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