Ready, Steady.

Eyes upon the monster

2012-02-07T13:13:00.000-08:00

I was watching the morning sun, it was rising up over the bay,
The water was peaceful and the birds were soon at play,
I looked to the clouds son, and I wondered what they might say,
But the wind should be coming soon and blow those clouds away.

Oh the storm is coming, you best lock your goods up tight,
I’ve never seen it this peaceful out, there will surely be hell tonight.

I spent my morning walking up and down the streets,
Past by a market square and found something to eat,
Said hello to this flower girl, oh man she was such a treat,
Didn’t understand a word she said, but it sure sounded great to me.

Oh the storm is coming, you best lock your goods up tight,
I’ve never seen it this peaceful out, there will surely be hell tonight.

Stood strong in the afternoon as the sun was firing down,
It didn’t waste and ounce of day just burning up this whole town,
The city was bustling, but then there wasn’t even a sound,
Everyone just gasped at once and took a look around.

Oh the storm is coming, you best lock your goods up tight,
I’ve never seen it this peaceful out, there will surely be hell tonight.

All eyes to the heavens as that sun died out so cold,
The clouds were rolling in and the sky was black as coal,
And the thunder cracked buildings as the lighting burned all the poles,
No nothing can save us now , no nothing can save our souls.

Oh the storm is coming, you best lock your goods up tight,
I’ve never seen it this peaceful out, there will surely be hell tonight.

After the wreckage there was nothing left here for me,
I saw the flower girl and her eyes were as red as the sea,
She screamed and she cried for help, but I just ignored her pleas,
After all I was the hell that came and brought this town to its knees.

Oh the storm is coming, you best lock your goods up tight,
I’ve never seen it this peaceful out, there will surely be hell tonight.

Seeds you've sown

2011-08-11T10:55:00.000-07:00

well the life you have in you is more than you should
I've never seen someone so bright
you cheer up my days just like I knew you would
you're the lady behind my delight

the smile you brandish is infectious and loud
and your swagger could kill anyone
to see you grow stronger makes me so damn proud
I'm the moon when you are the sun, and

live this life of yours by my side
I know dove some day this is so
and every favour that's been granted to me
was planted from seeds that you've sown

tall tell tale stories speak of some dreams
that never could quite come to life
but in our growing fable these eyes hope to see
the smile of yours as my wife

this beast needs a beauty you know how it goes
if you can love me as I am
love needs a reason and in us it does
a shining example we stand, so

live this life of yours by my side
I know dove some day this is so
and every favour that's been granted to me
was planted from seeds that you've sown

I know there is something in your pale eyes
that sees inside me the sun
living in you breathes the soul that I prize
we will take on this world as one

live this life of yours by my side
I know dove some day this is so
and every favour that's been granted to me
was planted from seeds that you've sown

every favour that's been granted to me
was planted from seeds that you've sown

Porchlight

2011-08-11T10:50:00.000-07:00

The sweetest labor that my heart has known
is the farm on which I stand.
‘Cause every single seed that’s been sown
was put in the ground by my hand and

sometimes the sun goes down a little too soon
before the day’s work is through
and I keep on going by the light of the moon when
I’d rather be home with you

Would you leave the porch light on for me?
Would you leave the porch light on for me?
I come home from the field when it’s too dark to see.
Would you leave the porch light on for me?

I can barely stand up, there’s more to be done. Oh, the bottom field needs to be plowed.
I never asked help from anyone, but Lord I can use some now.
Just give me the strength to make it back home when I can’t work no more,
and Lord let her be the first thing I see when I crawl through that front door.

Would you leave the porch light on for me?
Would you leave the porch light on for me?
To light my way back from the night so black
would you leave the porch light on for me?

Well I’m sick as a dog and no one can help. Oh, the pain’s more than I can bear,
but still my thoughts drift to the one sweet gift: the love that we share,
and I hate for you to see me like this. Oh, remember when I was strong.
If I didn’t have these IVs in my wrist well, I’d hold you in my arms.

Would you leave the porch light on for me?
Would you leave the porch light on for me?
This hospital bed is where I’ve got to be.
Would you leave the porch light on for me?

They say that I ain’t got long for this life Oh, they say that it’s my time to go.
Darling, you’ve been the most wonderful wife that any man could know.
Well you stuck by me through thick and through thin since the day you became my bride,
and someday I’ll hope to see you again when we meet on the other side.

Would you leave the porch light on for me?
Would you leave the porch light on for me?
Even though just a memory is all that I’ll be.
Would you leave the porch light on for me?

Even though just a memory is all that I'll be....
Would you leave the porch light on for me?

W.E.W.

lazy days

2011-08-09T10:34:00.000-07:00

The lazy day is pushing onward
as the clouds dance in the sky,
every moment a moment backward
lying here in a broken back pile,

the bell always rings and children always scamper
days don't stop just cause you're hurt,
the lazy man with none no courage of his own
lies helpless head in the dirt,

and the hours hour on
no longer a part of the mix
an untimely sneeze brought you to your knees
and landed you in this fix

Maizy and Beast during the day

2011-06-02T12:45:00.000-07:00

What a wonderful day that we have on our way, I'm just so certain you'll see
and we'll jump in the car, yes it's better by far then this house where we sleep
we shall find that it's nice in this new paradise that we're on our way
we will lay on the ground and feel every sound and sleep everyday

hey, hey we will be somewhere where cats can't jump higher,
where leashes are all on fire
ticks and flees they all bow at our knees
life is our every desire
hey, hey

It is sunny outside we should both run and hide as the man there he looks for his sneaker
and she found the poo that i left near her shoe, our chances of going are bleaker
we must both try to stay just out of the way and take our chance as the doors open
it's worked for us once if we both wait and pounce, we just may make it again

hey, hey we will be somewhere where cats can't jump higher,
where leashes are all on fire
we can play with our mates and eat off their plates
life is our every desire
hey, hey

See you See me

2011-06-01T09:04:00.000-07:00

C G D G
You are one of the graces, I'll hold onto you
C G D G
I've searched my life over, and searched the world through
C G D G
Days upon days I have weathered my grit
C G D G
It was worth the soul I am ready to gift.

C G D G
I've had the looks and the eyes of the people
C G D G
Always held high, above most on the steeple
C G D G
Inside of you I see everything I've lost
C G D G
I want to be someone, no matter the cost.

D G
And let me tell you, you are the shoe
C G D G
My other foot needs to walk this line true
D G
It isn't that you are what I need
C G D G
But that, when I see you I see me.

C G D G
It's nice to be grounded and not in the clouds
C G D G
And hear my own voice sounding clearly and loud
C G D G
I look for my angel that I want to fall
C G D G
I think your halo is the prettiest of all.

C G D G
This hat on my head is growing too small
C G D G
These legs on my knees are climbing too tall
C G D G
But they bring me to you so I can't complain
C G D G
Carry me to you--time and time and time again.

D G
And let me tell you, you are the shoe
C G D G
My other foot needs to walk this line true
D G
It isn't that you are what I need
C G D G
But that, when I see you I see me.

C G D G
From this day forward we'll walk side by side
C G D G
You and me both yes, oh yes you're the guide
C G D G
We'll walk to the road that leads to the sea
C G D G
The world goes forever, and so will we.

D G
And let me tell you, you are the shoe
C G D G
My other foot needs to walk this line true
D G
It isn't that you are what I need
C G D G
But that, when I see you I see me.

© Copyright 2011 Kaleigh & Tony

I Know Now

2011-05-08T17:35:00.000-07:00

the marks upon the paper are changing in my eyes,
not sure what they make up so artistically disguised,
but I hope it's something that I love
not something I despise,
are they just some marks on paper or a map drawn for my life?

and I know now, I know nothing
I see how, we see something,
don't ask me why or where I'm going,
because i don't have a clue

the notes are slowly rolling as the thunder cracks outside
the music's almost showing when the others run to hide
I hope its comes with rainfall,
so flowers can grow high,
and when I play my music, she'll never want to say goodbye.

and I know now, I know nothing
I see how, we see something,
I don't know why or where I'm going,
But I'm coming home to you.

just by a string once we were holding
but now we're strong, no longer folding
you turned nothing
into something golden
and I thank you for being you

and I know now, I know nothing
I see how, we see something
I know now just where I'm going
I'm going anywhere with you.

~Tonyfresno and Kaleigh Rose

In that hour

2011-04-28T17:10:00.000-07:00

Hard the days become as our hours hour on
persistent in our goals to have left nothing undone
still we present ourselves with such little more to gain
then the chance we have to hold each other once again
your timing was all wrong as my hunger carried on
not every little moment is a moment that goes wrong

The hole I dug today you filled in as I left
the stairs that I fell down you said they were a gift
now bound to bed I am with you at my every call
I want nothing more than you my lovely girl
so help me walk again and straighten out this back
show me once again that nothing ever lacks

feel great about yourself
I'll feel great about you too
find love inside yourself
I have love inside you too

buck shot

2011-04-17T09:50:00.001-07:00

I sit in your chair as you do yourself up,
makeup and hair is just never enough,
you always match from bottom to top,
jeans pulled up your legs as my heart can not stop, oh

I like the way you walk around all barefoot and free,
nothing but jeans and bra is your outfit for me,
the cutest girl in the world I can see,
oh you got those eyes now bring them over to me

oh oh oh oh yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah oh

I've learned your faces, your jokes and your laugh,
your not so funny but I can let that pass,
my little buck shot with a mouth full of fire,
hey lady crazy oh you kill me with fire

I like the way you walk around all barefoot and free,
nothing but jeans and bra is your outfit for me,
the cutest girl in the world I can see,
oh you got those eyes now bring them over to me

2011-03-23T22:02:00.000-07:00

Today I dropped a line in water. On the end was a waited nymph. How it sank slow in the current as the water was higher from the runoff of winters rage. Winter will rage again this evening I'm told. And continue through tomorrow. Also, today I made a box from driftwood collected a few days ago. I've sanded and stained it once, but it will take many rounds of both before it's ready to gift. She will enjoy it I suspect when I give my box to her. A return of favours I suspect (as a laugh escapes me).

Tomorrow I fathom land. Fathom and research. Research and question. Question and imply my intent of purchase. It will be good to own land I suspect; for future decisions that may one day be of appropriate timing. Tomorrow I may also take my dog for a walk in the freshly fallen snow. He was born with snow on the ground and I believe he may feel comfortable in it, like the sweet comfort of a younger day. The days have been passing slowly though. When there is no destination somehow the path is never prompt.

And then there is Friday; the day that follows tomorrow. It seems ages away. So much can be done in such a time, yet I fear not much will be claimed accomplished. Friday brings two scheduled events; one that has been scheduled for a month now, and one I am currently scheduling as I think. Midday I must attend a Physicians appointment. It's more of a follow up appointment, but I am sure a doctor can find some ailment worth flaunting their degree at to cure. And secondly, I think I will drive to Massachusetts. I will make a visit to someone most dear to me.

Yes love. Friday, I'm coming home.

Johnny Moses

2011-03-21T21:13:00.000-07:00

it's a long day coming as the sun begins to unfold the night,
the steers milling kicking up a dusty landscape,
your leather hands and eyes know the stampede of life,
will have its run out or be turned in on itself,
dinners been hours past as you ease the herd with song,
as morning in the country hours on,

coffee as the blood of life a cigarette rolled in my lips,
old faithful raises his head and wises up the day,
young Randolph still asleep and Chuck Hammond shaves his face,
three wives left back home so we can make our pay,
the day will come when life for me settles down,
in an open range of land outside of town,

4 a.m. is said to be a hard days living,
but the world is here for men to show our will,
we mile on so in the end the job has landed,
the hooves through every stream and up every hill,

what we have

2011-03-14T05:46:00.000-07:00

we had some nice to meet you
we had some where you from
we had some I'm going this way
we had some won't you come

I had my this girl is lovely
you had your this guy's alright
we've had some lazy mornings
we've had our up all nights

we've had our time together
we've had our times apart
we've had our i love and hate you
we've had our this is hard

we've had so many chances
to let this fade away
but we've had so many moments
that keep us on our way
and we've had so many memories
but have room for new ones to
and we'll always have each other
and all the I love yous

we've had our nighttime dances
you had your wedding day
we have two lovely children
and we have another on the way

we've had our summer travels
we've had our nine to five
we've had the world's falling on us
but we've kept ourselves alive

we've had our share of sickness
we've had our share of pain
we've had some loved one's say goodbye
we nearly went insane

we've had so many chances
to let this fade away
but we've had so many moments
that keep us on our way
and we've had so many memories
but have room for new ones to
and we'll always have each other
and all the I love yous

we've had our jokes and teases
we've had our comments hushed
we've had our share of on the nerves
we've had our patience pushed

we've lit each others fuses
we've had our shouts and yells
I've said my settle down dears
you've screamed your go to hells

we've had so many chances
to let this fade away
but we've had so many moments
that keep us on our way
and we've had so many memories
but have room for new ones to
and we'll always have each other
and all the I love yous

Drum soldier

2011-02-21T19:38:00.000-08:00

I can say that I'm often wrong,
and I know actions are louder than words,
but I am lying here
and I hope you're not moving on.
I have a little drum soldier,
four feet on the ground,
and he whinces like a youngster,
the sound of discontent.

But I know I can surely change.
I make up half the rules I play.
I just need to know that you'll hold on,
whether I am right or wrong.

The angry little tree shakes himself into fits,
with his two friends following suit,
nothing that's been given can be considered gifts,
unwrap what scares you least.
Curious little drummer bites his way to the top,
file off the weapons he has in his hands,
nothing can stop what can never be stopped,
live with what you got.

But I know I can surely change.
I make up half the rules I play.
I just need to know that you'll hold on,
whether I am right or wrong.

I am old, but I have young love,
and I know that it is serious,
and I won't forget all that I've learned,
a careful life so carelessly dressed.
I see myself learning more everyday,
not to mention the years to come,
the more that you let in the less in the way,
the less to carry along.

But I know I can surely change.
I make up half the rules I play.
I just need to know that you'll hold on,
whether I am right or wrong.

These lovely days aren't the last of our lives,
drum little youngster, play us tonight

I love a girl in Massachusetts

2011-02-21T17:54:00.000-08:00

I know I'm just fine
and you are alright
my love she lives in Massachusetts

It's our first year we have been together
and it's just right so far
and I know better years are before us

don't listen to what they say
it's me and you together

and you'll say yes when I ask the question
I can't wait because I am happy
but we will because I love you
and for now let's just show each other

the beat it finds us when we're dancing
and you stomp your feet just like you do
and I move around in all directions
but our hands know where to be

don't listen to what they say
it's me and you together

we are a mess, just tangled like we should be
I'm the soft one
yes you're the screamer
I am the big one
you are the little one with soul

don't listen to what they say
it's me and you together

it's not all roses

2011-02-20T21:37:00.000-08:00

every little moment isn't always great
every little word won't always fit
every suggestion won't always make sense
every apology shouldn't always be forgiven
every dream will not always come true
every last wish won't always be righteous
every question can't always be answered
every love won't always last
every person can't always be happy
every nightmare won't always end

Kindling

2011-02-20T20:57:00.000-08:00

stick by stick the little fire burns ever brighter
the heat to warm the fuels of ourselves

in the spring the roots and flowers inch their way on higher
the bees make the honey for the shelves

and an old time man with a pipe lit in his hand
and his old lady dame rocks by his side

they're both whittled by the time that wrinkles the sublime
as steady and as solid as they ride

it's a little bit of something
that turns nothing to gold
it's a little bit of aging
that turns the soft to bold

the coals of our years hold the heat for our children
a foundation we find fit to build and gift

every little stream flows into something bigger
the finer sands of life will always sift

the seasons know their age as every year decays
the sun knows that its days soon come to end

the nights know that they die when the light brightens the skies
the people never break what they can mend

it's a little bit of something
that turns nothing to gold
it's a little bit of aging
that turns the soft to bold

it's a steady rocking that teaches the slowness we possess
and the meaning in the moments we create

Rapunzel was once from The Nard

2011-02-20T20:44:00.000-08:00

Many miles and miles of wilderness to go,
two feet step right and step left along,
your tears clear my eyes now I've found you again,
first tempted by the voice of your songs,
and your hair fell long and sturdy and strong,
the love so sudden and real,
the temptress that stole you and locked you away,
never knew just how we could feel,
your mother and her stomach gave you away,
by the consent of your pussy-whipped pa,
she ached for rampion in a salad so sweet,
the enchantress saw chance from afar,
but she didn't plan on the son of a man,
not just a man but a king,
to hear the young girl with the hair of the world,
and to hear that gifted girl sing,
and she tricked us again with your hair tied to hold,
and you were banished to the lands of the sands,
I lost both my eyes now on two feet I stride,
and your tears made me the whole of a man,
both my young babes, one male and a girl,
born strong and loved on the same day,
we plan to bond and live in content,
no other life, no other way

See our truth

2011-02-20T09:04:00.000-08:00

You can frame our life under glass,
remember the still shots that have passed,
you can hold to them, hope that they last,
but we still need to see truth,
yes we still need to see truth.

We can share this house as it grows old,
shut it all in when it turns cold,
we can hide the rot, we can cover mold,
but we still need to see truth,
yes we still need to see truth.

I can't stand by and live a life of lies,
no we still need to see truth,
yes we still need to see truth.

We can tell ourselves we tried our best,
apologize for all the sadness,
hang onto our kids, try to save the nest,
but we still need to see truth,
yes we still need to see truth.

We can let ourselves die old and grey,
ignore all the dreams that fade away,
tell the world we won, get the bill to pay,
but we still need to see truth,
yes we still need to see truth.

I can't stand by and live a life of lies,
no we still need to see truth,
yes we still need to see truth.

And I'll know it at your gave site,
I'll know it when my light dies,
hold onto the hate, die out with our lies,
because we still need to see truth,
yes we still need to see truth,
yes we still need to see truth.

A little puppy in us all

2011-02-03T19:57:00.000-08:00

Well I found this stick in the yard,
and I chewed it up with a smile,
I swallowed some and chipped up the rest,
a new toy put it in the pile.
Day by day I grow like a weed,
so full of spit and fire,
nibble a little nibble on your finger,
pick me up higher and higher.
Some day I'll be too big,
and you can't carry me when I'm cold,
so for now be my playmate while I'm little,
and then be my friend when I am old.

A storm that brings snow is a storm I look forward to. A storm that brings pain, is one that can pass on by.

2011-01-31T10:26:00.000-08:00

It seems this week there comes a snow storm,
another dark and cloudy days,
but the worst storm that I weathered,
I am glad it blew away.
The ice was slick and the snow drift piled,
the distance walked seemed to great,
the travelers paced, separate, single filed,
a night I loved, a night I hate.
As the sun slept emotions fired,
tears and hands just wiped away,
things were lost and things were gathered,
but nothing, nothing was thrown away.
The wind was bitter and eyes were frozen,
hearts still beat but on their own,
the blood that heats us slowly curdled,
the night was hot and we were cold.
The weather broke and made us bend dear,
but we'll never brake, for that I know,
now it's months, but one day decades,
no storm can tear apart this home.

Come little lamb

2011-01-31T10:03:00.000-08:00

awaiting the time when the fires catch us alight,
we can be so bold to say it won't come,
if you are a part of every little thing,
then every little flame will burn us,
we think better the ways we set for others,
we choose not to see their beliefs,
their hopes and their goals are little but nothing,
if they are not ours in the same,
if you are the wrong because we say what right is,
if you are the force we must fight,
because we stuck our foot and stepped on your children,
on your fathers and daughters and dead,
"if" is the future, but now is the problem,
you scream and you cry for your rights,
rights can be given, so then take them away,
from those who claim power for few,
all are the people who make up this world,
we are the foot soldiers of truth

Bitter (the song version)

2011-01-27T13:31:00.001-08:00

There once was a young boy who was quite pleasant and keen.
He loved a young girl who was pretty it seemed.
But she was a trickster, neither one knew,
so they fell in love, nothing better to do.

He loved to read and be quietly merry.
She loved apples and kiwis, bananas and cherries.
He was one to believe that truth should be told.
She said the lesser evils should always unfold.

