ease

the rain began
so i walked
looking back
i wonder why
looking forward
i understand
how do you explain
a sincere lie?
you believe to be on a throne
while you believe i am on a mountain
when in reality
we're both in chairs
how did i see redemption
in those eyes?
it was pure,
but purity can be filtered
through hazy eyes
of misinterpreted want and belief
"THIS IS TRUE THIS IS TRUE I CAN FEEL IT"
is a bold statement
to be said when filled with false feelings
i was intoxicated with the concept of sobriety
holding hands was always euphoric
or so it seemed,
on a winter evening.
my hands were probably just cold.
you are freewheelin'
a constant, a standard, the ideal.
i am revisited
the electric, the unaccepted, the remembered.
this isn't to say we didn't reach the top of the ferris wheel
this is only to say
we never arrived at the right carnival.
so again,
i say farewell to items i usually never would have said hello to.
thanks for all the new garbage filling up my can
i'll make a new box for your pretty pictures and lock it with another rusty lock
i'll see it in a year or so
and remember why i locked it away.
to remember that once my false purity was honest,
and not always a fabricated ransom note.
you sang some songs before me
so i won't sing them now
i sang you some new songs,
and i won't sing them again.
i will close my passengers door to you now.
because you're not in my hot air balloon anymore,
you climbed in so willing,
and jumped out even easier.
i will change your channel to the evening news
to be soothed by the sounds of other sadness and destruction
thanks for your damage, though!
(i didn't want you to think i wouldn't credit you)
I should have known you signed the paper in pencil not blood,
an erasable promise,
is much easier to make.
looking through a telescope makes me realize you aren't a star at all,
you're just a carefully crafted satellite,
doing the work of the general public.
well done you tax dollar monster,
you've outdone yourself
please continue to miscalculate words and phrases
and quote the words you never knew.
happy ending of the classics,
happy beginning,
happy anniversary,
happy ending,
it all came so quick!
yet the repercussions resonate so heavily in me currently,
while you go on and play with the poison i died from.
enjoy the cheese in the mouse trap,
i hear it works better with peanut butter.
i am now underwater
opening my eyes
and breathing in.
this is harder,
i am choking,
but at least i'm choking on substance,
not smog.

Thoughts On Love at 4:21 in the morning.

I still love you,
probably more than ever.
I don't think you know, though.
That's ok.
I like this game.
It's new again.
It's a process of rebirth and self discovery,
all the while I have a crush like a schoolboy,
but love like a human.
Clocks won't be able to tell how long I'll wait for you
to love me again,
I'll wait for the sun to burn out,
and if you still close the door,
I'll wait some more.
I regret erasing
notes to you
that were cliche,
and lacked depth,
because in reality
they were nothing but truth.
Here is some truth:
My heart beats faster when I think of you,
I stutter when I'm with you,
I miss you when I'm without you,
My skin gets goosebumps at even an accidental touch,
I understand jokes I didn't now,
I'll watch a horrible movie and actually love it for you now,
I wish I didn't change this late,
I hope it's not too late,
I can still see,
that you too love me,
when we mistakenly lock eyes,
but intentionally stay.
I am yours.

now be mine,
(OH HOW FREEING IT IS TO SPEAK IN TRUTH FILLED CLICHES)
(THE SIMPLEST THINGS MEAN THE MOST COMPLEX THOUGHTS)
like;

I am absolutely in love with you.
(that is a truth)

a question

why does the mirror have to look right for you to give me a picture?

.retteL A

.uoy evol I taht wonk esaelp tub ,siht ees t'now lybaborp uoY
.uoy evol t'ndid I fi yrt t'ndluow I
.gniyrt yllaer ,yllaer m'I dnA
.evah reve I naht eroM
.uoy truh t'now I
.hcum os uoy evol I

(you are) everywhere

van morrison sings me a song
on a pre-made playlist
semi predictable mixes
are sometimes all i can offer
hoping their words
can express my thoughts
i meant all the words they sang you
too many
(items
tastes
songs
movies
etc.)
remind me of you
they're everywhere
so instead of blocking and hiding
i embrace a bittersweet feeling
in hopes to reinstate
the recently lost rush
of a late night phone call
or an early good morning text
you're present through song
and candid photo's
but
my hand is still cold
when i walk to my car alone

(Je peux seulement prier votre coeur rembobinera au mien.)

i feel you in the air
not a feeling easy to dismiss
even if i wanted to.

Some Newer Thoughts.

Here are some 2 am thoughts.

I think a good portion of life is spent on the process of waiting. I realized this in the passed few weeks. I have to wake up early to go to a bus stop to wait for a bus. I then wait to arrive to the city. Then I wait for the shuttle to grand central. Then I wait for the doors to open on the train. Then I wait for the next train. Then I wait for my class to start. Then I wait for my class to end. Then I wait for my day to end. Then I wait for sleep. We're mostly always waiting to be done with something. Very rarely are we not. So recently I've tried not waiting.

