shove the rubber in my ears
turn it up so loud they bleed
because id rather have blood fall from my ears
than face the music and confront my fears
i need a shock to my system
a release from reality
a rhythmic fantasy to drown my insanity
to survive the lie im living
to revive the life im killing
empty words echo in my head
while i lie in bed and run away
for hours on end the music plays
im meditating levitating
flying
the gravity of reality pulls me back to earth
dying
im done trying
i just dont want to be reminded
of what i've already decided to evade
now the song's begun to fade
and i have to make that choice between
pressing play again
or saying amen and finishing the prayer
that has been blaring in my ears
the ringing in my head feels so good
blood on the earbuds
runs down my neck like i knew it would
id rather bleed from the side
and be deaf in my ears
than expose my front and be ostracized
because its easier to put it on and lead you on
like a coat out the door before you go
and thats cheating i know
but maybe if i play it loud enough
the pain will never show
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
late night scribbles
sometimes i can spent the entire day
trying to figure out what i'm trying to say
but at night
when the moon is in sight
when the still air is just right
when i sit at my desk lit only by candle light
everything inexplicably comes together
the pen becomes one with the paper
then my mind takes flight
and i start to write
trying to figure out what i'm trying to say
but at night
when the moon is in sight
when the still air is just right
when i sit at my desk lit only by candle light
everything inexplicably comes together
the pen becomes one with the paper
then my mind takes flight
and i start to write
Monday, December 15, 2014
Liquid Absolution
I heard that most people come here because the drinks were good and the prices deceptively cheap. No surprise that the place was almost always full.
My eyes fell on a young man to my left, a well-groomed, respectable-looking guy. But the slouch in his shoulders said something else about his appearance that his $80 jeans failed to mention. I watched him take the first gulp; dark liquid quickly sliding down his throat. It didn't take long for the drink to take effect.
He tilted his head back and drained the remaining contents of the glass, holding out for every last drop. She still said his name often, but it didn't give him butterflies anymore. There was a bite in her voice that wasn't there before and the bitter after-taste of her words lingered longer than he cared to admit. The buzz was wearing off and pain began to return to his body as his nerves began to feel again. With a heavy hand he clunked the empty glass down on the table and reached for the next set of butterflies.
His expensive suit, silk tie, and shiny shoes looked out of place in this dingy public house. He sat down, neatly arranged the drinks in from of him and began in earnest.
The first glass brought diplomas, scholarships, internships. The first tastes of the real deal, the real world. The second was the interview and the job. The burn was good. This is what he wanted. The third took a bit more effort--sleepless nights, 18-hour days, endless cups of coffee, slaving away weeks and months--but he did it. The fourths, fifths, sixths brought promotions, the big desk with his name on it in the corner office with the view, the big paycheck. He was on a roll and he wasn't about to stop--gulp, gulp, gulp. But now that he was all tingly he couldn't see straight, now he couldn't remember his address, now he couldn't tell his kids apart, now he couldn't enjoy being at home anymore. Everything hinged on the next big sale, the next big push, the next big gulp. He soon spent far more time on business trips with corporate bigwigs or in the office having his numerous assistants running errands for him than in his own home. Okay maybe spending so much time with Stacey the Secretary wasn't the best idea, but it was part of the job right? His wife would never know; no harm, no foul. The kids had their toys, she had her luxury cars, they had their house in the hills; yet his wife was ready to leave him. Why? Why couldn't she see that he was still providing for the family and working hard as hell so she could have it easy?
His smartphone buzzed twice. It was already late; dinner at home would be beyond cold and she was already upset. But he could grab a bite on the way back to the office; one more dinner missed wouldn't be the end of the world. Plus, the quarterly report needed to be finished and these glasses weren't going to drink themselves.
Her clothes hung loosely from her thin frame and the mess of tangled hair covered eyes that no longer wished to be seen. She sat in silence clutching the handle of the mug in front of her. Her charred throat silently protested but her trembling hand soon won out and she threw back her drink.
High heels, designer clothes, hours of hair and makeup walked onto the stage to the roar of the fans and the endless clicking of cameras. She flashed the smile, lifted the award and thanked the fans again for their endless love and support. "I don't know where I'd be without you guys!" She lied. More screaming as she made her way off the stage.
When the lights went out and the cameras were off and the fans nowhere to be found, the sunken eyes, the heavy heart, and the empty glass remained. Fans or no fans, she knew where she would be--right here. Alone in a bar, a hand on the handle she never had. But the fans want more. And so did she.
High heels, designer clothes, hours of hair and makeup walked onto the stage to the roar of the fans and the endless clicking of cameras. She flashed the smile, lifted the award and thanked the fans again for their endless love and support. "I don't know where I'd be without you guys!" She lied. More screaming as she made her way off the stage.
When the lights went out and the cameras were off and the fans nowhere to be found, the sunken eyes, the heavy heart, and the empty glass remained. Fans or no fans, she knew where she would be--right here. Alone in a bar, a hand on the handle she never had. But the fans want more. And so did she.
Okay--not entirely sure how he even got in here. He couldn't have been older than fifteen: beanie, checkered Vans, energy drink in hand. He plopped his backpack on the floor and swapped his Monster for a glass of the dark stuff. Glancing around the room for prying eyes, he lifted the glass.
His eyes were now the ones doing the prying as his fingers began to type and the forbidden images began to flash before his eyes. His heart thuds heavily within his chest and his hands are sweaty as he tips the glass back further. The excitement of the burn is there but it is empty and pointless, a fire with much fuel but no warmth. But he continues to gulp down the swirling darkness at his fingertips. His head is spinning as he reaches the last drop. The glass hits the table, he gathers his things and stumbles out without paying. Maybe he'll pay later. Who knows--who cares.
"Umm, yeah. Yeah."
He slid the drink across the counter and I caught it with an unsure hand. Why I hesitated now, I... I don't know. The cold glass on my lips soon produced the familiar burn in my chest and the visions began to pass before my eyes. With a tinge of regret, I quickly threw my head back and downed the rest of my drink before I could change my mind.
"There's a smell of stale fear that is reeking from our skins
the drinking never stops
because the drinks absolve our sins"
- The Bravery
"Believe"
Monday, December 8, 2014
not enough
Sometimes I worry that I do too much talking and not enough doing,
And then I realize I don't do very much of either.
And then I realize I don't do very much of either.
Sunday, December 7, 2014
empty seats
I still remember the first time I sat in this seat.
I was alone, kinda scared, a bit anxious. I didn't know where I was going. I thought I was going to ride alone but it was full of people--people I didn't know. So I was still alone.
Every stop people arrive and people depart. But the longer I stayed, the more the bodies filling the seats became faces I could recognize. Bodies continued to file in and walk out at every stop, but there were always a few that stayed. These few became more than familiar faces; these few I sat with and ate with; these few shared the same blue skies and dark tunnels of the ride with me. These few I'd seen the highs and lows with, I'd seen the world with these few.
At every stop, a few of the few would get up out of their seats, walk out of the open doors, and disappear into the throng on the platform. As they walked out, more walked in. More empty seats brought more empty bodies to fill them. But not every seat was filled. Some would inevitably be filled later, but some seats will always remain empty.
The doors slid shut again and we started moving again. The last stop was a big one; quite a few departed for the last time. I looked around to see who was still here. The number of empty seats continues to grow. I'm almost at my destination and number of passengers whose faces I still know is dwindling.
But the rare few who have the same ticket I do, the ones who have the same departure, the same destination; the ones who have remained from the beginning of my time to the end of line--those are the ones who have made the ride worthwhile.
When it's my turn to walk out of those doors into the swirling crowd of unknowns, I'll still have my little piece of paper as proof of my crossing over.
But destination is only half the story.
I was alone, kinda scared, a bit anxious. I didn't know where I was going. I thought I was going to ride alone but it was full of people--people I didn't know. So I was still alone.
Every stop people arrive and people depart. But the longer I stayed, the more the bodies filling the seats became faces I could recognize. Bodies continued to file in and walk out at every stop, but there were always a few that stayed. These few became more than familiar faces; these few I sat with and ate with; these few shared the same blue skies and dark tunnels of the ride with me. These few I'd seen the highs and lows with, I'd seen the world with these few.
At every stop, a few of the few would get up out of their seats, walk out of the open doors, and disappear into the throng on the platform. As they walked out, more walked in. More empty seats brought more empty bodies to fill them. But not every seat was filled. Some would inevitably be filled later, but some seats will always remain empty.
The doors slid shut again and we started moving again. The last stop was a big one; quite a few departed for the last time. I looked around to see who was still here. The number of empty seats continues to grow. I'm almost at my destination and number of passengers whose faces I still know is dwindling.
But the rare few who have the same ticket I do, the ones who have the same departure, the same destination; the ones who have remained from the beginning of my time to the end of line--those are the ones who have made the ride worthwhile.
When it's my turn to walk out of those doors into the swirling crowd of unknowns, I'll still have my little piece of paper as proof of my crossing over.
But destination is only half the story.
Thursday, November 27, 2014
sunrise, sunset
remember when we used to gaze at the stars
and pretend that they were ours?
because those stars in the sky were the only connection we had
when the direction of our paths failed to cross
like strangers stranded on different islands
lost, hoping to be rescued and reunited again
and when the moon was overhead i couldn't hold it in
instead i would run outside
neck craned back, eyes to the sky
because deep down inside i hoped
you were doing the same thing as i
talking to the moon
praying this curse of separation would be broken soon
it was our little secret
just you and i
but now when i look into the sky
the stars that used to hang over you and i
are no longer over you, just over me
overseas, 180 degrees
ten hours ahead
when i wake up you're going to bed
two cups and string, the only thing keeping
this thing alive
is all but dead
because when you're awake im asleep in my bed
dreaming of all the words i left unsaid
and now when i search for sacred stars
i dont see them
because there's an ocean between us
a 5,000 mile reason i cant be there with you
you know i miss you
but there's gotta be another way
another way to convey what im dying say
a way to remind you
that though im not with you now
you are present in my thoughts everyday
and ill come back to you
somehow someway
last night watching the sun set it dawned on me
the big ball of yellow falls below the horizon i see
sinks into darkness and flies across the sea
to climb a different horizon outside your window
same sun different day
i know we cant see the sun at the same time
(well, unless you get up at sunrise)
but keep in mind that Sunny spends his time with me
before he makes his way over to you
so he'll tell you everything i tell him to
sunbeams from me passed along to you
i realized this is true
a way to get from me to you
ill tell him how much i miss you
how the smile on your face never fails
to erase any trace of doubt that
every moment with you
however few
is so worth it
how the sound of your voice gives me
no choice but to remember that
even though we sometimes cant speak for weeks
you're still there for me
even over the phone
feels like im back at home
there are no words for the warmth of the sun
for the life it gives, the light it spreads
so when my day is done
the sun, like a faithful messenger bird,
will carry all my words that have no words
so when the sun passes before your eyes,
when you see the light reaching above the horizon at sunrise
remember
he's talking to you
i'm talking to you
and even though the clouds sometimes block the sun from view
the sun always prevails and comes shining through
so i'll swim the atlantic ocean, ill do what i have to do
to make sure that whenever the sun comes out to smile on you
he's bringing my love from me to you
and pretend that they were ours?
