I'm starting this new blog as a forum to collect a large amount of personal writing from 1999-2004. It was at this point in my life was when I really started to see the horrors of modern life and as such I was searching for a way to protect myself from it, while still remaining immersed. The end result was a long process of emotional development and personal reconstruction.
One thing that I'd like to remind everyone is that the core text for this project has been mutated many, many times over. I believe that when I finally set this on the shelf five years ago I had restructured, reworded, and renamed the project over 6 times. As you read through the entries you will see reoccurring themes, many of which started as a single line I wrote in a notebook at some point, however each time I'd reread it it would become something new.
The formatting for this is a bit of a challenge at this point, because I'm not exactly sure how to do it. Hopefully you're able to navigate the content without too many problems. If you have ideas for improvement I'm always open to them.
In the end I'm not exactly sure why I'm going to post all of this. Part of me hopes that it will help me to find closure on the project. Maybe by blogging it I'll be able to help someone else grow from my mistakes. Probably just a misfired nerve in the brain. I hope you enjoy.
EDIT: Eight years later I never found closure.
Broken Suits
A web of wiring runs
frantically from pole to pole.
Powering every structure.
Touching every life.
Consuming all we know,
never stopping, leaving behind
an intricate impression over
our view towards the open expanse of space.
A pair of newspaper boxes chained
at the base.
A gray suit, with no tie,
studies the headlines. Contemplating options,
reaches for two quarters,
purchases a copy of the Times.
Walking away he begins to read,
a solemn look falls. The lower headline:
"Mother kills son and daughter before taking own life."
Looking up from the newsprint, his eyes
like granite against the world. Walking
up the steps to his apartment, finishing
the article, a smile broke,
drull fell over him.
frantically from pole to pole.
Powering every structure.
Touching every life.
Consuming all we know,
never stopping, leaving behind
an intricate impression over
our view towards the open expanse of space.
A pair of newspaper boxes chained
at the base.
A gray suit, with no tie,
studies the headlines. Contemplating options,
reaches for two quarters,
purchases a copy of the Times.
Walking away he begins to read,
a solemn look falls. The lower headline:
"Mother kills son and daughter before taking own life."
Looking up from the newsprint, his eyes
like granite against the world. Walking
up the steps to his apartment, finishing
the article, a smile broke,
drull fell over him.
Lake City Way, 3:10 p.m.
The passing cars blow
gently against my legs
as I sit
in a suburban shelter - waiting
for a bus.
Solitary ant, moving
cautiously
across the cement
Weaving desperately, searching
for the path to continuance.
All wrong motions
Blindly amidst traffic
manipulating into safe crevasses
the massive wheels roll over without
consequence.
Four lanes down
He looks up
A bird overhead
Soaring gracefully
A sky without clouds
Fearless through air
The ant, desperately
wanting his wings.
To talk to the air
never thinking again
This earthbound reality
Dreaming of heaven
Neglecting his trials
A man driving a taupe
Ford Astrovan, never saw him.
Continued driving
into the distance
To pickup the kids from
soccer practice
across town
The bird still glides
in the ocean above
oblivious to the tradegy
on the ground.
gently against my legs
as I sit
in a suburban shelter - waiting
for a bus.
Solitary ant, moving
cautiously
across the cement
Weaving desperately, searching
for the path to continuance.
All wrong motions
Blindly amidst traffic
manipulating into safe crevasses
the massive wheels roll over without
consequence.
Four lanes down
He looks up
A bird overhead
Soaring gracefully
A sky without clouds
Fearless through air
The ant, desperately
wanting his wings.
To talk to the air
never thinking again
This earthbound reality
Dreaming of heaven
Neglecting his trials
A man driving a taupe
Ford Astrovan, never saw him.
Continued driving
into the distance
To pickup the kids from
soccer practice
across town
The bird still glides
in the ocean above
oblivious to the tradegy
on the ground.
Bus stops, Time stops
Sitting patiently, within a crude shelter, waiting for a bus.
Splashes of vibrantly colored paint gracing the short walls.
Cigarette butts litter the ground.
The repulsive carelessness of society.
Cars turn, oblivious to my position.
My mind is processing at a hundred miles an hour.
War with China – Mother’s birthday –
my first cat, Leroy…controlling it is becoming harder.
Please disregard any obscure outbursts
– ALIENS BUILT THE PYRAMIDS –
it’s all just a part of my mask.
Red neon lights portray the grocery stores logo,
assaulted by sexual desire.
An urge unlike any experienced before.
A pair of women approach for the left.
They are conversing about the benefits of relationships.
The kid next to me won’t quit looking at me, as he continues to bleed on his notebook.
(Where’s the hidden meaning in that?)
The air is getting colder now. I can feel the kiss of winter tainting my icy fingers.
A train in the distance sends chills up my spine.
I am caught down wind from a hospital.
Sanitation has an intoxicating effect on my hemophiliac comrade.
Splashes of vibrantly colored paint gracing the short walls.
Cigarette butts litter the ground.
The repulsive carelessness of society.
Cars turn, oblivious to my position.
My mind is processing at a hundred miles an hour.
War with China – Mother’s birthday –
my first cat, Leroy…controlling it is becoming harder.
Please disregard any obscure outbursts
– ALIENS BUILT THE PYRAMIDS –
it’s all just a part of my mask.
Red neon lights portray the grocery stores logo,
assaulted by sexual desire.
An urge unlike any experienced before.
A pair of women approach for the left.
They are conversing about the benefits of relationships.
The kid next to me won’t quit looking at me, as he continues to bleed on his notebook.
(Where’s the hidden meaning in that?)
The air is getting colder now. I can feel the kiss of winter tainting my icy fingers.
A train in the distance sends chills up my spine.
I am caught down wind from a hospital.
Sanitation has an intoxicating effect on my hemophiliac comrade.
Grace
A metal-based forest is engulfing my vision
Fresh laundry on two chairs near the television
The television, playing a worn out courtroom drama,
Is resting on a hand made table
The legs; medium sized tree branches
The top; a simple light wood
There is a pet transporter
The whole time the cat is digging in the litter
A good place for her
Her claws and teeth have ripped my hands to shreds
Hopefully it won’t happen again.
All the while it’s preparing to pounce
- And here it comes!
The cat; a combination of white and gray
Long whiskers grace the moistened nose.
The eyes; nearly all pupil
A deep army gray surrounds the emptiness of black
I have lost myself again
Crude copper wires protrude from frayed cables
All in the shape of a palm tree
A cloth camel; lying on it’s side
Nearly torn to spaghetti
There is a sole light in the alley below
A solitary bush painted a lighter shade of green
There is a slight movement in the window across the view.
Fresh laundry on two chairs near the television
The television, playing a worn out courtroom drama,
Is resting on a hand made table
The legs; medium sized tree branches
The top; a simple light wood
There is a pet transporter
The whole time the cat is digging in the litter
A good place for her
Her claws and teeth have ripped my hands to shreds
Hopefully it won’t happen again.
All the while it’s preparing to pounce
- And here it comes!
The cat; a combination of white and gray
Long whiskers grace the moistened nose.
The eyes; nearly all pupil
A deep army gray surrounds the emptiness of black
I have lost myself again
Crude copper wires protrude from frayed cables
All in the shape of a palm tree
A cloth camel; lying on it’s side
Nearly torn to spaghetti
There is a sole light in the alley below
A solitary bush painted a lighter shade of green
There is a slight movement in the window across the view.
No Destination
Being the only one in here, I believe she just tried to seduce me. This is the perfect place. The décor suggests it missed out on the last few decades. But its all business as usual. They don’t notice a damn thing about the world around them. Because for them life is perfect, trapped within avacado green, orange and red. This is the ideal atmosphere for the most depressed scum of the city, and tonight I’m one of them. I already know all the answers are wrong. Who can tell me if it’s true or not. Everyone has come to the conclusion to fuck with my head. Possibly because they know what this is capable of. Or maybe god is still offended. This page is going nowhere…
Take a drink
Start at point A. Always stay within the lines. Walk only when the sign indicates. End where your point turns into a curve. That is the only way you will fill the whole page, or end up with a paper cut on your forearm. Caked in the filth of a day, rest humbly until it attacks. It may take seconds, even hours, but it will find you. It’s a primal urge. The sole desire to show the world around you what it is like to have looked into the eyes of death and seen what waits on the other side of the light. To expose what everyone else is trying to hide. To justify life…take a drink…Why else would cavemen write on rocks? To signal the high master that the ice has thawed? Or was it more of a joke, the punch line lost through the generations? The pain will soon subside. The slight taste of stale breath coming out with every motion. A thick white paste coating your tongue, making it difficult to talk. Making it difficult to think…take another drink…Total silence will never accomplish anything. You must have something to draw on when your mind hits the ground after leaping from the 56th story window. Wind rushing across the page, falling passed the offices of the power elite. Business men watching your decent with inquisitive eyes. Some of them wishing they could follow. This is where the words blur into smears of a four-leafed clover…take another drink…Vivid images race through your mind as you paint the page. The faint blue college-ruled lines screaming out to you. Praying that you give them meaning. Hoping that their existence isn’t for nothing. You no longer can see the lines, paper or pen. You see a life unreal and foreign to your own. Upon opening the doors a jungle of exotic plants is revealed. Just beyond the foliage a staircase is rising up into the falling clouds. Crossing and zagging with haphazard ease…take a drink…There is a man and woman, both standing post at the base, both looking at you. The words past flooding the ground beneath you. Soaking through the broken soles of your shoes. This is where the power lies. An overflowing mass of energy. They say that the neutron bomb is power, wait till they can harness the human thought. Contain it in it’s entirety for exhibition in the Smithsonian. Charging twenty bucks a head to see the one thing in life that deserves to remain pure. That will be the day I die – probably a motorcycle accident, lying on the third runway. As the police speed away, acting like he never saw me. The fiery sun setting down to rest on the eastern horizon, casting its essence across the foul scene of my creation. A faint smell invades my nose. Then I remember soaking my clothes in kerosene…take another drink
Familiar Places
Blunt noises, cold chills
Falling frying pans, air-conditioned environments
The smell of cheap perfume, burnt coffee
Carried by thousands
Taken to work,
Taken to the beach
Taken to your child’s school play,
to hang in the stale gymnasium air
Taken to sleep at night
Various conversations, catching key statements
“There is this movie with a walrus banging a cat… ”
“What did you expect, you did get married in Vegas…”
“Fat free?”
In this place?
Cheeseburgers coated in catsup and mayonnaise
The mind’s function flawed
Incomplete thoughts rush past
Running through hallowed caves of inspiration
Crashing and merging together
I pled with them, beg them
To stay and comfort me.
But their philosophy lacks empathy
Smoke dances in the air before my face
Imitating the figure of man
Broad shoulders, semi-muscular build
Flexing biceps to impress the other tables.
He forgot about the fan
Which promptly pulls him to shreds
Taking every last piece
Leaving only a gentle haze of ruminants
Maybe I can order a cocktail
Gin straight – with a lime
The waitress could use a drink too
“Can I make that two?”
Sharp hypnotic noise from the counter
Music fades into talk radio.
Dr. Laura trying to help a 14-year-old girl
Decide on her confusing sexuality
The child’s parents listening from their bedroom
“I sure am glad that’s not my kid”
What brought me here?
On the road for days
Ravaging the county
A few moments to clear my head
But now that I’m here sitting
On the fake leather upholstery – it seems trivial
Shelter couldn’t be the only reason
This place has something more
Giving life to a world vastly beyond the image
Where water cascades from pinnacles
In all directions
A landscape littered with mangoes and wallaby’s
Every aspect confirming that this is the one place
In the universe where true harmony can exist
Without being tainted by human thought
Completely controlled by human thought
A characteristic built into these smoke stained walls
All the empty tables ghosting an eerie feel
Nothing changes about this place
The same emotions each time
Rushing in, refilling a part of me
Needing replenishment
Living the lives of those who have been here before me
Soaking up everything they’ve been taught
Learning from all their mistakes
A chaotic jazz fueled instrumental pours from the speakers
No one acknowledges the change
Too caught up in stocks and baby stroller
To take notice of the simple things that make life worth living
Fast paced lives often miss
The beauty preserved, looking closer
Falling frying pans, air-conditioned environments
The smell of cheap perfume, burnt coffee
Carried by thousands
Taken to work,
Taken to the beach
Taken to your child’s school play,
to hang in the stale gymnasium air
Taken to sleep at night
Various conversations, catching key statements
“There is this movie with a walrus banging a cat… ”
“What did you expect, you did get married in Vegas…”
“Fat free?”
In this place?
Cheeseburgers coated in catsup and mayonnaise
The mind’s function flawed
Incomplete thoughts rush past
Running through hallowed caves of inspiration
Crashing and merging together
I pled with them, beg them
To stay and comfort me.