A few months ago, I was in Boston visiting some friends. We were walking around a park on a very nice Autumn day, discussing past parties and the new Jay-Z album among other things. We came across a group of kids, probably 1st or 2nd grade, doing something beautiful. They were fitting the ideal stereotype of kids playing in a park. They were literally just running around in circles and laughing so loud and pure. They had no apparent task. They weren't even playing tag. They were completely in the moment of nothing, and embracing that nothing, that no goal, to something so fulfilling. We sat and watched them for a few minutes laughing and awing and then went to go get some overpriced ice cream. As we were eating said dessert in this hip, quaint little place, we were discussing what we had just seen. We realized that what we saw, was something so rare, a truly innocent moment. I kid you not, we started tearing up. This was also due to the fact that there was quite the fitting music of Alexi Murdoch playing along in the background to tug at our hearts a little more. The reason this saddened us so, is because when are we going to ever have another purely pointless, innocent moment? Seemingly never. As adults, almost everything we do has a purpose or goal or definitive end.

Recently I got a bit of cabin fever and decided on trying an experiment. I blacked out my windows with newspaper for some light projection thing that did turn out pretty cool, but I think that fact that Sufjan Steven's "The BQE" was playing through my speakers really helped that. But I was laying on my floor in this pitch black room, doing absolutely nothing. I was achieving nothing, and had no plan other than "lay on floor." This was, in no way, shape or form, a beautiful moment.

So how can we decipher the difference between a moment of nothingness that is in fact meaningful, and a moment of nothingness that is mainly just boring?

The answer is obvious. One feels special and one feels boring.

The real question, is how do we live a moment that has no goal or purpose, but gives that moment in our lives purpose?

i don't know the answer. I'm trying to figure that out.

One time I was feeling like I wanted to feel spontaneous and I went out driving to go hiking. I couldn't find the entrance to the trail I was looking for, so I just pulled over on the side of the road and started going up the side of a mountain. (That sounds a lot more extreme than the event actually was.) I got lost and dropped my phone in a creek and at one point was stuck on a cliff and the only thing I could think to do was mobile upload a picture of me being stuck on a cliff. It was actually rather exciting because I had to do a lot of jumping and sliding to get down and it was pretty dangerous and I was alone so I felt sexy in an Indiana Jones type way. This day is a remarkably memorable day for me. The thing about it is, nothing happened really. I never found the trail, I didn't go that high, and where I was climbing, although steep and kind of annoying, was not that scenic or rewarding. So why do I remember this pointless adventure? I guess because I was running in a circle and not playing tag.

This most recent summer I was in my friends yard and we were spinning in circles and listening to jazz and staring at the stars and running around. I will never forget this night and how hard we were all laughing at mostly nothing. I think this was another pointless, without a goal moment that was pure and perfect. No one was it. No one was tagging. We were just running, in each others company.

We were complimenting existence by giving our plans and aspirations and goals a little break. Everything needs rest, or else it becomes exhausted. I think that's part of the problem. We exhaust our plans and routines.

But we can't just sit and wait for these moments, because that brings us back to the problem of all the time wasted on waiting.

So what am I suggesting we do? I'm not suggesting anything, calm down, I have no answers. I'm just a guy who waits for subways a lot and sometimes spins around and slides down rocks.

I think next time you're waiting you should ask someone else who's waiting a question. Something specific, but that has mass appeal. Like: "Would you rather have breakfast, lunch, or dinner with your favorite celebrity?" If I was asked this I would be shocked and pleased at the breaking of the waiting and an introduction into a moment that has no direction whatsoever. (I would answer this question by saying, Definitely lunch, because it's more laid back and can extend into the night which could lead to a further adventure.)

I suppose that's about what I'm thinking at the moment.

I could continue this for a long time if I was to begin to talk about health care, or the feeling of re-instated true love, or how "Visiter" by The Dodo's is just about the greatest album ever. But I won't.

We should play tag less, and just run around more. We'll laugh more, and no one will be annoyed about being it.

Reality is Fiction is Reality.

