New Jersey

walking on the highway feels much worse than driving down the highway who knows what’s going to hit you
who knows what car is going to splash you speeding through the puddles
walking through gigantic well lit parking lots has a certain allure to it but it’s all over for me now now
I have the comfort of air conditioning and Art Blakey in stereo on CD
even walking along the busy highways you get to at least see every little thing on the ground
you can pick things up that you would otherwise not even see
license plates and beer bottle caps
maybe even some money
maybe an adult magazine or a letter that someone threw out the window
there are all sorts of thing I’ve thrown out of my car window for this exact purpose
I don’t want to litter the earth like that but I want to make that walk down busy highways exciting for someone as the drive now is just boring and doesn’t give me a chance to see what’s all over the ground
remnants of some fight that blasted by at seventy miles an hour
remnants of a love affair gone bad that just got thrown out the window in the form of a cigarette butt and a photo of some sunny resort town with out of towners wandering around like moses
useless artifacts that I got to collect on trains planes or automobiles
useless artifacts that the world never gets to see
speeding people getting their kicks by giving me and the rest of my people little objects and ideas to ponder
in the breakdown lane you at least need a hobby when you walk like that
the big parking lot lights tickling the clouds with obnoxious industrial orange light
it’s intense how bright yet dark and murky somewhere like New Jersey is in the middle of the night
there are all sorts of great places to walk there
there are all sorts of good stretches of highways for you to collect these artifacts
I recommend it to anyone looking for a hobby
I recommend it to anyone who thinks they have seen it all
you haven’t seen anything until you’ve walked five miles down the New Jersey turnpike with a quarter bottle of vodka in you and a wallet full of business cards
people throw these things out not knowing of me and my group of people that collect this stuff
I arrange it
I take it home and spread it all out on the floor of the garage and let it tell me stories
all the objects on the cold cement floor have their own little histories to tell me
all the objects tell me these interesting stories
if they don’t have anything to tell me I put a little yellow tag on it marked “needs story”
I then assign it it’s own history and story
this object belonged to a man with two kids one wife and a job that requires him to be on time every day and make sure people under him get things done so that he can feed his kids and get to throw things out for me and my people to collect
he’s on to me he’s on the take with us he sees us like chain gangs in orange vests on the side of the road collecting the objects to lay out on my cold cement floor out in the garage
sometimes the men and women will put their phone numbers and addresses on the objects so that I can get in touch with them and tell them everything is okay with said object
sometimes when I assign my own stories to the objects I like to track the former owners down and tell them about the stories I gave their artifacts
“no there will be no time capsule Mister Fredericks you won’t see the object again you discarded the object so I could bring it to life on the cold cement floor of my garage”
I like to spend a good long Sunday evening arranging the objects into groups this group was owned by all women from Florida over the age of forty
this group had more than one owner
this group is my favorite group
as you can see it’s arranged elaborately on the cold cement floor of my garage as it’s a special object that has almost mystical powers that normal people would not be able to understand and that is why it is in the special group right there in front it’s like the king group of objects the big pimp daddies all get their own little seat in the house these objects get taken into the house and get the royal treatment they have big long histories that only I know about someday I may tell the stories of the objects
people that are not on to this whole thing would call us pack rats or useless
once this catches on though the stories will all be told
I will have lines around the block waiting to sit there and listen to the stories that the objects tell
I will have all sorts of secrets to tell people that want to be in the know
yeah the highway is more than just a thing that connects places and people
it’s a place that creates histories and stories beyond what I ver thought imaginable
half of my stories I tell that people may think are lies come from these objects
on Sunday evenings when I spread them on the cold cement floor in my garage the objects never collect dust they are shined and treated with the utmost care and love more that what I give to people as the objects are all people
little friends of mine that tell stories and give me reason to wake up every day
I look forward to collecting more of these objects over the years to show people and teach people about
if someone ever wanted to join the group with me I would let them in on all the secrets as the objects are not going to just talk to anyone and start telling stories to just any old person off the street
there is a long long long history with these and one day I will document it I promise
yeah that’s what I will do I will write the best novel and nobody will know about my muses
they will think I am just a great story teller
they will all praise me and want to know where the inspiration comes from
I will never let the secret out as I will write the novel anonymously
I will write it from the point of view of all the objects
the ones in my favorite group
the group that sits in the front row
those objects have the best stories
As I collect more of these the stories will only get bigger and better
for now though I will spend my time developing the skills to write the stories for the blank objects
the ones with no history about who owned them previous to me
you will all see
you will all be jealous that you cannot make things like this happen on the cold cement floor of your garage
if it’s one thing I am passionate about it’s this and I can now make it happen
the word is out the objects are in my possession
hidden somewhere arranged into little groups like I said
little groups that will tell the stories of a million men and women
little groups that tell me the stories that I see as some of the most amazing stories
perhaps I will keep this all to myself from now on
perhaps I will let them just talk to me from here on out
I told the story here now
the story stays on my cold cement floor out in the garage
this winter will bring stories this winter I might change and let it go public
I’m just not sure I trust people to understand anything about this whole thing
I just don’t know if it’s time yet
I guess when it’s time I will let the stories be told

I Think Your Ears Are Ringing?

Just spent however long deleting old news stories as well as things in my head I no longer need to dwell on or think about. I must have came to a point where, actually forget that. Here’s a story instead:

“the great bake sale of spring ‘82”
With the prospect of winning free tickets to see any Broadway play of your choice, Winnie made her prize winning (in family circles) cupcakes yet again. Winnie worked night and day to perfect the cupcakes. Making phone calls to unknown relatives who have passed the recipe around for years, Winnie was determined to win yet again. Like the New York Yankees, she took the prize again. Winnie immediately called Harold when she heard the news.

“We’re going to New York again Harold!”

“Wonderful Winnie, I can’t believe it! Well, yes I can, those are some cupcakes”

Harold had been eating the “test” cupcakes for the weeks approaching the bake sale, and one would have thought he had his fill already.

“I’ll see you when you get home Harold”

“I love you honey” Harold answered.

“I love you too”

Winnie hung up the phone and approached Mr. Higgins to collect her prize.

On her short drive home Winnie wondered if that Peggy Roberts deserved the prize instead of her, her cheesecake was delicious. Pulling into the driveway she shrugged, shut the headlights off, and got out of the car glowing.

