Carpool

Aw, the lesser known of American suburban splendors: the commute. Most people who talk, and all who participate in the commute talk about the commute, say that they have the worst one. Five hours in bumper to bumper, stuck behind a fleet of school buses, catching every protest that happened to come through town, behind an idiot every hour of the commute, and catching every wreck. There are millions of faces staring back at each other on the drive in but, the only faces that make it into the talk  in the commute are those in the car pool. Faces, none the less, that are the farthest thing away from joy; a world that couldn’t be described with any black and white ink from Webster’s.  These people make it into the talk because they are experiencing it all with you; you are all united in the one constant effort to make it to the next Friday. Their feelings and yours are what makes your commute the worst commute in the history of America.

            It is these feelings that bring about the more awkward and, yet, awe inspiring small talk ever heard. Because, no matter how hard Robert had tried or sworn to himself that work was work and social was social, spending eight hours with the same people for five days a week was bound to bring about talk of something besides the office. Robert liked this of course, he preferred not having to talk about the office before his first four cups of coffee but, awkward talk was not his forte.

            Initially the talk had been introductory; a casual where you from, and what kind of B.Sdegree you had. A joke was poked at the college sports team you never watched or the slutty girl from the guy’s high school that you should have known out of the 20,000 people that went to your college. From here you got to know your car pool and expand it until you found yourself only having to drive once a month. You got to know the man you thought was the most like you because you were both single and liked to party. You began to never know the father of two who was having all the fun in the world but no fun at all. You got to know the man who would go out for a drink and play it cool; only to end up not being cool at all. No commute had these types exactly but, Robert’s car pool had these people exactly; all lined up thinking they knew anything about Robert but at the same time knowing nothing of Robert.

            The younger man was taller than Robert; a son of one of the higher ups in the company with black hair, blue eyes and an attempt at a beard. He was drifting along in an ocean thinking he was in a pond. His name was Kevin McDaniels and he wasn’t a bad fellow in most people’s minds. Kevin couldn’t think of any other place to be but, at the same time, he talked like he was always going somewhere else all the time. Mark Swisher was a twenty five going on forty dad, brown hair, green eyes, two kids and always seeming to try to have another one. He acted young but was older than he was.  Then, the perceived straight edge of the group, Daniel (Danny) Gutierrez, shorter Mexican with a mustache bordering on seventies porn star who was always talking like he knew everything and everyone else only knew nothing. He wasn’t always like that but he acted like it enough to make it a distinguishing trait.

            The introductory small talk had become nonexistent over the past year or so; giving way to laughs to exploits of the former weekend or awkward comments that only warranted laughs, so as not to piss off the originators. Laughing was always a good pause to figure out what the hell to say; how to respond to worthless talking that was filling the space. Robert sometimes didn’t mind it; sometimes it was refreshing. Other times he didn’t see the point of it. Why talk like you really give a shit? At the end of the day all you want to do is get away from these people; why act as if you want to get closer? Thoughts like these made Robert think of himself as a hypocrite because these were the same people he looked forward to during the sliver of sunshine that got him through the morning routine.

            “Morning Robert. What’s going down?” the driver, Kevin said as Robert sat in the four door Chevy Cobalt; shotgun.

            “Just trying not to think of work. How’s everyone doing today?” Robert asked; filling the space.

            “Good,” Robert heard, not too sure who said it first.

            “Nice…..had myself a chill weekend. Hung out and watched some ball. Those Packers are looking pretty legit. What happened to your Boys this weekend Danny?” Robert asked; looking behind him at Danny.  

            “Man, every time I watch them I move a little more toward alcoholism. The defense has been off man and I don’t know why. But of course it’s always Romo’s felt,” Danny said; snickering a little at the end.

            “Why do you hate Romo so much? He’s not a bad quarterback,”  Mark said, intervening and gaining a nod of the head from Kevin.

            “You don’t know what it’s like man to have a consistent quarter back, man. Someone who shows up ever week and you know what you’re going to get out of him. I never know what the fuck Romo is going to do. He’s got his brilliant four touchdown games and then he has his happy go lucky four interception games. And….you know….the guy is always smiling man; even when he fucks up he’s never pissed; he’s just always fucking smiling.”

            “What’s wrong with that?” Kevin asked.

            “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it; man….it just bugs me. You need to have some passion in your play man; be a little more involved. I just think you can’t lead without a little bit of passion,” Danny said; looking a little annoyed. Like most, no one ever liked talking when questioned and hardly wanted to be questioned.

            “I just think you hate him because he’s the easiest to blame and the first guy to come under the knife. One of the toughest jobs in sports because of that spot light. So nitpicky. I mean, imagine if our job had media outlets and every dick, jane, and berry talking about us Monday thru Saturday. It’s got to be nerve racking,” Mark said.

            “Ya, but at the end of the day they’re playing a game,” Danny said; sounding a little smart.

            “Its more than a game at that level; it’s their job and a multi-million dollar business. You think that there’s no stress at that level then? You’re living on fantasy island bro, if you do,” Robert said

            “I never said that. It is a game though and…you can’t say that they’re not having fun, you know. It’s got to be one of the better day jobs.”

            “Ah….I don’t know about that man. I wouldn’t want to get hit by 6’5 three hundred pound guys eight hours a week,” Mark commented.

            “I bet you would want 6’5 three hundred pound guys all over you Marky Mark. Ha, ha,” Kevin said; coming in right on time to change the subject before it got too serious.

            “Fuck off man. At least I got a good cover with the wife and kids; no one will ever expect anything. Ha, ha. I had to add that in for the preservation of my self perception,” Mark said; smiling.

            “Keep telling yourself that, little gay boy,” Danny yelled; the car resonating with laughs.

            “Self perception? What, you talking like your image?” Robert asked; trying to get past the annoying laughs.

            “You hit that one on the bull’s eye, Rob. Ya, you got to have a good one of those to get through life. Look good, feel good….that type of deal,” Mark explained.

            “Ya, if you think you’re a piece of shit your work is going to be a piece of shit,” Kevin added.

            “I don’t know man, you think you have a different image of yourself at work then you do at home?” Robert asked, seeing Danny snap out of his morning space out session.

            “It all flows into one mindset eventual. I used to think that I could keep that stuff separate but these last couple of years it’s been tough. I’ve stopped my political correctness and I guess opened up to full disclosure,” Kevin said.

            “You don’t want full disclosure, though, man. Work is work and not play,” Danny said.

            “But, you’re supposed to enjoy what you do, right? Can you get enjoyment without fun? I feel like those go hand in hand,” Kevin said.

            “Ya, but what you’re talking about is the picture you paint when you step in that office. I’m not going to talk about the crazy shit I did over the weekend to some regular guy I do work with. Now, the car pool….that’s a whole different story cause we chill outside of work and I trust you guys. But, you got to be careful what you let on man cause all people need are a little glimpse of who you are. All they need is the back cover of the book and they’ll act like they already read the whole god damn book that is your life,” Danny said; putting some emphasis on the last sentence. How poetic, Robert thought.

            “You can’t just be a robot, man, you know? You have to be able to show a human side so people remember you and don’t just think of you as some statue at work, taking up space,” Mark said; interjecting before Kevin spoke.

            “You could let your work speak for yourself,” Robert said.

            “You just end up being the guy in the corner who’s an “expert”. My dad always said if you want to move up never do too much in your current position to the point where you become crucial and non-expandable. It takes luck and people skills to get up in the world. I mean, if you just want to be that expert cool, you know, whatever….but I just don’t agree with the whole work hard and everything works out. Its Santa Claus shit,” Kevin said; bending forward and letting out a long yawn.

            “Man I don’t want to go to work…..Friday needs to be tomorrow,” Kevin said; rubbing his eyes giving off an air of awkwardness; as if he was scared of revealing his opinion.

