going down hard in the pivotal hour with vigor spunk
hard in the paint
grinding the organ into a fine powder

a thrust, a crisp gust in the air
now cropdusting the room

inhale deep into your lungs
so deep, solo, it’s at the bottom
coated at the core

nose burning, eyes watering, relief overload
you’ll want it again & again

Real Folk Blues

gazing up at the clouds lightly toasted by the clement glow of gaseousness
wondering exactly when the warmness was replaced by a doppelganger
willowy silhouettes veiled in the reaper’s cloth,
shadows with a flashlight,
causing the familiar to be an alien nation

Run With Me

It’s only 10 miles.
A circumference drawn by some random douche high above in the heavens on a metaphorical map on the surface on Mother Earth, and you’re smackdab in the middle of it. No compass, no GPS, no clear destination.

Kind of leaves one with the sensation of a deep sorrow nipping at their nose. The perpetual feeling one gets when receiving a simple reply of “k” after typing out a 3 paragraph message.

Just a lone pepperoni slice placed in the center of an ordered cheese pizza by a vindictive underpaid Domino’s employee. A shipwreck survivor stranded in the middle of the Atlantic for what feels like an eternity & finally reaching dry land, only to find out it’s an offshore offtherecords island hosting a U.S. military facility that conducts experiments that would make conspiracy theorists froth from the mouth.
You shouldn’t be here but you sure as hell can’t leave now.

But it’s really only a 10 mile radius.

Kind of leaves one with the sensation of a deep sorrow nipping at their nose. The perpetual feeling one gets when receiving a simple reply of “k” after typing out a 3 paragraph message; every day, written in an itinerary outlined by some random douche from high above. A feeling that never dissipates even as the body runs through the predetermined gauntlet, task after task, every sight seen before seen once more for good measure. The occasional unfamiliar twist leading to an unfamiliar road, sure, but nothing that leads towards an unexpected outcome.

All because of 10 miles. It’s only 10 miles, give or take.
A seemingly inescapable 10 miles.

Kind of leaves one with the sensation of a deep sorrow nipping at their nose. The perpetual feeling one gets when experiencing déjà vu without being invested enough to properly notice.

listen here,

when the realization that your justifications in defense
of your own existence is wasted oxygen flowing through deaf ears
you tend to not want to speak at all
sit in staid silence stained with imperfections
broadcasts on multiple networks play
turn the volume up
say nothing at all
props will speak instead

Any Questions?

People speak languages they do not fully comprehend, uttering incantations loaded with power they consistently underestimate due to their own ignorance.

The Weeping Willow Tree is on fire and all attention is zeroed in on a lone branch that fell off of it.

The latest software update is already obsolete by at least 5 decades of technological advancement.

The cancer has destroyed most of the body and tears are shed for a fresh papercut.

A boulder tumbles down from the peak, smashing trees and forest creatures into the dirt, and the mountain does not notice.

The ones on top of the marble pillar urinate on our heads as we refurbish the base.

The call has dropped minutes ago yet I’m still chattering away, hoping to be heard through the hole in thin air.

The End Is The Beginning

It’s a strange phenomenon when your parents stop being your parents and are just other people.  People, that in the past, had every reason to do with why you are here now, wiped your bottom, fed you milk that you can’t remember the taste of (and don’t want to), and dictated nearly every aspect of your life. Then… you get older and reach an age that your parents may look back at in relation with themselves and hash out fond memories that they had at your age. Offer advice that seems to have no relevance to modern times, what you should do and should be doing.

What they’ve always done, if your paternal parents had an active part in your life. But it’s different now. Instead of a parent/child relationship dynamic, now it’s two/three seperate adults with their own ideology and worldview, who thinks the other is misguided.

In this moment-if you’re like me-you’ll start thinking about how your parents have lived an entire life before you’ve ever existed, perhaps, as long as you’ve been alive up to this point. And then start to think about how short your life actually has been, even though your life is the longest running condition you’ll ever know and physically possess. Perhaps start contemplating the scope of The Universe and your place in it. And realize that not only are you a mere dust speck in the Sahara but you haven’t even been around long enough to know how enormous the Sahara is.

And it is at this realization that we, you and I, part ways in this path of thought as you will have time to consider these ramifications and I will be already gone off into some other dimension that has yet to be defined in scientific terms. I don’t say this with any pretense, mind you. It’s just that I’m writing this post now and when the post comes to an end, so will this train of thought.

Oh, how I can feel it derailing already as my original point has already been somewhat forgotten.

“You know that it’s entirely possible to not finish this post and come back to finish it once it’s fully realized.” 

Shut up, Me. What could you possibly know? You from three minutes ago couldn’t possibly comprehend what I know here in the present. You’re just another dust grain floating in the wind to nowhere special. And I’m somewhere different. Not presently yet but in the near future, once this post ends.

