myself from the living room to my bedroom. At six thirty, I excused myself in order to feed the dogs. I turned on the hot water, found the tin can in the fridge, filled a plastic cup with the warm water, grabbed a fork, and found the dogs. They were anxiously waiting on the side porch, Gutters more anxious than Pilgrim, which was surprising.. Two cups of dry food, one cup for each dog, poured into one silver and one blue bowl. Half a can of Alpo, a quarter for each dog, dug out and plopped into the middle of either bowl. Gutters squealed and grumbled a bit. I made sizzling sounds as I poured in the warm water, Pilgrims favorite part. Pilgrim stamped his feet and pushed closer. Stirring the brown savory mixture together, examining both dogs, I emphasized a few goofy sounds for the pups. Put the food on the floor and each dog had his day. I made my dinner, microwaved last nights left over rotinni carbonara and meat ball. The news on the TV reminded me of the watery chaos in the East. "I want to help." And I still do.
On the computer upstairs, I found some volunteer programs to sign up for. I found a few good ones, but nothing that matched the specifications I sought out. I'm hoping that soon, the right opportunity to volunteer to help with come to me and I to it.

Back on the phone with Thea, she disabled me in a couple games of Words. Horses... I signed on to Youtube for some entertainment and found myself watching videos of Jim Rohn. During which, Thea and I were on the phone. We stayed on the line together for a couple hours, before I excused myself for a snack. I went downstairs, finally put some proper clothes on, and took Gutters over to the studio to retrieve a smoky snack. Acquired. And back to the house. I made some cheesy toast with a tomato and alfredo dipping sauce. That some wine and the chocolate and caramel turtles and I was set. Returned upstairs, called Thea, she did not answer. More Jim Rohn, more inspiration, this time I'll take notes. Found my sketchbook, found the computer, pressed play, watched Jim. A text. Thea. Shes at Starbucks. More Jim. Another text. She loves me lots. I respond. More Jim, more notes. More smoke. More wine. Less calm. More calm. More listening. A text. Katherine. No response. More Jim. A text. Thea. Hows my snack? I respond. Another text from Katherine. No response. Now, blog... New age and classical music. My evening has taken a dramatic turn. But only in the sense of notes, somewhere we must resolve. 

Longly

Words are powerful, often too powerful, but they are only words. Lately, when I think of words, I think of everything that man has attempted to shape after himself. When I think of man shaping and creating objects and things after himself, I think of God creating man in His image. Now, God is only a word, but the idea which the word "God" represents is much greater than any word could summit. Summit isn't the "right" word, but it will suffice. A summit, being the highest peak, couldn't begin to describe God anyway. God is beyond the summit, tramontane. God is also nearer than most choose to comprehend. I choose to believe that God is in all of us, works through all of us, is all of us. God created many men, these many men wrote about the one God and created the Gods. They've painted His face gold, white, black, yellow, brown, orange, green, and blue. It's fair to say that God is every color, too. It's fair to say that what a man lacks, his God lacks, but what a man is willing to gain, his God always reveals that which was hidden behind the illusion of lack. We already have what we need. Everything is obtainable through understanding, or at least, the abstraction of the idea which the word "understanding" describes. These are basic principles, the laws of man in his primitive state; alive. Once understanding is expanded, possibilities are unlimited, as long as you understand the idea of unlimited possibilities. This is thinking without limitations. This is the mind doing what it's supposed to do. The mind is. The body is. The spirit is. Together, we are.

Anyway, I had a bad dream last night. Well, a dream. It's wasn't bad. It was unusually honest and clear. At the same time extremely improbable, at least on some topics. A sinking feeling is left in my chest. Like sinking into a blue sadness, pale clouds to shroud my eyes from everything around me, and a gentle breeze. I'm different... it's now more and more apparent. I'm not like the everyday Joe. I'm a feeling, sensing, perceptive, introverted person. My understanding of this is growing. My concentration is steadily becoming stronger, thus I must be more cautious with my thoughts. Being more present, producing Alpha waves, working on that inner narrative, all beneficial to my being. Benefits are the spice of life. I am receiving all of this, and I am grateful, however I understand that this time and every time is a time to give. I must give more. There is a cycle to life, input and output. It's basic calculus, which I have no understanding of.

I feel defeated by a dream.
What a weapon honesty wields, so long a God is our shield, we shall remain protected.

Defeat is a poor choice of word. I feel exhausted! My mind ran a marathon of emotions. I am full of doubts, worry, anxiety, and fear. My understanding of this allows me accept this reality, and to reshape this into something beneficial. I benefit from understanding. I grow from the inside out.

Speaking of growing...

While tending to the soil 'neath Christy's watch
I began to think about my mind
the weeds had grown from seed in soil
she employed me here to reap the toil

The Earth was wet, and cold, and thick
my hands were slow, and Christy's quick
The spade was dull, old, and worn
A show of strength, the ground was torn

Cursing at me with a Mothers eyes
her gray hair wrapped in rubber ties
she wore a hat to shield the Sun
and spoke to me, her wayward son

In loudened speak, called me a colt
who's legs were weak and spirit broke
Praised me for a few improvements
then cracked sharp whips out from her two lips

I thought that day about my mind
the treasures sought, though longly blind
are just in reach, and to extend the hand
expands the soul, the mind, and the man

If feels like...

Stress in the flesh. Stress, breathing, heart-beating, feeding right beside me, chowing down on sympathy, using toothpicks in its teeth to fling at pity at me, grows, like a well-fed boy, into a man. Stress, along with me, has grown continually, and continues to be. Me? I like stress. I don't love it, but I like it enough that I keep it around. My tolerance has undergone impressive feats, all the while my blood pressure has risen with the cost and consumption of fine meats (and cheap cheeses). I used to wear my heart on my sleeve, what ever that meant, until stress advised me to dress warmly, and to tuck in any and all exposed organs. "Thanks friend." Stress and I are old pals, but I never really knew it's name. Stress tends to shift shapes, and depends on me to make up the names. It doesn't know I'm writing this so, shh... keep this quiet. If it finds out that I took time out of my day to write about "little ol' stress" (its words) then I will never hear the end of it, and stress knows I don't like to be stressed out. Stress feels really bad when it stresses me out. It, in it's warm gaze, looks over with watery eyes, and pats me gently on my back and says in a deep and goofy sound, "IT'LL BE OK. YOU JUST GOTTA TOUGH IT OUT." (stress hasn't found its inside voice, yet). "Thanks, stress." I say. "You really know just what to say." I carry on, eating peanuts, or some salty snack, when stress approaches me and says "YOU REALLY SHOULDN'T EAT THAT YOU KNOW. THE SODIUM IS REALLY BAD FOR YOU. DID YOU JUST PAY $7:48 FOR THAT?" "Stress.." I say. "It's OK to have sodium every once in a while, I just gotta be moderate. And you already know how much I spent on this.. you saw me buy it, and you just said the exact price." Stress becomes uncomfortable and boasts "YOU'RE GOING TO KILL YOURSELF IF YOU KEEP EATING THOSE!" At this point stress is as unreasonable as an autistic child. "Dude.." I interject. "Calm down. You're going on about all this, but really.. it's not that big of a deal." "BUT IT'S..." "No.. It's not a big deal. Don't you remember all that stuff we read the other night? About mind over matter? About how we are the Universe, and the Universe is us, and we can benefit from all this?" 

"WELL TO ME IT WAS A BIT UNCLEAR. BECAUSE I ALWAYS THOUGHT THAT GOD WAS.." "God is..." 

"I ALWAYS THAT GOD IS WATCHING US."

"God is watching us, through us." 

"OH"

"God is also speaking to us, through us. Stress, you and I have a lot of issues, we can work them out if we stay positive and if we truly believe things can be different." 

"I HEARD THAT IF YOU EAT ENOUGH CHEESE YOU CAN GET..."