            “I mean, it takes a little luck ya, but….sorry back to what you were saying didn’t mean to spoil the bitching session, you build up your own luck, you know. You do something good and, I think, that something good happens,” Robert said.

            “You just say that, though, cause you have good luck,” Danny said.

            “You don’t think you have good luck?” Robert asked.

            “It has nothing to do with me. It has everything to do with the guy who just never seems to have anything go right with him his whole life. The guy who’s the nicest guy you know but also has the worst luck. In that situation he must have inherited an empty vault of karma, huh?” Danny asked.

            “There’s always an exception to the rule, Danny. You go through life living off every little exception you’re never going to think anything will work out. You have to have some ideals,” Robert said.

            “You think you need ideals in this day and age? Live life hard and fast; by the sit of your pants and just see what happens,” Mark said, jumping back into the conversation.

            “You would say that’s an ideal, though, Mark. A maybe immature ideal but an ideal,” Kevin said.

            “What’s immature about it? You got to experience life, you know. Man, when you’re young you got to do that kind of stuff…be crazy. You got to be a little selfish before you find something you can love a little more than yourself. I know that sounds vain, but, it’s just what I’ve always thought,” Mark said, setting a sober mood in the car that none of the younger passengers, except Robert, wanted to address. 

            “You know, it’s not bad to be a little selfish. You have to take care of yourself first, you know, and then after that everything will fall in place,” Robert said; thinking it was bullshit at first but hoping it would become fact.

            “You’re really confident in this whole fate thing, huh, man?” Danny asked Robert.

            “No, I don’t believe in fate. Fate is something you don’t have control over. I believe in control, that’s what I believe in,” Robert said.

            “Ya, I like to think that. Sometimes it feels like you don’t have any though. It’s easier to blame and bitch if you think it’s outside of your control,” Mark said.

            “I don’t know Mark. I don’t like to whine like a bitch about stuff so I just assume I can do whatever the hell I want. HA!” Kevin sarcastically said.

            “Well, you’re not surrounded by women all day. I think women are born with that inherent ability. Fuck cancer, map the genome and figure out what the bitching gene is,” Mark said, rolling with the sarcasm.

            “They would get rid of it then, if they found it. Then I wouldn’t be attracted to any women,” Danny said.

            “You like them with attitude, huh, Dan?” Mark asked.

            “Oh ya. They have to have opinions, you know. Just the right combination of a little annoying and intelligence. They have to keep me interested, you know man,” Danny said; smiling on a topic that piqued his interest.

            “I feel that man. I feel that a lot more then that bright, shiny mecca of productivity in front of us,” Mark said; pointing toward the office; the politically correct term for the building.

            “Shit man, I didn’t release we were that close. Throw the women and children over board first, HA!” Kevin said.

            “It’s okay guys; it is going to be that bad,” Robert said.            

            “Bad as in good? That’s what all the kids are saying now-a-days,” Mark said.

            “That’s what we’re saying now-a-days,” Kevin said.

            “Don’t date me, man,” Mark said.

            “Of course I wouldn’t want to date you. You’re ugly and, unlike Danny, I don’t appreciate a good bitch,” Kevin said; looking at Danny in the rear view and smiling.

            “Well, guys, it was nice knowing you,” Mark said.

            “Till our release date in t-minus 8 hours,” Robert said; the car stopping and everyone not wanting to be the first to open the door.

            Welcome to work.

12 Things to Think About During the 2012 Election

Instead of writing all my political ramblings in a status update I figured I would blog about it like every 50 year old former hippie who just discovered the internet. Now, don't let my sarcasm fool you in some of these statements because I really do believe this is the most important election in my short lifetime because of the state of America's political system; which is more resembling an American Idol competition than what our fore fathers wanted it all to be. So, I will outline some bullshit thinking that I believe is spreading like an infectious disease throughout this country and every time I do that I will follow with a statement of my outlook on how, I believe, it should be viewed as. I hope you all disagree with me and feel brave enough to comment because if there is one thing that is missing from this country it is our ability to have logical, non-personal conversations about politics and policies in our government.

12 Things to Think About During the 2012 Election

1. Who would win in a fight? 

Obama is a lean mother fucker and a known Baller!. He's got endurance and knows how to get in your head to the point where you've lost before you have even thrown a punch. Now, in my personal experience, every Morman I have met has been a tough son of a bitch and I would gladly buy them a virgin Shirley Temple than go toe to toe with them in their Sunday best. Romney also has a larger family that would back him up if it came to fist-ta-cuffs. But....Obama has Jay-Z in his corner so....4-1 on Barack.

2. Leaders come in all shapes and forms

We, as humans, are very judging of appearances; its just part of our genetic make up. Our tall friends are always getting the ladies, even if we don't want to admit it some races scar us a little more than our own and if we see a tough little guy we all say he has a "short man" complex. How about we stop painting this ideal picture of a leader and, instead, start painting a picture of the actions and thoughts we would want that leader to do and have. Who gives a shit if they're missing two front teeth, are black,white, orange, purple or look like they should be giving me happy face stickers at Wal Mart. Let's listen a little before we decide to stop looking.

3. Mascot Fight: A donkey or elephant?

Elephants are pretty crazy animals, as one Indian man found out, and should not be thought of as having big ears and just wanting to fly. They're big mo fo's and the Cardinals could use them on their offensive line. As for the donkey, the loveable Jackass, is a force to be reckoned with. It has one hell of a kick and knows how to put on a show south of the border. But, at the end of the day, you have to go with the animal who you would rather have lead you down the Grand Canyon: Elephant.

4. Why are parties pitted against each other? 

Sure, I get it; everyone has different opinions. But, whenever problems existed for projects, work, or in situations that I was involved in we met up, talked it over, and arrived at the most logical and feasible choice. Everyone always didn't agree but at the end of the day we went forward fully engaged. Now, I didn't get together and start harassing my fellow teammates and slender them with accusations about how they spend their weekends and what grade they got on the last test because we were all in the same room together and we all had the same problems. I know that the spending, for some reason, complicates it all. But, let's start talking about the problem of money in politics; about these super PAC's and the people making the rules. Let's stop getting caught up in one way to fix a problem but instead let's start focusing and talking about the reasons we're all in the same room.

5. Who do you want to have a beer with?

This is unfair to Mr. Romney, I know. But, he does get some brownie points for being governor of the great beer loving state of Massachutes and, I wouldn't mind getting slammed with him because you know you have a DD. Obama went to Harvard people, just accept that one, and this makes him an immediate person to philosophize and enlighten my drunk mind for a night. Also, he knows basketball and I'm sure we could banter on about the Lakers for a good two or three hours. But, if I'm going out next Monday night and want to make it out to the polls, I need to get home safely. Mr. Romney, you don't have to drink Diet Coke; your skinny enough to have regular Coke.

6. Likability? Does it really matter?

Did you always like your Dad and Mom? Did you always like that crazy sports coach or that annoying teacher? Does anyone truly always like their boss? No, but you worked with the person and hopefully got something good out of it. Some people feel like they have to be best friends with you to get things done or that after meeting you for 20 minutes they can talk to you like they've known you for 20 years.  Don't strive to be likable, strive to be respected and strive to understand that working with someone, being lead by someone, is going to have its ups and downs. Don't get caught up in the moment, don't get caught up in wanting everything now and, instead, step back and ask yourself....are we moving forward from a big picture standpoint everyday.

7. Faith: Christian or Mormon? 

Obama has been known to associate with some controversial figures but it has not been a big point people have made about him since the last election. Now, I don't know much about the Mormon religion so I will let
Peter Griffin explain it.