He lived by the hope that two can be one.
Now he's sad by himself. She revels in fun.
He wished for one last chance to see her again.
He would say "Darling I loved you, when I was a man.
But now I am hollow. You have sucked out my soul.
I hope you die sad, cold, and alone.

He grew quite attached;
she went along for the ride.
He felt he found love.
She felt him too close to her side.

She told him the words,
struck like sticks to the soul.
He was holding too tight
so she was letting him go.

He lived by the hope that two can be one.
Now he's sad by himself. She revels in fun.
He wished for one last chance to see her again.
He would say "Darling I loved you, when I was a man.
But now I am hollow. You have sucked out my soul.
I hope you die sad, cold, and alone.

A little less feeling is what she’s looking for. It was a little too much too soon.
Her hand on the railing she walked down to the floor where he sat patient, and tired, and glum.

Every new face brought adventure and fun;
Every new day is a new life begun.
With rouge on her cheeks and a kick in her step
she bound past his chair and through the door swept

He wanted the same thing they had always had.
It wasn't the best life, but it wasn't too bad.
She wanted much more. She said their life lacked.
She took hold of the world and didn't look back.

He lived by the hope that two can be one.
Now he's sad by himself. She revels in fun.
He wished for one last chance to see her again.
He would say "Darling I loved you, when I was a man.
But now I am hollow. You have sucked out my soul.
I hope you die sad, cold, and alone.

He had patiently waited for her to come home.
She soaked up all of life and was never alone.
He remembered the girl he once held in his arms.
She thought of life’s riches; its surprises and charms.

He lived by the hope that two can be one.
Now he's sad by himself. She is smothered in fun.
He wished for one last chance to see her again.
He would say "Darling I loved you, when I was a man.
But now I am hollow. You have sucked out my soul.
I hope you die sad, cold, and alone.

He'd like her reply
to be short and be merry.
She'd say "Listen up fella...."
and she'd choke on a cherry.

Choke on a cherry

2011-01-26T22:15:00.000-08:00

There once was a young boy who was quite pleasent and keen. He loved a young girl who was pretty it seemed. But she was a trickster, and neither one knew, so they fell in love. There was nothing better to do. He loved to read and be quietly merry. She loved apples and kiwis and bananas and cherries. He was one to believe that truth should be told. She believed the lesser of two evils should alwyas unfold. He showed her he cared. He told her it too. She replied "Same here, same here" always acting too cool. He grew quite attached, and she went along for the ride. He felt that he had found love. She felt him too close to her side.

A little less feeling is what she was looking for. It was a little too much too soon. Her hand on the railing she walked to the bottom floor where he sat patient, and tired, and glum. She had told him the words that struck like sticks to the soul. She told him he held too tight so she was letting him go. He tried to hold longer and tightened the grip, but it soon became clear the further they'd slipped.

His pants were mud covered, and his hair was a mess. Surely she looked divine and showing her best. His eyes were like baggage runaway on a carousel. She was once moth, now butterfly, freshly sprung from her shell. All it had took was for her to let go. She climbs ever higher. He sinks beyond low.

Every new face is a chance for adventure and fun. Every new day is a new life begun. With rouge on her cheecks and a kick in her step she bound past his chair and through the door swept onto the walk and down to the street. He stayed in one place as she was churning her feet. He wanted the same thing they had always had. It wasn't the best life, but it wasn't too bad. She wanted much more. She said their life lacked. She took hold of the world and didn't look back. He stayed in his chair as she had all the fun. He would look at the moon. She had danced on the sun.

He had watched a tree grow and die in their yard. She had swam through the deserts and danced in the stars. He had patiently waited for her to come home. She soaked up all of life and was never alone. His love, it grew tired and duller and weak. Her love for the world it grew larger by bound and by leap. He remembered the girl that he once held in his arms. She thought of lifes riches; its surprises and charms.

He wondered if life was more than just love. She knew that life shouldn't be rock bottom and lived from above. He cursed his heart and seared both his eyes. He knew it was both that had been the disguise. He had loved a mover, a shaker, a fox. She was a sly one. She had never lost. She never had heart ache. There wasn't a person she missed. She could live without someone's touch, without their smell and their kiss. He lived by the hope that two can be one. Now he's sad by himself. She is smothered in fun.

He wished for one last chance to see her again. He would say "Darling I loved you, when I was a man. But now I am hollow. You have sucked out my soul. I hope you die unhappy, cold, and alone." He'd like her reply to be short and merry. She'd say "Now listen up fella...." and then she'd choke on a cherry.

Oh Mother Where Art Thou

2011-01-25T07:15:00.000-08:00

Yes I see you're really changing.
I see the efforts everyday.
You know I'm lying through my teeth when
I say you are on your way.
I hoped this curse died with my father,
so his family would still have a chance,
But you choose to harm us further.
To me that choice just makes no sense.

I tried to let you know that
I would support you all I can.
It's not for me to save your life though.
You need to take your own stand.
Instead your choices keep you empty
of hope and fill you more with shame.
It's time you know I'm not the problem.
It's time you choose to take the blame.

Every son will have a mother.
Not every mother will be there.
I'd rather one I'd never see again,
than one who just chose not to care.

You say your issues have an answer.
That someday again all will be well.
You can't have answers without questions.
The question is can you change yourself?
I see that answer in your actions
as you lay drunk on the bathroom floor.
The front door was left wide open.
What son could ask for more?

Every son will have a mother.
Not every mother will be there.
I'd rather one I'd never see again,
than one who just chose not to care.

I'm not sure if I should leave you
to the life you choose to lead.
Or should I stay and keep on trying?
I wish you would only see
what you do, and you have a problem.
You're killing you and shaking me.
The worst part of it all is
it's the same choice that he made.

More than a friend

2011-01-24T11:27:00.001-08:00

forty eight hours of something you could not stop,
nothing you did deserved everything that you got,
maybe just one time in sometime you'll make a friend,
that will be your friend, and stay your friend,
and end at just end at friends,

lovely one with eyes upon can't she be just left alone,
madness falls down on most all of those she's been around,
don't you forget she's just as fragile as we all,
don't stay hanging around, let her breathe,
and don't you write or call

she's a girl in so many worlds
she's such a girl, oh such a girl

heavy days she hopes and prays, sad tomorrows become glad yesterdays,
we speak and cry and wonder why, last words spoke goodnight not goodbye,
something that pulls us in again, I'm your friend, more than a friend.

Daddy, what if? (thanks Shel)

2011-01-24T10:24:00.000-08:00

Daddy, what if the sun stopped shining?
What would happen then?

If the sun stopped shining you'd be so surprised,
you'd stair up the heavens with wide oped eyes,
and the wind would carry your light to the sky's,
and the sun would start shining again.

Daddy, what if the wind stopped blowing?
What would happen then?

If the wind stopped blowing then the land would be dry,
and your boat wouldn't sail and your kite wouldn't fly,
and the grass would see your troubles and she'd tell the wind,
and the wind would start blowing again.

Daddy, what if the grass stopped growing?
What would happen then?

If the grass stopped growing you'd probably cry,
and the ground would be watered by the tears from your eyes,
and like your love for me the grass would grow so high,
and the grass would start growing again.

Daddy, what if I stopped loving you?
What would happen then.

Well, if you stopped loving me then the grass would stop growing,
the sun would stop shining, and the wind would stop blowing,
so you see, if you want to keep this whole world going,
you'd better start loving me again, again,
you'd better start loving me again, again,
you'd better start loving me again.

Rose I hold

2011-01-24T10:15:00.000-08:00

fashion me a pie bellied deep with oat and berries,
the sirens of the stream beauty strong as voice can carry,
sweet honey subtleties that exist between us,
you're the apple of my eye, you're the filling of my crust,
filling of my crust.

sweet little kaleigh girl,
she's the rose I hold,
she's the rose I hold.

been told I'm all thumbs and won't find a way,
these hands can't bare to yield work hard all day,
you walk me to the woods to try a knot you were told,
like our hands upon our faces it'll hold I know,
it'll hold I know.

sweet little kaleigh girl,
she's the rose I hold,
she's the rose I hold.

I think you make it look so simple, this thing we have,
I've always had to fight my evils, passionate and mad,
feet bare and running wild, grounded by the spins you crave,
for me was just as simple, your love chose my heart to save,
chose my heart to save.

sweet little kaleigh curls,
she's the girl I hold,
she's the rose I hold.

as we hit a wall

2011-01-17T22:23:00.000-08:00

i've heard those words that left me hurt slowly fight from your lips
they have stopped me on the spot and they have shook me into fits
and though i'm in shock because i can't believe we had limits
it's sad to know it's the last time i'm seeing you again

over many years we always shared i've had you by my side
and i know all the reasons why we stood our ground and tried
but what you say is important to you has just helped me die
it has buried me right up into my chin

the last time that i saw your eyes a sparkle held its place
the sparkle seemed to dull and fade and flee without a trace
i'm left buried to my chin as my eyes see you fade away
lives cast aside our dream has died by your hands, I give

how strong our bond had carried on till the time we hoped for vows
and what cold feet came and stole away the girl that love allowed
to fill my life with trust despite she now reaps what she has sow
let her live with peace i'm strong to take it on the chin

i've heard those words that left me hurt slowly fight from your lips
they have stopped me on the spot and they have shook me into fits
and though i'm in shock because i can't believe we had limits
it's sad to know it's the last time i'm seeing you again

Good Old Us

2011-01-06T17:06:00.000-08:00

The cold days wind is blowing through me,
stings like a hornets harm on my shoulders,
that wind came blowing from westward pastures,
brought the sorrows of theirs this way.
How life is hard among the wastelands,
the barren men find their women unwanting,
farms overgrown no fields worth planting,
no children to carry their dreams along.

Here we are,
made of granite and freedom.
We'll take your worries,
take everything.
Yes we're built strong,
for people to lean on,
every season to the extremes.

No work for papa, his hands stay empty,
and mama has no hot water for wash,
and brothers and sisters, same clothes as last year,
as they grow tall the sleeves up the arms.
Lights go out just a little bit sooner,
and a few less logs thrown in the stove,
the shovel is one thing to keep you busy,
just bury what's left of what you called home.

Here we are,
made of granite and freedom.
We'll take your worries,
take everything.
Yes we're built strong,
for people to lean on,
every season to the extremes.

It's the summer, feel the lakes and breeze now,
the spring before shared the scents of the world,
and old man winter blankets the land sir,
the colours of autumn live on every leaf for every girl.
We know when it's goodbye to every worry,
just waive your hands and scream carry on,
there's always next year to shake your hope son,
just hold on to what you got.

Here we are,
made of granite and freedom.
We'll take your worries,
take everything.
Yes we're built strong,
for people to lean on,
every season to the extremes.

You stranger

2011-01-01T13:04:00.000-08:00

Oh smile for me you stranger.
Come run from me my friend.
Oh I see you're in danger
of becoming my only only again.

Woke myself this morning and looked around, around, around
No lights, no eyes, no hands, no you to disguise.
Wiped sleep away, rose to my feet, there were no sounds to be heard.
No happy girl, no happy girl, no happy girl.

Oh smile for me you stranger.
Come run from me my friend.
Oh I see you're in danger
of becoming my only only again.

Day is long,
it don't seem to care,
that you're gone, or
that you're never there.
Be well where you are.
Oh be that someone else.
When home finds you,
you will be by yourself.

Oh smile for me you stranger.
Come run from me my friend.
Oh I see you're in danger
of becoming my only only again.

Where we shall go from here.

2010-11-30T15:38:00.000-08:00

Middle of a later evening, in winters birth that beats back the sun from hovering too long, along a path overgrown and thicketed lay a decision to be had. Up a hill that knows no boundaries, beyond a field that shows no limits, beneath a brookway that leads away from where we are, we must choose a direction.

You say "north". If north over the hill is our direction we must be ready for what lives beyond, though we don't know what troubles and hardships, or pleasant retreats will be found, we must identify us as steadfast and determined in our right to summit and move along. The wind may be stronger, the air colder, the rocks steeper, the chance of surviving smaller. There are risks to the north, to the hill.

"East" you say. If east through the field and further is our direction we must be prepared for a land of no limitations, one that can provide any situation, to challenge any faith and connection, to shake the grounds of any foundation, to tempt all with everything. This is a path that gardens the person, that strengthens or breaks ones approach to a life. What bends may grow strong, what never waivers may break. There are risks to the east, past the field.

"So what of the south?" The brook to the south is slow and peaceful looking, like a brook to wet your feet in, to toss a stick and watch it play in the whites of the water, it looks harmless and pure like a happy child. But what if the clouds come in, and the rain breaks the sky? The chance of what may come can fill this brook and wash us away. flush us downstream where we may never be able to stop moving, never be able to idle. never be able settle and float along together. We may be tumbled forever unless we reach a damn, and still then we may slip through. There is a chance in high waters we stick together and find our footing, a stronghold that binds us, a connection that allows us our escape from turbulent times. There are risks to the south, along the brook.

"The west?" To the west is where we have been, where we came from, where we know every rock, stick, hollow, root and tree of this path. We know what made us tired and weak, we know what made us push ourselves for more, what brightened us up, what dragged us down, what split us and brought us back together again. We know everything about the west, we can always be safe, sound, comfortable, and stable in the west. It is a place of content and security. There is very little risk to the west, there is little challenge for our lives.

"Well it is settle then." It is settled. "Anywhere but west. Maybe we will try all three. That's how we've made it this far."

Everything is hard, but so are we

2010-11-18T19:41:00.000-08:00

I found a rainbow today
in your hand
and there's no pot of gold
to be found
and you should always know
just what i am
you will always know
I know what I am.

every bit when I'm gone.
every touch when we're as one.
in every breath that finds a way
to breathe on, I, know how to mean it.

and in you i
see these days
that will some day
come this way.
for every sight we
have to see
will in some way, be,
oh such a brilliant sight to see.

and the wind blows hard,
against these flames
just a blink of an eye
just two more days.
and the sky is full with falling stars.
everything is given.
everything is hard.

I found a rainbow today
in your hand
and there's no pot of gold
to be found
and you should always know
just what i am
you will always know
I know what I am.

we know a break will come,
it's the break of day.
know matter what may come
dove, I'll always stay.
and in that rainbow hand I'll plant today
a pot of gold for you to always hold.

not too many thorns

2010-11-04T22:53:00.000-07:00

Looked for the girl in this world that's a part of me.
Lady you call me home.
I have picked the perfect rose.
And the the perfect rose has picked me.

So see me
spend a day
and take me
so far away
and spend your
sweet time with me
and share your
sweet lines with me

i've seem to have lost my touch
thank you so very much, for your
inspiration
i have found this hard to handle
i hope i'm so very able, to have
celebration

So see me
spend a day
and take me
so far away
and spend your
sweet time with me
and share your
sweet lines with me

Lady you call me home.
I have picked a lovely rose.
and a lovely rose has picked me.

Smile for the others (goodbye dad)

2010-10-29T11:29:00.001-07:00

You left us here without goodbye.
I'll hold her hand as she will still cry.
Fare the well I know you're better
off where you are.

Smile for the others
that still stand here.
Look after my mother
she holds onto those sweet years.
Be afraid of no moment that you had among us.
Be in love with forever,
it's how long you'll have us.

Tonight was another night gone.
And hopeful days will soon carry on.
And awful memories will find a place in my heart.
Better to argue then be apart.

Smile for the others
that still stand here.
Look after my mother
she holds onto those sweet years.
Be afraid of no moment that you had among us.
Be in love with forever,
it's how long you'll have us.

Smile for the others.

Beautiful and Damned

2010-10-29T11:23:00.000-07:00

Somebody should have said sorry.
I know it don't come easy.
I've been alone a lot lately.

Sometimes this house feels so lonely.
Then when you're right next to me.
I overheard someone leaving.

Sad little girl.

Your eyes, red like a rose.
Your hands, bleeding and broke.
I believe in time.
Time can heal your wounds if you can't.
You're beautiful and damned.

Daylight saves what the nighttime brings.
Can't forget our wedding rings.
I know you're right and how strong you must be
to be with me.

Sad little girl.

Your eyes, red like a rose.
Your hands, bleeding and broke.
I believe in time.
Time can heal your wounds if you can't.
You're beautiful and damned.
You're beautiful and damned.

Sad little girl.

unabashed and tranquil

2010-10-15T07:37:00.000-07:00

it's a won't wait revolution
keeping busy doing nothing for my next illusion
stand still causes all confusions
God, you got to be on the run

first step brings the full momentum
can't stop until the next thing gets done
pills help for my minds receptions
slowing down never helped anyone

pick a pace, find your space and get on going
in your vein, take the pain so dreams are flowing
love the artificial push

next line just in time to keep eyes open
impose candy nose yeah dopes for doping
feel the fight in every rush

it's now a can't move fiasco
smokey apple still makes me slow
head back relaxes all the blood flow
God has known what this does harm.

on your knees you plead for mercy
in your hands you hold faith loosely
it's your body that shakes profusely
it's your soul that craves the calm

masterpiece

2010-10-12T18:44:00.000-07:00

cut this cord
i'm old enough now
lock me out
i'll make my way
don't look back
cause i'm looking forward
you'll never see me
in need again

swing past the better times into the present times
take a handle on what's going on
find in the older ways some colder days
lose your grip and still march on

take all your shots with what you got love
you'd be a fool to not want it all
your claim to fame is that you will never blame
your circumstances on us all

cut this cord
i'm old enough now
lock me out
i'll make my way
don't look back
cause i'm looking forward
you'll never see me
in need again

find your peace in all the pieces
don't forget that it's always there
this puzzle isn't for the weak ones
it's for you and it's right here

one by one pull yourself together
find the way life sets you free
and in the end you can stare in wonder
see that you're a masterpiece

cut this cord
i'm old enough now
lock me out
i'll make it my way
don't look back
cause i'm looking forward
you'll never see me
in need again

Warden

2010-10-12T16:40:00.001-07:00

I am twenty seven and live at home with my parents. Most people would think that makes me sad and a loser, and they just might be right. And like others in my place, I don't want to be in this situation, but I am. I am because I was trying to help them. I was trying to help them move into a smaller place. I was trying to help them with their drinking addictions. I was trying to help be a third person in the chaos that is their emotional relationships. I was trying to help them feel like they were doing the best they can.

The problem with that, I have no feeling that they are even trying. It doesn't appear that they even want help. They say they want help, but I think they even know they are pretending. The circumstance stands in its entirety, that the only reason they want me here is so they don't have to hate each other. They have some other sucker for the position. And this sucker isn't sure he has anything left. Hell, he spends more money then he has eating by himself at the nearest restaurant closest to his house, staring at anything, trying to not think, because thinking about how to help has brought the situation nothing.

Dad has been in and out of four rehab facilities in the past year, none of which has nay effect because "they are out to get me" he says "people who are out to get you can't help you." I agree with that, people who are out to get you can't help you. It just sucks to discover that it turns out people who are out to help him can't help him either.

He spends the majority, and this means about eighteen to twenty hours a day sleeping on his bed or on the couch in the living room. It's fine when he's in his room because I can't see him. But, when he is on the couch he just lays there wiht a blanket over his entire body, including his face and head, shaking violently underneath as if in a conscious seizure, because his body can't be calm without alcohol. That's when he disappears somewhere; woods, basement, leaves in a car, and if there is no car attempts to leave on the lawn mower until the keys are taken away, or calls a taxi, and always says he is either "taking the garbage down" or "getting gas for the lawn mower." And like magic he return stumbling through the yard and house, props himself on a chair like a pen trying to stand on end, hat cocked halfway off his head, sunglasses with a limp, eyes unopened and teeters for a while. But the shakes are gone. The most frequent words I hear him say "why don't you just stay out of my business?" Sorry dad, I'll try harder to do just that.

