Because everyone else is boring and because you're different

Not one inch is ever given
a nod, a sign
a hint
No smiles
no flirtations
No long deep stares
or short ones
when caught looking

It's cold outside today
cold and drizzling
yesterday though
was much gloomier to me
all the way home
thinking about
how this
will end

ALWAYS ends
The red lights in front of me braked
and I thought about plowing right through
Saying
"Forget it"
This mortal life be damned
This freeway crawl is not for me

This freeway crawl is my timeline
a 20 mile stretch
elongated into 50 minute drive
You don't like me
I'd just as soon know it
than agonize along at 13 miles an hour
in complete silence
head in hand

While the afternoon radio DJ's
go on and on and on
about Zep and Mick Jagger

I realized the other day
my balance had been off for a while now
all the sound from one speaker
distorted and thin
and now hearing it through two ears
my stereo more appropriately lives up to its name

I am but a single speaker
making up for two
but I'm afraid
I'm so near tearing
it wouldn't matter if I was balanced out anymore

It's best to replace me
in that situation
a torn speaker is no speaker at all

There's not much else to say
but please,
say what's left anyway
I'd rather have hope dashed into nothingness
than ration myself on
barely there apparitions

I'm saying
let's take this thing right through the car in front of me
let the particles of glass impact my skin and eyes
shooting outward like an asteroid field
pockmarked and jagged
ripping me to blood spattered mess

let the crumple zones meet
and in them we will too

while air bags deploy and tires deflate
and everything goes
mute.







Anything is better than traffic.

Failure to Appear 2009

Life is not owed to anyone
love isn't either
as rights go
Jury duty is more certain

I've gotten out of jury duty
every single time
only set foot
in the courthouse
once

Life?
Well my existence is being played out
as we speak
I guess you could call that
living
in the strictest
Oxford-English sense

And love
well, love is rather much like
me missing my jury duty on purpose
only love isn't jury duty
love is me
and I'm the jury duty

Every few months or so
I send love a letter
explaining to it
that I am it's obligation
and right
going so far as to delineate
a time and place
to arrive

But love never does
she always rips the letters
and shreds them
shreds the second notices
and failure to appears
and on the off chance love
does decide
to show up at the court house

It finds that court was canceled
thus ultimately fulfilling
it's duty
for another year

Without ever really showing up at all

I sat with on the asphalt waiting while the sun set on Christmas Eve

I've been
chronically
dissatisfied since the
day I met you

And now hopeless
and on edge
because I can't get
to you

It seems like everyone around me
is just making fun
mocking
me
while they order soy milk
or more whipped cream

I think i heard them say
"Give Up"
and sometimes I want to
but then I realize
they just wanted
it iced instead of ice blended

My car blew a tire
on the freeway
because I blew up
on a lady
who felt I was trying to keep her from merging.
In that second
I hated her
with everything I could hate a nameless woman
in a white Honda Accord
with an unpainted replacement bumper
who I get anxious about
even now
while writing this down

So I sat
by myself
on Christmas Eve
in a school parking lot
in San Dimas
trying to take the hub cap off
without a screw driver
until I gave up and called
my house

And that's how I feel with you
prostrate,
Missing the tools I need
but having no way
to call for
help

A bluer shade of pale

Skipping out of mind
things yet to be known
and still
14-24, sooner a decade
not under the influence
but hiding from it

Cold nights, colder still
even colder than that
Warmth in a smile
and flash of the eyes

But walking around aimlessly
reading, writing
no guidance
or satisfaction

Thinking only of one thing
constantly thinking of only one thing
Sickening, pathetic
desperate for affection

And a couple walking by at lunch
in the eve
stopping
leaning in for a kiss
innocent, love filled
not lust, not selfish
not a game
nor lie

Look away,
these nights my skin turns
a bluer shade of pale

I'll be home for christmas

Looking through the clear plastic
plating, grated by
brushed steel
barrier
the sound it makes as the motor turns
and waiting for the moment
I can duck in under
without straining too much
or waiting so long
it seems impolite

The mall is empty at this hour
and my shoulders slump
hands in pocket
trying to keep warm
because even in Southern California
the weather can be chilly
at times

"I'll be home for Christmas"
echoing the food court chapel
while a 30 foot model in a one piece
is the stained glass
representation
of material heaven

The waiting game is only so
fun
when the waiting actually
cuts chunks of time
out of my head
12 minutes here
23 there
though occasionally
the game only yields 2 and a half

and those 2 and a half minutes feel longer than any other hour of that day

Dead horse politics

I have a dead horse

At one point
it had some life left in it
but when it kicked
I reacted too late
or maybe too suddenly
and the poor foal

breathed it's last
I think

I wanted to save it
to bring it to life
but the horse seems so lifeless lying
on the floor

Frustration is pointless now
and there's no sense beating it
anymore

I thought I saw it breathe again
but maybe
it was just
me

all along

Me and the christmas tree, nervously optimistic

I always light up
when
you're around

But do you notice?


I hope you do.



- Me and the Christmas Tree, Nervously Optimistic

Franzia and coca cola

Red
Lips like wine
Wrinkled for a second
pursed and intoxicating

darkness and drying machines
face down on the white metal surface
laughing

Giving a smirk
conversing through sight
because that girl doesn't know what she's talking about

Fill the goblet
to the Gothic brim
with Franzia and Coca Cola

My cup runneth over tonight

Daydreaming while driving home from work

Today
I thought about the day
I'm not alone anymore

The idea
of the moment I realized
I could stop searching

I felt warmth
radiating from that day
who knows how long away it is

Deep in my being
like Hot Cider

I know it's coming
I believe it as fact

The weirdest part
is I can see a face
not of anyone I know
or will know
but the face of satisfaction
of happiness
looking upon me
and feeling the same thing

People think I'm cold and negative
but I really want to be
Hot Cider

Self diagnosed insanity wont stand up in court

I thought your voice had left me
for good
Silent though it's been

And my heart jumped
like an Olympic athlete
right into my trachea

I don't know why
It wouldn't change a damn thing

It would just be change

Something i'm surprised to be frightened of
when really it's all I'm looking for these days

And what's that called?
A longing for stasis and dynamism
simultaneously

Insanity
I'm insane
Self diagnosed thank you very much

I thought I missed your voice
but my heart
jumped out completely a while ago

I think I miss it more

You don't have to remember me

It's okay
You don't have to remember me
When the sun beams come through your window
and in bed
you press play
to a song that pours
into your memory vat
all the things you've forgotten

I don't have to be one of them
it's okay, really
I've been forgotten before

There are people I haven't met yet
who will lose my name and face
in the crowd of life
so it's okay if you do too

I wouldn't hold the future accountable
So,
why treat the past any different?

Someday i'll be thrown against a wall
and someday
I'll stick

The faces in the background

What is understanding
closeness, community, caring?
Is it measured
in hugs
in kisses
I have few of these

Or comments, hits, views
messages,
higher numbers, more characters
more
I staked my life on less

What is real emotion anymore
and what does the dust on the ground
have to say
about being wiped away?

Dirt, grime, untouched, unmentioned
unloved
un-un
prefixes and negative tenses
these are my company

Downtrodden

Real

The dark faces in the background
out-of-focus
they are no less captured than
center lens subjects

So why do they mean so little?

I'd die to be a word writ by else

Write about me
Say from your blossomed depths
my name as bursts of color within

Let your mind be a catch-all
senses filled to brim
all the time

Let me know you in your words
and read me in mine

Write about me
converse your heart
trade notations in mind and soul
and beyond

I've written nearly everybody met
Sensations and brushes
Silence and loud
everything always
everybody

Ulterior motive
I'd not deny to desire selfsame

Words, they fall like stars

Where are the words
where are my words
ideas,
and thoughts
that come to me at a table by myself
in the food court of the Westfield mall

Where is my ability
i've found inability

Squeezing blood from a turnip
used to seem like a possibility
now I'm mute
and without these frail poems
i'd be crippled too

Every day is a battle that everyone is fighting
right now, mine is with the keyboard
mine is with my plans
Mine is with the words which fall into white space
so lazily

Where is the life in my words?
Gone, with so many other things
Gone, like my pastel set and drawing pads

Gone
My desire is not
but perhaps my inspriation is

So where are the words
that are ghosts on this page
that are dates and titles of the past
Everything i've already written is not a diary
but a cemetary

In vain I wait for the meteor shower tomorrow
cosmic events are not even half as spectral
by myself

And love and memory too

You can't be in love
with the past
because love can never lie
and the past
can't help it

Memory is a waterfall
cascading and majestic
missing the point always;
Clear and clean as it tumbles downward
pooling into dark water
you can never see through the bottom

The past is
a shadow
An outline of self
which was once
but now sways by breeze
of illumination
stretched and warped
by the source for which it exists
so very gray
compared to what it
mimics

And the two cannot come together again
not through tears
or quiet moments asking why
or the sickness, "what if?"

