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