We will always have Paris

As a young boy my parents used to send me to different places around the world. I think they always felt a little guilty that they were not around much during my childhood so they tried to make it up by sending me to different countries… ALONE!

Oh well... so by the time I was sixteen, I had gone to France (twice), Germany and Switzerland and who knows where else... No seriously... I never paid attention. I had also traveled to Maine to do some deep sea kayaking and New Mexico to hike 50 miles.

Well anyway...

Well the first time I ever traveled out of the country I was in Paris by myself. After a quick trip to the catacombs in Paris I decided that I was going to go to the Eiffel Tower. This trip would lead me to write a story about it years later.

As I was leaving the tomb I ran into some very nasty looking kids. Who for some reason or another wanted to mug me? Now I figured money was what they wanted but no. What they really wanted was… my jeans. That's right… They could have had the money I had in my pocket but seriously they wanted my Levi's. Can you believe that…

Finally after getting away from that bunch I make it up to that thing. What a lousy structure that was. Well after spending two hours on line I get to spend twelve minutes riding the elevator only to be told that the tower will be closing in 10 minutes. Well I sit down on a bench where I proceeded to fall asleep for FIFTEEN minutes.

That's right a 16 year old kid who does not know a word of French is now stuck at the top of the tower. Every elevator is closed, all the shops are closed and I am the ONLY person up there. Let me tell you, loneliness does not seem quite as cool when you are stuck hundreds of feet (meters. Sorry they use the metric system) in the air in some foreign country. The only thing that is open is the stairs. So there I go.. I start running down the stairs. One thousand feet down and I am running down the stairs… I used to smoke for gods sake. I am having a hard time breathing so to take my mind off things I start to think of interesting Eiffel Tower facts. Like the fact that it was built in 1889 (what is that in metric).

I just knew it... That thing was going to collapse. This thing was constructed for the World's Fair back in the Bronze Age and I am running down the stairs like they are stable.

When I finally reached the second level, boy, were those French guards pissed. You would think I did something wrong. Like it was my idea to spend the last twenty minutes going down the stairs... That was 450 feet and the least these guys could do was bring me a bottle of Perrier or something... Losers... If I was not such an outstanding citizen as I am now I probably would have said, "Hey, the Germans are coming."

Needless to say... the next time I went to Paris I just went to Notre Dame... and let me tell you about those Gargoyles...

More than what you hoped? Probably the end...

The smell of the bakery from across the street got in his nose. He could feel the shape of the stones of the street on his feet. Each stone placed where it was deliberately in an effort to make a street. He just kept on walking down the street. He was smelling, hearing, seeing, feeling, and even tasting everything in his environment. He just walked down the street with his purpose in mind. He knew what it was and he knew that he must do it. He must change time.

As he slowly began to walk down the hill, he saw his three targets. They were two little boys and one little girl. It was the little girl that most interested him. The little girl brought him here. The little girl had brought him back to this place.

He kept walking down the hill. His long coat was swaying in the wind. It always seemed the windiest on this street, he thought. It always seemed that the high pressure of air from the river seed to flow up the hill that he was walking down. His coat just flapped. His coat just blew behind him like some kind of cape and he walked like some kind of superman. He continued down the hill. His three targets just bouncing up and down with each step. He just kept looking at the little girl. He saw her smile. She smiled a smile that he knew so well. She smiled a smile that brought him happiness. The scar on her upper lip had already started to form. He smiled knowing how she had given herself that scar. It was something that he would always use to identify her. Probably something he liked the best about her.

However, he knew what he must do to her. He knew what he must do for her. As he walked, he reached in and touched the gun that was holstered beneath his left arm. He could feel the smoothness of the metal and the roughness of the plastic that made up its handle. As he touched the gun, as he thought of his plan, he kept eying the little girl. He wondered if she knew who he was, if she knew who she was suppose to become, would she ever forgive him.

The three children sat on the sidewalk playing. The man could not tell what they were playing from where he was coming from. Nor did he care. His one goal was to finish his mission and as he looked at the brown hair of the little girl he knew what that mission was. He knew that no matter how he felt about it he knew that her life WAS his mission. Closer and closer, he came to the children. As he walked in the shadows of the tall buildings, he wondered if he could really do it. He continued walking until he passed them. Yes, he just walked passed the three children and on his second step, he turned around.

A few seconds later, he looked down at them to see what they were doing. At the same time, they looked up at him to see who was blocking their light. They wanted to see who could be disrupting their game. There in the shadow of the man, in the shadow of the sun they saw him reach into the left side of his coat. They were not sure what they were seeing, as he pulled out the gun. They just noticed that it shone in the light of the sun. He could see the puzzled look in the little girls brown eyes. He could see her two eyes separated by the barrel of his gun. That was his line of sight. That was his focus of vision.

Then in one swift move brown-eyed girl was horrified as she saw him pull the trigger.

Moreover, the man walked on into the sunlight as thunder rolled in the cloudless sky.

Fashion Focus

The other day I was talking to a friend about fashion and I got started to thinking about how there are some things that are just misunderstood. Now this one is really bad. Worse than the whole shoulder pads thing of the eighties. I have no idea who came up with that idea. What great fashion designer got hit on the head with a dead cat only to realize that women would look better as linebackers?

I read somewhere that Sigmund Freud told a friend that he could not sleep because he was constantly dreaming of prostitutes. Now that is some serious problems. So lets go to the fashion statement. The statement that I want to talk about is the Freudian slip. Now the only thing that I know about women's under garments is that, on the right women they look nice. Now I do not know too much about Sigmund but what I do know is that I am pretty sure that he is not into wearing women's clothing. Well maybe he just was not going around wearing it in public. I know that he had some real problems. But I think he was strictly a suit kind of guy. Can you imagine? Walking around Vienna in women's underwear. That is just the wrong look for someone who wants to be known in the scientific world for his discoveries in psychoanalysis.


