Friday, November 14, 2008


Where the fuck are we going, cried the driver to the passenger

I have no clue, you said you knew where we were going and you were so sure of it and all this other stuff.

Yeah, but I relied on you cried the driver, you're the one with the map, I have to pay attention to the road and make sure we get there safely.

That's why I assumed that you knew where you were going, you appeared to be in control. then you started driving really fast down the highway and I was like shit, he knows where he's going if he's going to be driving that fast

So you just assumed, why didn't you ask me while we were moving?

Because you were so involved in your driving. I felt like you didn't even know I was here.

Fuck, now we are stuck in the middle of nowhere, with no gas, no food, no clue where we are.

You know this really sucks, we could have told each other what was going on and avoided the whole thing

Do you really believe that it was fucking inevitable? you said, lets drive, let's keep going, let's never stop and now look at us, in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Hey, why don't you keep reminding me, just in case I forget.

I will, you got us lost, idiot.

No, you fucked up by not telling me what was going on.

I can't read your fucking mind.

You have the attention span of a fucking stop light. you focus for a moment and then boom you're off again, to who knows where.

Well, look at you, you are so quiet, you don't speak. you just sit there doing nothing, waiting for something to happen and then what do you know, nothing happens. that's a big surprise.

(another man in the back seat wakes up.)

Can't anyone get some fucking rest around here. why do you guys keep fighting over nothing?

You stay out of it

I can't believe you can just sleep through all of this.

There was nothing else to do, I was bored with the same scenery.

Are you kidding, it's gorgeous out here.

No it's a wasteland, look at us now in the middle of it.

Thursday, November 13, 2008


Fist off we don't own anything on this earth or in this galaxy. We temporarily claim that everything is ours and that we have control over it all but none of this is true. We are born, we learn through life, through our experiences, through our pains, through our turmoils, through our happiness, through the realization that life is fucked up and beautiful at the same exact moment. So, don't be too sick of the antics, the tongue-tied romantics, the clueless procrastinators, the two faced systematics. 

It takes all of these things for the process and the balance to see it all. Only if you have a true desire to want to. The universe and everything in it is everything that life is. It's every waking hour, every breath, every sunset spent alone, every sunrise spent with some stranger laying naked next to you. 

Our lives are but one pigment of the colors on the color wheel. Take one pigment out and you won't be able to make tertiary colors anymore. There will be no black and white. Everything will be a great big mess. But these are all the foots steps that took us here. You can see the bricks and the apartments and the places where we have all been.

Some questions you may want to ask yourself is who are you? what do you stand for? are you here just to fill a space, a time and a void? are you afraid to be alone?

In my experiences you can do what you want, can take advantage of every possibility and every opportunity that life has to offer. You got the road never traveled filled with weeds, rocks, overgrown with grass or you got the paved road with the guard rails. 

You can drive slowly on one or fast on the other. You either drive straight or straight through the guard rail hoping there's another road to connect to.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008


Listen, first of all, fuck you. Fuck you and all your elaborate buildings and patterns and plans, all your fucking books and movies and talk about all kinds of shit I haven't even said. Blasphemous as it may seem I don't care anymore. I've been following and listening to you for some time and now I am stuck in a big black fucking void and your supposed to be the all knowing, all powerful, above and below being that all your stupid books talk about yet you show me nothing to dig myself out of this hole that I am stuck in. I have been loyal to you. I have done many great things in your name and still I can't feel anything but spite in this moment. 

I want to put you back on the cross and hammer those nine inch nails right back into your wrists but I know that I am just a coward, I know that much. I am sick of calling your name, I am sick of your tricks and your trades of sacrifice for a tiny piece of rice that disintegrates in my hand the moment that I touch it, and most of all I am so fucking sick of having to complain about how much your fucking pissing me off. I have been down so many of your tortured roads. I have left burned down roads from the flames of this fury inside of me. The fire still burns I can't seem to put it out and am ready to put myself out. I am ready to throw water on myself and dig a hole and bury myself right in it. I am sick of your fucking buildings, your money, your power and prestige, your proof, your science, your art, your philosophy. 