Water, once spilt over the edge
will never return

and love and memory too

Fingers in striped wool gloves look warmer when it's cold

It's freezing
don't you want to go inside
with the rest of the party?

Wine in semi clear plastic cup
he's fading fast
Does anybody want a beer?
i'm getting one
sure
no, i'm good

"I think guy's hair is so beautiful
and they don't even do anything to it"
she said.

It's endearing when girls say things like that
like there is a part of them
that's deeply in love with the male form

And not just the
Buff, hot, muscular arms
And all the other insincere desires
which can only amount to empty lusts

And people wonder why they fall out of love so quickly

She has little red dots on her face
from Girl Talk
And they look like ruby jewels
embezzled on a crystal face
telling me it's time to go now

A step, a step
the ground
the sidewalk
my car
the Glendale Freeway

Lamenting the long drive home
not because I think 30 minutes is forever
but because i'd rather the distance
wasn't so great

Dinosauria, Me

I've decided not to pollute this old blog with my short stories any longer.

From now on Speaking Without Audience is strictly poetry. All of my new short stories will be on my new blog called Dinosauria, Me. Right here http://dinosauriame.wordpress.com/. Hopefully the 2 or 3 of you who have ever read something of mine will check it out.

I will also put my new blog in the links of this page for future reference. ENJOY! :0)

The half-mast drunk eyes

No more deja vu
Circular occurrence
is the worst kind of death

I looked into the eyes of my friends
and knew
we weren't anymore

A sad revelation

Notes from an IPod Touch Pt. 3: Theme of coming up short

My Nemesis

My nemesis is tall and thin
Not goofy
Appropriately funny
A "joy to know"

He makes right decisions
The kind I would hesitate to make
And he doesn't try too hard
Always charming and clever

He has goals
Plans to achieve
And is realistic about them

He is everything I am not
But it's not what he is
And what I'm not
That makes him my mortal enemy

It's how he always gets the girl I want
without fail

But then again
He's the one they wanted anyway



Forgotten and Hidden

There are a lot of vast empty spaces in the world
And I occupy one
And feel it in my core
My heart
These dirty lungs
They fill with the beginnings of
deep sighs
No relief, just anxiety really
Crunching disappointment
Alone
This word that seeks me out
To smother my sense of trust
In positivity and hopeful feelings
Gone missing with my friends
I feel abandoned in this bed
at 45 minutes past 12AM
with the sounds of trucks on the 210 freeway
echoing off the San Gabriels
who even now spy through my window shades
The faint whoosh,
like a constant reminder
That people will pass you by like a long haul rig
In the darkness I feel my weight
my size
And I'm embarrassed to exist like this
With such fervor that I purposely shut myself off
in this isolation chamber of a room
Go Away
I think when somebody calls
But I want them here
I wish to God that I won't be alone
and it consumes me
A kind of paradox
Enveloped by emptiness
While I sing a song for no one to hear
And hope, beyond a reasonable measure of realism,
for someone to join me in the
chorus

In bluntness,
I am the song

The tragedy of the left (past tense)

God, it's a warm October day
isn't it?
The heat wrapping around
like a ribbon
or maybe more like a noose

Not everything is doom and gloom
the sun still shines
for the time being

Nobody has a clue what you want
until you speak up
That's the beauty of thought
it's secrecy
and there are no mind readers

Each person is a story untold
a novel unrealized
a poem without verse

And existence as a whole is really just humanity
trying to pry details from the authors
so we can hear another good story

In that way
everyone is a writer
sitting at their keyboard
while they walk through life

The good ones often keep it to themselves
While the desperate ones put it in type

So even on too warm days
prose is in the air
when it's just another ho hum afternoon

Writer's block could never happen in reality

Summer weather forever

"What's not to love about the weather!?"

By this point I had a look on my face somewhere between shock and annoyance. Why were we arguing about the weather? Who cares, forget the weather, that's not the point. The weather is never the reason to have a conversation, unless you're a meteorologist, and really even then.

"Tim that's not what I'm saying at all, the weather is fine for what it is. It's just a combination..."

"No, you said why can't we have distinct seasons like other places," he interrupted. "Where else on earth can you have mid nineties weather in October? I could go to the beach on Halloween while the rest of America is stuck inside getting warm."

I gave up. There was no sense going on with it. I sank back into a chair while he stood red faced and triumphant that our disagreement had produced no viable base for my supposed view.

"Listen, I like the beach as much as everybody but don't you get tired of summer by the fourth or fifth month?" I pleaded as a last ditch effort to stalemate him. "I'm not saying it's a bad thing, I'm just a little sick of it."

What I didn't say was that I was tired of this place.

I saw a few of my other friends motion to each other for a smoke - a mute hand gesture like a horizontal peace sign kissing the lips- and decided to follow.

Outside the warm air was calm, dead, like the doldrums in old pirate stories. The doldrums represented a certain type of death. A lack of breeze, a lack of movement. Dead in the water as the saying goes. They each lit a cigarette and I asked for one myself.

The smoke hung in the air like spindly webbing and the nicotine hit my bloodstream after a few puffs.

"You feeling good Evan?"

"Yeah I think so, man."

There was a few moments of silence and peace. But peace, like a nicotine buzz, can only last so long.

"Do you ever feel stuck, Sean?"

"All the time Evan, all the time." he said.

"What do you do about it? Because it's all I think about anymore." I said.

He looked down at the ground and sucked his cigarette to the filter before flicking it out in a plastic painters bucket. For a second he just smiled at me, holding his breath.

"I just wait it out," he said finally as smoke flowed with his words. "That's all we really can do I think."

We all came back inside again. I wished they would turn on the air, it was getting uncomfortably warm in the living room with everyone else.

Sometimes the doldrums would last only a few days. The wind would pick up and the sail would furl with the power of the air. Pushing onward toward the goal, with minimal time lost. Other times they lasted for months and even if the breeze finally arrived it was too late. At what point do you get on a raft and row; hoping to hit an island or another shipping lane? The hardest part would be watching the ship blip out of existence as it crossed the horizon. The last comfort zone, a bastion of relief and familiarity no longer within reach.

Sometimes it takes a deadly calm to realize it's time to make a move. And that was the day I decided, for sure, not to wait it out.

When you become one with the chair

This is me waking from a dream.

This is me weary eyed and aching. Always aching. Always staring down, watching my chest rise and fall -checking to see if this is really happening. The years, they stretched by. Some yawned, others blinked. Now they count down.

This is my chair, in a dark room. Broken down cushions. Worn corduroy into shiny skids were i'd been for so long. Creakiness, the rule, not exception. The fabric smells like me, has become a part of me and together we watch the Television set.

The room is dark with late afternoon blackness. Sun peering through the blades, like a dog watches through chain linked fence. Wanting to come in, but knowing the unshakable certainty of boundary.

This is me adjusting to white light. For a second, I am being born. Sensations I'm not supposed to remember are coursing my synapses, playing over and over and over in my mind.

"Honey, they'll be here in 10 minutes, I just spoke to them on the phone."

"Okay, I'll get up. Could you turn out the light, though? It's giving me a headache."

And the lights went out.

This is my peaceful 10 minutes. Everything I'd worked for is here with me. The house, the furniture, the photographs on the wall, the television set, this chair. All of it my own and of my consequence.

I sit up. I'm not so strong any more. Like the rusty tools that stare at me from the patio, our capability does not necessitate our use.

The knock at the door - and tapping below that.

I am 75. Why did the years skip me over? To be young when I went to sleep and geriatric upon waking.

"Grandpa!" they all say and I stand up. A pain shoots through my body but I smile and hug them.

"Don't be so rough with Grandpa kids, he's tired."

"Watch what you say son, I don't feel any older than you do," I say.

"Come on in the kitchen, dinner is just about ready."