(am i awake?)
I've grown tired of crying in bank parking lots
over assumed promises
of what's to come
in an attempt to become more real
by becoming fictional
I sporadically chase a sunset,
(orangepinkwhitebluered)
to an appropriate soundtrack
at a proper volume.
I watch it go out of sight,
never finding a cinematic hill
to stand introspectively and gaze upon
instead,
blank, shapeless clouds take up the sky
as I drive through a backwoods of sorts
(still an appropriate soundtrack)
I attempt now to get lost,
an effort in which I'll try to be found
but instead,
I end up exactly where I know.
I can't get lost,
I know exactly where I am,
because I am real,
not fiction.
I walk up a familiar field,
one where I was once fictional,
where my scripted me found the answer,
I still see a hint of the sunset,
being over powered by the faceless clouds
I walk across muddy waters
only to look back
at sedans and power lines.
I run up a typewritten moss covered rock,
only to fall and rip my jacket,
my real jacket.
I climb a tree, only to see nothing
worth taking a picture of.
I lust to be fiction.
I lust to have man made situations of brokenness
and self discovery.
They all tell me
"You just want your life to be a movie"
So I meet my standard
with these forced situations,
and I gain nothing
but a ripped jacket.
I am sick of an implied want for silence,
through static filled reception.
When will my character be spoken to?
I have no addictions,
but I have the consequences.
I have perfectly constructed scenes,
but life interrupts the necessary clarity,
the film is up,
but my camera still rolls,
in hopes for a resolution,
that has yet to be seen.

Empty Greetings and Genuine Goodbyes: A Brief Life Review.

I.
i was born full

II.
i become empty

III.
i die full

I.
awake
apartment to small home
breathing in the air
of southern sweet talk
of the gulf war
and airplane exhaust
off to the coast
swimming in freedom
and salt water
claiming with a stick in my hand
that i'll fight a war
while i cry
as our dog
gets put to sleep
a cross country
elementary literature filled
van ride
i only see smiles
of gas station attendants
from coast to coast
i remain
internally blindfolded
getting goosebumps
at the sight of a baby deer
or a squirrel in the front yard
not understanding
parents fear
of men with guns
on the school bus
discovering playground love
by the big metal slide
and losing it
next to the wooden table
learning clothes should match
or else pretty girls will laugh
on the way to my locker
getting detention
for making the same pretty girls
laugh
for the right reasons
learning
what a kiss is
next to the yellow blur of
departing school busses
and learning
why people cry
when they can't hold hands anymore
faking a smile
for the christmas presents that are almost there
but not quite
forgetting about
reading books
the bible
creating for other reasons
than canned laughter
temporarily
and stupidly
becoming consumed in
collared shirts
and friday nights
sunny nights
that aren't too memorable
leading to years of learning
and becoming.
feeling death for the first time
in hidden tears
in the den
full of picture frames and guitars
sleeping on a pull out couch
hearing ryan adams for the first time
and understanding
c o n n e c t i o n
learning to accept
rejection
and learning to accept
being accepted
starting out on a snow covered trampoline
moving to a warm basement
moving to a playground
moving to solitude
under a barn
learning confidence
before losing innocence
happily and hesitantly
learning what true love really feels like
on a late night phone call.
starting to remember things
like books
and the bible
and wondering
why they took down the metal slide
and why did i think war was ok
while i held that stick
and holding hands
and getting kisses
and fighting
and failing tests
and learning what jealousy is
and spite is
and
really learning
what a regret is
but more importantly
realizing what an empty, useless feeling
regret
really is.
laughing
crying
holding
letting go
praying
screaming
learning
teaching
really laughing
fake laughing
disappointing
and uselessly
regretting.
having blind fun in rainbow colors
for a little bit more
until
for the first and only time ever
the internal blindfold comes off
and i really see
really
truly
see
for the first time ever
and all i see
is
pain.

II.
all i see is pain
all i hear is pain
all i read is pain
all i feel is pain
and it's real
feeling heartbreak
and reflecting
with blues playing
through laptop speakers
not understanding heartbreak
and reflecting
with folk and country playing
through quality headphones
ignoring heartbreak
and not reflecting
with hip-hop playing
in my car
on my way
to nowhere
avoiding judgement
and crying out to God
on a rainy night
where the streetlights
reflect in the road
and seem endless
"WHERE ARE YOU?"
"CAN'T YOU HEAR ME?"
involuntarily cut off
from receiving love
as a result
all alone
in an un-mowed backyard
kicking a soccer ball
searching for answers
in the slightly deflated children's toy
and in an angry rapper from new york
and in an insightful band from iceland
reflecting on all the hands i've held
which one fit the most
what poolside dialogue made me the most content
what birthday present made me the happiest
what argument made me the angriest
all of these are realized over time
with tears streaming down my face
to an appropriate soundtrack
of "I Want You" by Bob Dylan
where did happiness go?
back on the plane
driving coast to coast
in your hand
or it's still here
but wounded
on a river
or in chili's
or behind my tears
and in my memories
but it's hard to see
when i still see so much pain
even beyond me
when i stand at the door
folding clothes
faking a smile
for the rich woman
with chunky, uneven lipstick
whose eyes tell an even larger story
of sorrow and pain
i contemplate this woman
and other women
and the NBA
and expired inspections
and problems with healthcare
with smoke filled lungs
blowing warm pain out of me
to pollute the air a little more
as i sit
i wonder if happiness dies
and new happiness is born
this becomes true
as i think of my new happiness
found in
kerouac writings
under-appreciated films
giving up on a fast food fast
reggae on sunday mornings
God's love
dancing at girl talk
a new playground love
my old happiness is dead
and i still mourn it
and cry out to it and weep
thinking my old happiness
is
Lazarus
i lay in a pile of dirty clothes
on my floor
and think beyond regret
and think why am i wrong
and to a certain degree
i understand heartbreak
and reflect
while in the silence.

