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.