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.