The Desert Life

This is strange. I haven’t put a pen to paper in well over a year and before that even longer. I’m afraid I won’t be able to do this, or afraid I’ll unlock so many intangible thoughts this won’t make sense. I’m trying not to be reflective. It’s never been done before where I think without a vessel such as the voice in my brain or my tongue. This is straight to ink. I feel like I’m back in school. Pop culture flickers in the background of my solarium fortress. My itunes is loaded and except for this baby blue pen on computer paper, I guess I’ve premeditated this like a married couple has sex. I thought life was hard in high school when and where I was driven or “inspired” to write every week wrapped in girl jeans, black T’s, along with firearm and suicide like metaphors. I didn’t smoke in high school. (I don’t know where this is going). I’ve been procrastinating on this like going to the gym. I’m unhappy, very, completely. It’s odd how you can accomplish so much but still feel like you’re so much behind where you started. (I think there’s something there). I miss writing. It’s nice to record an entire one sided conversation so when you show it to anyone to read, they listen completely without interruption and for me at least, distraction. But anyways, back to my previous thought. How is it remotely possible to move so far forward in your life but seem like you’re 3 steps behind where you started or worse? It’s like renovating your house but the new high tech dryer ignites and burns it to the soil. You expanded your house logically to be left with nothing at all. Is it your fault? That’s where I stand myself. Wondering did I fiddle with something back home that was logical enough but boring as hell to be left with nothing. We’re so desperate to face lift our lives. It’s so easy to say “Hang in there… good things are coming your way”. Ironically I’ve said those words about a trillium times. But what happens when you can’t. I’m not talking necessarily mentally but when you physically cannot because you no longer have the resources. When the optimistic, positively charged electrical storm around you is unplugged by the hydro company and you realize you’re neck deep in a steamy pill of shit. If I had the answer I’d be winking and smiling a whole lot more. Blame it on poor planning, irresponsibility, laziness; it’s all of those things. Retreat or press on? I can still see where I started, where I am presently, just not where I’m going. I call it the desert life. The drinking water I had all my life just didn’t quench my thirst. And now I’m the one stupid enough and proud enough to look for something with a better kick with no map, direction or promise. It’s a test to see how long you can survive off hope not liquids. I know in reality it’s not necessarily a case of life and death but for the soul it sure as heck definitely is. I can always go back home for now but there’s no way that’s living, that’s inheriting. I love my family very much but I am NOT Gods version of cloning. It’s a case of working for a living or waiting for the lottery. Can there not be balance? Is there no hope for dreams at all anymore? I mean besides waiting for Extreme Home Makeover to change your Saturday afternoon with a bus and a megaphone. I’m sun burnt, dehydrated beyond belief and engulfed by sand but I’ll keep crawling towards the horizon. There are plenty of opinions out there I’m sure that will think this is a complaint and that I fail to realize what I have. (I’m guilty there as well). If you think that, you’re bass akwards. I know damn well what I have right now and unlike most appreciate it with utmost respect. What I have right now is a wagon. Now a wagon is a hell of a lot better than having to carry the weight of this life on my head but I’m looking for a horse to pull. It’s evolution. Maybe these hopes and dreams are all just a yeaning to evolve? I think it’s pretty obvious, along with the humor of all the childhood cartoons sparked in my memory derived from the word “evolve”. It’s an excruciatingly hard decision! Is there a breaking point? I don’t know that either. But for right now I’m 22 years old, its 1:30am on a Thursday night, Randy Travis spits from my laptop and I’m a complete nobody. Mirage or not I think I’ll stay just who I am. I’ve got absolutely nothing to lose because that’s life. *Important Note* And when life take’s all you have, just look it calmly in the face, make notion like you have something sincere to say, then kick it full force in the dick.

Medusa Just Shy of Three

Medusa I love you, so stop this party of aphasia and kiss me hard. When we touched I could tell you meant it. The background was still moving past our windows. It was like the car was a capsule isolated from time itself and while we kissed we sat still and time was rushing past us like a mob of business people on the streets of New York. The kiss was covered up by stained glass eyelids lit by the sun outside moving slower than the trees. When our eyes opened you locked onto me with them like a fighter plane. You held my hand tight as we both sat back . You in the drivers seat, had my hand and the hand of your side door. We watched the steering wheel with a mind of it’s own. It was like a king cobra hypnotizing us and pushing us back into our seats. The hydro poles were lighthouses all controlled by men asleep from the drink. The turbulence from the gravel shore was as violent as a rodeo bull, throwing us around but we held on, and kept each other never to let go. The car pounced from the shore and hugged one of the lighthouses waking the man inside, tipping his drink spilling sparks like fireworks just for us. The car hugged it well and hugged it tight. The rigor mortis began knocking me out and binding us down with our hands wrapped together as we turned to a photograph and the cement filled our limbs. You saw your reflection in my eyes and you meant for it. The pill you chased down with a cup of ambition was your own. We are now carved in stone with mangled metal for framework, permanently intact. Divinci couldn’t have planned a finer piece himself. When they find us they will know we are lovers. Hand-in-hand: so delicate, so calm, so perfect.