Extra Reading

Sibling Rivalry Examined

Adidas / Adolf & Rudolf Dassler
Background: The Adidas Company started producing house slippers and then branched out into track shoes and soccer boots. It is named after its founder Adolf (Adi) DASsler who with his brother started the company in Herzogenaurach near Nuremberg in Bavaria.
Rivalry: After a violent falling out, Rudolf left the company and started the "Ruda" shoe company which he later renamed PUMA. When Adolf died in 1978, the two brothers had not spoken to each other in 29 years.

Gallo Wine / Ernerst, Julio & Joseph Gallo
Background: The three brothers inherited the family vineyard in 1933 when their father killed their mother and the committed suicide. 24-year-old Ernest and 23-year-old Julio used their inheritance to start the Gallo Winery. Their teenage brother Joseph worked for them and later bought a ranch and grew grapes and cattle. The grapes he sold to the Gallo Winery.
Rivalry: In 1983 when Joseph expanded his dairy operation to include cheese his brothers sued him in 1986 for infringing on their trademark. Joseph counter sued claiming that his 1/3 share of his father's inheritance entitled him to 1/3 of the winery. The trial got so nasty that Joseph was accused of running a rat-infested cheese plant and the other two brothers were accused of making cheap wine for drunks. Ernest and Julio won both suits.

Revlon / Charles, Joseph & Martin Revson
Background: Charles Revson and his brother Joseph, along with a chemist, Charles Lachman, who contributed the "L" in the REVLON name, founded Revlon in the midst of the Great Depression. Martin joined the company later.
Rivalry: Joseph quit the company in 1955 be cause he did not agree with his brother that the company should go public. He sold all of his shares for $2.5 million. If he had waited four years he could have sold the same stock for $35 million. Martin left and sued to company charging that his brother mistreated executives and abused them personally. The bothers did not speak for 13 years.

Kellogg's / John & William Kellogg
Background: Kellogg's was founded in 1906 by Will Keith Kellogg and his brother John Harvey Kellogg started Battle Creek Toasted Corn Flake Company in 1906. The company produced and marketed the hugely successful Kellogg's Toasted Corn Flakes and was renamed the Kellogg Company in 1922.
Rivalry: John was a world-famous doctor and insisted that Kellogg's cereals be "health foods." He did not want to use any white sugar but his bother just wanted something that would sell. So Will waiting until John was out of the country and added sugar into the flakes. The partnership fell apart and both brothers spent the next decade suing each other. Which in the end stated that Will's company was the only one allowed to use the name Kellogg's. When John died in 1942 the two had not spoken in 33 years.


Extra Reading

Why Did You Come Back

The room where our love seems to ring
And the voes that exist always sting
Remembering the stairs with poems on the wall
Well I've awoken to the sound of your voice
But love, love is not trying to make a choice
Love is dilemma for the touch of Hallelujah

You have gone and don't want to take me
Should I get on my knee and make a plea
Remember the Linden trees that we shared
And I look at the dawn in total despair
But love is not some memory to repair
No, it's a padded room where I recall Hallelujah

Baby is this love that I am feeling
Dawn shined it's answer. No, it was reveling
But you know I have been feeling it don't ya
We sat in the place where the leaves fall
I don't remember that my back was on the wall
The graffiti there resonated the word Hallelujah

We have parted ways with some broken promise
Now I live my life devoid of her and powerless
You felt the warmth as we embraced didn't ya
Do we have the strength to see the light of day
No, it's how were needing god's help to pray
Kneeling and whispering, my lips shout Hallelujah

I was the stand in on his absent behalf
I made you cry and then I made ya laugh
All cuz' I used to tell myself those lies
I slept in the comfortable bed we keep
But love is not a goodnight before sleep
Nor is it a clogged and snoring couch of Hallelujah

The thought of you all through the night
Dawn of morning. It creeps on through.
Blinking, in bed, naked cuz' we did not sleep
The hangover of loneliness stays in my head
But love is not a drink next to the fire
No it's cold beers and smokes in a bar called Hallelujah

Baby I have lived my life on my knees
And while I was battered you head my pleas
But all he gave ya was bag of cheap gold coins
Yeah, We know all the good things we've done
But love is not trophy to be outdone
It's a beat up shoe, on display full of Hallelujah

Is the love we lived filled with empty lies?
I loved this girl much to her surprise
And since he had to ask you why I chose ya
I told ya, love isn't some perfect picture
Or the beauty described in scripture
No it is the flawed reality of Hallelujah

This smoke and this booze fills my soul
Still I consume them just to loose control
Yeah, the silence of the loud music plays on
The bodies dance. The party goes for an up swing
But this love is not something I can sing
It's only real while we are alone with Hallelujah

Drinking vodka to heal the emotional scab
Who can I get to be nice and pick up the tab
I hide somethings in the Ice Age of my heart
I wanted to love you fair and true always
But there was too much lust in those dusty hallways
And now I am alone, in pain, with a poem named Hallelujah

--Thank you for the concept Leonard so I can make this original poem...


