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!"