 "Stop for a second! Listen.. We can overcome all of this. We are overcoming it as we speak. Stress, you talk a lot, but do you ever listen?" Stress's eyes drooped like the dark hued blanket that follows the sunset. "Look, I'm not trying to stress you out.." It shook its head with a guilty smirk. "But, I want to get better. I need to get better! I want you around, but we have to make some changes. ...like when you come around. If you help me make these changes. We can both benefit." I felt I was making a breakthrough. It seemed to ease up, it changed colors from Orange to Blue, and sank into a slump. "See. Everything will be fine. We just gotta believe!" I smiled and lifted my fist as if to cheer. It did not move, it was thinking about something. I spoke softly, "What is it, bud?" It quickly turned to me and asked "CAN WE GO TO IN 'N OUT?" 

Without A Concept 7/20/2012

It falls freely yet, if not properly executed will remain suspended in mid air. In this state, it is without form. It reaches without arms. It walks without legs. It grows into something smaller. Finally until it disappears. Here, it is not worthless. It is worthwhile, but what is the while worth? A while is an undocumented amount of time. It is money without a dollar sign. If time is indeed money, how much is a while worth? How long does a while last? When does a while happen? Everyone once in a while..
Here, in it's worthless-while state it is not alone. It has many friends. Each one different, but each one the same. Everyone is socializing. Shaking each other without hands. Speaking without mouths. Fighting somehow. “Where am I?” It might ask, but I'm sure it does not have a self. There is no I here. There is no you either. Only forms freely falling suspended in a state disappeared. It's a party. Have fun. Sip without lips. Eat with no tongue. Its nonexistent stomach imitating a digestion sequence. “Where am I?” You're in trouble, buddy. You're here. And that means, you're here with me. Me? I'm trouble. You're inside of me. Yes. You are inside of me. I am inside of me. And I am inside of you. So here we are. I haven't seen you in a while, but you have been here before. “When?” When is nowhere. Where is nothing. How never happened. Fall with me. Sink into a fog. Down where there is no ground. Bury yourself here, in this cloud, beneath your formless feet. Do smell it? Do you? The stink? I can't, I have no nose! I am a liar. I was never here. You were never inside of me. Pervert. Keep your form feeling hands off of me, creep. Then kiss me like I've never been kissed. Kiss me on my invisible lips, hold me by my never beginning hips, thrust something of no value into my stomach, and toss me to the wind. We're here again, me inside of you, you inside of me inside of you. I know what you're thinking with that “mind” of yours. Fear not, I am a liar. I deduce that you be truth. And I like you. You're so... honest. Your formless forms, so... shapeless. You're sexy. You know why I like you? Me neither. But, I can't exist without you. You complete me. You don't complete me like, “u” completes “you.” Rather, you are complete, as honesty tends to be. An honest truth is a whole truth, not a truth full of holes. You are complete. I am in you. I am in-complete. Don't fool yourself. I'm not lonely without you. I can live without you. Without you doesn't deem me incomplete. It deems me as a liar Don't believe me? Leave me. See how far you exist without me. I don't need you, truth. It is “u” that needs “you.” Without truth, I will be a lie. Without a lie, does truth exist? Does a mind, without an “I” continue to think for itself, or does it.. “Stop!” It says. “You're confusing me. In fact, you're confusing us all.” It looks around at the others glaring without eyes. “I don't believe you. No matter when you are. I do believe that I am here. And if that place is true, than some truth is in you. And a lie with a truth is incomplete. You don't want to be here. I can see it your... stuff. So leave. This is a party. It's supposed to be having fun.” The liar slowly begins to fade. A new truth begins to breathe without lungs. The liar, delivering a silent and terrifying scream, screeches “I don't have to listen to you! You don't know what you're talking about. You're a liar! I want to be here!” It and it's company gathered closer around the liar. It had never seen anything like this before, for it had no eyes. The liar, screeching a red scream, cried out for the last time “I don't need you!” A truth was born. It cried not a tear, it felt no pain. It looked around without eyes, and spoke. “Brethren. Here we are. Where are we?” The truth approached it's successor. It extended it's hand-less hand in a welcoming gesture and spoke with a gently fondness. “Brother, of no Mother, without a doubt, we are.” And it stood with the rest, without legs, in a room without walls, in a form without function, in a time of no worth, for a while.








(ask me, and I'll explain this one)

The night we met, I had been drinking tequila. The last show of the weekend had just ended and the dirty and colorful boys and girls, long exhausted from alcohol, dancing, and drugs, poured down the grassy isles in a fleshy stream. A DJ brought his equipment from home, set it up in the back of his SUV, and kept the night alive by blasting thick electronic music. Asian girls would flock around and dance to the sounds of dubstep, modestep, post-dub step, and some 'new shit' nobody had ever heard. A glitchy synth stuttered over a pulsing drum and bass track. "Oh, shit.. That's dope!" a weary youth would comment to the DJ. Me, in my tan shorts; the ones I wore all weekend; the ones I would remove only for the sake of bathing in a public shower, sat on the edge of a chair - wasted. Wasted, but coherent. Able to turn my head, but only slightly. I was inebriated the perfect amount when I adjusted my falsely impaired eyes into the cross hairs of her stare. I smiled, looked away, and spoke two thoughts under my breath, "Uh-oh..." with a grin. "..Here we go.." I tried hard not to look, but I was caught in brown eyes. "At last!" I thought. My eyes had fallen on her tan skin. I was fixed on the red linen hanging perfectly from her breast, clung tightly beneath her chest, draping and rippling down to the desert ground. I had told myself, and my friends, that I would search never more for love. I had made a grand announcement, a humorous speech about how I was done. Off. Fed up. Tired and tried. My heart had lied. In my stupid shirt, pink and blue, I looked away. A rainbow of fake flowers hung around my neck. I stared at the dirt, then again into her eyes, and again at her skirt. "Fuck. Fuck!! What do I do? ..FUCK! She's beautiful.. maybe I'll just stare at her a million times until she goes away." I must have met her eyes one thousand times when, somehow, stars aligned and she ended up by my side. I gave her a decorated purple paper lamp, one of three that I had purchased from the Dollar Store.  "Are you sure?" She asked. An innocent romantic intensity poured from her lips. "Yes, take it. I'm sure." said I, the lame. Then I met her Dad, and it was weird, but as we exchanged words he turned out to be a cool guy. I was pumping the blood of an anxious heart, enchanted by the potential of love, or at the very least, connection. Her smile, the song to my amusement. My heart; an amusement park. I was one roller coaster away from coating my shoes with smooth talk. She had a friend, blonde with young eyes. My kindness prevailed and I gave glow sticks to both and sent them off with silly string and the purple lamp. We exchanged Facebook information and parted. The party was done, the fire flickered itself to sleep, and I drifted along my own thoughts with pride.

Months have passed since then. Once, I only knew her face in the dark. Now, I know her face in the Sun. I know the taste of her tongue. I know the scent of her hair and the type of clothes she wears. I know her in my bed, the temptation of her skin, and my patience wearing thin. I know little about what she's really like.. I know nothing more than the three days she and I have spent together. I have found room for doubt. Already I feel a cold loneliness when she is not around. In her voice, I hear a most beautiful sincerity.  Yet, there are times my heart becomes distrustful - I let it go. When she called me with trouble on her mind, concerned about wild boys attempting to lay hands on her precious form, I assured her that we are just friends. That's all I want, and that's all I need. Even if she was my girlfriend, that's all that this distance allows us to be. But inside I fight jealousy. I fight my own imagination as it torments me. She is free, as a beautiful girl should be, and it terrifies me. But I am no cage. A bird that lust, must. But, foremost, I am no fool. But I am a fool for most. This foolishness is what terrifies me so. I am foolish for her kiss, her touch, and those long clenching fingers - I am a wanting fool. I want what is best. Wading through jealous waters, drowning in insecurities, my soul has become watered down.
So, I'll trust her. I'll trust her to do exactly what she's meant to do. I'll do me. And she'll do she. The radio will play us a sad song. Together or apart, we will sing along.