Extra Reading

Regrets

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Quisque aliquam aliquet massa. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos hymenaeos. Praesent quis tellus. Maecenas molestie pulvinar ligula. Vivamus in I nisl sit amet sapien molestie fermentum. Nulla facilisi. Praesent convallis nibh eget tortor. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Proin faucibus mollis nulla. Aliquam sed est at leo feugiat ultrices. Suspendisse orci purus, viverra eu, ultricies at, tempor quis, nisl. Ut quis nulla non enim suscipit suscipit. Sed nec dolor. Donec euismod scelerisque enim. Nam quis neque ac AM donec nisl. Aliquam ut magna. Mauris vel risus. Etiam fringilla velit id neque. Donec bibendum bibendum lacus. Sed placerat urna et ante. Proin aliquam convallis pede. In condimentum, turpis at Integer purus SORRY leo, eleifend non, viverra eget, aliquam vitae, tellus. Mauris ut metus. Nullam nisl lectus, convallis ac, laoreet sed, placerat ut, libero. Nunc dapibus blandit ligula. Vivamus eget nibh. Pellentesque erat. In commodo tellus nec ipsum. Donec a nunc. Vestibulum ante ipsum primis in faucibus orci I luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia Curae; Quisque condimentum lorem iaculis nibh consectetuer hendrerit. Nunc interdum rutrum lacus. Donec dapibus eleifend leo. Phasellus lectus. Cras at Duis nisi. Vestibulum tincidunt cursus nisl. Proin faucibus neque vel mauris. Suspendisse laoreet porta eros. Donec turpis. Nunc ac arcu sit amet tortor commodo mollis. Suspendisse molestie. Nunc NEVER semper. Nulla vel mi. Ut facilisis. In purus. Aenean magna. Donec vitae velit ac nunc rutrum auctor. Duis erat lorem, sodales nec, ultrices vel, eleifend ut, nibh. Nullam odio justo, posuere sit amet, tristique eget, semper eget, turpis. Aenean non leo. augue posuere pharetra. fermentum fringilla, diam arcu bibendum urna, vitae viverra velit massa sed enim. Mauris dignissim tristique WROTE tortor. Etiam quis eros. Vestibulum vitae libero. In hac habitasse platea dictumst. Donec quis nibh nec est sodales accumsan. lectus nec pede cursus pulvinar. Donec quis leo. Pellentesque habitant YOU morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas. Duis aliquam lectus tincidunt quam. Fusce turpis sem, imperdiet in, facilisis sed, hendrerit eget, magna. In tincidunt massa at erat. Donec eu purus a leo auctor tincidunt. Mauris fermentum enim in ipsum. Praesent odio velit, commodo sit amet, condimentum vel, vehicula nec, turpis. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis POETRY dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla facilisi.

Museings

What kind of justice can there be
_both day and night they invoke me
Goad me on to grant the power
_to describe a shabby wild flower
Each time I settle down to rest
_another poet calls me yet
And there I go to float above
_to find a rhyme for someone's love
My clothes are wrinkled. My hair is blown
_all parts of Earth have I been thrown
Sent to help those in distress
_and make sense of poetic mess
I work my fingers to the bone
_maintaining style and verse and tone
But when the piece is finally done
_the poet alone stands in the sun
I gather up my pieces and rustle out the door
_No more!
If a poet should need another rhyme
_I won't come so easily this time
The brooding intellect should strain
_and work it out in their own brain
It's not as easy but they will see
_They will get on fine with out me
It's too much work for this tired one
_As far as I'm concerned my work is done
I've packed my things. I'll ne leaving soon.
_The time is right for this tired plume
If you are a poet please do not call on me
_Cause even I do not know just where I will be
Sharpen your with, your mind you should use
_and leave me alone. I am one overworked muse.


Extra Reading

Haiku -- 040121.123453

Bitter winter cold...
Despising the cutting wind...
For you... I love snow...
-- 040121.123453

If you have not noticed the "free&clear" link on the right then you have not been paying attention... Oh by the way I provided the link for those who can't make a haiku.


Extra Reading

Face/Off: Selected Scene

He walked in and sat down in the leather chair. He slowly lowered himself into the chair. He led the cigarette in his mouth with his lips. He was too cool to pull the cigarette out of his mouth to try to exhale the smoke out.

As soon as he sat down he let a puff of smoke escape his mouth. With the cigarette held in the middle of his mouth the let the smoke out of the sides.

The woman looked at him as he walked and smiled to herself. She looked at him in his burgundy shirt and his silk suit. Burgundy. The fabric of the shirt was wonderful all on it's own. Egyptian silk. So smooth that she wanted to to touch it and just run her fingers along the material. The suit was was made specifically for him. One of those suits that takes three fittings to get right and that costs five thousand dollars. He wore red sunglasses with golden frames that were perfectly crafted to fit his straight face. She liked his attitude. Everything in his attire seemed to be deigned specifically for him. The golden Scarab cuff links were the perfect complement anything else that was metal on him. His watch and even belt buckle was matched perfectly to each other.

He put his arms at his side and threw his head back. Like a brat he spoke through the cigarette in his mouth.

"Let's go. Let's go. I'm bored. Let's go."

He said it quick and in one breath. He was above taking an unnecessary breath.

She came up to him and give him his fifty dollar a glass Brandy. She said, "Here you go."

All the said was, "Bravo." Once again he spoke holding the cigarette in between his lips.

Then he asked him if he would like anything else. At that point he finally noticed her and proceeded to pull the cigarette out of his mouth but pinching it with the index and middle finger of his left hand. He looked at her through the red sunglasses and it seemed like he could undress her his eyes.

He did not have to think of his response but he did pause for dramatic effect. He wanted to have a long enough pause so she could really pay attention to what he was about to say. He smiled at her and gave out a low moan as he told her what he wanted.

"A peach..."

She was a little surprised by that answer. He looked up at her and tapped his knee with his left fingers, while still hold in the cigarette.

"Sit."

He continued to tap his knee until until she turned around and began to sit on his left knee.