My mother prides herself on trying to tell me how long it's been since her last drink. She is actually proud when she makes up a number she thinks I will believe. Tonight the number was almost two weeks. I saw her stalking her way from the outside deck to the far woods of the lawn, holding something under her shirt, looking back to the house in constant alert, like a cat when it hears an unfamiliar noise, making sure no one was paying attention. She then threw something into the woods. When she came in the house I asked her if she thought doing that way a healthy action. She said she didn't think it was, but she was afraid to drink in her own house because of ridicule. I asked her how many more beers she had stashed outside somewhere. She told me none, it was the only one, and she found it in the old potting shed. She said she opened it behind the hot tub where no one could see because when she opened it it smelled so bad she didn't want anyone to have to smell it. Thanks mom for looking out for us.

My mother asked me why it was ok for me to go out and have a drink or a few drinks when I want, but it's not ok for her too, even at her own house. I tried to explain because I'm not feeding an addiction that is killing her, and seriously killing her husband. So she used the second most common phrase there is in this household. She, as well as my dad, very often "feel like they are a prisoner in their own house." That sucks. Both of my parents are prisoners in their own house. And what a prison it is. It even had a new multiple thousand dollar roof built over the deck outside so they can sit on their outdoor couches without being rained or snowed on. It's a prison that has no locked doors, big comfortable beds, the intended help of family members, and thousands of little nooks and crannies to hide alcohol, thought he favorites are inside the trash bins, inside the grass collectors of the lawn mower, storage containers in the basement, and the very tricky, kitchen cupboards where they expect no one to look. My favorite trick is when they say they bought it for me, and somehow it disappears without me ever enjoying any.

Locked in a prison in their own house. I guess it can kind of feel like that when I try and take access away in the respect of vehicles. You know the old don't let drunk people drive cars prison sentence. But even then, it doesn't always work. For example, because of the multiple number of extra car keys that have been cut so that even when taken away there is still a hidden key somewhere, my dad managed to back one of the cars halfway off a hill so that the car was completely resting on its undercarriage and the back too wheels were spinning freely. His way of fixing the situation was simple, to go inside and fall asleep, even when AAA was there towing the car away near midnight. The consequence of the incident, I was told the other car couldn't be taken so he didn't feel stranded at his own house because it wasn't his fault the other car wasn't there, and in all honesty,, he probably had no recollection of even causing the problem.

So those of you feeling locked in a prison of their own house don't worry anymore. The warden is obviously not effective and doesn't know how to run a proper prison. Good luck with rehabilitation. It will probably be more effective if you actually want help. The warden is moving out.

city living

2010-10-10T22:08:00.000-07:00

brick red walls enclose me in
i drag along an alleyway
and scuff my boots through wind blown rubbish
lightly slowed by oily puddles
the moon stays out behind clothes lines hanging
it's crescent crown pushed against ventilation steam
hands are littered with blood and soot
hair slicked with sweat and time
my knees don't bend as they once did
that rotting smell of dumpsters filling
the pores of cardboard houses
i'll tuck myself against a curbside
sundays edition as insulation
on these late October nights
that ring the bells that autumns on us
when breath is something we now see
and cracked hands crumble brushed on concrete
the floor of the city shrinks and hardens
we eat tomorrow when we really need to
tonight we sleep like restless inmates
the day before we're all set free

so they believe it

2010-10-10T21:38:00.000-07:00

in our finest moments we settle ourselves
to thinking of what we want
where we want to go
where i see myself in days along
the choices that set us on our way
to where we hope to be
the magic of a chance encounter
to lay beneath an umbrella tree
i've still not seen

and be bold
so we are remembered
and be loud
so we are heard
and be seen
so those take notice
and be us
so they believe it

little lady curls

2010-10-09T09:17:00.000-07:00

little lady lay down curls unwound
a call to me clearly unknown
careful little lady claws come out
and these paws are all about
and come someday i'll take us home
and both are folks will be well known
be well known

and i'll pick you flowers
but i want you to pick them with me
we can love for hours
and all the days in between

little lady lay down we're here to rest
i don't know how to pray
but i know how to feel with hope and faith
i'll flick your hair and grab your little ankles
lay a blanket down so we can soak some sun
have you laughing with my arm around dear
folks will be well known by everyone
well known by everyone

and come to long i'll ask you for a wedding
and come to long you'll ask me for a babe
little flowers tucked in little lady curls
these little things will become big someday
and i can tell my mother the reason why i'm smiling
and there's a chance i can tell my dad the same
and your folks someday will know that we are living
folks someday will know that we belong
folks someday will thank us for our patience
little lady looks good on my left arm

Dando

2010-10-07T07:19:00.000-07:00

been away
i've been away too long
I lost my way as I ran away
walking backwards trudging on

past a field
with a lone growing baby tree
sat right down and smelled the dirt
that helps to stand this baby tree

across the way i see a line
of trees and brush that hold me out
scratch my arms as I walk in
never to come back again

I am one with the darkness seen
flesh and bone and everything
coloured roof of plush red pine
fire sky come evening time

*i've been gone before,
how can i be gone again
my dear friend*

Dando

Abigail and friends

2010-09-30T08:05:00.000-07:00

my dad he told me to go
and leave him alone today
he said "boy you are asking for
the belt on my closet door."
I didn't want to be there
just wanted someone to care
wanted someone to want
to have me around

a lost little homeless boy
bag full of photographs
of little perfect families
cut from the magazines
he didn't want to be there
just wanted someone to care
wanted someone to want
a picture of him

you never raised me
the way I would have raised you

and soft spoken Abigail
was left to fight for herself
her pink little tattered dress
hung dragging in such a mess
she didn't want to be there
just wanted someone to care
wanted someone to want
to buy a pretty dress for her

you never raised me
the way I would have raised you

people in this world left unrelated
children and adults all left abandoned
people make the choice, don't complicate this
people make the choice just come and save us

you never raised me
the way I would have raised you

yes oh yes

2010-09-20T21:53:00.000-07:00

yes oh yes
I've found my way to you
you found me to

sometimes you feel just like the sky
then i am a cloud and I know that I
am everywhere surrounded just by you

heads are low we hide our time
lay on our backs and skip in the sky
you say that I am the best for you

come and live with both my hands
I'll find a way so I always can
tomorrow is a day we will always have

shake like a lamb the night before
speed through the states with you in store
i know this heart has been split in two

yes oh yes
I've found my way to you
you found me to

shooting stars and wishes made
the reasons why we are today
i love the way you kick about mushrooms

stolen nights that lovers share
open windows everywhere
now I know that you protect me to

popsicles and drowsy teas
little thoughts that show to me
Alice keeps me warm when we're apart

heavy eyes are glowing green
you're everything that i have seen
can you love as much as i love too

yes oh yes
I've found my way to you
you found me to

darling lady you have saved me
taken from me everything
that shouldn't live inside of me

Ins and outs and whys

2010-09-13T14:18:00.000-07:00

You see i know this girl, and it's easily assumed
i told her how i feel, she told me "same to you,
and I'm glad to be,
but I'm just afraid of my family."
See that's ok, i let her know,
that I'd never let her go,
and hold onto for such a time,
until the day we can be alive.

For the first time in my life
I know the ins and outs and whys.
For the last time in my life,
I pull a little bit down, down by my side.

And she's off for a while,
and I'm off for a while.
She said "I'll be here when you get home,
where I am is your home."
She makes me feel a little bit nervous,
and I hope I'm one to deserve this,
Sitting high on my chair,
tangled lost in her dark curls of hair.
I'll be back in day, just now,
and I'll see you some time, some how.
I've got you with me in the mean time,
just hanging heavy in my mind.

For the first time in my life
I know the ins and outs and whys.
For the last time in my life,
I pull a little bit down, down by my side.

In my past is where you are you say.
I'll slow down as you find your way.
And have your love from another sea.
Watch your love hold onto me.

For the first time in my life
I know the ins and outs and whys.
For the last time in my life,
I pull a little bit down, down by my side.

My little lactaid girl

2010-09-06T20:24:00.000-07:00

stepping outside on this lazy night.
and i'm staring at the stars again in a big black sky.
and how you laugh when there is nothing else to do.
and how i smile thinking of you.
Little curly haired wizard just making my life again,
be the best it has ever been.

Don't disappear on me this time.

My shirt tucked in I'm looking smart on my walk,
tonight i see myself a part of every little spark.
You shake like a tambourine in the hold of my arms,
in the hold of my loving arms.
left handed trickster you are to the world,
my turquoise loving lady, my daisy crazy girl.

Don't disappear on me this time.

Oh mr. man in the sky,
make her the reason for my life.
oh mr. man in the sky,
get out of the way, let me have a try.
Darling you are a happy life.

Don't disappear on me this time.

Call me twice so I'm alive.
Darling I'm alive tonight.

What we live for

2010-09-06T19:56:00.000-07:00

Polluted by the fact we think we make our own decisions we are no longer clear. Fact is, people matter. People in our lives matter. People we don't know matter. So we can not make decisions for ourselves, they all have consequences. All have effect. What is your effect on others? I can say I don't know mine. For some, specific people, my effect is real, though i know not its full interpretation by others, i know it's genuine. For others, those i know half heatedly, my effects are half hearted and are clearly so. I can not judge my intent by others reaction. That is far-fetched and wrongly assumed.

All we do has purpose for someone else. We are pure and positive, we bring lighter times to others. We are stale and uncleansed, others regurgitate that agitation that is the taste of us. I have been both, that i know. At times, i can be one in the same, even so to the same person. It is a stunning power we posses, to be so positive and negative in unison on a single soul. They harbour love and hatred in the same breath. One sentence they appreciate you for a job well done, and in the same breath of stink abhor you for your discipline and monitoring.

I chased a car down my driveway the other day just so I could catch a ride I was not welcomed on by my own father. We agreed we would go to a store and purchase a case of water together. As i carried out one last chore in the house i saw the car leaving with my absence known. I screamed from the porch that I had been forgotten and saw the cold deliberate act of a closing window telling me I was unwanted. In boots, the best of shoes, I chased that damn thing down and caught it as it was pulling out of the driveway. It didn't stop until I had half a leg in the car, door opened, as it was accelerating to fend me off.

Then, down the road, I was told it was merely a drive to throw the trash out at the end of the driveway. I made the not so subtle observation that we were well past the end of the driveway and well up the road, which was not well taken, and instantly caused me to be the intolerant negative party. So. against a fathers will, it was only water purchased, though I did splurge a bit for a purple Gatorade to boot.

The dynamics we have make life real. Tolerable? Well that's for us to decide upon ourselves. But I can't sit on a chair and watch role models kill themselves. It isn't in me. Decisions are not our own. We choose to make others a part of our lives, we choose to make them a part of everything.

Those of you having a tea parity right now. Thank you for choosing to be a part of mine. I love you.

Victory tomorrow

2010-09-06T19:31:00.000-07:00

How many days do we have left?
At what time do you say goodbye?
This liquid life can't surely last forever.
This liquid life can't surely go one.
And tomorrow we part for some weeks now,
but we've been there before.
You've left, you've broken the rules, you say,
the rules don't apply to you.

I'll be here when you return.
Hoping that you have cleaned up your act.
It's not just you your dragging down.
It's all of us failing to help.
We can't forgive so many times.
I can't take so many lies.
One last break in our ties,
it's not the way to say goodbye.

Why by the bottle should we ruin all these years?
How did we get here?
Where are we going?

It's taken me the world around,
to come back and sit back down.
It's taken me a run around,
my eyes turned on but my hands shut down.
Is it now the quality?
I know we've given up hope on the quantity.
Hands down, let's let our guards down.

Why by the bottle should we ruin all these years?
How did we get here?
Where are we going?

No more threats they all mean the same.
You make rules for your own game.
You never lose, never seem ashamed.
We're all the only losers here.

Why by the bottle should we ruin all these years?
How did we get here?
Where are we going?

A bit better spent

2010-09-06T16:51:00.000-07:00

Rolling down that ocean road.
Wore the names out on both our name tags.
It's been a busy month don't you know.
We should spend our time a bit better spent.

On this weekend I'll be by your side.
Come this weekend baby , we be.

Under a tree you take my conversation.
And on a couch I sit with my hand alone on my knee.
We are miles apart when we share a few brief moments.
That's not enough for you.
Not enough for me.

On this weekend I'll be by your side.
Come this weekend baby , we be.

I've made you such a little gift.
I've put together such a little gift.
You've given me such a great little gift.
You have given yourself to me.

Grant Phelan

2010-09-06T13:02:00.000-07:00

Often think of Grant Phelan.
See, he painted with both hands.
He was a special kind of friend.
He'd burn your chair and then ask you to sit down.

And he gave me his hat, and it fit just as it should have
until the day i lost that hat.

He knew the storms before they blasted.
Stayed outside while all they lasted.
Watched people die in earth's disasters.
He'd walk out unharmed.

There was the year of class wide burrow.
We all fled to our own sorrows.
He asked for only one straw to borrow.
He kept himself alive.

And he gave me his hat, and it fit just as it should have
until the day i lost that hat.

And someone came and called him homeward.
Bound he was a suited showman.
Find the hole in every omen.
He'd so shake the nerves of Christ.

Grant Phelan was one great (mystery)
(Mystery)for this town he played the blister.
He'd shake your hand and deep your sister.
You could roll no greater dice.

And he gave me his hat, and it fit just as it should have
until the day i lost that hat.

a dream lived

2010-09-06T12:59:00.000-07:00

peek through that little key hole.
hoping for a glimpse of no more,
but you.
into our home I'll step forward.
into your arms i am homeward.
you welcome me sweet love.

and i thank this whole world for you.
and i see this whole life with you.

in my pocket I've come to find see,
a lovely poem you have written for me.
i can see our doorknob turning.
in this man a love is burning.
and I see you as you see me.

Small town connections

2010-08-19T10:25:00.000-07:00

“Shitty things just keep happening, you know?” Says The Man.

“I know.” Replies Agatha. “I can’t even eat milk chocolate anymore.”

“I am the opposite. I’m fine with milk chocolate, but it’s the darker chocolate that I can’t eat. It gives me fevers in the stomache.”

“Dark chocolate is the better chocolate for you. I like to buy two of those Lindt balls and eat them. NO more than two though.”

Old Joe considers his input. “Two. Yeah right, I’ve never seen just two.”

“Oh stuff it Joe. That’s why I never give you one.”

Mary talks to herself and all others that care to listen just off in the corner of the small diner. “You know, if you spray bugs with soapy water they can’t fly away. It’s too heavy for them you see, and then you can kill them after.”

“What?” Old Joe replies. “What are you on about Mary?”

“These bugs. Soapy water slows them down.”

“Just roll up a newspaper and swat the pests away.”

“That never works on you Joe.” Agatha remarks.

“Ah stuff it Aggie.”

“I went to an Italian thanksgiving once and there was so much food.” Says The Man.

“So much food.” Agatha agrees.

“I ate so many desserts and sides of food. I can’t eat white mashed potatoes and butternut squash together though.”

“Oh yes not together.” Agatha agrees.

“It just doesn’t sit well after that.” Reports The Man.

“You can also use hairspray for the bugs.” Mary continues.

“Yeah, but hairspray stinks, and it is also sticky.” Agatha contradicts.

“You’re stinky and sticky.” Old Joe laughs.

“Sticky yes. Stinky no.” Agatha corrects, as the sun shines through the window and highlights her recently shaved chin.

“You know what I eat when I am depressed and upset?”

“Lots of chocolate?” Poses Agatha.

“Everything and anything.” Says The Man. “I’d eat the refrigerator door.”

“You must be depressed and upset all the time then.” Joe comically implies.

”Now you don’t mean that Joe.” Agatha demands.

“Of course I do Aggie. That’s why I said it.”

“Now Joe that’s just not right.”

“He’s right Agatha. These days just don’t seem to be getting better. Shitty things just keep following me around.” Says The Man.

“Well. Life only slows you down so that you have a chance to speed up again.” Mary kindly says.

“Yeah. Unless someone’s there to hit you with a rolled up newspaper when you’re slowed down.” Joe concludes.

All nod in agreement.

I have a small bathroom. The shower is over the toilet and the sink. Just lovely.

2010-07-16T15:57:00.000-07:00

I arrived in Cairo 17 hours ago, after 15 hours of travelling. I taxied to a hostel off of Talat Harb Street called the Regent House Hotel. It is not a hotel. I had about 500 australian dollars still on me from a few months back, and i gave most of it to Atef El-Fayumi, the owner of the hostel so he can keep me busy for the next days touring around the city, out to Giza and the pyramids, dinner on a party boat on the Nile with belly dancers, some time at museums and the like. Then I realized, that's not what i like to do, I do not like touristy crap, and much prefer making my own mistakes and having my own adventures.

Atef El-Fayumi wasn't pleased when I took most of my money back from him, I am still going to sleep out in the desert one night and i need a ride, so i let him keep some of it. I asked his driver Ali if he would drive me around cairo for a while, and i gave him some money to do just that.

There are over 30 million people in this city, but, the city looks abandoned from every angle. Mile after mile of apartment buildings, endless brick and concrete slums with rebar protruding from every wall. Empty glassless windows and broken clay balconies, all still littered with peoples washing, because every building, though dead and decaying, is full with people you can't see. They are all on the streets and in the markets, and selling car parts, grilled corn, sugar cane juice, and plastic bags and combs at every street corner and the middle of every road. Hookah bars that pour into the street, donkeys, horses and bare footed children running across highways. It is full of something. Some call it life.

Ali was driving me toward Giza and the pyramids, so I could see them at sunset, but instead we pulled into a side street that had an essence store on it, called Golden Essence. There were thousands of blown glass bottles and jars for storing perfumes, and spiced body oils, and aftershave scents; even a spiced body oil made of animal blood called Red Dusk, which feels and smells like sweet heat. I was offered tea and was asked to smell over twenty different fragrances. It is custom that no matter where you arrive, the Egyptian welcome is an offering of drink and to be told to "be at home." I like that, not feel at home, but be at home.

I enjoyed my time in the essence shop and then wlked further down the dirt road into a papyrus store, where they show you how the older civilizations would make paper, using the ancient techniques. It was a sight. I learned of paintings that depicted the egyptian calendar through people in pairs and holding their arms in unison, and i saw paintings of men being tried in the face of their gods, weighing their heart against a feather to see if they enter paradise or hell. The boy who told me these things was passionate and honest.

Ali then drove me closer to the pyramids but we stopped at a friend of his house instead so they could pray. I was offered tea and stood on the empty, broken brick and clay rooftop drinking tea, watching the men on the dirt alley below pray together, the younger boys training horses and walking them to the stalls that comprised the bottom floor of the house, as the sun set on the egyptian land. Between my view of the pyramids and my roof top perch was a game of soccer being played under dim lights on an all dirt field, enclosed by walls of bricks and mortar. Some of the men had shoes and socks, some just bare foot, but all involved.
It was a pleasant was to say hello to Cairo, as if we were old friends embracing after a long time away.

And back through the lively city that is empty from every angle of every busted building we drove. The sky was dark, but the streets were even more full of people than earlier. We had to abandon the car because the streets were undrivable. It was a friday night on Talat Harb street during the summer. It's not a time for driving. I left Ali at the hostel and walked alone amongst thousands of people for about two hours. Every one of those people knew I wasn't from that street. Every one of those people knew I was not of their religion or culture. Every one of those people knew I was in the wrong place. And every one of those people made me feel welcomed to their lives.

But it is bloody hot here.

Window face

2010-06-05T10:04:00.000-07:00

Starts, little black nights are the place to be
an everlasting nightmare for all to see.
Pressing on your little pale window face
I can see right through you.
Away from the lights, away from the sights,
away from the little gray pecking birds.
They can feed without you.

What does it mean when we can't change a thing?
Is it better to run, or are we better off hiding?

It continues to be a half hearted affair
with cornerstone cocktails and a feathery glare.
My clothes are off-coloured and my comments don't seem to fit anymore.
I'm left looking through you,
my little pale window faced girl.
I'm left to see through you.

Ends, with the last words that I know.
A reason to run, above all, a reason to go.
It's time to clean,
you little pale window faced girl.
It's getting hard to see through you.
Maybe I don't want to see through you.

Life with a wife 5.