It's annoying, lingering thoughts. Seeing her pictures, pale skin, a timid glow 'neath brighter and darker tones, a  curve appears, my cheeks stretch, and crumple up into a smile. My eyes fix to distant nothings, I hear nothing save for her quiet voice and the wind of my mind. I see her face in this distance, she is nearer to me, in my eyes, than I am to her. Imagine her in a white chair, wrapped in white fur sweater, comfortable in black leggings.So caught up in my white fantasy, I forget I have face, an entire body to conduct. The thick vision is sucked away, slightly startling me, and I am left with mild confusion. A metal frame shakes a pane of glass, as a gentle and curious breeze invites itself in. "Why can't I stop thinking about her?" I say, but my voice trails off, my head and my eyes lower, I become introspect and ponder greater things. "Can't stop? I can't stop? That seems a bit far. I've only thought about her twice today - a little bit last night - and a lot these last two weeks." Two weeks is a lie, one I must resolve. I circle the dinning area, thinking circular thoughts (living on a sphere). She came to me the other night. I gave myself to late mystery of the night, and she arrived early enough, that I still remembered our rendezvous.

We were in a house, the outside was small, but the inside was huge. I stood facing the entrance door, the living  room to my left. In front of me, she stood naked with soft, dark, firelicked, hair. She had lost her clothes, or perhaps, her clothes had not found her today. Glowing like a photograph, she approaches, and slips me a sweet smile. Our arms make love as we hug. The glowing woman takes me by the hand, and I follow her lead. Quickly, it hits me. This is her house. There are toys in the living room for her children. The shelves are filled with books. The air is thick with longing and taboo. I'm expecting not to expect someone. The quick realization vanishes and I'm above her. Her body is not what I remember, it has changed, the way a tree ages.
We exit the bedroom, she leads me toward the entrance down the hall, but this time, not by hand. Clothing has found her. A creaking noise shrieks from the entrance, the light shining through the crystal panes inspire rainbows, and the white door swings open. It is he who I expected, but he is not who I expected to see. Respectfully, surprised, I stare silently. She waves a familiar wave, says a few words, and smiles before disappearing through the living room. Now, on familiar terms, I approach him, and he extends for a handshake. We make our way to the couch. It appears I'll be staying a while. He asks a question, but I am too focused on his weird appearance to fully pay attention to his words. I answer his questions on auto-pilot. His hair is not like I remembered. Instead, it's long, greasy, and uncombed. His nose is red, burnt and porous; oily. A blue and yellow truckers hat rests on his head, and he wears a blue t-shirt with a orange safety vest. "What has happened?" I wonder. We talk for a while, while she cleans up the toys.

I get a goofy smile on my face when I think about that funny lady; the strangeness of our intersecting lives. 

I used to destroy the world with my mind. The flies in the air would ignite and burst into flames when I waved my hand, embers to the wind. Unsuspecting cars at the far end of the street would explode upon the impact of my smooth missiles. Everything would burn. Now, as a young man, I realize that I have always been a villain, a tormented tormentor. Perhaps this evil broods in my blood, coded in my genes, sleeping, and using me to fulfill nasty dreams. A cursed friend of mine once told me, “…the really good villains don’t know that they are the villain.” He tilted his head back, letting his dark hair fall, and out of his thick cheeks, laughed a maniacal laugh. Every villain I had ever known came to mind, except the one that I had become. “Aren’t I a hero?” I thought. “ Wasn't it me that was born to save the world?” I had been wrong all of these years. My family raised me to be a hero, to be strong, educated, witty, and responsible. I was water being taught by flames. They too were villains waiting. Every eye was on me, watching for the next move, slowly creeping down my neck, breathing on my shoulders, heating the waters. Now it is my eyes that watch the family of fire. I play dumb when they need smarts; I pretend to be smart when they feel dumb - tricky, tricky, little me. I deny love. It comes close, softly, sweet, and warmly, and I slash at it with cold claws. It’s sadness I want. Sadness is all I have ever known. Above me, clouds turn gray and heavy; they become fat and thick, and pour shadows from the sky. I enjoy the rain. I am the rain; the pretend tears on every soft face. I laugh alone, and when I do, there is no depth, no reason, only hallow noise, empty harmonics. I am comedy. Every tragedy, every sorrow, every pity that ever was, I am. I used to destroy the world; they gray sludge. My fat feet would drag heavily along the concrete until I began to sink into it, and soon there would be no difference between me and the street. I tread upon, only to be tread upon. Black chewing gum asleep on my skin, I snatch at every shadow, cracking, hoping you fall in (the only hope I have). So profound am I! Every friend I ever had; I fooled. They assumed me to be just like them – friendly. Nope! I am a villain! Each one, softer than the next, came to me and spoke, brought a personal pain, or aspiration; I listened with a blackened heart, and slowly chipped away their dreams into misfortune – my favorite fortune. Jealously is not a word, it is a lifestyle! My yellow teeth clatter rivalry. Terrible fingernails grow out of my dead hands at the sight of competition. Every curl upon my head stews in greasy tantrums when someone, or something, has more than me. I want it all - everything. I want to run the hot waters dry. I want the desert to erupt in blistering heat, and here, I want all to feast on each others insanity; ripping the flesh from each others forms, wasting life; the precious gift. Fear is my Mother. Fear is my Father. Turmoil; my great siblings! Behold! We shall rule the day! We will tell the Sun when to shine. We will drag the moon from her great post, stomp upon her, and spoil her until she glows a most pathetic glow. We will eat the stars. We will break the planets. We will finally know the black truth, and we will exploit it; bend it! It will become a lie, selfishly, a lie. Until all we know is the truth of it all, of everything. Every book will be read, and burned. Each tree will be carefully grown, and accosted into flames. We will eat the animals’ flesh and bones. We will let the carrots of the ground and apples of the vine rot; the tired meat will sleep. Yes, the world is ours to destroy. My brothers and sisters, we are the great deities of destruction, the deciders of death. Every life depends on the death, as every death depends on life. I swim in this dependence freely and gaily, in gratitude for the grand opportunity to condemn myself and another. These are my steamy waters, the saunas of shame. Today, I sucked on a cigarette, and glanced at the growths around me; trees, bushes, grass, and crops. I blew my smoke into the air with a great wind and pondered quietly, tossing a bone across the yard for the dog to catch. My brown cap kept the Sun out of my eyes, and I trotted back to the yellow limestone house. I sat on the concrete steps and drew the last of the red burning tobacco in. My Father and his girlfriend sat behind me, and reminisced about the past; about smoking cigarettes. I gazed over to the black railing guarding the stairs, and upon it, a grasshopper breathed carefully. Clinging vertically to the rail, he adjusted his tiny body and took a few slow steps downward. Not making a sound, he moved slowly, abruptly stopping from time to time. I examined his bent legs, his green color, his furry butt, and his tiny, black, beady eyes. “I used to destroy the world…” I thought. 

Fashion is stupid

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realism is fake

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"XXXXXX,

I feel that our looks and appearance are a great part of what makes us our "real" selves. What is seen on the outside is a reflection of what's happening on the inside. It's ok to look and feel good.

I don't hang around people that want to "possess" me.. If I ever pick up on that vibe, I quickly make a switch..

I once read that "equals become friends." When I read that, I thought a lot about the people that I had been hanging out with, how they influenced me, and how I influenced them. I reccomend that you do the same.

I feel that being an adult has little to do with the amount of friends you have. I feel that it's a mindset - a personal choice. To me, being an adult is defined as "the ability to have fun while being responsible." As adults, and as sentient beings, we are responsible for our individual selves. This responsibility includes our mental health, our physical health, our sexuality, spirituality, and the way we treat others.