Then he brought the cigarette to his mouth so he could could wrap his arm around her waist when she sat on his knee. He loved a woman in a business suit. A business suit on a woman was like the door that has a fire on the other side. It's like they were waiting for someone to pull the chord and set them free.

As she sat down he moved the glass of Brandy from his right hand to his left. As he did that she could feel the strength of his embrace. She smiled at him as she felt his control over her. He could control her mind and deep inside she wanted him to control her body.

He lifted his right hand up can and but the cigarette between his middle and index finger. He inhaled a lung full of smoke. He could feel the minty flavor of the cigarette in his mouth. Like spearmint. That is what Marlboro Menthol Light tastes like. The taste on his lips were bitter and sour at the same time. He could feel his tongue become raspy as the smoke travel through his system.

"You know I can eat a peach for hours."

He spoke nice and slow. He spoke giving just the right inflection to the sentence he had just delivered letting it sink into her mind. He wanted her to know, and she did know, that he was not really talking about a peach and that he was willing to consume her. She smiled and looked down. She did not want to look at him in the eye. She was not sure what she would do if she tried to look at him. He turned his head to the side and let all the smoke out through his mouth. Once again the minty bitter taste flowed over his tongue.

He turned to look at her again. She had her eyes closed.

By this time he had, both, the glass of Brandy and his cigarette in his right hand. He was waving them in the air as if he was controlling them like he was controlling her.

He turned his head to the left and used his hand to lower this glasses down to the tip of his nose. Now he could look at her and she could see into his eyes. They held her mind for a few moments. He could do that. Thats is why she originally did not want to look into his eyes. She was actually thankful that he was wearing the sunglasses but now was staring straight at her and she had to give him her undivided attention.

"Um."

Now he pretended to struggle with his words.

"Come. Come here."

He quietly asked to to come closer.

She leaned in close to him. She could feel his entire chest up against her. Every ripple on his body translated right through the silk shirt onto her. She smiled wider the more she of his body she felt against her.

Now he stared straight into her eyes. He knew exactly what that stare would do to her. He knew exactly that his voice was sending shivers down her spine.

"If I were to send you flowers... Where would I..."

He stopped and smiled at her. He laughed a little ans some more cigarette smoke escaped his mouth. He shook his head as if he was trying to get his thoughts straight. As if shaking his head would let the all the loose thought out.

He started over again. All she could do was lean closer to him. She wanted to hear each and every word that was escaping from his mouth.

"Wait let me rephrase."

Now she was inches from his face. She could feel the heat of his voice on her lips.

"If I were to... let... you suck... my tongue..."

Once again he paused for dramatic effect. She was captivated.

"Would you be grateful..."


Extra Reading

Wrote This A While Back... Not How I Feel...

Imagine a man who gets home from work and is so troubled by what happened at work that he is filled with rage when he comes home. But there is nothing to do about it. There is nothing to exert his force on. No physical anything to consume him so he can get his anger out. No nail to drive. No ball to throw. No street to run so he can get rid of his his anger.

But...

But there is the boy. He comes home and unleashes his anger on the boy. Not physically. He does so mentally. He uses his sharp mind and his whip tongue to destroy a self esteem. He needs to get his anger out somehow and this is as good as any.

The boy now carries the burden of anger. Like atlas he bears anger on his shoulders and must carry it where ever he goes. People wonder why he is so quiet and moves so slowly. Well it's because the weight is more then he can bear.

So unleashes it. There is a little puppy in the yard. So the boy walks up to the puppy and kicks it. For no apparent reason but because he needs to. He needs to get the anger out. A few swift blows the the dog and he is spent. His anger is gone and the boy can sleep like a child. Just the way he is supposed to.

But the puppy... I am the puppy.


Extra Reading

Excerp From Upcoming Story "Loyalty"

He was sitting on a boat in the middle of the ocean. He closed his eyes and let the gentle rocking of the boat bring him some peace. He was tired of fighting ... something and he now could use the time time to relax. He looks up at the night sky he sees all the stars are out. He looks up to find the one constellation that he always looks for. He can not find it. He can not find the Orion constellation. He would normally just look for the three stars that constitutes it's belt but he can't seem to find them. He found Ursa Major and then he found Polaris. He used the outer side of the cup to find Polaris and Orion should be 30 degrees clockwise form that. Why? Why was it not there? Where was Rigel? Where was Betelgeuse?

He stopped trying to find it. It was too much trouble. He needed to relax. That's why he was there. He needed to figure out what he was going to do about his new assignment.

As the stars began to dissolve into the morning light he began to see the dawning sun in the horizon. I was coming up very quickly. He just sat there in the little boat until he could no longer stand the heat. He sat up and took off his shirt. He let the sun beat down on his chest. But after a while that was still too hot. He took off his pants and socks. He sat there in the boat in his underwear and let the sun rain down on him.

Finally even that was too hot for him and he jumped out of the boat. He jumped in and let the cool water envelop him. It was very relaxing for him. The cool water was a good counter against the hot sun. But once again it was too hot under the sun. The surface of the ocean was reflecting the light into his eyes. He needed some darkness. He tipped the little boat over and climbed into the air pocket that was created. He stayed in there but he knew he could not do that for ever. So occasionally stuck his head out to see how things were going. On the third time he noticed a small mountain peeking out into the horizon and on the fourth time he noticed that he was getting closer to it. Then he realized that he was not getting closer to it. The mountain was growing out of the ocean. Or the ocean was drying up and the mountain was coming out over the new sea level.

After a couple more hours he was finally able to touch the ocean floor.

The ocean had evaporated enough that he was finally able to touch the bottom. He could not believe it. He could not believe that. He was actually standing on the ocean floor. The sun had done that to his dream world. It had taken all the water away.