2010-05-05T05:25:00.000-07:00

LYNNETH

Where to begin with my little princess (she would kill me if I ever called her my little princess, actually, she will probably not speak with me for two weeks if she ever reads this, but I doubt she will, she has no interest in what I do, ever)? The only time in her life she has liked the lighter colours, pinks, yellows, oranges and whites, was when she was a baby and could not yet voice her own opinion (and come to think of it, I do not think she very much liked them then as well, she spent most of her time crying and being displeased, until nighttime, when it was dark and black, and she would sleep so soundly). She has the most beautiful golden hair, and that is where her colour ends. Black shoes, black dresses (her mother is thankful she at least wears dresses), black pants, shorts, shirts, hair pieces. She has some dark green and brown clothes, but she wears them infrequently. The only other colours she wears are found on her feet. She wears striped socks. Yellows, greens, purples, reds and blues, but all coupled with black stripes. I will say, for an eight year old, she has an incredible fashion eye for footwear. She always picks out, what I think, are very intelligent and clever shoes, even if they are always black.

It should be understood that, my, our, children have very good manners. Lynneth is not an exception here, she is very well mannered. Knowing this, she can be quite rude and selfish; if it is not her way, she just leaves and spends all of her time with herself. She refers to and addresses my wife and I by our first names, which we never appreciate, and she likes to swear and use cuss words all of the time (never spoken words, but she writes them on every loose piece of paper in our house, and on every page of her school notepads and homework, which neither her teachers, nor her parents can stop her from doing. Personally, I kind of find it funny, but don’t tell my wife). She doesn’t like music, and when some music is playing, she again, leaves the room and spends time with herself. She likes to write, but she does not let anyone read it, which is odd to me. She enjoys reading very much, but she doesn’t like to talk about what she is reading, or even share her books when she is finished for that matter (I can only assume every page has a swear word or horrific doodling drawn upon it). And she has this terrible habit of just looking at you (well not you, but people, especially her brother, mother, and me, until that person feels quite uncomfortable and finds something better to do in some other place). Oh, and, before I forget, as with my other child, she does not like her given name, and wishes to be called, Lynneth (my other child doesn’t wish to be called Lynneth, but you know that already. It just sounded like one could assume that based on the way I have written it).

Her given name, Brooke Lynne W., is just not what she wants. I like that name, I created it, and thought my lovely little princess would very much appreciate it. It is clever (like Brooklyn in New York City, but not just Brooklyn, but split up into two first names; that’s good) and she should be thankful to have such a lovely name, but she is quite the opposite. She thinks it is, in her words, ‘regrettable and sad’ because she, nor I for that matter, has never visited, and quite truly, never wishes to travel to and visit New York City, and likes nothing about it. Also, she doesn’t like the name Brooke, I do not know why, probably because I thought of gifting it to her as a name, and she is okay with altering her middle name, Lynne, to make it sound more mysterious; thus, Lynneth. She has a habit of walking around, no matter what she is doing, and especially if she is just staring at you, with her arms crossed, as if she is constantly upset about something (mostly me, I think). To me, that makes her a closed person, not wanting affection or attention, and not welcoming any person into her weird little world.

There is not one girl her age, nor has there been through any of her ages, that has tried to have, nor allowed, a friendship with our daughter. And, she has never looked for another person, ever, to share her time with, not even her brother, anymore. Saying that, she seems content, she often looks angry, but she seems content. She very rarely complains, like her mother, and she just voices her disliking for things, and gives us, which is promising but sometimes heartbreaking, her honest opinion of everything. The boys, on the other hand (and this for some reason is most always the case for weird, cannot touch, self-assured and bad-ass girls) for the last year or so, always try to spend time with her at school, which she, of course, refuses, which just makes them even more desirable (god damn sick little eight year olds leave my daughter alone, that is what she wants).

She is very, very pretty, this is undeniable; she takes after me, well, mostly her mother. Even with all of the black, and crossed arms, and cuss words, she has the beauty of a little princess, though she will never be one, and it is not because there isn’t a man out there to be her prince, but because, she just doesn’t care for one (which I am quite pleased about. I am a bit scared however that this stage will turn into the next likely stage, when she matures into a young woman, which, regrettably, I hear, is unprotected, angry sexual adventures with multiple, disheveled partners. I am afraid for those years in her life, though I would be quite pleased if that was the case for her older brother. It is just more socially acceptable for that to be the life of a teenage boy, I think).

I’ll let you know how they turn out.

Life with a wife 4.

2010-05-05T05:23:00.000-07:00

LADY BOY
Sir Nicholas Mitchell (I do hate my wife sometimes, and her humour) W. is my son, our son. (You will in time know the W., but for now, since it is my given surname, and you are by no means prepared to meet me yet, W. will suffice.) He is not really a Sir, nor I for that matter, but it makes me feel better to call him a Sir for the sake of his underdeveloped masculinity. He dislikes this to the fullest, and much rather prefers the dreaded, which I should have seen coming, I take full blame for this carelessness, Nick. As in knickknack (without the k of course), as in some small object or trinket hardly cared for and just as well tossed in the rubbish or lost in a box of other once magical now stale memories forgotten, rather than cherished and appreciated for what it is, or in his case, what he may, hopefully, someday be.

So, for now, it is Nick, which, though not my favorite of nicknames, is much better than his last choice of personal recognition, for three long years, Lady Boy (and this is not the cuter and probably more profitable name for a seven year old, younger brother of Ladies Man). Again, I must take most of the responsibility for this awkward stage in my son’s life (his entire life has been awkward mind you, but this was I think the low point, or at least in my eyes, so far) because before I met his lovely, beautiful mother, and during the first six years of are celebrated marriage, I had a dog, which became our dog, which became the families dog, and I am forever sorry to my dog for letting that happen. The last years in a canine’s life should be spent fat, tired, lazy, cared for, overfed good foods, peaceful, and full of good old fashion scratching. It should not be filled with whining toddlers that pull their ears, poke them in their fat bits, try to ride on their aging, arthritic backs like a small horse, roll balls and toys at them when they are sleeping, poke fun at their graying hair and small non-cancerous lumps, and call them ‘bad dog’ when they nip them (that is a good dog). Poor Lady Guinevere Pentland. Yes, that was her name, Lady for short, it’s a good name for a dog, nothing ridiculous and dog-like, such as scratch, or fido, or bowser; not at all, a good solid name for a good solid dog, like George Burns, Samuel Cats, or Spotticus Von Broken Arrow of Stoneybrook Farms (which was my dog, of course, before Lady Guinevere Pentland).

Lady disliked my children immensely, which I was proud of her for, she lived a long wonderful life and didn’t need two disobedient, ragged little humans ruining her last years, which, sadly, I think they may have. Sir Nicholas on the other hand, and his little sister, loved Lady infinitely, that is why they poked her fat bits, tried to ride her like a horse, and rolled balls and toys at her whilst she slept, because they wanted to spend every last minute with her. They cried more than I did when she passed, which, mostly, is because children cry over everything. My son, our son I should say, just to put some of the blame on my wife as well, decided, in Lady’s memory, he would then want to be called Lady Boy, because Lady was a dog and was sometimes called Lady Dog, and he was a boy, so Lady Boy should be his name, and, I swear, that is the only thing he would answer or respond to for three years, even in school, which destroyed all of his chances for a normal social life until, probably, the age of thirty, and only then if nobody he knew when he was younger brings it up. God damn Lady Boy, he would have made a great bastard if I didn’t love his mother so much (just to be clear here, I love my son, very much, but there are times in life when the people who you care for most have that wonderful ability to drive you to life’s edge, or in his case, since he is too young to drive, walk with you very slowly and impatiently, asking ‘are we there yet?’ the entire time until you have to carry him there, set him down, and by then, you want to jump).

And that was just his nickname for three years.

He is two years older than his sister, so all that means is my wife and I have had two extra years to complain about him, which, interestingly, I do not hear her complain much about either one of them (she does of course complain sometimes, about them being slow in the mornings getting ready for school, or if they forget to tell her something their teachers were trying to relay, or if they wear their shoes on the nicely cleaned floors, but never about their character flaws, and they have many, which I find either concerning that she does not see them, or remarkable that she does not let them visually bother her). There are, however, and obviously unmistakable, characteristics about our son that cannot be overlooked when one is trying to get a more personal idea of him as a human being.

At the age of two he began to sit in chairs, but not like a two year old. He would sit straight up, perfect posture, never slouching; though his baby fat was trying to pull him into a less proper position, Nick wouldn’t have it. I remember I bought him a toy truck once for some special occasion, I do not remember for what, and he looked at it, shook his head in appreciation, and sat on the lounge room couch next to my wife and watched weekend soap operas for about two hours, sitting straight up mind you. At the age of four when most children his age were outside getting dirty, hitting each other with sticks, catching frogs and throwing rocks, he wished to be inside watching over his younger sister, playing dolls with her, though he was doing most of the playing, and helping her figure the house out (in the mind and eyes of a two year old, I can only assume, a house is a very big issue to take hold of and understand). At five, when he was enrolled in a pre-school program (which we know as kindergarten) he refused to sleep during nap time. He, rather, chose to draw colourful pictures of birds, flowers, and horses, and he was quite good at it. Also, he refused to drink milk and juices, only water and tea would please him.

As I said before, he was, and continues to be, not a fan of sport. When I would go out of my way to sign him up for a sport and drive him to practices he would just not participate (I saw him once during a soccer practice let the ball roll completely by him as he walked over and picked a butterfly up that was resting on a dandelion). But the one thing that got to me most, was, his lack of interest in eating meat (and that is not an ironic foreseeing). My boy (my little Lady Boy) loved vegetables, fruits, and pastas, and would, literally, become sick if I asked him to try a hamburger, steak, salmon, or hotdog. He is just not someone I find myself easily relating with.

His first year in school, year one for those paying attention, was mostly the same as the year before with the drawings and tea drinking and sitting up straight, and impeccable etiquette. Though, he was much more evolved, intellectually, than the remaining of his squeaky voiced, nose running classmates. My wife and I would often receive praise from his teacher for our tender, thoughtful, and obviously attentive upbringing of our son, which I would always take much credit for. Then came the three, very long, Lady Boy years, where he remained top of his class academically (falling further and further behind socially. His sister even began making fun of him at this time, only in public though, and mostly because she was nearly as socially awkward as he in the eyes of fellow students, and joining in with them made her a bit more normal, but not much closer to friendship, and for the most part she didn’t care either way. Credit to our son, he never let any harsh word or put down ever bother him, he was quite impressive in that way). And that brings us up to the past three months, where he has made major improvements in life. Well, he has changed one thing. He no longer wishes to be called upon as Lady Boy. Nick, he says, to my absolute pleasure, will be just fine for now.

Life with a wife 3.

2010-05-05T05:22:00.000-07:00

FACT OF THE MATTER

I can say with the last honest bone in my body (it really isn’t a bone, it is an organ that fills itself with blood and ambition, sometimes, quite comically, at the most inappropriate of moments, like on an airplane filled with passengers, or in church, or yet worse in a confessional; it’s like asking for forgiveness for a sin you are at present committing) that I am the one person in this world that was created (or evolved) for my wife’s life mate and partner, and she for mine.

I do not believe that there is one person out there, wherever there is, but in this instance we are talking of earth and humans, that is the one and only match for someone else. I know many couples that are a perfect marital match for one another, though they seem quite miserable together. I know countless other couples that are great companions, but have an absolutely horrid marriage. People can fit other people’s needs and desires with much effort. People can stand one another. People can make shit not stink. I’m just glad my wife and I do not need to do any of those things. For some reason, I am not sure how or why I was able to stumble upon such a cherished situation, I found the person I can be quiet, loud, stupid, angry, happy, drunk, and honest with and feel comfortable, and my wife has found the same.

We weren’t as lucky in terms of a perfect family though, or at least not our idea of a perfect family, but we are still working on the definition of perfect to make our family fit. Our son, lovely as he can sometimes be, is not a hardworking, popular, passively intellectual who likes sport with his friends over comic books and tea with his younger sister. And his younger sister, our daughter, who doesn’t like tea with her older brother and is much more sporty than he could ever be, is not the little, curly haired princess who likes being sweet and girly as her parents had hoped for her to be. She prefers wearing black over pink, and, at the age of eight, already calls myself and my wife by our given first names, which makes us cringe to hear, which is why I am sure she does it. Our family works, it has for ten or so years now (when I say works, I mean tends to break down but can always be temporarily managed and tied back together) and I’m told by older parents I know, we are nearly already half way to ridding them from our everyday presence anyway, and to reflect back on it, the first ten years haven’t really been that difficult, for me anyway. My wife always seems a bit put off when I say that in front of our couple-friends, and for some reason the man always agrees with yours truly, and the woman tends to take the general eye-rolling approach and light scoff that the Mrs. tends to wield.

As for the ins and outs of it (that phrase has always made me a bit nervous, it takes too much of a sexual connotation, in my mind at least, to drop so casually in conversation that really has little to do with the idea of being in and then out of something) we struggle along as well as we can. It would be a bit easier, I feel, if our children were a bit more sociable and had friends that wished to spend time with them; it has never occurred that either child has ever been asked to spend the night, as a friendly sleep-over, at another child’s (parents) house. And when I or my wife suggest to another child’s mother or father it would be good for the social growth of both children if they were to endure one another’s company for an evening, my wife, or myself, most often is the case, need to retrieve our child, or return the other parents child before the night concludes itself. Fact of the matter is our children just seem to be in a stage of life where they are just unpleasant to be around, for all parties ever in their company.

Life with a wife 2.

2010-05-05T05:21:00.001-07:00

THE LIE

Twelve years ago I was sitting at a pub in California, San Francisco to be more exact, and even more specific The Whiskey Bar in the Mission District, when in walked this girl. I liked this bar because it had a billiards table. It had good beer (yes I use to drink in public, sometimes alone, when I was young and foolish, and for the most part horny and self-doubting- I was going to say underconfident but it is not a word, though confident and overconfident are. I just refuse to ever use the word unconfident, it sounds ridiculous), the finest last minute, late night women in the area, and every so often, once a year maybe, would produce a female patron as lovely to look at as the one who had walked in on that specific evening. That night, in particular, I wasn’t there to find a girl, really, I was there to get over a girl, and when I saw this woman I was over the girl, and to this day I can’t remember her name.

It turns out, this beautiful woman, who so pleasingly intruded upon my foraging and mating fields, was actually meeting someone, one of her girlfriend’s, brother’s friends, on the dreaded ‘blind date.’ It was lucky for her that I knew this girlfriend’s, brother’s friend from seeing him frequenting my drinking and hunting establishment (I really was a terrible person in those days), and I knew for certain he was not a suitable date for this woman. I found out that it was a ‘blind date’ a few moments after she walked in. I raised my eyes at her, as I did with most women I knew I would never encounter socially, and, as luck would have it, she walked over to me. She asked me if my name was Mitchell, which it is thankfully not, and I replied yes. She told me she had never been on a ‘blind date’ before and was a bit nervous. I told her she did not need to be nervous, and that I was a great guy. When I saw her reaction to this I apologized immediately, and I told her I say many stupid things when I am nervous, which I lied and said I was as well, which thankfully relieved her.

And knowing that the real Mitchell would of course show up about eight minutes later, as he always did at seven thirty on a Friday night, I apologized again to this diamond for asking her to meet me at such a horrible establishment and hired a cab to take us to a more suitable date-type restaurant, which I was not allowed into because of my attire, so we just walked around San Francisco falling in love. I don’t know how I did it, or what the hell I said, maybe just piled the lies on, but it worked. At the later end of the evening, after a lovely little meal at a Thai restaurant, we, as luck would have it (I must say I was quite a lucky man that night, and still am today- two more days of leniency) walked by The Whiskey Bar. I asked her if it was a nice enough looking place for a late night drink. She told me she didn’t even want to enter the place earlier when we met, she was glad she did though, but just then, it was a perfect pub to have a late night drink. Even more to my growing luck, as we sat at the bar and ordered our drinks, which I of course offered to pay, but was regrettably four dollars short, so I needed to borrow a five dollar note from my girl, there was a disorderly fellow at the end of the bar who in one motion fell off the bar stool and vomited on himself before he hit the floor.

I again apologized to the woman. She asked me why the apology. I pointed to the disorderly man on the floor in his own vomit and said, in all actuality, that is Mitchell, I am not Mitchell, I just saw you and fell instantly in love with you and I knew how much of a drunk and a fool Mitchell was (which was another lie, because as I knew for truth, Mitchell rarely ever drank, he just liked playing pool, but on that particular night he had too much to drink. This was because his friend had set him up with his sister’s beautiful, kind girlfriend on a ‘blind date’, and she never showed up. This made Mitchell very sad and very eager to forget his sadness by drinking heavily, which as I know, is never the right remedy for sadness. That is why they make beautiful wives like mine, to make sad men happy- add a day there) and that he could never make her as happy as I intended to do. She forgave me, mostly because the physical condition her actual ‘blind date’ was in, and we married about ten months later. It was the greatest lie I have ever told.

Life with a wife 1.

2010-05-05T05:19:00.000-07:00

MEET MY WIFE

It pains me, not completely mind you, to say that my wife is beautiful. I can say that surely, for it is the general consensus among a watchful eye, and even more agreeable to, what can we call, a less refined majority. Though, saying she is beautiful as a general consensus is leaving out the truth of the matter. Pretty, she is, yes, and a finely shaped body as well. She is sweet and well thought, kind and incalculably, what is the word, caring. But those are features of her persona, not her person. Back to the basics of the female body. Any man, or woman if they were honest, would be severely appreciative of her looks and physical demeanor, yet, knowing this, in terms of front page women’s and teenage girl magazines, she is not perfect. She is not bone thin with little abs that are just organs bulging through skin because there is nothing else to fill space. She does not have an ass and chest that are as high and firm as the emaciated plastic dolls that grace these same published covers. She does not look like she is a curvaceous sixteen year old girl, or is it less creepy to say young woman? She is, what cover page publishers would call ‘a bit off.’ And they would be wrong.

When, before, I said it pains me to say she is beautiful, I am not physically affected in anyway. It is, more or less, (which is just a horrible contradictory phrase, I could just as well say it is ‘equal’ or ‘even’, or even ‘neutral’, which makes very little sense at all) a psychological battle. She is beautiful, which means others find her beautiful, which means they find her attractive, which means they want to take her away from me and our wonderful relationship. She knows this and further throws arms against me by playing into the ‘you best be sweet and nice to me, you know there are a lot of men out there who would be extremely happy with me as their wife’ side of things. That, I dislike immensely about my wife. And to this, I often reply ‘well that is until they get to know you. Come to think of it, I am not sure why I am still married with you’ which as you would expect never sits well with the Mrs. and usually grants me a quarrelsome nights rest with the dogs on the lounge room couches. As it goes, I love her, and would gleefully demolish and happily dismantle any man or woman that attempts my wife’s seduction.

She is, however, as lovely as she is brutal, which I wishfully assume is the same for all wives. A happy marriage is not always blowjobs and back rubs, and come to think of it, it hasn’t been for eleven years and sixty-two days now, which, coincidentally, was the day we were married. I like to think that if you spoke with any married man at a pub and asked how his wife was, before the first beer she would be ‘lovely, a good mother, working hard to help support the family, still good in bed, and a great cook.’ After four or five beers she miraculously and horrifyingly becomes a ‘cold, bitter, leeching, demanding, money-guzzling wretch of a woman who can no longer even make a good bowl of soup and has prettier, nicer friends than she.’ And just as shockingly, after three or so more beers, she transforms into a ‘beautiful, vicious little sex kitten with all the right moves and characteristics to keep a man happy for the rest of his life, and is probably at home right now with a well cooked plate of steak and potatoes lying in bed in that thin little night-top eager for her big man to come home. And the dishes are probably done as well.’ Though, after that many drinks it probably would come out more like ‘that woman, I mean wife, ahhhhh, no woman, is good. Good food. Sex, hahahha. Good.’ And all that really means is ‘she will not be too angry when I come home inebriated at midnight in a taxi cab when I said I will drive myself home safely at ten. And I will be the one doing dishes in the morning. And I will be the one who wakes up at five in the morning to take our two very annoying, very little and embarrassing dogs for a morning walk.’