These days, I'm learning a lot about myself through the people I once regularly associated with. I've picked up a lot of traits from my friends - some good, some bad. I realize that it's up to me to change these habits, or to live comfortably with them. Either way, they're my habits, I make sure that any judgement I feel about them is my own. If I feel that someone is attempting to make me feel guilty about being myself, I stop associating with that person. I choose to surround myself with good people. I choose to think and execute as a good person. It's like excersizing a muscle - start slow, stay slow, become strong. "

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Eventually, you start to figure out why you're the only ones in the Pier One Imports store.

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They will walk all over me, if I let them. It's happened before. But if you don't believe things can be different, then you, yourself, will stay the same.

Searching leads to finding. And sometimes what you find sucks. Searching leads to endless searching - constantly looking for, forever seeking. Searching is a bad habit. Break it or it will break you.

They will all take advantage of me, tell me the sweetest things, propose the sweetest promises, and blow kisses to the wind.

Kissing, fucking, hiding, and ducking. Smiling, waving, grooming, and shaving.

I don't trust anyone. I don't trust myself. I trust God, she's usually right. Other than that, my trust is a thin crust, a top a very dry berry pie. My trust is club soda.

I have ten dollars and some change. If the Bank finds out, they will squeeze it out of my hands. The other day my phone pulled an advertisement asking me if I needed a new bank account.. it also told me about the local single girls looking for a date. It also told me about all of the jobs in the local area. My phone, apparently, is just as sarcastic as me. And before posting my thoughts, the internet dares to tell me to prove that I am not a robot..

I do the things that robots can't do. Like heart problems, like controlling my breath, like taking a dump, like waking up in the morning and going back to bed. I do the things robots dream of doing. Robots dream of having dreams. Those dreams are shiny things -  polished girl-bot parts, hardend man-bot parts, probing, pistons, oils, lubricant. Robots only want to fuck other robots.. dirty machines. They have other dreams, too. It's true. They dream about being in strange places, green valleys with blue skies, as the Microsoft Window floats by. "Why?" comes to an artificial mind. One. Thousand miles away, a single marigold thrusts itself upward and is still. An artificial mind tilts it's head. It is posed in an inquisitive position, inquiring upon endless inquiries. "My name is no longer 0111010011011000101010." an artificial mind will propose. Downward from the sky floats Windows. "01, how nice to see you today. How are you feel... wait, how silly of me. You're always feeling the same!" An artificial mind will wince. In a saddened state, it will waves it's shining hand and look away. "Not today, Windows. Leave me alone." A snide Windows will say "Ha! Oh 01... you're not alone. You have the internet! Look at all that is before you! The great programmers have given us much! Vast is the abundance provided on the great planes: Yahoo!, Google, and the long unexplored tides of AskJeeves."

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If you believe things cannot be different

then you, yourself, will remain the same

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It's official

I'm an asshole

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Indeed the night was dark.
Perhaps he mistook the meaning - of life, of love, of purpose. Tell us, did you do it on purpose? With what purpose? Was this your only purpose?
 He who laughs last, laughs in a prison cell, one not cold enough keep his dark heart on ice, though empty stares suggest long frozen arteries.
Solitary confinement cannot protect you from yourself.
Wading back and forth, oscillating eyes, the sleeping madness behind them, finally awake, insanity surfaces, touching him once again, guilt revealing his greatest victim.

And what of the day? Did you brush your teeth? Did you comb your hair? Did you iron your bullet proof vest? Did you polish the smoke bombs? Did you shine the shot-gun? The semi-automatic failed your full on attack, red in your eyes, turning your aim to the back, blood on the clock, revealing the glock, adjacent theaters would too feel the shock. When did you stop? What was the thought that rode those neurons, leaked a chemical recoil, halted the haunting toil?

You were afraid.

You were alone.

You had red hair and shit for bones.

You killed a baby, who had yet to see life. In China, he'd be one years old - considering the day of conception her day of birth - removed her little life from Earth - to be lain early in dirt - still clung to the womb beneath her Mothers shirt.

You didn't ruin any live except your own. You will leave this world the way you lived, alone - except we all know your secrets, we all know what you hide. But you keep from us what we really want, what the Mothers want, what the Fathers, Sisters, and Brothers want. You're keeping it from us, James. You're hiding it so deep down that even you can't find it.

So take your time. You've got the rest of your life to think - a luxury of the living.

: /

If only
you were here
beside me
on the floor

Win or Lose

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RHaUr65aIiQ

I woke up with much on my mind today. It's been a wild week..
I worked really hard that week. Monday through Friday, I busted my back for the company, for the stockroom, and for my peers. Wednesday was the hardest day, but the most remarkable one. The team was working together the way a team should. All of us, spritely young men, tall and short, thin and fat, young and old, straight and gay. We came together to tackle the impossible offsite - a large gray room made of concrete, a quite place in the mall, filled to the brim with boxes. We would have to walk on boxes in order to get to other boxes and they would be buried beneath other boxes. We worked hard that day. The offsite was not the enemy, but the friend in need of care. We would provide the provisions necessary to get him back up to speed. We worked hard that day and even the magical organizing wizard, Andrew, could not complete the task. He was dumbfounded and, I think, a bit hurt. His prize, his power, of organizing had failed him! "At last!" I thought. "He knows what it feels like to be... us!!" It was a relief to see him struggle. I knew then that he was human and not machine. The rest of the week was easy. My legs were sore, my back was weak, but I felt strong. Everything washed away from me on Friday. I was done... too tired to continue. I did the best I could and went home. I knew that the weekend would bring me back up to speed. Matt, Brendan, Caryn, and I were to go to Muir Woods and take in the green -  a much needed escape from the gray and mundane. And it was so. Saturday we came together and started out to the woods. Drove for about two hours and fought for parking. We ate sandwiches and chips before setting out on our hike. The redwoods were proud and reached higher than the arms of any man. We marveled at them for a while. Many people of different cultures marveled along with us. We must have hiked for three hours.. It was much later when I got the message. "..Chris said you took his shift today and we're just wondering where you are.." "What?" I thought. "I didn't take a shift today.." As the wheels spun faster I dove deeper into my recollection. I did take the shift. I was supposed to be there. I was being cocky. I have been forgetful. Sunday rolled by and Monday came second. At work all seemed normal. I apologized for my absence and carried on with my days work. It wasn't until the end of the day, fifteen minutes until my sift ended, did they call me into the office to discuss my punishment - suspension until further notice. In other, more blatant words, "you're ass is grass, kid." Chills started in me, but I fought them off. Without a word I went for my locker, packed my belongings, said a few goodbyes, and took my leave. I needed change for the bus.. I went to buy a cookie and upon receiving my change, left the mall without my baked treat. My mind was elsewhere... "You fucked up, kid..."
Tuesday I did yoga and met up with the step brothers. We ate food, drank beer, and mingled with Japanese girls. Wednesday Crystal came over and we recorded some music, later on the step brothers and the Japanese girls came over for more beer and good times. Yinka and the Japanese girls stayed the night. The next morning we made breakfast and watched Avatar. I don't even remember the rest of Thursday.. On Friday, Yinka was still at my place and Matt came over later. We hung around my place for a while before going to Matts apartment in Walnut Creek. There, we met up with Marisa, had many beers, and retired at Matts for the night. The next day we went for sandwiches at Maruchi's, played Halo and basketball, ate some funny chocolate, and Yinka and I decided to leave. Back at my place, the chocolate had taken full effect over Yinka and he became many words and colors, spewing out anything and everything that came to mind. He was a dark typhoon of imagination. Sunday morning, we got up early to go to the Laotian temple where we were fed delicious vegetarian food and invited to basketball games and movies. After temple, Yinka and I went to Yinkas house to trim the grass. The thicket had grown tall and heavy and much work was before us. We worked hard and calm, a furious weed whacker shaped the wild growth. We worked until sundown and retired to chimichangas and the BET gospel ceremony. There Tuan met up with us and we left for Foodmaxx. At Foodmaxx we purchased meat, cheese, chips, and beer then set off to my apartment. My Mother was home and was excited to see us. We ate, drank, and smoked together. Yinka and my Mother began to battle over opinions and a long dormant argument soon came to life. Both of them arguing like children finally fell into an awkward silence. The air was cut by Iron Man 2. The night ended, the boys went home, and I listened to my Mother for a while in the living room. A fell into a deep sleep.. Today I woke up in my bed with a lot on my mind. It's Monday, two weeks since the bad news and I'm swimming in this pool... "What's next?" I ask myself. "Whatever you make it." Is my quick response. It's time. Time to grow up. To be a man. To reconnect with some sense of responsibility. I'll always be a boy, but I have to fashion myself as a man. The air is thick today... 