As he stands there in the now-desert with his little boat next to him he looks up into the sun again. He stares into the sun for a long while. He was always told that he should not stare into the sun specially during the high sun. That is when it is it's strongest. As he stares at it he begins to form blisters on his lips from dehydration. He had not drank any water since he got there. It's not like he could drink the water of ocean. All the salt made the brine undrinkable. All that nasty salt water and none for him to drink. Now he did not even have that water.

As he looked up at the sun which for some reason was still at rising. He wondered how the sun could be coming up for hours and it could still be dawn.

He looked up at the sun. He began to walk. The blisters on his lips made it difficult to even lick them. He walked through the sand. He tried to imagine that it was just really hot snow. Anything to keep his mind elsewhere. He took a few more steps. His bare feet sank into the sand. As he walked he found the shirt he had taken of while he was still on the boat.

Walking. Step. Wait. Drag. Step. Step. Wait. Drag. Drag. Wait Step Drag.

Trying to walk with out rhythm.

He continued walking. Finally he collapsed to his knees and screamed at the dawn. "It's not my fault. I can't help what I was thinking or what I did."

There was nothing. No Response from who ever was watching him. He screams again, "I am a desert creature."

He waits and again nothing. Why was this happening to him? He got some clarity of thought and asked quietly, "Do I know you?"

A voice from up above whispers as if talking to only him says, "Yes, you do."

He falls onto his back. He is scratching at his throat realizing that he is going to die of thirst.

Then slowly as if trying to save him from more pain ... his body dies.


Extra Reading

Tears in the Water

The rain fall down upon the earth in a depressing staccato rhythm. Drop after drop fell on her as she stood there in the middle of the parking lot waiting. Waiting for what might never come. She had her arms wrapped around her body as if she was shy about showing herself. A shyness that had now creped up on her and she was standing there waiting.

He came up from behind her and looked at her. He slowly wrapped his arms around her body and she instinctively brought hers up. She brought them up so she was fully emerged in his affection. At first he thought that she was going to push him away and he closed his arms around her even tighter. Thankfully she did not.

Breath.

With one big enough breath the tears came. Sobbing. Flood gates opened up in her mind and she was able to finally let it all out. She buried her face into his chest and whimpered and wailed all at the same time.

"Why won't he come back."

Her friend did not have an answer. All her friend could do was hold her tight and try to make her feel better. The other three stood there and just watched. The rain falling on all five of them.

He knew what it was like. To cry uncontrollably for someone. Every convulsion in your chest just brings more sobs. Every cell in your body, every water molecule, tells you that things should work a certain way. Yet, for some reason that did not happen. He stood there, standing a whole head taller than her. He ran his fingers through her silky, golden hair while she tried to muffle her cries into his chest. Through out the night she had been playing with her hair swaying it back and fourth like some shampoo commercial. Now it was wet but still soft.

At that point he wondered about himself. He wondered about where they had just been. He had walked into that place being so depressed about everything. He listened to one of the songs while he rubbed the green felt of the table. The song that played had been the same song that had played on that cursed night. The white ball banged into the other balls and with each clank he remembered more and more and wished for ease of mind. That was the night so long ago.

A night that did not rain but some how he remembered water.

As he held her he could feel the wells in his eyes begin to water. All the thoughts of a secret life were coming to a boil but he could not let any of that out. He had to be strong if only for the woman he held in his arms. If only for her sake he had to control himself.

More tears from the sky. More rain from her.

She switched sides and cried on his other shoulder. She needed something. Before all she wanted was someone to talk to but now it was too late. Now all she could do was cry. All she could do was make his t-shirt wetter. She tried to pull away from him trying to bring up a veil of control. She was about to apologize about his t-shirt but he said that it was alright. That was the right thing to say and she continued to cry. Every defense, every mask she had used up until this point to shield her from the world was now useless. At least that what she thought.

In reality, they were just not necessary.

He knew this pain. A pain that only brings you to the edge of despair. A point in your life that when you return and tell others about it they can only marvel at the your resilience from falling into the darkness of solitude. A point of desperation where absolute clarity arises and one can do nothing but greatness with nothing but the fragments of your heart to guide you. They always wondered where his inspiration and his motivation came from. This was it. This horrid pain was the driving force of anything that he had ever archived.

She shivered as the rain soaked though her shirt onto her bare skin. Every drop falling on them dispersed itself until no part of them was dry except their chest since they were pressed against one another so much.

He gave his keys to one of the ones that were waiting and told her to bring an article of clothing from his car. She left and came back but she had come back with his martial arts gi. It was the wrong thing but at this time he did not care. The rain soaked on through.

More memories came flooding back to him. He thought of the the bruises he had acquired as he tried to deal with the same kind of pain. How many blows did he have to suffer before he began to forget. Countless. How many times did he have black and blues all over his arm in a vein attempt to forget. How many times did he have to dial the phone while each and every finger was in sheer agony because he had just gotten hit there.

As he stood there the tears of the sky came down on them silently. As he stood there he wondered if any of them were worth it. Was anyone worth these tears. Was anyone worth this kind of pain.

One of the other people went and got the car and pulled it up next to her. He slowly guided her into the back seat. She put one foot in but stopped.

No she couldn't get in and leave. He was coming back.

Deep inside something told her that he was not.

She yelled out again, "Why won't he come back."

She cried some more while he gently guided her into the back seat. He held her head so she did not bump it getting into the car. Once inside she started crying even harder because she realized that it did not matter if he was coming back. She would not be there to wait for him.

He watched everyone else got in the car and and they all drove away. Drive away into the tears of the night.