This is why I do not drink. I do not wish to, and I do not need to, because, I know all of those wonderful little things about my very lovely wife before the end of an expensive night out with someone I probably do not want to be with anyway, when I could have spent that money to buy my wife a very thoughtful day at the spa and a bouquet of flowers (or more realistically, eggs, steak, fill my truck up with petrol, and a nice bottle of wine; I lied, I do drink, just not in public and only with my wife, and maybe with a friend or two at my house or theirs, or maybe, on special occasions, a restaurant or pub. Piss off).

Returning to my wife’s brutality, it is not so much brutal as it is demanding. And, really, it is not so much demanding as she just wants me to play my role as husband and father, and to live up to the oath I took (I say oath instead of marital vows because up in front of all of those people, marrying such a beautiful woman I felt like a criminal being persecuted for stealing something divine, and I needed to be completely honest in the sense of reason and the law in my efforts to be legitimate for this diamond of a woman- that will keep her happy for a few days if she reads this) when we were married, which, reasonably understood, is reasonable to understand. And I try my best, I do, I swear it. She very little complains of my laziness, mostly because I am so equipped at masking it, and is often appreciative when she asks me to perform some task, and I have, indeed, already performed it, or at least took credit for having one of the children do it. I am a good husband. The Best? Who is to qualify such things? But I will say there is hundreds of average women out there in the world who would very much welcome my companionship.

So, are we happy? She says she is. I believe her because if I didn’t I would be a mental wreck and would by all means unintentionally, but quite obviously ruin our relationship with jealous outbursts, harboring of ill, semi-destructive thoughts, and a constant need of self and co-assurance, which would drive any good, sane woman running for the hills (I do not know why they would run to the hills, it seems counterproductive to run towards a hill to get away from something, knowing that hills will increase the physical strain and slow the progression of necessary escape. Unless they lived on a high plateau and were running for the lower hills, in which case they could find some downward momentum. But realistically it would be easier to just run to their car and drive away). I am happy, beyond happy if you’ll have it, for sure. As I said I have a beautiful, caring, thoughtful, and not so brutal of a wife who is happy with me. That makes me fucking ecstatic. How did this happen? As with all relationships, it started with a lie.

wouldn't it be nice.

2010-04-22T05:35:00.000-07:00

Over a drink a few months back I met a girl. She was older than I was, about ten years older. that made her beautiful, and the fact that she was beautiful made her even more appealing. We had our hellos and that was mostly it. See I was there with some friends of mine, and she had flew into town for a day or two on business. She hadn't even made it to her hotel yet because her luggage was on the floor next to her in the pub. She told me I was beautiful and asked if she could kiss me. I told her no. She asked for my phone. When I gave it to her she called herself so that she now had my number. That was that. That was months ago, until just this past week.

She sent me a message saying she would like to see me. I told her it wasn't possible because she lived in one area and I lived in another, and I couldn't justify buying a plane ticket to see someone I didn't know, and didn't know if I even wanted to know. So she bought the tickets, and rented the hotel, and asked me if I would like to meet up with her for dinner. I told her yes.

It was a long day for me at work, not the longest day I'd had in the past few weeks, but a solid eleven hours for two days straight. I made my way to the city. I was meant to meet her around seven, but at seven I decided to pop into a pub and have a beer. That particular pub had a particular beer I enjoyed very much. So I was late to meet her. She seemed nervous as all to see me. She really didn't know how to say hello, and went for a handshake. So, I took her arm by the elbow and pulled her in a little, then leaned in a little, kissed her cheek, and told her it was nice to see her.

We had a drink and tried to sort plans for the evening. I had such a long day at work that I told her it would be good for me to have a shower. She recommended the hotel for a shower and I agreed. It was a lovely room, small, but nice and comforting. The most extraordinary part of the room was the outdoor garden. We had an entire alley way garden filled with creeping vines and flowers and plants from floor to the tops of the buildings. We had an outdoor table and lounge chairs. It would have been a great place for a late wake up, slow and steady morning meal.

The door to the shower was a sliding door. It didn't shut all the way. The bathroom itself was made for very little privacy. There was a large open shower with no door within feet of the toilet, which would get wet from the water splashing off ones body. I didn't shut the door all the way and undressed. I could see that she snuck looks of me when I was undressing and when I was in the shower because the room was that open, and I allowed it.

She had changed outfits when I was showering and after I was clothed we were ready to leave for dinner. We also had to meet up with a friend of hers. We were late.

She wasn't a large girl by any matter. Actually, she was only about five feet one or two inches and quite thin. She had blonde wavy hair just past her shoulders. She had a surfer girl look to her, which made sense when I heard of her childhood and growing up years around the beaches and in the water. Her skin had a great colour and she smelled of the sweetest things.

She told me that she couldn't actually believe that I had met up with her. She told me she thought for sure that I wouldn't come. But there I was, with her. She was so nervous that we were actually together. It was hard for her to finish her thoughts and she just kept stopping her talking and laughing that something she wanted was actually happening. She said that a lot, that her life never seemed to work out, and here something was, something she wanted and took a risk on, and it had been working out. She was standing a foot or two away from me and I was sitting on the bed putting on my boots. We were nearly the same height, I was just a little lower. She told me she was so nervous one more time, so I pulled her into me and kissed her. I told her not to be nervous.

We stayed kissing for a while, nicely and slowly, as we should have. I could tell by her breathing it was feeling stronger for her, and i felt the same. I stood up from the bed and in doing so picked her straight up from the floor. I had all her weight, all her body in my arms and it felt like nearly nothing. She through her legs around me and i moved to the other side of the bed and sat back down with her around me. We kissed and moved together for a while, laughing and stopping to stare at each other from moment to moment. After a smile we would kiss again.

We both needed more. I started to undo the buttons on her blouse. One by one. Kiss by kiss, as slow as possible. When i got down to the last two buttons she stopped me and told me she didn't want me to look at her stomach. I told her she was insane because I didn't care what she looked like at all. We kissed again and she stopped me again when I went for the button. She seemed really nervous and asked if we could turn the light off because she didn't want me to see her stomach. I told her know and I would only look at her face.

To this, the buttons were apart, her shirt was off and i had given it a bit of a toss across the room. Again we kissed. She wasn't nearly as gentle as I was with her when she removed my shirts. She took them both off in one big pull and through them even further away. She then crossed her arms in front of her stomach and leaned in to kiss me more. A few minutes later she remembered we were meant to meet her friend and were already thirty minutes late. We decided to hold off on our physical feelings and have our night out before we had our night in. She tried to stand up but before she could I pulled her in closer and kissed her again. I stood up, her still around me, all her weight in my arms. I walked across the room kissing her, bent down and picked up our shirts kissing her, sat back down on the bed kissing her, and put her shirt back on for her, button by button, kiss by kiss, until she was safe again in the light.

The night was a fun, fast, lovely blurr. We took our taxi. We met her friend. We had our dinner. We had our drinks. We had our talking. We took our taxi. We had our room at the hotel. We had each other for about five more hours until she had to be at the airport, flying home to be in time for work.

She was nervous about the scars she had on her stomach. Scars from the three operations she needed growing up. She was ashamed of them, but she was beautiful and absolutely lovely with or without them.

The sleep we got was short. Just enough for her to miss her chances of making the plane. I woke up around six thirty because I needed to be off for work. We talked for about ten minutes as I clothed, hydrated, and got her her toothbrush and toothpaste that she wanted so she felt safe to kiss me before I left. She told me she could die that day and be happy. She was so happy something in her life had worked out for her. Something she took a chance on. And it was great. I told her none of it would have been so wonderful without her. On that note, I tried to leave three more times before I actually shut the door.

It was the first time I was late to work in months. I showed up one minute late, but that last minute was one I will always remember.

She sent me a message the next night saying she hadn't re-booked a flight and would be staying an extra night if I wanted to meet up with her again. I ignored the message. She spent that second night the exact same way I spent that second night. Alone and thankful for it. No reason to ruin something so lovely.

Note to self. Open your eyes and slow down.

2010-04-14T05:37:00.000-07:00

By the saving grace of Peter Wilcox I am here today. He lent a hand to a fallen man, a man who had gone astray. His simple words they were a gift that lifted a sunken head, and in that lift, a sudden shift that saved life from the dead. He saw me pained, he heard my sufferings, he knew my swollen grief. In one breathless heave, he then took his leave, as I turned over a new leaf. "It's just a part, and not the whole, life will take it's course. Matter of fact, just don't look back, the future should be your source." And with that I soundly stepped away from what held me down. For Peter Wilcox was the only man I knew who's words were sound. I left the pain, the angst, and dread, and headed on my way. Into the light, or was it night, I'm just not sure to say. But off I went with both eyes wide and quickening my pace. I ran straight and fast far from my past and life became a race. And at the end I slowed my feet and came to a tired rest. I looked around and then I found that I had failed life's test. I ran too fast and ran too straight, eyes focused on what was ahead. I missed what spice can come in life, the living, before the dead. I just took off and never stopped and went on my merry way. I left too quick and didn't hear the end of what Peter Wilcox had to say. "Life can bring you down my friend, the past is a toll you pay. So look ahead, but also all around, and take life day by day."

Thank you Australia.

2010-04-11T02:49:00.000-07:00

Well this is a touch early. I still have two weeks left before departure but there are things in my head now that I do not want to forget in those two weeks, which my head is capable of doing. So.... thank you Australia for.....

wedges.
hungry jacks.
My black pride t-shirt (black is the colour, it says pride on it).
cheap white sneakers.
cash work.
Cricket.
AFL, ehh.
friends.
old friends.
new friends.
visiting friends.
sunburns.
oyster beds.
Beach day.
Australian Open.
Three day dates.
large bats and friendly possums.
kangaroos.
eating kangaroos.
chasing a wallaby.
the great ocean road.
5 wonderful mid december late nights.
Sydney.
Melbourne and thornbury.
Cat, of course, of course.
Adam.
Em.
Sam and Natalie. And their wedding, and everyone here for it.
TREVOR my lover.
Lachlan Dansie
Kelsey and James.
D.K.
Kendy Gable.
Dan Flemming for sure.
Sasha for sure.
Dave Lamb.
Finding out I can open up to friends.
Falling in love.
Time for music and writing.
Soccer.
Primary Cafe.
32 Bradley.
Making me ride a bike everyday.
teaching me i don't hate walking.
Seeing how talented people i know are.
giant hail stones.
Brunswick street.
high street.
Ancient Memories.
Not being in a fight since I've got here.
The Avett Brothers Live.
The cave.
Trams and public transportation.
Home brewed beer.
Gomez.
I think I cried for the first time in years.
plastic money.
nearly six good months.
letting me get away.
helping me find great people.
helping me find a great person.
AND EVERYTHING I WILL PROBABLY NOT REMEMBER IN THE NEXT TWO WEEKS!!!!!

Thank you Australia and an early goodbye, in case i forget.

someone please get married

2010-04-10T20:44:00.000-07:00

i've felt your needle prick a thousand times before
you were my medication for a while.
you made me well when i was unwell.
you made me high when i wasn't high.
those lonely little words you let creep from your lips
i know it's a long way back to the ground.
the last little bit of my dollar i called a dime.
i saved it week by week for the right time,
but it's never the right time.
i'm back in the late night with no one to hear my whisper.
i'm back in the late night with no one to pull me close.
i think i'll hold on to that until you feel it again,
or until i feel no more.
you're such a supremely wonderful girl
and i'm glad i know it.
i'd like it to be as simple as i hear it can be.
i just want you to know it.
i might even give you the first sip or bite and not care.
someone please get married, maybe i'll see her again.

I say, it's fair to say i love you.

the girl within the story Galbray

2010-04-04T22:27:00.000-07:00

i've seen you in a moonlit pasture.
i've watched you be beneath the rain.
we have been in light together,
and in darkness had our play, our playful play.
as the blue moon faded i kissed your face
and i saw you changing colours.
i looked into your eyes and it's when, i saw
my reflection of the beauty i was looking on.
as a last ditched effort i have had to say goodbye
because i know the goodbye was flying in, on its way.
and i wasn't built to live this way forever.
and i wasn't built to feel this way forever.
it's a simple place i am and i'm a simple kind of man,
it's difficult to ask much more of me,
but here i am. here i am. here i am.

i've fallen in love before, but at least then
i've been able to fall back out again
and oh, i've seen enough things
to know that life lives in you girl.
and oh. i've come to find
that i am no friend of mine.
and oh, i've come to see
in everyone, in every being
there is but one that holds me so
the only one that's let me go.
but here i am. here i am. here i am.
but oh. oh no. oh no.

Surely not love at first sight.

2010-04-04T20:27:00.000-07:00

It would have been a bad day for most people, or creatures alike, but even more so for the homeless, thirsty snail that was doing nothing more than trying to cross a road, in order to make it to a slightly dewy grass, just before the protection of some woods, so that it could re-equip itself with a sturdy home. It's previous home, so abusively snatched from it by a one-eyed crow, and mostly blind in its one eye, that mistook it for road kill not four feet back, had cracked completely, and after having survived such an ordeal the snail merely wanted a little bit of peace. And from wanting that little bit of peace, and a small replenishing of liquids, was soon left squished and dead because of the navigational mishaps of a homely curtain maker, and the uncharacteristic walking patterns of a crude and vile man.

Knowing that all of this was upon the poor snail, well, knowing it now because it is aftermath, if I had known it then I would have done my best to save the snail, but not changed the circumstances of the incident because the circumstances themselves have provided mostly a pleasant aftermath for yours truly, it would have been better for the snail to just have been a bit thirsty.

It was an odd job for Chandori, to be that of a curtain maker. Such prize-full skills she had beyond thinking and forming curtains. She was swift with a needle and machine. She had ears quite large enough to be a over-hearer, eyes keen enough to be a sightseer, a nose profound and professional to be a sniffing dog, and it was curtains she chose to spend her days with. She made beautiful towels and blankets, throw-overs and duvets. She could spin a silken scarf so sensationally, yet still, curtains were her mark.

Chandori wasn't a pretty girl, with such ears and nose how could she be, her eyes though perfect in their machinery were kind of dull and brown. Her skin forever porous and brows never plucked. Her chin just a touch on the sunken side and her hair always in knots. Not a bride wanted by most men indeed, but a happy girl, sweet, and kind. Softly spoken, but always thoughtful, and playful with her words. She would make a fine telephone lover, though she rarely talks to strangers, and knows very little of eroticism, for she makes curtains, not late night house calls.

She likes to bind the fabrics and find the just colours for the intended room. She asks people the colour of the paint in their houses, she asked the kind of decoration and number of sun providing windows. She asks about the carpet, tile, or wooden floors. About the most often company and accompanied artificial lighting. She crafts the curtains for the persons lifestyle and well being, not just for their pretty show, design, and reason. She asks of furniture and picture boards, they can often throw off the mood for a proper curtain fitting. She does this all for the people of purchase, through good intentions of herself.

Chandori was a quiet girl, and still is for the better part of her time. Not many friends as a younger lady, but no enemies as well. Her complexion changed, as did her looks, between the rough ages of developing womanhood, she lost a little of her looks, the little most would have liked her to hold on to. But she wasn't a girl looking for a boy looking for looks, or a girl looking for a girl looking for looks for that matter. She wasn't a girl looking for anyone for any reason come to think of it. She had her business, that of which her mother gave to her, she had her curtains, and she had her peace. She had a small house, with fine curtains, she had a front garden and a box for mail out front. She had a small floral design on her mailbox, she wasn't a fan for solid colours, unless they suited the purpose of a place. She had a cat, or she did a few days back, before that cat ran away. It often ran away though, for weeks and months at a time, but would either willingly or unwillingly return. The cat, its name was Rascal, but for now the cat is gone.

She wore little slipper shoes, never trainers, sneakers, boots, pumps, or heels. Just little slipper shoes that showed the last little cleavages between the last few toes on the outer part of her feet. They made her feel grounded and pleasant. She liked long skirts, but mostly wore pants. She liked pretty shirts and blouses, but mostly wore baggy jumpers and long sleeved tops. She had knotty hair, as you know, and would often wear it up, tangled as it is. She had many belts, but never wore them because she had the hips of a mother, but wanted no children of her own as of then. She didn't drink, she didn't smoke, she didn't lose control. She liked her bike, she liked to walk, she spent most of life alone. But she was happy with that, not looking for companions, company, or fruitful banter. Not needing chatty Kathy's for her afternoon tea. Just pleasantly content, alone, where she was familiar.

And as it goes for such a person, comfortable in their life, on came a tidal wave in the form of an older man, with a harsh tongue, unpleasant and un-pretty. Now he was once a kinder person, when he was younger and well off. Well off in friends, and wealth, and love, and things to do. When he had motivation, and ambition, and questioned the roots of his being. When he wanted to know what he wanted to know, go where he wanted to go, bed who he wanted to bed, and talk with those he wished to talk with. But that was years ago. Since then he has become a mutant of a person, turned callous, cold, and unquestionably discontent.

This is because he found out what he wanted to know, he went to and became disappointed with where he wanted to go, he had lay down playful time with those he wanted to bed, some of which left him more than just wrinkled bedding and that smell that sticks with you a bit after the act of which is being eluded to but not said outright for the sake of a younger reader, and he found little more than ideas he didn't agree with by those he thought would make good conversational companions. He felt the world he wanted betrayed him, and it was not his fault, but a worlds fault. A world he lived in, a world he wanted more from.

And this man, once dressed in fine clothes, smelling of fine things, talking as a gentleman should talk, doing as an honest man should do, now was a lie, a cheat, and a vagabond dusty to his core, black in his apparel, and always a face of scorn to be seen. And here he was, being distasteful and utterly unaccompanied, to his own liking, walking where he wanted to when, when not so pretty Chandori, with a basket full of new gold flake infused canvass material from Eritrea she had spent many a saved earnings on for a small curtain she wished to make for one of her two guest rooms that never saw guests, hit him on her bike as she tried, unsuccessfully, to avoid what looked like a naked snail.

As it happened and she was thinking it was his fault, he was thinking it was her fault, but mostly the fault of the world against him, the snail she had hit and run over just before who was just having a bad day thought it was his parents fault for leaving him with the slow gene, a squirrel trying to cross a telephone and electrical wire overhead carrying far too many acorns in his mouth slipped because it was swooped by a passing hawk, fell from the wire onto the ungrateful and cold man, and if had had little squirrel pants on, would have shat himself doing it, but instead had a quick shit on the hat of the angry male. It was a rare, unforgettable, and unpleasant occurrence for both Chandori and the beastly second party.

Now this caused quite the commotion and confrontation for the aforementioned two. One of which, Chandori, was neither ready for or accustomed to such verbal badger and confrontation, and the second, this vile tidal wave of a man, had through many arguments, upset words, non flattering conversations, and general ill will, had become quite masterful at. And after berating, spitting hatred towards, stepping and rubbing into the dirty floor of the road the gold flake infused canvass material that was saved for for many months, and calling the weaker of the two parties a "lumpy git of a girl with poor navigational skills and a silly chin and sideburns," Chandori replied with a sharp slap to his unshaven face, a quick kick to his left shin and a "No thank you for that tone of voice, Sir."

And saying that, in that way, with nothing left out up until now, that is how I met my wife.

waking up.

2010-04-04T06:27:00.000-07:00

On a day I've spent my time wishing I was somewhere else,
in the mind of someone else I've had a day of bliss,
for the day was spent in the eyes of happy talkers,
and the pains that hold me back always stem from this.

Once the man that was the figure figured out his role,
and for that price he had to pay so we can have our spoils,
finer things can not be done and better words not spoken,
than by the man who gave his hand to end his peoples turmoil.

From our failings he is the wound that bares our heathen heart,
we poach our time to understand that what we miss is fine,
his life begins again knowing that he's changed a mind,
and lighter is this side of things and the soul of all divine.