You made me in your image and I keep looking everywhere and yes I have found things. I have found what its like to love another and I have found what its like to feel so much love inside. I have seen what its like for the opposite of that. I have witnessed everything in your fucking books, that I know of so far. I don't know anymore about anything. I don't know what the point of all this is. I don't know why I am here. I don't know why I chose this hell. I don't know why I am bitter. I don't know why my humor has left me. If you are the great and powerful all seeing one then please put on your list that I am the next one to take out of here because I can't take this pain and suffering anymore. I have spent 6 months now, wallowing, trying to find the words to say to you. Nothing. I shut my eyes and see nothing. I feel nothing. I keep hitting your walls that you built around me. You humble me and humiliate me and my pride leaves then I have no confidence anymore in anything and I sit here waiting, waiting, waiting and then I tire of waiting so I try and do something and still nothing happens. 

I am not your dog, you are not my dog. I am not pavlov, so please stop showing me food and ringing that fucking bell so that I can sit in front and drool all over the place because I am ready to bite your fucking hand off. I am starving. I am poor. You have reduced me to nothing and you just sit there in your big fancy fucking chair with all the jewels on it and you want me to make you laugh but the fucked up thing is you already are, your laughing at how pathetic I am, at how fucking pathetic even this long winded paragraph is. You'll send people to read this long paragraph and they will say how fucked up I am or how I am lost or all these other things I need to do. Last time I checked though we are human beings, not human doings. 

Even this catharsis is killing me, I keep letting it out and out and it just keeps biting me in the ass. You keep telling me how beautiful the world is but your stupid little newspapers keep telling me of all these promises about how everything will change, how everything will pass, how this is going to happen and how that is going to happen and you know what we are still in the same fucking place we have always been. Your history is proof of that. I have read so much of your literature, your history, your holy wars, your sciences and have spent much time with many people in all areas of your field and all I can say is that I have seen much disappointment. I have failed. I am weaker than you. I keep showing you that and then I snap out of it and I find it again, I find that footing for a moment and it feels great and then you throw me down again to the ground and you punch and kick me while I am down and I cry and I scream because I can't take it anymore, then I am a victim, then I am a crook because I still work for you without pay, I still clean up all your messes. That is how much of a fucking fool I am, I never give up but this time I am. 

Fuck you god, you can have your fucking nest back and all your eggs and everything and if you actually want to show your face this time and have a conversation with me that might amount to something then I welcome you with open arms and open ears. 

So if you want to stop fucking with me and actually show me what you are trying to show me then fine, otherwise this is it. I am done. Finished, but if this is all just the opposite of what I am feeling right now and saying then please prove to me I am wrong.

I am done proving myself to you and taking the beating and backlash.

with love or without.

Thursday, November 6, 2008


Flying down the Garden State Turnpike doing roughly seventy miles per hour with no room to breathe. We were on a mission to eradicate all the boredoms and tragedies of life. Every crazy bastard was behind the wheels of these thunderous machines while clouds rolled off the back windows and disappeared with every inch that we approached that island of lonely people. The one window that did go down well, it was down. The purr of this eight-cylinder machine of hell was nothing of a straight shot at the president with a hunting rifle. Pure adrenaline at the helm. Swerving in and out of the mile-markers, the fast lanes with the slow people in them. It felt like there was an end to the world and we were trying to get as close to the edge of it as possible. 

Then danger ahead. Traffic jams. Gridlocked ironies. Car exhaustion. Makeshift transitions over to the edge of the road and straight on through to evening, hopefully. That's all we had, Hope. Until some bastard in this gas guzzling, American destroying SUV felt the need to cut us off. To discontinue our run to the edges of freedom from the breakdown lane, but we only thought about this for a second and immediately took the situation into our own hands. 