III.
the future can't be predicted
in emotionally biased words
but i know
that i will remember
all the things i forget
right before the end
i'll reflect on
elephants
presidents
garden gnomes
inside jokes
vinyls
a cloudy sky during a meteor shower
el nino
avril lavigne
typewriters
arguments
true love
pretty girls
regrets
email
boring books
heartbreak,
because the heartbreak of a true love
will stay
forever
as will the ability
to truly love again
but come the night
whether i'm loved or hated
happy or sad
single or taken
rich or poor
famous or not
i will die
and i will die after a roller coaster lifetime
with cloudy nights and sunny days throughout the calender
with empty greetings and genuine goodbyes
with kisses and hugs
i will die full
full of it all
i will die
full of life.
even if it kills me
to get there.

Inauguration.

the generation has arrived at the waterhole
and there is a drought
nothing new,
we'll just find another cactus
we can't rebuild the infrastructure
if the people are still dead
we are the lustsick youth of america
we are the children who rely on tylenol and beer to keep us awake for our sleepless empty nights
lying on rooftops making wishes on crashing airplanes instead of shooting stars
the sun exists in dreams and nightmares
and today
sleep through the rain and wait for the rainbow
daylight savings are only here for so long
screaming our mental lungs out to cement Jesus'
we beg to feel the wounds
to know something
is real
our souls are self-immolating
reaching out
to anything
we drive on an empty road
absorbing the bumps
like the grooves on a vinyl
we sit and wait
for jazz to return
the purity of the screaming sporadic trumpet
the innocence of the bass
walking up your spine
the joy of snare hitting and splashing
but all we hear
are words from a factory
being programmed on stage
but listen closely
and look behind the curtain
and you can stop playing follow the leader
and join in on duck duck goose
the wind is blowing the ships off course
but now they know
the world isn't flat
the fire burns the books they never read
but that just proves,
they never read at all
so thank you wind and fire
for all that you've destroyed
the windows are stained
and the pews have been cleaned
remove the rules,
and just confess it later.
convert the sinners from a script
and add up your points
and you've got a one way ticket to heaven
sitting with Jesus in a rocking chair
drinking pink lemonade
maybe there,
we can spend some more time "thinking"
about helping in a daily genocide
while we write a 600,000,000 dollar check
for a fight we got in.
the hope
and change
has always been here
but no one looked under the couch
until someone said "Yes We Can!"
No matter how many buildings are built
and houses are torn down
and roads are painted,
the trumpet will always squeal,
the baby will always cry,
the tomb will never be closed,
the wind will never settle,
and
we
will always find water somewhere.
just look beyond the streetlights
and post offices
beyond the cathedrals
and schools
even look beyond the waterfall
just close yours eyes
and open your mind
beyond a screened in room
don't speak to God
through
a man with a tin can
call up to the clouded sky
cry over lazarus
Hable fuera del idioma.
we are alive,
we are creating
we can survive without rite aid
and chrysler
we just have to look under the couch again
and wake up
before the alarm.

A Half Asleep Chorus

knock knock
knock
knock
I can't ring the doorbell
that'll wake the babies
so I leave the porch
misunderstood
and
misunderstanding
but
don't fear
I took the key
from under the doormat
for my belief
is that
we'll meet again
at a doorway
when?
don't trust the clock
the hands have always been too tired
to get past
the lag
of the human mind
so begins the countdown
of
unforeseeable future
that we all see
no matter what
I'll still fall
and the mushroom cloud will rise
I just hope
you're there to sweep the dust
when it's there
please forgive the mess
I never intended for the necessary to occur.

no matter
the planes the crash
the guns that shoot
the dust that hits the ground
remember
I still have the key
from under the doormat
and I always will
so clean the accidental necessary dust
and follow
the _______ brick road
to wherever it may lead

and

leave your pocketbook
full of receipts

and

bring your pocketbook
full of recipes

have a safe trip on your blank check
and see you at the doorway,
with no notebooks or cameras
only open eyes
and
dry hands
waiting for you
to wipe a few tears
I missed.

A Chorus Dedicated To New York City

Lights flash on and off
in the city,
we stand blinking (in amazement)
at
the height of the building
Oh, how alive we are!
chirp the pigeons in a harmonious tone
Oh, how alive we are!
honks the speeding yellow taxi
Oh, how alive we are!
coughs the uptight business man in the elevator
debris fills the skyline
so I close my eyes
and go underground
and still how alive we are
under the movement
and inside the blurry subway
breathing millions of others breaths
dancing to the rhythm
of the beating parades
the city wakes
the city sings
but it is TOO alive to sleep
from a crosswalk
to the Empire State Building
to the cry of a newborn
to the silence of the fallen
the city is alive
through nnnneeeeeeooooonnnnn signs
and cloudy skies.