Extra Reading

Conversations With Oma Desala

Standing in a dark room by myself. There are no doors and no windows. As I spin around there is a small girl in the room with me.
Wow how did you get here.
I have been here for some time.
Good. Can you tell me where "here" is?
Here is everywhere you are.
I figure that I should start my questioning a different way.
So who are you?
I am many things.
Some how you look familiar.
Lightning flashes, sparks shower, in one blink of your eye you have mis-seen.
But you are just a child. How can I learn anything from you.
There is a child in all of us.
Wow that's a useful piece of knowledge right there. So what are you going to to teach me now?
I cannot teach you what you already know.
You know I don’t really like this cryptic stuff. I would leave if I could.
Your fate is in your hands.
So are you going to answer the questions that I have wanted answers to all of my life.
Questions are plentiful. Answers are few.
I just want to know what I am suppose to do with my life.
You must release your burden before you can find your own way again.
I am starting to get angry.
But I need your help to figure all these things that will help me make the world a better place. Why is there all this pointless evil in the world? Some times I hate these things so much I just want to die.
When the mind is enlightened the spirit is freed and body matters not.
What is that supposed to mean. I have no idea what you are talking about. I thought you were here to help me.
Ultimately a man travels his chosen path alone.
So then why am I having this dream?
Dreams teach.
Teach what?
Teach that the true nature of a man is decided in the battle between his conscious mind and the desires of the subconscious. The evil of the mind's subconscious is too strong to resist.
So What am I supposed to do about it? How am supposed to fight against this evil.
The only way to win is to deny it battle.
I don't believe that. We are not inherently evil.
I only know a snowflake cannot exist in a storm of fire.
But snowflakes are beautiful and I am not. I am not unique. I am like all the crap in the world.
You do not have the same evil within you.
Thanks some how I still do not feel like my soul has been saved. Where do I go from there?
Anyone can reach enlightenment. Anyone prepared to open their mind.
But what about in the end... What if I look back on my life and realize that I have not done anything worth while and my life does not up to anything.
The success or failure of your deeds does not add up to the sum of your life.
How am I supposed to decide whether or not my life is worth while.
Judge yourself by the intention of your actions and by the strength of which you faced the challenges that have stood in your way.
I can not do that. I have become to bitter in my life to do that fairly to myself.
If the instrument is broken, the music will be sour.
The music does not play the musician.
Normally there is truth in that.
Really because I was just throwing stuff out there. Actually I have no idea what I am talking about.
She smiles at me. It's the greatest smile I have ever seen.
Why do you feel you have failed on your journey?
I don't think that I have done anything in my life. I am falling into the abyss. That is what I call it you know. That's what growing older and not achieving anything is for me... an abyss.
You feel your journey must continue until you have found redemption for these failures?
I never made the world a better place. I was supposed to teach everyone how to be nice to one another. I was supposed to teach everyone how to be understanding to one another. In the end I just ruined my life.
You have chosen a path that leads to me because of this?
Yes. I did nothing I wanted. I was going to write a book that would help the world.
Words cannot express things, speech cannot convey the spirit, swayed by words, one is lost. One cannot carry darkness on the great path.
I hate this. I hate this room. Where ever I am. I don't want to hear anything. I want to be a bad person again.
The river tells no lies. Though standing on the shore the dishonest man still hears them.
I don't know what I know anymore. Sometimes I think I am the dumbest person alive.
You can never reach enlightenment if you do not believe you are worthy.
So maybe I am not worthy.
She speaks in a way that gives me confidence.
These tasks of which you speak were great challenges. Perhaps they were even impossible to achieve.
So I failed. Everyone was right. I am a failure.
The universe is vast and we are so small. There is only one thing we can truly control.
Oh yeah? What could I possible control in my life?
Whether we are good or evil.
I have tried to be a good person and I have tried to be a bad person. I don't know which one I truly am.
A tall man cannot hide in the short grass.
All I want to do is fit in. I will do anything to fit in with the rest of the world just so I don't feel alienated.
You have your own burdens of which to rid yourself.
I hate this existence that I have created for myself. I get up. Work. I go back to sleep. I feel so trapped.
The mind is always free.
I don't want to be free. I want to be bound. Bound to to another person so when I go to sleep I know someone will be waiting. Instead I get blamed for everything when I tried my best.
Within you is the capacity for trust.
I did trust. I trusted and was deceived. Deceived when I tried to earn trust.
You must trust. You must believe.
I tried to believe but I feel more comfortable with my wall to protect me.
Leaves fall from the tree once a year but the tree still grows strong and proud.
So did I reach enlightenment or what?
Because it is so clear, it takes a longer time to realize it, if you immediately know the candlelight is fire, then the meal was cooked a long time ago.
Then what?
The rest is up to you.
I scream. I thought she would reply in anger. But instead she replies with more compassion.
A spark lights the flame but the candle will only burn as long as the wick.
That just pisses me off. I ask her what the fuck does that mean.
What the fuck does that mean.
You must complete the journey you began. Only then will you be able to find your way to the Great Path.
Alright... What if I don't want to reach enlightenment.
Walking the Great Path brings great responsibility. You cannot fear it nor hesitate in your resolve.
Begins to walk away and I call out to her.
Well I guess it's time for me to continue on my "Path."
And it is time for me to continue on mine.
For some reason I am now calm again.
Will I ever see you again?
All roads eventually lead to the great path.
You still have not answered my question.
The little girl smiles.
Many cross on the way.
I smile and walk away.

Once (Fish remember this)

Once,
On yellow paper with green lines, he wrote a poem.
And he called it "CHOPS"
Why???
Because that was the name of his dog.
And that was what it was all about.
And the teacher gave him an "A",
And a big gold star to put on the paper.
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door,
And read it to his aunts.
That was the year his sister was born,
With tiny toenails and no hair.
And Father Tracy took the children to the zoo,
And let them sing on the bus.
And his mother and father kissed a lot.
And the girl around the block sent him a Christmas card,
Signed with a row of X-s.
And his father always tucked him in bed at night,
And was always there to do it.

