The Day

He slept more and more as the days drew on. He stopped shaving, convinced that he would just grow a beard, but then failed to keep that in check. He lost interest in picking up anything that happened to give way and slip in his apartment, and enjoyed the feeling of his bare feet grazing over empty carpet, like following a path to the frontier still not fully broken in. He was aware of all of this, it felt like he was aware of everything. He would stand for hours in front of his bathroom mirror, for some reason feeling a blurred sort of peace. Perhaps he was most detached there, he didn't know. Something was wrong, but he was unable even to postulate what. He ate when he was hungry, and worked his hours to pay his bills. But, in front of that mirror, he felt so much like giving up. Like if he closed his eyes one more time he would disappear back into himself. It wasn't that this thought comforted him, it terrified him. But at the same time there was this overriding sense of inevitability. And the day never came. He thought the fates were procrastinating, and wished he could somehow do what came next himself. Instead he slept, dreaming a whole new world. He would wake up and find a rough sketch from his dream the night before made in the dust on his window beside his mattress. A sky with no moon, men with wheels and wings, mountains turned upside down. Soon he began drawing when he was awake, on the fog on his mirror, on his one table, even in the dust on top of his ceiling fan. And then, almost catching him off guard, the day came. Later his sister would come to visit. She would knock, and then let herself into a world of replication, copies of somewhere else etched on every surface. And the only thing in the mirror would be a circle. Complete.


Counting Sheep?

He has no idea what she's thinking. He never has any idea what she's thinking. He hopes she's happy, but who's to say. But he's optimistic. If she wasn't happy, she'd leave, right? Right? He hates hidden meanings. For a brief second he imagines a word without etiquette, without formalities no one really means and without so much personal second guessing. Then the pain in his leg brings him back to reality. He lays back and looks up at the growing number of stars, like schoolchildren arriving for some cosmic rehearsal for an amatuer play. Really there's nothing amateur about the universe, but childish still comes to mind when he thinks of the big picture, in an ironic sort of tone in his head, portrayed by a simple smirk and glint in his eye. He hopes she doesn't see either, because he has moments of broken English around her and her alone, and would fail to explain his actual thoughts. Then he would have to take on, anecdotally, when he tied his tongue that he knew he would, and had been thinking he would, and had been thinking that he was thinking that he was, and his mind drowns itself in some apathetic white flag spiral. But she hasn't asked, so he thinks he's in the clear. He lets his head roll over to her side, and is filled with new thoughts, like being stabbed with a hypo full of carebears. He loves everything about her, and searches frantically for something wrong. Something faulty. And he is disappointed. Because now he is almost sure this is another dream, allbeit a vivid one. Her head mimicks his from a few seconds back and her eyes magically cushion his entire body to where he just doesn't give a fuck. If this is a dream, he's going to give a nice bonus to the awkward new trainee he bought the mattress from. He slides an arm around her, looks back at the stars, and settles in for what promises to be a fantastic show.

He would pinch himself with his free hand but he's still not sure.

(Author's Note: that was fun.)

No One Can Really Say For Sure

Say give up,
Say leave to chance,
Say there's no way of knowing,
And say you see no point,

But don't ever say you're right,
When you have no idea what you're saying,
Or what she's up against every minute,
How little I feel I'm doing.

So I will do more,
And the tides will rise higher,
Even join and stand on my shoulders,
Higher still.

It keeps you up at night,
And makes the day a travesty,
All that swells in-up-out of your head,
Lead balloons if they could burst.

But it is not the end,
Thanksgiving thank your God for hope,
In the passing of the hour,
And any relief we can find.

We won't beat this,
I'll agree with you on that,
But grant me this point,
It's one hell of a fight.

The Upheaval

The evil settled back and waited for a response. His was almost instinctive, as if merely witnessing the scene dictated his actions. He reached down and took up his sword, and saw another hand wrap around an axe. He retrieved his bow, and he his mace. Even the priest came forward and took the small wooden crucifix swaying from a hilt. But not all the men had taken back their belongings. Some had grabbed their dagger or halberd and escaped back along the path to the east. Others crossed their arms in front of the pile, rebuking those who had taken. After it was clear no other ally would be gained, as if of collective mind, those willing made for the north. The evil receded out of sight in the same direction, and the moon made clear the path they would take. Even the geography of the terrain seemed to point to some culminating point, in no way of benevolent nature. The men knew they would not come back from this, the evil had made that very clear and proved it so. But still none of them so much as looked back at the others yelling for their senses to return to them. Step after step, they neared a confrontation. And they began to sing.

Enough shit people. Move.