8. IT DOESN'T MATTER!!!!

Listen, the Muslims didn't fly into the World Trade Center, Jews don't swindle you and every Roman Catholic family doesn't have ten kids. It is a faith; there is no logic behind it, no one is wrong, and more power to someone who is convinced they have found some sort of order in this crazy world of ours. I could give two shit's what any of these guys do on Friday, Saturday, or Sunday and who they get their sermons from. We are not a nation under god but a nation bogged down by debt, a shrinking middle class, unemployment, and discomfort. The only faith we should be caring about is the faith that we can make it out of the state of America we are in now.

9. Everyone's a Nazi

I'm going to let my good friends at the Daily Show(three minute mark) show you the great reporting and rhetoric going on in our country.  And, apparently, we have united under one party. 

10. What happened to moderates?

Listen, the media is out of hand; any sane person knows this. But, it is all these networks who somehow keep building up followings, keep dragging most of indifferent America around on their coat tails. Don't get caught up in all of these agendas but, instead, demand journalistic integrity; demand that people slow down this 24 hour news cycle and start to give you the facts and information you need to make your own choice. Be logical about it because, right now, I believe that most of the country has moderate viewpoints but they're getting drowned out by the loud, ignorant right and left wingers who just want to get enough air time to get their point across. Start engaging in some healthy brainstorming.

11. Watch all of the coverage and such, for one news cycle

Plucking myself in front of the t.v. and watching the news for 24 hours straight might be enough to convince me to call in sick on Nov. 6 . Every half an hour I would switch from cnn to fox to msnbc etc. and....on my lap I would have my lap top; serving some of these sites. Because, what better way to take in one of the most relevant and, these days it seems irrelevant, days in American history?

12. Broaden your mind

Stop this polarization that is infecting this country and look at everything. Look at the opinions you think are stupid  look at the opinions you think are smart and especially look at the ones you're indifferent too. Do it with no emotion and see what you take away from it. I bet it will be something you didn't expect and, in the process, it will make you feel better about your own opinion.


Well, hope you enjoyed the post and stuck around with me long enough to maybe get something out of it. And please, I want to hear your opinions and I want to get some discussion going. Let's have a brainstorm session and not a debate. Thanks and GET OUT AND VOTE!!!!

Fire

Letter to the future: My dad used to tell me of a time, a summer, where there was a different wildfire every week. I grew up in Arizona; not necessarily the wettest place in the U.S. People would always throw cigarettes out of the car or forget to put out a camp fire and then all hell would break loose. The grass would yield to the fire; maybe mistaking it for rain because it hadn’t seen rain for so long. My dad told me of a time where the largest fire in state history was up to the north and, another fire, was creeping through the canyons behind his childhood home. When my father saw the other fire on t.v. he really hadn’t thought anything of it; maybe a little sadness but it was a fire he couldn’t control so he thought nothing of it. When the fire made it up to his house, though, he felt like he had to have a say.

He felt like this fire, yes, he had control over somehow. Even though it was the same beast, the same flames that the grass had bowed too, he looked at it differently now that it was close to him. He had to evacuate; stand in the background of a town in chaos while he wondered if his house was still there. Even when the fire was gone and he was able to go back to his house the landscape had changed. The house was still there, ya, but the charred remains, the passing of the fire could be seen. My dad, though, felt fine when he got home back in his bed. The effects of the fire could still be seen; were still in the open but my dad still felt no remorse. Scars would stay for many years; the charred yard taking a long time to grow back but, my dad couldn’t figure out why he didn’t feel any of that initial hate toward the fire when he retold the story. It wasn’t until he had left high school and gone to college that he realized why; his family had made it through.

Everything that mattered had made it past the fire; his family, his house and his life had been thrown out intact from the chaos. Now that he had left for college; he realized what the fire had tried to take away from him when he wasn’t ready. The fire needed to come to make my father realize what was important to him at that point in his life. Through fire comes realization; even if the scars remain after many years. Some people will see the scars but, if the realization is great enough the scars will be worth it. 

Treadmill

Ca-chug...Ca-chug...Ca-chug went the repeating rubber to the backdrop of faint heavy music; set aside to the clanging and clacking of metal on metal. A billion thoughts swirled, blended, stewed, sat, festered, procrastinated  waited, wanted, in the mind of the 210 pounds of flash that ca-chuged...ca-chuged...on the repeating rubber. A billion non-qualitative thoughts that he only dreamed to be logical because you could assign a number to each one. It wasn't always that easy; in fact it was never that easy. All of these logical lists he was paid to do and found himself doing on the repeated rubber where anything but logical. You see, logic always has a clear end; something that people can all agree on. The only thing that kept coming up was an enigma; a circular problem brought about by circular reasoning because he kept coming back to the billion thoughts. The circular problem that his conclusion was that, in the end, there was no conclusion.

It was all how he kept chugging along, though, on the rubber. The thoughts of being patient; the thoughts of what was next; the thoughts of what he wanted; what they wanted; what society wanted. All of these open ended questions that everyone around him had seemed to shrug off or accept defeat on were the ones that he hadn't given up on yet. He told himself he had a higher purpose; more to this life then all of this that had appeared all around him. He didn't look at it all as opportunity but only as a box; a box that constricted who he was and made him want to get on the rubber to escape it all. Only he never really did for the questions changed to a sound like a ticking time bomb; ringing in his head telling him to do something before he was too old; before he had transformed into all of the people that he thought had stopped asking the billion questions. Was he crazy to think this way? Was he all just too worked up for his own middle class, voting, bbq, Sunday night football, bachelor's degree, fun loving, light beer drinking, white ass?

Ca-chug...ca-chug...ca-chug.

A Graduation Party

“You’re gone man? YOU’RE FUCKING GRADUATING!!!! Awesome man. Four years and a physics degree man…you know what dude….you’re going places man,” Jerry said; drinking some more; another larger gulp than the last.

            “Well, I hope so man. All you can do is just focus on tomorrow you know,” Martin said; drinking a large sip; feeling a pleasant burn in his throat.

            “You know it man. You know what you’re going to do?”

            Martin heard Jerry, but his eyes weren’t on him. He was watching Brittany work the room; everyone’s favorite hostess. All the guys looked; most of the girls had that laugh or smile; the one that said more than needed to be said. Especially the girls next to their men who were like a lioness starring down another lioness. They had their meat and they didn’t want to give it up. She had a beer in one hand; but it was more for effect. Brittany was always buzzed but never on alcohol.

            Some people needed alcohol to feel the buzz of life; they put their nose to the grind and picked it up every once in a while to calm the nerves; to release. Work hard, play hard; Martin’s dad had always said. It had never bothered Martin to work hard. Some people got up in the morning; had to get the motivation to get out of bed. No matter what had happened the night before Martin was up at 7:30 am every morning; hearing the calling. Some people were meant to be fuckups while others were meant to do important things; to be important people. Martin heard this call of importance every day; every morning he woke up.

            “Ya,…well…I got accepted  into some grad schools or there is this laboratory on the East Coast; I might do some research there. NASA stuff actually; we have to get to Mars you know,” Martin said to Jerry; who was there in body but not in mind.

            “Definitely man. You want to partner up? We can run this table in here,” Jerry said; taking another sip.

            “Ya dude, put our name on the list. I have to take a piss,” Martin said; finishing his drink and going through the crowd. Damn, he felt good.  

            He reached the bathroom; sweating hard from all the body heat. The light flickered on and he saw himself in the glass. This was the man, or boy some considered, who was graduating college. He didn’t feel ready to start; he still felt pretty green and childish. He was smarter, ya, but that didn’t mean much. He rolled his eyes and felt even better. The goose was hitting him hard. As with any buzz or drunkenness the thoughts began to swirl; trying to break the wall between thought and speaking. Martin had heard that people are their true selves when they’re drunk. He didn’t agree with that. He agreed that alcohol was a sort of liquid courage and, sometimes, it helped get out thoughts that should have been said before. The problem is, though, most of the time those thoughts aren’t taken seriously because “it’s not coming from you”. Maybe it was, though.