Yes, this train of thought isn’t going anywhere I recognize and it makes me uncomfortable. So I’ll get off and go somewhere else. Just as soon as this post e-

Banshee Screams In Ohio

It’s been eight long days since I’ve thrown away the key to my proverbial dungeon. No shakes, no tremors, no sweats. No anything really… except maybe regret. I imagined the first steps towards “decent living” would be paved with a little more pizazz. Or at the very least, an indication that this path is headed in the right direction.

Where is the meaning? Is there a Light at the end of the tunnel or is it just the cheap lamp on my desk?

The biggest adrenaline rush I’ve felt lately was winning 5 bucks from a brightly colored scratch off lottery ticket…. that cost 5 bucks. That’s what you get for seeking instant gratification, Mr. E. Steven.

I have no taste for mundanity and middle of the road thrills more bland than a styrofoam & cardboard sandwich on wheat bread.

Failure comes easy at a time like this and the idea of failing totally & miserably seems quite reasonable. Though, I seek more than an altered state of mindset. Burning rubber on the same stretches of roads that lead back to the comfy confines of suburbia leave me feeling rather hollow. As vast as this world is, I’ve rarely ventured outside of the 10mile radius I was born into.

I don’t think I’m any better or worse than the folks around me who seemed to have settled into a place they can accept. But I’m not comfortable and haven’t been for as long as I can remember. Common sense tells me to just get the hell out of dodge. If an irksome song comes on the radio that makes you wish for the peace that only deafness could provide, you don’t sit through the tune and complain about it. You simply change the station.

But my life isn’t a radio station. And I can’t really scan through different possibilities until I find one that fits.

I could, perhaps, learn to live with the idea that I’ll never find peace & happiness. But if I could just get my hands on either of them every once in a while, I’d be able to do the best I could between high flights & nights in the ruts.

Reintegration Post-Incarceration. Try A Little Mindfulness.

My limited knowledge of prison comes from MSNBC documentaries and firsthand accounts from people I know who have been locked up. From what I understand, here’s what happens. You’re locked up in a tiny room for hours at a time, only being granted the privilege of leaving your cell for food, hygiene needs, and forced recreation (Vietnam-style flashbacks of my stint in public education spring to mind, but I digress). This mundane cycle repeats until you’ve served your time. And then you’re unleashed back into the wild. Any rehabilitation received is minimal at best. The world around you has moved on and evolved without your consent. A lot has happened since you’ve been away and you’re aware of virtually none of it.

I recently grabbed a drink with a few of my coworkers after a particularly long arduous shift. Upon receiving the invitation I scoffed at the idea. Familiar with being a shut in, the thought of cracking open my shell and sitting vulnerable terrifies me, even if it could mean having a good time. Social situations feel more like an interrogation with a harden FBI agent one week from retirement & nothing left to lose, than a leisurely way to pass the time. But I had planned on getting a beer when I got off anyway & at least now I had an excuse.

So the four of us are sitting around the table. 2 of them pull out their tablets, realize that they both play the same extraordinarily convoluted game downloaded for free in an app store, and engage in an in depth discussion about guild strategies & enemy disadvantages that made as much sense to me as the technobabble spouted off in every episode of Star Trek. Which left me and the other coworker sitting & staring at one another, unsure of what exactly to say now forced to make conversation due to circumstance.

At once she goes through a series of subjects in minutes. Listing off her favorite apps from her phone, sports teams, books recently read, etc. None of which I was familiar with. She was a spaceship thrusting in an infinite number of directions hoping to land on something. I was nodding my head and wondering where the hell the waitress was with my pint of draft ale.

I’ve been rotting in a cerebral jailhouse for as long as I can remember & it hasn’t been until recently that I realized the extent of my sentence and started sending off appeals for an early release. Impatient from slow progress and waiting for serotonin levels to rise and chemical synapses to connect with this & that, I staged a break out. Don’t really know how long I’ve been away. But things are pretty unfamiliar and a tad bit confusing.

The waitress arrives with our drinks. I indulge. About an hour goes by in a series of jokes, quips, transient conversations, and whatnot. The night ends with all of us walking out of the bar together and laughing heartily.

During the drive home, Pink comes on the radio asking how to make herself feel this good sober.



Loneliness Is Such A Drag. My Life vs Yours.