#4

here we sit
in plastic chairs
on a plastic lawn
watching the sun
play tag with the moon
red lights have been
green
for way too long
but I stay still
parade in the city
behind the parade
because the lightswitch
was still off.
the elephants and ringleaders
are still on tv
and still
in cages.
they tell me
fly
fly
fly to the moon
but i take
a picture of a bird instead
and say
I'll fly away
later.
and when my eyes are closed
I can still see you
always
and
forever.
millions of smiles
trillions of tears
some of them real
the world will stop spinning
they will stop clapping
and the lights will go off
and
I
will
still
be
here,
in
a

Rainbow Country

This I believe.

I believe in language.
Creo en el idioma.
Je crois en la langue.
Speaking is the language of the mouth, but there's so much more.
Music is the language of the soul,
Books are the language of the eye,
Movement is the language of the body,
Wind is the language of the earth,
Addiction is the language of the scared,
and
Love is the language of it all.
So where does communication fit in?
everywhere.
communication triggers reaction
and reaction
is the language of the mind
so speak,
and react,
so you can feel,
and comprehend
what language is.
I believe language is much more than dialects, words and inflections.
Language is the only way to create a gateway into your own mind for others to see,
and language is the only way to receive an invitation into the minds OF others.
I believe language is above words,
I believe language is what's behind the words.
I believe language is an alcoholic soaking it all in.
I believe language is a baby kicking inside the womb.
I believe language is remaining loyal
and
I believe language is betrayal.
Silence is the language of a mute
and
Lying is the language of a politician.
the emptiness in all of our lives
is caused by an absence of communication
which means an absence of reaction
which means an absence of language
which means an absence of everything
which means a presence of nothing.
Language is the sounds of hammers to the railroad
and the sounds of a pen to a check.
I believe language is
Saying "I hate you" but meaning "I love you"
I believe
Peace is the language of the children
and
War is the language of the adults.
Which means,
children speak love, and adults speak hate.
Which means,
Mommy and Daddy, who bring out the games on friday night game night, and tuck you in and vacuum the rug and say please and thank you and who smile and who have the ability to create unity with a pen and paper and an open mind, are the mass murderers.
and Little boy and little girl, who scream and cry, and steal and hit, and squish bugs and make messes and break expensive necklaces, are pacifists.
Yesterday is the language of grandpa
and
Tomorrow is the language of grandson.
So who speaks today?
Do none of us?
Or do all of us?
Virginia Woolf once said
"Language is wine upon the lips"
I believe that
and
I believe we have too much sour language
and not enough ripe.
We all have to speak
we all have to think
we all have to see
feel
smell
taste
breath
hear.
I believe language is the equilibrium of them all.
I believe we all have our language
and I believe
we all NEED our own language
for
people can sing and laugh and drink and speak for us
but no one can
feel for us
no on can react for us
Our mind is vast
so our language should grow with it
and move in it
and become it
and consume it
like an ant building, and living in and dying in it's anthill.
We create our language
We should be willing to call it our
own
whether we call it
taal
langage
Sprache
linguaggio
língua
sadness
hapiness
paint
jazz
sex
him
her
love
hate
questions
answers
God-breathed
pretentious
dumb
or just
simple
We must own it and call it something
I believe we must have a language
and communicate with it
now
not later
I believe
waiting
turns your language
into regret
I believe
our languages will disassociate themselves from the tower of babel
and harmonize
in a most beautiful tone
I believe you should speak and react
but not forget
to feel and hear
because the language of the wind
won't remain silent forever

Advertisement

out of tune fingers
speak the words
my mind can't project
so here i spin
inconsistently
waiting for
the scene to cut
but it goes on
(cue music)
and on
but now i'm stopped
and your spinning begins
my hologram hands
won't cease the movement
but
the billboard will
so i will sit
and try to spin again
but be stuck
in wet cement
as you wave goodbye
with your hair blowing in the wind
and your pupils dilating in the light
goodbye my love
i'll wait here
forever
even
if
i
don't want to
so find your way home
once the record gets a scratch
or the dog starts to sleep
and if you get a chance
bring me a tissue
for my bloody nose
and a souvenir
if you can

BON VOYAGE!

today

In a world that feels dark and dead, an ignorant world numb to most feelings and concepts of reality, I am glad to love and to be loved, because love is something that, no matter what surrounds it, can't go away. So here is to that.