The days of Loucas Pickler's death II

2010-03-31T03:57:00.000-07:00

He had snuck out of his room at half past 2 a.m. He said he couldn't sleep and needed to walk off some emotion. He told me he climbed out his window and down the small roof on the lower part of our house. It would have been foolish to tell him that was a dangerous thing to do, knowing how he was found. He walked for about a mile or two and stopped. He said he watched the moon for a while, and he thought about Phiona, that was his girlfriend the day before. He told me thinking about her made him feel the most pain he had ever felt, even more than when he broke both of his legs three years earlier in a bike accident. He told me it was more than just the physical pain, and that is what really hurt.

So he kept walking, trying to walk off the pain of memory, even a painful memory of just a day. When the sun began to rise he took to some of the bike paths that connect our local area of towns through the woods, old railway tracks and footpaths. He stopped at one of his favorite ponds and skipped rocks for a few minutes. He told me watching them skip made him lose some of the pain, just focusing on the little hopping ripples, but when he thought of them sinking, and losing their momentum it was too much for him. He told me he vomited three times after skipping rocks. And then he just continued walking along the old railway path towards Gardner, the next closest town south to ours. He never got hungry, and he never got tired. the mindless drone of walking, he said, allowed him to think when he needed, and not think when he couldn't bare it.

In Gardner he climbed a tree, just ten feet up, and he thought about jumping. I'm glad he hadn't done that. He climbed it higher, nearly thirty feet up and thought about jumping again. I am very glad he hadn't done that. He said he climbed to nearly fifty feet and couldn't think at all because he was too afraid of the height, but he liked the rush in his chest from the fear, because it was a fear he could understand. He held on high up in the tree for a minute or so and then slowly climbed back to the woods floor. He told me he thanked the tree, I found that a bit off putting and uncomfortable to hear. It made him sound a little crazy, but i couldn't show him that's how I felt when I was listening. I just told him to go on.

From the floor of the woods he left the old railway tracks and headed west through the woods. he knew it was west because the watch I had bought him for his seventeenth birthday, the watch he always wore, had a compass on it. At a clearing of a small field he told me he saw a rabbit just prodding along amongst some old dandelion weeds. Then he went off on a tangent about how he use to love to blow the 'feathers' he called them, off of the dandelion weeds when they lost their yellow. When he was younger I told him that is how they spread their seed, and grow new weeds. I always told him not to blow the 'feathers' off of them, but he liked to do it. He told me watching the rabbit, when it prodded along, it would knock some of the 'feathers' off of the dandelion weeds, and he could see them float around in the soft breeze. He then became angry at the rabbit, he said, and tried to kill it with a stick he had found, but it was much to swift for him to even start pursuing. Some of his comments were worrying me. Some of my son's story didn't sound like my son.

Through the field he walked, kicking the dandelion weeds as he did, the late dew wetting the fronts of his pants, and soaking his shoes and socks. At the far end of the field, where the woods began again he said there was an old car, rusted and picked apart, grown into the side of a large tree. He spent some time in it, sitting on a bucket some person had left in it, with his feet leaning up on the tree. he told me their was a steady stream of black ants crawling from a large crack in the tree, down onto the floor of the car, and back round to another crack in the tree. They weren't carrying anything, which surprised him, they were just following each other. He told me he liked watching them just follow each other, doing nothing but keeping their heads in line, staying the course. At that he stopped, and he seemed to be thinking for a moment. I told him to go on.

He didn't want to go on though, not then. He said he was tired and needed a nap. He said the three days were catching up to him physically and he needed rest. I closed the blinds in the hospital room so it was dark enough for him to close his eyes softly and lightly, not fight the dark by closing them harder. I listened as his breathing slowed, and before he nodded off, he told me he wasn't sorry, he was just tired. He said he wasn't sorry about Loucas Pickler, just tired.

The days of Loucas Pickler's death

2010-03-30T04:19:00.000-07:00

Two days before my son graduated from high school his girlfriend of two years and he split up. He was a bit distraught over it, and wanted to skip his graduation ceremony. His mother told him it was out of the question. He had spent four years for this moment and shouldn't and couldn't miss it. Kids don't see things like that. Waiting four years for a moment. Especially a moment they have to have if they want any future. It isn't one day for four years. It was four years to get the hell out. Losing his girl just broke his last social tie. The tie that was too much for him to lose.

I'm not telling you this because what my son did was wrong, or right, or good, or sad, or anything besides an act of emotion and reaction. I'm not telling you this because I am proud or disappointed in him. I'm not telling you this because he can't tell you. I'm telling you because this is what happened.

He and his girlfriend broke up. Breaking up, I remember how it use to mean something, use to mean so much to kids when I was that age. Now, before this all happened, it just seemed something to laugh at. Too think how much one can have at stake in somebody else at such a young age. But that's just it. It's all at stake, because at that age, that is the whole of life, as it is just a part now. Then, it is all of the responsibility, now it is part of it. It;s funny how big seems small, when the small makes it so big.

The first night he just sat up in his room and listened to his music a bit louder than normal. He didn't come to dinner, and when I brought him up a plate of food I could see that he had either been crying, or been fighting off crying. He didn't want to talk to me, not yet, and I could respect that. You should try to figure things out yourself before you search for help from others. His music and lights went off sooner than they usually do. The next morning he didn't come down to breakfast before school, which was fine because the day before was his last day of school. I went to check on him about 10.30, you know how kids like that can sleep in. He didn't come down to breakfast because he wasn't in his room. He had left during the night.

I didn't know what had happened to him that day, or the day of his graduation. I didn't know until he told me. Nobody knew what had happened to him, or Loucas Pickler, another boy in his year meant to graduate. They weren't found until the day after their meant-to-be graduation. My son told me what had happened over the three days, before he was found, tied to a tree, next to the body of Loucas Pickler.

Mr. Galbray on his bike

2010-03-29T03:49:00.000-07:00

I stopped for a moment to have some tea, and I could see both Mr. and Mrs. Galbray were sat forward in their chairs. Mr. Galbray was the first to sit back, as if to show I didn't have his full attention, but I did. Mrs. Galbray didn't hesitate for a moment, asking names and places, what happened next, did I see her again, am I in love, all questions that would be answered I told them, as the time was right to tell.

Mr. Galbray asked me to hold my story, as he had to retreat to the wash room for a moment. Mrs. Galbray just smiled at me with her wrinkly old smile, the way lovely old ladies can, and told me she knew the exact moment Heathe, Mr. Galbray, stole her heart and tamed her love. She told me he was riding a bike in show for her. They were on a little picnic, and he was riding his bike back and forth for her, trying to look really swell and neat. That is, until he spilled his bike over and put a hole right in the left leg of his trousers. She told me she just laughed and laughed and then kissed his knee. That's when he took her and kissed her well. That's when he stole her heart. That was 38 years ago now.

Mr. Galbray returned from the washroom and sat back down to his chair, picked up his tea, and gave a lean forward with finger in air. He said that he knew the exact moment that Deleanor, Mrs. Galbray, fell in love with him. Before he could say the word bike Mrs. Galbray slapped his knee and told him she had already told me the story when he was in the washroom. To this, Mr. Galbray put his tea down to table, sat back in his chair, crossed his arms in a subtle triumph, and gave me a satisfied nod. I said well done sir to him, and told him 37 years was quite a few years to have stolen someones love. He told me it was 38. You have to admire the love of an older couple, just goofy grins and old habits is all it takes to capture one another again.

As I returned to the story of the girl and I it became quite serious again amongst the Couple Galbray's eyes and eager attention. Go on they said in unison. And again I went.

She trumped me. After twenty four beautiful minutes I was finally left to speak. I told her I'd rather look up than down. She told me she liked that. I told her I think I liked her. She kissed me with everything she had, tasted the life of me in one strong effort. Then, she told me she would think about it, turned, and left me alone. I felt like a pumpkin come Halloween, gutted, but for good reason, and wearing a stupid happy face.

Mrs. Galbray stopped me, and said that was a bit off, and not such a proper thing for her to do. Mr. Galbray, arms still crossed, started the simplest little laugh, and as it grew his face grew more and more red. Mrs. Galbray slapped his knee again and told him to stop. He didn't stop. He laughed more and more and more. She slapped his knee again, this time laughing as well, and turned red with laughter and life herself. We three laughed good and long until the tea was cold.

The girl with the curls

2010-03-28T04:18:00.000-07:00

I've said my sorries and I've said my peace.
You wanted your closure it's what you can have from me.
I don't feel better no I think I feel the same.
There are no winners in this lovely game.
You fell to the ground and I've shaken my hands at the sky.
When do one and one become a painful goodbye?
I changed your name for years.
I changed your name for years.
And all it got me was twice the goodbye.
You know you are great, and I knew you were great.
It seems to be that great can't be my escape.
My favorite parts were when we were making our cards,
and sending our wishes and loves from house to house.
You loved to run and i loved to lay in our bed.
I'd rather be starving then have a life overfed.
I changed your name for years.
I changed your name for years.
And all it got me was twice the goodbye.

Cartoons and mashed potatoes

2010-03-28T02:50:00.000-07:00

Living as a plant. A plant not planted. It was once planted, but now uprooted, and left on its side, roots limp and losing stretch and strength, thirsty but unable to save itself. That's how she was. That is what she felt. That is who she was. Leaves forgiven for their falling, dried and withered as old flesh withers and dries, cracks and ages as time keeps its promise.

Still she laid there, still she was unwilling to lose the energy that once was her life. Still she held on, to what no person knew. She didn't know why she held on, limbs frozen in place, knuckled and gripped, unbroken with hope, but hope for a change, something different, something else, something new.

It would have been safer to release, the letting go some do in the end, the falling from lower places to higher ones. Falling from what we have known, to something we hope will be better for us. It's always brighter there. there is always something to see and silently smile at. There is always something there to make the moments in between, better.

That's where she wanted to be, what she hoped for. That's what I found her looking for, she found me as well. Unexpected, yes. Unwanted, no. Unavoidable, maybe. Unbelievable, absolutely.

I had the will to help. She had the will to change who she was, because who she was was unpleasant and alone. She was slumped on her side, on a footpath, when I found her, but she was trying to stand herself up. I stood between her and the light post, she thought I was harm coming her way, never. I didn't help her until she wanted me to. I asked her if I could take her hand. Her lips were cracked and bleeding. She had spit in the corners of her mouth and down her chin. Her left eye was bruised and closed, and her fingers and finger nails were filthy. Bare feet trying to tuck themselves in to the bottoms of her pants. She didn't cry, not out loud, but she had been crying for months, you could see the marks the tears left on every inch of her.

She raised her hand to me, and I took it, and grabbed under her elbow to straighten her up for standing. She couldn't stand, but she could hold on. She had somewhere to live, but she didn't know where it was, or where she was. I had been taking care of Phillip Delgrade's house. He was a friend I had made in my travels, and asked if I could stay in his house for him for a few weeks, as he was away on business lectures. I took her to my surrogate home.

She couldn't hold fluids down. Her words came from everywhere and confused themselves to all but herself. She refused to welcome herself to my help, but she was weak, and she needed it. I drew her a bath, and let her soak in it, fully clothed and still asleep. I cleaned her hands and feet, and cleaned her face. Her lips loved the steam and bleed well. I poured water over her hair and down her face. She coughed, but she needed the cleanse. It was the first of three baths she needed, they seemed to calm her body.

When sleep took over her unconscious resistance, I gave her clean, dry clothes, and cocooned her in blankets and pillows. I slept on the floor next to the bed because her cough seemed to be a little worse. Her energy never found itself that first night and day, but after the first six hours, she would let water down, and later, warm broth. She had no need to know who I was. She had no need to know who was helping her, she just began to accept it. Everything about her breathing told me she had been waiting for someone to help her for a long time. Her eyes stayed closed for the first eighteen hours.

I could see she was running from something as she dreamed. I could also see she didn't like her feet restrained by comforters, I would cover them, and they would free themselves within minutes. They twitched and flicked about from her dreams, but she was a quiet sleeper. It was nearly nine hours of cold shivers fighting heat and sweating attacks before she slept well again. I thought it must have been a reaction to coming off drugs, but it was because her body was fighting her addiction with being tired and unwanted. It was the comfort that shocked her in and out of fits. It was the caring.

When the fits started I would read her passages from some of my favorite books and poems, and this seemed to calm her mind. When she looked like she was dreaming I would play her low music and sing soft songs until her mind eased for her. Her body liked these little things. It was nearly two days from when I found her slumped on the footpath until she opened her eye and found where she was. She wasn't shocked. She wasn't confused. She wasn't angry. She didn't seem sad. She simply asked for water and wanted to know why she was wearing socks. I told her I put socks on her feet because they looked cold sticking out from the blankets. She told me I was a bit weird for doing that. I told her she was a bit weird because she ground her teeth quite a lot when she slept. She flicked her socks off, one at a time, using the other foot to do the work. She looked at me, ground her teeth, smiled and laughed the simplest bit, and asked me if I could make her some mashed potatoes and hand her the television remote.

I made her mashed potatoes. I handed her the remote to the television and we watched children's cartoons for six hours. I mostly watched her reactions and tried to learn how she could be so comfortable with where she was. She turned the television off. She told me the clothes she had on were too big and made her look silly. She tried to stand but couldn't. She felt dizzy and her legs felt tight and soft. I helped her to the bathroom and back to bed.

She asked me if I could play her some music and so I did for a few minutes. She asked if I could close the blinds over the windows and make it really dark, so I blacked the windows out with dark blankets. She asked me if I could put on a low lamp light and read to her for a while. I pulled a chair closer to the bed, and read her a book called KIM by Rudyard Kipling for just about half an hour. She curled on her side and turned towards me while I was finishing reading. Her left eye looked painful as it was bruised and closed. She looked happy in the low lamp light. She asked me, in a low whisper, eyes closed, if I could find her some warm socks and put them on her feet, and tuck her in nice and tight. I managed to do all three of her requests, made her sip some more water and watched her fall asleep. Three minutes later her feet were out from the covers and working the socks off.

It was six thirty four at night. It was the 20th of November. It was a little colder than a normal Autumn evening should be. I slept in a chair, facing a healing, tired girl, who was grinding her teeth and twitching her feet. I felt good.

Couple Galbray

2010-03-23T05:02:00.000-07:00

I remember when I met Mr. and Mrs. Galbray. It was a Tuesday, and they were trying to move some furniture and a few boxes through the entry way of their building. They looked to be struggling a bit with it. They were both in their late sixties, wearing lovely, pressed clothes, he with a hat, she with a big scarf.

I had been in a most shabby condition. I had been travelling for months out of a bag. Mostly I walked where I was, after I travelled there. And this is how we found ourselves on that Tuesday, they moving items, finely pressed and clean people, me, unshaven, with a back pack, wild hair, and carrying an old guitar case. I offered my help and Mr. Galbray declined, though he was struggling. Mrs. Galbray thanked for my offer, she herself could not help, but was in agreement that I was not welcome into their home.

I told them I was quite strong and could carry their belongings for them. Again they denied my help and told me straight that they would be uncomfortable with me in their home. I swore to them on the soul of my father I meant them no harm, and my brief company and assistance would mean them absolutely no ill will. To this they looked at me, at each other, and asked me to please help.

After I made the three trips it took from sidewalk to their very lovely, well kept, and well spent home, they asked me for a rest and offered me some tea. I told them it was no bother. I thanked them for letting me help them, and said my pleasant goodbyes. Mrs. Galbray would have none of it and insisted I had some tea, so the three of us retired to one of the many sitting rooms in their home. I had a first sip of tea, with a touch of honey and a touch more of milk. Mr. Galbray asked me, judging from my accent, what on earth I was doing there, in their country, on their street. I told them I was looking for a girl. Now I had a story to tell them, and they were ready for it, and made sure I told them every detail.

So I told them.

She was a singer and worked in a cafe. I worked landscaping and general building. We were a mismatch from the start. She was pretty and thoughtful. I was brash and crude. She was swift and lovely. I was hard and slouched. She had a smile. I wore a blank face, devoid of too much emotion, but willing to hope.

I had met a friend for a quick meal. It was a Saturday. We usually met on Saturday's for lunch. This time she suggested we meet at a new place. I knew from the start it was a set up though. She had brought me there to introduce me to a girl, a not so close friend of hers down and out on love, and looking for a "nice guy". I told her I was far from that description, but friends say they know you better than yourself, and sometimes you hope you can believe them.

I saw her bringing food and coffees out to other patrons. She was a sight. More than a sight, she was a pleasant sight. She was shocking to me, like the sky is on the days you commit atrocities, it knows what is ahead, and is frightful in its colours. My friend told me about the girl before I saw her, but she didn't look anything like her description. I stopped drinking my coffee, walked straight up to her and asked if I could ask her if I could buy her a coffee, which was quite like something I would say, thoughtless and plain simple. She laughed though, and she told me I could take her on a walk in an hour, when she ended her shift at work. I was stunned again, she must have heard some great things about me, things I didn't even know. I wanted to thank my friend, Elory, for what she must have said.

I sat back down, nearly smiled, and turned to Elory and thanked her for whatever she said. She told me I had talked to a different girl, not her friend. She said it was the wrong girl. She had never been more wrong a day in her life. That girl was the right girl.

I knew it on our walk. We talked for only the first minute, deciding where we would walk, it would be a small one mile loop around the man made pond just near Cantersand Park. We talked for a minute. We spent the other twenty four minutes in a silence. An uncorrupted silence, blissful and full of nothing. She was eager for me to start. I was wondering what possibly this girl could say to me. Some would think it was the type of silence couples have years after they have been in love, and are on edge for the evening, one walking at just a faster pace a step or two in front of the other. that wasn't it though, we were by our sides, we were happy to be there. the silence was a gift, I could notice how she walked, what she did with her hands, how she liked to kick rocks and little sticks in her path. She noticed how I kind of dragged my feet and never put my hands in my pockets, and how I looked at the sky every few moments. I noticed how she would change her breathing when she nearly thought o f something to say. She noticed I was terribly speechless and worried because she was so beautiful.

It was a silence I want again. It was a silence we shared all of the time when we were together. It was better than whispers and our pushing and pulling of love. It was better than the eyes and the shivers before touch. It was a silence unbroken. A silence held by both, apart. We walked footstep for footstep around that pond and straight back to our original tracks. twenty four minutes of what would be the first of many best moments in my life. Then she asked me what I was looking at in the sky. All I could muster was that I liked to look up rather than down. She said she liked that.

Everyday

2010-03-23T04:37:00.000-07:00

As the sun came up over that eastern field today
I could not help but think of you.
The feeling shoots through me like a bullet
when I think of all the pain I put you through.
Every day I can see that I'm a part of you
and you're a part of me.

It all used to make so much more sense
and I'd have it all again if I could choose.
I've lost some things over the years
but the memory I will not lose.

As the sun goes down over that western field
I still can't help but think of you.
Wherever you are I hope your wounds have healed
and you forgive me for the pain I put you through.

Everyday it tortures me.
I guess the apple fell too far from the tree.

W.E.W.

Here today, here tomorrow.

2010-03-15T03:04:00.000-07:00

It's not happened yet I feel so close again.
For a moment I had you in my ideas and I want more.
A second first time is the promise I keep myself,
it makes more sense to be here, when indeed you are here.

And on we flounder as I play the safer part.
We count our laughter as you're with the shining stars.
For the first time I'm not the pretty one.
For the first time my loveliness has been outdone.
For the first time I'm in the supporting role.
For the first time I have lost all the control.

As I see it coming I can shake my head and spin,
and fall so quickly as the world itself gives in.
The seed is planted and it waits to grow for you.
For me it holds on as with patience bears its fruits.

And each day now I have set up myself
for the evening. For now I'll just sit on this earth.

As you should.

2010-03-14T22:12:00.000-07:00

So it was a Wednesday, not last Wednesday, the Wednesday before, so that would be two weeks ago this Wednesday. Work was good. I really enjoy cafe work. It is so easy, you don't need to think much when you do what I do, like clean dishes, clear tables, and just be friendly, I can do that for sure. So it was a Wednesday. Work ended and some friends, I think I can call them, not just co-workers, one would be my boss anyway, yeah friends I like that. We went out for a few pints and pots or schooners or whatever the hell you call them here. i['m use to jugs, but the pints were perfect.