But their philosophy lacks empathy
Smoke dances in the air before my face
Imitating the figure of man
Broad shoulders, semi-muscular build
Flexing biceps to impress the other tables.
He forgot about the fan
Which promptly pulls him to shreds
Taking every last piece
Leaving only a gentle haze of ruminants
Maybe I can order a cocktail
Gin straight – with a lime
The waitress could use a drink too
“Can I make that two?”
Sharp hypnotic noise from the counter
Music fades into talk radio.
Dr. Laura trying to help a 14-year-old girl
Decide on her confusing sexuality
The child’s parents listening from their bedroom
“I sure am glad that’s not my kid”
What brought me here?
On the road for days
Ravaging the county
A few moments to clear my head
But now that I’m here sitting
On the fake leather upholstery – it seems trivial
Shelter couldn’t be the only reason
This place has something more
Giving life to a world vastly beyond the image
Where water cascades from pinnacles
In all directions
A landscape littered with mangoes and wallaby’s
Every aspect confirming that this is the one place
In the universe where true harmony can exist
Without being tainted by human thought
Completely controlled by human thought
A characteristic built into these smoke stained walls
All the empty tables ghosting an eerie feel
Nothing changes about this place
The same emotions each time
Rushing in, refilling a part of me
Needing replenishment
Living the lives of those who have been here before me
Soaking up everything they’ve been taught
Learning from all their mistakes
A chaotic jazz fueled instrumental pours from the speakers
No one acknowledges the change
Too caught up in stocks and baby stroller
To take notice of the simple things that make life worth living
Fast paced lives often miss
The beauty preserved, looking closer
The Studios
We have not spoken for a while. Our time is short and I’ve been hiding. If they find me the drip is sure to come back and poison my throat. A harsh taste of euphoria waltzing up the spiral staircase of my nostrils, trickling down my sinuses in a dance of devious seduction. A smooth cigarette is the only way to avoid the illusive hands of a chemical habit. The purity of life has been destroyed, reducing me to join the armed forces. Standing single file in a row of droids. Everyone programmed to complete the same task, global annihilation. This is the place of me! Maybe one day I’ll make the rank of Colonel. Traipsing around in khaki suits with large ribbons strung across my arm. Saluting superior officers and commanding the lower ranking clones. I’ll receive badges and honorary medals for killing and torturing men – no different from myself. With no reason other than to hear them cry for mercy, and then look at their faces when they realize “mercy” wasn’t in the training.
A passing group of birds scream obscenities at me about the truth of love and a ground covered in fetuses. This is a sight to end reality. Unborn birds trying to escape their protective shell before they fully develop the skills of flight. Did they want to leave or were they forced out by the crow ridiculing them from his emblematic poise? Wings speak across splinters of wood arranged in religiously symbolic manner. Electricity buzzing above my head, driving my thoughts in circles, constantly reminding me of our dependencies.
A large reptilian shaped creature, living in ice, walks over to a burning man. Water begins to form around the edges of the beast and odors permeate his being. As a waterfall begins to grace his entity a new life is given birth. The soft fur of an aquatic mammal emerges from the captivity. How could the white gloves of the zoo’s caretaker have overlooked this?
A polymer jungle rests quietly beside me. A life all in itself. The dark caverns concealed beneath the foliage suggests what I am trying to understand – It isn’t having much luck.
A passing group of birds scream obscenities at me about the truth of love and a ground covered in fetuses. This is a sight to end reality. Unborn birds trying to escape their protective shell before they fully develop the skills of flight. Did they want to leave or were they forced out by the crow ridiculing them from his emblematic poise? Wings speak across splinters of wood arranged in religiously symbolic manner. Electricity buzzing above my head, driving my thoughts in circles, constantly reminding me of our dependencies.
A large reptilian shaped creature, living in ice, walks over to a burning man. Water begins to form around the edges of the beast and odors permeate his being. As a waterfall begins to grace his entity a new life is given birth. The soft fur of an aquatic mammal emerges from the captivity. How could the white gloves of the zoo’s caretaker have overlooked this?
A polymer jungle rests quietly beside me. A life all in itself. The dark caverns concealed beneath the foliage suggests what I am trying to understand – It isn’t having much luck.
U-2
Seagulls fly overhead
No formation intended
The sun reflects
A brilliant mosaic off the waters below
Wind blowing gently across
Pillars of wood drift softly in tide
This is my place in the world
For this moment
There is a man
Sitting on the table in front of me
He is talking to someone on a cell phone
As soon as he hangs up
It rings again
The phone is now turned off
He is reading a book, completely oblivious
To the natural beauty around him
Absorbed in fiction
Back dropped by high priced condos
Lining the street looking over Elliot Bay
And the city skyline
None of the inhabitants understand
The sight from their windows.
To them it’s all social
Another sign of wealth
Cranes offloading large steel boxes
Industry continuing the existence of life
In this small town
Trying to make itself a name
Residing in the hillside
A small Japanese temple
Long wooden stairs
Arranged in
Switchbacks
Cascading to the sidewalk
Clouds move over the sun chilling my naked legs
Another gull perches 10 feet from me
Silently studying my motion
The man reading a book
Arranges his argyle socks
To adjust for wind flow
Everything continues to sway
And so I sit
Quietly
Hoping no one will notice my pen
And attempt to taint this moment
Could I ever be so lucky?
No formation intended
The sun reflects
A brilliant mosaic off the waters below
Wind blowing gently across
Pillars of wood drift softly in tide
This is my place in the world
For this moment
There is a man
Sitting on the table in front of me
He is talking to someone on a cell phone
As soon as he hangs up
It rings again
The phone is now turned off
He is reading a book, completely oblivious
To the natural beauty around him
Absorbed in fiction
Back dropped by high priced condos
Lining the street looking over Elliot Bay
And the city skyline
None of the inhabitants understand
The sight from their windows.
To them it’s all social
Another sign of wealth
Cranes offloading large steel boxes
Industry continuing the existence of life
In this small town
Trying to make itself a name
Residing in the hillside
A small Japanese temple
Long wooden stairs
Arranged in
Switchbacks
Cascading to the sidewalk
Clouds move over the sun chilling my naked legs
Another gull perches 10 feet from me
Silently studying my motion
The man reading a book
Arranges his argyle socks
To adjust for wind flow
Everything continues to sway
And so I sit
Quietly
Hoping no one will notice my pen
And attempt to taint this moment
Could I ever be so lucky?
U-14
A laugh
As far south as Argentina
Echoing up the Andes
Along the Rockies ridge
A faint whisper
Into my frost bitten ear
Carried by a gentle breeze
A sound so sacred it almost demands
To make the pilgrimage
Moving along the path
Knowing which will carry it furthest
Just to influence some minuscule number of people
It would not have touched before
A quintessential journey
Made by all forward motion
Clarity is essential
As far south as Argentina
Echoing up the Andes
Along the Rockies ridge
A faint whisper
Into my frost bitten ear
Carried by a gentle breeze
A sound so sacred it almost demands
To make the pilgrimage
Moving along the path
Knowing which will carry it furthest
Just to influence some minuscule number of people
It would not have touched before
A quintessential journey
Made by all forward motion
Clarity is essential
U-16
I am no longer the All-American protagonist of the story. I relinquished that title, cast off the innocence of my youth. Now I am lost, a world of nowhere. Wanting desperately to put on my shows and run as far away as I can. But when I run, every intersection is identical to the last. Desperately searching for the correct series of turns and forward motions to get me out of this place. Somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere but nowhere. The more I try, the more I realize it’s impossible. I can’t go back. I am no longer able to enjoy life the way I used to, the way many of you still do. Nowhere is a fucked up place to be, but it could be worse. I could be like some of the others who don’t even realize they’re lost. Moving through life assuming their making some progression. I don’t want to be there in six years when they find they’ve been going around in circles, crushing everything they thought to be real. As for me, I know I’m lost, and I’m not really looking for a way out. Because it is on one of these solemnly deserted back streets that I hope to find myself. Probably resting quietly under an antiquated street lamp, writing letters to God and humming The National Anthem. So to myself I say, “Wait where you are. I’m sure to make the right turn at some point and then we’ll both get out of here. Out of nowhere…”
Ground Beef, Eggs, Gravy
Hunger. Driving me further down this desolate street. Everything unappetizing until…a small diner advertising authentic Hawaiian food, “generous portions at a good price.” The place was silent as I walked in and sat at the bar, in front of the kitchen. An older man, seeming of Asian decent but not necessarily Hawaiian, came up to me and asked if I would like anything to drink, “Tequila on the rocks,” I replied and began to peruse the menu.
Startled by my response he began to stumble over his words, “I’m…uh… sorry…hmmm…we don’t…uh…serve alcohol…May I get you a soda?”
I thought patiently for a moment, “No, water will be fine.”
He poured the water into a small glass directly from the facet and placed it in front of me. “I’ll try a loco moco,” I said.
“Loco moco, okay, anything else?”
“Nope, that should do it.”
He turned and began calling back my order to a woman standing five feet away. She made no reply and began preparing food. Her face was hardened with a loss I could never imagine. Her features appeared to have once been dominant and beautiful, but now have become sulken and her eyes hollow. After gathering the necessary materials, she turned around to the small stereo system and began playing what sounded like native island music.
I read the newspaper and silently drank my water. A young couple came in and the man began smiling ecstatically. They both ordered chicken sandwiches, to-go. He took their money and turned to the grill.
The newcomers were talking amongst themselves, inaudible from my distance, at a table by the door. The soft sound from the stereo surrounded everything in the small restaurant. It seemed to dance across the floor, weaving around invisible patrons and avoiding everything that was tangible.
My meal was presented to me almost simultaneously as the others order to-go. “Thank you,” I said to the woman as she set the plate in front of me. A slight smile touched her face as she nodded her head and without saying a word walked away.
As I ate my food she stood almost perfectly still leaning on the oven, listening to the sounds that filled the room. The music began to move away from the vacant tables and across the room. Swirling and slipping around the kitchen, presenting a hand to the maiden which she kindly accepted. Slowly tilting her head back as if basking in the forgotten sun, and there she was –
Running wildly through the warm streets. Her hair flowing out into the salty air like seaweed in deep water. Children beside her, their tan faces beaming out across fields of sugar cane. Every care washing away like designs etched in the sand.
“Can I get you anything else?” The voice brought me back to the diner. “Sir, would you like anything else?” the older man said again.
“No, this should be fine.”
He set the bill in front of me and walked away. The woman still leaning on the kitchen equipment. Still wanting something more. Still wanting what she has lost.
I laid a ten-dollar bill on the bar and looked towards the woman, “Thank you, again.” And turned to walk out of her island fantasy.
Startled by my response he began to stumble over his words, “I’m…uh… sorry…hmmm…we don’t…uh…serve alcohol…May I get you a soda?”
I thought patiently for a moment, “No, water will be fine.”
He poured the water into a small glass directly from the facet and placed it in front of me. “I’ll try a loco moco,” I said.
“Loco moco, okay, anything else?”
“Nope, that should do it.”
He turned and began calling back my order to a woman standing five feet away. She made no reply and began preparing food. Her face was hardened with a loss I could never imagine. Her features appeared to have once been dominant and beautiful, but now have become sulken and her eyes hollow. After gathering the necessary materials, she turned around to the small stereo system and began playing what sounded like native island music.
I read the newspaper and silently drank my water. A young couple came in and the man began smiling ecstatically. They both ordered chicken sandwiches, to-go. He took their money and turned to the grill.
The newcomers were talking amongst themselves, inaudible from my distance, at a table by the door. The soft sound from the stereo surrounded everything in the small restaurant. It seemed to dance across the floor, weaving around invisible patrons and avoiding everything that was tangible.
My meal was presented to me almost simultaneously as the others order to-go. “Thank you,” I said to the woman as she set the plate in front of me. A slight smile touched her face as she nodded her head and without saying a word walked away.
As I ate my food she stood almost perfectly still leaning on the oven, listening to the sounds that filled the room. The music began to move away from the vacant tables and across the room. Swirling and slipping around the kitchen, presenting a hand to the maiden which she kindly accepted. Slowly tilting her head back as if basking in the forgotten sun, and there she was –
Running wildly through the warm streets. Her hair flowing out into the salty air like seaweed in deep water. Children beside her, their tan faces beaming out across fields of sugar cane. Every care washing away like designs etched in the sand.
“Can I get you anything else?” The voice brought me back to the diner. “Sir, would you like anything else?” the older man said again.
“No, this should be fine.”
He set the bill in front of me and walked away. The woman still leaning on the kitchen equipment. Still wanting something more. Still wanting what she has lost.
I laid a ten-dollar bill on the bar and looked towards the woman, “Thank you, again.” And turned to walk out of her island fantasy.