because those stars in the sky were the only connection we had
when the direction of our paths failed to cross
like strangers stranded on different islands
lost, hoping to be rescued and reunited again
and when the moon was overhead i couldn't hold it in
instead i would run outside
neck craned back, eyes to the sky
because deep down inside i hoped
you were doing the same thing as i
talking to the moon
praying this curse of separation would be broken soon
it was our little secret
just you and i
but now when i look into the sky
the stars that used to hang over you and i
are no longer over you, just over me
overseas, 180 degrees
ten hours ahead
when i wake up you're going to bed
two cups and string, the only thing keeping
this thing alive
is all but dead
because when you're awake im asleep in my bed
dreaming of all the words i left unsaid
and now when i search for sacred stars
i dont see them
because there's an ocean between us
a 5,000 mile reason i cant be there with you
you know i miss you
but there's gotta be another way
another way to convey what im dying say
a way to remind you
that though im not with you now
you are present in my thoughts everyday
and ill come back to you
somehow someway
last night watching the sun set it dawned on me
the big ball of yellow falls below the horizon i see
sinks into darkness and flies across the sea
to climb a different horizon outside your window
same sun different day
i know we cant see the sun at the same time
(well, unless you get up at sunrise)
but keep in mind that Sunny spends his time with me
before he makes his way over to you
so he'll tell you everything i tell him to
sunbeams from me passed along to you
i realized this is true
a way to get from me to you
ill tell him how much i miss you
how the smile on your face never fails
to erase any trace of doubt that
every moment with you
however few
is so worth it
how the sound of your voice gives me
no choice but to remember that
even though we sometimes cant speak for weeks
you're still there for me
even over the phone
feels like im back at home
there are no words for the warmth of the sun
for the life it gives, the light it spreads
so when my day is done
the sun, like a faithful messenger bird,
will carry all my words that have no words
so when the sun passes before your eyes,
when you see the light reaching above the horizon at sunrise
remember
he's talking to you
i'm talking to you
and even though the clouds sometimes block the sun from view
the sun always prevails and comes shining through
so i'll swim the atlantic ocean, ill do what i have to do
to make sure that whenever the sun comes out to smile on you
he's bringing my love from me to you
Sunday, November 9, 2014
most me
When I have a lot to do, when I have no time to lose
anything I choose that doesn't accomplish my list of things to do
is a distraction
when I'm mentally detached from what hold the most traction
is when I'm most distracted, when my mind is attacked
with all the things that don't matter
trumping with all the things I could
potentially squander if I don't get started right away
when I'm most distracted my thoughts start to wander
and when my mind starts to walk away
my focus becomes far-sighted and I can't think about today
I thrive on things I'd rather do, on places I'd rather see, on the person I'd rather be
when I'm distracted I see things I never see
perception grows exponentially
for me this is an escape from reality
however momentary, short, or temporary
because sometimes the world is an intimidating place to be
but this distraction is a comfort to me
as long as this distraction allows me to transcend
the normalcy of to-dos hanging over me
because honestly
it's when I'm tied-down that I'm most free
when I'm blind I can better see
when I'm scared I can act most courageously
when I'm drowning I can better learn to breathe
when I'm most distracted I'm most me
gravitating towards things that yearn to be
my fingers begin dance and my soul breathes with ease
when I find myself writing scribbles like these
so when time is most pressing, when real life is too upsetting
I'll gladly distract myself, placing sanity on the shelf
for a few seconds of clarity, if that's what it takes
anything I choose that doesn't accomplish my list of things to do
is a distraction
when I'm mentally detached from what hold the most traction
is when I'm most distracted, when my mind is attacked
with all the things that don't matter
trumping with all the things I could
potentially squander if I don't get started right away
when I'm most distracted my thoughts start to wander
and when my mind starts to walk away
my focus becomes far-sighted and I can't think about today
I thrive on things I'd rather do, on places I'd rather see, on the person I'd rather be
when I'm distracted I see things I never see
perception grows exponentially
for me this is an escape from reality
however momentary, short, or temporary
because sometimes the world is an intimidating place to be
but this distraction is a comfort to me
as long as this distraction allows me to transcend
the normalcy of to-dos hanging over me
because honestly
it's when I'm tied-down that I'm most free
when I'm blind I can better see
when I'm scared I can act most courageously
when I'm drowning I can better learn to breathe
when I'm most distracted I'm most me
gravitating towards things that yearn to be
my fingers begin dance and my soul breathes with ease
when I find myself writing scribbles like these
so when time is most pressing, when real life is too upsetting
I'll gladly distract myself, placing sanity on the shelf
for a few seconds of clarity, if that's what it takes
Sunday, November 2, 2014
Worst-case Scenerio
It sits in the back of my mind, buried under the skin
eating at my flesh and feeding on my fears
At every wrong step, every collision of bone
in every sharp pain and cry of agony
I can feel growing
bigger and stronger
sprouting wings and curved teeth, wielding sharp claws
endlessly gnawing in the back of my head
like a maggot nestled in warm flesh
I can't live with this monster in my head
I can feel it sinking deeper with every doubtful thought
it grows and deepens and burns
And then the worst part of the nightmare
I wake up on the table to realize my pain has become reality
completely destroyed and hastily pieced back together
a mess of metal bars and steel plates remain
then I realize the nightmare has just begun
Monday, October 13, 2014
abandoned again
it's full again
i can hear young ones rattling doors, yanking handles, banging on windows
clambering to get in and screaming to get out
but i don't have time
i don't have time to develop or grow little minds
to their full potential
to their maximum height
under developed and malnourished
instead they sit and they rot, they scream and they cry
leftover tears wrinkling soft skin
overripe and ugly
until i can't stand it anymore
and i toss them out
back into the street, back into a forgotten stream of consciousness
never to see or hear from them again
i should probably feel guilty for being so cruel
i should probably repent for being inhumane
i should be ashamed
But I don't have time.
i can hear young ones rattling doors, yanking handles, banging on windows
clambering to get in and screaming to get out
but i don't have time
i don't have time to develop or grow little minds
to their full potential
to their maximum height
under developed and malnourished
instead they sit and they rot, they scream and they cry
leftover tears wrinkling soft skin
overripe and ugly
until i can't stand it anymore
and i toss them out
back into the street, back into a forgotten stream of consciousness
never to see or hear from them again
i should probably feel guilty for being so cruel
i should probably repent for being inhumane
i should be ashamed
But I don't have time.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
Famous
sometimes i wish i could be recognized
sometimes i wish i could be famous
But then i am reminded
I do what I do
just to make what is
painful a bit more
painless
sometimes i wish i could be famous
But then i am reminded
I do what I do
just to make what is
painful a bit more
painless
Friday, September 26, 2014
As Water Falls
oh to pour out my soul as water falls from the mountain
as rain from the sky, restless and free, drunk deeply
refreshing to the taste and restoring the body
but i am a tepid drop in a thirsty jar, cork sealed tight, top rusted shut
a warm puddle on the pavement, confined to the dirty sidewalk where passersby kick and splash and separate me from myself
so i am silent
as rain from the sky, restless and free, drunk deeply
refreshing to the taste and restoring the body
but i am a tepid drop in a thirsty jar, cork sealed tight, top rusted shut
a warm puddle on the pavement, confined to the dirty sidewalk where passersby kick and splash and separate me from myself
so i am silent
Monday, September 15, 2014
Fishhooks
It was reflex, automatic; like a nagging bad habit
Squeaky-squeak, the wires creak
Bending and twisting my face on command
A quick flash of teeth, then it's over and I'm gone
Quick and painless; smile and move on
Make a little laugh, sprinkle a giggle or two
It'll increase the realism by half
Now the wires aren't real; they're made of metal and steel
But the smiles it creates are enough to make you settle
For generic answers to any questions asked
I'm not trying to ace a test, I'm just looking to pass a friendly interrogation
Without revealing sensitive or harmful information
I decided some time in the past that I'd rather swim with sharks
Or swallow shards of glass than reopen a wound so vast and so deep
That losing sleep is the least of my worries
My stretched lips are constantly sore
And I try so hard to ignore the cold metal bars chaffing the insides of my mouth
I tell myself I don't feel them anymore
Bending and twisting my face on command
A quick flash of teeth, then it's over and I'm gone
Quick and painless; smile and move on
Make a little laugh, sprinkle a giggle or two
It'll increase the realism by half
Now the wires aren't real; they're made of metal and steel
But the smiles it creates are enough to make you settle
For generic answers to any questions asked
I'm not trying to ace a test, I'm just looking to pass a friendly interrogation
Without revealing sensitive or harmful information
I decided some time in the past that I'd rather swim with sharks
Or swallow shards of glass than reopen a wound so vast and so deep
That losing sleep is the least of my worries
My stretched lips are constantly sore
And I try so hard to ignore the cold metal bars chaffing the insides of my mouth
I tell myself I don't feel them anymore
You ask me how I'm doing and I'm doing just great
The wires do their job and I have a smile on my face
In passing it works like a charm
But when someone stops and really wants to talk
That's the greatest threat of harm
And I fight the urge to walk away
So to prevent things from going south,
I'll continue to smile
Like I've got fishhooks in the corners of my mouth
Just to tell you everything is okay
Trust me, it's better that way
The wires do their job and I have a smile on my face
In passing it works like a charm
But when someone stops and really wants to talk
That's the greatest threat of harm
And I fight the urge to walk away
But as long as the mess of steel on my face can momentarily erase
Any trace of the storm that's raging within
These wires will always have a place beneath my skin
To reopen that wound is a sin that I could never forgive
So to prevent things from going south,
I'll continue to smile
Like I've got fishhooks in the corners of my mouth
Just to tell you everything is okay
Trust me, it's better that way
"Hey, how ya doin?"
"I'm doing just swell!"