They leave and I exhale. In the other room, plates clash and silverware jingle - in my room bones grind and cancer cells multiply. The pain is excruciating. I feel like I'm dying. This isn't right. I'm not part of this life yet. To have lived the story and forgotten the arch - it's nauseating. And I break down. Slumping into my chair which is part of me. I bite my hand, blood dripping and tears well up, but I feel nothing. I see my degree, framed and set above the mantle while I black out.

Then dark.

This is me waking from a dream.

Negative

"A prophet is not without honor except in his own country and in his own house"
-Matt 13:57



The only way I can think to describe my life back then would be "drunk on unhappiness". Maybe it was a product of growing up on post hardcore music or Woody Allen films but it seemed like there was no spring to the winter of my discontent.

The worst moments were the late nights. A bright computer screen and the looming, nearly audible, grind of time passing and being wasted. Waking up late because, hell, why not? Staying up late for the same reasons and perpetuating a dull existence.

I wanted so badly to give it all a reason - to say that the small things, the insignificant experiences, could be a microcosm for bigger things. Thinking I was struggling for my art. But in reality I was just like rubber soled shoes on melting ice. The worst was imminent, all that was left was for fate to decide if i slipped or broke through.

I thought I could write something important back then. Grow into something worth listening to. I would look at my favorite stories like arrows pointing to the tidy slot my voice could fit into. I have no idea why that thought popped into my head. The notion that I had a chance and the blind hope in a phrase like "making it."

I was watching TV with my parents one early afternoon. A recorded late night talkshow that we could all agree on. I always talked when I watched TV. It might have been when I was most conversational.

"You're always so negative Evan."

"But this band is a joke, look at that guy, he's seriously convinced that he is a cowboy."

"Don't you have anything positive to say ever, son?"

"They can't play more songs, I guess that's a good thing."

"See? Listen to yourself every once in a while, not one good thing comes out. Nobody likes hanging around a critical person."

I was the accused in my own home -though, as they saw it, it was their home and I was still living in it. A sentiment which was at first unsettling but it seemed like every day I felt more like a guest. My parents were probably right, I was being negative, even prodding them a bit. But the more they derided my behavior, the less I wanted to tone it down.

"Whatever, I'm just saying-"

"That's the thing Evan, you don't have to say anything at all."

"You're the one that asked me why I was laughing. I mean the guy has two slide guitarists. And the sound is so cleaned up, it's a wonder they didn't just play the track over speakers while he two-stepped around the stage."

"You can't even do it Evan. What happens when you have a wife someday? she wont want to listen to that kind of talk all day."

I just ignored them. I wasn't rebelling because there's no point in rebelling in your 20's. I wasn't even trying to make a point. Really all I wanted was to be left alone. If I couldn't be listened to in my own home then why would anyone else care to?

"Fine, I won't be negative, I'll just go upstairs."

And then I left the room.

Harvest Moon

I really needed this
I thought
sitting on the icy metal walls
of my truck bed

A starless night
without breeze
and clouds loitering in the valley

It's that time of year again
I'm lonely and cold
the cold I can stand though

Three months to the finish line
will I make a sprint for it
or roll into another New Year's
dreary eve?

It's so quiet and I feel like
I own the whole valley
and everything around me
nothing less
and nothing too

I shook hands with a flower
the other night
her petal extended and I looked her right in the eyes
Her name lost in a meadow of others
But it's her image I can't shake

I kept thinking
she's so pretty, she's so pretty
and she was

So much so I forgot myself

I'll never see her again
Just another memory
I wanted to scribble down while the inspiration was still warm

My suburban epic

I

Settling in and restlessness follows
Don't hate your life
change it

No copying, no fretting
someday things might work out
(no guarantees as well)

Life as a ballet
pirouetting around the cafe
dress up for no reason
A dress code at work
is dressing up for no reason

What's the occasion?

How much perspective can a quarter century provide
most of it spent in suburbs
so little material
for art
ha!

I can weave in and out of great sayings and prose for eternity,
At best, the influence is like dust on my jacket.

II

The plastic rumble of trashcans being pulled across a driveway
is serenity here
it is the zen of gated communities
Speedbumps and fences and pool keys
Are penance for sins
not yet commited

The religion of suburbia
is suburbia
Waking up to the buzzy chain drive of a garage door
and watching mid-level luxury cars line up for the long commute

Lexus is the chariot of our champions
Mercedes, valued more than many fine steeds
Waxed on weekends
while kids splash and make noise in
over chlorinated pools
that claim 5ft is the deep end

There's an ocean of near infinite abyss
they may only hear of in passing

III

Doubt is a powerful foe

He works the body
all week
when the moment is right
and the pain is dull

THWAP!

A sucker punch to the face
In the form of an insult
It's hard to take criticism from
a faceless, nameless, gutless
tactless,
information superhighway
troll

So much of the computer screen is white
but there is no purity to be found here
Only victimless crimes

Lies and truth kitted together
as one tapestry informing the world
A world lost unto itself
Everybody knows everything

Maybe so many are so sad
because they discovered how disappointing
"Reality" really is

The gospel according to Google
and all the reasons I am fearful of failure
Doubting Thomas must be
the patron saint of the Information age

IV

Love is a game of hide and seek
I just hope I haven't counted too long
and lost all chance of finding it

I know, I know

I don't feel sorry for myself
Nobody likes that in a young man

But hear me out
Allow me to describe it from a true outsiders perspective

There is a confidence
exuded in some of the elderly
oft mistaken for stubbornness
They make moves
only deliberately
they say things with little thought
of impact
They could care less about what anyone else thinks

Behind the years of wear and tear
they figured out that it's not what everyone thinks
that is important
they know it's impossible to please all people all the time

but anybody who's ever had a kind grandmother
or gentle grandfather
knows they'd love you with the same propensity
for the rest of the worlds opinion

Here's another reason

When one who has loved
has finally lost
there is a tangible piece of them
that is visibly gone
A crack in their cup
which leaks
all the time

without fail, when love fails
so does a positive outlook on life

How much more affirming must it be
to have that missing piece

A strength I know nothing about
One which I envy and have not possessed

I may be whole

But those in love are greater than the sum of their parts
and there are few miracles so obvious as that

V

Despite the lacking

There is beauty left in life
And in that I am grateful

My name is my own
whether or not I make one for myself
in other's eyes

There are things I may miss
and others which will surprise
But the suburbs will never keep me
So this is my ode to that which blandly entraps me
tonight.

Stories tall and city blocks wide

Stories on top of stories
stacked so high
the neck strains like a creaky crane
to see them

Stories on top of stories
the Mayor of Strawberry Fields
Peace and love and ten percent
play "Everybody must get stoned!"

The LES, where less was more
where people danced
because they wanted too
and pretty girls smiled
tainted roses from red light

we were all developing pictures
of a memory in chemical fog

And quiet
the Queensborough bridge on 58th
waiting for the green lights to fire
without luck

but feeling tranquility on the edge
of a brooding storm of activity
worth more than
any JPEG could ever show

So much to see

An island that beckoned my return
the moment she was shrouded
in the clouds

I witnessed much
but knew so little
I think there must be gems
on every block
unnoticed

Now home.
But still far away.

The glow is gone

It was the first chilly night in months - cool air breathing across my clothes and through the pores. Alone time. I orbited the moon in my mind. It's hard not to think of Apollo 13 when my eyes adjust to a bright full moon. Floating in space with no air. It's cold beyond belief but you can't feel it because there are no atoms to transfer the heat, or lack thereof.

This drew a shiver all over my body, snapping me back to reality. Houston we have a problem.

I remember when I used to wonder how the sound of an ocean was trapped in a sea shell. It must echo for all eternity. The lunar illumination cast a soft white glow on all that was not lit by human hands. The mountains mostly. My skin as well.

I lit a cigarette. I don't smoke, I thought. It's taken me 2 months to get through this pack, but right now I need to relax. I need to have a reason to be alone here on an empty housing tract with a view of suburban sprawl.

Lighting the paper I sucked hard to get the burn even. In the back of my mind I thought of the first time I learned to blow on a fire to make it bigger. It boggled my young brain back then, because every time I blew out my candles it was air that did it. Air was the enemy of fire.

A car pulled up just then.

Slowly rolling past me, the sound of crunching asphalt and idling cylinders smearing my ears. It stopped down the little street a ways. Pointing at the lights below.