Beautiful World
The world is a very different place at 3:47 am on a Tuesday. Silent. Peaceful. Innocent. Breathing in it's few precious moments of solitude. Offering it's sanctuary to anyone willing to pay its toll. but how do you put a price tag on watching the trees rise up into the sky, above the buildings, to dance in the clouds. In the chaos of daily life we often miss the natural beauty. How could it be that we live in a world where living makes life ugly? So hideous that you have to cover your eyes and look away. So painful it tears at you from the inside just knowing it exists. I just want to live in a beautiful world.
Serenity
A harsh buzzing fills the room. Sound crying out from the smallest cracks, always
forgotten. Vaulting back between the walls and up onto the ceiling. The room
pulsates with it quintessence. Invading my existence more with every moment.
Echoing between the recesses of my mind, a stray word from a lost lover. The
soft strands of her hair moving through my memory like waves in a life line.
Twisting and curling around me, a hurricane of agony and understanding.
Through the chaos I see her gentle face looking back at me. The smooth sound
of her lips calling back to our beautiful life together. Runnning through the forest
not stopping for time. Breaking free from the cares of our everyday lives. Being
just content to lie down on the river bed and look out to the world with forgiving
eyes. Showing each other the wonder that hides just beneath the surface of our
crushing reality. Watching the water move slowly into pools and rapids. Making
love while our feet crash in the shallow waters. Wanting to transcend time to
when everything made sense and nothing hurt -
But the birds sing louder since you've gone.
forgotten. Vaulting back between the walls and up onto the ceiling. The room
pulsates with it quintessence. Invading my existence more with every moment.
Echoing between the recesses of my mind, a stray word from a lost lover. The
soft strands of her hair moving through my memory like waves in a life line.
Twisting and curling around me, a hurricane of agony and understanding.
Through the chaos I see her gentle face looking back at me. The smooth sound
of her lips calling back to our beautiful life together. Runnning through the forest
not stopping for time. Breaking free from the cares of our everyday lives. Being
just content to lie down on the river bed and look out to the world with forgiving
eyes. Showing each other the wonder that hides just beneath the surface of our
crushing reality. Watching the water move slowly into pools and rapids. Making
love while our feet crash in the shallow waters. Wanting to transcend time to
when everything made sense and nothing hurt -
But the birds sing louder since you've gone.
Fair Weather Lover
Crying down on your deaf ears
Weeping all possibilities
Tears shower you
You have no idea
Instead of looking up and asking
"why?"
You reach for an umbrella
shielding you once more
Our tragedy.
Weeping all possibilities
Tears shower you
You have no idea
Instead of looking up and asking
"why?"
You reach for an umbrella
shielding you once more
Our tragedy.
Walking with Johanna
You were there again last night. Do you remember? We walked along a sandy beach and talked about a world where nothing was real. Where we could do anything be anyone.
You told me, I can go anywhere. That I had something that you'd never seen in anyone else, hiding in the gray hint of my eyes. And about wanting to be there
with me anywhere I might go. Standing side-by-side, never looking back down the path we came, but rather out towards the future. Slowly stepping out into our world, weaving through life accepting what is right and changing what is wrong. Staring down a road of drull mystery. All the answers to all the questions resting just beneath the surface, waiting for us to uncover them. To speak truly of the world and everything around us.
You told me, I move like fate. Dancing wildly under a sky of jewels, with no concern for tomorrow. Flooding across varying landscapes; crossing mountains and climbing oceans just to touch the one person everyone thought was lost. Enchanting the lives of others, always leaving them questioning what demands answers - hinting to the meaning behind it all.
You told me, I have the ability to change the world. Showing everyone what they overlook everyday. The single drop of oil casting a rainbow while floating solemnly in a pool of rain. An old man resting quietly on a sidewalk, not because he wants to be there but because he has no place else to go. The puzzling look in a mothers eye when a strangers glance calms her child’s tantrum. Accentuating the sounds of life pouring into the world from everything that is real.
You told me, that you loved me...
The sun began to set on the eastern horizon. A fiery display in the skies, as if the gods performing solely for our benefit. The clouds towering up into the stars and then crashing down to earth in a whirlwind. The color in the sky dragging itself further along the horizon. Red rolling with orange and purple, showing us the truth in humanity. Calming down into a fine line as the sun finally slips out of light. I looked over to your soft silhouette, your eyes lit up like torches guiding me deeper into the center of the sun. A warmness surrounds, envelopes, begins to deteriorate who I am. Casting off all that is present and past, leaving me to wallow in the future. Slowly tears begin cascading cautiously down my face. Face bleak, you asked me why I was crying.
All I could say was,
"I'm only dreaming."
You told me, I can go anywhere. That I had something that you'd never seen in anyone else, hiding in the gray hint of my eyes. And about wanting to be there
with me anywhere I might go. Standing side-by-side, never looking back down the path we came, but rather out towards the future. Slowly stepping out into our world, weaving through life accepting what is right and changing what is wrong. Staring down a road of drull mystery. All the answers to all the questions resting just beneath the surface, waiting for us to uncover them. To speak truly of the world and everything around us.
You told me, I move like fate. Dancing wildly under a sky of jewels, with no concern for tomorrow. Flooding across varying landscapes; crossing mountains and climbing oceans just to touch the one person everyone thought was lost. Enchanting the lives of others, always leaving them questioning what demands answers - hinting to the meaning behind it all.
You told me, I have the ability to change the world. Showing everyone what they overlook everyday. The single drop of oil casting a rainbow while floating solemnly in a pool of rain. An old man resting quietly on a sidewalk, not because he wants to be there but because he has no place else to go. The puzzling look in a mothers eye when a strangers glance calms her child’s tantrum. Accentuating the sounds of life pouring into the world from everything that is real.
You told me, that you loved me...
The sun began to set on the eastern horizon. A fiery display in the skies, as if the gods performing solely for our benefit. The clouds towering up into the stars and then crashing down to earth in a whirlwind. The color in the sky dragging itself further along the horizon. Red rolling with orange and purple, showing us the truth in humanity. Calming down into a fine line as the sun finally slips out of light. I looked over to your soft silhouette, your eyes lit up like torches guiding me deeper into the center of the sun. A warmness surrounds, envelopes, begins to deteriorate who I am. Casting off all that is present and past, leaving me to wallow in the future. Slowly tears begin cascading cautiously down my face. Face bleak, you asked me why I was crying.
All I could say was,
"I'm only dreaming."
Metro Route #43
This story has since been edited and a more recent edition can be found at Desomnia in Drull
I woke around 11a.m., the half empty bottle of Bombay still on my nightstand. I just couldn’t bring myself to break the peace so early in the day. The bottle remained still.
My forehead throbbed. Stabbing pains in my temples, constantly reminding me of how the bottle lost half its contents. My blood red eyes replay the horrors I was trying to forget. Sara. The smooth tan complexion of her skin. Her eyes set as two swirling pools of blue-gray. Her last words, crushing everything I believed real in my life, “I’m not sorry it’s over.”
Those five words continued treading water through my stream-of-consciousness. I tried drowning them out with gin, and tonic. After 24 years of life, you’d think I’d have learned not to mix liquor and depression. I never claimed to be bright.
By the time I left my apartment, 1 p.m., I could already tell my day was going nowhere. Sara’s face was everywhere. The Safeway clerk. The mail carrier. The neighbor’s Persian cat. Everywhere.
With each time I say those strands of dishwater blond hair, I found myself one step closer to saying my final goodbyes. Dining on a last meal of shotgun shells. Introducing myself to the afterlife, with a most personal touch.
My body, being severely hung over, felt weary and near a state of total collapse after about five miles of walking. Going back wouldn’t do. I made an executive decision – and got on a bus.
Metro transit route 43, serving Downtown Seattle, Capitol Hill, Montlake and the University District. 45 minutes each lap. But I had nothing but time.
The afternoon rush was in full force as I scanned the crowded bus for an empty seat. One called to me from the mid-section, the only vacancy.
I rode, in the same seat, all through the afternoon. The sun began to set on my third lap. An array of crimson steaks fell over the water beneath the Montlake Bridge. The sheer brilliance of color reflected off the water without losing any of it’s intensity. A sight of such beauty it couldn’t be tainted by words. “I’m not sorry it’s over.”
I wasn’t until nightfall that I took notice of other passengers. Businessmen and junkies rode side by side. So many different faces, so many different stories. But two faces, one story stood out among the rest.
They entered the bus at separate times. She came aboard with several other Ave Rats just off 45th. Curly brown strands of hair accented her smooth skin poetically. She carried a backpack and a white laundry sack.
Her companions were typical of the area. Hooded sweatshirts that zip up in the front. Greasy hair of various colors arranged in a pseudo-rainbow. Trying desperately to be different, ending up just like everyone else.
He got on shortly after, carrying a jacket. Fiery red hair scattered in all directions, half covering a face that appeared badly beaten by the day. Dark circles set in beneath his eyes. Unshaven skin hung loosely from his cheekbones. He seemed to be under the influence of some euphoria-inducing drug. Cocaine, opium, possibly a combination of the two.
He sat quietly toward the middle of the bus. She rode in the back, surround by others.
One of the men with her asked if he could interview her for some kind of project. She reluctantly agreed.
The interview began. “Tell me about your current state of reality – or surreality as the case may be.”
She was caught off-guard by the question. After taking a moment to think about it she replied, “I feel like we’re exploiting a certain part of time that shouldn’t be explored. My reality is crooked, jagged and at times horrifying. I feel like I’m acting in a movie or someone has written the script of my life…”
Her colleague quickly transposed her words onto paper and continued on, “ Do you believe in fate?”
Confusion fell over her face. “What kind of an assignment is this?”
“It’s for my metaphysics class.” He repeated the question, “Do you believe in fate?”
“Well, no. It destroys the idea of freewill. I won’t go into why I think that. It’s pretty apparent we have freewill. Outside forces will always affect our lives. But with the given amount of freedom we have the general direction we travel is ultimately left to ones self.”
“Where do you see yourself in five years?”
“Physically, I’d like to be on another continent. Mentally, I plan to be on the road.”
“Maybe I should rephrase the question. Where do you see yourself spiritually in five years?”
“That’s one thing I can’t attempt to predict. I think that could be where fate comes in…”
The interview was over.
The ride between 15th and Broadway was uneventful. A few more people got on, none of them for very long. As we reached Broadway and East John, the Ave Rats descended onto the paved sidewalks, leaving myself, the young man, the girl in the back – and the bus driver.
She moved to the front of the bus, nearest the driver and began conversation, mostly with herself. I faintly hear her say, “Seattle is so harsh, so full of money.” The young man looked up at her eyes. Silence.
She began to ramble on about the influence of Southern California, namely Torrance, on her upbringing. Compton was briefly mentioned. It was hard to decipher the words as they were blustering through the hurricane of open windows.
I could tell that he was having the same troubles understanding her words. His eyes wandered aimlessly around the bus and out the windows into the darkness and lights.
She continued on about her bag being full of clothes and how she got a hold of them, at a Catholic church to be exact. What she carried with her was the extent of her belongings.
She diverged from her rant to ask the bus driver, if he knew of any shelters in the area, mentioning something about a list of them that she had, somewhere. The driver didn’t know.
We began to coast down Pine Street, into the heart of the city. No one got on, no one got off.
As we got deeper into the city I could tell that she was locked into some kind of link with the young man. They both stared deep into each other’s minds, opening all the unlocked doors, seeing everything there was to see, as she babbled more and more. His eyes never moved.
We made across the city, Ninth Avenue to First Avenue. As the bus came to a stop, they both began to gather their belongings. Before exiting he looked up at her and said the words that we all could tell were coming. “What do you want most in this life?”
She looked up at him, half cracking a smile, and then turned to look out the window. “I want someone or something to assure me that my struggle isn’t for nothing.”
He nodded his head and they both left the bus, through different doors.
The bus driver looked back at me and said, “This is where I take break for an hour.”
“I guess you can’t drive forever,” I replied and moved toward the door. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Anytime man.”
I walked quietly down the metal steps and onto the harsh reality of the cement sidewalks. Plastic bags and empty alcohol bottles littered the ground. I could see men sleeping in torn clothing near the warmth of the buildings.
Without warning the young man from the buss turned around and yelled to the girl, “I would like to make an attempt to help assure you…if you’re interested.”
She turned around. Her eyes lit the dull sidewalk with an iridescent aura. “How about coffee?”
They both smiled.
I followed them to a small café two blocks away, The Turf. A large neon sign lit up the letters R and F about the door. Panhandlers and drug dealers convened in front of the large windows. The only other store open was a second floor adult novelty store, directly across the street.
They took a seat in a booth near the back; I sat at the bar in front of the kitchen. I could see their movements, but the words were lost, once again, through the general ambience.