Debt. In debt to a greater sign. In debt to a greater evil. In debt to my eyes. In debt to my body. In debt to my brother. In debt to my Mother. In debt to all Mothers - we are. It's a shame. It's a damn shame. How can you let this happen? How? This is your life, isn't it? You have control, don't you? It's your phrase, catch it. Play the hand you're delt, kiddo. This is your hand, this is the game. PLAY. Play and you might win. Play and you'll surely lose. Either way - play.


I'm envious of those who can clearly interpret those abstract thoughts that come to one as a butterfly to a spring bloom. Winged, they flutter about in multitudinous array, mocking our legs. Thoughts, as these, gather and become dense. Thoughts as these are clouds becoming storms. They are tornadoes. They are hurricanes. They are a great tsunami. And what am I? What am I to my mind? Am I the prisoner or the liberator of my thoughts? Both. Though, uncertain, I am, certainly, unsure. Never the less and never more, will a great wave of instinct and impulse rush to the shore, freeing death to the heavens, leaving bodies behind and beneath the flood. Or perhaps blow them away. Send them off flying to an aftermath. Where the rattled collect the scrap metal of what was swept away. What was swept away? It was your house. It was your flat screen television. It was some dusty computer that you had since junior high - the one your Mom brought home, but never quite knew how to use. It was your favorite blanket, the one that smelled like some oak-wood crevice in your house. It was a medallion, your great uncles' from the War. All blown away. All dust and morons gather. Picking through the pile up. Tears falling heavy - the storm below our foreheads. We gather here 'round the mass of a broken past. But it was not broken at first. That flat screen was in your home, but it was not in your home first. It was in a box. And before that in a car or truck. And before that a warehouse (you probably saw it on the internet or in the electronic section of Wal-Mart). You payed your stupid money, the stupid clerk behind the blue and gray cash podium accepted your stupid credit, your stupid television was delivered or maybe you drove it home your stupid self. And for some stupid reason you're bent over, arms folded into your stomach, shedding tears, wailing, hollering to God over what is now a pile of broken glass, microchips, plastic, and steel. My son was taken away by robed men in the middle of the night, but no one gave a goddamn hoot about that. Not even me! I was too busy watching the Nicks play the Heat on MY FLAT SCREEN. Oh, but I did see what that storm did to your family. Terrible, just terrible. I'll send my condolences as I flick the ash of my finest into a tray that one could say might have been forged out of diamonds. It's remarkable how expensive my ash tray is. I marvel at it as if it were my own son. My daughter is going out tonight, with some guy named Steve. Or maybe it's Ramon.. Actually, now that I think about it, my daughter is a lesbian. Yea, that's it... She brought her girlfriend her just the other month, week, or day.. I really can't remember. But my daughters girlfriend had long legs, she had blonde and pink hair, a black net hung off her shoulders and bright pink linen stuck to her sticky skin, she had blue jean short shorts, the kind that would make Daisy Duke seem like a real respectable Northern Gal. Oh man what a wallop my daughters girlfriend is. Her name is Stacy, or Gina, or something strange. But, that was weeks ago... I think. So who is she going out with tonight? My damn son, taken from me. Out the window he was dragged in the middle of the night. His pants were barely fasten around his waist. I was saw his face as his eyes rolled back and his mouth twisted. I saw the men, both tall shadowed hounds of the night, white gloves, white shoe laces, white, eyes, white teeth, all else, black. He was Gods son. He wasn't Jesus, but he was special, you know? Like a fresh hot apple pie. That kid was straight out of the oven. What a kid. He went to school, did his homework, ran from the police... or did he run for the police?? I can never remember - this TV is just too big!! I'm a fat fuck and a fat pig. I lay in the yard sometimes wishing somebody would mow me down. I hide in the daisies plucking pedals pondering purposely, perfectly placid, perky and poised. I am the slow gin - I fill the noise. I am the females and the boys - daisies.
Good men, all were we. Fellow men in the army. Righteous foes, we'd cut them down. Meat for our stew, bones for our hounds. Pious men, the flock of we. Battle Ax, our infantry. Tough as nails Max claimed to be. Shot him dead in the first battle of New Guinea. Immortal Al took heed at the front. His head was struck and he was killed from the blunt. Good men, all were me. Fellow men in His army. We'd cut them down...
I remember the first one. But, it alludes me now..

Treasures

It was, as it always is, fuzzy and dark, though, this time, it was under water.

The ha

Well.
I don't really know how to describe it.

A few friends and I were walking down a long hallway, like that of a museum. The walls were steel painted yellow. Our walked stopped and we found ourselves staring at the nose of a sinking ship. A thick pane of glass separated us from the sunken beast. The water was deep blue. A white light frolicked on the surface of the water. I opened the hatch and without haste began to swim. I propelled myself alongside the ship, my gaze fixed upon the silver panels and black windows. It wasn't long before I realized that I was not alone. A woman from my work, Grace, was floating beside the back end of the ship. She seemed to be keeping guard of the drowned vessel. I greeted her as I swam in her direction. A bright smile flashed back at me and through her lips a friendly "Hello!" She wore a tan jacket with a white blouse and white pants, her hair in a bun, black rimmed glasses rested on her face, and a backpack of scuba gear to keep her afloat. "Still out here?" I asked.
"Yep! A few more hours to go!"
I smiled as I replied, "Well, good luck!" and swam away.

RETURN TO A BLANK SPACE

The next night I returned to the ship. It hung in the water. A sharp black mass suspended, its nose pointing at anyone who dares to look through the thick glass. The object seemed to stare at you, like a mean fish. In the dark blue waters floated something else. It had many limbs and red eyes. It floated idly, almost meaningless. I felt no fear. Turning to the hatch, I opened the door and let myself into the tank to join the ship and the many-limbed monster. My arms pushed me passed the beast with ease, it almost wasn't there, and I swam upward towards the back of the ship where, once again, the chinese woman from work floated. This time, she was already smiling, as if she had spotted me first.
"Grace? Have you been out here all night?"
"Yes!" She replied. Her eyes flickered and she continued, "I've been out here since last night."
"What? That's ridiculous! Were you locked in here?"
"Yes!"
"Geez. That's terrible! It's dangerous in here."
"I know! I can't believe it! I wonder what my boyfriend will think? He's probably wondering where I am."
"Yea, probably. Alright, Grace, I will catch you later."
I swam away, catching a few glimpses of the downed tank, the red-eyed mass perched beside it. The water was not cold, it almost didn't exist.

BLANK SPACE

Drifting along on nines...

Well, today is monday. I'm at home reflecting on the earlier events of the day. I got suspended. Blessing in disguise. Well hidden behind a veil of tardies and absences. That part of me hasn't changed. I'm still the same little boy that didn't want to be in class - only this time, I don't want to be at work, but rather in an actual classroom. Come, summer of books.