I don't know why city lights are such a beautiful thing. Most of what I'm looking at are street lamps and industrial complexes. Nothing romantic about them in person. Their dull orange glow blankets the road just outside my window. It's more annoying than anything when I'm trying to sleep.

Two figures got out and closed the doors. Sound travels well through silence. I could hear what they were saying. It didn't take long to understand that they were still in high school.

"I know and then you just sat there during cheer practice..." said a girl's voice.

I wondered if they considered me at all while they conversed. Did they think it was strange that I was here alone? Did they think maybe that my cigarette was something more than that?

I tried not to think of what they might be thinking and attempted to concentrate once again on the glow. I lit another cigarette. Only one more left. I didn't want to smoke more than two but whats the point of leaving one in a pack?

The familiar sound of an acoustic guitar being raised from it's coffin caught my attention. The boy was going to serenade the girl or impress her. It was all an emulation of a perfect moment they'd seen on TV or read about in a book. No longer an original idea. I wonder who the first young man to serenade a girl was and what she did. What did he sing to her? I think songs used to be less self centered in the past.

I used to practice songs on my guitar. I would imagine the perfect opportunity to reveal my skill. Maybe at a beach with some friends and that girl I liked. Or maybe on a hill overlooking the valley like these kids. I learned my favorite songs. The quiet ones that made me feel in love, though with what I never knew.

He started singing. It was the sort of teenage drivel I couldn't stand. The same types of songs I probably would have played when I was that age. He kept switching songs, not finishing any single one. I think he was trying to figure out this girl. Hoping to hit on her heart song. Thinking maybe when he sang the lyrics she would associate the love she had for it with him. At least I think that's the hope. That's what I hoped.

I smoked the last cigarette. I was tired and the more I looked at the nightscape the less constructive my thoughts became. Being alone is refreshing right up until it brushes a narcissistic psychosis.

So I left the little concert alone. Driving away, the asphalt crunching under the pressure from my tires. Back into the city, back into the darkness. The glow was gone.

Combust and crumble

It clicked
and I realized there is no logic at all
to attraction
It is or it isn't but the only commonality
are the feelings which surround it

One second I could think nothing of you
the next I want nothing more than to think about you

It doesn't make sense to me
and maybe that's my great shortcoming

Fires and famous deaths
they fill up the news waves
unaware of the small details
unsympathetic to our problems

Life is all around us
smoldering like an ember
spreading like a wild fire
Burning with all types of passions

right now I feel like everything I touch will combust and crumble

But that's not important
to the world at large

The greatest hypocrisy of our generation
is equating increased awareness
to better society

Knowledge is the base of our actions
Supposedly logical
objectively rational
but information is a masterful deceiver

When the world ends it will not be because of a lack of caring
but an overabundance of correct people
Because those who are sure of themselves
are also sure everyone else is wrong

Inland Empire

Whiskey sour
Say good bye
Texas Hold em and nervous eyes
I'm in not wanted here
I thought
(But I always think that)

Sitting down and sitting out
Watching everyone with no one looking back
I spot the landing plane against black backdrop
Blinking Christmas color lights
And fireworks
It's Independence Day meets Santa

Everyone has a problem,
the same problem, tonight
We are the very definition of the blind leading the blind
23, educated, jobless, and opinionated

My foot slipped on the stucco walls and I knew it was time to leave
I should have left an hour earlier
But what do I know

At this point, nothing much

Does not meet qualifications

Quiet hours
They murder me in silence

Trapped
Wretched chains
Too tight to move
Sun burned and wasted
White screens and a colony of ants
forming characters and qualifications

Dance and sing for the ring masters of the world
Shake hands
Make Merry
the selfish grinning money launderers

All to become nothing more than a small fee
one cog in the machine
easily afforded
easily replaced
easily forgotten

The world seems a theme park
where all the rides have minimum requirements
"You must be this tall ---->"
And I couldn't reach it on my tip toes

Screams and thrills
First I hesitated
now desperately I plea

Blistering metal bench
and foot traffic
Watch the people walk by
watch them get in line
watch them strap in and smile

Quiet hours
They murder me with silence

Kick Back

The living room was muggy and dimly lit and I felt uncomfortable. Everyone was drinking warm beer because the refrigerator stopped cooling anything. In my chair I sipped and tried to enjoy what I could of domestic brew from a can but it wasn't going well. It just tasted stale to me, stagnant and unchanging with no possibility of ever reaching it's full potential, which for this beer would have been to give me a buzz. Instead I felt full and uncomfortable.

People were laughing as is so often the case with a kick back. Laughing about what, though, I couldn't say, we had been drinking for a few hours and the conversation was so fragmented that I just let it become white noise. I knew I wasn't missing anything important. Gossip and memories mostly, long since overwrought memories which brought up so many more bad thoughts than good ones.

There comes a point when you don't really know if people are your friends anymore. Not in any clear way, but in the way that taints every conversation and curdles beneath the surface of every forced exchange. Laughing seems more like coughing - like everyone in the room is sick and liquor is the medicine. It helps us choke down each other's presence; makes the pain seem like acquaintance.

"Hey Evan, you find a job yet?" said my sickly friend.

In general I hated that question. It confirmed my own fears that I was failing to become anything and my answer confirmed their suspicions that I wasn't anything. But hearing it from a friend cut a little deeper. My quick being threatened by my peers.

"No, you know there's just not a lot out there right now..."

"I bet you wish you majored in something else, hahaha, I mean you could always go into another field, a degree is a degree, you know?"

"Yeah definitely" I muttered.

"I mean with a communications degree you could work as a teacher if you get your credential, or even some business HR. You can still be kinda creative there too, I mean it is a job after all."

Mmhmm.

It pained me to know the truth in what he said. That I would not find success because so very few people did. That maybe I had wasted 4 years believing I actually had a shot.

A smile crept across his face like he'd finally caught me in my lie. That devilish grin flicking ashes on the notion that a clear slacker like me would ever find success in a trade not based on hard facts or mental accuity, but instead that nebulous word, creativity - the cancer of academia. An affront to the hard hours he put into numbers and networking and straight laced suits and can do attitude.

But I had considered those things. Logic was always dogged and I rarely found relief from the pressure to make something of myself. So as he watched me, my expression, searching for a sign that he woke me up to reality for the first time, I gave him no such prize. Just a smile.

"Yeah a job is a job, you are right about that." With that I nodded my can in his direction and he took of swig of his, coughing and patting me on the shoulder.

I set down the beer without drinking from it. It had failed to do anything worthwhile and now it would become waste along with the other cans - in the end they all shared a similar fate. Someday we would all be adults, I thought as I glanced at my childhood friends. Someday we would all make that sacrifice of self for a greater good. Spouses and children and God and jobs. Something worth celebrating with expensive bottles of wine and delicate stemware. But for now we are just 12oz cans at a kick back.

Nothing more than a means to a cheap drunk.

My as yet unanswered inquiry

Tell me something!
I yelled at the heavens
those swirling pinpoints of light that Van Gogh saw
bright and big enough to swallow anything
that ever existed on this planet
as if nothing ever did
That is true permanence
I thought
This sky is the same one that Jesus and Galileo
and Einstein saw
IT spoke to them
So I spoke to it
I know there's more that I'm not seeing here
Secrets the silent darkness held from me
A satellite sped through my vision
I almost missed it
one of mankind's greatest achievements
barely visible
Light and Dark
that's all there really is

Which one am I?

2 cigarettes and maybe 20 minutes

The moon flooded my eyes
she did
light wave after another
pounding the receptors and cones
with pure white

Shielding the ember from the summer eve's mouth
the orange ash politely radiated the inside of my hand
with heat
and in the miles below me
a hundred thousand embers also smoldered

The line of demarcation between the two worlds
one ruled by pack mentality and howls
shrieking, echoing
and the other in organized squares
with approximately straight lines
and wavy heat rising from it

I was happily in purgatory
not nature, not society
wanting to be left alone by all

To mend my wounds on my own
to feel the night like any human being in past
breathe deep and explain the taste
for myself

Like the thousands of families
each with their own little lamp
the darkness my disguise
the moon my revealer

There is so much beauty in a California summer night
on the gently cooling
dusty foothills of a mountain

Rose Street is an empty cul-de-sac
where I shared a cigarette or two with the night
a small row of vacant lots
left void by recessionomics

It was there I made a sanctuary
against a backdrop of man and God made glory
I drank it all in
waving my hands across it like a fireplace

Yet, my shoulders drew cold
Adam's desire still burning in his most pathetic of kin
My Eden, a stalled housing development

Strange day for love

The man sitting across from me was not my boss, but a hollowed out exoskeleton of him. His eyes were tired and demeanor defeated. He sipped at his coffee begrudgingly, only sampling a little bit like a man committing suicide through bitter drink.