The waitress was in the kitchen; probably having just run out to the corner for a fix. Taking an unscheduled break to see God one more time, before having to face us. Five minutes passed. She approached me first. I could see the faint glow of the Holy Ghost resting lightly on her left shoulder.
She was about 5’8”, no sign of flesh. I could see nearly every bone in her face and hands. Her skin was reminiscent of an old leather sofa. It was exactly as I had expected.
Before she could initiate the conversation I made my move, “Coffee. Black.”
“Food?” she replied with a hint of irritation in her voice.
“Just coffee.”
She took the flimsy paper menu that had been placed on the counter for me and moved it to her apron pocket. All the necessary items were in place, a mug and coffee pot. She filled the cup only three quarters and spilled a noticeable amount down the side and on the bar. Without saying another word, the waitress moved over to the booth, coffee pot in hand. She filled their cups and took the menus. The girl placed her order. Only coffee for the young man.
They talked and laughed and drank their coffee. It was quiet possibly the worst coffee ever. I began to question how long it had been there and how the other two could be drinking it. I noticed that the young man hadn’t drank much, while the woman had attempted to compensate for the lack of quality with five packs of sugar and two non-dairy creamers. I suffered through it, black.
The waitress brought a plate of pancakes and placed it in the center of the table. The young man positioned it perfectly in front of the other side of the table. She ate everything on the plate. He smiled the whole time.
A man took the seat next to me at the bar. I knew someone would eventually. He ordered a coffee, to go. I made no attempt to acknowledge the man adjacent to me, but continued to look off at the booth, in the back.
“Sometimes love can find you in the strangest places.”
The familiarity in the voice was startling. Purely by reflex I turned around and looked at the man next to me. The bus driver.
We both looked at the couple in the booth. “I guess it does,” I replied.
“Well, I’ve got to get back up the hill.”
“Can you give me a minute and I’ll ride with ya.”
“No problem, I’m going to warm up the coach.”
I watched the booth for a moment longer, reached for my wallet and left a five on the bar. I got up to leave. When I reached the door I turned around for one last glimpse. He had switched sides and was holding her in his arms. Their eyes were locked on one another just as they had been, nearly an hour ago, as we fell down Pine Street.
I turned away. It was over.
I walked back over to the bus, exchanged salutations, and we took off up the hill. I sat in the back and looked out the window, onto the Seattle streets. A homeless family nestled together for warmth. A pigeon perched on top of a dented steel garbage can. A middle-aged man resting quietly near the entrance to the bus tunnel with a mix-breed dog sleeping up against his chest.
The ride was calm, just myself and the driver. As I walked down the front steps of the bus one final time, I was struck, with exhaustion from the day combining with an immense freedom. My thoughts moving in every direction at once, while it took every ounce of energy left in my muscles just to walk the block and a half to my building.
As I rounded the front staircase, there she was. Sara.
Before my body and mind could work up the coordination to form words, she spoke, “I think we need to talk. I made a mistake last night.”
Her hair blew gently across her face. Her eyes changed with the movement of the night sky. I looked up at her crouching on the seventh step. “I’m not sorry it’s over….”
I woke around 11a.m., the half empty bottle of Bombay still on my nightstand. I just couldn’t bring myself to break the peace so early in the day. The bottle remained still.
My forehead throbbed. Stabbing pains in my temples, constantly reminding me of how the bottle lost half its contents. My blood red eyes replay the horrors I was trying to forget. Sara. The smooth tan complexion of her skin. Her eyes set as two swirling pools of blue-gray. Her last words, crushing everything I believed real in my life, “I’m not sorry it’s over.”
Those five words continued treading water through my stream-of-consciousness. I tried drowning them out with gin, and tonic. After 24 years of life, you’d think I’d have learned not to mix liquor and depression. I never claimed to be bright.
By the time I left my apartment, 1 p.m., I could already tell my day was going nowhere. Sara’s face was everywhere. The Safeway clerk. The mail carrier. The neighbor’s Persian cat. Everywhere.
With each time I say those strands of dishwater blond hair, I found myself one step closer to saying my final goodbyes. Dining on a last meal of shotgun shells. Introducing myself to the afterlife, with a most personal touch.
My body, being severely hung over, felt weary and near a state of total collapse after about five miles of walking. Going back wouldn’t do. I made an executive decision – and got on a bus.
Metro transit route 43, serving Downtown Seattle, Capitol Hill, Montlake and the University District. 45 minutes each lap. But I had nothing but time.
The afternoon rush was in full force as I scanned the crowded bus for an empty seat. One called to me from the mid-section, the only vacancy.
I rode, in the same seat, all through the afternoon. The sun began to set on my third lap. An array of crimson steaks fell over the water beneath the Montlake Bridge. The sheer brilliance of color reflected off the water without losing any of it’s intensity. A sight of such beauty it couldn’t be tainted by words. “I’m not sorry it’s over.”
I wasn’t until nightfall that I took notice of other passengers. Businessmen and junkies rode side by side. So many different faces, so many different stories. But two faces, one story stood out among the rest.
They entered the bus at separate times. She came aboard with several other Ave Rats just off 45th. Curly brown strands of hair accented her smooth skin poetically. She carried a backpack and a white laundry sack.
Her companions were typical of the area. Hooded sweatshirts that zip up in the front. Greasy hair of various colors arranged in a pseudo-rainbow. Trying desperately to be different, ending up just like everyone else.
He got on shortly after, carrying a jacket. Fiery red hair scattered in all directions, half covering a face that appeared badly beaten by the day. Dark circles set in beneath his eyes. Unshaven skin hung loosely from his cheekbones. He seemed to be under the influence of some euphoria-inducing drug. Cocaine, opium, possibly a combination of the two.
He sat quietly toward the middle of the bus. She rode in the back, surround by others.
One of the men with her asked if he could interview her for some kind of project. She reluctantly agreed.
The interview began. “Tell me about your current state of reality – or surreality as the case may be.”
She was caught off-guard by the question. After taking a moment to think about it she replied, “I feel like we’re exploiting a certain part of time that shouldn’t be explored. My reality is crooked, jagged and at times horrifying. I feel like I’m acting in a movie or someone has written the script of my life…”
Her colleague quickly transposed her words onto paper and continued on, “ Do you believe in fate?”
Confusion fell over her face. “What kind of an assignment is this?”
“It’s for my metaphysics class.” He repeated the question, “Do you believe in fate?”
“Well, no. It destroys the idea of freewill. I won’t go into why I think that. It’s pretty apparent we have freewill. Outside forces will always affect our lives. But with the given amount of freedom we have the general direction we travel is ultimately left to ones self.”
“Where do you see yourself in five years?”
“Physically, I’d like to be on another continent. Mentally, I plan to be on the road.”
“Maybe I should rephrase the question. Where do you see yourself spiritually in five years?”
“That’s one thing I can’t attempt to predict. I think that could be where fate comes in…”
The interview was over.
The ride between 15th and Broadway was uneventful. A few more people got on, none of them for very long. As we reached Broadway and East John, the Ave Rats descended onto the paved sidewalks, leaving myself, the young man, the girl in the back – and the bus driver.
She moved to the front of the bus, nearest the driver and began conversation, mostly with herself. I faintly hear her say, “Seattle is so harsh, so full of money.” The young man looked up at her eyes. Silence.
She began to ramble on about the influence of Southern California, namely Torrance, on her upbringing. Compton was briefly mentioned. It was hard to decipher the words as they were blustering through the hurricane of open windows.
I could tell that he was having the same troubles understanding her words. His eyes wandered aimlessly around the bus and out the windows into the darkness and lights.
She continued on about her bag being full of clothes and how she got a hold of them, at a Catholic church to be exact. What she carried with her was the extent of her belongings.
She diverged from her rant to ask the bus driver, if he knew of any shelters in the area, mentioning something about a list of them that she had, somewhere. The driver didn’t know.
We began to coast down Pine Street, into the heart of the city. No one got on, no one got off.
As we got deeper into the city I could tell that she was locked into some kind of link with the young man. They both stared deep into each other’s minds, opening all the unlocked doors, seeing everything there was to see, as she babbled more and more. His eyes never moved.
We made across the city, Ninth Avenue to First Avenue. As the bus came to a stop, they both began to gather their belongings. Before exiting he looked up at her and said the words that we all could tell were coming. “What do you want most in this life?”
She looked up at him, half cracking a smile, and then turned to look out the window. “I want someone or something to assure me that my struggle isn’t for nothing.”
He nodded his head and they both left the bus, through different doors.
The bus driver looked back at me and said, “This is where I take break for an hour.”
“I guess you can’t drive forever,” I replied and moved toward the door. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Anytime man.”
I walked quietly down the metal steps and onto the harsh reality of the cement sidewalks. Plastic bags and empty alcohol bottles littered the ground. I could see men sleeping in torn clothing near the warmth of the buildings.
Without warning the young man from the buss turned around and yelled to the girl, “I would like to make an attempt to help assure you…if you’re interested.”
She turned around. Her eyes lit the dull sidewalk with an iridescent aura. “How about coffee?”
They both smiled.
I followed them to a small café two blocks away, The Turf. A large neon sign lit up the letters R and F about the door. Panhandlers and drug dealers convened in front of the large windows. The only other store open was a second floor adult novelty store, directly across the street.
They took a seat in a booth near the back; I sat at the bar in front of the kitchen. I could see their movements, but the words were lost, once again, through the general ambience.
The waitress was in the kitchen; probably having just run out to the corner for a fix. Taking an unscheduled break to see God one more time, before having to face us. Five minutes passed. She approached me first. I could see the faint glow of the Holy Ghost resting lightly on her left shoulder.
She was about 5’8”, no sign of flesh. I could see nearly every bone in her face and hands. Her skin was reminiscent of an old leather sofa. It was exactly as I had expected.
Before she could initiate the conversation I made my move, “Coffee. Black.”
“Food?” she replied with a hint of irritation in her voice.
“Just coffee.”
She took the flimsy paper menu that had been placed on the counter for me and moved it to her apron pocket. All the necessary items were in place, a mug and coffee pot. She filled the cup only three quarters and spilled a noticeable amount down the side and on the bar. Without saying another word, the waitress moved over to the booth, coffee pot in hand. She filled their cups and took the menus. The girl placed her order. Only coffee for the young man.
They talked and laughed and drank their coffee. It was quiet possibly the worst coffee ever. I began to question how long it had been there and how the other two could be drinking it. I noticed that the young man hadn’t drank much, while the woman had attempted to compensate for the lack of quality with five packs of sugar and two non-dairy creamers. I suffered through it, black.
The waitress brought a plate of pancakes and placed it in the center of the table. The young man positioned it perfectly in front of the other side of the table. She ate everything on the plate. He smiled the whole time.
A man took the seat next to me at the bar. I knew someone would eventually. He ordered a coffee, to go. I made no attempt to acknowledge the man adjacent to me, but continued to look off at the booth, in the back.
“Sometimes love can find you in the strangest places.”
The familiarity in the voice was startling. Purely by reflex I turned around and looked at the man next to me. The bus driver.
We both looked at the couple in the booth. “I guess it does,” I replied.
“Well, I’ve got to get back up the hill.”
“Can you give me a minute and I’ll ride with ya.”
“No problem, I’m going to warm up the coach.”
I watched the booth for a moment longer, reached for my wallet and left a five on the bar. I got up to leave. When I reached the door I turned around for one last glimpse. He had switched sides and was holding her in his arms. Their eyes were locked on one another just as they had been, nearly an hour ago, as we fell down Pine Street.
I turned away. It was over.
I walked back over to the bus, exchanged salutations, and we took off up the hill. I sat in the back and looked out the window, onto the Seattle streets. A homeless family nestled together for warmth. A pigeon perched on top of a dented steel garbage can. A middle-aged man resting quietly near the entrance to the bus tunnel with a mix-breed dog sleeping up against his chest.
The ride was calm, just myself and the driver. As I walked down the front steps of the bus one final time, I was struck, with exhaustion from the day combining with an immense freedom. My thoughts moving in every direction at once, while it took every ounce of energy left in my muscles just to walk the block and a half to my building.
As I rounded the front staircase, there she was. Sara.
Before my body and mind could work up the coordination to form words, she spoke, “I think we need to talk. I made a mistake last night.”
Her hair blew gently across her face. Her eyes changed with the movement of the night sky. I looked up at her crouching on the seventh step. “I’m not sorry it’s over….”
Wednesday:
I woke at my usual time of 6:42am, continually hitting the snooze bar every five minutes till well after seven. Nothing in the world seemed more pleasing than simply lying in the cool air of the morning. Dancing back and forth between consciousness and the dream world beyond.
I didn't take a shower, or perform any of my other morning hygiene tasks. I stood up, dressed myself in clothes, which may or may not have been clean. Tossed a tattered ball cap on my head and sulked out into the darkness of winter. The sun just now daring to crest the eastern horizon of jagged rock and snow coated peaks.