            He was thinking about Brittany; about what he was going to tell her. She still had one year left; it seemed that everyone in this little world he had made up in four years had one year left. He was the only person getting off at this train stop.  He blinked a couple times; sweat dripping down from his brow. It was never enough; all this drinking. His sorrows, his accomplishments; could all be summed up in the bottom of a bottle and, once it was all gone, a whole journey was starting, through the same path of things he called problems, with another bottle. Brittany, he thought, oh Brittany; why couldn’t she be his? Just one night, he thought, that’s all he needed. A bad excuse, though; he knew he wasn’t that kind of man; a man to leave his emotions with a twenty dollar bill for a cab. He blinked again and let his hand touch the door handle.

            The party was as vibrant as he had left it. It’s funny how people think a whole world stops when they leave. If there is anything that amounts to the insignificance of any human it is the fact that the world does not stop with your passing; everything keeps going even when you’re not there.  You know you’re important when, somehow, that ceases to happen. Your that vibrant; that important, that people wait on your every word; wait or your order. Does that make an important man, though, the significance that people put on you? Maybe, Martin thought, maybe other people’s opinions were all that mattered.

            “Martin, get in here. We’re up in two games,” Jerry said.

            “Okay dude,” Martin said, “I’m going to get some more vodka.”

            “Is there any other way to do it man?” Jerry said; raising his glass.

            Martin elbowed his way into the kitchen; just grabbing the whole bottle this time. It didn’t seem that he would be doing any driving this evening.

            He gripped the bottle; catching odd stares from the ladies around the bar. Apparently they thought drinking should be done casually. He took another sip; looking around for the blonde hair; a flash of light touching an angel. The light caught his eyes; Brittany’s mouth opening wide and an ocean of laughter rolling out. Another sip went down his mouth; some of the liquid trickling down his polo.

            “BRITTANY!” he yelled, “Get over here.”

            “Martin, I can’t be in two places at once. I’ll get over there soon,” she said.

            “No,” he said, feeling the courage run up through his veins; through his mind. The bridge from his mind to what came out of his mouth was slowly collapsing.

             Brittany elbowed her way through the crowd; radiant as ever. She reached Martin; with the same smile she had so carelessly craved on her face all night.

            “What’s up Martin? Having fun,” she asked; looking around; still smiling.

            “Ya, a lot more now that you’re here.”

            “Ha, you’re funny Martin. Always one to make me laugh. What’s up? You really wanted me…”

            “Can we go outside; I have to….well, tell you something,” Martin said; drinking some more.

            “Ah…okay,” Beth said; looking awkwardly behind trying to find some knight in shining armor to come and safe her.

            The ten steps to the door (yes he could still count to ten in this state) were like walking on the moon. Maybe a better way to describe was the like the camera in a Spike Lee film; in the scene where he just follows the face of actor while they walk down the street. The cold air brushed in and the potent smell of weed as well. The van was gone, as was Martins sense of time.

            He turned around; eyes wildly coming to meet Beth’s. Her face had calmed down a little and, it seemed, she was preparing herself for yet another drunken confession from one of her guy friends. What did Martin need her help with now? He was a smart guy, very nice guy but, all of these women, usually, all they saw was a student; nothing more.

            “What’s up Martin? I bet you’re excited; you’re getting out of here and into the real world,” Beth said; smiling as the words came out.

            Martin thought about his answer; where to take this and what not. His father had always said to be honest; the worse they could say was no. He needed to milk it a little, though, make her keep guessing.

            “What if I told you I was scared?” Martin asked; looking away as the word scared came out.

            “Scared? Well…I wouldn’t really understand. You’ve gotten great grades and succeeded at everything; why would you be scared?”

            This is something Martin had pondered for many hours; why did he always have this sense that he was never going to meet his goals or to satisfy his thoughts of what his life should be like? Why did he feel that he could always do better? It was this drive that made him succeed but, this thought of never being satisfied, would it set him up to always be looking for another thing; another challenge? Would he be able to live mundane and settled?

            “Workaholic…I’m scared I’ll end up some guy with all these accomplishments; all of….these things to my name except for the one thing that all humans strive to obtain: a….connection…love,” Martin said.

            Beth looked into the buzzed eyes of Martin, first wondering how he was able to articulate so well but, then, wonder what was going on in that impressive brain of his. He was the smartest person Beth knew but also the most complex. If anyone thought they knew who Martin Van Hoen was, well, they were probably wrong. He was one of those people who only showed you what he wanted you to see; a master illusionist.

            What could she say to this? What would give Martin piece of mind?

            “That will come; you know. The women will come, Martin. Right now it’s just all dumb college girls who are all just out to have fun.”

            “Well…(burp)….they’re not all dump college girls; there are a couple of women out there. You see, Beth, it’s not about the sex; the physicality of it all; it’s about a connection. A connection, when formed, passes time and holds for eternity; a connection that gives you worth; that gives you something to plug into at the end of the day. If not, you’re just plugging into your own thoughts, and, well, those can take you only so many places.

            The money, the accomplishments, satisfy it all; but only for a minute. I’m looking for everlasting, Beth, I’m looking for eternity,” Martin said; passion rising in his voice; his breath radiating out in a white haze.

            “Well, like I said….”

            It happened instantly; it was best to do it in the middle of a sentence. It all took over and Martin kissed Beth. Her lips were tense and the confusion could be felt but it soon lessened. Her lips softly cusped into his and time stood still. For Martin this was eternity; the connection he had been feeling for so long was now coming together. They separated after what seemed to be forever. Their eyes met and they stood; as if holding poses for an artist on the ground.

            “Martin….I…..I CAN’T!” Beth said.

            Emotions ran through Beth’s head; all around her body. She didn’t know what to think; she just went off instinct; opened the door and ran into the house. She would not talk to Martin for 3 months after the graduation of the class of 2030. In her mind he was still outside her apartment; perplexed; trying to figure out what was going on.

            For a while, in Martins mind, he lived up to that image. 

Change

The bending and curving of thoughts; ideas; and morals happens on an occasional basis. People say that no one ever changes; yet people forget the variety of human behavior. The yes to one person will be a no the next day. Change happens on minuscule levels yet people rarely call it change.  These are just oddities; things that someone would exclaim, “that’s not like him” or “he rarely does that”. It is these minuscule bends and curves that a person takes that add up to the ultimate change. No matter how well you know someone they will always surprise you in a good or bad way. They will change and, if you do not accept that, you will be one of the talkers muttering away about how they can never change.

            People can hide things well; cloak their emotions through the intricacies of their face and mind. They will hide these emotions, these feelings for most of their life because they, themselves, are also caught under the illusion that they cannot change; that they cannot be compromised. It happens that the thing we treasure most is the underlying price that we can each be brought at.

            Humans that have been able to not give in to these demands; the Thomas Moores, the Socrates; these humans bet their lives and did not flinch. They bucked the tread; and some would argue were not even humans at all. These men could be considered to be on another level; a cut above the rest. This was for many reasons but one could be that they did not change. You would think the way we talk about others they would all be related to these men. That we were all Thomas Moores or Socrates. Ha, very funny I know.

            Do not be anger though, at the fact that you do compromise. Do not be mad that you show the commonalty of human behavior. Let these words be an echo in the caravan of your minds. An echo that, maybe, will reach the inner thoughts of your mind when it matters most; when good has shown itself to you. Then, just maybe, it will resonate enough to where you will be able to match the bet.

            But, yet again, we cannot all be Thomas Moores or Socrates. 

Walter White

I haven't written on this blog in awhile and before writing this spot I began to think of why I had chosen to write about Walter White from AMC's Breaking Bad. This whole month I've been thinking about life and how we all fit into it. What life we are supposed to live; where we're supposed to be and what our legacy will be. I've been so care free and day by day the past year that I think my mindset has taken me away from pondering questions such as those above. It is good to think of these things ever once in awhile but if one gets wrapped up in the future one will only find it becoming the past. I didn't necessarily come to a conclusion to answering these questions but I more so decided that the best thing to do was to live with what I want to do, day by day and to not lose sight of what I wanted to do the day before. I then realized that every day I wake up there is one goal I want all the time: to write and publish a novel.