"Hey Evan you write a lot, right?" he said, his hemlock tinged breath seeping through cigarette yellowed teeth.

I said that I had.

"Well, my wife served me with divorce papers last night."

Shocked that I was hearing this, my heart sunk a little and I knew why he was such a subdued version of himself.

"She came in with a stone faced stare and handed them to me while I sat on my couch watching TV."

Why he was confiding in me was not clear. It was overwhelming and I didn't know what to say. He probably had children my age and to think that I could relate to him and sympathize on a legitimate level to match the problem would be incredulous.

"I'm so sorry Frank," I said staring at him directly. "That's terrible."

He smiled weakly, like an old dog straining to lift himself off of a backyard porch. "I've seen it coming for a while now, it was only a matter of time," he said.

"Oh, well... I'm really sorry," I said redundantly, searching for the wise sounding words I would give a friend in need but finding only simple, repeating sympathies.

"It's for the best I think," he said. "But that's why I asked if you wrote, I have to go to court to determine child support and I want to make a written statement outlining our finances and how they got to where they are now. I was wondering if I could send it to you so you could proofread it and clean it up to sound professional."

I didn't want to. Not because I didn't want to help him but because he was about to let me in on a very private part of his life and I don't know that I should take on that burden. But I didn't have the heart to tell him it made me uncomfortable. Imagining the humility it must have taken for a grown man to ask for help from me, his employee, made me realize that he must have had no place else to go.

"Do you have an attorney?" I asked, thinking maybe the responsibility for legal script would best be left to someone who passed the Bar and not a kid with an BA in communications.

"No. I called one up and he told me that him being in court would make no difference and it would just be a waste of a couple thousand dollars."

The last straw broken, I said I would help. Divorce was a strange thing to me. I could not understand how a married couple could split so irrecoverably. Maybe it's because I understood the nature of hate, but not so much of love. I always thought of them as opposites, but now I wasn't sure. Darkness is the opposite of light because it is the absence of it but a life without love is not all hate. Maybe I confused the definition of love and it's many forms but it scared me that two people so close would suddenly not want to be.

That evening I spent time with my friends, Tom and Sean. We drove to a hole in the wall Mexican food place and decided to sit on some grass by an intersection and eat, bypassing stone tables. The sound of traffic and people meeting at crosswalks always made me feel alive, apart of humanity and it's passively chaotic beauty.

"So what's up with you and Katelyn?" Tom asked Sean.

"Well we broke up." he said.

"Yeah but you saw her last night," said Tom. "You spent the night even."

Sean smiled. We were older now but no more mature in some areas than the 14 year-old us.

"Yeah I spent the night and we... well, we had sex. We've been doing that a lot since we broke up or split up or whatever. In a lot of ways it's better, less of an obligation than it was getting to be. That's why we broke up, things were just feeling stale, but I know that I don't want to be with anyone else. I just had to pull myself out of it for a second. Find out if we both felt that way."

"Clearly you do," I said.

We laughed and ate some more. A man whistled to another man on a bike on the other side of the street. He rode over to him and they high-fived a greeting.

Around 9PM we drove to an apartment near a university. Our friend Brian proposed to his girlfriend last week and invited us to an engagement party to celebrate. We arrived to a small living room filled with 30 people. Lot's of pretty girls were there, smiling and congratulating the newly engaged.

One girl in particular was absolutely gorgeous. Her skin was so dark, darker than mine could get with years of sun. She wore a gray top and fitted jeans with flats and though I didn't know her at all, I instantly felt her energy. It made me self-conscious and aware that my physical shape was only one of many obstacles I would have to hurdle in order to have the slightest chance to even speak with her. I thought it better to try and ignore her.

"Um, thank you all so much for being here to celebrate with me and Brian," said Brian's fiance, her voice rising above the din of conversations.

"We wanted to tell everyone here the story of how Brian proposed to me..."

She laughed nervously, flushed from the champagne and wine we all drank. She told the story like someone recounting it for the first time, still after a week, feeling the gravity of the event. Every detail was told and retold while she backed over parts to fill in things she missed. Everyone in the room watched with a grin. None bigger than Brian's. I had never seen him so red and beaming with happiness. I think what I was seeing was love. It had been a strange day but I felt it here more than anywhere else.

Tom and Sean wanted to leave early, so I glanced one last time at my tawny party crush and walked outside to say goodbye to Brian and his fiance.

"I'm taking off Amber, congratulations have a great night," I said to the bride to be and we hugged. Wanting to say it but not knowing how to articulate it, I tried anyway. "I thought your story was great - it was beautiful, really."

"Oh thank you so much Evan, I'm really glad you guys could make it."

In the car on the ride home Tom and Sean spoke out loud.

"I definitely wouldn't have told my story to everyone like that." said Tom

"Yeah standing up in front of everyone like that would just be embarrassing." said Sean. "Plus I hate having parties in honor of myself, it's weird to me. I don't want everybody feeling obligated on my behalf."

"It was so long too." said Tom.

"I thought it was cool" I said. "They were happy to tell it I think."

"And then the people asking questions 'what were you thinking when he did this?'..." said Tom, ranting over my words. I kept silent while they played off of each other's criticisms of the party. The moon lit the freeway up like a fresh snow and I stared at my own reflection looking back at me from the right rear passenger window.

Notes from an IPod Touch Pt. 2: Theme of longing

Rockets and race car beds

There is a concentrated pull
Coming from outside the sill
The will to leave teeters on necessity
But still remain
Remain in spot
The unknown is an enchantress
It sickens me when I can't love her
back
I love the lights, the towers
The smell of things mildewed
with character
Not catalog bought
Not framed after boring model homes
where every little boy and girl have
rockets and race cars for beds
I used to want it
But now I want something less defined
I want freedom
I want to be somebody
And not just for the sake of recognition
but to matter
A tall order
For a low self esteem but why not
dream big
Did God make us to do any less?


Wants to see me

The best place in the world
is passenger side at dusk
When it's raining
so hard
The window may as well be a
Wall, because the water washed away
the view of dotted two lane highway
And there's no better highway than the
1
Screaming along the beautiful coast in
balmy weather
I shudder when I remember what
perfect convergence like that feels like
Oh I wish you coulda been there with
me
Cause that's as close as to love as this fool
ever got

You know, I deal in possibilities
exclusively these days
And I'm saving up for another trip
though who knows when for sure
Concrete plans are brittle when you're
23
And I am
Oh my, I think I'll miss some people so
much
And surprise chili nights in late July
But it never seems like you want to see
me anymore
And lukewarm receptions are so easily
left behind

The night and day never really meet

"Well I feel fairly inadequate right now," I said as I stargazed the black sky above me, watching my words condense for a second into a cloud.

"It's fine, I'm sure someone else has a light," said the beanied blond as she walked over to another random alley patron.

She asked me for a lighter but I am not a smoker. Not a real one anyway. Just an occasional one. I wish I had been talking about a lighter and not, as was the case, a general statement about myself. I hated to see her go but this night was not about girls.


I spent the better part of the ride home debating with myself whether I was too drunk to drive. My conclusion as I pulled off the freeway on my exit was that I had kept it in the lane well enough. I was in familiar territory now. Quiet suburban neighborhoods with empty well lit roads. I rolled the window down as I always do on surface streets and let the air sooth me. The sounds and smells all the things I know so well. Left turn then another left and a final right, I pulled into my driveway.

Staring at my front door I had a thought. A thought that maybe my night didn't have to end yet. So I went for a walk. The night felt wild for some reason. The stars and moon dazzled brighter than I'd ever known them to. I nearly tripped because I could not stop myself from looking up instead of ahead. A few coyotes ran across my path skittishly, afraid of what I might do. It startled me a bit and for a second I could see myself being ripped apart by a pack of wild dogs. I shuttered to think how that would feel so I tried my best to ignore them increased my pace.