I continue bend the steel on my face
So you'll never tell how dead I really am inside
So you'll never tell how dead I really am inside
But I'll be smiling again tomorrow as always
Whether I mean it or not, whether it's genuine or just for show
You'll probably never know
You'll probably never know
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
High-speed
I'm not hiding,
I'm just hidden
It's covered but exposed, surrounded, enclosed
I'm standing alone in a place where no one goes, a place not many of you know
Another world within the light and the images that pass before your eyes in any given minute
But I'll try to show you where it's hidden
It's someplace I like to collect all the things I missed, placed carefully in a box, wrapped neatly like birthday gifts, peeking inside to remember what it is to open my eyes and truly see
There are presents in here for you and for me but we gotta find and open them before it's too late
No expiration date but nothing lasts forever
In the craziness of life, through hustle and bustle and sometimes strife, always moving, always going but never really knowing what we're doing or why
It's easy to skip over the little things, microorganisms unseen by the naked eye upon first and second glances
But don't miss the chances they give you to experience, to breathe in and breathe out, to know without a doubt what it means to be alive
You could call it my happy place but to me it's just empty space where I can create and commemorate that which makes the biggest impression
Invisible expression, concrete blocks for my imaginary box of secrets, physical statues made of rocks that don't exist
This is where I close my eyes and I am gently kissed by all the beauty and awe that you missed
It's like the real world with a twist
You're more than welcome to join me in my safe place that holds no trace of anything face-paced
But be warned: you see it everyday but it's hard to find
It may not be what you had in mind
So come find me in the space between the lines, find me in the chorus between the notes, in the grace between the raindrops, in the pause within your pulse, in the silence between heartbeats
No rules or laws or appointments or calls
Not here, there, or anywhere
Just moments
Breaths
Heartbeats
It's hard to explain when you're going insane from the serene sound of hundredths of seconds whizzing through your brain like a high-speed camera speeding through endless frames of beauty and color
But you'll understand once you see it
I promise
And then you'll wonder how you never knew it was there before, here, there, everywhere
Right in front of your eyes
So now that you know where I'll be, come and find me
You'll see
I'm just hidden
It's covered but exposed, surrounded, enclosed
I'm standing alone in a place where no one goes, a place not many of you know
Another world within the light and the images that pass before your eyes in any given minute
But I'll try to show you where it's hidden
It's someplace I like to collect all the things I missed, placed carefully in a box, wrapped neatly like birthday gifts, peeking inside to remember what it is to open my eyes and truly see
There are presents in here for you and for me but we gotta find and open them before it's too late
No expiration date but nothing lasts forever
In the craziness of life, through hustle and bustle and sometimes strife, always moving, always going but never really knowing what we're doing or why
It's easy to skip over the little things, microorganisms unseen by the naked eye upon first and second glances
But don't miss the chances they give you to experience, to breathe in and breathe out, to know without a doubt what it means to be alive
You could call it my happy place but to me it's just empty space where I can create and commemorate that which makes the biggest impression
Invisible expression, concrete blocks for my imaginary box of secrets, physical statues made of rocks that don't exist
This is where I close my eyes and I am gently kissed by all the beauty and awe that you missed
It's like the real world with a twist
You're more than welcome to join me in my safe place that holds no trace of anything face-paced
But be warned: you see it everyday but it's hard to find
It may not be what you had in mind
So come find me in the space between the lines, find me in the chorus between the notes, in the grace between the raindrops, in the pause within your pulse, in the silence between heartbeats
No rules or laws or appointments or calls
Not here, there, or anywhere
Just moments
Breaths
Heartbeats
It's hard to explain when you're going insane from the serene sound of hundredths of seconds whizzing through your brain like a high-speed camera speeding through endless frames of beauty and color
But you'll understand once you see it
I promise
And then you'll wonder how you never knew it was there before, here, there, everywhere
Right in front of your eyes
So now that you know where I'll be, come and find me
You'll see
Unchained
I shy away from poems because I know I'm not a poet
Rhyming is not my strength and I already know it
But I'll give it a shot
I mean, sure why not?
So I'm standing in this empty room, shouting at the top of my voice
But it's all good
This profession is a result of my choice
An audience isn't something I absolutely require
This ship is sailing on the winds of my own desire
And it's sailing fast
Over seas of glass and storms so vast
I don't even know where we're going
But we're going
I don't need a class or a book to show me where to look
Inspiration is everywhere, you can feel it in the air
Stars in the sky, leaves on the ground
As long as the earth spins 'round and 'round
And I have a place to jot it all down I'll be right here
Pecking away on this dirty keyboard where all my hopes and dreams are stored
But it's okay, I like kinda it that way
I don't need hits on a page, I'm not looking for fame
I don't care if the world knows my name
Or if I'm forgotten
And thrown away for like a tomato so rotten
I'm just one guy fighting fears, occasionally shedding a few tears
Trying to make a dent on this rock we call Earth
A bunch of followers doesn't add credibility or worth
I'll keep telling myself until I believe it's true
The truth is I don't need you
Empty stage or full house
Booming voice or squeak of a mouse
I'll say what I think and write what I feel
I'm the captain of this dingy and I alone hold the wheel
I'm just a pile of walking experiences and expectations
And even though I have no clear destination
I'm gonna keep walking until I find something new
And I promise you I'll get there with or without you
I'll write my own song, I'll dance to my own beat
I don't need your approval to walk on my own two feet
I'll tell my own story
No flashing lights or golden glory
Whether you're here or not I'm gonna write
From the darkness of night until I can see the light
This rant is really long
But we're coming to the end of the song
So I'll finish in stride
You can join me and come along for the ride
Or you can stand there and watch me fly
That's your choice--I've already made mine
I'm gonna do my thing 'til the sun refuses to shine
Rhyming is not my strength and I already know it
But I'll give it a shot
I mean, sure why not?
So I'm standing in this empty room, shouting at the top of my voice
But it's all good
This profession is a result of my choice
An audience isn't something I absolutely require
This ship is sailing on the winds of my own desire
And it's sailing fast
Over seas of glass and storms so vast
I don't even know where we're going
But we're going
I don't need a class or a book to show me where to look
Inspiration is everywhere, you can feel it in the air
Stars in the sky, leaves on the ground
As long as the earth spins 'round and 'round
And I have a place to jot it all down I'll be right here
Pecking away on this dirty keyboard where all my hopes and dreams are stored
But it's okay, I like kinda it that way
I don't need hits on a page, I'm not looking for fame
I don't care if the world knows my name
Or if I'm forgotten
And thrown away for like a tomato so rotten
I'm just one guy fighting fears, occasionally shedding a few tears
Trying to make a dent on this rock we call Earth
A bunch of followers doesn't add credibility or worth
I'll keep telling myself until I believe it's true
The truth is I don't need you
Empty stage or full house
Booming voice or squeak of a mouse
I'll say what I think and write what I feel
I'm the captain of this dingy and I alone hold the wheel
I'm just a pile of walking experiences and expectations
And even though I have no clear destination
I'm gonna keep walking until I find something new
And I promise you I'll get there with or without you
I don't need your approval to walk on my own two feet
I'll tell my own story
No flashing lights or golden glory
Whether you're here or not I'm gonna write
From the darkness of night until I can see the light
This rant is really long
But we're coming to the end of the song
So I'll finish in stride
You can join me and come along for the ride
Or you can stand there and watch me fly
That's your choice--I've already made mine
I'm gonna do my thing 'til the sun refuses to shine
Monday, August 25, 2014
Malfunction
They collectively hesitated, unsure of where to land.
I double-checked again, wiggling my fingers, opening and closing my hand, extending my fingers as far as they would go. The circuits were intact, the wires were clean, the joints squeaked and did as they were told. My fingers weren't broken; my hands work just fine.
Maybe my programming is a bit out of whack. Maybe a good restart and reboot will put me back on track. Maybe I simply missed a switch or there was a button I forgot to press.
My mind beeps and boops but nothing comes out, only incoherent garbling and nonsense. The wheels in my head continue to turn, whirring in their little circles, the motor hums like it always does, and the little lights still flash rhythmically. Information continues to stream in but nothing comes out. My hard drive is slowing, crashing, backlogged. I'm behind schedule. I'm off beat. I'm out of place.
I panicked.
I was useless if I couldn't do my job. I was useless if I couldn't do the very task I was built to do. What would they say about the one who forgot how to write in a day? A malfunction? An anomaly in the batch? A defect destined for the trash?
I stare at the page. No words appear. No ideas, no creativity; nothing is clear. Maybe I'm just in a trance; maybe my fingers momentarily forgot how to dance.
But my mind is fine, my fingers are okay. The page is blank because I don't know what to say.
I double-checked again, wiggling my fingers, opening and closing my hand, extending my fingers as far as they would go. The circuits were intact, the wires were clean, the joints squeaked and did as they were told. My fingers weren't broken; my hands work just fine.
Maybe my programming is a bit out of whack. Maybe a good restart and reboot will put me back on track. Maybe I simply missed a switch or there was a button I forgot to press.
My mind beeps and boops but nothing comes out, only incoherent garbling and nonsense. The wheels in my head continue to turn, whirring in their little circles, the motor hums like it always does, and the little lights still flash rhythmically. Information continues to stream in but nothing comes out. My hard drive is slowing, crashing, backlogged. I'm behind schedule. I'm off beat. I'm out of place.
I was useless if I couldn't do my job. I was useless if I couldn't do the very task I was built to do. What would they say about the one who forgot how to write in a day? A malfunction? An anomaly in the batch? A defect destined for the trash?
I stare at the page. No words appear. No ideas, no creativity; nothing is clear. Maybe I'm just in a trance; maybe my fingers momentarily forgot how to dance.
But my mind is fine, my fingers are okay. The page is blank because I don't know what to say.
The tears began to roll down my metal frame but I didn't stop them this time. The rust will settle on my skin soon enough. I'll soon be a heap of scrapmetal in a landfill or a dump.
I went home broken because I knew I was broken.
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
Insert Change
My room is a mess. So I cleaned my room.
My hair is a mess. So I cut my hair.
My car is a mess. So I washed my car.
My journal is a mess. So I tore out the pages and started over.
My life is a mess. So I..
My hair is a mess. So I cut my hair.
My car is a mess. So I washed my car.
My journal is a mess. So I tore out the pages and started over.
My life is a mess. So I..
Saturday, July 26, 2014
Twirl Me
I clung to her tightly, afraid to let her go, afraid to see her fall
Yet I was afraid to hold her back
Afraid to make her wait any longer for my sake
Don't tell me it's time
My heart can't take this
Don't worry, she said, there's nothing to fear in moving on
My hands trembled weak
But her voice was somehow still strong
I'll always come back to you, she said
Just do this one thing for me
Anything,
Anything at all
Please twirl me one more time and don't stop spinning me, she said
So I closed my eyes
I set her free once more
Boundless, weightless, painless
Spinning like dandelions in the breeze
Gracing open fields without a care
Swirling like leaves descending from autumn trees
Smiling, dancing as light kissing water
A sigh escaped her lips
And when I opened my eyes
With goodbye still wet on my cheeks
She was off and away
Twirl Me
by Wildlight
Yet I was afraid to hold her back
Afraid to make her wait any longer for my sake
My heart can't take this
Don't worry, she said, there's nothing to fear in moving on
My hands trembled weak
But her voice was somehow still strong
I'll always come back to you, she said
Just do this one thing for me
Anything,
Anything at all
Please twirl me one more time and don't stop spinning me, she said
So I closed my eyes
I set her free once more
Boundless, weightless, painless
Spinning like dandelions in the breeze
Gracing open fields without a care
Swirling like leaves descending from autumn trees
Smiling, dancing as light kissing water
A sigh escaped her lips
And when I opened my eyes
With goodbye still wet on my cheeks
She was off and away
Twirl Me
by Wildlight
Friday, July 25, 2014
Sonder
Eyes, nose, ears, mouth.
Faces.
You see them all the time, so much so that you probably don't even think about it; hundreds in a day, thousands in a lifetime. They are just faces, a set of eyes, noses, ears, and mouths you see in passing and don't give a second thought to, just faces you see but don't know, and probably never will.