Upon examining this I then thought about the difficulty I have been having in my writing and that is the development of characters. Now, this brings us to the subject of Walter White who, I believe, is the best character ever developed in the history of dramatic television. For those of you not familiar with Walter White I suggest you catch up on Breaking Bad which is in its final season but, a little bit of background so you're all not exiting this and going to the t.v. Walter White is your typical high school chemistry teacher before he is diagnosed with lung cancer. From the start you see Walter as a man that is stuck in a routine; the same day by day. He is your post Baby Boomer pre Gen Y American who was told to stay in line, get a job, raise a family and put his life on a spread sheet. He uttered in the first season that "I've gone through life feeling like I haven't made any of my own choices. Now, I have a choice, a final choice, with cancer." The way Walt chooses to deal with cancer will forever evolve him in ways that you would never guess. Now, initially Walt wants to make a lot of money quick so his family will be provided for in the case of his death. He turns to making meth and putting his chemistry into an ethically questionable business.

At first it is very awkward watching this middle class, straight laced teacher go through the workings of the drug trade. He enlists a want to be gangstar as his cooking and distribution partner. He is frightened to handle anything that has to do with distributing but he is fine with cooking and reaping the profits. But, it always goes back to the factor of Walt wanting to make his own choices. When a problem arises with the distribution, Walt's partner is beat up by a local drug lord, Walt begins the transformation to what, I believe, is his true self. He shaves his head which is a testament to him not giving in to the time line of cancer, doing it on his own terms, and him beginning to do what he wants. Upon assaulting the criminals who beat up his partner you see Walt take control of the situation and get the distribution on his own terms. He never wanted to micro manage but he now walks into the role of enforcer because he has nothing to lose, or so he believes.

You see, this whole time you sympathize with Walt because he has cancer. You sympathize with him because you want to be like him; you want to live with reckless abandonment and take all the risks that society has not allowed you to take. You sympathize with him because you feel sorry for the good guy who got cancer and might be leaving a baby, wife, and disabled child behind. You sympathize with him because everyone likes to see this guy win; the guy who never got a break in his life. As he tackles the distribution and begins to make money who only want him to make enough and die because it would seem honorable. But, they couldn't make this show last without showing you that there's more of a line to this ethical dilemma; that you have to question whether or not this is all right.

Walter is told that his cancer is in remission and for five minutes you see the joy in the man's face; the man who had accepted that he was dead; you see the tears of joy. In those five minutes you wonder if he'll give it all up; this thing he's good at, this thing that he can make money at with just the cost of his chemistry knowledge. You hope he does because the black cloud of cancer is no longer over him; you hope and wish he goes back to being the family man and lovable goof that goes through life so care free. But, Walter is not like that; he's more complex then anyone ever gave him credit for. He is not purely ruthless like Tony Soprano, well off like Don Draper, or scared like Jex Teller. Unlike all of these characters he is never trying to run from an identity, create a new one, or figure himself out; he is instead finding his true self hidden behind 50 odd years of Saturday bbq's, news at nine, and vacations to Disenyland. Every show Walter gets closer and closer to doing what he truly wanted to do his whole life: be known and respected.

He missed his chance when he left the company "Grey Matter" for personal reasons and since he has been hiding all of his emotions in the everyday monotony it took a confrontation with death, a coffee date, for him to realize what he had once wanted and never gotten. He begins to rationalize his actions, why he's doing things, to the point where the death of a child leaves him emotionless. He begins to understand he can be respected in the underworld of society; he begins to want the money, setting points of stoppage that he meets but then justifies away. He is caught in a life where he is sure he can control everything; where nothing is ever out of reach and the only way is his way. He comments that "Grey Matter" is worth billions of dollars now and, some might say, this is his only motivation. It's never that easy because it's never always about money. Its about what he believes he can earn with money and what he can continue to earn. Eventually, he is not thinking about the user, his partner, his family, he is only thinking about the money and how it makes him feel. How the respect, the cooking, the rush; how it all factors into his perception of himself.

Walter White is the crashed American dream; the capitalistic machine driving the forces of labor for the all mighty dollar; leaving all other things in its path and not accepting the consequences. Walter White is pure greed and want; justifying to none only to please himself. Walter White is all he ever wanted to be but everything everyone else feared. Walter is taking control of his life and doing what he has to do to feed the beast that is sheltered in every human being. He is finding himself, finding the persona that we all repress. The persona that accepts no consequences, that drives itself off selflessness, and never slows down. We're all waiting to see him fall off the cliff but, in the end, the joke will be on us because Walter knows already there's only one end to giving into temptation.

Gold

You have to get up, he told himself. You have to get up in time to eat, change, comb, pay, walk, ride, and seat. You have to get up because that's what they all expect of. You have to get up because you have responsibility. You have to get up because you just won the gold medal in the 400 meter dash. You have to get up because you're Brain Rubb. The blanket was too warm, he told himself. It was all too comforting and familiar to even leave; to even think about leaving. But, the thought kept coming back to him; the itch from his pesky mosquito conscious to do something and fulfill his duty.

The first day after it hadn't been tough; it was very easy. The moment had been everything he had dreamed of and had swept all of the hard work, early mornings, and sacrifice under the rug that had been his whole life; since he had first stepped onto the track in the hot Arizona sun; in the afternoon where his terms were taken away and consumed by the fame and fifteen minutes that he had told himself with each sweat and breath he deserved. The fame that each person had told him that he wanted, that the world cherished and that had taken his youth away was all around him in the form of women, national media, endorsements, materials and glee of family members. The first two weeks blurred into his persona offering him a glimpse into a larger life, into what he had thought was a larger meaning. As if you could define meaning by how many people knew your name or how many times you were searched for on Google.  He had thought you could.

The pinnacle was always that way, always a rush of pats on the back and glory to sustain the glory of the moment; the glory of the podium; the flashes of the camera and the parties that made you never want to party again and at the same time party ever night. Nobody wanted to know what you were doing next in the first two weeks. Everyone was content with replying the glory and letting you replay it more and more. They commented on how you seemed to appreciate the glory and knew what it was all about. No one ever said it was a shock thing or that you just couldn't believe what had happened to yourself.  Because, even if Brain didn't want to tell himself, the work never seems to pay. You always seem to think it will all never come together; that each failure will lead to more and more failures. But, you realize the failures produced the little successes that got you there. Everyone always had told him that the hard work paid off eventually and those first two weeks it seemed evident. But, what he had needed to to be told; what he needed to get out of bed was some advice on what to do when your dreams were your reality.

How do you keep going when everything society had dictated you to do, when everything that you had grown up wanting and working for had no come to fruition? It was as if he was still in the dream and he would wake up and go back to the track again; ready for the days' workout. He hadn't even been to any other events or at least he thought he hadn't. The interviewers had said he had supported his teammates but it didn't seem the same whenever he went back to the track. The track was different now that it didn't matter; that it had come to reality and given him everything. The track wasn't the cruel girlfriend who didn't return his calls, the father who never congratulated enough, or the friend who didn't talk to him; it wasn't there for him to please. It was the alarm clock next to the bed, the faucet in the restroom, the light in the kitchen; it was the constant that he didn't notice until it was gone. Unlike the light, faucet, or alarm clock he felt like, now, he could go days without it, possibly even years.