Kendy Gable, DK, and myself of course, enjoyed ourselves at a pub called the Retreat. Nice pub, outdoor beer garden, and half outdoor room with lounge couches with a big open wall looking to the garden. Beautiful I say. We shared some rounds. I like that, when you don't just buy drinks for yourself, but you share rounds, I think it's the camaraderie of it, makes you feel included I guess. We had our laughs, lovely early evening. Just lovely. DK had to leave on a man dinner date, so Kendy and I held the floor for another round until my friend Sasha met up with us. Before Sasha arrived these two gorgeous little girls, probably three or four, just cute little things, one with bright, curly, blond hair and the other brown hair, both with lovely little sundresses, were playing hide and seek in and around us. I nearly died it was so fun to watch.

Sasha arrived and Sasha and Kendy seemed to get on like flies on shit (that is really well mind you, flies like to eat shit and then shit back on the shit, so even though the relationship is full of shit it is still a good one). More laughs and then Miss Kendy Gable needed to take her leave. And that left Sasha and I. It was a bit dark, and Sasha was a bit hungry, so we had a hoof around some local food stops but nothing caught her attention. Also, we were meant to meet up with Sir Dan Flemming who flew in from England, I love English people, some more than others, but I haven't met one I've disliked. I even like Hugh Grant. Shout out to Hugh Grant!! Anyway, Sasha and I headed back to where i am staying so we could contact Sir Dan Flemming.

Sasha was a fan of the walk, but not I, plus I had a bike. Only one bike helmet, no problem, we both couldn't wear it, so neither of us did, made sense to me. One bike, no problem, i put her on the seat and stood the whole ride back, and let me tell you it was a wobbly one, but one of my favorite things I've done in a while for sure. We rode for a good fifteen minutes and were seriously not one minute from the house when the police flashed their lights at us, gave us a good holler and scolding for not wearing helmets, and not having lights on my bike, mind you it was near eleven at night now, and for dinking Sasha. take it easy there people. Dinking here means to give somebody else a ride on your bike, like the seat or handle bars or something. I just like the term. Dinking. It just makes me smile.

I told them we were just ten seconds away and pointed in the direction of the house, trying my quickest move to avoid a hefty fine, which I did not want to afford, and my charm worked. Not really I think they heard my stupid accent, instantly thought I was then stupid, and told me then it would be a ten second walk. And we hoofed the rest. It took about two minutes on foot. Not too bad. We spoke with Sir Dan Flemming, and set up a Friday night for the three of us. Friday night started with drinking wine and playing soccer (or football) for a few hours, realizing it is high time we get back into better shape. Then to a hotel for showers, more wine drinking, drinking a Vodka Called Miisha, drinking some Johnny Walker Blue and meeting DK. It then turned into a Friday night of Sir Dan Flemming out with DK until 5ish and me passed out in a hotel by 11. I'm quite tired on Fridays. Friday night turned into a hungover Saturday morning where we stopped for a breakfast that was too big on the tram line home, met with cat and got a ride back, and then the three of us, Sasha, Dan Flemming, and I napping on my bed in the lounge room under the table, three to the bed for sure, for the afternoon, heavily tired. At about 5ish we stirred and I rallied people to a fish and chip run only a ten minute walk away. And we didn't return until nearly 4, and a thirty something dollar cab ride later.

The walk to fish and chips was far from wonderful. I mean if you like rain, raining on you, with a broken umbrella, and stuck at a train crossing for an additional six minutes after the train passed because of a faulty train warning system, while being rained on with nice leather boots soaking up all the rain so you have wet, soggy feet for the entire night, then yes it was wonderful. I do not like those things, so not wonderful. We bought far too much greasy, fried food. Well Sasha did, and I bought too much for two people. Sir Dan Flemming did it right, I think he only spent 4 dollars to my 21 dollars. I am ashamed. We were then off to find Sasha a filthy stripper, because it seemed like the right thing to do.

We became instantly sidetracked at a hookah and shesha bar called Ancient Memories, such a great name, where we smoked Strawberry Shesha and Watched Sister Act 2 on mute for over an hour, and developed a list of things to do that night. The infamous Cat met up with us and it was off to a local pub for jugs of beer, just the way I like my beer. We had some jugs, the power went out and taps went off so it was time to leave that joint. We said our good nights to Cat and hopped a tram to the city to meet up with a friend of mine, Matt (another English dude) I met in Fuji. We found a perfect meeting place, a Hungry Jacks Burger Joint that had the worst, stale burgers ever, and met this crazy drunk Danish girl. And no lie. I promise no lie at all. Her name. Ceena. Ceena Cock. Incredible. I still don't believe it, but I saw it myself. Ceena Cock. Just brilliant. We Left Ceena Cock behind and went looking for a ratty strip joint.

The rattiest one we could find had a twenty dollar cover, and since I would have been paying most of it, we decided no, which broke poor Sasha's heart, she was all riled up for some greasy lady dry humping, but to no avail. So we retreated to a backpackers pub that blasted fantastically terrible dance and rave music and drank double jugs of beer and played crappy pool with no cue ball all night. It was perfect. Last call came so I bought 4 more jugs of beer, and then it was instantly time to get kicked out so Sir Dan Flemming and I were standing there with nearly two jugs each trying to put them down not to waste. It was a great idea at the time I swear. Then the cab ride home because public transportation was no longer available. And back to the house.

Saturday turned into Sunday and again we mostly all just layed in bed again being tired, smelly, hungover and generally happy. We laughed, I read them some stories I wrote, and then Sasha had to leave to catch a plane ride back to Sydney, and an hour or two later after a 38 dollar pizza delivery, Sir Dan Flemming took leave as well. It was Sunday afternoon and I think I went to sleep until Tuesday Morning. Bacchus Day!! Such a great day.

Bacchus Day indeed. I worked for a good 9 or 10 ours I think and then rode the old bike home and picked up some bottles of wine. I took to the wine as I do, punishing it well and laid on the ground stretching my back and listening to music. Sam Higgs came over about 8-8.30ish and we had ourselves some cribbage and wine. Cat had some wine as well. Sam went home, I had some more wine, went to sleep, woke up for another 10 hour day of work, and spent all 10 hours cursing and rejoicing in the splendors of a good Bachhus Day.

And so it goes. The rest of the last two weeks, some ups, some downs. Some smiles, some lonely nights, but in all, two more weeks were lived. Two more weeks away from being a dumb kid, and two weeks closer to whatever the hell I will become. Life.

nearly thirty now.

2010-03-09T05:20:00.000-08:00

silence to all, but me.
and now, for me, i rest.

You get to thinking

2010-03-02T04:26:00.001-08:00

I justify myself in the eyes of another,
because I am afraid of my fate.
The moments I've had are catching me up,
and no one but me is to blame.
Enough is enough, or is it enough,
when will the end be the end.
It takes more than me to set myself straight,
is it you who will be that friend?
I fear that each day I still let it pass
and harder and harder it becomes,
when will these choices prove to be problems
and no longer just chances of fun?

Is it now? Has it come?
Do I still have control of myself?

Who needs what?

2010-03-01T04:18:00.000-08:00

Am I just a thief, was this never mine?
Have i stolen something that has never crossed my mind?
And on this lucky day I have felt the ringing in my ears,
for this clever taping for all your careless tears.
Rip me away. Tell me a lie.
I'm cleaning all these dirty moments with all your fatty lye.

And I come clean, so bright and new. I'm losing all these filthy
stains that I have accrued from you.
And settle down, sun on my skin. Just wait for one more painful moment
before you burn me again.

Am I a saint, brought here to save?
Do I speak words of wisdom from our fathers grave?
For this holy day I have seen the light cross from the sky,
all this filling in can't equal your divide.
Get on your knees. And I'm on mine.
Just one last confession of favor before I'm labeled divine.

And I speak out, for all to hear. It's just the words of faith
that all you doubters fear.
And find my calm, close my eyes and breathe. We tend to lose ourselves in saving
when all they need are seeds.

Am I a clown, shaping fears to joy?
Can I make a person cheerful by manipulating toys?
On this happy day we have seen you change your fit,
and all your silly smiles won't mask your broken shit.
So clap your hands, as I a paint a face.
And during these celebrations I will mask all your disgrace.

A story of Dave Ed. Journal 6. Day 37.

2010-02-28T23:18:00.000-08:00

Journal 6.
Day 37.

How interesting is it to find the person you adore, the person who makes you a better person, the person who makes you change? Not very actually, usually it's just personal preference, and if they fit the build, then it is easy to justify them for the position.

My sun came out today, and how amazing she was. Her little locks, pretty green and white checkered dress, she had her basket with her, and the peaches on her lips just divine. She never looked so good, ripe like the peaches, cute little socks, and those eyes. Those green eyes always so astonishingly haunting.

Remember her smell in the wind, when it hit you. She had a lavender scent to her hair, mixed with peaches and a touch of vanilla for some reason. Remember that smell. It was better than the others. She lost that smell pretty quickly though didn't she. I took it from her didn't I. She smelled horrible when I left her with her basket. She looked ridiculous with her foot on that little blue chair. I knew she would, that's why I brought it. And that beautiful little thing broke my rock, and mean little girl, breaking someones favorite rock, and saying she didn't want to be my friend. Little kids can be so cruel. They just leave blood on your hands don't they, all six of them now, always leaving blood on your hands.

But that peach tasted sweet.

She had sunflower seeds and little rocks in her pockets and the meat of peaches in her hair. She was always eating sunflower seeds, except when she was eating those peaches. I remember propping one of her legs up on a small, blue wooden chair. I laid her down with her back in the grass and the lower part of her across the side of the dirt and rock road just half a mile from her house. That is how I would have wanted to find her, like a still photo from a crime scene. I guess, it was a crime scene. I took the sun away. I left her green and white checkered dress on, it's not right to take advantage of people, especially not children, it's just disgusting. I tied a pink ribbon in her hair. I always wanted to see her with a pink ribbon in her hair. It looked good in those curls. She liked to take her shoes off when she walked around collecting peaches, so I had to put them back on for her. She had such little feet. Her white socks with matching green and white checkered frill on the ankles were very soft to the touch, I could tell they were washed and then dried in the natural shine of the day, like only the sun can make things soft. Her basket looked comical to me. It was full of peaches, but spilt over on its side. Silly little girl, if the basket is on its side surely the peaches would roll right out of it. The only thing she had now that she didn't leave her house with was the blood around her head. And the smell of her changed as well.

The sun was hot that day, I remember, so I am glad I wore my hat. It was a wicker hat with a band around it. It was a blue and yellow band. I always wore that hat in the sun. And I had my light blue, cotton, collared shirt on, my favorite shirt. I didn't wear my favorite shirt with the other kids, but she was my sun, she deserved my favorite shirt. And I had my brown slacks on, with a white kerchief in the back pocket. I always had the sniffles this time of year. My moustache felt good waving in the wind. It tickled in the wind. It was the same moustache I wore from when I was in highschool, the kids then didn't know how cool it could be. But it is cool, like detectives wear. I remember my glasses steamed up a bit from the hot day and my sweating. I'm not sure where the sweating came from, I didn't sweat with the other kids, but she was my sun. The sun makes you warm I guess. And I had my rock from Spain, my favorite rock. I've never seen anyone eat peaches like she did, so tender and precise, only taking the best bite out of each and every one, and then tossing them to the flowers and the bees. Man how she made me laugh.

So that was six of them so far. My sun was by far my favorite. Little Sandra Clither, just like her mother. Only eleven more from my year one class, and then it's on to year two. Star Runner Prince of the Flarizer Galaxy strikes again. I bet people wish they weren't such mean kids way back when. Man, what a hobby, sure beats chess and collecting rocks.

It was December.

2010-02-28T04:07:00.000-08:00

It's time that I remind you why I am stuck on you.
At first a night. Quiet and full of soft words.
A second night filled with the same.
And a third night, closer still.
The days were nice, but for me got in the way.
And a fourth, we were hands holding.
We were bodies together and alone.
We were there for each other.
We were happily involved.
We were two hairs on a pillow, almost the same length,
and nearly the same colour,
mine was just a touch more curly.
We were knees kissing and hugging and dancing.
You were beautiful.
I was amazed.
And our fifth night. It was our last night.
It wasn't all ours, but when it was,
it was ours and ours alone.
Such a night to be the last.
And the morning as well.
The light was a curse, except I could see you better.
We hid in a cubby. Little hidden eyes for each other.
Your hand on the way to the airport behind the seat.
Your tears on my shoulder and in my neck.
I couldn't even kiss you, but hell I wanted to.
And since goodbye, somehow it still grows.
When you feel it you know.
I know.

It's all I have.

2010-02-27T07:05:00.000-08:00

Letter by letter I feel.
Letter by letter it's me.
Letter by letter I give myself
in all of my letters to thee.

Letter by letter I wait.
Letter by letter I read.
Letter by letter I find,
that letter by letter I feed.

Letter by letter I see.
Letter by letter they come.
Letter by letter I know,
that letter by letter I'm done.

Letter by letter I spell.
Letter by letter I write.
Letter by letter I empty myself,
by letter and letter tonight.

Letter by letter I grow.
Letter by letter I build.
Letter by letter I empty my head,
so letters from you take their fill.

Letter by letter I hope.
Letter by letter it's true.
Letter by letter my love,
all of these letters for you.

Please not tonight.

2010-02-26T04:52:00.000-08:00

It's not the feelings I wanted tonight.
I feel like I've lost you,
like you've left me alone.
And I feel like tonight
someone else will take you home.
And it's just what I see,
from the tremblings from me,
and I hope it's not true,
I would give you,
so much more than I can give.

And a restless night tonight,
I'm prepared for nothing less,
and a wild head racing,
images I can't erase are killing me.
But what can I do?
Is it me or is it you?
There is nothing to say
but I'm sorry.
I just don't know what for.

And stupid little words,
like winter, rain, and dark,
they just aren't enough
for the pain I see coming,
for the pain that's filling me,
slowly until i pour over,
and fill up the floor.

Her eye must be crooked a bit.

2010-02-25T01:42:00.000-08:00

Long days are never far away,
short days are always leaving me to say,
it's just another day. Just another lonely day.
I've forgot your favorite colour,
and I'll forget it all the time,
but I'll ask you every time I think I should.
And I haven't got your letter,
the one with the picture you drew for me,
so I need to know, what did you have to say?
It's not when I think of you,
it is when I try not too,
that reminds me of what you mean to me.
It seems that in the evening and sometimes in the day time too,
the patience I have I will give it to you.
And I know I haven't felt this way before.
And I know that's a good thing for me.

Just a soft little hello.
That is all I need.

A Story of Dave Ed. Journal 6. Day 29.

2010-02-25T01:06:00.000-08:00

Journal 6.
Day 29.

I talked to someone at my work tonight. I couldn't call her a friend, because she is not a friend. She is someone I work with. Actually it was the first time she has ever spoken to me. We have seen one another before, but we never said hello, never ate lunch together, just hello good morning, good bye good evening. I was ok with that relationship. She must have been feeling sad today.

I was the last one in the office along with her. I put on my wicker hat, I grabbed my case, fixed my coat on, and was turning to leave when she asked me what I was doing for the night. I told her exactly my plans, and she changed the subject entirely. I do find people weird. She asked me if I had ever love someone more than they had loved me before. Bitch. I wanted to say I've wanted to love someone, or I at least thought about it, but I never knew anyone to love. I've never been close. I'm not sure if she was having a go at me, or if she just wanted me to listen. It was the closest contact I had to anyone my age in my entire life. It was uncomfortable. Remember you were uncomfortable. She wasn't the sun. You have seen the sun. You have dreamt of the sun. You watch the sun on the weekends.

But this lady, Demra, just wanted me to listen. So I gave it a go, to see what would happen. I even played along, saying the right yes's and no's when i thought I was suppose to. I tricked her really well that i was paying attention. She even thanked me afterwords and said she didn't know I was so kind. Of course I am kind, that's why I keep to myself and don't put my shit on anyone else. I couldn't stop thinking about how stupid her hair looked, and how she had too much lipstick on. That's what I don't like about her the most, the lipstick marks on her coffee mug. I just want to break that damn mug sometimes. She is not the sun. You have seen the sun. Stay close to the sun.

University was a breeze. I was beyond trying to fit in. And I didn't want to fit in with anyone besides myself. I received a double degree in Psychoanalysis in Pediatrics and Social Consumerism, neither of which make my life better. I just now see how children are better than adults, and rich people are the same as poor people, they are just usually bigger assholes with fatter wallets.

I finished my degrees in three years, instead of the usual four, I just didn't like the people so I wanted out of there as soon as I could. Most of the other students had there minds on alcohol, sex, and general debauchery of one's soul, useless people I think. No determination, no goals, no plans, no sun. I have my sun. I met her, saw her, a few weeks ago.

After University I decided to travel for a few months. I had always wanted to travel, and because I didn't have the responsibilities of others in my life it seemed quite appropriate for me. I started in Europe. In Portugal for a few weeks. And then through Spain into France and then Italy for a few more weeks. I then returned to one of the gem stones of my travels in Spain. In the region of El Cabezo in the mountains near San Esteban del Valle was some of the most beautiful mountain I had ever seen. And some of the most beautiful rock I had ever seen. When I was there I decided to pick up a new hobby, which was finding rocks I had never seen before. I found hundreds everyday. But there was one that i found on my third to last day that I couldn't put down. I didn't know much about rock forms and minerals, but from what I did know I knew it was a metamorphic rock. I figured it to be some kind of limestone or form of marble. It was reddish and pitted, a real good gripping rock. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever found and seen on this earth. That is, until I found my sun, years and years later.

That rock has been near my bed, keeping my memory of my adventures alive. Keeping my sense of amazement and respect certain. Keeping the penetrating moments of earths beauty in the front of my mind. And now my red rock can be replaced. I have found my sun. She is just perfect. She loves peaches.

A Story of Dave Ed. Journal 6. Day 17.

2010-02-22T04:54:00.000-08:00

Journal 6.
Day 17.

I am often tired when I watch people work. Not people like me, but people who actually move around when they work, like waiters, or postal workers. They are just so busy rushing around when they work, it can't be good on the bones. I don
t understand why anybody would want to have action in their work. We have developed into a being with society where we do not need to move around to make good money. And I make good money, and i don't move around at all. I like the idea that the people who move around and do the absolute least amount of work usually make the most money. the poor souls out there landscaping and bricklaying, building houses and standing on factory lines, the real active, hard workers, they are just the dregs. The low payed fools who think they can work there way out of the whole they are in. If I know one thing, is that the more you dig the deeper you get, you don't get out. Fools.

I've never wanted to be a fool. That Is why I am what I am, and I do what I do. Yeah that makes sense to me. I don't want to act foolish, therefore I am not a fool. Yeah I like that. Man I am smart.

There was this old lady trying to cross a crosswalk across a busy street today. She was in one of those mobile wheelchairs. I watched her at that crosswalk for about twelve minutes waiting to cross, while I sat at my cafe, drank my coffee, and ate my sweet cookie. Boy she must have thought I was some kind of athlete. How funny was it when I stood next to her for no longer than a few seconds, and then ran right across that street while she sat there immobile, in a mobile wheelchair. She must have had a shit when she heard me laughing. Crazy old bag.

I had a sunny day the other day. Actually my first sunny day in my whole life. The weekend brought some sun to me two weeks in a row now. I am beginning to like the weekends. But, there is no room for that type of thought for this journal.

So Star Runner died before high school, for the most part. But in high school he was totally gone. Which I liked. It was nice to have a fresh start. And I started well. I did well in all of my classes, and I was in the higher classes. I took on extra curricular activities like the chess club and band. I played one mean clarinet. I always thought it the classiest instrument. Those poor rock and roll fools with their guitars and drums just didn't understand the art that music can be. I made friends with all of my teachers because I would always ask questions and do extra work when I could. So I was doing well. Or so I thought.