Just faces.
Sometimes you only get a glimpse, maybe on a crowded street or bar or store or theater; a quick glance or two, maybe eyes meet for a fraction of a second and that's it, if you make eye-contact at all. Sometimes that fraction of a second is all you get.
Sometimes you might get a bit longer than half a second. Sometimes you're lucky enough to run into that particular pair of eyes more than once, like co-workers or randoms at school or that one barista at your favorite Starbucks or the guy who always walks his dog at the same time every other night. You might make eye contact or say hello, give a nod of acknowledgement or smile out of polite courtesy. You may even be able to recognize that face but those are eyes you can't read, feelings you can't feel, stories you don't know. All you have are the glimpses, those fractions of seconds stacked on top of each other and nothing more. You may never see that face again.
There are upwards of seven billion people on this tiny rock, full of eyes and ears, noses and mouths, all different, all unique. But are they just faces?
Every face is more than just a set of features sucking oxygen and taking up space. Every face more than just nature in its natural habitat, roaming the earth as it has since the beginning of time.
Every face is carries the wear and tear of ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty years of life you have not experienced that has shaped them into who they are for the three seconds your lives intersect.
Every pair of eyes hides a story that you do not know; every beating heart is a living soul, a never-ending clash of light and darkness that you cannot hope to comprehend in passing on the street.
Every set of features is brimming with hopes and dreams, fears and failures, experiences and memories that usually won't earn a second glance from you, going about your own business, living your own life.
How many individuals have you laid eyes on today? This week, this month, this year? In your lifetime? How many souls have your eyes moved over without a second thought? How many lifetimes have passed before your eyes during your own?
Sonder.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Lamborghini Angels
Upon first glance she was stunning and beautiful with a hint of dangerous, like the vehicle she posed next to. Her appearance rivaled the car: sleek and pristine, painted and manicured, spotless and white; doors reaching to the sky like wings.
The girl and the car? This must be heaven.
He sank into the leather seat, the engine rumbling softly beneath his feet. He sat there mesmerized, gripping the wheel, breathing deeply. It felt good. He felt alive. Strong and powerful. In control.
"She's all yours," she whispered in his ear.
He was crushed in his seat as the car leapt forward, accelerating from zero to gone in an instant. She whispered in his ear again, caressing his arms, kissing his cheek. Her tongue was smooth and precise, her lips the color of blood, the diamonds around her neck as sharp as daggers.
He didn't notice that she was slowly growing and filling the car; surrounding him, holding him, squeezing him. With his eyes glued to the road, he could no longer discern the roar of the engine from the screeching of the tires from the hypnotic drone of her voice in his ear.
The road soon became a blur, streetlights like ribbons of fire swirling above the street. Part of him wanted to let go of the wheel; part of him wanted to stop. Before he had gripped the wheel; now it seemed the wheel gripped him back.
The noise continued to grow and his vision was fading. His eyelids felt heavy and he was loosing feeling in his hands and feet. He could no longer tell where the car stopped and where she began. The last thing he felt was a crippling pain in his neck.
She sighed as she walked away from the smoldering heap of twisted metal. It was fun while it lasted. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The blood that ran from his broken body was the same that dripped down her lips.
"I see diamond-flooded demons, Lamborghini angels..."
The girl and the car? This must be heaven.
He sank into the leather seat, the engine rumbling softly beneath his feet. He sat there mesmerized, gripping the wheel, breathing deeply. It felt good. He felt alive. Strong and powerful. In control.
"She's all yours," she whispered in his ear.
He was crushed in his seat as the car leapt forward, accelerating from zero to gone in an instant. She whispered in his ear again, caressing his arms, kissing his cheek. Her tongue was smooth and precise, her lips the color of blood, the diamonds around her neck as sharp as daggers.
He didn't notice that she was slowly growing and filling the car; surrounding him, holding him, squeezing him. With his eyes glued to the road, he could no longer discern the roar of the engine from the screeching of the tires from the hypnotic drone of her voice in his ear.
The road soon became a blur, streetlights like ribbons of fire swirling above the street. Part of him wanted to let go of the wheel; part of him wanted to stop. Before he had gripped the wheel; now it seemed the wheel gripped him back.
The noise continued to grow and his vision was fading. His eyelids felt heavy and he was loosing feeling in his hands and feet. He could no longer tell where the car stopped and where she began. The last thing he felt was a crippling pain in his neck.
She sighed as she walked away from the smoldering heap of twisted metal. It was fun while it lasted. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The blood that ran from his broken body was the same that dripped down her lips.
"I see diamond-flooded demons, Lamborghini angels..."
Monday, July 7, 2014
The Sky is Falling
You can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice: he is convinced. He believes.
Why is this an issue? Why do you care? This doesn't affect you or anybody else.
No, this is crucial. It may seem small but this will change everything. We will all be affected.
Just go with it. It's not a matter of right or wrong, it's just the way it's going to be.
No! This is a matter of right and wrong; this is clearly wrong. He will not let this go.
You are the only one who thinks this way! The entire world does it our way now; it's official. Corporations, governments, nations; they all do it our way.
He doesn't care if he is the only one; he doesn't care if he stands alone. The world has gone mad.
How are you the only one who knows the answer? Where is your proof? How do you know?
It says it right here in the book.
You intolerable little bastard! What about all the people who think otherwise? They can't all be wrong. You really think we will do the math incorrectly for the rest of our lives because of one little principle? The whole world knows that two and two are five! And it will continue to be five until we say otherwise! You will be prosecuted for your insolence, you ignorant, intolerant, uneducated, unqualified...
Two and two is four. It always has been. It always will be.
They don't want to hear it. They continue to press him, bash him, verbally and otherwise. He continues on.
Two and two is four.
They take his voice. He won't let that stop him. He finds a way. He makes signs, paints pictures, posts online, writes books.
Two and two is four.
They throw him in the slammer. He scratches it out on the wall of his cell.
Two and two is four.
They don't want to hear it. They damn him to loony bin for his claims that two and two is four, that the world is round, that the sky is falling.
Why is this an issue? Why do you care? This doesn't affect you or anybody else.
No, this is crucial. It may seem small but this will change everything. We will all be affected.
Just go with it. It's not a matter of right or wrong, it's just the way it's going to be.
No! This is a matter of right and wrong; this is clearly wrong. He will not let this go.
You are the only one who thinks this way! The entire world does it our way now; it's official. Corporations, governments, nations; they all do it our way.
He doesn't care if he is the only one; he doesn't care if he stands alone. The world has gone mad.
How are you the only one who knows the answer? Where is your proof? How do you know?
It says it right here in the book.
You intolerable little bastard! What about all the people who think otherwise? They can't all be wrong. You really think we will do the math incorrectly for the rest of our lives because of one little principle? The whole world knows that two and two are five! And it will continue to be five until we say otherwise! You will be prosecuted for your insolence, you ignorant, intolerant, uneducated, unqualified...
Two and two is four. It always has been. It always will be.
They don't want to hear it. They continue to press him, bash him, verbally and otherwise. He continues on.
Two and two is four.
They take his voice. He won't let that stop him. He finds a way. He makes signs, paints pictures, posts online, writes books.
Two and two is four.
They throw him in the slammer. He scratches it out on the wall of his cell.
Two and two is four.
They don't want to hear it. They damn him to loony bin for his claims that two and two is four, that the world is round, that the sky is falling.
Saturday, July 5, 2014
I Am Martial Arts
When I do martial arts, I cease to exist. I cease and I become as something else, something more, something that I could never be, to do and achieve things that I could never do.
When I step onto the mat, I am something else entirely.
For the few seconds and minutes that I perform or fight or demonstrate, I am more. I grow, I reach, I dream, I achieve.
Before I step into the ring, I am hours, days, weeks, months, years or training, blood, sweat and tears, discipline, hard work, and determination.
But now I am here. I am the calm before the storm, the silence before the battle. I am composed, controlled, coiled. I am focused, and I am ready. For a few short moments, I will fly, I can soar, I believe.
I am speed, I am strength; I am power, I am precision.
I am excellence, grace, and confidence.
I am fierce, I am brave; I am fearless, I am bold.
I am everywhere and nowhere; I am striking, blocking, kicking, spinning, twisting, airborne, weightless, timeless.
I am executing a plan, I am striving for a goal, I am living my dream.
I am finished. I am complete. I am accomplished.
Through my technique, my movements, my attitude, I am more, I do more, I achieve more.
I am student, and I am Sensei; I am novice, and I am champion.
I am martial arts.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Talking Back
Hey. Hey, you.
I can see you.
I can see you sitting there alone in the darkness, hugging your knees, tears catching the moonlight as they roll down your cheeks. I can see the pain in your eyes; I can hear the tremble of desperation and despair in your voice. I can see the marks on your arms and the scars on your soul.
You wrap yourself in the darkness of the night, plunging deeper into the dark corners of your heart where no one lives, where no one sees, where no one knows.
But I know.
I know because you told me. I know because on those days when you couldn't handle it anymore, on those days when the world was against you, those days when it seemed your heart would burst within your chest, you told me. You told me everything. You tell me every night, after the tears, before the darkness consumes you completely.
I see you dying there alone and I know.
I know because I'm just like you.
I too sit alone in the cold, in the darkness, in deep, empty space. I too am dead inside and out, unable to stand for myself, instead I forever shine a light that is not my own.
But know this:
I see a light within you.
I see a faint light, a small flame burning deep in that dark corner of your heart that you forgot you had. Don't let him, don't let them, don't let the world snuff it out. Let it shine. Let it shine vibrant and beautiful like the morning sun; let it sparkle and shimmer like the stars in the heavens. Don't be like me. Don't let someone steal your light.
You are not alone in your pain. Someone sees, and someone knows. Don't bury that light. Shine from within, not without.
Your friend,
the Moon
I can see you.
I can see you sitting there alone in the darkness, hugging your knees, tears catching the moonlight as they roll down your cheeks. I can see the pain in your eyes; I can hear the tremble of desperation and despair in your voice. I can see the marks on your arms and the scars on your soul.
You wrap yourself in the darkness of the night, plunging deeper into the dark corners of your heart where no one lives, where no one sees, where no one knows.
But I know.
I know because you told me. I know because on those days when you couldn't handle it anymore, on those days when the world was against you, those days when it seemed your heart would burst within your chest, you told me. You told me everything. You tell me every night, after the tears, before the darkness consumes you completely.
I see you dying there alone and I know.
I know because I'm just like you.
I too sit alone in the cold, in the darkness, in deep, empty space. I too am dead inside and out, unable to stand for myself, instead I forever shine a light that is not my own.
But know this:
I see a light within you.
I see a faint light, a small flame burning deep in that dark corner of your heart that you forgot you had. Don't let him, don't let them, don't let the world snuff it out. Let it shine. Let it shine vibrant and beautiful like the morning sun; let it sparkle and shimmer like the stars in the heavens. Don't be like me. Don't let someone steal your light.
You are not alone in your pain. Someone sees, and someone knows. Don't bury that light. Shine from within, not without.
