Happy Easter/ressurection day/spring/income tax finally in my account/whatever you'd like to call it-day!

I've been so busy that I almost forgot this whole thing existed. Sorry....

Went out today to eat dinner for a holiday that, unlike the others which clutter and clog the calendar, doesn't really hold it's own, not like when you were a kid. There are other holidays which lend themselves to children, such as Christmas, but can adapt to adult hood quite well. Easter is not one of them. Forgive me for trying to ruin the egg hunt for all the little Whos in Whoville, I just can't feel even an inkling of the same fondness I felt when I was young. I remember the egg hunts and the HOME MADE ham dinners along with a whole day of fun before the night would usher in the last cold grasps of a losing winter while I felt that dread, the dread that would accompany any childs Sunday night...the looming presence of school the next day. You couldn't escape it. At some point it would creep in, when people started to leave the festivities, their car doors closing like a casket. You would begin to realize that it was around four o'clock and soon it would be six, then seven, then nine and bedtime. I would hate that feeling almost as much as I hated the way it would permeate the day and cause all the fun to be drained. My father would always tell me not to focus on it, to just enjoy what was going on at that moment but I couldn't and I still to this day can't.
I hate going to resturants to eat holiday dinners. It's impersonable and the waitstaff shouldn't be at work, they should be with their family suffering like the rest of us. Hearing god awful stories about people we've never met along with trivial knowledge and pointless gripes. Half the old family is gone and the "replacements" (ie: my cousins) are not even close to those we once sat with through all those meals gone awry. Nobody laughs like my step-mother or yells like my great vavo or tells stories like my great grandmother. I'd give anything to 'suffer' like I used to, trying to find eggs (while secretly letting my younger sister get the ones I found) and hear those stories again, just one last time.
While I generally have a habit of thinking backwards at most holidays there's something in the present that anchors me and makes me feel that same happiness felt long ago...this holiday isn't one with such an anchor.
The best thing that happened was working on writing while watching an amazing artist work her magic. I only wish I had half her talent. In that respect it was a good day.
Trying to find work using my voice for either on air broadcasting or voice over work. Been told numerous times that I'd have better luck being struck by lightning after which Jesus hands me a Wonka Bar which just happens to have a golden ticket buuuut I know I have the perfect voice for it and just need to keep trying.

my meeting with Tom or Knowing What Sounds Too Good

I never make the most of my time. I should. There will be plenty of time to rest later on, in eggshell white antiseptic rooms with tubes and jello. However these days I think a lot more than anything else, besides work.
Work is essential and at the same time antagonizing, it is the ultimate love/hate relationship. When I was destitute and almost on the street, due to our lovely medical as well as health care system being composed of a bunch of elite fuck ups, finding a job was my main goal. I remember being approached by a man one day while killing time in a friends store. The man, sporting nice clothes, was picking up a decent watch at the shop and began to talk to us. This conversation, at first over mundane things, began to turn to that of employment. He mentioned that he wanted to meet up with me to discuss my future employment with his company at 9am at a coffee shop in town. Having no car I walked to the coffee shop in a suit and tie, the whole while thinking how much I really needed this job and maybe, just this once, a random thing that I hear happening to others would happen to me: the right place/right time syndrome. I arrived, starving and sweaty and waited for him. He arrived in a nice brand new Mercedes only adding to the hopes that this could be the real thing. We proceeded to sit down and discuss my future employment. As he opened his folder and began to talk to me I came to the realization that this was a sham...not a full time job and not a reputable company. He started the conversation with "I know you need a job and I think you have potential.." and I stopped listening around the point of "..I mean my wife owns a heating oil business, inherited, so that's where the money comes from...(points out to car..and I looked at down at mine, wingtips from Sals Boutique)" He called me several times trying to get me go to various functions, said I owed it to him. I declined each time and eventually he disappeared back into the very shadows he came from.
Wonder how his Mercedes, bought with his wifes inheritance, is holding up? My wing tips are just fine...

Good Night Admiral...