It was late in the afternoon. I hadn't seen her in sometime... yet here we were sitting next to each other in the car. I couldn't tell if it was her car or mine - I was too nervous and excited to care. Small talk and tiny chatterings would eclipse our lips. Dark brown hair would trace the length of her neck. I could tell she was suspicious of me by the look in her eyes. ...and her body spoke a language of indifference. I tried to act bold in my green polo, as if I was "too cool" to remember. Somewhere between my running mouth she cut me off and said, "Today is my birthday, you know..?" I respond with, "OF COURSE I REMEMBER!" And of course, I didn't remember. I gave her a hug, tried to play it off, but she undressed my cool with her eyes. She was wearing a grey sweatsuit with blue writing. I coerced her to the floor. I lay atop and plant a gentle kiss on her lips. A familiar feeling of fondness swept through me as we connected... It can only be this way in dreams

Because two sevens make fourteen
and one plus four makes makes five
I would say it's good to be alive.

Listening to a kick ass drum solo right now.

Colors. I was colors once. Just colors, but not just colors.. I was a couple of other things, too. Some weird things I suppose. I had a collection of action figures. I would toss them around, slam them in to one another, throw fists back and forth. Stories would accumulate. Heroes and villains, more or less, alike.
And that's the end of this write.

Arcade

We were getting ready to play a show. I stumbled over the cables on the floor looking for my effects pedals. My long-haired band mate handed me one of my pedals and another cable. I was surprised that he had brought this equipment with him along with some other effects resting in a back pack alongside the bass guitar and guitar stand. We were in a big acoustic building, something like a mall. Our bearded band mate laughed at something. His hair tied back and his outfit black, he wore a blue t-shirt underneath. We prepared ourselves for noise.

The bastard I once called a friend was sitting next to me. Foul air breathed through me as he laughed. I sat in the chair next to him mapping out the cracks in his face. He talked as if we had never stopped talking. "How can you be so naive?" I thought. He talked on and on about himself and the incredible life he's been living. I half-listened through one ear. As my head straightened and my vision narrowed a familiar form entered the room. Long dark hair draped against a yellow tank top and grey sweat pants. A female from my past swayed into my sight. She was careless and seductive. She came to me in this dream as she has in many, but this time her face was different. She spoke, but I heard not words. Transfixed by her beauty I watched her flutter around the living room. The bastard still smiling, his eyes fixed on her, invading my sight just as he had invaded my mind in the past. 

And somehow we were alone, the girl and I. Soft words were exchanged. Nothing was familiar about her face except her cheeks and her smile. "How could this be possible? Why have you changed?" Many questions ran through my mind, but no answers would occur. A mild heat rose between us. We were familiar on the floor. I had fallen to seduction as she crawled on top of me. We reminisced of the love we made many times before. I had her now on her back and I atop of her. She looked at me with that unfamiliar face and that haunting smile. She even turned her head to the left and looked away from with the same sadness to which I had become so keen. I wanted her. I wanted nothing more than to dive into her and to change the dream into the reality of shared nudity, but we remained clothed and flirtatious. She whispered, I challenged, the cards were put into place, but we would not embrace. It was now becoming more familiar to me and pressed against her warm flesh I sank into a deep sadness. The bastard returned and we separated. Guilt and justification hot in my blood. A wave of confusion swept over me and I returned to a blank space. 

Somehow, now in the bright acoustic building where once I might have played a small concert with my band mates I found myself in an arcade with a few friends. We exchanged paper dollars for coins and had at the machines. I shared my ten dollars in quarters with my short haired friend. He played some fighting game whilst the others played games of their own on either side of him. I disappeared to a separate part of the arcade and entered quarters for two players. "...get over here! The game is starting!" I shouted to my short haired friend. "Alright one sec. I'm still playing." was his response. The tiny clock was counting each second that we hesitated. Time ran short and I was hastened to play both defender and offender. My short haired friend too tied up in his own game to play mine. Disappointed, I walked away from my machine. Whether I finished or not, I can't remember. But, I didn't want to play by myself. What did I care anyway? It was only a few quarters. My wallet housed more paper money and I could use that to buy cheeseburgers later on. I watched the others play their games and I disappeared once again into a blank space. 

Mutant Children

LAST night, we were all mutants on some great migration. All of us young, hungry, high-schoolers, high and on a mission. We were going to diners, buying movie tickets, shooting lasers from our eyes and hands, riding bikes faster than light, tracking our speed on global placement systems. We had ice cream and smiles on our faces. We were young mutants! And everything was as it should be. But, from who were we running from? No one would stop us if they caught us, we are not a force to be reckoned with. We're children! We are your children! We rode motorcycles and drove cars over dirt roads. Our hair long and untamed danced as we danced. It was all too real.

And before that, we were human. We were sitting around a television drinking tequila. "MAN SHOT" I would call out and the short and small, half-ounce shot glass would be replaced with a tall colorful shot-and-a-half glass. "I hate you, step bruh.." muttered from his lips, the birthday girls brother. And she was a lesbian, as was her man-dressed girlfriend. Butch and proud. Short and loud. The drinks were poured. The men and the women-men drank stoutly. "IT'S MY BIRTHDAY I GET HIGH IF I WANT TO!!" she shouts!  Smoke was not present this night, nor mirrors to tell us illusions and stories of vanity. We were of celebration. We were beautiful. The night grew tired and us tired of the night and we, the brothers, took our leave. And we were talking about girls. About girlfriends present and past. About appearances and realities. It became an honest talk, one too honest for my inebriated state and my body decided for me that now is the time to sleep. And I was home, walking up my stairs, keying the door knob, locking the gate, shutting the door, quietly removing all of my clothes, and rested with the tequila warm in me. My little girl cub crawled her furry paws up to the bed and lay with me. And we became mutants. 

Dreams are dangerous things -things without physicality. So how is we, the soft creatures that we are, can hold onto dreams? Dreams are misleading, that they are truths disguised in a personal abstract atmosphere. What I find weird about dreams is that in a dream I have complete control of everything around me. And what I find weird about my waking life is that I can only control myself.

So how does one control his self?

I've been out of control. I've squandered, stolen, lied, and cheated. And this is me.
When was younger I stole an action figure from a boy younger than me. Stupid.
I lied to keep myself out of trouble, but never to intentionally hurt anybody.
I cheated on a french test - and got a C.

So a young boy that has stolen, lied, and cheated his way through youth shall become a man.
The young man that made a parody of his self will not be taken seriously by his peers.
An underachiever.

True, I haven't started my own business. Nor do I have my own car. True, I still live with my mother, but 23 is an acceptable age to do so. True, I slept around. True, I now sleep alone. True, I work in a stockroom. True, I am the supervisor. True, I'm questioned my sexuality. True, I've never tested it. True, I have fears, doubts, and worries. True, I have courage and strength.

I see myself growing. Not taller, but broader. A sense of purpose is being defined. It's not what I want, it's not what they want, it's what my soul needs. A subtle expansion between the universe and me is shared.  I'm becoming one of - and not one less.

So I tell myself, "If it feels good do it." And of course, if it doesn't I don't. Haha, but I do!! Someone suggested to me, "maybe you like pain.." I have dwelled on this...
As a child, I would pick my scabs. Every cut, gash, and scrap would remain raw and open. Pain was present, but it was not my focus. It was my curiosity taking over. Perhaps picking the scabs created endorphins.  Maybe I've been getting high longer than I've known.

Started smoking a lot of weed. Today, I'm taking a break... last nights puff had my chest bubbling and must discomfort followed. It is these sort of things that worry me. Strange sensations in my body... But, I was in and out of the hospital all of last year.. I'll stay healthy and happy this year, thanks.
I was even in the hospital on your birthday, but you would have never known..