Your friend,
the Moon
Friday, June 20, 2014
Drowning
Tears fall, crashing to the ground like fists banging on the walls of a forgotten dungeon, desperately seeking a way out, crying out for help, left to rot and die.
No one can hear them.
No one can hear them.
Friday, June 13, 2014
Resounding
The piece of paper flutters violently in his trembling hands. His voice is nowhere to be found. Alone on the stage, the room is silent, waiting, expectant. He buries his face in his notes, shrinking behind the podium.
He begins slowly, faintly; his voice a whisper, his lips barely forming the words. The room is deathly quiet, only the faint murmur of his voice can be heard.
He continues. First paragraph complete. A small one, but an accomplishment nonetheless. He starts the next one, a bit louder this time. And the next one. The stage doesn't seem so large and lifeless anymore.
He presses on, halfway down the page now. His hands no longer tremble; his voice growing stronger with each sentence. The words are making sense now.
Now he's no longer merely reciting words--he's believing, preaching, spewing these words with deep passion. His initial fright is forgotten; he no longer fears his audience. His voice rings out from the stage, enveloping the room with words that he can stand behind and call his own. The page flutters to the floor; now he's speaking from his heart.
He grips the podium and pauses for an instant to catch his breath. For the first time, he scans the room. Rows upon rows of empty seats meet his eyes, and his ears are filled with the rolling echo of his own voice.
He begins slowly, faintly; his voice a whisper, his lips barely forming the words. The room is deathly quiet, only the faint murmur of his voice can be heard.
He continues. First paragraph complete. A small one, but an accomplishment nonetheless. He starts the next one, a bit louder this time. And the next one. The stage doesn't seem so large and lifeless anymore.
He presses on, halfway down the page now. His hands no longer tremble; his voice growing stronger with each sentence. The words are making sense now.
Now he's no longer merely reciting words--he's believing, preaching, spewing these words with deep passion. His initial fright is forgotten; he no longer fears his audience. His voice rings out from the stage, enveloping the room with words that he can stand behind and call his own. The page flutters to the floor; now he's speaking from his heart.
He grips the podium and pauses for an instant to catch his breath. For the first time, he scans the room. Rows upon rows of empty seats meet his eyes, and his ears are filled with the rolling echo of his own voice.
Monday, June 9, 2014
Trophies
I'm not here for a trophy. I could care less about a shiny cup, bowl, statue, belt or whatever they give you to set on the shelf or mantle and collect dust. I'm not after a trophy; I'm not after an award.
An award doesn't tell me where I've been, a trophy doesn't show me how hard I worked to get there, a shiny cup doesn't express the overwhelming feeling of accomplishment and success when I finally arrive, when I finally conquer the mountain.
I'm striving for a moment, a feeling, an experience, a culmination of everything I've done and everything I've sacrificed to stand right here, right now. Moments only last for an instant before they become memories, but I'd rather seize my moment than swim in a room full of trophies that mean absolutely nothing.
I don't need an award to know I've reached the summit, and I don't need a belt to know I'm a champion.
An award doesn't tell me where I've been, a trophy doesn't show me how hard I worked to get there, a shiny cup doesn't express the overwhelming feeling of accomplishment and success when I finally arrive, when I finally conquer the mountain.
I'm striving for a moment, a feeling, an experience, a culmination of everything I've done and everything I've sacrificed to stand right here, right now. Moments only last for an instant before they become memories, but I'd rather seize my moment than swim in a room full of trophies that mean absolutely nothing.
I don't need an award to know I've reached the summit, and I don't need a belt to know I'm a champion.
Sunday, June 8, 2014
Open Fields, Endless Skies
Streaks of red and orange, hints of soft pinks and purples mix like water colors
Dark mountains and rolling hills cast low shadows, relief from sight and sunlight
Lights below, clustered, powered, false and artificial
Lights above, born and raised, burning brightly across boundless expanses
Mountains to hide, sky lights to guide
Messy and crowded towers against
Only open fields and horizons ahead
No fog or smog to cloud or shroud
Only endless skies, open possibility and ability
To run with reckless abandon
Freedom to do, to be, to try
No boxes, walls, or mold
By myself to be myself
Wind at my back, sun on my face
The open road is all my own
Alone
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Ice Cream Therapy
"Hi, how can I help you?"
I was supposed to be happy. I should've been happy.
"Hi, how can I help you?"
School was out, the sun was shinning, and I was with some of my best friends. In an ice cream parlor no less. There was no reason to be unhappy.
"Hi, how can I help you?"
I don't remember why I was upset. I do remember trying to disappear into that spot on the floor I was staring at, trying to drown out the dull roar of people everywhere around me, wanting to escape and sulk somewhere away from here by myself.
"Hey buddy!"
I could hear the smile in her voice without looking up. Now she was talking to me.
"What can I get for you today?"
Maybe it was her piercing blue eyes and curly, deep red hair beneath a blue trucker hat that I saw behind the counter when I finally looked up. Maybe it was the absence of the scripted greeting she had given every customer before me. Maybe she saw that I just needed a little something sweet to rub on my wounded ego.
Whatever it was, it wasn't the cookies 'n' cream perched on top of a waffle cone that had me feeling like I could face the world once again by the time I hit the door.
I was supposed to be happy. I should've been happy.
"Hi, how can I help you?"
School was out, the sun was shinning, and I was with some of my best friends. In an ice cream parlor no less. There was no reason to be unhappy.
"Hi, how can I help you?"
I don't remember why I was upset. I do remember trying to disappear into that spot on the floor I was staring at, trying to drown out the dull roar of people everywhere around me, wanting to escape and sulk somewhere away from here by myself."Hey buddy!"
I could hear the smile in her voice without looking up. Now she was talking to me.
"What can I get for you today?"
Maybe it was her piercing blue eyes and curly, deep red hair beneath a blue trucker hat that I saw behind the counter when I finally looked up. Maybe it was the absence of the scripted greeting she had given every customer before me. Maybe she saw that I just needed a little something sweet to rub on my wounded ego.
Whatever it was, it wasn't the cookies 'n' cream perched on top of a waffle cone that had me feeling like I could face the world once again by the time I hit the door.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
The Approaching Curve
The deepening night couldn't quell the sounds of youth and excitement that erupted from the backseat as the sedan whirled around the bend in the dark. A red lunar eclipse and a desire to escape books, homework and responsibilities for a few precious minutes had driven the five of us into the hills on outskirts of the city.
Driving down the dark and winding road at breakneck speeds was far more exhilarating than idly gazing at the scarlet moon, and the silent hills echoed with screeching tires and howling approval.
Whoa, hey. Slow down, double take. That was something we hadn't noticed the first time around. Silence fell as we pulled around for a closer look.
Flowers, candles, cards, t-shirts, a box of books and memoirs, photos, a large balloon, each with the same picture printed on the front. One word was present on every image, every candle and every t-shirt: Sarah.
All we could do was stare, hands shoved deep into pockets. Various shades of pink on candles and flowers stood out in the beam of the car headlights against the darkness of the ravine below. The laughter and joy that had filled the night only moments before died right there in my throat. No one said a word.
Standing before a memorial that was supposed to represent seventeen years of life, my heart ached for Sarah, for a girl I never knew. I fought the lump in my throat as I thought of Sarah's family and friends, dealing with the sudden death of a loved one. But in that moment, I couldn't help but think of myself and the four guys standing there with me.
Driving down the dark and winding road at breakneck speeds was far more exhilarating than idly gazing at the scarlet moon, and the silent hills echoed with screeching tires and howling approval.
Whoa, hey. Slow down, double take. That was something we hadn't noticed the first time around. Silence fell as we pulled around for a closer look.
Flowers, candles, cards, t-shirts, a box of books and memoirs, photos, a large balloon, each with the same picture printed on the front. One word was present on every image, every candle and every t-shirt: Sarah.
All we could do was stare, hands shoved deep into pockets. Various shades of pink on candles and flowers stood out in the beam of the car headlights against the darkness of the ravine below. The laughter and joy that had filled the night only moments before died right there in my throat. No one said a word.
Standing before a memorial that was supposed to represent seventeen years of life, my heart ached for Sarah, for a girl I never knew. I fought the lump in my throat as I thought of Sarah's family and friends, dealing with the sudden death of a loved one. But in that moment, I couldn't help but think of myself and the four guys standing there with me.
The flowers and the balloons, the cards and the condolences--those could be for us. For me. Those t-shirts could have my face printed on them, those candles could be burning in my memory. This could have been our car tumbling off the road into the darkness below; our bodies being crushed, mangled and never found; our lives being snuffed out in an instant; our potential wasted and gone forever.
Only the eerie whistling of the night breeze and the uncomfortable shuffling of feet on the dusty road could be heard. The moon still burned red overhead.
~
The car pressed on faster through the night. It could've been the best night of her life. Or the worst. It was hard to tell.
She still donned the expensive dress that she had bought two weeks ago with her own money and danced in all night. It was a wonder she hadn't soiled it. Loud music and the smell of liquor poured from the car windows--evidence of a good time. Or perhaps something else.
Prom, friends, boys, dresses--maybe that's what filled her thoughts. The road swerved right and left and back again. Maybe she wasn't thinking at all.
Maybe she was living it up, making memories, going big. She had her whole life ahead of her but there's never a better time than right now. Or maybe she just wanted to forget, to escape, to pretend like it never happened.
"Live fast, die young" the song repeated, the bass thumping rhythmically. She tipped her head back one more time. The parents will forgive me. Or the parents just won't care. She certainly didn't.
The midnight wind whipping through her hair felt like freedom; the burn in her throat, paradise.
Up ahead there was a curve quickly approaching. She made no indication of slowing.
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Symphony Rising
Among the many, out of the cacophony, a symphony rising. A symphony of one.
Strong and beautiful, moving and elegant, rising and falling like the beating of a heart, like the breathing of some giant living being. For a few sacred moments, we were lucky enough to lend an ear, to hold a bow, to strike a chord, to be enveloped in the rhythm, to sing with all of our hearts.
And then the final notes are struck--they are always written in, whether we want to see them or not. Sometimes as beautiful and dashing as the rest of the movement; sometimes as dissonant chords, off beat and off time, out of place, premature. Sudden and abrupt, they linger in the air and on the walls for several moments, frozen in time, suspended in space and disbelief.
And then they fall, crashing to the ground like heavy, unrelenting rain.
And then I'm left to my own devices. Kneeling in an empty chapel, singing to the sound of my own deafening silence--the futile beating of my bleeding heart, the frantic falling of my feet, my voice, empty, hollow, breaking. My chest is open and my body aches, choking and gasping for air. Exposed and naked, desolate and alone.
What am I supposed to do with all these leftover feelings of you?
I am full of hollow echoes and empty voices--voices of the dead ringing in my head--what can I say that hasn't already been said? Poems to be read, flowers by your head... what am I supposed to do?
Burn the chapel, break the strings; it's all I can do not to scream.
And now I'm supposed to rebuild. Survive. Continue.