I love you.

harmonizing

remain consistently beautiful, girl
stay a true soul
under a blanket
the world pours topsoil on your horizon
the gears will turn
and the wheels will stay airless
but you will float
high, oh so high
tie me to your neon balloon
drop me off above the atmosphere
and i will swim
i will swim
i will swim
through telephone wires
and cable tv
land in an open field
i am your picnic for two
dinner and a movie
an overdue book
please don't return me
i'm tax free
so don't tax me
for my ship has a hole
and my captain is blind
and i am only a parrot
my promise to you
is a repeated phrase
is a repeated phrase
find reality
not in me
but in the sky
and in the cardboard box
that is pretending to be a television
trick or treat
my bag is open
jump in
don't stay in the doorframe
greeting elvis' and bumblebees
step on the crooked stepping stone
and come back with me
for my cavity is filled
and you are still sweet

Francis Scott Key.

right foot,
left foot
right foot,
left foot
Thank God I learned how to walk,
but I still wish I crawled
across the floor
to the television
soaking in
visions of guns, sex, and cartoon dogs
all on the same channel
I could crawl
to the king
but he would still yell
"YOU ARE GOING NOWHERE ON YOUR HANDS AND KNEES"
"YOU MUST WALK"
and off with my head.
and back to the drawing board.
maybe if we all still crawled that would be better
(that's excluding America, because we have to walk if everyone else crawls)*
(THAT'S excluding the president, because he still crawls)**
but at least we walk
except for the 4185 casualties in Iraq, who aren't walking or crawling
but at least the rest are walking,
oh, except the 2,752 deaths on September 11th, 2001, they aren't walking either.
But I swear, the rest of us AMERICANS are walking tall!
I'm just not counting the one murder every 22 minutes, or the one rape every 5 minutes, or the one robbery 49 seconds, oh yeah or the one burglary every 10 seconds.
"It's ok Mr. President! We're all standing for the pledge!""
and one nation under...God?"
Who's that?
Did they mean one nation under the pope?
I mean, Was God on a sold out world tour this summer?!
Nope, that was the pope.
Don't tell Mom we're getting high after conformation,
cause she might tell One of the thousands of Asians who are put to death for believing in God.
THREE CHEERS FOR CATHOLICISM!!!
HIP HIP OBEY
rather than praying, talk to an old man through a screen door, and he'll be sure to deliver your message to the god almighty.
at least we're walking.
Jesus Christ often drank wine with all of his friends,
except over 17,000 of Jesus's friends didn't die in car accidents every year from it.
America the Beautiful.
The Pentagon proposed a $459 billion dollar plan to prepare weapons to battle from space.
I wasn't aware Darth Vader was a member of Al-Quaida.
I thought we could use some of that money for:
AIDS research, Diabetes research, Darfur, New Orleans...
NAH
let's use it to put guns in space.
WATCH OUT MARVIN MARTIAN
We're here to stick a boot in your ass
cause THAT's the American way!
WE CAN'T SURRENDER!!
THAT MEANS WE LOSE THE WAR!!
it's ok Coach McCain, I still think we'll make it to playoffs.
By the way, I think Iraq is getting better,
but I'm not sure, because Michael Phelps is blocking my view.
I'll take off my hat when the national anthem is sung,
if I have an itch.
Gas is $3.39 a gallon.
A Front row ticket for the Jonas Brothers is $175
A pack of Marlboro's is $7.63
and $1 feeds a child for a day in Africa.
But choose wisely, We're in recession.
OOOOOOO say does that star-spangled banner yet wave,
O'er the land of the deceased, and the home of the afraid.

9-17-08

The projector plays my life
on scratched up old film
the motor hums and clicks through
frames of artificial handshakes and rehearsed jokes
a sloppy old band practice
with mediocre amplifiers
plug my head into one
let my thoughts scream through the speakers

it shows when
I touched your hand on a sunny afternoon
playing to the soundtrack of the birds singing and
the construction workers hammering
i didn't kiss you at the park
but i did
in my mind

it shows when
i touched your face on a rainy evening
playing to the soundtrack of r&b and booming thunder
i kissed you in my room
and closed the door
in my mind

it shows when
i hugged you at the beach
playing to the soundtrack of seagulls laughing
and waves crashing
i looked you in the eyes
and you kissed me
in my mind

it didn't show when
i prayed for the rain to stop drumming
or for the wind to pick up
it didn't show when i looked
into an empty wallet and frowned
and smiled at you
but it did show
when your face screamed a frown

i want to leave the city
because the brooklyn bridge is dark at night
let's jump off the sidewalk
and swim in the whispering long grass
and you can snicker at the crickets tickling your ears with their song
i'm afraid of losing you
to shopping carts and discount magazines
to the joy of the dinging of the cash register
rather than the squeaking rusty swing

or maybe

i'm afraid i'm lost in those
because the clicking old film
shows
you touched my hand first
and you laugh hard at the
squealing of the trampoline springs
and the city is too bright at night