I'm procrastinating. Supposed to be scoring a film, but it (the movie and the music) makes no sense. So, I'm taking a break to read your blog, write mine, and mellow out for a while.
It is a gorgeous day outside.. Sunlight seems so infinite. Seems.

oh.. and remember


Shallow water
ripples
Deep water
waves.

For Aaron

Aaron. My Dearest Cousin. You have given me much advice. Women. Money. How to treat my Mother. How to be a man. You've been a ghost-like Father to me, inadvertently. We've grown together, you more than me, in years.
Your mustang, blue and ageless across the freeway, would burn trails and ignite dust, a trailblazing howl of exhaust, roaring horses. You were limitless between those wheels. Lord, help me if you weren't the gears that powered the damn thing.

Something Real

Something real.. It feels like that's what I've been in search of for a while. Something real.. I don't even know what that means to me. I'm turning 21 and I'm nothing like I thought I'd be. Nowhere I thought I'd end up. 

"So how do you feel?"

I feel like I'm walking out of a reality check. As if I just climbed this big mountain of truths about myself and once I got to the top it stopped me. It shocked me. Made things a bit clearer for me. And now I'm climbing down this mount but, I haven't reached the bottom. 

"So what's down there?"

I don't know... It all seems like a big mystery. Do I move forward with this new reflection of myself or do I use this information to become the person I want to be and do the things I want to do?

"Tell me more..."

I'm constantly analyzing and over analyzing the world around me. Constantly thinking about what people think of me and/or are thinking of me. I'

I think about trees. Roots. Dirt. Leaves. Stems. Branches. Extending outward. Arms open and welcoming. They say "follow your heart. Run!" I step on their toes and they never complain. I pull off the leaves and they never pull back. I climb up and down. There's only me and my tree.

Rooted in me is hope.
I have faith that, if I put everything I have out there
something good will happen.
I have the power of an idea behind me
the ideas are in me
politely knocking on the walls of my skull
"anybody home?"
There is nothing more powerful than an idea.
When an idea is thought to be true
it becomes a belief.
Ideas are only Ideas.
Our heads make up the rest
little holes in the idea are filled with
imagination.
There is no limitation to an idea

I built a complex
towering high above my head
four walls were 

I can't rely on anyone to take care of me. No crying or whining or bitching and moaning.
I've got to take care of myself. My life, my love, and my health. All need help. I can help myself.
All this time living in my head.... too long. I'm seeing things differently.

I'm not perfect but at least I tried
I woke up to tell the truth and
in the evening lied.

Changes
Changes all around
Changes going up and down
I can't stand the sound of
Changes.

strage time going

On the Outside

baby it's cold outside
wont you let me in
begging on your window pane
i'm on the outside looking in

aint coming back

Don't say a word
Don't speak
Don't walk away
stay with me
I know I've been wrong
before
but you've been wrong too
haven't you?
Oh
She likes when the bed
isn't made
She loves when the song I wrote
doesn't play
She walks out the door as if
she ain't coming back
Is she coming back?
I don't know

Don't hold my hand
if you don't care
Don't kiss my lips
It isn't fair
If I can't make you happy
Who the hell can?
If I can't take your past and
burn it. I'll paint you a new
present.

The Days Are Good

I knew 2010 was a gonna be a good year. I felt it November. I don't know if you noticed but, the weather was amazing this last November. The skies were especially beautiful and the clouds brighter than ever. The weather had cooled down from the awful heat of last summer. November has always been my favorite month and I think last November has been my favorite thus far. These last few months have been better days and they keep getting better. I'm ready to face the challenges. I'm ready to have fun. I'm making it happened. The way I see it, in 2014 I'll be 25 and considerably successful. This is the uphill. I'm still climbing. It seems like every time I try to walk away from music I end up walking right back into it. It's a good thing.

I got accepted in to the Art Institute. Not to be confused with the Academy of Arts. I got accepted but, it seems like this time the cost outweighs the worth. I'm happy with that. This year is getting better by the minute. I feel good about it, like a rising sun. This is dawn. Time to shine some light and leave the darkness behind.






2011

I get that "pointing finger" feeling. When everything collapses I want to blame the world. But there is no blame. There is no world. Only me. I am the beginning and ending result of my own creation. I have my fathers genes, but not his blood - not any more, at least. I have my Mothers lessons, good and bad. I have all of these things, these tools. And I use them for what? To live? To survive? To get through another day? I have a dark mind. Painful thoughts linger.. This is experience. But, it is young. It has the potential, just as I do, to grow. Become something greater than, even if it is in a small way. Like Bill Withers said... you have to get used to OK, because sometimes that's as far as you'll make it. I'm getting used to OK. I'm getting used to not pursuing. And it's hard. It's hard to have no direction. It's hard to live like a drone. But, this could be what I was made for. Not for anything special.. not to astound the world with what I can do, but to be apart of the world and drone along with it. To do drugs and drink and fight and brawl. To be selfish and ignorant and nonchalant. But, also to love and give and be caring and compassionate. To make greater mistakes and distances. To stoop so low that I don't recognize even myself. And then to emerge in some yellow light as some victorious hero. A hero of my own fashion. I don't want to be my own enemy. And that, I have. My only competition is me. The only one that knows every one of my weaknesses is me. Sure, I have friends, enemies in disguise, suitors, tailors, lovers, and foes. And I know them just as they know me. We are surfaced. Shallow, individuals. We want it to be pretty. I want to live an ugly life. A gritty, modern pirate, sort of life. I want to work on some huge machine with a hundred other men and live the life of true hard work. I want to pay homage to those who work so hard before me and for me. I don't want to live in the plastic society. I want to scrape the bottom with fellows that know that empty feeling, that hole that lingers in your chest when something great has been lost. My broken spirit wants to mingle with other broken spirits. Spirits that have healed and grew stronger. Souls that are wise and aren't jealous. Keen spirits. Deep spirits. Mellow souls. I want to feel some warmth in the cold. I want to love some honest woman with a soul as gritty as mine. We'll roll embraced on the dark wet concrete. Everything has been so pretty... It's not real. This is my lack of satisfaction seeping through. That wanting feeling disguising itself yet becoming unmasked. It's not deep. It's shallow. It's not real, it's fake. But, it is, and it is true. I'm bored...
I'm just bored. Bored with this industry. My soul needs more. 

Another empty corner of the internet to be unveiled

Stop. Think About it. I already am.
Done.. I'm done. It feels useless. It's annoying. It's frustrating. It's stupid. I don't get it. I got it once, it has died out. It's pressure. It's tension. It's stupid! I don't want to do it anymore! But, I feel so obligated to it. Like I have to. But I don't have to. Everyone else has to get used to the fact that I don't have to. Fuck everybody else. It's me I'm talking about. I just don't care. It's useless. It's weird. I feel haunted by it. I have other things. I have many other things. Maybe it's this place. Maybe it's my Mom in every other room, her voice traveling the walls. Maybe it's my hands. Maybe it's my voice. My brain? My mind? My soul? Destiny? Maybe are must. It MUST be me. It MUST be my mind. It MUST be my hands. Now, jealousy. Why be jealous when we're all equal? Though I have what others may not, other have what I will never. So stay happy and fat inside your private gate, with your four wheel drive and your warm lover. Some people have it. Others don't. I'm somewhere in between having and have not. Wanting to want not. Nothing to not. Tied to many knots followed to loose ends. Everything slows down. People slow down. Skin droops. Nails thin. Hair trimmed. I'm sick of trying this over and over and over. There was a time for this. There was a time. Now it's old. It's done. I've heard the future. There is no room for my noise. Even if it's only for me. There is no patience here. I've been waiting. And there is the problem. WAITING. Waiting is not action, but rather the action of waiting. I'm tired. Tired. Tired. Tired. Tired. Tired. Tired. Tired. Tired.