And the cacophony drones on, oblivious, enveloping all distinguishable sounds: no melody, no symphony, no song. A few were lucky--I was lucky--to hear what used to be. But now we hear it no more. And we never will again. Not within these walls.
Strong and beautiful, moving and elegant, rising and falling like the beating of a heart, like the breathing of some giant living being. For a few sacred moments, we were lucky enough to lend an ear, to hold a bow, to strike a chord, to be enveloped in the rhythm, to sing with all of our hearts.
And then the final notes are struck--they are always written in, whether we want to see them or not. Sometimes as beautiful and dashing as the rest of the movement; sometimes as dissonant chords, off beat and off time, out of place, premature. Sudden and abrupt, they linger in the air and on the walls for several moments, frozen in time, suspended in space and disbelief.
And then they fall, crashing to the ground like heavy, unrelenting rain.
And then I'm left to my own devices. Kneeling in an empty chapel, singing to the sound of my own deafening silence--the futile beating of my bleeding heart, the frantic falling of my feet, my voice, empty, hollow, breaking. My chest is open and my body aches, choking and gasping for air. Exposed and naked, desolate and alone.
What am I supposed to do with all these leftover feelings of you?
I am full of hollow echoes and empty voices--voices of the dead ringing in my head--what can I say that hasn't already been said? Poems to be read, flowers by your head... what am I supposed to do?
Burn the chapel, break the strings; it's all I can do not to scream.
And now I'm supposed to rebuild. Survive. Continue.
And the cacophony drones on, oblivious, enveloping all distinguishable sounds: no melody, no symphony, no song. A few were lucky--I was lucky--to hear what used to be. But now we hear it no more. And we never will again. Not within these walls.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Stay with Me
No, thanks.
I got it.
It's okay.
I'm fine.
It's all good.
I'm just tired.
I don't need any help.
I can do this by myself.
I used to it.
I got it.
It's okay.
I'm fine.
It's all good.
I'm just tired.
I don't need any help.
I can do this by myself.
I used to it.
Monday, April 7, 2014
The Choice
Last night I gave up my dream. I examined all options and all possibility, every chance and every opportunity. They said there was no way I could succeed and thus no reason for me to continue. So I threw in the towel and walked away.
I awoke in a cold sweat--heavy breathing, mind racing; the towel still in my hand.
I awoke in a cold sweat--heavy breathing, mind racing; the towel still in my hand.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
March Madness
The following is a homework assignment that I wrote for a class.
"The term “billion” tends to be thrown around a lot these days: billions of years, billions of people, billions of dollars—especially dollars. The U.S. government has become quite chummy with the term and sum in recent times, spending billions of greenbacks with ease. However this March, the term became a household phrase once again for millions of sports fans around the nation.
"As if March Madness wasn’t already a huge deal in the sports realm, it became even bigger this month when investor Warren Buffett offered $1 billion dollars to anyone who could successfully fill out a perfect bracket.
"Until Buffett’s generous offer, for me, March Madness was just a phrase that was excessively thrown around on ESPN several weeks before baseball season came out of hibernation. Basketball is not my favorite sport, especially college hoops concerning large universities that I could care less about. But it’s not everyday you get a shot at a billion dollars for predicting the outcome of a few basketball games. So I signed up and joined the other ten million hopefuls around the nation seeking to win the big billion.
"The art of filling out a tournament bracket has become a science in of itself, with websites, TV, and radio programming dedicated to strategy and educated guessing. Casual sports fan that I am, I wrote up my bracket in five minutes by the seat of my pants. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get lucky. After all, in 2011 NFL quarterback Matt Hasselbeck’s five-year-old son nearly pulled it off, maintain perfection into the third round and placing in the top 100 brackets out of 6 million that year. Young Hasselbeck made his picks based on the look of the schools’ mascots.
"What are the actual odds of winning it big with a blind pick? Probably like trying to predict word for word the contents of a book before the author writes it. A professor from DePaul University did the math: it’s roughly 1 in 9.2 quintillion (that’s 18 zeros). The odds are slightly better if you know anything about college basketball, which I don’t. I would mathematically have a better chance of winning the lottery, being struck by lightning, or playing professional basketball myself than receiving the golden check from Mr. Buffett. Maybe Warren is smarter than we thought.
"Needless to say, it is no surprise that it’s never been done: the world has yet to see a perfect bracket. This year, with upsets by Harvard, Dayton, Stanford and North Dakota State, the overwhelming majority of potential perfect brackets were destroyed in the first round—including mine.
"At the end of the day, the same ten million fans (including myself) will mostly like be right back in the same spot next March: glued to laptops and TV sets, rooting for their teams and filling their brackets. Putting aside all the numbers and the predictions and the upsets, ultimately we all just want to believe that today could be somebody’s lucky day. It’s worth a shot."
"The term “billion” tends to be thrown around a lot these days: billions of years, billions of people, billions of dollars—especially dollars. The U.S. government has become quite chummy with the term and sum in recent times, spending billions of greenbacks with ease. However this March, the term became a household phrase once again for millions of sports fans around the nation.
"As if March Madness wasn’t already a huge deal in the sports realm, it became even bigger this month when investor Warren Buffett offered $1 billion dollars to anyone who could successfully fill out a perfect bracket.
"Until Buffett’s generous offer, for me, March Madness was just a phrase that was excessively thrown around on ESPN several weeks before baseball season came out of hibernation. Basketball is not my favorite sport, especially college hoops concerning large universities that I could care less about. But it’s not everyday you get a shot at a billion dollars for predicting the outcome of a few basketball games. So I signed up and joined the other ten million hopefuls around the nation seeking to win the big billion.
"The art of filling out a tournament bracket has become a science in of itself, with websites, TV, and radio programming dedicated to strategy and educated guessing. Casual sports fan that I am, I wrote up my bracket in five minutes by the seat of my pants. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get lucky. After all, in 2011 NFL quarterback Matt Hasselbeck’s five-year-old son nearly pulled it off, maintain perfection into the third round and placing in the top 100 brackets out of 6 million that year. Young Hasselbeck made his picks based on the look of the schools’ mascots.
"What are the actual odds of winning it big with a blind pick? Probably like trying to predict word for word the contents of a book before the author writes it. A professor from DePaul University did the math: it’s roughly 1 in 9.2 quintillion (that’s 18 zeros). The odds are slightly better if you know anything about college basketball, which I don’t. I would mathematically have a better chance of winning the lottery, being struck by lightning, or playing professional basketball myself than receiving the golden check from Mr. Buffett. Maybe Warren is smarter than we thought.
"Needless to say, it is no surprise that it’s never been done: the world has yet to see a perfect bracket. This year, with upsets by Harvard, Dayton, Stanford and North Dakota State, the overwhelming majority of potential perfect brackets were destroyed in the first round—including mine.
"At the end of the day, the same ten million fans (including myself) will mostly like be right back in the same spot next March: glued to laptops and TV sets, rooting for their teams and filling their brackets. Putting aside all the numbers and the predictions and the upsets, ultimately we all just want to believe that today could be somebody’s lucky day. It’s worth a shot."
Monday, March 31, 2014
Wanderlust
Pack your things, descend the mountain, fall back to earth. The hunt is over, the quest is finished, the adventure is done; it's time to go home. Wash your face, clean your clothes, mend your wounds. Back to the village, to familiar faces and worn footpaths, to routine and tradition. Return the hammer to the nail, the pen to the paper, the plow to the field. Family, friends, familiarity; sunrise, sunset, sunrise, sunset. Again and again. But it's not enough.
Boots to fresh earth, rains crashing against naked heads, burdens riding weary shoulders, winds through unkempt hair, suns against broad backs, strong and sure. The world ahead, nothing else matters.
Stress in the eyes, coffee in hand, cars, people, going, moving, clients, bosses, typing, working, slaving, surviving, dreaming--dreaming. Back to the woods, back to the mountains, to danger and uncertainty, unknown and impossible; back to legend and lore, myth and mystery. Anything can happen.
The window calls, the horizon beckons, the eagle screams overhead.
Be here.
The sun never stops, rising and falling like the tide.
Longing, yearning, wishing.
Dreaming.
But it's not enough.
Boots to fresh earth, rains crashing against naked heads, burdens riding weary shoulders, winds through unkempt hair, suns against broad backs, strong and sure. The world ahead, nothing else matters.
Stress in the eyes, coffee in hand, cars, people, going, moving, clients, bosses, typing, working, slaving, surviving, dreaming--dreaming. Back to the woods, back to the mountains, to danger and uncertainty, unknown and impossible; back to legend and lore, myth and mystery. Anything can happen.
The window calls, the horizon beckons, the eagle screams overhead.
Be here.
The sun never stops, rising and falling like the tide.
Longing, yearning, wishing.
Dreaming.
But it's not enough.
Friday, March 21, 2014
headless
looking, admiring, searching. gliding over blossoms, almost touching, open and extended
colors and shapes, sprouting, standing, spinning in the breeze, delicate and fragile. scattered on the soil, hanging from leaves, shimmering in the sun, beauty for one, food for another
sealed shut, waiting for spring, thorns for distance, distaste for protection, only revealing within in anticipation of warmth. reaching, bending, waiting
headless, selected and chosen for radiance and beauty to sit behind glass, stand tall in ceramics, or fulfilling emotion and commitment with ink and paper. headless, decapitated, half buried, plucked on a whim, tossed and trampled
insignificant, isolated on the fringes, tempting weeds, separated and alone
Clarity.
pang of certainty
waves of doubt, winds blow, weeds grow, rain stops
hands to nourish, hearts to cherish, home to dwell
picked, not plucked, adopted, not abandoned, blooming, not headless
colors and shapes, sprouting, standing, spinning in the breeze, delicate and fragile. scattered on the soil, hanging from leaves, shimmering in the sun, beauty for one, food for another
sealed shut, waiting for spring, thorns for distance, distaste for protection, only revealing within in anticipation of warmth. reaching, bending, waiting
headless, selected and chosen for radiance and beauty to sit behind glass, stand tall in ceramics, or fulfilling emotion and commitment with ink and paper. headless, decapitated, half buried, plucked on a whim, tossed and trampled
insignificant, isolated on the fringes, tempting weeds, separated and alone
Clarity.
pang of certainty
waves of doubt, winds blow, weeds grow, rain stops
hands to nourish, hearts to cherish, home to dwell
picked, not plucked, adopted, not abandoned, blooming, not headless
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
From Me to You
She begins slowly with a few soft lines sketched in the middle of empty space in a lifeless universe. Steady motion produces more lines, giving way to distinct shapes. Talent and effort becomes apparent as lines and shapes mature into images, characters living and breathing within a real space, within another life, another world. The hand moves as the mind sees, as she sees so the page reveals, transcoded from imagination to ink to the best of her ability. The final touches, an explosion of vibrant color completes the journey from mental image to physical snapshot.
He begins slowly as well, a few lines and strokes residing between lines on a page. He too aims to paint his imagination, he too looks to bring images to life and create anew within empty space. However, his approach is subtle and his method discreet. Many miss it upon first glance. The hand moves as the mind sees, as he sees so the page reveals, transcoded from imagination to ink to the best of his ability. But there are no images on his page, no pictures, no worlds, no life. Only words. Only words that spew color and imagination, only words that carry depth and meaning from his mind to any reader willing to see it and any reader willing to digest it. An explosion of vision and purpose, leaping off the page and coming to rest with anyone who is brave enough to light the fuse, one spark to another.
