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.