we should let the wine splash on the floor
and let the grapes hit the dirt
when you close your eyes during the day
the sun still is there

so let's both smile for the camera
and for the sun
and for the moon
and for the stars
and for the grass
and for you
and for me

i can't hide my mind from the paparazzi
and i can't hide my mind from you
and i can't hide IN my mind

my love for you will be played
and be sung off key in a microphone
into an old buzzing tape recorder
and i'll rewind the tape
and give it to you
and you can play it
through your headphones
and
i'll sing it to you live
and you echo the words
so i know you're listening
and so i can hear you too
and we'll ride the rattling subway
to the center of the earth
away from these busted machines
and from corrupted paper
and our beads of sweat will dance
and the strings from our clothes will unravel
and I'll look you in the eyes
right there
and in my mind
and i'll kiss you
right there
and in my mind
and you'll giggle
like a newborn baby
right there
and in my mind
and you'll take my hand
right there
and in my mind
and we'll go right into the core
burning everything away
hand in hand
right there
on the clicking, old film
and in my mind.

and the roll of film comes to an end
and the audience stands up
and the roaring of applause fills the room
and you rest your head on my shoulder
and all i can hear
is the gentle rhythm of your beating heart

Wake up to folk, and other recent concepts.

"Big steamy clouds going by in the dark up there, it makes me realize we live on an actual planet."
-The Dharma Bums

Iron and Wine and the best way to begin a 10 hour drive. It doesn't matter who you are or what you listen to. It was such an inspirational and satisfying feeling listening to the song "The Trapeze Swinger" while I sat in this van, with 11 people waking up along with the sun. Roads are endless, trees are infinite, and for right then, that was ok. The feeling of watching the beautiful sun rise in the orange sky, and seeing fog sit over mountains, and distant taillights every so often, that feeling, is meaningful. It makes things worth it. Feelings like that are the reason that waking up at 3:30 in the morning is ok. The smeared, sporadic, no pattern clouds and the gentle song just make it ok. And even if it's never ok again, it's fine, because I had this. And this was good.

The more I live, the more I see God everywhere I go. In Norfork, West Virginia, one of the poorest areas of America, I see him more than I ever have. The ride down was like a downward slope in economic status right in front of your eyes. We come from suburbia and couldn't have ended up in a more opposite location. 45 minutes away is a Wal-Mart, and aside from Family Dollar, and "Nick's", Home of the famous liver sandwich, it's the closest real store. The view was far from an average one. A broken down water slide from an old abandoned play place on a giant hill, a rusty, leaking water tower, so many burned down and collapsed buildings. Quite the different view of a drive down to seaside or a plane ride to the bahamas. After this long ride down, we arrive in this town of brick buildings, broken windows, closed down stores, unfinished sidewalks and long railroads.

This week we worked on a man named Curtis Womack's house. As we grew closer to him, we found out more and more of his amazing story that was very unexpected. Curtis is a raspy voiced, older, black man who was very involved in music throughout his life. His records hang on his walls so loose, just like a picture of an old friend. An old friend who's missed and loved, but has moved on. An old friend who brings happiness and sadness to Curtis' eyes at the same time. Just so you understand who curtis is a little more, he was in a group called "The Womack Brothers" and "The Valentinos." Their producer at the time was Sam Cooke. SAM COOKE. My mouth dropped when I found this out. He used to play at the Apollo, he toured with james brown, he's had solo recordings, he's been in books and cd collections, and featured with many other artists. But as he said himself, music can only last you so long. And now he's there. It's amazing to think that someone like him is in such a hard place right now. He regrets not having a plan B.

A lot of times people have this misconception that their plan A, and only plan, is just to go out and live life. I agree with that plan fully. After reading "On the Road", I too just wanted to go out and "live". Soak in the world. But the more I'm living, the more I'm seeing that you have to "live your life" and "soak in the world" the right way. Don;t search for temporary glamour. Search for the true beauty. And I'm realizing so many things. I would just lay in my bed in West Virginia and I would hear some of the true beauty. I would lay there and listen to this train that passes about 3 times every hour. Shaking the house, vibrating me. The dinging and horn you can hear from so far away. And for some odd reason, I find it beautiful.

This 4th of July that just passed is another example. Fireworks. I never really like them too much until I went with my girlfriend last year. She loves them so much that this love just rubbed off on me. I think at first it was to please her, but then I actually started to love it. But this passed one there's hundreds of people sitting in this field by a pond by my house. All very excited to begin with, and then the fireworks begin, and the excitement starts to grow. But the thing that really got to me was the one firework that had that boom. That boom so deep and so loud, it shakes the ground, it shakes you. I love it. I got so happy, so genuinely happy, because of this boom. And I felt it was beautiful, and I felt God. But not because of the pretty colors or designs, but because of this feeling of fear and joy at the same time, this feeling of closeness because of a shared excitement with hundreds of people I've never met. Something so close to you, So real, that you feel it inside of you. Beautiful.