We were driving a fucking ship. The titanic iceberg. This was the kind of car you didn't fuck with at the beginning or the end of each day. Alvaro Uribe Velez and Edgar Allen Poe in the grips of the ship. We went right around without a moments hesitation because we knew that if we didn't it could be years from now to regain this bizarre opportunity of dumb luck. 

We speed past all these slow demons and right past a tractor-trailer truck that had toppled over. There was blood all over the road and a sense that death was here. This wasn't just a coincidence that we were seeing the deathbed of someone we may never know. This was a true crime at hand and we all knew the fine police dept. would take care of everything. If that wasn't bad enough of a break, we pulled up to the tollbooth of the Lincoln Tunnel where for six dollars you can go under the fantastic river of the Hudson and end up on the other side in the land of the vulturous. We entered the tollbooth with caution as the air hadn't really cleared yet and it was just another one of life's treats. 

This lady vulture creaked her salt wound neck over to collect our money but even after collecting it she was still not satisfied. I realized then and there that a Colombian man and a caucasian man should never be traveling together in a giant ice berg floating to knock everything out of the way. She had this assumed look in her eyes like we had some ties in with drugs and sex-crazed women, she looked at us like she thought we were people that can't travel anywhere and be trusted that they are going to follow all of the rules and make no mistakes along the way. She seemed to assume then that we were going to attack her, that was the exaggeration of the situation. I immediately felt nausea and slumped into my seat but then immediately went right into it. 

I looked at the woman and told her exactly what was going on. I pointed my index finger of death at her and I said; there is no problem here, we are passing through and you are not going to get in our way. She let us pass through and I knew she had felt it. Deep in the womb. We flew as fast as possible under great depths of seas where pirates and sailors have given their lives for the development of thousands of high rises, so gods could sit in the sky and know they have it all. 

I still see nothing in this safe haven of land slanderers and the homeless makers of the forgotten way.

{BACKWARDS 11-12-05}

The grip has got a hold of me again and it's the battle versus the elements of the past, the present, and the future all rolled up into one theme. In these crazy and fast times I can't even tell who's at the wheel of this speeding machine, with an engine fueled by the fires of hell and the fuel sponsored by the devil himself. In times like these, there is no room for needing more space and all that hopping around that seems so fictitious that it can't keep me in the loop as to what it is that is going on. 

I only hope that this isn't the last resting place for yours truly. I am hoping that there are horizons ahead of us that we will have to walk to and I am thinking hopefully by the grace of that unknown god. We have finally reached a point where I am not sure of anything anymore It's gotten to that point where the fucking cars are speeding down the roads like lepers running away from each other with open arms. With their eyes closed. To make it completely legit. We would put coins over their eyes and call it a night. 

That kind of goodnight that says nothing more than the people around us still speak of. Like its all about to end and it never does. Drunken hybrid whales fall silently down the sidewalks. Pummeling straight down the stairs. No return flight pattern. Trying to get ahold of my footing. Trying to let myself know that everything is going to be alright. The idle time that our idle hands keep watching slowly tick away. I forgot where I left my fucking watch. The bridges are collapsing on false ironies and I am drunk as all hell. One road has ended and somewhere down there on those points of perception is a new beginning and a new place. History is written by animals and re-interpreted by the insane beast like mammals flapping like fish out of the water. Can't breathe. 

Every exhales is one less inhale and there's no way to catch up.

{MISSING 11-13-05}

Why do we keep missing each other? I see you walking away every moment and I don't know if it was you or if it was me that tore this all apart, but baby things got out of hand on the grandest of scales and I don't know which way to go, I just don't know.


The cold finally swept up it's wings and took over these spaces that I didn't know it would and at a rate alarming that thunderstorms filled the sky on a morning where everything was once familiar. The queen settled into the hive as yours truly slept into three or four hours that I could. The deprivation is catching up so much to the point that even if I slept the next life away it still wouldn't be enough. 