Once,
On white paper with blue lines, he wrote another poem.
And he called it "AUTUMN"
Why???
Because that was the name of the season,
And that was what it was all about.
And the teacher gave him an "A",
And told him to write more clearly.
And his mother didn't hang it on the kitchen door,
Because the door had just been painted.
That was the year his sister got glasses,
With big black frames and thick lenses.
And Father Tracy smoked cigars,
And left the butts on the pews.
And kids told him why his mother and father kissed a lot.
And the girl around the block laughed at him,
When he went to see Santa Clause at Macy's.
And his father didn't tuck him in bed at night,
And got mad when he cried for him.

Once,
On paper torn from his notebook, he wrote a poem.
And he called it "QUESTIONS FROM THE INNOCENT"
Why???
Because that was how he felt at the time,
And that was what it was all about.
And the teacher didn't give him an "A",
And she gave him a strange look.
And his mother didn't hang it on the kitchen door,
Because he never showed it to her.
That was the year his sister was caught,
Caught necking on the back porch steps.
And Father Tracy was sent to jail,
Because he was caught molesting children.
And his mother and father never kissed or even smiled.
And the girl around the block wore too much makeup.
It made him cough but he still kissed her all the same.
And around 3:00 AM he tucked himself in bed,
And his father soundly snoring.

Once,
On the back of a pack of matches, he wrote a poem.
And he called it "ABSOLUTELY NOTHING"
Why???
Because that's how people treated him,
And that was what it was all about.
And he gave himself an "A",
And a SLASH ON EACH DAMN WRIST.
And he hung it on the bathroom door.
Because he couldn't reach the kitchen.


Extra Reading

A Blast From The Past

ok so I was talking to a friend of mine and she told me about this poem that I had written in college. I figured that someone out there might like it. I have changed a word or two to make it sound better. Don't forget that this is four or more years old so some people might think its crappy. I promise I will write more later and about my great week.

I want to live
I want to live with my loved one
I want to be with her through out the night
I want to be there when she awakes
I want to hear her calling out my name in the night
I want to catch all the strands of her golden love
I want to make her dreams tangible;
...turn her wishes into birds of flight
I want to catch her joy and carry it with me;
...to use,
...to cherish when I am down
...and once again be happy as if I was with her
...then crush and mix these feelings
...'till they become a mirrored emotion back at her
...and we share a warm glow of love.


Extra Reading

Sounds (an original poem)

Sounds and sounds of Fatalism
I used to wander, lonely before you
Possible futures change the oasis
You used to walk together before me

Sounds and sounds of Rotation
The very soft spinning iron fans of time
Counting one second per second of life
The very slow dieing beat of my heart

Sounds and sounds of Stagnancy
I drink from your hot and wet lips of lust
The ring you wear makes it taste just like brine
I eat from my cold and dry heart of love

Sounds and sounds of Diversion
What you do with your long nails is pleasure
We hide in cars wallowing in passion
What I do with my fingers is delight

Sounds and sounds of WhetherMan
Hiding nervously as the thunder rolls
Wait for the gentle caress of could nine
Hiding cautiously as the lighting strikes

Sounds and sounds of skepticism
Please put away the plumb of suspicion
Don't lie, you know how deep I feel or you
Please open up the tempest of certainty

Sounds and sounds of Secrecy
My ugly shoes do not go there anymore
The stairway still waits with dust and passion
Your pretty heels do not come here anymore

Sounds and sounds of Conundrum
Have you come into my cold life to stay
I don't think you will ever be decisive
Have you gone into his cold bed to leave

Sounds and sounds of Blasphemy
The moan and wails you yell into the room
Rapture from your lips in a foreign land
The sounds of voice I sing into your ear

Sounds and sounds of Pollution
The part of me that swims inside of you
Eco this. Eco that. I'm sorry world.
The part of you that lives inside of me

Sounds and sounds of Transgression
Had to push my feelings deep inside me
Just let the current of emotions flow
Had to let my feelings wash over me

Sounds and sounds of Hydration
I'm the desert when you are not near
Parched, describes my life, just right, with out you
You're the water when I am this thirsty

Sounds and sounds of Division
Once there was no sunshine when she was gone
Now I'm only happiest when it rains
Now there is no sunshine when you are here

Sounds and sounds of Waterline
You fill me with such grand inspiration
Shake and tremble with out your bodies warmth
You drain me of such ill desperation

Sounds and sounds of Agony
I have come to fear the water of life
You are the island in the far distance
I have come to fear the leak in the boat

Sounds and sounds of Optimism
Roots of the river now touch the ocean
Sea of love around scavenger me
Tides of the river turn from the ocean

Sounds and sounds of Slavery
It's true that now we are set free to love
You say I take it too deep to fathom
It's true that now we are confined to sex?

Sounds and sounds of Changeover
Ride one was a new and exciting start
Now there's a drama you tried to avoid
Ride two was an old and dramatic end

Sounds and sounds of Terminus
Is this the end of all we never had
The train never arrives it just derails
Maybe we pick up our love and continue

Extra Reading

Broken

The stupid little boy just lay there in bed. He was not a little by but that is how he felt. He felt stupid. He lay there trying to control how he was feeling but in the end, he knew that he could not. He tried to fight back the feeling of anguish. That is the right word for it. The little fuck did not know what to do so he just lay there in bed, naked, in the fetal position trying to hold back all the tears that were welling up behind his eyes. Jesus, he was cold. He had two blankets, three throw covers, two comforters, and a down cover but he was still cold. Dumb little shit. He did not even realize that the coldness that he felt was coming form inside.