She draws. He writes. She sings, he paints, she dances, he plays, they live and we all create. From thought to expression, imagination to realization, artist to viewer, from me to you.
Monday, March 10, 2014
With Open Eyes
He sat on the bench as he did everyday, drinking in the sunrise, absorbing the warmth of the day, motionless as the movement of the day swirls around him. He rests on the bench but his soul is elsewhere, flying far above the ground, traveling to lands unseen and worlds unknown. His steps have been carefully planned and he rehearses his flight every day. He has seen many sun-risings and sun-fallings, many moons and countless years from his seat on the bench. His hair is gray now and his body grows old, but his spirit is still young and restless. His feet would never touch the ground that his soul so faithfully tread.
"All men dream: but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake up in the day to find that it was vanity, but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dreams with open eyes, to make it possible." - T.E. Lawrence
Monday, March 3, 2014
Dear Diary..
Dear diary, what a day it's been
Dear diary, it's been just like a dream
Woke up too late, wasn't where I should've been
For goodness sake, what's happening to me?
Write lightly,
Yours truly..
Dear diary,
It's worse that I thought. The face in the mirror today, bloodshot, unshaven, unkempt. Alarm still ringing in my ears. The red numbers tell me it's too early to be awake. The sun is still asleep. Desk is a mess, books, papers, dinner from three nights ago, where did this come from? Mind is groggy and messy like my hair. Like my desk. Now the numbers tell me I should have started half an hour ago. This pile of papers will be the death of me.
Dear diary, it's been just like a dream
Woke up too late, wasn't where I should've been
For goodness sake, what's happening to me?
Write lightly,
Yours truly..
Dear diary,
It's worse that I thought. The face in the mirror today, bloodshot, unshaven, unkempt. Alarm still ringing in my ears. The red numbers tell me it's too early to be awake. The sun is still asleep. Desk is a mess, books, papers, dinner from three nights ago, where did this come from? Mind is groggy and messy like my hair. Like my desk. Now the numbers tell me I should have started half an hour ago. This pile of papers will be the death of me.
Some days my desk is the chariot of freedom, the page my only escape. Not today. Today the lined paper is my cage, the chains that bind and restrain me.
See that? Should've saved that one for the blog. I could be blogging right now. Ugh, don't remind me. Distracted. Coffee's probably cold by now. I really need to get to work instead of writing about how I need to get to work.
The fiery oranges and soft yellows creeping over the horizon makes me smile even from behind the locked and closed window. Even that was halfway artistic. The sky's a canvas right now, the grass shimmering in the sunlight, wet with the morning dew. A breath of rain still lingers in the fresh, crisp air. At least I think so. I can't tell from in here.
What if I went outside real quick? The silence in here is so loud right now, just the sounds of the morning might cure me of the stale life I'm living. What I wouldn't give to go outside. To be free for five minutes. To be me for five minutes. Anything is better than this. But I've already wasted enough time. I should've started an hour ago. But five more minutes never killed anybody. Only five minutes, I swea--
Tied to the Wrong Desk
I could write another cryptic post about how this blog has gone dark but I don't even have time for that right now. Things are a bit hectic with school and I haven't been able to let the dust the settle on my desk so I can write something. I haven't had time to think. That's my problem. Anyway, I'll try to get back to it as soon as I find a moment to catch my breath.
Thanks for your support.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Smoke and Mirrors
The auditorium begins to fill. Like a glacier, the throng of nameless people descend down the aisles to their seats. Deep breath. Showtime.
Curtain opens, music erupts, sparks fly. Take my hand and follow me. Dancers dance, singers sing, actors act. Let me tell you a story, let me sing you a song. Lights, colors, motion. Magic, illusion, awe. I'll make you feel, I'll make you care. Stakes are raised, emotion rises. Climax, plot twist, fireworks, finale.
Curtains close, show's over. Crowd erupts, standing ovation. Leave the theater, you can't stay here. Clean up, wind down, prepare to do it all again tomorrow.
Small child approaches, eyes full of magic. "I saw you behind the curtain," he says. "I saw you pushing the buttons and pulling the levers. Why didn't you come out on stage?"
Kneel to his level, eye to eye. "I was onstage the whole time," I said. "Sometimes it's really hard to see me through all the smoke and fireworks."
"How come you use the smoke?"
"The crowd isn't here to see me. They just want to see a show."
The child thought for a second.
"Do you ever wish the people could see you?"
My turn to think.
"They will. Someday."
Monday, February 10, 2014
All The King's Men
Glass bottles on the windowsill, standing proud and still for all to see. The grunge of sweat and tears no longer stains; only transparent glass remains, polished and clear. Once prized and cherished, now cold and useless. Open mouths reaching upwards in protest, longing to be filled. The tops were never found. Emptiness abounds.
The windowsill is full of emptiness, growing everyday like a bad addiction, new and clean replacing old and dusty, overflowing, lingering precariously on the edge. Spinning, tumbling, crashing against harsh reality like raindrops falling on barren trees. Over and over.
The windowsill is full of emptiness, growing everyday like a bad addiction, new and clean replacing old and dusty, overflowing, lingering precariously on the edge. Spinning, tumbling, crashing against harsh reality like raindrops falling on barren trees. Over and over.
Sharp chunks of failure and disappointment scattered across the floor, the bottles are nothing more.
All the king's horses and all the king's men can't put Humpty together again.
Monday, February 3, 2014
Sometimes Silence
They say the first thing you forget about a person is their voice. I haven't forgotten yours. Not yet.
It's been so long that I fear you've changed. I'm afraid the memories deceive me. I'm scared that the one I left and the person I meet won't be the same person. I'm afraid that this won't be a rekindling of two souls, but an awkward exchange between two equally wounded individuals who barely know each other anymore.
But I haven't changed, I can promise you that. I'm still the same way you found me - broken and alone.
My mind is full of everything I've ever wanted to say to you; I wrote it all down so I could remember. I have it all planned out. I replay the moment over and over in my mind, as if it's already happened: you walking through the door, a smile on your lips, your eyes electric and piercing, and your voice. It's sweeter, smoother than I remember. Your very presence is soothing to my aching heart. And then I would spill the beans, I would tell you everything I was too timid to say before. I would come clean about me. About you.
I sit where I can see the door clearly without being too obvious. The butterflies in my stomach nearly fly from my mouth in a nervous stream of excitement, my heart thunders inside my chest, threatening to explode. My eyes stray back to the door incessantly; I can't help it. I rehearse in my mind again and again, waiting, feeling, hoping, dying.
Time came and went. It was time to go home. I stand there, lost in the throng, alone in disbelief. Surrounded by people, none of them you.
Frozen beside the door. I can't leave. I can't leave you.
I hit the door, I hear my name. I turn and you are there. No angels singing, no rainbows in the sky, no beating of my heart. Only you.
I find myself falling, falling into your embrace, a jumble of smiles and tears, exhausted and trembling, broken but no longer alone.
The words die in my throat.
Sometimes silence is the only way to tell you how I feel.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Damaged
It doesn't look broken. Sometimes it doesn't even feel broken. But I know better than that. It's broken.
I've managed to hide my limp for some time now. But it's taking its toll. My muscles ache and my leg is getting worse. At night, when I finally reach the safety and solitude of my bedroom, the pain is overwhelming and the blood flows. The pain has defeated my fatigue for three nights in a row. I can't do this much longer.
I know what I need to do but I can't afford for you to see me like this. A cast would reveal my secret. I could fake it during the day and nurse my wounds in the dark.
I don't want medical assistance, I just need a crutch. I can lean on the crutch until the pain subsides and is manageable again. Maybe I'll abandon the crutch when the pain is gone. And if someone questions my health, I can pass it off as a sprain or the like; a sprain or a twisted ankle is always better than being broken.
Too bad nobody likes being a crutch.
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Discretion
Close the books, blot out the names. Some feelings are better left unfelt, some skeletons better left in the closet, some things better left unsaid.
The goal is to put grey matter onto the page, not blood and guts all over the walls.
Know your demons, but do not reveal them.
Sunday, January 26, 2014
The Ocean Between Us
I want to show you something, I want to take you somewhere. But be warned, oxygen and reality don't exist where we're going.Gear covers the floor: masks, fins, snorkels, wetsuits, weight belts. Better suit up. We're going wreck diving.
Sunken ships and buried treasure, exploring the beauty of a once beautiful piece of machinery that perished beneath the waves and made it's final resting place at the bottom of the sea.
Something like that.
Something like that.
From the boat the waves look calm enough, rippling and rolling gently with the wind. Sunlight dances and shimmers on the surface, blinding the eyes and concealing what lies below. The boat is comfortable enough, familiar at least. Landlubber. Time to dive in, headfirst. Can't explore the ocean from the safety of the boat. I'll show you the way. The rules are different down there. Take my hand and hold your breath.
Beneath the waves, the world above is no more. No blue skies, no clouds. The space beneath the waves is cruel, cold, dense, wet. Immersion. Yet there is life. Mountains of coral reefs and hills of underwater vegetation, amazing each in their own way, teeming with life and color. Towering stalks of kelp, speckled sunlight filtering through it's foliage, swaying gracefully in unseen currents, thriving, growing. Unknown creatures, beautiful and dangerous; swimming by, minding their own business, asking you to do the same. Nature is best left untouched.
The deeper you go, the more things change, the weirder the creatures get, the more the pressure hurts. Less color down here too, away from the sunlight. The pretty blues and greens and yellows slowly descend into grey. The going gets slow, movement is sluggish.
But you're doing well. Most people don't get this deep without their lungs screaming for air and their eyes burning for clarity. Your average Joe doesn't have the intestinal fortitude to push this far, to see what he's never seen before, to step out of his comfort zone. Instead, he panics and paws at the water, scrambling to return to the surface where the air is clear and everything makes sense. But wreckage tends to sink to the bottom.
Further into the depths we go, where birds don't sing and suns don't shine. Light can't penetrate this darkness. Even the glowing, weird-looking fish don't venture this far.The seabed looms. Empty.
You look confused. Where is it? No sunken ship or doomed vessel? No buried treasure? You came all the way down here to show me an underwater wasteland? There is nothing as far as the eye can see. No life, no movement. Dead.
Where's the wreck?
You're looking at him.
Fate or Fantasy
Just give me the truth.
Is this meant to be?
Or am I simply holding on to an elusive fantasy?
Is this meant to be?
Or am I simply holding on to an elusive fantasy?
Monday, January 20, 2014
Bootless
Scribble. Crumble. Toss.
Scribble, crumble, toss.
It's become a sick game, played out of despair and sometimes boredom.
Rhythmic, catchy, deadly.
Scribble, crumble, toss.
Try, fail, discard.
Rinse and repeat.
Crumble. Toss. Missed.