The hive was the quietest it had been for some time now due to me being the worker bee who has put much effort into everything and ended up with a small gap between so many lines and borders. Kings and Queens no more in this hive. This is the freelancers union now with no benefits but a sense of satisfaction that everything that has happened up to this point was the demons dancing and partying for the end of a new beginning. 

I haven't seen any of the other workers for some time but the Queen had her last ride with me and it seemed for the purposes of moving on but I am still unsure because she seems to be the one who brings order to all the disorder. 

The centrifuge of my life in these fast times of the exceedingly deranged lunatics.


It's a cruel world, that it is especially when you see an elderly woman crying in the street screaming, "help me". I didn't know what to do at the time, what could I do, I had nothing to offer. I am having a hard enough time trying to keep it all together and I am sure of it one day she will pull herself out or she will die cold hearted in the streets. 

Or else maybe that is a prediction of where I am headed. Well luckily the weather has been an odd seventy-two degrees in November which is usually opposite, it should be cold. There was Clint, Dennis and I can't remember his name but he's a good guy I know that much. They were all down on Ludlow Street the time I was going for a walk to settle the disappointments and the last class of actions that had been going on in the past 2 years. 

The winter's here have been very cold and grey but nothing comparable to the cold winter's of Boston walking in the windy ice rain blowing off my face. Sanding my skin down to a smooth feel. 

The abrasiveness has shown me so many truths and I feel I am well versed in these thoughts and phrases but never can seem to write about anything except for the life that I see out there through the looking glass and at every street corner and subway stop seems to be new days and new adjustments.


Well, just another fuck-horse of a night. I think it's about that time where my cerebellum splits off from the rest of my head and does its own thing. I got the F train blues down here on 42nd street and there's not much hope for some of these eyes around me right now. Another funny thing I just noticed was the crusted dried semen stuck to my pen. 

There's quite a possibility my pen was in the wrong place at the wrong time while I was doing that deed that we do to keep us wanting to fuck everything we see. At this point, there is nothing I can really do about it due to my absence of emotion and those feelings of attachment to anything other than the environment that is all around me. It just goes without saying that we must ride these waves out and see where they take us, where we end up in the middle of the ocean. 

Then everything is a new perspective, there's new light in the tunnels I have been traveling in and it's nice to know that no matter what happens I am going to be alright and this is me saying this high as a kite, alcohol pumping through my veins, so it's gotta be somewhat true. It comes from the depths.


I think that maybe I have changed my mind on this NYC place. This place is fucking disgusting. There's trash everywhere at every corner. Everyone that moves here can't seem to handle it due to it being such an insane place to be. 

With all its insane people and every last one is crazy even me. I feel the fear and the frenzy every few weeks with a little break in the middle just so I don't go completely over the edge but I come really close walking on razor wire. I just saw some sparks fly from underneath. I am on the train while I write this. 

I don't even know who any of these fucking people are staring at me from the opposing side of the subway platform. I have no clue but they look at me at times like we had been here before. 

That this had already been done a long time ago and some of us are remembering and taking notes and making sure we are reminding other people that these things are real.


The bicycle riders out here are a bit crazier than the ones in Manhattan. When you least expect it one flies out of the shadows with a butcher knife and chases you down the street like a chicken getting ready to get its head cut off. Not more than two seconds later there's a lady and a man battling at it in the streets like a wild rhinoceros and a giraffe with a shorter neck than most. Just witnessing these events on the mass grand scale is enough to drive one to the nuthouse. Every second seems like a movie moment on a mass scale grandeur. 

Tender broiled thighs walk down the street and I just don't understand what people see in fat people and I mean no harm in saying this because I do know a few fat bastards out there in the world who have the biggest hearts that any man or woman would want. That kind of heart that melts brain receptors and drives you into a mad frenzy so that when finally all things go wrong and not one moment that has passed by has gone well. 