Anyone with half a brain knows what is going on here. The sky is falling and I barely ever have any clue what day of the week it is. I haven’t been able to concentrate on the eighteen things I needed to get done for two or three weeks now. I live in this quiet small area of the world yet is is extremely loud outside. Every person vomiting personal pronouns every fifteen minutes until they stick. You can never see further than a mile away at a time around here can you? You can never have the option of going up and looking over everything. In the middle of the night while they all sleep or jack off on the internet you can sit up there quietly and hope nobody sees you. Once you have this ability to turn spotlights on and microscopes off you can feel a little more in control. You can at least feel like the day to day is different every time.



“My Eight Favorite Marvin Gaye Songs”

“Leave Us Alone We are Working on Blueprints”
Try this we are walking into the bar you and I and I turn to you and tell you I am scared to go in I am scared to be in there with them all I am scared to go outside now I don’t want to feel the aggravation and anger like I felt today I listen to this cd and I have to fucking shut it because I don’t give a fuck who broke this guys fucking heart I don’t give a fuck who broke anyone’s heart for that matter.

“John Travolta’s Facial Hair in the Film ‘Swordfish’”
I pissed out what seemed like a gallon and a half of beer, and then got in my car. The drive home was intense and dangerous. Art Bell telling me that people spontaneously go invisible. I took the barrel of the 9mm and pointed it at the woman and her son driving by me in the mini-van and lit another Kool.

“Oh, I Didn’t Realize Your Parents Molested You”
So when we arrived at the apartment of Timmy and Jenni I initially thought we were going to be surrounded by thieves and men with insurance plans; instead, we were surrounded by good drugs, and good jazz music from the late 70’s. One wants to believe that Timmy would not have good music, but for the remainder of the night we discussed how great the tone of Pat Metheney was in this particular year.

“A Visibly Drunk Liza Minneli Being Eaten by a Giant Orange Scorpion with Wings”
The first time one hears the song “the Magic Power” by “the other famous trio from Canada", Triumph, one is filled with such a feeling of hope, you literally feel like Rik Emmett is going to jump through the speakers and give you a big hug. Hi, my name is Christian, and I am addicted to rock and roll music.

“The Drive Home After You Pay For Sex the First Time”
Facts: I have never seen the movie Top Gun. I have never been to France. I like to drink water.

“I'll Take Adults Who Think Vampire Stuff is Cool For Five Hundred”
I love fucking cole slaw, love it, absolutely love it. All of the cold “pre-made” salads are great too. My wife made this wonderful potato salad last week. I ate it all week at work. Her sister makes a great macaroni salad. I once knew a man from Ohio who made some pretty intense bean salad that was just delicious! Fuck I love it all! Fuck!

“The Ticket to the Jethro Tull Concert in Your Wallet While You Get Arrested”
I remember going to this day camp when I was a little kid. One weekend, they had a sleep over. I didn’t want to sleep over. I don’t like sleeping outside to this fucking day. I was supposed to meet a couple of friends in the middle of the night to get in trouble or whatever. The next day when I showed up, this big kid Kevin, his Kiss belt buckle glimmering in the hot summer of 78’ sun says to me “where were you last night?”. He was going to beat me up for not showing up to do whatever we were going to do. One day I fell on the trampoline and hurt my head crying and yelling, I felt paralyzed and freaked out. I think this is why I have problems in general now.

“Last Friday, When We Quit Smoking Cocaine”
Last night I dreamt that I was swimming in the ocean with a German Shepard, I was worried that my wallet was going to get wet so I asked him what to do, he said we couldn’t do anything, and to worry about it later. Great, talking German Shepards in my dreams now. He was cute. I have no idea what we were doing in the ocean, as I steadfastly refuse to swim as soon as someone suggests it.

Estimated Prophet pt II

At the same time my ears ring, my eyes burn and my sixth sense is heightened to where an alarm will probably go off fifteen minutes from now. There has to be an alarm going off somewhere fifteen minutes from right now anyway, I’m sure of it. I can’t imagine why, but then I realized as much as I am into letting you know how much I like you or don’t like you via secretly recorded conversations about my third cousin I’ve never met anyway, I still notice this shit. I notice it all though and it’s why I can’t even relate to here anymore.



Sometimes you can have a memory of a scent from when you were a child ,someone’s house, a food you used to eat, whatever. The other night I randomly remembered the scent, and then the lighting and whole atmosphere of where I went to what we called “CCD”. I have no idea what this even stood for, but it had to do with preparing kids for confirmation in the Catholic church. The only thing I really remember about these classes is, they were maybe in the early evening once or twice a week, they were boring as hell and you basically just spent your time memorizing these stupid prayers....Our Father, The Lord’s Prayer and maybe Hail Mary. I couldn’t recite a single word from any of these at this point in my life as I guess because of the timing of it was during a formative time in my life when it was kind of hard to trick me. I was being taught to talk to someone I never met, someone I couldn’t see and someone who lived in “the sky”.

I never received my Communion or Confirmation as a Catholic as at one point or another I complained so much to my parents that I hated it they took me out of it...I went to Penance once to tell a priest of my recent sins which in retrospect seems just wrong to do to a ten year old kid. How many of the Ten Commandments can you even break that young? My parents weren’t church people, and with my dad in the music industry in the 70’s and the nature of what I was involved in during the early and mid-eighties, worshipping someone I could never see or touch seemed more absurd by the second.

With my dad in the industry, we were able to go to quite a few big concerts, often going backstage to meet these rockstars like Styx, Supertramp and later on in life New Order, Robert Plant, and then countless musicians in the punk rock scene. With the ability to meet and see these people as real humans my idea of idol worship and that kind of think was more dull than most people I know. The fact that I spent so many hours with records by bands and musicians that I could someday meet made the notion of worshipping anybody or any entity a ridiculous thing. This isn’t to say I still don’t do this to this day though.

I can have my mood and attitude completely changed within minutes if I hear certain musicians. If I need advice on something I can consult a musician or an author for advice or inspiration. Where I live right now, there are quite a few “Jesus people” as I like to call them. They are some of the most unfriendly, close minded people I have had the pleasure of being surrounded by. Sitting in this coffee shop playing music loud into my ears and watching them is like watching a movie. Starring all white people, they’ve all stepped out of a white picket fenced world of backstabbing and weird ideas of how things should be and well “leave us alone anyway”. Every one of them probably own a Golden Retriever and a minivan, watch Everybody Loves Raymond on a nightly basis and have about two orgasms a presidency.