Stop. Reluctantly get up, put the rouge projectile in it's place. Try again.
Ready, aim, toss. Made it.
This waste of time, this cycle of maddening nothingness. Crumble, toss.
No longer writing, just tossing. Missing. No good. All of it.
Clock laughs. Stomach growls. Eyes itch. Spirits fall. Darkness deepens.
My eyes fly open.
The road appears before me, slivers of light through oppressive cloud cover. The gate is open.
Scribble. Faster, faster, write, dance, run before it vanishes! GO!
I am somewhere far from here, moving very swiftly, spanning worlds and realms undiscovered.
Desperately trying to hold on.
Fingers slip. Hand cramps. Pencil breaks.
Like a dog abruptly reaching the end of its leash.
Gone.
Crumble. Sigh. Toss.
The wastebasket overflows. My mind is vacant.
Maybe I'm trying too hard.
Maybe I'm not trying hard enough.
Fall asleep regretting everything I never wrote.
Scribble, crumble, toss.
It's become a sick game, played out of despair and sometimes boredom.
Rhythmic, catchy, deadly.
Scribble, crumble, toss.
Try, fail, discard.
Rinse and repeat.
Crumble. Toss. Missed.
Stop. Reluctantly get up, put the rouge projectile in it's place. Try again.
Ready, aim, toss. Made it.
This waste of time, this cycle of maddening nothingness. Crumble, toss.
No longer writing, just tossing. Missing. No good. All of it.
Clock laughs. Stomach growls. Eyes itch. Spirits fall. Darkness deepens.
My eyes fly open.
The road appears before me, slivers of light through oppressive cloud cover. The gate is open.
Scribble. Faster, faster, write, dance, run before it vanishes! GO!
I am somewhere far from here, moving very swiftly, spanning worlds and realms undiscovered.
Desperately trying to hold on.
Fingers slip. Hand cramps. Pencil breaks.
Like a dog abruptly reaching the end of its leash.
Gone.
Crumble. Sigh. Toss.
The wastebasket overflows. My mind is vacant.
Maybe I'm trying too hard.
Maybe I'm not trying hard enough.
Fall asleep regretting everything I never wrote.
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Fistful of Sand
I spent every day at the pond that autumn, watching the leaves fall. I liked my little leaf-boats. I chose them, collected them, raced them across the water, guiding them with my own breath. Soon I had so many boats that the pond was getting crowded. The leaves covered the pond in fiery shades of descending autumn. Maybe I should put my boats out to sea. Even more room and more wind to be free. I set out for the docks with my fleet of leaves to take the world by storm.
At the docks, I saw other boats. Big boats, powerful and efficient. Adorned with names that hung on everyone's lips, masts as thick as trees, harnessing the power of many winds to sail vast oceans, carrying much cargo and many people.
I stood there in awe, still clutching my armload of leaves. These simple leaves would surely be crushed and drown under the bows of such overpowering vessels. My boats used to make me happy; these leaves used to be all I wanted and all I could think about, consuming my mind and my time. Now my once pleasant memories of the pond seemed shallow and stagnant, a complete waste of time. The clanging of ships' horns rang in my ears, the deep murmurs of the horn reverberated in my chest, shaking the foundations of my soul and raising goosebumps on my skin.My leaves continued to tumble to the ground as they always have, this time in tiny bits and pieces of greens and reds and yellows, slipping through my clenched fists like so much sand.
Monday, January 13, 2014
Last Hope
I was going to sing you a song but I couldn't find the music.
I was going to draw you a picture but I couldn't find a pencil.
I was going to dance you a dance but I couldn't find my feet.
I was going to write you a story but I couldn't find a happy ending.
I was going to make you smile but I couldn't find my heart.
I was going to tell you I loved you but I couldn't find the words to say.
I was going to be your hero but I couldn't save you in time.
I was going to be there for you but I couldn't keep my promise.
I was going to tell you I'm sorry but I couldn't find the courage.
I was going to walk away but you wouldn't let me go.
I was going to draw you a picture but I couldn't find a pencil.
I was going to dance you a dance but I couldn't find my feet.
I was going to write you a story but I couldn't find a happy ending.
I was going to make you smile but I couldn't find my heart.
I was going to tell you I loved you but I couldn't find the words to say.
I was going to be your hero but I couldn't save you in time.
I was going to be there for you but I couldn't keep my promise.
I was going to tell you I'm sorry but I couldn't find the courage.
I was going to walk away but you wouldn't let me go.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Killing Time
Swift, silent, and unseen, everywhere and nowhere. Around me and beside me. Propelling me forward and holding me back. Killing me slowly; a savior for bottled sand.
I reached out into the nothingness and buried the blade deep into its chest. The flurry of movement died on the floor.
Sands ceased to fall. My heartbeat slowed ever so slightly. I sat down in disgust. I knew what happened next.
It stirred. But this time I didn't have the heart to stab it again.
I reached out into the nothingness and buried the blade deep into its chest. The flurry of movement died on the floor.
Sands ceased to fall. My heartbeat slowed ever so slightly. I sat down in disgust. I knew what happened next.
It stirred. But this time I didn't have the heart to stab it again.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Spellbound
Sometimes I wish I could project letters from my fingertips,
Each word forming sentences, paragraphs, stanzas on the page,
Lining up and falling into place, each on its own accord.
Lining up and falling into place, each on its own accord.
Like a wizard from a fairy tale,
I would cast deep spells of enchantment and sorcery,
I would cast deep spells of enchantment and sorcery,
Captivating whoever dared to look upon the bewitched writings.
But then I realize this power does indeed exist,
And then I wonder why I don't use it more often.
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Fears
No one will read it.
Bigger fear.
No one will understand it.
Biggest fear.
Not that you do not have the patience to read it, but that I do not possess the heart to write it.
Monday, January 6, 2014
2013 - I Winged It
I know 2013 is gone but I thought it would be beneficial for me to sit down and briefly assess the year that I had.
As a college student, my year is divided into two phases: school and not-school. Quite a lot of the first and little slivers of the second. Two school semesters sandwiched around a long summer break.
January 2013. Spring semester on the horizon. The parents tell me that this could very well be my last semester at the school because of monetary issues. I was advised to take eighteen units instead of the usual fifteen so I could finish with 60 credits and possibly transfer out to another school with two full years under my belt. Something like that. Three more units, one extra class. That can't be that much harder right? Wrong.
For some reason, I was not at all prepared for that semester. I went in knowing it would be difficult, knowing it would be a lot and knowing I would have to step it up to do well. For some reason, I just wasn't there. My grades weren't awful but they could've been better. On top of all the stresses of classes and work and grades, I got real sick in April and missed a week of class. Everything turned out okay in the end; I still managed to have a good time and pass all my classes, but it definitely could have been a better semester on my part.
In the middle of the summer I went on a 'missions trip' with my school to inner city Los Angeles where we lived and worked with a church in the projects for four weeks. Life-changing to say the least. One of the best things I've ever done. But that's another story for another day. In the weeks before the trip however, I was not prepared. I was frustrated over things at home and at the dojo, I was rather bored with no job and nothing to do. My head was not in the right place. I was caught up in myself, concerned about me and what I want to do and where I want to go, yet I was going on this trip to be selfless and serve and help others. I had a huge reality check the night before I left home; it was one of those "what in the world are you doing, get yourself together" kind of night. But I went on the trip. It worked out. I made it through with a good attitude and had the time of my life. Who knew.
Six weeks later I was back to school. I went two weeks early for work purposes so I had a lot of time to steel myself for another full semester. I was determined not to make Fall '13 a repeat of Spring '13. Wrong again.
I don't know how else to put it. I was not mentally there until three weeks into the semester. I really scrambled to get the first round of papers in, staying up late and waking up early to write six or seven papers of all sizes in four days. Reality check again. "Your parents are giving how much for you to be at this school? And you reward them by procrastinating and spacing out. Well done." Played catch-up the rest of the way, it sucked but I survived. What I deemed to be my worst semester thus far ended up being my best semester academically. Don't ask me how.
I don't know if you've noticed a theme here. I did Boy Scouts when I was wee lad. Apparently all the "Be Prepared" pledges I took didn't pan out because I was prepared for nothing all year long. I know I can't be completely prepared for anything and the year did have its surprises but I wasn't even prepared for the things that I knew were going to go down. I felt like the entire year was one big "I'm about to jump out of this plane but I guess I'll check the parachute on the way down" kind of deal. What the heck.
If there's anything to learn from last year's mistakes it would be... get your feet underneath you and get your head in the game? I feel like I got away with a lot and I know that I can't afford to do that again. Stuff is getting real and I need to hit the ground running this year.
Now's the time to make resolutions and start over yes? New year, new you right? Here's an "easy" one: look back on what you did and take the necessary step to not making those mistakes again. Yes you will find new mistakes to make this year but at least you won't be stumbling over the blunders of the past.
Don't just "wing it". That's what I did. Don't do what I did.
In the middle of the summer I went on a 'missions trip' with my school to inner city Los Angeles where we lived and worked with a church in the projects for four weeks. Life-changing to say the least. One of the best things I've ever done. But that's another story for another day. In the weeks before the trip however, I was not prepared. I was frustrated over things at home and at the dojo, I was rather bored with no job and nothing to do. My head was not in the right place. I was caught up in myself, concerned about me and what I want to do and where I want to go, yet I was going on this trip to be selfless and serve and help others. I had a huge reality check the night before I left home; it was one of those "what in the world are you doing, get yourself together" kind of night. But I went on the trip. It worked out. I made it through with a good attitude and had the time of my life. Who knew.
Six weeks later I was back to school. I went two weeks early for work purposes so I had a lot of time to steel myself for another full semester. I was determined not to make Fall '13 a repeat of Spring '13. Wrong again.
I don't know how else to put it. I was not mentally there until three weeks into the semester. I really scrambled to get the first round of papers in, staying up late and waking up early to write six or seven papers of all sizes in four days. Reality check again. "Your parents are giving how much for you to be at this school? And you reward them by procrastinating and spacing out. Well done." Played catch-up the rest of the way, it sucked but I survived. What I deemed to be my worst semester thus far ended up being my best semester academically. Don't ask me how.
I don't know if you've noticed a theme here. I did Boy Scouts when I was wee lad. Apparently all the "Be Prepared" pledges I took didn't pan out because I was prepared for nothing all year long. I know I can't be completely prepared for anything and the year did have its surprises but I wasn't even prepared for the things that I knew were going to go down. I felt like the entire year was one big "I'm about to jump out of this plane but I guess I'll check the parachute on the way down" kind of deal. What the heck.
If there's anything to learn from last year's mistakes it would be... get your feet underneath you and get your head in the game? I feel like I got away with a lot and I know that I can't afford to do that again. Stuff is getting real and I need to hit the ground running this year.
Now's the time to make resolutions and start over yes? New year, new you right? Here's an "easy" one: look back on what you did and take the necessary step to not making those mistakes again. Yes you will find new mistakes to make this year but at least you won't be stumbling over the blunders of the past.
Don't just "wing it". That's what I did. Don't do what I did.
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