Realty Sucks

don't load your cannons, it's not over yet
there’s a man with a trumpet driving them back
with guns for fists and eyes glazed with fire
he plays the anthem of my heart and we march
don't rely on a sniper or an arrow of hope
we march because there is nothing left to hold
the pistol without vacancy tells me I won't be captured
my bridges sing from their ashes a song of victory
I’ll drive her back into the sea like the unicorns who once roamed the earth
I’ll wave to her as she capsizes into my feet
she'll stay harnessed by the horizon and tormented by a rising storm
I’ll send her my apologies in bottles that were emptied over night
I can't stay in this house with walls encrypted by her voice
I’ll walk away silently as this all ascends to the mourning sky
like the souls of my cavalry that never stood a chance
it's a long road ahead but I’ve caught a new melody that goes like this:
on the battlefield of love, guard your queen with all the armies in the world
then bury them under a city of mines and call for help
lets get this war started

Untitled:

If you love something set it free. The statement is definitely along the lines of rhinestones pasted on a cell phone circa 2002. Sounds nice and has a white knight, honorable exterior but literally means nothing at all. It's in the same family of phrases such as: "Everything's going to be ok." (When you know it's not going to be ok at all) You say it to someone possibly in a scene of fatality. Just words, a little white lie, they mean nothing at all but for some reason tie to comfort. In this scene of tragedy where someone is passing on and the phrase "Everything will be ok." is used it somehow on the surface assures just that. But behind it, it’s nothing but a filler in good manners. It’s just as imprinted as an automated response such as “See you later.” Even if you could be seeing someone for the last time it seems even too harsh these days to say “Goodbye.” “Goodbye” doesn’t allude to anything it’s a definite end, its death in a conversational sense. “If you love something set it free” translated in terms of my use or the real use means “If you love something learn to love something else.” Nothing is permanent. Basically saying, by the time you love something, you’ve won congratulations! That being said and now fearing I may be swinging into the swamp of contradiction but learn to love something else. Quit while you’re ahead. To save myself in a last whim I’m also saying never let anything go as well as don’t let anything too close and left unattended. Love can be very much like an infection or bacteria, a disease and an addiction. Like smoking, you can come up with the most extreme illegitimate excuses to stick with it. It feels good when taking part and you may say “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll quit before I have kids, once my career kicks off, once I’m a settled adult.” But eventually without warning the cancer rots you out and that’s the song. You’re dead. I preach this limbo, feather in the breeze way of love because otherwise it’s just too hard. I do believe in fairy tales and that there’s one person on the planet that has your heart but just doesn’t realize it. Like a baby in the womb it needs to be nurtured but you can’t feed something that you are not aware exists. About 55% of people find their heart in their lifetime but for the other 45% they just settle and divorce or assume their heart has died of starvation already and give up. There’s all this stress and anxiety in the race to find you’re heart when there’s only just over 50% that you will succeed. Why? Is it really worth the trouble? It’s like being in the final round of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? with the 50/50 life-line in use but you don’t know the answer. The answer is easy to me. Take the $500,000 and run. Yet most people sit in the hot seat biting their fingers to the bone in absolute torture for years. I also see love in a combustible religious sense like these people strapping bombs to themselves. That’s dedication, willing to die for a cause that everyone else thinks is ludicrous. I see PDA car bombs everywhere on park benches, sidewalks, restaurants, and elevators. Almost to make me feel like I’m the one who’s ludicrous. I’m not biased just overwhelmed that love can have as many combinations as a 100 digit pass-code. If you love something set it free. Even now after writing this I no longer know where I stand. Trying to prove one side leaves loop holes for the other and vice versa. You see movies where someone who loves something but won’t let it disappear. They hop on a plane or stop someone from getting on a plane and everything just works out happily ever after. In real life I think it just comes off creepy. If you love something and it’s leaving it doesn’t matter at all whether you love it or not it’s still leaving regardless. The phrase makes it seem like you’re doing the right thing when you’re not in control of a damn thing. Now secret love can still change anything. That has power but we’re back at the 50/50 rut again. It just goes round and round in circles. Everything in the world of romance balances on a blade. It’s a two way single lane street. You’re right or you’re wrong. Usually I have an answer. Usually I can sway myself into one point of view or the other. Here all I can say is that if anyone tells me if I love something to set it free, my answer will be simply “Fuck off.”