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

There but for the Grace...

An Irish man at a British pub
in North Upland
A sloppy sad Thursday night
with nothing to do

Not a soul in the bar save for me
two friends and a vodka tonic

drink of choice
quick buzz

Though it always makes me want a cigarette

The lights begin to die
and its past last call
only 12:01 and its already last call
I want to drop everything and leave

When I don't feel at home at home
A motivation for better things?

The old Irish man, long since faded
told a short joke about a turtle and two snails
punchline about speed
clever and not funny

A pitiful lonely man
The man I don't want to be

Piss drunk and single in North Upland on a Thursday night
This isn't a bar, he said
It's a Goddamn British Pub

He meant every word of it
Channeling his deep convictions
through a matter of drunken semantics

Like an artist
His masterpiece a stupor

The future as an insecurity

Stare into the expanse
Feel the insignificance of not knowing
Wish for greatness
Receive humility

All stars do their best to burn brightest
Yet some are but faint pinpoints
In the night sky

Take the hits as they come
Often and early

The darkness of space is a cruel audience
Seeking to devour
In it's insatiable black hole

There is no sense in guessing the fate
For the future is a Nebula
A picturesque monument without form
or substance
A gaseous cloud of hope and doubt
become insecurity

We sit out on warm summer nights
With low powered telescopes
Dreaming of things beyond our reach

Take care to remember how limited our
view of the infinite is
I have to remind myself of this
when my perspective worries me

Love in the time of Swine Flu

We were sitting on a couch
and talking in a circle like we
always used to

Me near you but not so near
You know how it can be

And I made a joke

"Neither could he"
I barely got the punchline out through my own laughter
And you with me
our sides splitting
my guts spilling

You smiled at me
While we both recovered

This was one of the saddest moments I can remember
because though you laughed for me

The rest of you was his

I drove home alone, like I so often do
watching the headlights
from the other side of the freeway partition
Knowing it was not possible to cross the barrier

Red lights ahead, always the red lights