I have this plan of slipping out the back door without anyone seeing. Without leaving a note, without slamming the door shut. A quiet sneak out the back door with one knapsack full of ironic t-shirts, sneakers and books about dead people with hard to pronounce names. I have the ability to drive a whole day without feeling guilt. I can leave blank pages on the ground, a trail of crumbs that leads nowhere but to me sitting in a hotel room waiting for the sun to come up so I can bore myself to death for nine hours again with deserts and forests and hills and white people with ridiculous accents. Not a single drop of poison needed, not a single piece of anything. If they need to wonder where I am they can, but at the end of the day I don’t owe anyone anything. It’s sunny enough here that people can figure everything out on their own. I don’t think anyone would even want my advice. I hate giving advice, nobody takes it, I never take it either so. Mostly though, if I can never hear another person complain for as long as I live, if I can never read another person complain again as long as I live, and I can slip away to some small place on the Pacific Ocean I’ll be done. Nothing here but noise and noise and that kind of thing, well it’s easy to slip away without anyone even noticing. I hate cakes anyway.

Purgatory

I Come in here and see all the reasons I don’t want to be here. Unfriendly faces that are supposed to be friendly. Walking around town and seeing people I thought were supposed to be a lot more friendly, these Jesus people they love one another, but no one else. If they don’t know you, forget it, you don’t get anything. I hope they all burn in hell for eternity. I don’t want to be in this shitty place anymore. If it means doing shitty things to make money to get out of here I’ll do it, what do you got? I don’t feel any sort of connection here any more. I don’t feel like I am “turning my back on my home”, this place sucks, every single thing about it. Let me tell you how I really feel though.

At this point it doesn’t matter who will let you down, it’s just a matter of when they will.



I hate that they can’t stop it. Can’t stop the attempts to impress everyone and me with witty remarks and knowledge about shit nobody cares about. I can’t read or hear anymore of it as it makes me disappear for a day or five at a time from all of this. Asking for advice and opinions about things that are happening to nine people away from me, that I haven’t seen in however many years, who knows really. Whatever it is I am talking about here, I have no idea. Oh yeah, I’m not like you and don’t ever agree with anything you say. It never means anything and never will. You’d be better off leaving me alone. Sure I can lie for eternity and keep entertaining your ego a tiny bit every other week, but for the most part if you disappeared from my life completely I wouldn’t care even a little bit.

Whatever and whenever all of this crap washes over me, which is almost every other day I never know how I am going to react. Like someone with anger issues, most likely not. I know when to shut it off, I know what lines I am not supposed to cross over. Sometimes though, I imagine a life without knowing how and when to turn shit off. I imagine how many fights I would have gotten into. How much more shit I would have broken. How many friendships and relationships ruined. At one point though, I learned how to be a pussy about shit I guess? Or just be more of a behind the scenes shithead. At this point though, ignored and left to my own thinking and time wasting I spend way much more time figuring out how all these fucks do things. I sit around and think about who and what I despise and am left with a small handful of people and places and things to do. What a cliche that is though, eh?



"Paintings"
So I wake up because I’m tossing and turning in the bed because you know I have some issues with some issues I have how funny is that I keep myself up late at night like this so I have been reading this book it’s just a non fiction book about ummmm people I guess don’t really need to go into detail but it says a good thing to do is to wake yourself up in the middle of sleep and then write you have the most creativity and your thoughts are actually the most crystal clear they can be so you know I toss and turn in bed keeping myself awake because I have some issues with some issues I have and I wake up and hey here I am again shit what did I write in here earlier hahaha I make myself laugh so not to mention the fact that there was a guy standing at the foot of my bed while sleeping you see when this guy gets in those mean Ihateeverybody moods he needs to throw satchmo on the stereo to sing me to sleep because I have some issues with some issues I have and he helps me out he makes it all better see

Okay, look at me now cool as a cucumber I stay up late and then get up early and turn into the doctor so not to mention that I wake up and there are snakes all over the floor of my room probably from the guy that was standing there watching me sleep it’s cool though satchmo is so much more powerful than the evil doctor that comes into my room and puts snakes on the floor and makes me itch like I do I have itches all over my body all weekend he put fleas in my bed that cocksucker put fleas in my bed bedbugs is the more polite thing to call them I guess flea is a mean thing to say it’s like saying bitch or cocksucker or motherfucker or communist so yeah it’s funny because I don’t fucking dream anymore how fucked up is that that’s not fair perhaps because I watch so many movies that I don’t need to dream who cares anyway dreams mean nothing but a bunch of random images that are useless in the long run like the issues I have with some of these issues I have right now

Imagine me as fireman coming out of the building like superman or yeah forget that imagine me as superhero here to save the world from mean evil people like myself when I have those issues that I have imagine me like totally top ten style with gold rings on my fingers and a handful of cash they pick me up in jaguars and drive me far and take me to exotic places where we can forget about how to make a good cup of coffee and forget about the issues I have with some of the issues I have imagine me like the big time and shit ya know like the big time no guys coming to visit me in the middle of the night that are part of that network of people who fuck with me I talked about them and people just laugh and point and make fun like the little boy who cried wolf or fire in a crowded theatre it’s a bit funny that anyone would think that I’m this big meany who hates and spits venom in real life never takes himself too seriously I mean takes himself too seriously I mean fuck I can spell I can’t form good sentences but fuck I can spell gosh darn it but fuck if anyone ever says that I am a big jerk and I shouldn’t say this and I shouldn’t say that about this person and that person than they don’t know me and they can go sit in a theatre with little boys who yell fire and throw wolves with rabies at girls with pony tails

I once threw a jellyfish at a boy on the beach he cried and threw sand at me and my mother slapped me across the face and told me to apologize I never ended up becoming friends with him or even having a homosexual encounter I think the one thing they teach you is to never have a homosexual encounter with a boy who throws a jellyfish at your face I did all sorts of bad mean things like that when I was a little boy I threw a brick at my brothers friend because he said I sucked at football I showed him how it really was with my dallas cowboy cheerleader looking self and then a kid attacked me at age ten and I stabbed his hand with a rusty pipe

Let me tell you about it and make fun stories out of the absurdity of it all as it stands now though I can’t take people chasing me into the house because they watch me from the woods I can’t take myself too seriously I have a good amount of time left when I think ahead of a living clean lifestyle you watch me I can live like the bathroom sink with bright white and shiny like a new bathroom sink you know I can live like that like a guy that is clean like the bathtub in the convenience store outside of Knoxville Tennessee that I hid from a homeless man with an erect thumb for twenty-three minutes I can make things out of words that don’t need to hurt people or confuse people if I need to watch hello my name is christian I live in Massachusetts I enjoy good film fine food and louis armstrong once a week.

I have a plug sticking out of my head that tells me to keep going and yeah I want to say one more thing, picture me like on fire and shit like the king of the world of whatever I need it to be ya know like picture me big time.