Why did he feel this bad?

I will tell you why. 'Cuz he cares, that is why. Be cause the dumb little fuck-head actually is in love with someone. How could he do that to himself? He should know by now that it is stupid to care about anyone. No one cares about him and if they do why are they not allowed to show it? If he does show it, he is castigated. Cast aside.

Fucking dumb ass, you are just showing motions again.

He did not do anything. He just wanted to hold her. That is all. Why must he be made to feel so bad? The insignificant little twerp does not realize that no one really cares.

Therefore, he lies in bed holding back the tears until they bust forth from his eyes. At the same time that the tears burst forth so do the sounds that come from his mouth. He weeps.

Laugh at him.

He is crying.

Boohoo his little broken heart.

When he feels this bad he feels like everything is his fault. Really . . . He cannot really help it. He wanted to take the blame for everything that was wrong in the world.

Everything is his fault.

Global warming. That was his fault.

Clubbing of baby seals. He did that.

Pillaging of third world countries. He was there.

Why does he feel this bad. Well he only knows a little bit. He knows that it was because of love. But no one really cares. Pathetic is it not? He just wanted to hold her tight. Just so he would not think that he was going to loose her. That is the scariest thing ever. To think that he may loose the most important person in his world.

The one person that makes his world spin.

To him she was the sun and while she was around he was filled with light. He was happy when she was around. Not because he was happy on the inside. It was because the happiness that she radiated shone off of him like the moon. The only thing that keeps him next to her is this gravity type of love that grabs him and makes him want to be next to her at all times.

She is the painter on the canvas of his world. It is that simple. That is why he wanted to hold her.

He fears that that if he does not hold her she will vanish. Vanish just like a crappy little picture left out in the sun for too long.

Maybe it is one of those pictures you get. Those cheese ones that are not meant to last. Maybe that is all he has. Crappy or not that is all he as to remember her by.

Yes he has his feelings. That is a good memory but right now all his feelings are of sadness. He does not want sadness or happiness even. He needs her. Something tactile. Something real.

If they can forge the Mona Lisa they can forge emotion. That is why he cannot trust anything or anyone. The forging of emotions. A cheap copy of a copy. The Xerox of love. The light of the machine blinking back and forth. Mesmerizing and blinding him so he will always o back to the ones he loves.

IT'S NOT HIS FAULT! It's not his fault he is the wrong age. It's not his fault he was born at the wrong time. He's not sure when he would like to have been born but he knows that when he was born it was wrong. He could have been born six sooner or sic years later. It would not make any difference now. It was too late. He was already crying.

He hunches over because he just feels like he was shot in the belly. He has to put his hand there to make sure that his guts do not spill out, all over his Egyptian cotton sheets. Yeah you can envy someone with nice bed sheets but not someone that happens to have nice sheets but who cries like a little idiot.

The pain in his head is growing. The questions that are formulating in his mind are so terrible. The images that are flashing through his brain are frightening. He sees himself dead. He looks down and while he stands in a tiled room, the bathroom. He is holding out his wrists with razor cuts on them.

NO!!!

He tries to imagine different things but he cannot. He cannot help but see his body in that room again with a shard of the mirror in his stomach.

Quick, he is holding his stomach tighter. The gunshot wound is getting bigger.

That is when he does the unthinkable. He starts hitting his own head. One may think that this is about the stupidest thing one can do. Maybe he is a stupid little boy. Maybe he is not a little boy. Maybe he is even a grown man that is trying to call out for help. No matter what the case is, it makes him feel better. He, now, does not have to think about all the pain that is inside of him. With every impact of his fist the pain dies down for just a fraction of a second. Therefore, he just keeps hitting himself to feel that split second with out the emotional pain. He needs to feel that split second over and over again.

The tears come forth and begin to stain his pillow. Twenty dollars a pillowcase and now they have his salty tears on them. At two hundred dollars for a set of sheets, it still cannot fill his life now that he truly believes that she is no longer around. Dumb, stupid, little, big spender.

He cries out and cannot think of anything to say so he just yells out into the night. Yet, he cannot yell to loud because he does not want to wake up the whole, goddamn house. Dick head does not want to bother someone else with his problems.

He is hitting himself harder and harder. The bullet wound is getting larger and larger. He is twisting and turning in his bed. He is just hoping for anything that will take his pain away. He had something that would take the pain away. He had someone. However, now she is gone. He could almost imagine all the blood from his belly. He could almost feel all the crimson as it went all over the pillows. He really is twisting now. The pain starts to crawl all over his fucking body.

The tears start to fall from his eyes all over his cheeks. The tears fall down his face. All the snot starts to drip down his nose. The little fuck is to fucking sad to give a fuck about the way he fucking looks.

How is that society? Is this what you wanted from him? Did you want to see him as this crying pile of snot? Look at his face. Covered in dried crusty tears and caked up crap on his nose. He can barely breath now. Is it because his nose is all covered up with crap or because he is crying too hard to remember to breath in?

He keeps hitting himself. At first, it is with his hand but it moved on to being a book that is next to his bed. He is not really thinking straight anymore. For the little bit of relive that he feels, he has to keep hitting himself harder. The corner of the book is the most painful. That is when he feels the real blood for the first time. It slowly pours from the top of his head down his face.

Dumb, little, big spending, fuck. Now he has tears, snot and blood rolling down his face and he cannot do anything about it. Stupid little crap hole has to suffer.

Then the most wonderful thing happened. He knocked himself unconscious. Now, he is totally blacked out but at least the pain in his body has stopped.