I'm just seeing God and Beauty everywhere I go.

The other day, my friend and I were driving around lost. We turned down this one street and we pass a barn. So we go to the end of the street to turn around and my friend looks in the barn and goes, "Austin, you need to turn around again and look in this barn." And I'm like, "Why?" And he goes "Because there's an elephant in there." So after him convincing me he was telling the truth for a few seconds, I turn around and stop in front of the barn and gaze in. And there it is, a real, live elephant right in front of our eyes. It's not like I've never seen an elephant before, I've been to a million zoos and there's actually a picture of me riding one when I was a little kid at some carnival. This is different. This is 10 feet away from me, in real life, with no gates or chains or trainers or zoo signs or anything. We were amazed, it was a beautiful moment. Not amazing because I dig elephants too much or anything, but because it was so real. I felt so real.

Rain is something that lately is beautiful. A few weeks ago, I walked out on my deck and it was pouring and the lightning was brighter than I can ever remember seeing and the thunder was booming and the rain was pouring. I was staring at the sky and just started singing "Hallelujah" by Jeff Buckley. And I started crying. Tears and tears and I just keep singing and it keeps raining. It was real. It was Beautiful.

That's why I get so sad when I see people who are blind to true beauty. I get sad when people have to achieve this moment of beauty by drugging themselves and changing who they are. They don't feel real things. It's an impure, artificial feeling. I get sad when these little kids in West Virginia are so angry and so hurting, because they want to see beauty, but they can't find it behind their chained up doors and boarded up windows. But it makes me feel so good when i can make them smile. When I can give them, even for just a second, a moment of beauty. To me, I see God more in this angry, hurting kid's smile, than I do in an average church.

I think I went to West Virginia as an attempt to save humanity. And then I thought I went to West Virginia in an attempt to save myself. And then I thought I went to West Virginia in an attempt to see god. But then I realized why I should have went. It's all of those reasons, and more. I need to to serve people in need, I need to grow as a person for myself, I need to see God in life, and I need to learn. I need to learn about life and God. We're called as humans to learn. From the moment we come out of the womb it's a learning process. It seems like a ridiculous concept really. "Mam, we have to take this thing that's been living, breathing, growing, and surviving out of you, so it CAN live, breathe, grow, and survive," said the doctor sounding like an idiot. But we learned that's what we have to do, and then when we're born we learn to breath again, to live again.

That's what I'm doing now. I'm learning to live again, and it's beautiful.

The other night there was a meteor shower. I'd read about it for months, and was so excited to experience that in West Virginia, and to "see God in it's beauty." We set our alarms for 2:00 am, and we all woke up, got out of bed and walked outside. We all looked up in silence and saw nothing but our breath and the sky. And then we went in, and I was so disappointed. But now I realize how stupid of a thought that is. I can breathe to see my breath, I saw the beautiful sky, and I was disappointed. I'm an ignorant tourist going to the statue of liberty and saying, "It's smaller than I thought," and sighing. I was looking past the sky, when I should have been looking at the sky, the flawless sky. And now I realize how beautiful of a moment this was and how much God was present.

One of the days we were there, I had asked Curtis if he could show me some of his old music. So my friend and I were sitting in his kitchen and he was telling us his stories about how he got started, playing with Jimi Hendrix, back when he was Jimmy Hendricks, meeting Elvis, and many other amazing facts that kept making my jaw drop lower and lower. So then he put in a cd that was a collection of Sam Cooke's music off of his record label. (The SAR records story.) And he skips down to this song that was him singing on called "Yield Not to Temptation." And I was amazed. It is such an incredible song. I couldn't believe I was sitting here with the man who sang this. So we're sitting there and he starts to sing along, and he still has an amazing voice, and I'm watching him, and he is shaking and holding back tears and he feels it so much, it's like he wasn't even in the room he was so consumed in the song, and I feel it so much, and it was one of the most amazing moments of my life, and I felt God so much.

We all need to breathe again. We all need to learn to live again and find the beauty all around us. The old soul singer with still so much soul. The empty night sky. The elephant in the barn. The boom on the 4th of July. Let's open our eyes and see the beauty that's right in front of us. Let's learn to see God through the boarded up windows.

On the last night while we there in the house in West Virginia, in the Living room with 19 people sitting in a circle of metal chairs, with new friends and old friends, and all singing along in a worship song, I put my head down and closed my eyes, and I hear the train go by, and I feel the shaking, and I know 100% for sure that God is real.

warm

"Put on your Coat,"
Says the father with alcohol on his breath
He remembers the warmth of the sun in the summer of his youth,
He remembers the warmth of a kiss in the back of a truck,
He remembers the warmth of his old records in his room,
But comes the grey, and goes the warmth,
so now he feels warmth in cold brandy and brown paper bags.