I brought in the Year of our lord 2014 alone in my car with a can of strawberry flavored margarita beer (don’t drink & drive, kids) and Guns ‘N Roses singing about a city of paradise on the radio in the background. I had started the evening with the highest hopes. Without hesitiation, it could be said that 2013 was by far the most trying year so far for me and I had planned on spending the evening surrounded by loved ones and their familiar smiling faces.  I had been invited to 3 different parties & I picked the party one of my dearest friends invited me to. After spending an hour picking out an outfit that passed my inspection and trepidatiously plucking my eyebrows to a perfect arch, I arrived at the party. It started off nicely enough but through a series of misadventures, ended with me on the side of the road unaccompanied with cheap liquor.

7 months later & not much has changed. I power through my work obligations and come home, isolating myself in my room with the very same 25oz cans of strawberry margarita beers, sometimes deciding to mix it up and go with the raspberry or lime flavors. So much so that there a plethora of gas stations, bars, and liquor stores that I can walk into with a fistful of cash, leaving my wallet with my ID in the car, and walk out with a stockpile of liquid merchandise to adequately dope me enough to forget my problems for a little while.

This spring, I spent many of my days off from work walking up and down the one of the busiest streets in Columbus, hoping to meet someone, anyone, to become friends with. Someone to strike up a conversation with, hit it off, and go off and have some kind of adventure.

Ha. Folks I’m not telling you this for any sort of pity or sympathy. This is just the reality of things.

Have you ever seen a very attractive person? Not only attractive because of physical features. But how they walk, confidently moving one leg in front of the next, with a bounce in their strut. How they make direct eye contact while talking. Their outfit well coordinated and perfectly broadcasting to the world their full self. You look at them and see no trace of self doubt. You look at them and wonder: Goddamn, they are beautiful. What do I look like to someone like that? Am I even a blip on their radar? What are they like once they get home & turn off their public persona? Are they the same? What are they thinking about right now? Do they even realize how good they look & awesome they appear to be right now?

And then you realize it’s been way too long that you’ve just been standing there and staring at them, look away and sigh.

For as long as I can remember it’s just been Me vs. The World, in my mind anyway. Me against them. That’s how it feels anyway. Oh, the amount of years I’ve spent contemplating what it is that I’m doing wrong. Why I don’t seem to fit into any group and why I seem to scare away anyone I come in contact with. Is it because they don’t really know me or we drift apart because they do and don’t like what they see?

Whatever the case maybe, the fact of the matter is, I’m still alone. So very, very alone. Desperately grabbing on to virtually any mood altering substance I get my hands on to distract myself from that fact.

I don’t want your fucking pity. I can hear you saying “Aww…” as you read this and you can stuff that reaction into a sack and mail it to someone who needs it. Because I don’t need sympathy, it doesn’t do any good to anyone.

With all that said, I continue to burn the midnight lamp. With the ever falling dust that makes it so hard for me to see my optimism facing coldly towards the bedroom door that I’ve concealed myself in.

Gee, this post was kind of a downer, huh? I’ll leave y’all with a joke.

Why did 6 want to fuck 7?
Because 7 eight ass.


Blasé. No One Cares What You Say.

Over and over again I have said that there is no way out of the present impasse. If we were wide awake we would instantly be struck by the horrors which surround us… We would drop our tools, quit our jobs, deny our obligations, pay no taxes, observe no laws… Could the [one] who is thoroughly awakened possibly do the crazy things which are now expected of [them] every moment of the day?”      – Henry Miller, 1941

There is an Undeniable Evil presiding over our world.

Civil unrest and widespread warfare taking place in the Gaza Strip which a wide majority of our public is turning a blind eye or shrugging their shoulders in dismissal, a modern day Sodom & Gomorrah. There are cities here in america in such a dilapidated state they make post 9/11 -pre Jalal Talabani- Baghdad look like a 5-star island resort. Poverty, a vicious national problem, treated by the “1%” as a “Well that’s what happens when you do X, Y, Z. Tough shit” disease, a la HIV and lung cancer. Every time I overdraw my bank account I stare at the red numbers on the LCD screen and cringe, knowing that a whole network of folks are capitalizing on my lack of resources & watching their wallets grow fatter as mine falls apart.

The Undeniable Evil doesn’t even need to hide anymore, standing in plain sight and flossing $150 fresh Maine lobster meal remnants from between their teeth. They aren’t afraid of being found out. We’re too busy staring at our iPheces and complaining about being friendzoned to even notice what’s happening.

I often find myself overwhelmed by it all. I used to be able to roll up some grass, slip on my headphones & crank up Jimi Hendrix tracks, and tune out to the euphoric psychedelica.

But feigning ignorance has lost its thrill these days. Enough is enough, Goddamn it!  I want to start a revolution!!

but I’m not sure I’m ready for one. I’ve found some kind of deranged comfort in my anger towards the current state of things. A (mostly) unjustified superiority in knowing that I’m slightly more aware than most of the public.

So it’s either be Complacent & Miserable or Optimistic & Unsure.

I don’t know which state is more terrifying.