I found myself staring blankly at a computer screen, time lost in space. BBC newsreels and emails with no reason for response spun wildly amidst the muddled hum of conversations and telephone rings.
After the, not so accidental, jamming of my printer, I had to vacation to the accounting department to run off my daily reports. As soon as I rounded the corner of the mass of cubicles, I saw her, standing gracefully near the fax machine, drinking a steaming cup of coffee or tea, making small talk with another employee. My stomach clenched, my throat dried, my spine liquefied.
For six months now she had been working here, and for five of those months I've been making up excuses to see her at least twice if not more each week. But, I don't even know her name. Constantly convincing myself of how easy the conversation could be, "Hi, I'm Guy, how long have you worked here?"
"Um, almost half a year, Erin, Erin Wilson."
"Well Erin, Erin Wilson, I was wondering if you'd like to have a drink with me after work."
This is where the story changes every time. Sometimes we go to this little pub a couple blocks north and have a great evening drinking beer and shooting pool. Others we catch a cab and dine at this fabulous restaurant on the west edge, bottles of wine from around the world and a moonlit walk along the boardwalk. But even in my fantasy, most of the time, she rejects me, so I never ask.
"Hey Jack, my printer broke, can I run my reports on yours?"
"Printer broke, ah? How many times is that this month? Two? Three?"
"Yeah I don't know what the hell is wrong with that thing, but I'll get someone from tech support down this afternoon. They always seemed to be slammed and doing nothing at the same time. But I guess that's computer science in a nut shell."
"No problem. Hey you want to get together at The Sunstrip after work?"
"Yeah, I'll probably be ready for a pitcher after today. Meet ya there."
I took my reports, went back to my desk and lost all sense of thought.
* * * * *
I glanced down at the clock – 4:27 p.m. – only three minutes left. I began to fidget and straighten various piles of paper on my desk. Waiting. Keeping myself busy. Waiting. The stapler is crooked. Waiting. 4:30. It’s time.
I gather my backpack, the same old book bag I used in college, shut down my computer, and walked calmly down the four flights of stairs in a vain attempt to avoid any undesirable contact with the work force. Too late.
“Hey, Gannon.”
I cringed. I twitched. I loathed my own name.
“Hey Bruce, you know you can just call me Guy.”
“I know but I like the old Irish names, you know. Anyway, are you heading over to the Sunstrip? There’s supposed to be a bunch of us from accounting and HR heading over there to watch the game.”
“Yeah, Jack was telling me earlier. I gotta run home first and grab a bite to eat and then I’ll be over, probably around, lets say, seven?”
“Alright man, then I will see you at seven.”
“Okay, see ya then.”
We went our separate ways, in our separate cars, to continue on with our separate lives.
* * * * *
I sat in the frigid air of my compact SUV, violently pushing buttons on the dash, hoping one of them would result in a burst of heat pulled straight from the engine. But the more I turn and press, the more I realize there’s nothing I can do to fix the fan, that hasn’t worked since I bought the piece of junk three years ago. Another cold ride home, 35 minutes in traffic, silent.
As I climbed the stairs to my apartment, thirty-six steps of solid concrete, I noticed a small flowerpot, curiously placed on the 13th step, just before the door to the second floor. It was some kind of orchid, unlike any I’d seen before. The petals fell in colors of purple, white and blue, small blooms along a long thing green stalk. I stood there just admiring the plant, so enthralled with it’s simplicity I didn’t even realize the door open.
“You like orchids?”
“Yeah this is a gorgeous plant…” Suddenly I was face to face with my accounting fantasy. Her long legs and short hair filled the doorway. I was frozen, mid poise.
“Hey, don’t you work at InterCore?” She continued, “I could swear I’ve seen you before.”
“Yeah, actually, I do. I work in the large accounts division of customer service. Up on the fourth floor.”
“I knew you looked familiar. Do you live here in the building? I just moved in about three weeks ago,” she motion to the orchid, “as you can see I’m not fully settled in yet.”
“Oh, sorry,” handing over the plant, “Yeah I’ve lived here for almost two years now. It’s not a bad place. I mean, sure there’s some vandalism problems and the appliances never work quiet right. I’ve been trying to get my dishwasher serviced for six months now.”
I wanted desperately to stop talking, before I said something, before I did something, I would regret. “The manager seems more into watching the young girls play in the courtyard than maintaining the building.” And there it is. “By the way,” desperately back peddling, “what are you doing tonight? A bunch of us from the office are going to get together and watch the game at the Sunstrip. You should come.”
“Actually, I already have plans…”
“Oh, no pressure I was just saying.”
“…to go to the Sunstrip. So maybe I’ll see you there?”
“Definitely. Yeah, I’ll be there.”
She walked away and I was left standing in the glowing stairwell. No energy to move even the slightest. Thinking about the orchid, her hair, her…I never even asked her name.
* * * * *
I arrived at the bar just before seven to find Jack sitting at a booth near the large screen television, with a pitcher of beer and the daily paper. The Sunstrip was a dive, nestled between a shoe retailer and a pharmacy on the west side of town. The same people were always working, and even if they weren’t working they were usually there, just for the hell of it.
Years of stale smoke hung in the air, moving slightly from the pull of the fans, never being enough to fully extinguish the cloud. They provided darts and shuffleboard, pool for a reasonable price, a few videogames placed haphazardly around the low-clearance room. There was a small kitchen in the back where they prepared nachos, French fries and other standard bar-fare.
I went up to the bar and ordered my beer, then moved slowly over to the booth, so not to spill on the large cigarette burn they try to play off as carpet. By the time I reached the booth I was left with only one of the original six seating options. I squeezed into the booth, slightly spilling my pitcher in the ashtray as I fumbled into the vinyl bench.
“And Garron shows his face in public!” Bruce announced from the end of the table.
“Good to see you too, Bruce. Hey Jack, who’s playing tonight anyway?”
Jack finally put down the paper, “Well it looks like the Trailblazers and the Hawks, not much of a game. If you asked me, the hawks had this one won as soon as they landed in Portland.”
Bruce perks up real quick, “Now that’s sacrilege!” His arms fly into the air, nearly taking out the entire table and both people next to him. “There is no way in hell Atlanta is going to pull up in the Rose Garden and start pruning this back!”
“Bruce, shut up, you know damn well they don’t have a chance,” Mark injected from across the bar while honing his skills with the trackball at the most recent incarnation of bar golfing.
“Just keep rubbing your ball over there, Mark. We’ll see who comes out in the end,” Bruce replied over his shoulder. “Would anyone care to make this a little more interesting? Lets say a small wager?”
“I’ll take your money, Bruce.”
“And Garron comes out of nowhere. What’s the price on the game?”
“I’ll put in a cool hundred on this.”
“Well son, you’ve got yourself a bet.”
We shook hands just as she was walking in the door. Bruce noted her arrival and yelled towards the door, “Hey Erin! We’re over here!”
She walked through the mass of people milling around by the entrance and I stood up promptly and motion to the bartender, “Can we get another glass over here?”
Joan turned from behind the taps and yelled, “Hey, can you just grab it yourself, they’re right there.”
“Hey Joan I’ll grab it,” Todd, another employee, not currently working, replied.
He brought me the glass, which I promptly filled from Jack’s pitcher and placed in front of Erin. I smiled and said, “Don’t worry this ones on Jack. He’ll never know the difference.
Which was very true. Jack had arrived at the bar shortly after we all left work. Eating dinner, reading the paper and going through a full pitcher before any of us even left our homes.
“Well, thank you very much Jack,” Erin said while leaning in his general direction. He took no notice, as he was much enthralled with the tip-off.
“So, how long have you been working with InterCore?”
And the conversation began. Amidst the cheers, jeers and general belligerence, we talked about work and people from work. Everyone else was caught up in the game, screaming at the television and pounding beers. I had a hundred bucks riding on the game and didn’t even know what players were on the court, not to mention who was winning. We talk for over an hour before the dialogue took a more personal turn.
“So do you have an kids?” She asked in such a nonchalant way it got me off guard.
“Well, actually I do. I have two kids; a nine-year-old boy, David, and a seven-year-old girl, Sarah.”
“Do they live with you?”
“No, they live with their mother just outside the city. In a beautiful house, with a huge yard and two dogs, bigger than they are.”
“Do you have pictures of them?”
“Not with me. I do at my desk at work, you can come see them anytime you want.”
“Maybe I’ll do that. Do you know what time it is?”
“Uh, yeah, it’s about a quarter to nine.”
“I should probably get going. I need to get to the office early and catch up on some things. Are you busy on Friday?”
Friday! “Um, well, not really, it’s my birthday, but I actually don’t have any real plans yet. I think these guys were thinking about taking me out, but I can blow that off easily.” Friday!
“Your birthday, huh. Well let’s get together.”
“Alright I’ll give you a call tomorrow at work. What extension are you at?”
“213, I’ll talk to you then.”
And she stood up and walked away, leaving me in the glowing bar, surrounded by drunken men. The air stank of smoke and sweat, while my bones ached in the false warmth. Thinking about Friday and how to break the news to Mary.
* * * * *
I got home and poured myself a scotch on ice. My apartment felt dry and barren from the heater running for two weeks solid. The air was so thick I was struggling to breath, but wouldn’t dare to open a window and let the winter seep in. So I drank, alone, at my desk, with nothing to thing about.
The computer was already running, so I turned on the monitor and decided to check my email. Two bold face headings came up:
Assassin@blowyourbrainsout.com Kill People for Fun! January 10, 2004 2K
Mary Wright Birthday? January 10, 2004 5K
Ignoring the blatant junk mail I moved straight to the email from Mary:
Gannon,
You need to tell me right now if you ever want to see your children again. I know this may be bad timing with your birthday and all, but I’m not going to stay here for you anymore, if you’re not even going to make an effort. I really hate to do this, but you have three days to decide whether you want them in your life or not. I hope that you make the right decision, it’s been a while.
Mary
It has been a while. Four years, a while. Would they even remember who I am? Would I even be able to recognize them? Has everything already been lost? I feel asleep with these thoughts swirling in my head.
* * * * *
Thursday:
I woke up, a slight taste of alcohol on my breath, and proceeded to call in sick. I don’t really know why, but I kind of knew it was going to happen. After explaining to my supervisor that I have the stomach flu and assuring him that I will be in tomorrow, I went back to my bed and laid in silence till 10:30 a.m. The questions from the night before still hanging from the hooks of my mind.
I finally mustered up the strength to make a pot of coffee and two eggs fried in butter. I ate the simple breakfast while watching a daytime soap opera, where one of the characters was suffering amnesia, while another was in a coma and the first was the only one who knew how to end the coma. I became confused and moved to talk radio.
I didn't take a shower, or perform any of my other morning hygiene tasks. I stood up, dressed myself in clothes, which may or may not have been clean. Tossed a tattered ball cap on my head and sulked out into the darkness of winter. The sun just now daring to crest the eastern horizon of jagged rock and snow coated peaks.
I found myself staring blankly at a computer screen, time lost in space. BBC newsreels and emails with no reason for response spun wildly amidst the muddled hum of conversations and telephone rings.
After the, not so accidental, jamming of my printer, I had to vacation to the accounting department to run off my daily reports. As soon as I rounded the corner of the mass of cubicles, I saw her, standing gracefully near the fax machine, drinking a steaming cup of coffee or tea, making small talk with another employee. My stomach clenched, my throat dried, my spine liquefied.
For six months now she had been working here, and for five of those months I've been making up excuses to see her at least twice if not more each week. But, I don't even know her name. Constantly convincing myself of how easy the conversation could be, "Hi, I'm Guy, how long have you worked here?"
"Um, almost half a year, Erin, Erin Wilson."
"Well Erin, Erin Wilson, I was wondering if you'd like to have a drink with me after work."
This is where the story changes every time. Sometimes we go to this little pub a couple blocks north and have a great evening drinking beer and shooting pool. Others we catch a cab and dine at this fabulous restaurant on the west edge, bottles of wine from around the world and a moonlit walk along the boardwalk. But even in my fantasy, most of the time, she rejects me, so I never ask.
"Hey Jack, my printer broke, can I run my reports on yours?"
"Printer broke, ah? How many times is that this month? Two? Three?"
"Yeah I don't know what the hell is wrong with that thing, but I'll get someone from tech support down this afternoon. They always seemed to be slammed and doing nothing at the same time. But I guess that's computer science in a nut shell."
"No problem. Hey you want to get together at The Sunstrip after work?"
"Yeah, I'll probably be ready for a pitcher after today. Meet ya there."
I took my reports, went back to my desk and lost all sense of thought.
* * * * *
I glanced down at the clock – 4:27 p.m. – only three minutes left. I began to fidget and straighten various piles of paper on my desk. Waiting. Keeping myself busy. Waiting. The stapler is crooked. Waiting. 4:30. It’s time.