For it was a thing, an object that no longer defined him because he had defied it; stood up to the challenge of it and spit in its face. It was no longer a goal of his, no longer a contractual obligation or a appointment on the calender. He was done with it but as soon as he had gotten rid of it and thrown it all up his life was blank and ready to be written on his own terms. He was empty though, laying in his bed starving for meaning that he didn't know how to define because his whole life he hadn't had to worry about defining anything.  Where was his new race or his new medal to chase? He didn't know what to do and it had paralyzed him in this bed. The people he had worked his whole life to please; the people that he had brought so much joy and pleasure to with his victory were proud of him but didn't say anything about the future. They wanted more than he did to live in the moment and know of him his whole life as the gold medal winner; the man who they had seen through the rough times to the podium. They were completely content with having him never do anything more; they were content with knowing that they knew him.

He laid in bed more and more not knowing what to do. Content with the medal, done with the track, and lost in the stands.

The Secretary of Ideals

Date: July 20, 2012
Time: 6:52 pm
Subject: State of Ideals


(Empty podium with a yin and yang poster in the background; cameras flashing; young man enters from the left and begins to speak from behind the podium)


Ladies and gentleman of the world this is an address coming from the cells of discarded subjects located in the realm of forgetfulness. The Secretary of Ideals will be entering shortly to give his address on the state of ideals in the world. Please be patient as the Secretary is older than he used to be. In fact, he's been very old for as long as I have known him. Thank you for your patience. 


(Young Man exits to more flashes. The flashes die down and silence falls under the conference room. Pens click occasionally and a faint squeaking noise begins to resonate. An old man wearing a blue suit with elbow pads and a red tie walks with a red walker with tennis balls on the wheels. Flashes begin again and the man positions himself frugally behind the podium.)


Thank you Spencer for the kind words. You've only known me while I've been Secretary so that would explain why I've always been old to you. One year in the post and everything begins to move a little slower and become a little grayer. But, on to the state of that which this post holds in high regard: ideals. Now, one might begin to question why we even have this post. Do not question what ideals are for they are as old and basic as I. Do not question ethics for they are as basic as I. Do not question reason for ever human knows in his or her heart what is right and wrong. Trust in one another to hold these basic thoughts and opinions and, if not, educate to show that good will not stand by and watch evil steal the show. For it is our believe in change as a human race that will forever continue to let us focus on the path that will lead us back to the most old and basic of that what marks our culture: our ideals. 


In finding this path it is necessary, though, to question how our interpretations of ideals. In an ever complicated world we find ourselves in a constant struggle of reassessing. We are never quite able to do so because something always cuts it off: work, school, money, time, stress, t.v., anything that can sway our A.D.D culture is always holding us back from remembering the old and basic ideals that should be at the root of our actions. It is these distractions that cause us to interpret differences as barriers instead of learning tools. It is these distractions that wake us up when we're 40 and shows us how our dreams stayed dreams. It is these distractions that have become so prominent that we believe they can lead us to the end all of our reassessing: the meaning of why we're here. Theses distractions, though, will only lead us further away from the only things that can truly help us: ourselves. 


For it is within ourselves that we will find who we are and what we stand for. It is through others that we will find what we want, what we will fight for and, ultimately, what we will die for. Through each other we will find that our ideals have become foreign to us and set aside to fulfill what we believe is a larger spectrum of meaning but which has instead become a representation of what doesn't matter. Now, for you realists who have infested society and given up on the human race let me say this: write down your ideals and compare them with the person next to you. They might be different, yes but it is as such because they have been forgotten. It is your place to talk to the person; not to email, not to call, not to tweet,but...to speak to this person about what they believe. 


It is only when we understand the reality; what people are actually thinking that we can find what we have been missing and go in that direction together. For if we are not together under commonality of these basic ideals then we will forever be caught in the distractions of our own culture with only our short sighted goals to guide us. We are all here for larger reasons for it is the hope and prosper of future generations that we hold in our hands and will develop in our minds. Let the work of many not go to dust; let the goals of individuals not rise on false pedestals but let good reside in its proper place. May you all go forth and be human again. Run in the forest, see the sunrise, talk to a stranger, exercise the unrivaled curiosity that has kept us all going for so long.


I tell you this not because we have failed but because we have the greatest potential to do what many in the past could only dream of. I tell you this because I have faith in every single human being on the planet to do what is right. I tell you this because I know we can all agree there is only one thing worth fighting for. I tell you this in order for you to question me and what I stand for. I tell you this so you can discover again and live as you truly want. I tell you this because it is what we all need to hear. 


The state of ideals is the same as it ever was and will remain as it shall be. It is our job to find the state again in all the clutter. It is our job to rise the ideals to their rightful pedestal. It is our job to do what is so rudimentary that we all inherit it upon birth: to be human beings. 


Thank you and good night.

Containment

He walked in every day to the desk. The desk covered in white papers filled with logical numbers leading to an even more illogical mean. An ordered chaos that he told himself he only knew in an effort to keep people out of his mind. It kept them all at bay; all within a safe watching distance of the containment that had become his life. A containment that held in the energy of a power plant that he stared at every day he sat down at his desk filled with paper and dried out pens. As he was so was the dome structure that sat seemingly silent was. Contained in it were forces unbeknownst to most and explainable only to a few of the population. Even those few could not say where it all came from but only judged what it was from tall tale tribal knowledge passed through aged lips.  Would his life be passed down as so; through lips that had spoken to him and shared in stories that became more elaborate through the years? Or would he forever stand still in the world; his own internal chaos raging and not known to the casual passer bys?

For the chaos was all masked by the stillness of the concrete and the notion that nothing could penetrate it. Sometimes he felt as if people thought he was stronger than he actual was; that he did not want to be seen out and was fine keeping to himself. He often thought the same and acted as such. He wanted to keep himself running and going on without a hitch. He wanted to be that cold, calculated professional that could separate his work and his life. He wanted to fit into the peg in the board with the white picket fence, dog, grill, and mortgage. But, with this feeling of efficiency of societal purpose came the always suspecting potential to burst; to explode from within and splatter all the prejudices and planned explorations that had been written on his list of things to do his whole life. It was this potential that everything that kept him going, that kept him operating in his life was built around. Sex, friends, gym, alcohol, music, cars, money, food, clothes, parties, vacations and forgotten Fridays were all conceived and thrown into his schedule to mitigate his mind from wandering to its natural state: chaos. For it was the chaos that showed him he was alive and still had a choice in it all. It was the chaos that made him appreciate life in the first place and made him cognizant of why, in some cases, order was needed. As in the dome, all that was ever thought and conceived as the worst possible scenario needed the order; needed the space to not become the dreadful reality that the numbers could paint.

But, there in laid the difference between himself and this inanimate object that contained forces that ran his professional life and catered to the little bubbles of millions: the difference of control. All of that concrete and force was controlled by humans and their devices wrought with fail safes, redundancies, and contingencies. He himself had built these limits and imaginary controls into his life to stop him from doing things; to stop himself from always striving for something new. He had built these controls to justify not thinking of his dreams and those things he knew would make him happy. He was the dome in the way that his emotions were being contained; that forces which he did not fully understand were being kept under wraps because they were needed to produce an understood end result; a result that would benefit the most but would not benefit the one who had produced it. The result would eventually wear down his sole; as it would the dome. The dome was meant to be worn down though because it had no other choice. Him, himself knew he had a choice. He could let himself keep running, not seeing the chaos underneath, not acknowledging or he could look inside and find all he ever wanted; tear down the controls and redundancies and give into the unpredictability, disillusion, and chaos that his young mind wanted. He could start to live.