Then I stopped. A rush of reality, of regret ran over me suddenly. The feeling was so intense my vision hued orange with the rush. I had to steady myself, feeling so sad and wrong and disgusting, knowing what I'd done and how I wanted to go back but could not. My phone vibrated in my pocket and the last thing I remember was murmuring to myself "why" as if through repetition I'd find my relief.

I awoke the next morning very early awkwardly clinging to a swing set at a public park. A ringing sound pulled me from my sleep. My eyes hurt from dry contacts and it took a minute to set them right and focus.

The sun was not quite over the horizon so I figured it must be near 6 o'clock or earlier. All I could hear were the slow chug of industrial sprinklers, making a metallic ring as they hit a street sign post. My alarm clock.

There were no cars in the parking lot and no other people around save for a few chipper autos putting along to work. I stood up slowly and immediately felt sick. My mouth tasted like cigarettes and hand smelled worse. I was not usually prone to hangover, but I did not usually call a playground my bed.

Plodding my first unsure few steps I regained some composure and made my way back home. Walking toward me on the sidewalk, a couple walked their dog in jogging outfits. I smiled as we passed and they just stared. The night and day never really meet, they just stare at each other as they pass.

Feeling my pockets to make sure I hadn't left anything in the wood chips, I took out my phone.

3 new messages
2 missed calls

The sun hit my face in that bright intensity that only a sunrise can bring. I immediately began to sweat as the cool morning air retreated to the shadows. Still having a few more blocks to go I removed my jacket.

"Hey Evan, I think we should talk this through"

"Why do you feel so trapped with me? What is wrong?"

"You must be at the bar, call me tomorrow, g'night"

I felt bad for not answering. But then again, I was drinking for a reason last night. And there's no sense in allowing feelings to ruin a good drunk.

Fully clothed I fell into bed and nearly into deep sleep, but I had a voice mail and I wanted to hear it before I shut the blinds and slept away the day.

"Ok Evan, I know you're at the bar. But I just wanted to say you made me sad today. I know you did it thinking you were doing the right thing and that you didn't want to lead me on but it still hurt a lot. You've got some issues Evan. I don't want to sound like the woman scorned here and maybe it's just that I wasn't your type or something. But hear me out. I think you didn't really want to break things off. I don't know why but you seemed hesitant. I thought you liked me Evan, you said you did. I know you didn't want to hurt me but you did. But I think you hurt yourself too. That's why you're out tonight, isn't it? Maybe I wont date for a while but I should have done that anyway after my last relationship, these things wear on you. Anyway, I'm not going to beat myself up over it. I'll be off work so call me tomorrow if you want to talk, but I don't think you will. So... goodbye Evan, I hope you figure out your demons before you meet the girl you really want."

I ended the call and turned over staring at the ceiling.

"Well that was fun." I said sarcastically to myself.

I hated being the bad guy and breaking things off, but do they always have to analyze me? I think I'm easy enough to figure out.

I turned my pillow over to the cold side expecting to conk out as soon as it was beneath me. An hour and four drinks of water later I fell asleep.

A week on a string

I had this beautiful glass chime
it swayed in the wind
and rung so sweetly

She brought the summer breeze in
with in a flurry of notes
frantic
ringing ringing
Like an alarm

For
me
to
WAKE UP

I admired her and she sang for me
only I
and the wind
would touch her

And when the glow from the horizon sunset
filtered through her shape
I froze
not wanting it to end
as the black then purple then red then yellow
became just one color

Oh you should have seen it
Magic on a string

But I couldn't handle her
my glass chime
her delicate nature, her love
was always in the back of my head

ringing ringing
in my mind,

at any time
SHE COULD BREAK

Even the breeze
our friend
was suspect

I panicked
when panicking would solve nothing
I packed her away and set the chime as neatly as she could fit
inside the cardboard box
with straw and cushion

and I sent her away
because now I could not bear to be the reason for her breaking
I could not stand to see her shatter

She's gone now
I sent her away
No more ringing or melding summer colors
I was too afraid to have her so I gave her away

Now nights are filled only with a passionless void

John Muir

In the darkness
while her eyes are dancing in and out of focus
because we are too close
its too dark

And I can't concentrate
On the here and now
the moment

because I'm already weeks ahead
a time traveler,
prophet
to a heart that I can't understand
except in visions

dealing exclusively in disappointment

I can already see the end
that long tube of time
with a pinpoint of light

but I know what's there already
and it's not here
it's not now

So while in immediacy
it feels right to be
I have my doubts

We could be so perfect for each other
it could be so serendipitous that we ever crossed paths
on the lonely road of life
But this isn't my stop

And so while I brushed the hair out of her eyes
and wanted to feel her so much closer
I wonder if she saw the sadness creep across my face

And it hurts to feel it
which is why more now than ever I must go

I am John Muir but you are not my Yosemite
I am Columbus but you are not the East
I am Abraham but you are not my Canaan
no
I'm still so very restless outside
the promised land

It's so sad to say
That so far having someone hurts more than not

Fat Jim Morrison and the LSD freakout

We
walked around the
streets

You
had to go home
eventually

But we heard music

And a tiny little clothing store
with a backyard
where
you'd never expect it

A band of misfits playing covers of 60's
and 70's songs
to couples who were our age
in those same era's

You
stood in front of me
and smiled and
listened

in the red glow
of a string of lights along the fence

I think in that moment I smiled
and meant it

meant it more
than a hundred other smiles
i've ever given

I'll act like it didn't happen

"Sure I can wait, it's just smores"
You know,
it seems like a trap
A familiar one
A beautifully familiar one

One that comes on bright and warm like the spring
With a comparable level of renewal

I can't even look at the screen when she's complimenting me
I just smile and stare at my hands on the keyboard

It'll be hard to wipe that smirk off my face
It's also hard for me not to sabotage myself

I want to ask why
why now
why me
why her

but that's not how these things develop I guess

The beach seems like a fine place for a meeting
Those waves erase the shore and all the footprints on them
I'm just having trouble convincing myself
to jump in

I want to be able to dry off quickly
should conditions suddenly change
so I could act like it didn't happen

A debate with myself (whether or not to show my angry side)

An old post I never posted from a few months ago and titled "revise this". I never did.

Regret is not a strong word
but a necessary one
for late nights of pure weakness
coming back to remind you with their ugly heads

Like the pigs
become our enemy
Love in the time of Swine Flu is a tricky proposition

Keep your distance and draw near
never works
Rolling in the mire is so much more fun
Save for the disgusting feeling afterward

Hysteria and panic of pandemic proportions
Yet, the crickets outside know nothing of these things
How many more will suffer
before the bugs will quit their chirping?

We are the pigs wallowing through our own filth
but the rest of the natural world lives on
We curse and blame and point
for not
The animals sing,
the sky sings
The heavens themselves open up their throats
for a trumpet of a new day
Every single dawn without fail
And we spit in each other's faces
without fail

Sometimes I wish I had someone to snap me out
Wake me up, please
I haven't met the best one yet

These things I do know

Politics will let you down
Politicians are not public servants
Because they don't know how to serve
The news will not inform
Because the public will not accept it
The world needs more love
Even those who say they love do not always love
Indifference is not the same as tolerance

And tolerance is not the answer
It is just tolerance
Merely a bandage for a gushing wound
And bandages are easily torn under mild duress

Love always was
and always will be what we need
In more ways than one as well
In actions not words
In sincerity and not show

In love with something other than ourselves

All the pretty girls (rant rant)

All the pretty girls
With their spot on fashion
Their hipster glasses
The archive of vinyl records
and their archival knowledge of 70's punk bands

Their uninspired personalities
Their self righteous anger for global issues
When pity
and caring
would have served it better

They way they abhor outside judgement
Their curve ball smiles
and disarming wit that makes you feel
down 0-2 in the count

The way their hair seems to glow
like a halo in a dark ages religious tapestry
from the era of Constantine
The Roman Empire divided in their shining locks

And when I admire them
it's always
from a distance
artificial, superficial, or otherwise
They don't want much to do with me
up close
Too grim I think
Too near to flippantly brush aside

All the pretty girls at some point
Made the decision to be that way

Guys like me
(or just me maybe)
Never had a chance
Except a knowledge fleeting
An inkling
That the pretty girls
Were not the pretty girls after all
They were impostors
Wolves in vintage clothing
Those girls are parody at best