You know you just got yourself into some real deep trauma from all past experiences. It's just a really bad movie played over and over again. Each time its set up with a new set of circumstances and new character developments that you would never have expected. That is why I am faced with the decision to leave all these yellow cabs and red street lights and seek refuge in a new place and time where new experiences will let me know if this is just another place to stay or another place to leave.

I take a look-down Flushing Ave. and the horizon down there in the southernmost part of Brooklyn. I see nothing more. Time is just one of those things you can't cash in on no matter what you have done to span those stretches apart or close together. I am not even sure at points if the things I wrote down are really worth anything to anyone anyways. Why would anyone want to read about things that they have nothing to do with or authors they will never know or anyone else but themselves for all that matters. 

When I finally cash in all my winnings from whatever happens from the big gambles that are about to take place I will only hope that some sort of difference was made. That there was some impact in someone's life so that they could feel the happiness on an authentic level. So they could look out windows and not be scared of the outside world or the people in this place because some of these people are pretty wretched but some are truly free.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008


were the most important ones I had ever witnessed in myself writing to her and to think that I never knew how they would go or if I would ever find them, but I wore them proudly like a scar and let them all shine brightly though something still felt missing. 

I reached and reached and grabbed onto them tightly and they said this to myself: This year has been very magical. The universe spoke to me almost every single day in almost every way but I feel that here my time is done. I set out to learn as much as I could about myself and I feel that has happened. It brought me deeply into a place I had never been before. 

I may have been there when I was a little boy. If we would call it anything we would call it the remembering. Thank you very much for all your kind words, they mean the world to me. I hope you know that and all of the experiences we have shared now hold a deeper meaning to me that was not at that time understood. So in any moments of your quiet desperation that you may experience someday in this life or any other life. 

As we know it all seems to come like a sickness. Just know that somewhere out there you are still with me. All of those words we built together have grown into the soil and have rooted into the big tree that I am. You are truly blessed. Enjoy this life to the fullest. Live each day like it was your last day here. This is all I have to say now. 

Remember to take a few moments every now and again to thank yourself, you went through hell so you could find your heaven.


Tomorrow is yesterday's today. So what would three days from now be? These are the kind of things you think about when you have nothing much to do. You can be sitting anywhere in the USA and these little anecdotes pop into your head. 

It's 12 o'clock somewhere in the world but where? You can think about a million things at once. There are too many options and they overwhelm you. If you built a time machine and wanted to go to specific coordinates in time you'd still be missing out on the present but then you could travel to the present after it has already gone by. 

After you traveled to the past and the future and saw your fate. You could just go back to the present. You could just live in the present for the rest of your life and it would change your future. All of the predictions you saw of the future would stay somewhere locked in space and time. 

They wouldn't exist. It would be like a house abandoned in the middle of the world. 

The house of one thousand windows and no door. No way to get in and no way to get out.


Everyone needs a fucking savior. They need some iron-clad figure standing before them to clean up the murder scene of life. It's not just any savior, though, our savior needs to be marketable. Our savior needs to be mysterious, almost to the ways of a ghost. Our savior needs a history, a book complete with sequels that coincide with each other that are hypocritical. We can't just market our hero without a little drama, without a little garbage on the side. Who wants to pay homage to a saint? Our savior needs to be beautiful. No rough, unshaven need apply. Perfect cheekbones, blue eyes, and a widened smile is what we need.


The clerk in the waiting room now looked at me with disgust and handed the letter back to me. I already had my number in hand and I was tired of waiting. It had already been an hour since number twelve had gone in to do her audition and it made me wonder just what the hell was going on in there. I just wanted to get my chance to shine and not only prove to them I am worth something but to prove it to myself too.

I couldn't help but look at the clock on the wall and watch its tiny arms slowly advance another minute and then another. I could hear the second hands tick so loudly that it gave me a headache and it didn't help that the lady at the desk was staring me down but what was I supposed to do? Did she not know that this was the rehearsal for the big scene in the movie called: the secretary at the meat market. I let her read my monolog so that I could see if something was missing. I wanted to do my best. I wanted to be as authentic as possible but I couldn't help but feel as if she thought I was mocking her. Really I was just trying to understand her.