Summer Time

Early rise with the sun
After the east is sweating
Past the descent of fullness
Too easy to hit the snooze

Closet offers one option
To fulfill nothing of a lazy day
Eager board shorts on the rack
Soft cotton of a temporary tank

Already planned to dethaw
Soap on the spatula to not mix the weekends
Forgetfulness of the grill
"Blackened" meals for all

Finding your place through being
Just enough to lay under the sun
Discovering emptiness of mind
Content with the bliss of heat

Working on the tan
Sweating off the grill
Thinking about the gym
Hoping the light beer doesn't show

Knowing you don't know
Laying down to travel far away
Traveling far to lay down
Summer not as a season
Only as a mindset

A Single

He sat nervously; fidgeting his hands under the table fighting back the sweat that seemed to strive off the attention. It would get easier, ya...it always did. Whenever they showed up it immediately got easier, for some reason. When he was left to himself to only ponder and think about what he was doing was the only time he got nervous. The rest of the time it felt natural to be meandering around like this with the only tie down being his lose ideals. He lived by the idea of freedom, of good times, good booze, and good women. It was only in times he was left to himself, away from the clamorous bar scene that had become his second home that the little standardized gremlins crept up to convince him otherwise. They never won out, though, when the set of eyes met his.

Green, blue, brown or the classic changing of the color guard. Each set of eyes pierced him the same way and left him wandering through the possibilities of an evening or two. Blonde, brunette, red head, brown or a combination of the former swept him off his feet and took the fidgeting away. His smile always brightened with a twirling of the necklace, hair strand, or lip pucker. The subtleties that only made him want them more and, at the same time, made him look at the waitress who had brought out the food. He would do it cunningly so they wouldn't notice and he could just act funny; to get them twirling more.

Their eyes would flutter and they'd laugh and drink more, to get past the short pauses in conversation where he told them what he did, what his passions were and how he wanted to know there's. People to him were interesting and women even more. What they grew up as, where they were going and how they wanted to get there. He had never felt like he had ever been idolized like each women who set across from him had. Granted, every night was not as fruitful as the others. Each second half started with "What do you want to do now?" Sometimes the answer was "I have to get home early, thanks for the good time".

With this he always smiled and thought about asking for another time to meet. Sometimes his words started to come out and he stopped himself mid sentence..only to leave the door open slightly. Some but not most ended with a tilt of the head and the answer "Whatever you want to do". The smile returned but the night turned into the day and the energy flooded through his veins. The night was his; nothing else up to this point had ever mattered and life could pause for an evening. Tomorrow he would wake up more satisfied then he had ever been; floating on a cloud made of memories of the last night and inflated egos. All of it would be worth it at the time; as he laid on whatever pillow had fallen below his ears. For a second the gremlins would return again but, only for a second.

Young

Meandering around the bar
Caught in a pleasant taste of bliss
Out to have fun in unbeknownst ways
Trailing the subtle tendencies of cliff edges

Flirting with intimacy of strangers
Rubbing elbows through mystical enlightenment
Striving for personal bests
Only looking for the attention to show all

Glimpsing what defines settled
Torn between two radical views of good
Struggling to encapsulate your values
What would your parents say?

Young, wild as a lifestyle circa mindset
Wanting all the reward with no responsibilities
Seeking ideal to remain crazy
Finding the risk to make you happy

Only accepting consequences during the week
Fighting with drawing the line
Doing it to show them you can
Pushing away because the tight rope is comfortable

A Kings Competition: Part 1

Patter, patter, sounded the rain on the shudder
Unbeknownst to the birds flutter
Forgotten by the suns splendor
Discarded by the thunders roar

Thrown away by the king's stare
What was forgotten was always there
Upon this day
Was the day he would appoint a hare

For you see
It was not without regret
That all the king's offspring's
Had met their death

He pronounced a year's past
"A son will come again!!"
But little to his court's dismay
The king's loins did not obey

So now he had agreed
Stubbornly with wine and mead
To choose a hare
That would fit his need

There were many too chose
Some as gloomy as the day
Some others as fair
As a day in May

Sir Alex of the High Lands
A man with regrets
Who found his own way to cope
By spending on women with no intent to elope

Sir Barren of the Gold Lands
A young man with a thirst for knowledge
But in today's' world
He would drink himself through college

Sir Gale of the Swamp Lands
As rough as they came
Ask him for a battle strategy
He would only shrug and say "Na"

Sir Roger of the Sunshine Lands
An exceptional vocabulary
For someone who
The girls knew was not their ordinary

Last but not least
An unknown man had stepped forward
From the lands of Dragons some said
They said he would breath fire
Until his competition lay wasted

The competitors gathered in the great hall
Staring each other down
And squires compromising with each other
So their lords would not maul

"Welcome, welcome all to the event of the day
Time has past and our kingdom need obey
Whoever sets forth from this competition today,"
Announced the King's secretary, to the applause deserved of fame

"Step forth great lords and stranger
Introduce yourself before the king
Bow down slightly not too low for a lady
But low enough to look a little petty"

"I am Sir Alex of the High Lands
I come before you willing to serve
Even to give up
My love for whores"

"Bold statement indeed
We know how you fancy them
Even more than your drink and mead"

"I am Sir Barren of the Gold Lands
Come forth to strike down evil
And cut back on the liquor
So much as to fill a thimble"

"Me be Ser Gale of swamp lands
Rid me of these fancy boys
Let the kingdom be ruled
By me who strike down hundreds of boars"

"Now, now, Sir Gale, musn't you fret
For you have to accost myself, Sir Roger
Before the kingdom you claim
Fails to be the king's no longer"

"Ay, a silver tongue he is
Come forth to battle
Just remember Sir Roger
Your hair will sorely be badgered,"
The secretary splattered

"CUT YOUR TONGUE KIND SIR!"
The dragon screamed
"I am the only true victor
The person whose traveled far and wide
And seen what this kingdom
Must conquer to reach the sublime"

"My, my, the competition is fierce
Dear king wouldn't you say?
Let's start the proceedings
And get onto to the dismay"

"Well spoken kind secretary
Forgotten deeds will be not
SET FORTH THE TARGETS
BRING OUT THE BOWS
LET'S SEE THE AIM
OF THESE ENLIGHTENED LORDS!"

A Picture of a Love

"No....no....I still don't think it's there," Robert said; stroking his chin and holding back a tear. It was so close.

Steven shrugged his head to the side; giving the exasperated look only artists seemed to give. His blond long hair flung over his eyes and, for a moment, he was too distressed to even move it away. Yes, he did not mind taking Roberts money again and again but there was a point where it became to over bearing and too much of a lost cause. Steven assumed this was as any other case when a perfectionist came looking after a painting; anything he did would never do. His wallet was happy but his ego took a hit every time Robert did that shrug and shake.

"Is it the coloring this time? I felt on the last one the hair wasn't bright enough. From the picture you gave me the  blonde hair showed hints of gray and I thought to maybe dim those out a little more and add brightness would give the women the beauty she deserved," Steven said; stepping forward to stand side by side to Robert; waiting for him to give him something.

"I noticed that. It seems next time you should call me before doing that. As you can guess I'm a very particular man Steven and there was a reason I gave you that exact picture."

"Well, maybe you could share with me that reason. Right now you haven't even told me who this women is in the picture. You're going off the work I am getting from a connection with a Polaroid. Maybe if I knew a story behind it; of the person herself."

Robert's face turned and his hand left his chin. His eyes were watery and spoke of pain past. He contained it well enough to not make it awkward but Steven knew he had found at least something; even if Robert chose to storm out of the studio and not talk to him again.

"Maybe I have been unfair...but....its a touchy subject. Let me describe her to you; as I once saw her when her beauty had not eclipsed that of earth's greatest offering.

She was not the women I first thought I loved but she was the first women I loved. It was the most adult form of infatuation you could find and I was perplexed by the feeling when I first saw her. Her blond hair was as bright as you painted it now and her smile was like a warm fire in the cold of winter. She was quick witted and humorous too the point of instant comfort. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into that day, fifteen years ago and I knew that I wanted to live ever second I was with her like it was my last. I'm lucky I did," Robert said; his eyes drying and a smile crossing his face.

"You married her then?" Steven asked.