I gather my backpack, the same old book bag I used in college, shut down my computer, and walked calmly down the four flights of stairs in a vain attempt to avoid any undesirable contact with the work force. Too late.
“Hey, Gannon.”
I cringed. I twitched. I loathed my own name.
“Hey Bruce, you know you can just call me Guy.”
“I know but I like the old Irish names, you know. Anyway, are you heading over to the Sunstrip? There’s supposed to be a bunch of us from accounting and HR heading over there to watch the game.”
“Yeah, Jack was telling me earlier. I gotta run home first and grab a bite to eat and then I’ll be over, probably around, lets say, seven?”
“Alright man, then I will see you at seven.”
“Okay, see ya then.”
We went our separate ways, in our separate cars, to continue on with our separate lives.
* * * * *
I sat in the frigid air of my compact SUV, violently pushing buttons on the dash, hoping one of them would result in a burst of heat pulled straight from the engine. But the more I turn and press, the more I realize there’s nothing I can do to fix the fan, that hasn’t worked since I bought the piece of junk three years ago. Another cold ride home, 35 minutes in traffic, silent.
As I climbed the stairs to my apartment, thirty-six steps of solid concrete, I noticed a small flowerpot, curiously placed on the 13th step, just before the door to the second floor. It was some kind of orchid, unlike any I’d seen before. The petals fell in colors of purple, white and blue, small blooms along a long thing green stalk. I stood there just admiring the plant, so enthralled with it’s simplicity I didn’t even realize the door open.
“You like orchids?”
“Yeah this is a gorgeous plant…” Suddenly I was face to face with my accounting fantasy. Her long legs and short hair filled the doorway. I was frozen, mid poise.
“Hey, don’t you work at InterCore?” She continued, “I could swear I’ve seen you before.”
“Yeah, actually, I do. I work in the large accounts division of customer service. Up on the fourth floor.”
“I knew you looked familiar. Do you live here in the building? I just moved in about three weeks ago,” she motion to the orchid, “as you can see I’m not fully settled in yet.”
“Oh, sorry,” handing over the plant, “Yeah I’ve lived here for almost two years now. It’s not a bad place. I mean, sure there’s some vandalism problems and the appliances never work quiet right. I’ve been trying to get my dishwasher serviced for six months now.”
I wanted desperately to stop talking, before I said something, before I did something, I would regret. “The manager seems more into watching the young girls play in the courtyard than maintaining the building.” And there it is. “By the way,” desperately back peddling, “what are you doing tonight? A bunch of us from the office are going to get together and watch the game at the Sunstrip. You should come.”
“Actually, I already have plans…”
“Oh, no pressure I was just saying.”
“…to go to the Sunstrip. So maybe I’ll see you there?”
“Definitely. Yeah, I’ll be there.”
She walked away and I was left standing in the glowing stairwell. No energy to move even the slightest. Thinking about the orchid, her hair, her…I never even asked her name.
* * * * *
I arrived at the bar just before seven to find Jack sitting at a booth near the large screen television, with a pitcher of beer and the daily paper. The Sunstrip was a dive, nestled between a shoe retailer and a pharmacy on the west side of town. The same people were always working, and even if they weren’t working they were usually there, just for the hell of it.
Years of stale smoke hung in the air, moving slightly from the pull of the fans, never being enough to fully extinguish the cloud. They provided darts and shuffleboard, pool for a reasonable price, a few videogames placed haphazardly around the low-clearance room. There was a small kitchen in the back where they prepared nachos, French fries and other standard bar-fare.
I went up to the bar and ordered my beer, then moved slowly over to the booth, so not to spill on the large cigarette burn they try to play off as carpet. By the time I reached the booth I was left with only one of the original six seating options. I squeezed into the booth, slightly spilling my pitcher in the ashtray as I fumbled into the vinyl bench.
“And Garron shows his face in public!” Bruce announced from the end of the table.
“Good to see you too, Bruce. Hey Jack, who’s playing tonight anyway?”
Jack finally put down the paper, “Well it looks like the Trailblazers and the Hawks, not much of a game. If you asked me, the hawks had this one won as soon as they landed in Portland.”
Bruce perks up real quick, “Now that’s sacrilege!” His arms fly into the air, nearly taking out the entire table and both people next to him. “There is no way in hell Atlanta is going to pull up in the Rose Garden and start pruning this back!”
“Bruce, shut up, you know damn well they don’t have a chance,” Mark injected from across the bar while honing his skills with the trackball at the most recent incarnation of bar golfing.
“Just keep rubbing your ball over there, Mark. We’ll see who comes out in the end,” Bruce replied over his shoulder. “Would anyone care to make this a little more interesting? Lets say a small wager?”
“I’ll take your money, Bruce.”
“And Garron comes out of nowhere. What’s the price on the game?”
“I’ll put in a cool hundred on this.”
“Well son, you’ve got yourself a bet.”
We shook hands just as she was walking in the door. Bruce noted her arrival and yelled towards the door, “Hey Erin! We’re over here!”
She walked through the mass of people milling around by the entrance and I stood up promptly and motion to the bartender, “Can we get another glass over here?”
Joan turned from behind the taps and yelled, “Hey, can you just grab it yourself, they’re right there.”
“Hey Joan I’ll grab it,” Todd, another employee, not currently working, replied.
He brought me the glass, which I promptly filled from Jack’s pitcher and placed in front of Erin. I smiled and said, “Don’t worry this ones on Jack. He’ll never know the difference.
Which was very true. Jack had arrived at the bar shortly after we all left work. Eating dinner, reading the paper and going through a full pitcher before any of us even left our homes.
“Well, thank you very much Jack,” Erin said while leaning in his general direction. He took no notice, as he was much enthralled with the tip-off.
“So, how long have you been working with InterCore?”
And the conversation began. Amidst the cheers, jeers and general belligerence, we talked about work and people from work. Everyone else was caught up in the game, screaming at the television and pounding beers. I had a hundred bucks riding on the game and didn’t even know what players were on the court, not to mention who was winning. We talk for over an hour before the dialogue took a more personal turn.
“So do you have an kids?” She asked in such a nonchalant way it got me off guard.
“Well, actually I do. I have two kids; a nine-year-old boy, David, and a seven-year-old girl, Sarah.”
“Do they live with you?”
“No, they live with their mother just outside the city. In a beautiful house, with a huge yard and two dogs, bigger than they are.”
“Do you have pictures of them?”
“Not with me. I do at my desk at work, you can come see them anytime you want.”
“Maybe I’ll do that. Do you know what time it is?”
“Uh, yeah, it’s about a quarter to nine.”
“I should probably get going. I need to get to the office early and catch up on some things. Are you busy on Friday?”
Friday! “Um, well, not really, it’s my birthday, but I actually don’t have any real plans yet. I think these guys were thinking about taking me out, but I can blow that off easily.” Friday!
“Your birthday, huh. Well let’s get together.”
“Alright I’ll give you a call tomorrow at work. What extension are you at?”
“213, I’ll talk to you then.”
And she stood up and walked away, leaving me in the glowing bar, surrounded by drunken men. The air stank of smoke and sweat, while my bones ached in the false warmth. Thinking about Friday and how to break the news to Mary.
* * * * *
I got home and poured myself a scotch on ice. My apartment felt dry and barren from the heater running for two weeks solid. The air was so thick I was struggling to breath, but wouldn’t dare to open a window and let the winter seep in. So I drank, alone, at my desk, with nothing to thing about.
The computer was already running, so I turned on the monitor and decided to check my email. Two bold face headings came up:
Assassin@blowyourbrainsout.com Kill People for Fun! January 10, 2004 2K
Mary Wright Birthday? January 10, 2004 5K
Ignoring the blatant junk mail I moved straight to the email from Mary:
Gannon,
You need to tell me right now if you ever want to see your children again. I know this may be bad timing with your birthday and all, but I’m not going to stay here for you anymore, if you’re not even going to make an effort. I really hate to do this, but you have three days to decide whether you want them in your life or not. I hope that you make the right decision, it’s been a while.
Mary
It has been a while. Four years, a while. Would they even remember who I am? Would I even be able to recognize them? Has everything already been lost? I feel asleep with these thoughts swirling in my head.
* * * * *
Thursday:
I woke up, a slight taste of alcohol on my breath, and proceeded to call in sick. I don’t really know why, but I kind of knew it was going to happen. After explaining to my supervisor that I have the stomach flu and assuring him that I will be in tomorrow, I went back to my bed and laid in silence till 10:30 a.m. The questions from the night before still hanging from the hooks of my mind.
I finally mustered up the strength to make a pot of coffee and two eggs fried in butter. I ate the simple breakfast while watching a daytime soap opera, where one of the characters was suffering amnesia, while another was in a coma and the first was the only one who knew how to end the coma. I became confused and moved to talk radio.
Exposure
The clouds combat the gulls overhead;
a glacial feel descends, the small of my back.
Monoliths of glass glisten across the sound,
reflecting a past, long since repressed,
of when I would come to this same place
To see how far I could skip a rock into the tide,
praying the cast current continue – half way to the city –
where ships and ferries toast;
to the beauty of engineering
and cry for reasons – forgotten with time.
Looking up beyond the clouds and into the sky
Minuscule fragments – light spinning and diving
Rising as the night takes hold,
Granting the stars their temporary place in heaven.
A peaceful anticipation looming,
of their inevitable retreat from the sun.
Remembrance of early autumn; memories long buried
within the confines of a vault – fallen into the ocean with Atlantis –
pedantically labeled, with age old currency,
in the hallowed grove of Libitina:
childhood
a glacial feel descends, the small of my back.
Monoliths of glass glisten across the sound,
reflecting a past, long since repressed,
of when I would come to this same place
To see how far I could skip a rock into the tide,
praying the cast current continue – half way to the city –
where ships and ferries toast;
to the beauty of engineering
and cry for reasons – forgotten with time.
Looking up beyond the clouds and into the sky
Minuscule fragments – light spinning and diving
Rising as the night takes hold,
Granting the stars their temporary place in heaven.
A peaceful anticipation looming,
of their inevitable retreat from the sun.
Remembrance of early autumn; memories long buried
within the confines of a vault – fallen into the ocean with Atlantis –
pedantically labeled, with age old currency,
in the hallowed grove of Libitina:
childhood
Water Falling
Dividing
Reconnecting
With the shape
Of the rocks
Breaking the surface
Tension below
In a continuous series
Of violent crashes
And just a short distance away
A lagoon, as still as ice
In an array of greens, blues
And sheer sunlight
The water flows past me slowly
Fifty yards away
Hundreds of miles from home
Reconnecting
With the shape
Of the rocks
Breaking the surface
Tension below
In a continuous series
Of violent crashes
And just a short distance away
A lagoon, as still as ice
In an array of greens, blues
And sheer sunlight
The water flows past me slowly
Fifty yards away
Hundreds of miles from home
The Sun is Hot
The sun is hot
And this bus is sweating
The people are quiet
As we approach the city
And there is no one
To help them
And this bus is sweating
The people are quiet
As we approach the city
And there is no one
To help them
Comfort me in the mourning
Turn away
Leave me for now
My mind is tired
My body weak
No single thought left
To entertain my sunken, self induced loss
Confused and alone
Wanting nothing
Abstaining from reality
Waiting for tomorrow
So, comfort me in the morning
When I can’t hear your cries of sympathy
Leave me for now
My mind is tired
My body weak
No single thought left
To entertain my sunken, self induced loss
Confused and alone
Wanting nothing
Abstaining from reality
Waiting for tomorrow
So, comfort me in the morning
When I can’t hear your cries of sympathy
Where were you?
Where were you – when I needed your touch?
Sailing in a beautiful yacht
Along the beaches of the Mediterranean?
Dancing down the river through the night
With the many women of the Nile?
Clinging desperately to the edges of a barrel
As you’re tumbling off Niagara?
Where were you – when I needed to hear your voice?
Were you on a date with a new lover
Walking hand-in-hand through Time Square?
Or watching an off-Broadway performance
With a friend you haven’t seen in years?
Maybe you were just laughing
With a stranger…
Where were you – when I needed you most?
You were wondering
Why I said goodbye
Sailing in a beautiful yacht
Along the beaches of the Mediterranean?
Dancing down the river through the night
With the many women of the Nile?
Clinging desperately to the edges of a barrel
As you’re tumbling off Niagara?
Where were you – when I needed to hear your voice?
Were you on a date with a new lover
Walking hand-in-hand through Time Square?
Or watching an off-Broadway performance
With a friend you haven’t seen in years?
Maybe you were just laughing
With a stranger…
Where were you – when I needed you most?