Drive West on Sunset

There is a way to do business like I want to do business without causing a scene you know. So after a few conversations with “yeah, I know” littered throughout them and witnessing things first hand, I realize I need to move. Not move, but move my head across town. Watching three blonde girls with gross tits and tight pants drink a trio of “colorful drinks” with all sorts of fruits and shit hanging out of them is a funny sight I see from time to time. They all went home to their vibrators and Justin Timberlake posters, while their boyfriends were out with the boys holding up Britney Spears pictures to the light to see if you could see anything underneath her clothes.



I want to hold hands in the desert. Sometimes I feel like I am driving into the desert, and we will spend eternity there, talking and balancing a steady diet of shitty coffee and arguments about strength. The only way for me to completely move is to never show my ID to anyone again. Move into this new place. I want the memories of fishing boats and walks on piers and cooking chicken and rice for two and movies about apes and people with no arms and drives to Maine and even faster drives home and blow jobs in the middle of the night and bags of candy with just the black ones left and carnivals with no rides for me and complete contentment with this that and the other thing. Who wants the glass of whiskey with a phone number sticking out of it? Not I , I have that. Well, I had it. I don’t want anyone to get in the way of this. This is why the fingers never do the walking anymore.



This is why my dream has come true. My dreams always come true after 5 or 6 nightmares in a row. Dreams of tables for one. I like that I can’t taste blood anymore. I like that I don’t have to take acting classes and all of that fun stuff. I like that I can be held down at gunpoint and still have a good time. I know the limit now. I know the way to San Jose. I know where to find the sunlight and easy living. It ain’t about finding it every day though. It’s all about me. It’s about me all the time. Fuck that, I don’t need to sign any papers. I don’t need to move myself into any new homes and shake hands with the devil and all of that. I now know who my friends and enemies are. It can’t be that bad, you just don’t know what you’re talking about, now come over here and pick my teeth out of this tree for me I can’t feel my legs and my dad is going to kill me for what I’ve done to the car. Sick? You are definitely not sick, you want to feel sick. You just don’t use your brain ever. I make apologies and I send greeting cards to you and you still think it’s all okay. You don’t realize it moves on. It all moves along slowly.



Magicians with baseball hats making your trust disappear. I like showing people the same tricks they showed me. I like smashing books and notebooks full of sugar and spice and everything nice. I like when I can get up in the morning, literally roll out of bed and have a million things to say about her. I was thinking about her before bed and I thought good things and nothing bad. Who cares what the neighbors say? Who would care what the folks downstairs would think. I’m not turning this car around and heading home I know that much. I could sit here and wonder and write letters and make phone calls like I did a month ago, but I have no real reason to act like a lollipop anymore. Why be a sucker when you have better neighbors that are more than willing to lend you sugar? Curiosity. Jealousy. They happen for a day at a time with me.



They come out of my room and they kill me with eyes that look right through me. The eyes stop at one place and don’t move from there. I want things from people. I want them to just shut the fuck up most of the time. I want people to give me things now. I gave way too many things for years and then turned into a sucker all the time. I want to go back to mutual decision making, and mutually administered back rubs and phone calls. There isn’t time for the advice of Jack Daniels right now, that’s so two lives ago. That’s so 16 years ago. I swallow things and spit them out when they taste like hair spray and whiskey. I throw them against the wall as hard as I can so I can see the blood splatter all over the place. I have these visions of blood all the time. Vivid, detailed scenarios of what it must be like to be involved in a disastrous car wreck. I had to pull off the road four times last week because I thought a truck was going to hit me head on going 75 miles and hour. I pictured this big metal thing coming through the window and me trying to duck, and just having my head ripped wide open and screaming from passengers and brakes and glass and all of that. No blood, just glass and crying. I’m too confident in that car. Too confident I won’t hit the big truck. The big trucks kill me. The big trucks haunt me anytime I’m on the highway.



This is one main reason Jack Daniels isn’t going to help me. He helps boys gather information about girls they would otherwise not give the time of day to. It helps girls forget they have any pride or respect. It helps nobody really. It helps me turn my love into comedy. It helps me walk down the street and find comedy at every corner as they all swerve and stumble through their little lives. It helps me get to the bottom of things a lot easier.



When I hit my exit I’m gonna get off and drive so fucking far away from here. When I hit my exit, I’m gonna drive to the beach. I love the vast ocean in front of me. It sort of scares me and makes me feel good at the same time. It’s all too big. I don’t want the big things anymore. None of the big issues to deal with. None of the day to day bullshit I seem to get myself involved with all because someone is a loser and I don’t want to shake his or her hand. I want this to end. Well, it has ended at this point. It has started to show it’s face in different ways now. I want this room to be a whole new center of attention for me. I don’t like the outside anymore, there’s far too many dangerous things happening, and far too many people I just don’t want to see ever again. Just those people I meet from time to time that don’t do a thing for me. I don’t mean my friends, maybe the people who know certain people and this and that and the other thing. No substance usually.



You don’t even understand the winter, it makes you weak, it makes you complain and complain and never want to be alone. You can’t even handle what the winter does to people. I like to watch what it does to people like you. Taking your emotions and building them up until February arrives and you have a nervous breakdown and can't handle anything whatsoever. You can’t handle the way it freezes everything you have and puts everyone away for the night. The nights are so lonely and desolate. Your car makes all this noise and only you get to hear it. You get to pull into the frosted driveway late at night depressed yet again, thirty something winters and you still can’t get it right. “I’m gonna move to Texas”, you’re going nowhere. Go up to your bedroom. Don’t lock the car in this weather, the locks may freeze. The night wants you to just shut the fuck up and go to bed. You’ll go to bed and like it. Nobody is out tonight, nobody is calling you tonight. You and the freezing wind and the frustration. Snow comes and you still can’t figure out why the winter does this to people every year. It doesn’t though, it’s just you. You and your weak self can’t handle loneliness. You can’t go at it alone. You can’t sit by the fire by yourself. You can’t go a few days without speaking a word. You need the interaction, you need someone to hold you from time to time, that’s not asking much right? Everyone needs that. Everyone needs the adoration and warmth of another human being. You need it constantly. Some place warm to hold your heart and not squeeze it so tight, especially in this winter. This dead cold winter. The summer is your time of year. Hot nights by the pool, no complaints from you. Everyone is home for vacation. Everyone is always around. You all get to get together and talk about how much the winter sucked. Nobody is hearing you though. You make jokes and comments about this one and that one, and can’t remember the last time someone held you in their arms and looked you in the eye. People, they seem to look away from you all the time. People, they seem to not want you. The summer is your time, and it’s ending quickly. What do you do, do you go for the gold and not turn back, or do you drive the straight and narrow road straight into it. I once drove my car off of a pier because they said I wouldn’t. Jumped out at the last minute and walked home with my new shoes and made sure I didn’t get sick. I don’t get sick often. I drive my car off of piers and don’t get sick. I drive my car into seasons. Slow dead cold seasons. I drive my car into this bullshit all the time. I know how to enjoy the ride now. I realize now that there is one way to approach this, with the car in drive, headlights on, seat belts fastened, clean windshield, and a full tank of gas.