"through narrow skies
Sapling died white
over time
with each step the years shed
until there's nothing left
and we're at the end...the beginning again

..talk to me"


I remember the Chinese lanterns flowing in the June breeze. I remember the bugs flying in the darkness and the choir of bug lanterns sounding off in the distance. I can still hear the loud voices of the adults, whose faces were red due to a mixture of too much alcohol and too much sun. I remember my sister and I playing tag and hide and go seek along with my cousins. I remember the way it all would end with people packing tupper ware and weary eyed kids into Buicks and Pontiacs, beeping horns and waving goodbye while my parents, my sister and I would walk across the back yard, through the white rose covered trelis and to our house. I remember listening to the moths flutter against the screens as I drifted off to sleep, thinking this is how it was always going to be.
In a conversation I had with my great-grandmother (who owned the house the cookouts were held at) I talked about bringing those parties back. It was an attempt, on my part, to try to salvage the way the family was before people sort of wandered off and stopped talking. I finally convinced her to have the parties again. Not long after that conversation she went into a nursing home and the house was sold.

I remember laying on the grass and looking through the weeping willows, up at the blue sky, imagining walking on the clouds as I moved my sneakers so it looked like I was standing on the sky itself. I remember her giving my cousin and I cookies and us having inside jokes only he and I would know.





...sometimes I still try to walk on the clouds

When laughing is wrong..

Here's a small example of why I'm going to hell...not that anyone at all is reading this...so it's kind of like a confessional with a deaf priest. Twice as pointless!!!!!!!
There are people that, when shitty things happen to them, you sort of smirk...before laughing. This is usually because the aforementioned person(s) said horrible things to you, used you, left you to die and didn't care. Nothing could stop them. they got promotions without trying. Were given opportunities over and over while you scrambled to catch one break. They let you know it too. There was no justice. Then karma comes by...in the form of some automobile.



How’s the bike?

I never knew you..
Though I touched your lips
And laughed at your jokes
And when plans fell through
I found a million excuses
But only my head at the end of the rope

Round and round we go
And where we stop..
how am I to know ?

So I thought the real you
Would again accompany
Something other than selfish and cold
But in truth
You were never one to share anything
Including, apparently, the road…

Round and round we go
And where we stop
Could just happen to be where you cross

Two fingers behind your back
Dare I ask?
Do they allow laptops in the intensive care unit?
The epitome of irony:
all those things you said
And now who‘s lying on a gurney
A johnny is flattering
For your lack of figure

Round, round, round
we go…
From steering wheel,
to axel, to tire, to your ankle

Today karma paid retroactively…

Communication....(is there anybody out there?)

I was waiting in a mall.
Mistake number one.
I was thinking.
Mistake number two.
A band was playing an event (would you call it an event? I'm not even sure what you would call it) within one of the stores and I thought, after just working an eight hour shift in customer service, "What the fuck? These 'kids" get to play music for a living. Meanwhile I've been playing for sixteen years and, although I've been in bands and can play quite well, no one has the time to really devote to it-thus it never goes anywhere." I tried to get my mind off of things by going to the bookstore down in the dregs of the mall. This would be mistake number three. There I found a woman reading aloud to a group of eager senior citizens. Whether they were eager because they loved her work or whether it was due to the fact that they didn't have long for this world I don't know...all I do know is that she had an audience, at least for the time being. As I sat alone on one of the benches I thought about how each book represented a dream and that, even though there were probably a hundred rejection letters which accompanied each of those dreams, they had found a way to get out, to have a physical body in which to come across to the world. Each body I've tried to give to my dreams has been aborted, by me or some other, and I slowly noticed in that book store that I've apparently stop creating bodies. I never planned to give up. It wasn't something I decided one day. "Hey I love being creative..how about I just stop creating and get a run of the mill job so I can try and please people who can't be pleased!"
Nonetheless now I find myself staring at walls at 3am while receiving endless friend requests on Face Book of people from High school who needed marriage and babies the way a crack addict needs a fix.
I left the book store and wandered, lost in thought. If I wasn't in a mall one would've most likely noted that I resembled a zombie. But in a mall everyone is a zombie...for one reason or another.
It's hard to breathe life back into something that's so close to being nothing more than a whisper in a crowded stadium.