You were wondering
Why I said goodbye
Calling
Empty spaces echoing
Unintelligible syllables
About the fate of humanity
And the color of her hair
I wish I could just
Make out some of the words
Unintelligible syllables
About the fate of humanity
And the color of her hair
I wish I could just
Make out some of the words
Danĝera Najbar-Ajo
I arrived at the party, fashionably late. I could have spotted the building a quarter mile away. Flashes of colored light poured from the bay view windows. The building was quaint. Nothing about it put me on edge, at least not initially.
As I approached the building, two police officers were escorting one of the other tenants out. It was all in response to an alleged hit and run incident that occurred shortly before, in front of the building.
Fear began to rise up my spine as I passed the officers. I slid three rails of cocaine before the party and all I could envision was white powder coating my nose for all to see. The cops nodded as I walked by paying no attention.
I reached the top of the stairs to find a kid sitting on the front landing smoking a cigarette and drinking vodka on the rocks. We had met before through a mutual friend. We exchanged salutations and he offered me a cigarette, which I gladly accepted.
I could tell he had already thrown back a couple of drink by the slurring of his conversation and disorientation of his motor skills. During our short encounter he knocked over a wine glass, casually left by another guest. Without thinking he began to pick up the shards of broken glass. I was sure I would be taking him to the hospital, but he managed to get most of the glass into the trash without a hitch. I finished the cigarette and moved to the third floor.
-
As I reached the top of the stairs I noticed they had set up a lounge area in the hallway above the stair well. Multicolored streamers hung from the ceiling while a strobe light was giving a couple of guests mild seizures.
I met the hostess and she offered me a drink. I declined. Nothing good would ever come of it.
I mingled around the room, listening to the variety of conversation.
"..at least you took his name. I already told Bryan that I'm not going to, and he ask me every morning if I've changed my mind..."
"...I didn't have time to go shopping, so I just wore pajamas..."
"...there was four inches of standing water in my apartment and a river forging its way out my front door..."
I couldn't follow any one line of thought.
As the night dragged on and more people showed up I found myself becoming more and more uncomfortable. So I made my way back outside and lit a cigarette.
The kid from earlier was still looking over the view. His drink had changed from the time before and I could tell his time was short. He cocked back his head and looked at me as if he couldn't find the words. Then he stood up, nearly fell over, and headed up to the apartment.
I couldn't help but think about the look in his eyes.
-
I moved through the people like seaweed in a high tide. Everyone was sociable and seemed to be enjoying themselves. I made my way out to the lounge to sign a birthday card for the guest of honor.
There he was again. Lying in the chair, seemingly oblivious to the surroundings. He struggled to open his eyes. And for another split second attempted to convey whatever it was he had tried to express to me earlier.
His eyes rolled back into his head and I was still left wondering.
-
The atmosphere was beginning to die down and so was I. I knew more drugs were going to be needed if I was going to go on. I moved toward the bathroom in an attempt to find the necessary sanctuary.
As I opened the door I saw him half sitting next to the toilet. You could see the blur in his eyes cause by the harsh acidic taste violating all his senses. Half digested pieces of ham and sushi littered the bowl of the toilet. There is nothing in the world more repulsive than the smell of liquor induced vomit.
I turned around to leave when his eyes caught my attention once again. And as I looked down on this drunk mess of liquefied flesh I realized the true flaw in humanity. The inability to make out the words when saying them is the only thing that can save us.
The bleach white lights beat down on both of us. His eyes rolled back into his head and his eyelids slowly closed. I notice of bottle of pills spilled beside him. He just couldn't seem to make out the words.
I got up and left. I spoke to no one. Upon reaching the street I hailed a cab.
As I got in all I could say was, "I'm a little sideways, could you take it easy.."
As I approached the building, two police officers were escorting one of the other tenants out. It was all in response to an alleged hit and run incident that occurred shortly before, in front of the building.
Fear began to rise up my spine as I passed the officers. I slid three rails of cocaine before the party and all I could envision was white powder coating my nose for all to see. The cops nodded as I walked by paying no attention.
I reached the top of the stairs to find a kid sitting on the front landing smoking a cigarette and drinking vodka on the rocks. We had met before through a mutual friend. We exchanged salutations and he offered me a cigarette, which I gladly accepted.
I could tell he had already thrown back a couple of drink by the slurring of his conversation and disorientation of his motor skills. During our short encounter he knocked over a wine glass, casually left by another guest. Without thinking he began to pick up the shards of broken glass. I was sure I would be taking him to the hospital, but he managed to get most of the glass into the trash without a hitch. I finished the cigarette and moved to the third floor.
-
As I reached the top of the stairs I noticed they had set up a lounge area in the hallway above the stair well. Multicolored streamers hung from the ceiling while a strobe light was giving a couple of guests mild seizures.
I met the hostess and she offered me a drink. I declined. Nothing good would ever come of it.
I mingled around the room, listening to the variety of conversation.
"..at least you took his name. I already told Bryan that I'm not going to, and he ask me every morning if I've changed my mind..."
"...I didn't have time to go shopping, so I just wore pajamas..."
"...there was four inches of standing water in my apartment and a river forging its way out my front door..."
I couldn't follow any one line of thought.
As the night dragged on and more people showed up I found myself becoming more and more uncomfortable. So I made my way back outside and lit a cigarette.
The kid from earlier was still looking over the view. His drink had changed from the time before and I could tell his time was short. He cocked back his head and looked at me as if he couldn't find the words. Then he stood up, nearly fell over, and headed up to the apartment.
I couldn't help but think about the look in his eyes.
-
I moved through the people like seaweed in a high tide. Everyone was sociable and seemed to be enjoying themselves. I made my way out to the lounge to sign a birthday card for the guest of honor.
There he was again. Lying in the chair, seemingly oblivious to the surroundings. He struggled to open his eyes. And for another split second attempted to convey whatever it was he had tried to express to me earlier.
His eyes rolled back into his head and I was still left wondering.
-
The atmosphere was beginning to die down and so was I. I knew more drugs were going to be needed if I was going to go on. I moved toward the bathroom in an attempt to find the necessary sanctuary.
As I opened the door I saw him half sitting next to the toilet. You could see the blur in his eyes cause by the harsh acidic taste violating all his senses. Half digested pieces of ham and sushi littered the bowl of the toilet. There is nothing in the world more repulsive than the smell of liquor induced vomit.
I turned around to leave when his eyes caught my attention once again. And as I looked down on this drunk mess of liquefied flesh I realized the true flaw in humanity. The inability to make out the words when saying them is the only thing that can save us.
The bleach white lights beat down on both of us. His eyes rolled back into his head and his eyelids slowly closed. I notice of bottle of pills spilled beside him. He just couldn't seem to make out the words.
I got up and left. I spoke to no one. Upon reaching the street I hailed a cab.
As I got in all I could say was, "I'm a little sideways, could you take it easy.."
Captured by Alpine: no escape necessary
The soft drizzle of
northwest winter
cascading through the branches
Above the alpine a star shines
questioning what is beyond the clouds
I question, too.
The world in their grasp
Below the evergreen a man walks
oblivious to his life
I'm oblivious, too.
The one I've left behind
A dim light invades the eastern horizon
gently casting shadows
from the modern architecture
I climb up into the forest
holding the key
to a borrowed world
northwest winter
cascading through the branches
Above the alpine a star shines
questioning what is beyond the clouds
I question, too.
The world in their grasp
Below the evergreen a man walks
oblivious to his life
I'm oblivious, too.
The one I've left behind
A dim light invades the eastern horizon
gently casting shadows
from the modern architecture
I climb up into the forest
holding the key
to a borrowed world
Lifeless in Animation
One monitor
One telephone
Papers litter the desk
Surrounding the chair
Motionless in silence
Waiting for his return
Back from the sterile white
of the hospital walls
Back from the caring arms
of those who love him
Back from the boredom
of a life without tedium
Silence and stillness
The stapler still doesn't know
he has other places to be.
One telephone
Papers litter the desk
Surrounding the chair
Motionless in silence
Waiting for his return
Back from the sterile white
of the hospital walls
Back from the caring arms
of those who love him
Back from the boredom
of a life without tedium
Silence and stillness
The stapler still doesn't know
he has other places to be.
Blue Collar
9 a.m. slavery
6 p.m. freedom
Instinctive movements along a web
Of mass transit
Quick stop for smokes
- the plot progresses
I find myself throwing darts
In a lack luster Viking bar
Waiting for everyone to arrive
Visions blur, skin sweats
Lungs bleed
The digital readout of the digital clock
Has lost the touch of Krhonos
Old friends, misspoken words
Comical stories and suggestive glances
A girl I will not remember
Now on the street – walking
With a close friend
The police are alarmed by his complete disregard
Citing him – leaving me to walk among free men
For another ten hours.
6 p.m. freedom
Instinctive movements along a web
Of mass transit
Quick stop for smokes
- the plot progresses
I find myself throwing darts
In a lack luster Viking bar
Waiting for everyone to arrive
Visions blur, skin sweats
Lungs bleed
The digital readout of the digital clock
Has lost the touch of Krhonos
Old friends, misspoken words
Comical stories and suggestive glances
A girl I will not remember
Now on the street – walking
With a close friend
The police are alarmed by his complete disregard
Citing him – leaving me to walk among free men
For another ten hours.
Familiarity
The symphony of the rain in Singapore
similar to that of Seattle
A flare in your nostril
an old friends house - many years past
The girl at the office front desk
a lover given by fate
taken by life
Familiarity hides everywhere
outside the mirror
similar to that of Seattle
A flare in your nostril
an old friends house - many years past
The girl at the office front desk
a lover given by fate
taken by life
Familiarity hides everywhere
outside the mirror
Untitled
Thin neck of tarnished glass
Where there is no color
Three eyes stare – in alternate directions
All looking – someone else
Waves rising by the stomach
Blue against dirty water
Caught behind translucent walls
Withheld in black lines
Patiently waiting to be set free
To pass through with no concept
Of time or space
Unbound by the restrictions
Of only three dimensions
Where there is no color
Three eyes stare – in alternate directions
All looking – someone else
Waves rising by the stomach
Blue against dirty water
Caught behind translucent walls
Withheld in black lines
Patiently waiting to be set free
To pass through with no concept
Of time or space
Unbound by the restrictions
Of only three dimensions
Winter
The smell of frozen dew, in the morning grass
January, reaching through the soles of slippers
Roads left derelict, with a murderous smile
Impressions of the past, left on white sidewalks
Candles burn bright, in the waning solar presence
Sleepless nights, beneath a chemical moon
The ailing winter sun, forever eclipsed
January, reaching through the soles of slippers
Roads left derelict, with a murderous smile
Impressions of the past, left on white sidewalks
Candles burn bright, in the waning solar presence
Sleepless nights, beneath a chemical moon
The ailing winter sun, forever eclipsed
A Class; All your own
I was eight-year years old,
But I remember the day you died
Cold front of New Year
An angry mountain with no remorse
Her ice – black as night
Her ice – black as death
She took you
In your Japanese imported coffin
And you were gone
Long drive to Portland
No words in a wasteland of nothing
They kept your casket closed
“Children shouldn’t see such things anyways”
Your covered face – revealed the darkest side in us all
Your covered face – helped us all to grow stronger
They took you
In your Japanese imported coffin
And you were gone
But I remember the day you died
Cold front of New Year
An angry mountain with no remorse
Her ice – black as night
Her ice – black as death
She took you
In your Japanese imported coffin
And you were gone
Long drive to Portland
No words in a wasteland of nothing
They kept your casket closed
“Children shouldn’t see such things anyways”
Your covered face – revealed the darkest side in us all
Your covered face – helped us all to grow stronger
They took you
In your Japanese imported coffin
And you were gone
Another Drull Sunday
I woke up
The sky was dark
A cool gray haze
Hung sulking in the view
From my kitchen window
A pigeon
Perched on the sill
I studied it blankly
With exonerated eyes
As if to say I’m sorry
But I don’t know for what
The sky was dark
A cool gray haze
Hung sulking in the view
From my kitchen window
A pigeon
Perched on the sill
I studied it blankly
With exonerated eyes
As if to say I’m sorry
But I don’t know for what
Blue
From the moment we first met I knew
You wanted me
I tried so hard but I could not
Stay free
You took me out to wash the car
I didn’t know that it would go this far –
You’ve got me
And I don’t know what to do with you
You’ve got me
And you’ve got a list of things to do
You’ve got me
Now all I can ever see is Blue –
We would talk about the world today
“The world is drull” is all that you could say
I wanted to help you change
But all that changed was me
And now I’ll never know how I was supposed to be
Will I ever break this bond
It’s like drowning in a drained pond
You wanted me
I tried so hard but I could not
Stay free
You took me out to wash the car
I didn’t know that it would go this far –
You’ve got me
And I don’t know what to do with you
You’ve got me
And you’ve got a list of things to do
You’ve got me
Now all I can ever see is Blue –
We would talk about the world today
“The world is drull” is all that you could say
I wanted to help you change
But all that changed was me
And now I’ll never know how I was supposed to be
Will I ever break this bond
It’s like drowning in a drained pond
Milk and Cigarettes
I am drinking milk
I like milk
The way it runs across the spaces of my tongue
Coating and cleansing my smoke tortured tonsils
An overwhelming feeling of life
Flowing from this wax coated carton
I am smoking a cigarette
I like cigarettes
Harsh toxins entering my lungs with every breath
Ripping away the soft tissues that keep my alive
One more second of my life wasted away
With every puff of tightly rolled tobacco
I like milk
But I love cigarettes-
I like milk
The way it runs across the spaces of my tongue
Coating and cleansing my smoke tortured tonsils
An overwhelming feeling of life
Flowing from this wax coated carton
I am smoking a cigarette
I like cigarettes
Harsh toxins entering my lungs with every breath
Ripping away the soft tissues that keep my alive
One more second of my life wasted away
With every puff of tightly rolled tobacco
I like milk
But I love cigarettes-
To the End of Time & Back to the Timeless
Once when I was a young boy I saw the sky so full of color's I thought the love and life in that moment would never stop. To this day I still don't know why, but I stopped looking into that sky to try to find a new kind of inspiration. So far I have found many different kinds of inspiration, yet none of these seem to fill me the way the color's of that nights sky did.