F

Last night I never went to sleep at all. Woke up 9:00 AM the previous day (Thursday) after going to bed at 8:00 AM. So aside from that brief hour or so of sleep Thursday morning, I haven’t slept at all. It’s boring and nothing happens, who wants to sleep? Truly though, I did eventually go to sleep this morning, and slept for a bit. Before that however I decided to pour some Robitussin in a shotglass and take two shots of that, two shots of rum and smoked half a joint and wrote this:


In the hills of whereversville California
Far above gross strips of orange and grey
Hollywood on one side and an area I should never call home on the other
Trying to locate the first second
The best way to my heart
Looks of frustration
Contentment
And just that look

“every single one down there is a liar”
“stay away from me I’ll only hurt you”
“”these sunglasses and hat will make it easier to deal with”

My first, but really second moment like this
Interrupted over and over
Spilled directly into awkwardsville
“oh well then”
Months from now in the middle of the night
Months from now in the early hours of dawn
Months from now we’ll remember this time and laugh
We’ll look back fondly
Speak of fucking and taking things fast
Speak of how better everything gets
Months after things get worse
Weeks after things get worse
Even days after things get worse
They seem to get better

Her gaze even better in real life
Better than hours of phone calls and letters
letters on a screen that have something
“nothing will ever stand in the way”
Not women you’d never meet
Not men I’ll never meet

Eight months later
Almost to the day though
Light in my eyes that makes it hard to even sleep
Darkness that makes it easy to sleep
Why is it when I feel I’ve done wrong
I can sleep better at night?
I always have more light in my head
The way I pull information though
This gigantic flashlight
A flashlight made of fire, frustration and sixteen other words that begin with the letter F

Master of Puppets

I can push and be pushed into any situation. I try to make my own decisions here and there and really, I never do. I let situations dictate them. I don’t think I’ve put more than a few minutes into a choice in a long time. I have no fucking patience for sitting around thinking if it involves other people. I can just as easily ignore people forever. I can leave them alone and never pick up the phone again if I need to. Most people can’t do this, they are weak and always cave in. I think because everyone ever has failed me I don’t put any kind of stock into people at this point. Everyone is selfish at the end of the day including me. If I had it my way right now I would disappear into the middle of the country somewhere. Miles away from the ocean and the internet and coffee and listening to people ramble on about things I have no interest in, listening to the same questions over and over. Miles away from every single person invading my privacy, family, friends, strangers, I volunteer information all the time so the invasion doesn’t really exist, but really. Someone thinks I have something interesting to say. They must be blind, or have some other motives. Hmm.

Until I get back to reality and living some sort of new routine, this routine is the one. Staring at a ceiling fan, listening to animals in the back yard, watching people read their bibles, fat housewives sucking on milkshakes disguised as coffee drinks, all whites all the time. I sleep three hours a night, the rest of the time I am waiting for some sort of alarm to go off. The rest of the time its all noise all the time. Nowhere to go to avoid their deafening voices and taunts and uninteresting feelings about life.



Early morning dream 06/02/10:
Was in some sort of pantry area trying to run some sort of device that needed to be hooked up to a tank of gas and it was not working. Tank eventually came disconnected from hose and flew around small area before crashing into a wall.



Looking back now on trips I have taken, people I’ve taken them with, certain areas of the country and which were the best. I’ve never done extensive traveling with another person really. When I did it had a specific function, moving. The whole trips were complete stressful times for the majority, and there was nothing really relaxing about those trips. Trips I’ve taken in New England have been okay. Some have been hard to deal with because of whatever weather we were having, and usually the trips were too short. I know everything that’s here at this point for the most part. I’ve been to the top of Maine and looked across a river at Canada, and to the bottom of my least favorite state, Connecticut. So I feel like I’ve seen almost every inch of New England that I need to see. It’s impossible for me to get lost in Massachusetts.

Maybe because they are more recent, or because of the company I was with, or because I am better at traveling than I was say ten years ago. My trip to Disneyland for my birthday last November with G was great. Great that it was early in our relationship and although still didn’t know each other as well as we do now, it was great to spend my birthday at that place I loved as a kid with someone I love. Our trip to Morro Bay/San Luis Obispo this past March was also great. I didn’t know if it would be the last time I saw her or not since I was moving back to Boston a couple of weeks later. That is a great area of the state and I think I really fell for her there so it was particularly bittersweet to leave that day. I couldn’t write enough shitty songs and poems about that smile and well, other things.

Now that I have been back here, and have listened to all of these songs that remind me of here and then remind me of there, I feel like I really want to go back there. I know what is here and I know what is there. I put these things on a scale the other night. Ups, downs. Pros, cons, you know...It’s noisy and crowded here. If I get to the ocean here, it is rocky and cold and I feel like I am pushed against the sea.



"Hey Charlie"
I landed on the ice with a giant “thud”, and got up immediately. I think I had been running but I’m not sure when I think back to that night. Charlie wanted to catch up with me this night, but I wouldn’t let him. I ran, and ran, and ran. Charlie always had a slew of questions to ask me. Charlie always wanted me to tell him a story “from the old days”. I liked Charlie, but he was just too much sometimes. Charlie always wanted me to lend him a cigarette, although he never gave back the “lent” cigarettes I gave him. Charlie was never in love from what I can tell. He was always telling me of some girl he was with the night before, but I was never interested. In retrospect I guess I should have been a bit nicer to Charlie. Charlie pushed. Charlie outright bugged me most of the time.

I don’t think many people knew of Charlie. I never told my friends about Charlie, or the day I met him in the coffee shop. Charlie was sitting at the stool two over from me, and when the large construction man left, Charlie introduced himself. I had seen Charlie around my building, but had no clue he lived in it. In fact, he lived right below me. I didn’t really pay attention to anyone there, except for the couple next to me, whom I HAD to pay attention to because they were so loud. Arnold and Louise, what a fucking couple they were. So anyway, this particular night, it was raining, which made the ice on the ground even more slick than it was. I was coming home from my friends’ place where we had just watched television for five hours straight. Charlie saw me turn our corner, and started in with the questions. What's up? You staying up? Every once and a while I would let Charlie in and we would hang out and get high. Tonight I wanted to go to bed right away. I’m going to bed Charlie. I’m not doing anything tonight Charlie. I started yelling a little. I’m GOING IN CHARLIE! Charlie kept at it. I started running down the street in fear at this point. After the thud on the ice, I made my way into the apartment building.