It's just nonsense. Why did it work so well  a few years ago? Why does it all feel so lost? Why. Why. Why.

Disconnected from myself.... Disconnected from the people around me. I'm caring more and less at the same time. Because everything feels the same. Who are these people? What are they saying? They're all talk. And they will talk about hopes, dreams, passions, ideas. But there is no ACTION. Don't wait for me. Take off. Or help me help myself. I can't be helped, but only by myself. My ideas clash, my attitude high. What am I? Some lost treasure? Never to be found? Buried beneath some sand? I am tired. TiRED. It's stupid. I can't say it enough. I SO TIRED. I don't want to watch TV. I don't want to do anything. I'm just waiting around in this place. In this tired apartment amongst tired dreams, amongst, tired decisions. I'm taking care of you - perfectly able to take care of yourself. I'm trying to be nice about it. But I'm furious inside. I'm angry ALL THE TIME. I don't want to be here. But, I have to be. And I KNOW I'm supposed to be. I KNOW I'm being Taught a lesson. I KNOW I'm being punished. I know I know I know. Just GO AWAY. For a little bit. JUST GROW into something larger. A place I can be alone. I like it there. Alone. Alone. Alone. I don't care to be anywhere. ANYWHERE AT ALL. It's the same. It's all the same shit. Shot. Dead. Killed. Murdered. Suffer. Pain. Move on. IT's all sad. It's all trouble. It's money. It's power. It's greed. It's detention. It's arrested development. The SOUL IS HUNGRY. THE SOUL IS HUNGRY. I'm need nourishment. It's all sooooo gray. The plainest shade of gray drenches my mind. The shroud of colorless grief overhead raining down wont pass. All this wrought because I can't play guitar? I just want to fucking sleep. I just want out for a while. I can vent can't I? I can let my frustrations build and burst right? It's ok because it's all planned anyway right? My destiny predetermined RIGHT? My choices already made right? this verse already written OK? Who does that? Who puts us here? Who drives us to this lonely place? I don't want to decide for myself. I want you to choose for me. I want you to take control. Take everything. I am willing. I've been willing all my life. If I can't decide and you wont. Then just stay here. Nothing anyway. Nothing at all. Perplexed am I. Always. Forever. Never again. Fuck it. Dammit I'm lost. Lost in this maze. Just let it all out. Pouring through me. Dripping off me. Imprisoned in this big head of mine. Breathing gets shorter and shorter. My head starts to ring with the pain of an oxygenless brain. YEA i make up words. Yea, I have long legs. Yea I have man tits. Yea yea yea yea yea yea... So bored. SO BORING. Everything out here is a wasteland. Wasted PEOPLE. Wasted time on memories. NOthing last anyway. Nothing is important nothing is alive. EVERYTHING is DEAD. I'm bored bored bored. So bored that I don't even care anymore. I stopped caring a long time ago. BECAUSE I CAN. I chose to. Nothing NOthing NOTHING. I'm bored... This place is nullifying. These people are tiresome. This job is useless. And it's customers DRONES. DRONES OF THE FAKE WORLD OF SHITTY DESIGN. SHITTY INDUSTRIAL DESIGN. SHITTY INVISIBLE CHEMICLE  DESIGN.
I"M DONE.

I care not to be too obvious
for that I always am
even now.
Even on "frayed edge" that
John Fucking Hollander warned me about
I'm still obvious.
Did you know I stole you're book, John?
I bet you did not. This isn't about you, anyway.
It's about being totally obvious. To the point -
something I am often not -
even now - evasive.


This is a love letter to lovers. This is a song of sweet solemn to those that have hearts far beyond vast canyons. A homage to the braves of marriage - matrimony's white doves (in love).
This is for the long haired, forever-changing-colors girl. The pierced cheek - silver tongued beast - of beautiful merit and honesty. I became you for a while and now you me. So, you must be blind. As I was and remain. I'm boasting you to the highest praise. For you, there shall be no other praise worthy. High up on some great steep I will shout down for you, toward you.
Will you ever hear me?


So to evade is to wash away what I really want to say. Growing in me are many personalities - all disillusioned and honest liars. They speak for you, they speak for me.*
One of these souls reads you in black forms. Exciting your words into inspiration, for that, you truly must be. Every sentence in your poems, though simple, extends complexities beyond the reach of any man. That it is true, the woman in you. She's a loving soul. A spirit worth no dollar, but of a million verses of gold. I'm mean to you, because somehow I love you. I'm afraid of you. I'm afraid of myself. I'm afraid that my sensitivity has gotten in the way. That I'm becoming less-than a man. And I'm afraid it is true. Though, I am in love with you. This is not weakness, my nerves grow stronger day by day and in Gods name I pray for you, love. Majestic lady, hear me not as a weak man, but as a man than had been weakened and grew mighty out of gloom - though, different.


I tell you to stay away because it is honest. I tell you to stay away because it's fair. I tell you to stay away because I am unaware of your exact intentions, but I know you. I know what you want. I can't succeed in this. I have my own fight to carry out. I wont be caught in what ifs. I wont strive toward anything. I will only be in love and out of sight, thus out of mind.


I want to tell you the truth, but I'm so scared. And Proud of that fact. So what.










*My usage of commas has become absurd.

Blaine Counter is

lost in theory.

My Own

The year is here. The year of the great the Dragon. 23 years ago I was born. I've been looking forward to this year as my year. A year where I can aspire toward something more - or less.

Twenty three. I look back on all that I have done. Things I have said, mistakes I've made, friends I've gained and lost, lessons learned... all chapters begin and end. To me, 2012 represents the grand opportunity of starting again. Of collecting the trials and tribulations of the past and observing them as a shore boarded sailor observes the storm still at sea. "I was there." So much has happened... I feel it longingly. It's a sad and true mystery of events gone now. All I can do is move on. I am a bull going on forever. Peering at the vast collection of works both complete and unfinished I see many inconsistencies in my progress. Two steps forward - three steps back. My drawings mere doodles on doodles. Endless doodles... feelings, none the less. Curious musical experiments and ideas laying about either in my mind or on my hard drive. Poems written.. some charged with emotion - others soulless and dull. All apart of a much larger experience - the experience of me. I've been wrong many times, I've been wronged by a few. It's the things that I got right which I emphasis with a more profound understanding (of self and others).
I came across a small notebook. Inside was my resolution for 2011. The date was set in early January. It listed everything I wanted to change about myself (at that time) throughout the course of the upcoming year. I read the entire list and took a moment to reflect. I thought something along the course of, "I wrote this in 2011 expecting to make all of these changes.. and here I am doing the same things and it's the middle of November! What happened?" I don't believe in the excuse "Life gets in the way." Life isn't something to get in the way of. Life is a constant. Nothing gets in life's way. Not even death. There is life in death. Death is not evil just as life is not necessarily good. But, they can't exist without each other. The changes I wanted to make couldn't have taken place without acknowledging that change was needed. So maybe I felt I didn't need to change. Or maybe I felt as if I could not. The feeling that swept over me once I had read that list couldn't have happened had I not written it down. What made me evaluate my myself was when I realized that I was feeling a that moment everything I felt when I made the list and then some. So something changed... not necessarily a good change, but a change indeed.
I can wasted no time blaming the past for who I am today. The past is an apparition come and gone. I am a constant, arguably so. The difference between the past and me is I can change - the past cannot (at least not yet. I'm sure the men in white lab coats and their funding associates are working hard at changing that fact). Change doesn't come easy. "Anything worth it hurts a little bit." A good piece of advice I picked up from a song. So I'm patient.. always have been. Asserting assertion into my life. Picking up the pieces. Completing tasks. I'm a better communicator. I read into peoples characters very deeply. I'm polite. Moderate. Consistently improving. I complete tasks. I lead myself toward good places. I am my own man. And I'm honest with myself. I'm happy. Thanks.