One must always remember that every moment that we see is the never ending moment. For the present we are in never ends, so how can one say there's really any time at all. Time is just a way to take the day and try to control it. If we would just let the day unfold it self we would have no need for time at all. Most people ,however , cant understand the idea that the present moment is the eternity that we all are seeking. To find this moment one must stop trying to control the day we have and just let it unfold. Once you have done this you will find that every day is a new adventure, and not just the same ol' 9-5' that we all have come so accustomed to. Now that i see the present moment were in is eternal i can now look at that same sky of color's, when it appears to most that the sky is dim and colorless for all you have is what you expect to see. When you stop expecting to see the rain clouds the sun will come out.
Around every corner is endless possibilities for the only thing there is expectation, so STOP EXPECTING the SAME thing over and over. Walk into the brand new world that unfolds at every corner.
To know everything you must first know nothing. Once you stop all your expectations from ruling your life you will see what i mean. For if you get up and Know what you Have to do then you fate is sealed, and you are the only one to blame for no one else said that you must do this you just Knew it had to be done so it is. What if you slept and went to a land far from Earth and there you found a rock so you put it in your pocket. That same morning after waking from you dream you felt some thing in you pocket and it was that same rock. When you go to sleep you think to your self everything you may see while sleeping is a " Dream ". How is one part of reality any different from the other, all the same things are there your idea of you, a world, and many new adventures.
One must always remember that every moment that we see is the never ending moment. For the present we are in never ends, so how can one say there's really any time at all. Time is just a way to take the day and try to control it. If we would just let the day unfold it self we would have no need for time at all. Most people ,however , cant understand the idea that the present moment is the eternity that we all are seeking. To find this moment one must stop trying to control the day we have and just let it unfold. Once you have done this you will find that every day is a new adventure, and not just the same ol' 9-5' that we all have come so accustomed to. Now that i see the present moment were in is eternal i can now look at that same sky of color's, when it appears to most that the sky is dim and colorless for all you have is what you expect to see. When you stop expecting to see the rain clouds the sun will come out.
Around every corner is endless possibilities for the only thing there is expectation, so STOP EXPECTING the SAME thing over and over. Walk into the brand new world that unfolds at every corner.
To know everything you must first know nothing. Once you stop all your expectations from ruling your life you will see what i mean. For if you get up and Know what you Have to do then you fate is sealed, and you are the only one to blame for no one else said that you must do this you just Knew it had to be done so it is. What if you slept and went to a land far from Earth and there you found a rock so you put it in your pocket. That same morning after waking from you dream you felt some thing in you pocket and it was that same rock. When you go to sleep you think to your self everything you may see while sleeping is a " Dream ". How is one part of reality any different from the other, all the same things are there your idea of you, a world, and many new adventures.
Restless in Silence
I am waiting – restless in silence
And you’ll never know what name you should call me
Tonight –
I am lonesome and I have no place to go
No one to look out to window for
No one knocking lightly in on the bathroom door –
My blood is still thinning
I’m lost in the wind now –
All I can hear is the sound of your voice
As it’s twisting and spiraling down to my face
Catastrophes climbing the length
Of my spine
I am waiting – restless in silence
And you’ll never know what name you should call me
Tonight –
Our life lost with time
Your memories still haunt me
As I lie down to sleep
My head on your pillow
Come tuck me in just like you have done –
But not since my childhood
Has passed
How you sleep with your pillow so far from my bed?
I guess I’ll never know –
You stopped making sense long ago
I am waiting – restless in silence
And you’ll never know what name you should call me
Tonight –
Time has no sense of feeling detached
From all your words
That rip slowly
Just like all the times when I thought you weren’t lying
Begging to stay –
Right here at my side
But as the sun comes up you run – and you hide
You ask me if I love you – Yes
But I don’t know…
I am waiting – restless in silence
And I don’t know what name I should call myself
Tonight –
And you’ll never know what name you should call me
Tonight –
I am lonesome and I have no place to go
No one to look out to window for
No one knocking lightly in on the bathroom door –
My blood is still thinning
I’m lost in the wind now –
All I can hear is the sound of your voice
As it’s twisting and spiraling down to my face
Catastrophes climbing the length
Of my spine
I am waiting – restless in silence
And you’ll never know what name you should call me
Tonight –
Our life lost with time
Your memories still haunt me
As I lie down to sleep
My head on your pillow
Come tuck me in just like you have done –
But not since my childhood
Has passed
How you sleep with your pillow so far from my bed?
I guess I’ll never know –
You stopped making sense long ago
I am waiting – restless in silence
And you’ll never know what name you should call me
Tonight –
Time has no sense of feeling detached
From all your words
That rip slowly
Just like all the times when I thought you weren’t lying
Begging to stay –
Right here at my side
But as the sun comes up you run – and you hide
You ask me if I love you – Yes
But I don’t know…
I am waiting – restless in silence
And I don’t know what name I should call myself
Tonight –
Reality
The solemn movement of the waves soothes the mind. The intricate ballet before me is as beautiful as the dance of thought. Millions of tiny steps, all moving together to form a mosaic between night and the presence of light. Looking across the array of the sound. The lights appear brighter. It's almost as if looking in on the true meaning of life. And all the while being intoxicated by the sound of waves. Tranquility surrounds as I fight the war inside. Striving to discover the meaning. The only thing stopping me is the sight of perfection before me. I look out over it's beauty and question myself. If I can experience a greatness as the one encompassing me - why look for anything more? A soft reflection continually catches my eye. A spectrum of dull color keeping the beat with the water. The cool breeze nips at my consciousness. A dark hand attempting to drag me back to reality. It wins for now, but it will never keep me away for good.
A Better Place
Brilliantly placed in intelligent machines to find the Chimera's possessed by fiction, but these are encyclopedias. A phone call from a ghost trying to make a peaceful world. He couldn't seem to navigate the intercontinental net of dummies and holy bibles. Three men in white coats have just walked in. they seem to be some form of sheep. They are now all various colors. There are no windows, just florescent lights and asbestos. Thick glass prevents me from leaving but I can see just fine. They're arguing a case of animal rights. The facts are new but monkeys are still being called to testify. You can hear him while he sleeps at night. Screaming in silent terror. Maybe someday I'll remember, but I can still play the triangle like a pro.
Buy More
the scent of metal assaults my nasal passages. Pesticides aren't good for ears. Moths needs light to survive there. The bubbles forming on your skin can produce what your baby wants most - vitamin E. A plastic type. Well lit battleships line the streets, a country preparing for war, knowing they'll never see the front lines. As the story goes, the Pope is Jewish just like the chairman of Dodge. The wood seems all too real, it's sure to be illegal. They don't stand for that type of material here. 100% plastic is all around us. Except for this wood. The small prophet in the corner sets downs his cigarette and looks at me through thick blue spectacles. His expressionless face finally reveals why man is not capable of controlling himself. A primal urge to save face in a city of glass dispensers of low-grade alcohol. Ancient buildings rest peacefully in the shadows of a modern world. Would long hair really make a difference here? The trenches are full and bodies still litter the sidewalks. Break away glass covers the floor while more and more motorcycles pile a top my thigh. The eyes have no power to continue.
Orgasm
Pumped with silicon and ready to pop. Spreading the disease across the room. They thought the plague was gone and then they said they could pump it up even more. Sixty years down the road you'll see. When it all his the ground and you have to wear a super form of support just to be able to walk without dragging along getting rug burns from the dry desert dirt. Step back and look at the big picture. A silver screen lined with gelatin pouches. They all come out eventually, either inside of you or with a knife. Makes no difference. You knew when you started. So to all men living or dead, especially those with small phallic symbols, reconsider a world of elemental enhancements. These are big ideas we've come over. Take the initiative. And for all men who are controlled by their penises, all men, cut it off. Urinating may become a challenge but you'll value not having it in the long run. All that can come from it is illness and children - the highest form of insanity. Now only if you can eliminate the orgasm completely. The human race would cease to exist as we know if. Instead we'd have breeding farm. Lessen the burden to only a few. this is the true way to progress beyond the dark times in which we live, nothing else.
Alien Conspiracy Theory
Nature will inevitably change into a form of mass indistinguishable from what we know today. Mounds of dirt exposed by the burrowing of subterranean life surround me. A terrarium of glass houses us and protects us from the death of a star. Are all of these people ignorant to this truth? Can this all be for real? Or am I the only holder of this knowledge? Buzzing cars only deplete this wonder of its power. Dogs and humans alike glide across asphalt in futile attempts to remove the pains of middle-class life. We are no longer in control here. We are propped on a string by a helpless joker trying to complete the circle of life. It all ends now. A weather torn table stands atop an island of cement while ducks float on what should be ponds of ice. Old growth or new can it make a man sour? A Mexican on a bike couldn't tell me the answer, so why is he here? Piles of dirt coated in the illusion of life, no one knowing that under the surface is what you put to the curb last time the truck came around. Mechanical life will one day replace what is all around us. Trees with government funded eyes. Grass with CIA infiltrated ears. It all starts here. It all ends in a tower amidst a world of self destruction. Fallen as the atomic bomb shows its true colors.
Taunting Diety
Making overwhelming attempts to find the beauty in situations of rage has left me decimated. Walking on eggshells will end soon enough. Change begets change; I know this and make attempts to embrace reality while still desperately clinging to the past. Society is always going to be like this. Different people, same issues. So does this mean we should just jump off a building and plummet to an unavoidable afterlife? Do they expect me to continue? My feet have begun to bleed, it must stop. Death comes from a so called joy. Joining of two lives at the expense of another. Break these bonds only to be shackled again, tighter. Worn out. I lay silently. Darkness encases me as the sound moves above. Now I must construct a plan to get rid of myself before suicide is the only exit. Breathing has become an unimaginable chore. Every motion moving me closer to death and I move on. If I just run it will follow but will that stop me? Burial at sea. Dancing alone. Giving it all for nothing in return. Can this really make me stronger or is God laughing at me?
U 10
I feel like I'm carring the weight of the world in my eyes. Communication is the dilemma to human existence. Society has convinced itself that since we have the ability to speak we are thus able to communicate. But throughout my life I've found this to be false. Speech doesn't help with communication, but make it all the more difficult and confusing. It won't be until we all shut up, that we can finally get a chance to hear what everyone is saying.
Darkness Parted Vertically
A grid of light is casting itself behind the world in the corner of the room. Ash trays and burnt out candles scurry over top of the desk and other surfaces. Dreaming in drull is much like trying to remember a dream within a dream.
U-12
I am halfway between two points
- continually moving -
I am halfway between two points
- I am making no progress -
- continually moving -
I am halfway between two points
- I am making no progress -
The Sea
Floating across a mechanical fortress never fit for war. I find myself sitting silently along on a wooden bench. The cool night air blowing in all directions. Across the waves, around the boat, over pillars standing out of the water along the shoreline. Moving confidently, the cold hand has come for me. Lights of the city reflect off the sky like the fires of hell. A blaze stretching a full mile wide and as high as the clouds looming overhead. Their solemn white mass resting motionless, despite the hurricane of chaos emerging below. Looking over the railing i find that a futuristic city inhabits the water, but not one of people. A complex society of single celled organisms, trying desperately to understand the world around them, all concluding it's impossible. Boats in the distance leave open glints of hope as they wander the dark caverns of the sea, trying to help understand. Looking closer I see the beauty around me, as a meeting the aisle swallows me whole.
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