The door was opening to the audition room. Why the hell did it sound like it was locked? It took a few more extra seconds for the door to open and when it did I caught a glimpse of that young woman fixing her dress and the auditioning man playing with his belt. 

The temperature in the room dropped and the blood rushed to my head. What kind of audition was this? The young woman strutted her stuff and gave me the kind of glare that said to me: your not getting the part. I gave back a stare that said: at least I don't have to suck people's dicks to be in a movie, I have something called talent. 

The secretary then said, good luck, you will need it.


Even when you were on top of the world, the view didn't do much justice because you were so isolated from the smallest details you could barely even see them. You were just an actor, just another face in the crowd playing your part and trying to outdo the rest with your phony tears and phony faces of the always victims put in their place. 

How fair it wasn't to the countless others and you yourself now knew. You didn't get the part. Your not the right one. You're not very convincing of the real thing. Little did you know that the real thing exists out there, somewhere living the part that you play. Oh, what a hell it is to be trapped here with you making a mockery of those who truly exist amongst the delusional and fearful ones. I call them my brother, sisters, sons, daughters, fathers, mothers.

So instead, we are building an army and it's not just one-sided. There's no buffoon committee sitting at a tall desk with a gavel and hairpiece. Shouting obscenities and declarations that he's seen it all and we should be very afraid. We should be so afraid that we must pay our taxes on time or else, and start families as a new kind of commerce. The business of the flesh parade. Organic blood for nothing at no cost to you. No one is real, don't worry, no one will hurt you. 
This is all just a fun game that everyone plays. There's no one behind that curtain, that really is the great and powerful Oz. He's your friend. That meat hammer is just a prop. It keeps the bad man away. 

Just stand over there, take a number and have a seat. Someone will be with you in a moment.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008


We were somewhere above the clouds and down below it looked like it was raining. We jumped off the edge of the world and gravitated towards the heavens. You couldn't see it all from the view way down there on the ground, and between the pollution and the hazy weather, it was impossible to even get a grip of what it was all really about. 

Even the oceans ripple below us was pushing at some slow pace just trying to get on top of it, even to see it for one second. The problem though was the noise and the pollution. The other was the population that was out of control. Idiot savages giving birth to more idiot savages. 

A whole tribe of pig fuckers and selfish pseudo-livers. 

The kind of wild beasts that just sit there in the clouds and wait to never see that true ray of golden sunshine.



The complainer
The critic
The judge
The defendant
The plaintiff
The jury
The sadist
The masochist
The overachiever
The underdog
The loather
The narcissist
The iliad
The odyssey
The thinker
The doer
The awakener


Curiosity never killed the cat, it was the idea that the cat died from curiosity that killed it.


It always seems like yesterday when these things arise. One minute you are on top of the world. You feel as if nothing can stop you. As the world turns, your heart burns for a better tomorrow day, not too far away. 

You can see these days all around you like they are crowding, but the only day you know is the day known as today. 

If today was a day you could turn it all around what would you do? what would you say? 

Would it even matter?

Saturday, November 1, 2008


I wake up in a house that is not mine, I remember. The house feels borrowed. It feels like a place that I have never been to before. I wake up in a place that looks like the den. There're all these wooden things on the wall. Wooden furniture, televisions, even the clock is made of wood. I get up off of the couch and walk towards another room that I am not familiar with. It's the kitchen, with all its elaborate paisley looking things. Doilies, hand towels and cute little salt and pepper shakers. It's a woman's kitchen, you can tell by the colors. I'm not sure if much cooking takes place in this kitchen because it is immaculate. Every possible place that there would be dirt and grime is spotless. Not one crumb from the toaster oven. Not a splash of eggs on the stove or milk spots on the counter from a careless poured bowl of cereal. I walk into the next room and its a very nice garage with an old car in it. A refrigerator with beer inside is stacked to the brim. There is a pool table with balls looking like they were in mid game.