"Oh yes. It was the best day of my life. Only a few months after we met. We were both so young and indestructible; back when the world was at our feet."

"I know the feeling," Steven said; thinking how stupid he was to be frustrated with this man who had found true love.

Steven continued to look at Robert and then looked back at the painting. This was a painting of a forty something old women; not the young fox that Robert had described. The wrinkles were starting to show and her eyes had years beyond her age. Now that Steven had looked and heard some the hair didn't match the face; it was more artificial then anything. If he had only known.

"Why do you want to see her like this? Why not when she was younger?" Steven asked.

Robert continued looking at the picture for what seemed to be an eternity. Then he picked up his hat and coat from the table to his right and turned to face Stephen. His eyes weren't wet and he seemed the most calm and composed as he had the whole night. He smiled at Steven and took a deep breath in.

"She is what we all are as we grow old, Steven. Shades and shadows of former years mixed into the frailness that points to our realization of fulfillment and dissatisfaction paints her face in that photo. She looks the most human out of any time in her life, the most natural. It's not her looks I want to remember Steven but it is her genuineness and humanity that I want to stay with me. Whether I can find that in a piece of art I don't know. I just want something else to be able to show what I feel," Robert said; sticking his hat on.

"If its something so true Robert, it doesn't need justification."

Robert smiled and patted Steven on the shoulder. Steven watched as the man walked away and out of the studio. Steven looked at the painting and gave a sigh. Ready to start anew, ready to express himself.

Infatuation

When she smiled it was as if he was seeing a smile for the first time or laughing at a joke. When she laughed he didn't even need to because her's was so beautiful and light that it could carry the whole world in a chorus of laughter.  When she talked he couldn't figure out where the seconds went. When the seconds turned into minutes and the minutes into hours he realized anytime that he had spent not in her presence before this had meant nothing. When he talked he knew no one else in the world had ever paid any more attention to him. When he held her hand he felt closer to everything and the whole world stopped. When he thought of her his thoughts turned to grandeur and danced in a giant ballroom begot of endless possibilities and wonders. When he dreamed of her he never wanted to wake up. When he saw her eyes he saw a sunset in San Diego, a mountain breeze in the pines of Flagstaff, a trickling river on the Alps, a golden retriever running through the swaying wheat grass. When he saw her he saw what he himself wanted to be and everything he was not. When he was with her confidence exuded and nuzzled its cousin complacency out of the room.

When he talked of her it was with the dignity addressed to Gahdi or a higher power. When he touched her his body calmed and settled into a nice warm bed and a hot cup of soup. When he was with her Just My Imagination, Feel So Close, Skinny Love, and Sweet Child of Mine played continuously in the background. When he heard her voice it was always summer and closing time was never near. When he thought of her his problems escaped him, the work day went away, and life seemed simpler. When he was with her he never wanted to turn the page or watch the last five minutes to see the twist. When he was with her he didn't care about how much Kobe had put up the night before or whose talents were going to South Beach. When he was with her it felt like the most natural and comforting thing in the world.

Find Yourself

Take life by the horns said the babe to the sky
Don't look back to anything
Run with the wind so the problems don't catch up

Stop and listen to the soft patter of the stream
Elope yourself with the unknown
Open your mind to a cold, bitter winter morning
Don't say the pool is cold before you jump in

Buy yourself a ticket to a place you've never been
Have a glass of wine with a ghost
Talk to a man who doesn't want to listen
Say hello to a pretty lady whose saying good bye

Put the phone away for a minute
That artificial light is making your face dim
Go an hour without an update
Play some scrabble for a change

Call that person you've been meaning to call
Lose yourself in front of a crowd
Find your penny in the fountain
That water doesn't deserve your dreams

Walk around past the glazed eyes and the motors
Feel the brittle wall around your knowledge
Call to say happy birthday
Knock on the door to ask for flour

Act like you can't lose
Everybody will think you won
Wear your emotions with pride
Try to hike the trail no one's been on

Take the offer
Buy the drink
See the lights
Feel the earth

Don't make excuses
Throw seriousness out the window
Invite recklessness for dinner
Tell them shyness can't come

Never talk about what should have happened
Do what you feel
See the needle in the haystack
Find a heart in a black canyon

Be free

Intro to A Western

Sweat trickled out of the brim of his dusty hat as the sun glared on the horizon. Another day in a paradise that only allowed him to walk dead. The horse in front of him was a brown mare formerly of the women he had loved and now of the girl he loved. His dark hazel eyes contracted at the thought of her but a smile escaped his gloom as he looked upon the spitting image of his wife in front of him. They had named her Annabel mere minutes after she had come into this world. It had been the last words his wife had uttered as she laid down for the last time on that hot mid summer day. It seemed he had been sweating ever since. He kicked his brown stallion a little harder; to get closer to Anna. It was the only place his sweat every went; into the place at the center of his heart that was purely dedicated to protecting her and giving her the life she deserved. Poor girl had already had a mother taken away and she didn't need anymore else to happen.

"Let the horse know whose boss, Anna. I'd like to get there before those clouds start moving in," Lester said; setting beside her.

She was eleven, he remembered. Tall for her age and pretty enough to stop the boys from playing gun fights on the towns they past through. Brown hair that curled when it got thick. Blue eyes like her Mom's and a slender body that fit the three dresses that he had been able to procure before they had set out. Today it was the red polka dot dress; not meant for riding but she preferred it. She always wanted to look her best.

"I don't want to hurt Jenny now, Pa. We've been riding hard; she needs her rest," Anna said; high pitched.

"They'll be plenty of rest when we get to Tombstone Anna. Don't doubt that horse till you pushed her, now. She'll respect you more for it and you'll know that when you need her she'll come through. Now, get up!" He yelled; trailing back and giving the horse a good smack.

"Ah...Pa!!!" Anna yelled as the horse jolted up and steadied out to a faster pace.

The smile settled wider on Lester's face and a little laugh left his belly. He took in the landscape after seeing the horse slow and he wondered who would live in a place like this. Montana had been green; rolling hills all around and great brown buffalo you couldn't see anywhere else. This place had mesquite trees as the locals called them. Lester thought it was a far stretch calling them trees. More like bushes with ends that would prick your sides and sweat your eyes. It was better then the grotesque prickly sons of a bitches that he had tried to get water from the other day. Water wasn't even worth enough to have twenty of those invisible pricks stuck in your hand.

Besides the plants it was a tan dullness that eloped all around Lester; with solid rocks of all shapes and sizes kicking up under his horse. Every now and then they passed over make shift train tracks hulling lumber, food, and other necessities out to the barren lands. Lester hadn't seen any other houses since the ranch that had feed and bedded them for two evenings.

"Tombstone needs some use for cattle and hired hands for the building works. If there's one place to find work in this land its there. Watch your valuables, though...especially the little one," the ranch owner had said...."Its a place for men but suspect for children. The west is hard..." he had said. Luckily Anna hadn't been in the room when Lester had heard this; the smallest things scared the girl off.

Lester knew it wasn't the most ideal and it would require some white lies to her but he felt it was the best. He needed the work but most of all he needed the money; to earn and save. He needed to give up the whiskey and not make Tombstone like the seven towns before. It was about time they stopped moving and found a place to call their own. A place where he could find the strength to fill the hole in his heart that the whiskey kept getting poured into and leaking out of.

"Come on Pa. I see a sign ahead. Its got to be as tall as Mr. Wallace from back home. I'd race you to it but, I don't want to dirty my dress," Anna yelled back.

"You jus' don't want to lose now Anna. Slow down now, rein up on her," Lester said; kicking into the muscle, urging the beast forward.

His eyes were still sharp as he caught up with Anna and peered forward. The hazy horizon gave way and the sun blinked out and the sign read Tombstone.

"There she is Anna, Tombstone," Lester said with a hint of confidence and the smile slightly fading.