NOTHING so good as all that
Is ever so easy to spot

I think I may happen upon only a few
Genuine articles in my life
The real pretty girls are natural and brief as that
perfect sunrise in summer
They are gone so fast

If you see them at all

I want to move out but can't cause i don't have any money or steady source of income

Chirp Chirp go the crickets
and it's a warm 10:55 while
I hear the faint glow of traffic
echoing
off of houses and
I guess the mountains

I think I must have lived out this day
A thousand times before
at the very least

Tired without real reason
bored without a motivation
and frightened

of that darkness
the unseeable beyond the street lamps
and fires burning
in the valley below

Friends and family scheme
to find a better life
and do all they can to change things
unsuccessfully it seems

For with time I watch the results of their aspiration
and the ultimate end to mindlessly rubbing their legs together
in a last ditch effort to find
something

Blunt is vulgar in poetry
but i find it
...difficult
to see the beauty of words

It seems this place
has dulled that sixth sense
of inspiration

and everything is gray

The Tribute Generation ( A new direction home)

"At the same time, I shared a dark suspicion that the life we were leading was a lost cause, that we were all actors, kidding ourselves along on a senseless odyssey. It was the tension between these two poles- a restless idealism on the one hand and a sense of impending doom on the other - that kept me going"
- Hunter S. Thompson The Rum Diary



"Did you know you were supposed to come in today at 10?"

My manager, Dan, scanned my face while his own stubbly mouth let out a subtle, "got ya" grin. He was decked from head to toe in Nike athletic attire, a bright yellow Livestrong Tshirt and black warm up pants.

I thought about lying. About saying that I'd forgotten or that I didn't know. But it didn't matter. If I had gone this far in my subtle protest of being fired then I may as well let them know about it.

"Yeah, I knew."

He stood their while I gave a "what can ya do" shrug and smiled. Dan was a micro manager (in every sense of the word, he couldn't have stood an inch above my chin). Never leaving me to a sale, always watching over my shoulder and quizzing me on merchandise. He treated his work with a meticulous nature befitting a branch co-manager. I never liked him.

"Well okay then, I'll go get your check."

"Don't I need to sign some papers, Kathy told me something about that?"

"Nope, just wait here a second."

So I stood in the center of my former place of work. The cold, white, euro-futuristic store was uninviting to say the least. Weird techno music played over the store's speakers invoking a late 90's work out theme that gave me the chills. All this brand identity. All this rhetoric and slogan. I hated selling products, but it was the only job I was good enough for. Too bad I'm such a terrible salesman, I wouldn't have minded recieving a few more checks before summer.

"Hey Evan!"

"Oh, hi Jessica, gosh where've you been? I thought you quit."

Jessica was a bombshell to say the least. She had the most incredible features. Mestizo coffee skin, big bright beacon's for eyes, silky straight hair the sheen of a polished vinyl record, toothpaste tube smile, and of course, the outgoing nature of a Miss America contestant. Her attractiveness could not be overstated. She was too pretty for me and I was okay with it. I stayed flirty and corgial with her and she did too, with the same knowlege of innocence. The acquaintance worked rather well despite it's platonic ignorance.

"Oh no, i've just been studying abroad for a few months in Italy. It's so wonderful there, have you ever been?"

"Yeah I went with my family a while ago, it's great."

"Isn't it though? The people there are so incredibly nice and all the history and countryside; it's really like a paradise almost. And then the food, oh my gosh, I don't know how the Italians stay so thin."

"Probably cigarettes." I said, trying to be funny and receptive to her story.

"What? Oh... Right yeah maybe it's that. I've been back for a week now and honestly I miss it so much. I wish America was more like Italy. We could learn alot from..."

"Here you go Evan, take it easy" said Dan, handing me my check and extending a reluctant but commendable hand to shake.

"Thank's Dan."

I shook his hand and we shared a mutual have a nice life jackass in our minds. Then he turned to Jessica.

"Hello Jessica, how was Italy? I bet you wish you didn't have to be back to work but you gotta pay for that trip somehow right?"

Before she disappeared with Dan into the employee's only door I realized I would not see her or likely this place again. She turned around to wave with that pageant charm blinding me.

"Well, see you later Evan."

"Yeah see you later Jessica."

She didn't know I was fired and I didn't feel like telling her anyway. It's better if things end with a sort of ambiguous lie I think. Like the final scene Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind or Before Sunset. I'm sure the first thing that weasel Dan was going to tell her was that I was fired anyway.

I walked through the doors of this plastic apparel prison and out into the sunlight of a Sunday afternoon. Whatever relief or self satisfying rebellion I felt in that place was replaced with the dread of a few more years of complacent wheel spinning while I tried to find my place in the whirlwind.

I got in my car and fired it up, opting not to turn on the radio and instead drive with the windows down in relative, white silence. The engine roared to life, sucking at the gasoline I could no longer afford.

The sky was blue and cloudless and the warm afternoon breeze was lazy. My family was coming over tonight for my mother's birthday party. Company was the last thing I felt like having.

I took my time driving home. There's no rush to a firing squad for the condemned.

Wedding Bells Part 2

The wedding reception continued on into the evening. I could see the trees outside, through a open doorway, waving their branches to the soothing breeze. What had been an unbearable heat was now one of those beautiful summer nights when you feel like sleeping outside on the lawn and the grass feels better than the best comforter ever could.

An orange low-lit glow ensconced itself through all the tables as the waiters took away everyone's plates.

A few people had made their way to the dance floor like the first few ants to arrive on freshly dropped ice cream cone. They nervously skittered about bumping into each other before retreating to their table in hopes of some recruits.

Me, I was a firm believer in avoiding embarrassing situations. Nothing in my memory indicated that I could dance or would look graceful on a dance floor. As far as I was concerned it was lava and I was going to cling to this seat to avoid it.

"Come on Evan, let's dance"

My long time family friend and one time 6th grade crush smiled as she tried to coax me from my lava buoy.

"No I don't think so Hope. I'm not much of a dancer."

"Neither am I. It's just for fun, nobody cares what you look like." she said, looking really nice in her formal dress. She was always attractive but, I guess it's rare that i'd seen her so done up.

She was the first girl I ever had a crush on but it was not 'til know that I noticed what a beautiful woman she'd apparently become.

However the will avoid embarrassment was stronger than the conjured up feelings of a 12 year old and I resisted once more.

"Suit yourself Evan." she said dismissively. "Oh, Brick House, I love this song."

So she ran off to the dance floor. When it came to filling up a dance floor, no song was more inviting than Brick House. At a wedding it was somehow everyone's jam.

I watched the people laugh at each other. I felt like the boy who never went in pools at summertime parties. I had been that boy in fact. It was this bad habit which led to another, the habit of people watching.

I studied people with a careful thoroughness better reserved for a term paper. It fascinated me. Especially people acting without inhibition and wedding dance floors were full of willing players in my game.

A large man with a dark mustache and receding hairline bounced up and down like like a basketball. Laughing all the while, his face turning red.

I turned toward the wonderful night through the doorway. A tunnel to better thoughts. It brought a smile to my face. A grin born not from inward observations but a dialogue. A friendship, a feeling, a conversation. I have met a few great girls in only a short time. More so than any other group, they challenged me, they changed me, they made me smile. Girls who in the most random times pop up in my thoughts and remind me that not everything in life is so dire.

They were frustrating as well. Almost unknowable at times. Individuals, not reliant at all on me or anyone else for their self definition. But they were not uncaring or crude, in fact, they were all kind. Kindness that came from not only kind words or gestures, but in the times when I failed, they didn't. When I touched the flame and they let themselves burn out, instead of engulfing me in my misgivings.

Now they were all a sweet smoke. Smoldering in the depths of my thoughts when I feel a little tired and maybe a little lonely.

Hope, out on the dance floor, reminded me about all i'd missed out on because of overly ambitious inhibition.

I didn't have feelings for her anymore. Her flame had gone out first. But I did want someone. Not in an urgent pathetic sense that sometimes got me sloppy when I drank or depressed on beautiful days. I just felt like it was time. But I'm not the keeper of such things, I guess.

A group of girls gathered around the middle of the varnished wood tile and happily danced any number of goofy ways to the ironically sensual pop song playing over the PA system. They looked like they were having fun.

I laughed to myself and was about to stare out the doorway again when one of the girls in particular caught my eye.

I knew her.