I'm walking across the Golden Gate Bridge and there are three layers of traffic rushing back and forth. It is very windy from where I am as far as the vantage point is concerned. Even the cables of the bridge are moving slowly back and forth as if the bridge is alive. As I walk the feeling that something is wrong takes hold and then after that moment it starts to collapse in three sections. I try and run across it but am in the middle of it. Cars start to fall with the cement. The river is flowing rapidly. 

Then the piece I am walking on falls too. I fall sideways into the river with a velocity so fast and hard. We smash right into it. I start to swim while everything starts to sink. Under the water, I could see everything sinking to the bottom. Pieces of steel, cars with lights on even people all moved closer and closer to the bottom while the rivers current took me away. The next moment after that I am somewhere else; in the middle of the rainforest. I remember something attached to my leg. So I felt it and it felt like a rope. 

I looked at the shore and saw a man trying to pull me in if I let him. I knew if he did pull me in I would be stuck on some island farm toiling day in and day out for nothing that would ever interest me. So I untied the rope and watched him pull it in. The moment the end of it got to him he saw nothing was on it, a very big anger took over him. So he opened a gate in the river and let out tons of giant snakes. They all came straight for me. Once they caught up to me they proceeded to bite me in the pubic bone area. They sank their very large teeth into me. It hurt very much so. I was able to pull them all off in an instance. 

They couldn't do anything to me I realized, they just swallowed their own tails. I got out of the water and checked the wounds. There were many deep teeth marks. I asked the man if any of the snakes were poisonous. This hit me so hard because this was exactly the symbolism I needed to know in this moment. Then the man and I became good friends. He wanted to show me many things he said. So I jumped into a boat he happened to be in. He showed me his great land. There were all these wild animals everywhere. 

There were lions, tigers, bears, lemurs, sloths, and other combinations of animals made into animals. We drive down the river waving to all these exotic animals. The sun is slowly making its last appearance on the horizon, so I know that its time to be heading home; wherever that is. A baby lion runs toward me and jumps from the island and into the boat. I think for one moment that it is going to hurt me then realize that it is there to be playful with me. 

The moment I figure that out it jumps onto me. I teach it tricks and it listens and speaks to me. 

We continue off into the sunset.


And there we were sitting in it. Like some great lethargic kick in the face and time stood still and as tall as any giant would if he had a quarter to give to the guy on the street corner begging for change. The horizon expanding like the polar caps melting and wax candles dripping as sweat. The atmosphere's decent to the sun's rising again. The phoenix in flames out of the ashes. This is just the start of this great journey but for now, stares will just look. Then the first word will be spoken that I have written deep inside this catacomb.


There are things in the sky that I can see. 
They are the smallest details. 

Like the smell of your neck while we are in the middle of making love. Like the wind blows the leaves off of the trees. Like the hue inside the color of the pigment. Like the mess we make. Like the mechanism that makes it all fall apart. 

Why is this the time that I am most in love with you?


Any statements that express or involve discussions with respect to predictions, goals, expectations, beliefs, plans, projections, objectives, assumptions or future events or performance are not statements of historical fact and may be "forward-looking statements". Forward-looking statements are based upon expectations, estimates, and projections, at the time the statements are made that involve a number of risks and uncertainties which could cause actual results or events to differ materially from those presently anticipated. Forward-looking statements in this action may be identified through the use of words such as: "projects", "foresee", "expects", "estimates", "believes", "understands", "will", "anticipates", or that by statements indicating certain actions "may", "could", or "might" occur.

Awake. The hum of the engines on flight 603 startle you just enough to come to. The crackling of your eyelids as you open them feel like you could have been sleeping for days, or years even. Everyone in the cabin is asleep. Outside the window of your window seat is complete blackness. If there were a light on below you, you would be able to see it. The only light on tonight is the moon. It's half quarter phase reminds you of the winking of an eye. Only an eye sees everything and is able to register these transactions into the mind where all the senses push and pull together. Close your eyes. Try and relax so that you may fall asleep. So that maybe you will remember why you got on the plane in the first place. You remember that it was important that you got on this particular flight, but for what? They call this short-term memory loss.

