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

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