Charlie came to the door five minutes after I got in. Can I come in? Just for a minute. Charlie was in love apparently. He had mentioned this one girl a bunch of times, but I had never paid attention. I hadn’t been in love in three years, so I guess I was a bit jealous of Charlie. I all of a sudden felt a little compassion for Charlie, and listened to him. Hey remember the time you told me you fell in love with that girl, and she turned out to be your cousin? Yes I remember that Charlie. Remember you told me that it was much bigger than love, and that every time you were with her you felt like she was a part of you? Yes I remember that Charlie. That’s how I feel right now. Who is she Charlie? Her name is Darlene, and she works at the pizza place up the street. Oh, I think I know who you’re talking about, you’ve mentioned her before right? I offered Charlie a cigarette. He said he was quitting. Your loss I snapped. Darlene obviously doesn’t smoke I take it? Yes, she does. Oh. I’m going to marry her. You are? Yes, I think I am. The horoscope says I probably will. And that’s a good source of information for you Charlie? It never lies to me. How come every time I look at it Charlie, I ignore it if it doesn’t say anything good, and when it does, I ignore it anyway?

The next morning Charlie was on his way to the store when he dropped in the middle of the street. It seems a brain tumor fell him. I guess in retrospect Charlie was a good man, he just bugged me a bit too much. The one night when I finally let him have his night with me he dies the next day. I visited the pizza place after Charlie died to see Darlene. She’s at home with her husband the guy behind the counter told me. It turns out that Charlie was indeed in love with Darlene, but this was news to Darlene. Charlie wanted so bad to have love in his life but was denied it over and over, so he made up stories. I miss Charlie. I have no love either, and Charlie had some love, he seemed to love me, but I had none of it to give him when he was alive. My friends now have all gone on and pursued their dreams of moving out of this city, and into homes with their wives, and girlfriends. Today I went down to the coffee shop and sat at the counter next to this policeman. After he got up, I moved into his seat, and asked the man next to me if he was enjoying the unusually warm weather in January.



"Novembre"
Lets cut out the small talk

We are sitting next to each other and that’s all

I am not an interesting person

I am not an interested person

I have nothing to give you really

I can give you stories

I can follow you home

I am good at that

I can make you think I am someone else

I am good at that

I can let you think you know me

In the middle of the night though

I am pulling strings

I’m plotting revenge on you

You’ve done absolutely nothing to me

I know you’ve done harm to others though

I see through you all the way to Hawaii

I sit up late at night writing letters to your friends

I spend hours devising ways to harm you

I sit around inside my head

I’m no better than you

You are truly better than me, which is why I do this

You win one battle

In the end though, I win ten

You fight three battles

I fight none

And I still come out on top somehow

The second you asked me what my name was

That was the first mistake you made

You wife and kids seem nice

I’m really sorry

Really, I am.

Pussy Eating Contest

Found some old shit I wrote once in this old hard drive. Title is obviously a reference to the Sabbath song.

09/03/05 - Oriskany, NY
“Lord of this World”
Wow, it’s ironic that I “hate” New York, but over the last few years I’ve grown real fond of upstate, almost to “I could live here” level. There’s a slight Massachusetts attitude here but people seem friendlier. I literally have had no run-ins or situations with people in cars, stores, etc. like I seem to have on a daily basis back home. I’m thinking I’ll come up to Lake George in the Autumn. Anyway, this place is pretty beautiful (there’s nothing here, refreshingly), yet it’s also kind of ugly. I can feel some sort of weird vibe driving through downtown Rome, NY. It’s almost like how you feel when you are in Lawrence, MA but a little safer.

I planned on going to the show earlier today but ended up falling asleep and by the time I got myself motivated to leave the hotel room there was an amazing strawberry dusk situation happening. Reminded me of my first trip to Tennessee in 2000; I drove 13 hours that day, arriving in Knoxville at dusk and it was a similar color. Where this place is more remote and there is no orange glare in the sky from a big city nearby, it’s more intense here. Sure the thought of upstate New York being cooler than anything in Tennessee is kind of farcical given the great times I had both times I’ve spent time there, I am talking about Knoxville, TN which was basically like Saugus, MA with cowboy hats and more black people…and Waffle House.

A couple of our friends were on mushrooms and drunk tonight which was slightly amusing. I did not have any alcohol. I’m trying to remember the last time I drank any alcohol and it may have been as long ago as June. I was losing the taste for it about five years ago, but it quickly involved into having to force myself to enjoy even half a beer that I “liked” in the first place. At this point I can’t imagine ever wanting a beer. It’s been peer pressure for the last five years, really. In my entire life I’ve probably been into a liquor store and bought alcohol to drink thirty times tops. Whatever though.

The music was great tonight; I stayed for just about all of it. We had a good time mocking hippies, as well as our tripping friends while trying to stand up on a ski mountain in the dark.
The drive home was a little more enjoyable tonight. It’s scary as all fuck, but shorter this time around for some reason, perhaps because I was in a better mood. It was great to see the hotel and get to sit around here in the warm room now. Speaking of enjoying myself doing nothing.



Chapter Two of this thing I wrote about a fishing trip gone weird

2.

These winding roads were enticing the first few times we did this trip, by now they had turned into a redundant series of black and white postcards held in front of our tired heads. Don was out of cigarettes and kept taking mine for the last two hours of the 6-hour journey north. I just wanted to get to the cabin and grab a beer and a place to plant my exhausted legs and eyes for the night. The trance like effect of the John Lee Hooker on the stereo, and the postcards made for an even longer drive. By the time we got to the cabin it was near nine in the evening and I was collapsing on the walk in.

“I need some sleep”

“Chuck, you need more than sleep, you need a vacation” Don opened the door, and we both took a whiff of the all too familiar smell of our summer hide out.

“This’ll do for now” I dropped my bag on the dinner table and made my way to the bathroom.

“Chuck, we should see if the old man is out on the lake tomorrow” Don yelled to me from the room, I could hear Robert DeNiro’s familiar voice in the background on the television Don had turned on before dropping his gear down.