Or at least recognized her. Understandably so. She had these beaming green eyes and pale pink skin with a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. I still couldn't remember where i'd seen her except that I knew i'd written a poem about her. Oh that's right.

She was in a health class with me. She sat near me and I think we eventually did a project together. Geraldine. Some poets had great muses. I had random girls that sat near me.

"Evan, we're going now. It's getting late."

Good old mom. I finally found a reason to stay and now it seems i'll meet the doorway before could work up the resolve to formally meet another old flame.

Gathering all of our things and saying our goodbyes we left the reception, walking just around the perimeter of the dance floor.

Always on the edge, looking in.

On the way out, I glanced one last time at Geraldine. Half joking and never fully expecting to keep my promise, I told myself if I ever saw her on campus I would talk to her.

But those are the kinds of vows one makes while their eyes are adjusting to a warm summer eve.

Echo Park

The buildings looked beautiful

The Los Angeles skyline
shimmering off the lake's surface
and a fountain like a firework
in jubilee

3AM in Downtown
Not a soul

The palm trees surrounding the water's edge
frame the financial institutions that once swelled to touch the sky
but they crumble from within

I walked through her streets
and went in circles
I went to a bar
and satiated no thirst
I enjoyed good company
and still felt isolated

But buildings
and parks
and potholed roads

I understood them

I knew they felt empty sometimes
An hour past last call
But they
and I
Still aspired to something greater

What a spectacular view
This portrait before dawn

Such a radiant display
Grandiose posturing from a model who could do no less
I felt something in me
maybe it was love

But I cannot say

Nicotine and Pheromones

Gyrating like a beached porpoise in front of me was a plump Latina and her somewhat Asian looking friend who was also thick but much more pleasantly curved. The two arrived at the bar an hour or so after we did and had been sharing our shadowy corner for the better part of the night; smoking, drinking beer and clearly hoping to catch the attention of similarly minded men. It was at once a confident yet pathetic move and I could see the foggy sadness which permeated their being like the gothic cigarette smoke hanging about them. They were my fellow humans, searching blindly for a time when they would not be dancing to cheesy auto tune pop songs because they wanted to connect with somebody new.

Friday night at Mudskippers. A well known watering hole throughout the region and it was here that I met with my friends for the first time in months. We walked across the street from a grocery store parking lot and into the front door nearly unharrassed, but alas the bartender rounded the counter asking for our ID's. He took the cards, bending them and flashing them under a black light before at last handing the drivers license back to us with a discerning look, perhaps trying to detect any signs that we were underaged boys with excellent fake identification. He took mine last but only bent it once and waved it under the light quickly. I took great satisfaction in his speedy determination that I was of age, thinking that perhaps i possessed more manly qualities than my friends who were a few months older than I. If I felt too proud of a trivial advantage it was because on this day I too had a fog of sadness, though I'm not sure anybody I knew could detect it.

We ordered our drinks and found a booth in the corner of the main room. It was dark and secluded, which was fine with my friends because they were here to drink and forget and flirty socializing was not part of that agenda.

Mike and John were their names, friends since high school, one time roommates, now educated working men with seemingly distant memories of good times.

"Remember that time we rode our bikes to the..."

I've heard this story a million times and so had they, but we all happily reminisced, remembering the younger versions of the three of us and all the random fun they had.

"I'm so exhausted today," said John. "I looked at the clock at 5 and basically spaced out for the last hour of the day."

It was such adult conversation. Looking around the room, there was a strange mish mash of old and young and stylish and clueless and happy and sad people with little homogeneity between them. It was the same at this table. I felt a world apart from Mike and John. They were graduated, working hard, engaged to be married and worried about the cliche bad economy. I was none of those things.

They drank their pitcher of beer and I sipped on a 5 dollar vodka and tonic. The lime was old and contained very little juice and so it tasted less like alcoholic sprite and more like a carbonated shot. We arrived rather early in relation to the Friday night bar scene which did not arrive until nearly 10. That's when the girls showed up and sat at a bench on the perpendicular wall to our booth.

There were a lot of women that night. Some were very beautiful girls and the rest were the lonely, exhibitionist types, pushing their breasts sky high like a billboard on the side of the freeway advertising milk. I glanced around the room periodically while our conversation ebbed and flowed organically like the tide. There was one girl in particular that I spotted who had a lovely face. I foolishly wanted to make eye contact with her, perhaps as a result of my loneliness or the amount of alcohol flowing through my brain. But mostly she never looked toward my side of the room, so I stared down at my drink.

The clear liquid caressing the ice and melting it down into different shapes. It was almost alive as I watched it adjust and slide under the forces of temperature. It was like a sculpture forming from invisible hands.

My mind wandered as it was too loud to hear my friends without really concentrating and I didn't feel up to it anyways. See, there was this girl I met. There always was. I was the same at age 12 as I was at 22 in Mudskippers.

Her name was Geraldine and honest to God it didn't start out that way. The first time we met, I had no definitive reaction to her being besides the fact that I found her face alluring and her music tastes impeccable. But I was not head over heels for her, no not at first sight. Not even the second or third sight. It was almost liberating at first, how much I resisted her unique charm and thought nothing of her indifference towards me. Talking to her was different. Unlike other girls, it didn't feel like an awkward interview where I did circus tricks to get her attention long enough to remember my name. It could relax around her.

But things changed. I started to like her and what was better as a friendship became clouded with mixed emotions. Here I was, surrounded by pretty single women. In fact, I think they were more objectively attractive than Geraldine. Yet, if she invited me to come over right now I would ditch those sirens in a heartbeat like the boring mannequins they were.

"So Evan, have you gone on any dates lately?" asked Mike.

"I mean I guess so, I don't know, I'm not sure anybody would classify a night out with me a date."

They laughed and popped peanuts into their mouths. I did the same though with the pleasure of knowing that I avoided their question successfully.

The bar continued to fill with lonely people and cigarette smoke. Broken down, that's all a night out really is; Nicotine and pheromones.

What sounded like thunder

Midday crackling. The unmistakable explosion of thunder fills the air as little girls who should not be outside right now scream. Dogs bark, planes scramble to the airport and a paparazzi flash fills my vision so quickly I wasn't sure it even happened.

Judgment day was upon the Mountain View community, may God's wrath be swift and merciful.

Friday afternoon, graduation plus 5. Afternoon thunderstorms are an occasional part of life in a California summer. Despite the restless air, not a drop has leaked from the gray mass blocking the mountains from view.

Earlier I wrote down some words that were not mine, from an interview I didn't do. It's grunt work but still the most proactive thing I have done so far with my new life.

My life as an "educated" pre-professional.

I dispatched my resume to the local newspaper a few day's ago. A shot in the dark at my parents suggestion. I don't expect much to come of it. A speaker at my commencement ceremony joked that my graduating class had impeccable timing to be entering the job market at the least opportune moment in 50 years. A real riot of a sentiment. All the same, it was true. Truer for me perhaps because I was hoping to partake in an industry which will never bounce back.

A newspaper man. That was never my intention; my only plan was to write because I thought it something I could do. Journalism was just the familiar face of my fractured aspirations.

I really hope I can make something of this.

The wind is picking up and the trees are dancing. It feels tropical. The storm has moved on and only the occasional beat can be heard above the din of passing traffic.

These are the echoes of sentiment from a college graduate 5 days into "reality". A clap of thunder reverberating off a mountainside.

A "Man"

As the amber liquid
poured into my gullet
I winced;
Harder every second to drink than the last
I forced myself to grin and bear it

The tingling pins that pricked my face
upon completion of a few bottles
was now more akin to a headache
than a fuzz

Still I choked down more

Grasping at the fleeting happy buzz
Of bubbles behind clear glass
now suds
they cleansed my throat and mind

But I felt no better

A lager could never satisfy me
lacking even the basic satiating
ability of water or harder alcohols

It was just something men do
Men binge on brews
and cuss and intimidate

Men arrive late holding the hand of a girl they just met
Men joke about intimacy with their peers in secretive boldness
With girlfriends just out of earshot

Their cheeks red with laughter and too much liquor
Their women with embarrassment

Beer always disgusted me
I imagine it always will
"No, you'll grow to like it"

I don't ever want to
Trying to live on other people's terms
Leaves a bitter taste


I'd just as soon purge it from my mouth
Than deal with a hangover
from betraying a truer identity