A Nice Afternoon

The other day I went on a hike. It started at the top and we ran down to the bottom before struggling back up. I can freely admit it was a bit more than I'd expected, but by no means out of any amateur's league. A lot of people when they got back complained and shook their heads, but I wish they would bite their tongues. I guess it's different for everyone, but I enjoyed sliding on all the broken leaves, forgoing the necessities of a steady base or anything really built for safety because I felt like I was running to something. To something and for it. Like I was inexplicably drawn to something at the bottom, and ran with reckless abandon towards it. Of course there was no such thing when I got there, no special prize, no magic waiting. But I got a nice view of a waterfall, and started back up still feeling that pull, only now back up. Passing all the people I know leaning against trees to catch their breath, I drug myself back up the bluff and again found nothing new. Same life. Same me. But as I caught my breath on the rock wall, looking out at all the other mountains, the draw resurfaced. Although I haven't gone on any more hikes since then, I still feel that draw as clear as ever. For something waiting, something worth it. And it always feels so close.

But that's just me.


I'm running your mountain,
Your steep inclination,
Losing grip in these shoes,
And it's wearing me ragged,
Keep pushing up (go we believe in you now go),
But I'm starting to breathe too hard,
No one's mapped out this far,
Blinded and shaking,
Older newborns still looking for someone,
At the top to save them from falling back,
Can't do it alone they know better than most,
But we are all running solitary,
Bite like wolves differing packs,
Win the race you don't understand,
Muscles flexing strands snap and reform,

And I am losing.


Lately my life has consisted of two main thoughts:

Clutch her

No don't.


Elementary Schooling

If I had anything worthwhile at the end,
It would be a sense of understanding,
At how contrite we all really are,
(I've been jumping to use that word)

At how something can burst and still be there,
Looking around for the invisible shards of itself,
Believing in all aspects that there are some things you can't survive,
Some things that bound you.

At the beauty of a screened door,
As the fog is surrending the day,
With beads of light collecting in individual squares,
So you find another way outside.

And her smile,
And that fire,
And nothing else,
That is belief.

I've changed my mind at the end of it all,
I want a house,
In between hills,
With a view of the coast,

And someone to tell me it's real.


She was right. I give myself away too.

I Am The Walrus

I think if reincarnation was real, I would come back as a sea lion.


Come sit here with me on your aunt's old couch,
I feel like coveting you for today,
Rest here in the shaft of light succeeding above the neighbor highrise,
I feel like coveting you today.

You make me smirk you angel you,
Are your shoes dry yet?
I'm dying and I've never been so healthy,
Are your shoes dry yet?

I'm going to sell my car tomorrow,
For two tickets to France,
I'm not a fan but I know you want to go,
I'm not a fan but you know I love their shows.

You know you're right on cobblestone,
You know you're right when your all alone,
It's my maniac I crave,
I am so right.

Double check my math.

It works itself out,
Because that's how it's supposed to be,
That's not supposed to happen to me,
Yours Truly.

So just sit here,
And let me covet you today.


Career Test

It's involuntary,
The leap,
The growing pearly whites,
At my stockpile,
Of shit,
The night with no clouds,
Honesty shines on my furrowed brow,
Instinct intensive,
I'll find what to do here,
I'll find the word,

I swear.


Both energies,
And all the luck in the world.

I'm going to explain your eye first,
That should be a good life goal.

Can't Make No Shrines

Almost involuntarily I slow and then stop. She had already pulled ahead of me and apparently not noticed my pause because she was still sprinting ahead. I clinched my toes into the wet grass, digging them in and feeling the earth. To my right the fog was rolling in, gasps of white coveting my knees. Faint glimpses from car headlights penetrated the thick air far off to the left, but they are a million miles away.

And I am here.

I feel my eyes roll back into my head. I close them off from everything I'm seeing and focus them back inside. I let some of that fog in to mix around the other memories I keep here. Around the broken training wheels from the bike I tried to run away on. Around a toothpick that held an h'orderve from Sam's funeral, which was later redeposited in the bathroom sink of the funeral home. Around a small clump of confetti from the New Year's Eve Party where I first saw her.

I pull back out of my sanctuary and see that she has by now begun walking back to me. I smile seeing the concern on her face and pick up a jog to meet her. Not slowing down I engulf her in my shivering arms. We spin awkwardly around one and a half times. I counted. Then I take hold of both sides of her face and plant one. I want to apologize for how cold my hands must be, but for obvious reasons can't. I want to do a lot of things. But then, for just that one instant, I wanted to cry, but she would be concerned again.

I wanted to cry because my world had successfully been ravished with ease and childish formality.