“I’m sure he’ll be out tomorrow, it’s supposed to be a beautiful day out. I’m not sure I’m ready for his stories just yet though, he takes a lot of energy out of our day with some of those depressing stories of the war and his dead wife”

I made my way into my room and got undressed and put the boom box on the nightstand on. A talk radio show gushed on about paranormal stuff like Area 51 and jackalopes and that kind of thing. I like falling asleep to this show when I stay up here. The sky is so amazing out side my bedside window I can imagine UFO’s flying by and being able to see every little light and gear on it. Don was falling asleep on the couch, so I got up and shut the light off, but left the television on. He had been watching Analyze This with DeNiro and Billy Crystal. An okay movie for what it is, and surely it would have the same effect on me if I put it on right now. I shut the light out, and lit a cigarette; the radio was discussing a UFO sighting in Canada, Yukon Territory. I looked out on the lake as I smoked and saw what looked like a serpent in the water, once it reached the bone white moonbeam it turned into a log though. I chuckled to myself and put the cigarette out. I fell asleep to a woman from Santa Fe that could talk to lizards.



12/13/09 - Los Angeles, CA

Two more days and I will be six months without a cigarette. This is obviously great news for my physical being. For my mental being though, there are anniversaries every other day, the one month anniversary of the last time I was in a good mood, etc.

Making some friends out here, but really, when it all comes down to it. Nobody matches my friends back home who I have a history with. They know me well, people here it takes them a long ass time to figure you out. I see through every fucking one of them though. Suggesting ideas and places to go that I have not even the slightest care about. I see through the games played with networks and empty handshakes and silly conversations that sound like they come from outer space or some bizarre world in the back room of some shady tarot card place. All these practices to make yourself feel like you will live longer. Potions and exercises designed to sound interesting in conversations and that’s all. None of this crap does anything, it’s all empty placebos. Then you get hit by a car on Ventura Blvd and die anyway. Or some kid shoots you for $34. I am trying to keep my distance from people now because first of all I don’t trust anything they say or what their intentions may be. You pick that up pretty quick out here. Three months in and yeah even the people you feel you know best are out for something. They all show their teeth in the dark. You see it when they turn around and you can see their tail, their forked tongues and horns hidden under some bad haircut and worse outfit. I should make a list, a list of whatever those things I said were all bad things about back home and what made me want to leave there and come out here. The cold weather isn’t really that big of a deal. Also of note, this whole place is supposed to explode and die like September 11th.



They don’t know shit about me and I want to go home

I would turn on all of them and I will

I can’t take seriously men women and well you know

Back when it was just me and a whole bunch of dead horn players

I thought I was like I don’t know, some whacky guy

Just a normal plain old bore like your aunt and uncle back home though

Frame by Frame

This feels like one of those periods of time where I would do well to take a week by myself and look at shit I’ve never seen before or have only seen a few times before. Green fields and grass and hills and trees Ill never see fall over in the rain and trees that only go from green to black. Trees presumably jealous of our trees that go from bright green to bright reds and yellows and fire orange and crunch crunch when you walk through them in the crisp months. Surely they must be jealous of this.



It just gets boring sitting still like this, even if I was supposed to already be something and somewhere by now. I was thinking of how the Indy 500 is this weekend. Wait is it? Yeah, it is Memorial Day weekend apparently. I love Indiana. Most boring state you could ever think to be in in your life, but it looks nice. It seems every time I am in Indiana, it is the state I stopped in late at night, and get some sort of fresh start in the morning. It’s been sunny and wide eyed blue skied every time I’ve been there (four or five times now). The best way to start any day of a road trip, Day One, Day Eight, whatever, is obviously on one of those kinds of days. When I went to Oklahoma last summer and trained back home after that depression-fest, we left Massachusetts when it was pouring rain, it was like 5:30 PM on a Friday night when we left so you can imagine how miserable the first three hours or so. We were also dragging a car behind the U-Haul, had two cats and I was two weeks into not smoking cigarettes anymore after eighty three years or whatever it was. After that first night of driving, I was no longer allowed to drive the U-Haul truck. A few days of day dreaming in the passenger seat with a cat in my lap was just fine with me though even if her and I barely spoke and she had stopped laughing at my jokes at that point.



So the first time I went to Indiana I went to the race track and took the tour and took pictures of cars for the dudes back home....and I just spent twenty minutes looking for them on this laptop and they are not here. I have a number of missing pictures I am discovering, as they are on my Windows machine I don’t have set up. What a horrible life I have, now I can’t finish what I was going to talk about here. Fuck you.



Some of these women that come in here, I mean there are some religious folks coming in here and they look like normal nice people. But then one will come in with all sorts of makeup on looking like she just snorted ten thousand lines of cocaine off of eight thousand cocks, but in 1986. That’s what some of the women who come in here look like to me.



I rarely judge people by how they look, but I will judge them by certain criteria. One is how long they can look you in the eye. Another is, and this one is very important and goes along with another situation as well. “How useful will this person be if some serious shit goes down?”. For instance, if we are under attack by armed men and women surrounding our house how good is a baby going to be in this situation? Sometimes you have to make tough decisions. I’m not suggesting you murder a baby, but they do make noise, and can’t use weapons. They can be used as bargaining tools though...If you have to leave to get away from the situation. Maybe go on the run for a while, you aren’t going to take your one legged friend with you, or someone who can’t drive a car right?



Another time I try and measure this same thing is when I am in public, especially an airplane, or any tight quartered place like a small restaurant. I like to survey the room to see who I should maybe try and team up with, who is going to be a pain in the ass about shit. Who might I have to knock out or kill just to make things easier? Who might be working against us, etc. If you don’t figure these things when you are out and about at places you’re not going to do well at all really. Right now where I am there are....twenty six people in here including the employees. I see about three I think I could really count on if we all of a sudden are invaded. Two guys over there would probably just immediately be shot by the invaders, I can tell which women here would probably not stop screaming and would also be shot and killed by the invaders. There is one woman here (the one who looked like the 80’s coke whore) who may or may not be working with the invaders. There is one black guy here, kind of big. Probably can’t run very far, but could be a good ally as he has a pretty good mean face like me. Everyone else in here is a fucking pussy. I think as long as the number of invaders was under twenty, we could probably take them with improvised weapons and some secret plans and techniques I already have planned out in my head. (80’s coke whore woman has just met up with someone and kissed him on the cheek, they are now sitting together. He’s about 5’4”, a little meaty on his bones, but his button down shirt and hairdo indicate I could easily take him out even if he does have a gun on him. Judging by how he looks and how he carries himself he’s obviously the “money guy” in this covert gang of thugs that will soon invade this Starbucks and try to kill all of us. Anyway, I could easily deal with him I think. I already se five things around me I could throw at him that would shock and disable him for a brief few seconds.)



