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..
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..
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