Awake. This time, there is no hum. There is rushing water on all sides. Those people in the cabin that were sleeping are all awake now and they are screaming. Fully functional people all trying to live. Just one more day more. Everyone hates when they are not in control of their own lives. In a perfect world, none of this would have happened. I just look out my window at the rising tide and the deep dark ocean coming in. Coming to be. I realize I am not in control of my life. I am not god. I am not the all powerful being that is in charge of the card catalog of life. The only thing to really do now is to put my head in between my legs and let it all happen.

When you descend into the ocean at 450 miles per hour. 60 ft. per second. You don't have time to be a hero. You don't have time to really accept your life is over. To know, you can never go back and fix all the mistakes. Patch together all the things you wished you had done. The should've, could've, would've. This is the time and it is now. There is no future. There is no past. There is just the present at the moment. All the screaming, the stewardesses, the rushing water up to our necks. The descending plane. It all exists for now. The ocean floor. The unknown. We all die alone. No one dies for us. Debt remains debt. Photographs, photographs. Songs, songs. Books, books, and so on and so fourth. To sleep.

We have now descended to our unoriginal location of arrival. Our skeleton crew just sits latched into their seats. Frozen in space. Frozen in time. The expressions on their faces are just the same as we approached the force of impact. Everyone is still screaming, only there are no sounds coming out. Everyone is still scared, only no one moves a muscle. Everyone is still embraced with each other because they need something to hold onto. 

Something to secure them, that this is not the end. This is just pretend. This is not the way the story goes. This is just a temporary thing. The skeleton crew is still preparing for the disaster and will be as far as forever's time will go. When you are 23 miles below the ocean and in the middle of nowhere who is going to come rescue you? As far as I am concerned my life ended when I was born. I awoke the second I died. The ocean floor goes on forever. 

Whether you look right, left, up, down, forward, backward. I look out the window and it is still pitch black. I don't even see the moons reflection. 

Just nothingness. I am not alone.


I thought we were all going to be that momentum, that locomotive you see on the news that got out of control and toppled over into a million different directions, but no one got hurt. I thought that we were a group of young kids all putting an individual voice in. I thought that it would completely disrupt the space and time continuum. I thought it would dismantle the engine of destruction and we would live guilt free and free of making mistakes along the way. I thought we would all be saviors saving ourselves. I thought we would not follow the patterns of our pre-packaged lives. I thought we would build our own accessories, our own adapter kits and they would be used universally instead of having to fish around for used parts and cheap labor. 

There would be no more junk cars in the middle of nowhere. No more empty houses with broken windows and every single time someone would smile our backs wouldn't shatter into a tiny million pieces from the cringe of knowing that not all of this is our fault. Fractures would heal just as fast as a chameleon would change from green to brown.

Now I drive down some long road with no turns and its pouring out. It's humid and the air conditioner button is stuck but will not go on. The windows keep fogging up and every time I open them the rain rushes in like some underwater orchestra playing the last song of the night, stubbing out the last cigarette we will smoke. I would like to think that my life is like a really expensive wine getting better with age and the taste smoothing out as the hours of our death slowly creep in. 

Instead, I am surrounded by used car salesmen with imitation suits and ties based off of other imitation suits and ties. It reminds me that even lily pads on the pond are just expressive ways to make it seem like frogs really jump from them. Loudspeakers get loud and crackle. Alligator shoe salesmen's ankles fall apart. 

Messengers paint secrets of the world where not many people will be able to read them. Saying goodnight to a loved one becomes a thing of the past. 

This all comes to me while looking up in the sky at the sun. 

This all comes to me while I decode the gestures they are trying to tell us about.