So I have been off and on working on a “novel” among a million other projects that maybe someday will exist. I’m trying to come up with a good opening line for the novel though. Here are some I have come up with so far:

I walked among the brokenhearted buildings of a city that lost its soul when she left town.

Drunk and brains fucked out, we left my apartment for a cup of silent coffee, and loud haircuts.

He was part Michael Caine, part Ted Kennedy, and he was on PCP.

We John Coltraned ourselves downtown, and made our way into the disconcerted evening of nightclubs, smoky all night diners, and characters out of a bad Steely Dan song.

The night he broke Nobuko’s heart, he felt as if he had single handedly avenged the bombing of Pearl Harbor, and finally gotten the closure on this tired relationship.

Jennifer was ready, fuck was Jennifer ready.

With my messenger bag filled with memories, and mix tapes, I put on my Sauconys, and left Detroit for good.

She made me feel like Jesus Christ, I made her feel like a pile of dirt.

The acrid taste of the night before filled my mouth, as I emptied the contents of my pocket onto my dresser; this would be the final morning of my coke binge.

My father would have been proud; I strummed the first few chords of “Private Dancer” by Tina Turner on my guitar, and faced my first day as a transvestite with vigor not seen since the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center on September 11th, 2001.

She fucked him for coke, he fucked her because his wife was pregnant.

What Are You Looking For?

Dream # 23 last night (05/26/10)
I’m on some flimsy wooden raft in the middle of this rough waterway. I can see land on each side of me. Waves are reaching twenty feet high. The horrifying nature of the ordeal knocks me out in the dream.

-------------

One time in the 80’s I would put cologne on when I went out for the night. Like Polo cologne. What a fucking loser. The second I stepped outside someone should have smashed me in the face with a pink aluminum softball bat six times. I wonder if wearing cologne has ever worked for anyone. We were just going to the ice cream shop and then home.

--------------

If I try and think back to around ages 6-10 it is kind of blank. We lived in Los Angeles, I seemed pretty occupied with Kiss records, dirt bikes and Suzanne Somers. I don’t remember what a day was like. What time did I wake up? When did I eat? What did my voice sound like? All shit I really don’t want to know, but it seems odd to think of yourself that young and how you were. I think with me it would freak me out as it would be me before I was a fuck up.



Dream # 11 (“a few months ago”)
I’m in some weird canyon. It’s dry and tanned everywhere. Everything is sunny bright yellow and light dirt. One hundred yards away or so I see a group of people standing around talking. A loud chuckle erupts every few minutes. I try and move towards them but every time I do one of the people in the group does some odd motion with their hand and a bolt of electricity comes shooting out of their hand, striking me on the leg so I can no longer move.



Her name was Stacie. She worked in some office downtown or something. Theodore knew her from Popeye’s Fried Chicken. At night she would drink wine until she passed out in the living room. One time Theodore took her to see some Robin Williams movie and she threw up all over his cock behind a Cracker Barrel out on Rt 6.



I can remember plenty of things from my teenage years, and some from my twenties. Other than that, everything gets blurry. Same with being a teenager, why would I ever want to know what that kid was like? Sometimes I talk to friends from that era now, ex-girlfriends from when I was like fourteen and the terms boyfriend and girlfriend didn’t really mean much anyway. Their last impression of me is of a fifteen year old kid or something, How odd. I imagine if I was even remotely the same as I was then I wouldn’t have a single friend. I was pretty awkward and quiet and introverted and angry and whatever else unfortunate word you can think of.



Dream # 20 (05/24/10)
Some guys voice saying “the rooms are fifty dollars each, and no you can’t play that guitar in here and the cat has to stay in the car”

-----------

His name was Ian, he worked for the Public Works Department. In the summers as you tip toed back home from the beach to avoid burning your already half charred feet you would see Ian driving around in one of those orange trucks. He was happy to pick up other people’s trash. At one point he bought a lottery ticket and told everyone he was going to win enough money to finally leave town. On the night of the drawing he was killed by a car walking his dog (the dog also died). His numbers did not come out. All of those orange trucks have those numbers he played painted on the side of them now. The numbers have never been drawn.



This man is always in here. He kind of makes me nervous. You will see him here in the afternoon and if you drive by or stop in later at night he’ll still be here. Some days he will take his shoes off while he is sitting there, Other days he has all of these items with him, drinks, three or four of them. It appears he orders probably the cheapest drink and then just sits here all day. Some days he makes phone calls on his cell and is louder than he needs to be. The main deal though, his eyes. He has that look in his eyes that just says “I’m crazy”. He just sat down and two women got up in left. Imagine having that power? You sit down and people just leave because you are weirding people out. I would jump off a bridge if that happened.

----------

I feel disconnected all over the place now. These last couple of years, losing touch with people, getting back in touch with them but then feeling like everything is different. I feel like an intruder sometimes. Like I have no place in any new circle of friends. This is why it was tough in California. Who wants to be the new guy ever? I’d rather wallow in nothing and be this person instead. Everyone I know already is fine, and unless it’s via them, her, etc I can’t imagine getting into some new group of people. Wait, I don’t think I’m actually being serious here. Strange how sometimes words just come out of you because they feel good to say or type out. Sometimes shit can just come out of me like this that holds no bearing on reality. I feel like I wrote lyrics like this quite a bit.



Speaking of lyrics I recently started putting an entry together from my old band’s lyrics...particularly our last album as I enjoyed writing them, performing them, recording them and ultimately coming up with the final product which would have been our fourth album but was never released. I’m still thinking of releasing it though as I feel like it needs to be put out, even if only like sixteen people buy it.



Dream # 8 (“a long time ago”)
On this long highway that has been seemingly going on for hours and hours. The sky is huge, biggest sky I have ever seen in my life. Everything is bright and almost hurts my eyes. I finally reach the horizon and just fly off into nowhere.

-----------

I can’t imagine another version of her than the one I know and have grown to love. Different feelings getting tugged in every direction. Different emotions and ways to go about each day. When I think of every last good memory we have, winding roads, old baseball parks, Disneyland, towers and monuments and gorgeous blue skies and gorgeous smiles and hair to make me feel warmer than anyone else will feel. When I think of everything invented in my brain though, I don’t trust myself, I don’t trust anyone else. I don’t want to have to listen to what anyone else tells me about my feelings and life aside from her and I. I don’t want to worry about strangers and long lost friends who think they know how I am. Nobody knows how I am, what is best for me or where I need to be. The only thing that matters to me right now is her smile.



Dream # 1 ("a couple of years ago")
Not dangerously high above the ocean, but high enough that it would hurt to fall. She approaches me and I grab her face inside her hooded sweatshirt and kiss her. I fall asleep to this every night for a year.