It took me a few months to realize that it is not always good to be the smartest or the best in a scholastic setting, not at that age anyway. I mean the teachers appreciated my efforts and work, and they said I was going somewhere, but my peers were a whole separate beast. Somehow being smart and ambitious made me weak. It made me a geek and a nerd. And meant I had no friends again, not even other nerds liked me. They said I was too nerdy. Too weird. There was no winning. There never is.

It never made sense to me how the majority, even if dumb and wrong, could determine what is acceptable and not acceptable norms. I thought that is why people are said to be elite. But not in year nine, or ten, or eleven, or even twelve. I never could really grow out of my identified status as geek, and weirdo, and freak. Apparently it isn't cool to have facial hair in years nine through eleven, unless that is you grow out a dirty looking biker goatee, or big hairy chop sideburns that made you look like some burnt out Elvis impersonator. But if you kept a classy and sharp moustache, as I did, again you were an outcast, a laugh at, an unwanted hair on the back of average minded people. That was me, that unwanted, irritating, untouchable hair. I was untouchable. I was better than them all, and the fact that no one could see it just proves my point.

I wasn't being punched in the nose by girls anymore. And girls were girls and not just bigger kids. It was even worse when those bigger kids turned into girls. I thought getting punched in the nose was bad. No way. I have never met a meaner portion of the human race than teenage girls. And they had the gall to be want to be called women. Beasts was the first thing that came to mind if they didn't like being called girls. That, or fuming estrogen time bombs. You didn't even need to touch them for one of them to blow. I didn't even need to talk or look at some of them, and they still went about putting me down, calling me ugly and gross, telling me I would never have a girlfriend, that no girl would ever like someone like me, they just put you down, and kick you while your their. Now the younger ones were much better than that, the girls before they are girls, just little kids like all the rest. I would take those ones that just physically hurt you over these ones that will rip every bit of you apart because she has a bad hair day, or some sporty guy said she had an ugly dress on.

So, high school was a bit better and a bit worse from the first years of school life. But mostly I found, it wasn't school that wasn't right for me, it was people. people just never understood me. People don't understand me now. How could they, they don't know who I am, what I can do. I guess that is why people have friends, to relate to one another. There was just no one smart, classy, and creative enough to be my friend in high school. Day one was just as bad as the rest of the days. There were just no sunny days that time in my life.

Secondary Fermentation. You are my bitch.

2010-02-21T04:18:00.000-08:00

Well. I actually maybe producing some wine here down under. It is probably the smallest wine production in existence. It may only have a production of 5 bottles. But, those are 5 bottles of wine that I made.

So yesterday was day two of the wine process. Not literally day two, it is actually realistically day eleven or twelve, but it is only the second day I have had to do anything besides listen for bubbling. The first thing I did was realize I may have used the wrong type of yeast, but since grapes have a natural yeast on them, I figure that stuff must have done enough right to counteract my possible wrong. I popped the lid off the air locked container and saw a mass of brown skins, stems, and mushed up grapes, but hell it smelled like wine. Not a good wine smell, sweet like a Riesling, but hell it had a wine odour, so I am damn pleased.

After straining the liquid from the solid mass into a few highly sterile pots, or pots that I just pulled from the cupboards and hoped were sterile, I did rub a shirt sleeve over the surface of them. The remaining liquid was full of sediments and looked like grape fruit juice. But it seems I am getting closer and closer. Some of the sediment settled and we could actually spot clear liquid on the top, which we think and hope is a very low alcoholic content form of wine.

Do notice how very talented Adam is. He holds the strainer with one hand, and maintains a firm grasp on his beer with the other. Well done Adam. I have learned it is very important to have a drink whilst one is making more drink.

I then vigorously cleaned out the air locked container with water and a sponge, and again a quick wipe with a sleeve, we love things sterile, I poured the liquid back in and sealed it up.

I'm quite sure it will take another five months or so before bottling, and I will not be here for the final bottling of it, that I will trust to Adam, Em, and of course Cat, but there is still some things that must be done in the meantime. Such as, every three or four weeks I must filter the liquid through strainers and proper filters to slowly remove all of the sediments so the liquid (wine we hope) becomes clearer and clearer. We are going for white wine mind you, not grape fruit coloured alcoholic sediment-filled liquids. So I will do that about three times before I depart.

But I will say it has been fun so far. Now all I have to figure out is if I should add some more yeast for this secondary fermentation period, which I should probably have done already, but no one is perfect. These skills come with time I reckon. SO I'll do a bit more research on the matter in the next day or two, and if needed, get my hands on some real wine yeast for this secondary fermentation period.

The wrong way to research. Do notice angry and confused faces.

Rethinking how it all works. Notice scientist coat. When being a scientist it is important to dress like a scientist.

The correct way to research. Notice researching finger (and horrible hair). I love research.

And if all goes well, it will one day be time for home made wine, or at least slightly alcoholic grape juice, who knows. That's the fun of it. The liquid may just as easily make us go blind as it may get us a bit loose. My last matter of business is to leave Cat some money so she can ship me one of the finished bottles, if she has the patience for it. I hope she does. I do at least want to try the bloody stuff.

Always still trying

2010-02-20T05:23:00.000-08:00

So we dim the lights and live another life style.
Such a child running freely, with no belts with no gloves, no one is dreaming.
And once. Once was all that mattered. Girl.
There is something in you that's not the same old thing.
Haunted. By all those I am linked to. And running
as far as I can run, from here, before I go insane.

Have. Have yourself a good day, forget all the endings
that haven't seem to come.
Hold. Hold onto your stalkings, they may be the only
thing that keeps you looking nice.
How. How do we tell ourselves this is just a simple life,
holding, talking, feeling, like nothing else can work,
and how, will we not want this something, to take
control of what we do.

And I know I'm lost, and I know I'm gone,
And I know there is no fire outside. No fire outside.
No fire outside. And the kids they will be ok. Ok. Ok.
And I will finally find my fame, my fame, will be,
where I never thought it would be. Would be. Not the only
fruit that grows from this tree. This tree. This tree. This tree.
This tree. This tree, that fruits, that fruits, from within
the chest of me.

And I've seen this place before. And I wish I'd never came here,
all by myself the first dreadful time around.
And where have you gone hiding? You've escaped this daylights lighting,
maybe you're just good at your favorite child hood game.
Your favorite trick again, the one when you go missing, I wish that you would
find another trick tonight. Another trick tonight.

And you, you are the queen of blue, you are the queen
of everything that seems to be the best parts of life I see.
And it tears my heart out, and it feels so fine.
This, this happy day, this lonely day so far from you,
I break myself off another chunk of time until there is
no longer need to be waiting for it.
When we shift just closer.
And you look so nice.
You look so nice.
So nice.

As. As I look around
I see all the smiling faces of the people that come to find you.
And I. And I am only one, who knows who you are,
and I'm the only one that can
point you out. That can point you out.
I'm the only one.
Don't say don't say don't say your gone.
And I will come along.

Goodbye, hello, goodbye, hello, I'll see you soon.
Just before you see me too.

A story of Dave Ed. Journal 6. Day 1.

2010-02-18T00:35:00.000-08:00

Journal 6.
Day 1.

There is not really much in everyday life to hang your hat on, that trustworthy object that still does it's job at the end of a hard fought day. And it obliges, and gives thanks for your acknowledgement, always willing to be what it was built to be. The long days still exist, and it's been years since they first started. Days have always been long, this we know, but they haven't always been long for the wrong reasons. Prestige. Bah. Recognition. No thanks. Progressing. For the birds. So why then? For the means of provision. To provide metal and paper metaphors that get us what we want, which sadly, tends to be getting as far away from what we do most of our lives, have long days we do not want to have.

And there is your hat and coat rack. Simple. It's there when you leave. It's there when you return home. And you would think it is there when you are gone, but you can never be sure. A reliable friend. Reliable friends, they would sure be nice to come by, in a living form that is. I mean, here I am, an aging thirty-four year old who sits at a desk all day, and on a couch all night. I don't even know what intrigues me anymore because I don't have a reliable friend to discuss it with. It's funny how talking, just talking can lead to self discovery. It's all in your head somewhere I suppose, but sometimes it takes someone else listening to put your finger on it. I don't have that someone, that friend. So. I am here, writing in a journal. Writing to myself. Trying to be my own friend. My own source of identification and discovery. It doesn't work. It doesn't work.

I still remember my first day of school in year one. I always thought it would be my favorite day of all my life. Well, I did up until the day itself. And really only for a few months, not my whole life, I was only six and was too busy riding bikes and kicking balls, and figuring out if I was suppose to be mean or friendly to other kids my age. I am an only child by the way. Always have been, which makes sense because if at some point I wasn't an only child I would have said I lost a brother or a sister, or maybe even I gained a brother or a sister when I was older. BUt it was just me. Me and my father. My mother wasn't around. Actually, I never met her. Not once. My dad said she moved away with her new husband when I was three. And my memory was never too sharp so I could never put a face or a memory to the word. Mom. Not much of a word to me. Doesn't have that feeling to it some words have. Words like ice cream, or broken bone, or kiss. Those words have a feeling when you say them. Not mom though. Never felt that word.

The name is Dave by the way. Not David, Dave. My real name isn't David. It's Dave. Dave Ed Gaits. I know. Not a great name. The Ed isn't even short for Edward. It is just Ed. My dad thought it would be great if my first two names could be said like one word. I hate it. I like my dad. But I don't really like his reasoning sometime. And, he has a very poor taste in humour. he likes cheap jokes on crisp and soda adds, and stuff like that. And jokes you see old people say in vintage black and white movies. The kind of jokes only boring grand parents think are funny because they actually relate personally to them. The world was much smaller then.

But I wasn't Dave on the first day of school. Nope. I was Star Runner Prince of the Flarizer Galaxy. I really liked science and space ships when I was younger. I'll tell you what. It would have been good to have friends before I went to school for the first time. I would have known that being six, and introducing yourself as Star Runner Prince of the Flarizer Galaxy would not be a socially acceptable practice. It took me six years before people stopped teasing me and calling me Star Runner. All because I didn't have a reliable friend to call me an idiot before all the strangers out there decided I actually was one. The worst part about the revealing of my name to who I thought would have instantly been twenty of my new best mates was just that. It wasn't to like one or two of them. Oh no. It was during attendance calling when I thought I would do it. The teacher, before calling anyones name, told us that when she called our name we should raise our hand, and then if we wanted to be called by a nickname that was the time to let her know what we wanted to be called. So there I was, with my tiny little puny arm in the air because I didn't know I could take it down until I told her my entire name, when I said it. A total fool.

So that, and the fact I was pretty stupid for a six year old didn't make my first day of school a good one. I wasn't premium with spelling. I was horrible at maths, and an absolute failure at being normal. I was asked to sit in the corner at a desk by myself twice on my first day. Actually, I am proud to say I set the record for sitting in the corner my first year in school. I know this because I saw my year one teaher, Mrs. Emralds at a restaurant the other night. Mind you this is twenty eight years later, and the old woman still recognized me. I was sitting by myself eating dinner like I do, and she thought it was just the perfect punchline to the joke that was my childhood. I never liked her much.

But just imagine that. Sent to sit alone in a corner at a desk, on my first day of school ever. You think some teachers would have some decency to give us new school goers a days pardon from punishment, but not Mrs. Emralds, not on that day. It turns out I was indeed the only year one student to ever be sent to sit at the corner desk on the first day of school. Come to think about it, the desk wasn't even in the corner yet until Mrs. Emeralds dragged it over there and made me sit at it. And not only did she make me sit in the corner, but she had to kick me when I was down. I remember the words exactly, to this day.

Mrs. Emerald. "Ok Star Runner. It's time you become Prince of the Corner Desk Galaxy."

She was a mean woman.

And to top the whole mess of a day off. When I was sitting on the bus by myself on the way back to my home, just one stop before it was my stop, I got punched in the nose and cried. You believe that. There was this little six year old girl, Sandra Clither, who was bigger than me because I was only six as well and girls are usually bigger than boys at that age, and she punched me in the nose. A girl. She was kind of weird too. So there was this few minutes on the bus where all the other kids were trying to figure out which one of us was weirder, and they said it might be Sandra, and if she punched me, then I would definitely be weirder, not her. I knew it was coming. Everyone thought she would punch me in the arm or something. But no. Square in the nose. And it hurt. And I cried, which wasn't good because it was then known to everyone that not only was I 'Star Runner Prince of the Stupid Galaxy', but I was also beat up by a girl. That whole bit didn't make sense to me then. It does now. But then, we were six, she was bigger than me. There are no boys and girls when you are six. You are all just kids. She was a bigger, and apparently, less weird, kid.

I'll tell you. Day one was bad. But so were days two right up until today. And tomorrow is not looking promising either.

Just a little bump on the head.

2010-02-13T05:44:00.000-08:00

She had sunflower seeds and little rocks in her pockets and the meat of peaches in her hair when she was found. One of her legs was propped up on a small, blue wooden chair. She was lying with her back in the grass and the lower part of her across the side of the dirt and rock rode just half a mile from her house. She still had her green and white checkered dress on. She still had a pink ribbon in her hair. She still had her little black shoes on with little white socks with matching green and white checkered frill on the ankles of them. She still had the basket she had left home with. It was full of peaches and on the ground beside her. The only thing she had now that she didn't leave her house with was the blood around her head.

He left his house with his hat on. It was a wicker hat with a band around it. It was a blue and yellow band. He left wearing a very light blue, cotton, collared shirt and brown slacks, with a white kerchief in his back pocket. He had a fancy little moustache, like detectives chose to wear. He left wearing his black glasses. he always left with his glasses. He left his house with his favorite rock. It was the rock he had found eight years earlier when he was in Spain. It was his most favorite rock. It was a dusty red, sharp and pitted, not smooth. It had a good grip to it. He had been watching her for months. She liked to pick peaches on the weekend. He saw her picking peaches. He watched her pick one, eat a bite out of it, and then toss it to the flowers and the bees. He watched her do this to about four different peaches. He arrived home with everything he left with, except his favorite rock. It broke on the back of her head. So he picked up a peach, and he brought it home in its stead.

It was a terrible dream to have. It was interesting to dream of such a horrible situation, but the colors of it were beautiful, and the way it played out, like an old movie with too much sunlight and scratchy audio. It made you want to stay and watch. It made you want to watch it again. The way she picked the peaches with her cute little hand. The meat of the fruit in the corner of her mouth. It's juice running down to her beautiful, little chin. How sensual and happy he was watching her walk through the peach trees. How carefully he chose his shirt, and how he treated his rock with such love. It was a sad dream yes. But it was nice to have. It was nice to see how beautiful it all came together, with the picture of her leg propped up on a little, blue wooden chair, just off on the side of a dirt road, in such a pretty dress, with a lovely pink ribbon in her hair. And how green her eyes were. Such green eyes.

People ususally only tell you they love you after they show you they don't. Not you.

2010-02-13T03:55:00.000-08:00

And fallen to the half depleted mission we have been on.
Slowly turning shades of dusted circles on the wooden floor.
Needles wear each other down as they play all the sad thoughts
of people that had to tell their stories.
Sorrows come out in the daytime after nights of a lesser dream,
and fairytales aren't always filled with happy endings.
Still happy endings can come from all the sad times we've had.
I am not now, nor have I ever been
the hollowed hole I am pretending to be.
In the worst of it now and it only gets better from here.
The power people dragging down all the little ones.
Is it alright to not see all the problems that are our lives?
Just shake our head and throw a smile.

Necklace

2010-02-10T05:44:00.000-08:00

One week just won't be enough, no I need much more of you.
And you know what I have in mind, just more of your time.
With no response I knew the truth,
you want as much of me as i want of you.
It's a long night and even longer day,
and wait and wait and wait and wait and wait.
Around your neck is a chain with two kissing children
and wait and wait and wait and wait and wait.

As the lights fade and the curtain calls,
lost under sheets we'll be enthralled.
A sideways walk and never too late to talk,
and wait and wait and wait and wait.
We fly in circles, round and round,
and if we stick around until the light catches us both.
You're sitting calm and I'm all running like children,
you let me know when it's time to calm down.
And wait and wait.
Don't we have such a powerful secret.
I know when it will all come in to play.
You'll know when everything is ready to say.
Say hey you're not what I thought you were,
much more than I could have predicted.
And wait and wait and wait some more.

We've made plans to break out together.
You have your way of talking so low.
I have my way of never leaving anything unsaid.
But I've got the most unbelievable view, of you just being around.
You wait and wait and wait and wait.
I wait and wait and wait and wait.
But I have never waited for someone like you before.
Like the first time again and again.
And quiet claps come from those who don't know.
What you got in your pocket?
Is it a reason to stay,
or just a worn out receipt you can't throw away?

In between the sticks and stones now
are all the words I have for you.
And all of them can only heal love,
that love was meant to be your name girl,
the girl was meant to be the same.
And wait and wait and wait and wait
until your words are truth to me.
I know I've asked for a lot,
but when it comes down to just what I want.
I want a Sunday with you.
For that I can
wait and wait and wait and wait.

And so long. After however long. After these days so long.
I will come. I will come along.

End of the road.

2010-02-10T05:28:00.000-08:00

He moved across the world,
started his new life.
Keeps in touch every now and then,
and it's just not him, just not him.
You know you are losing touch,
when you've lost touch.
You know they are moving on,
when they move on.
And you know you are giving up,
when they give up.
No matter what you do
you can never grow young again.
There's no living forever.
Everything it comes to an end.

Try to hold on.
I try to hold on.
But I don't try to hard.

And every day is a day further away.
I know you said that,
someday is not too far away.
That's when I knew there is no chance holding on.
Giving up is a choice we make.
It is a way we choose to go.
There is no living forever.
Everything it comes to an end.

Boat alone.

2010-02-09T05:15:00.000-08:00

Spinning in the ripples,
flat now pulpy in the wind,
a black water under
an early night sky.
And the mast is defiant,
a foe of physics and patterns.
And the boat unrocked,
but quiet like a mountain.
And you were naked in the water,
that is why the ripples saw the stars.
And I was there as well,
touching feet in the dark,
the flavour of your touch,
a beautiful night.

No wine until it's time. It's time.

2010-02-08T22:20:00.000-08:00

I am like those sweet skinned European women in the movies. the ones in there long summer dresses that they pull up with both hands so that the frills on the bottom hang just along their shins. The harvest has been done, and now they are the human press, the one's who tease the juice out from within. I was one of those people this afternoon.

The day started, as most days of the past few weeks have, late and hot. The air like a water bomb filled with hot water, rubbery and all encompassing, ready to burst. I awoke, put someone very special to sleep from thousands of miles away, and started a day. Eggs, scrambled, and fresh picked tomatoes from the garden, just lovely. A large gulp of water, followed by many more gulps. Then I had a brief chat with my brother about how much better I am at scrabble than he is, and he told me I should go outside and do something today.

I picked up some weights, heavy, heavy weights. Put on a pick me up play list, and proceeded to jump around, pretend to box, push ups, crunch ups, jump ups, pretty much any kind of ups there are. As I did this I reckon I lost 5 kilos of sweat and was near a disastrous chundering episode when I fell to the ground and gave in to the sun and heat. So after my eighteen minute exercise, I needed a shower. A very cold, cold shower which was perfect for my brain, I was a boil. Then, i had a quick piece of toast with butter and peanut butter. Well the toast itself wasn't quick, but my eating of it was. Then I did the only thing I could do. I took a nap and listened to music, it was lovely.

When Adam returned home from work, Adam is one of the fine people who is letting me live in his lounge room, we decided to be a bit productive. And back to the European sweet skinned ladies in their long dresses, like in the movies. We retreated to the back garden, I washed out an eski, and began to prune and collect grapes from the massive grape vine. I collected an entire eski (cooler) full in no time at all. Back inside to wash my feet. And then stomp, stomp, stomp. Grapes between my toes, under my feet, swallowing my shins. I've never felt such an interesting texture in my toes. It was quite wonderful. Adam just stood next to me and monitored my progress. He is a very good manager of sorts. And minutes later, I squished every last one of them into pulp and juice.

I then emptied the contents into the beer brewing container, which will now be labeled our wine fermenter. Added just a touch of yeast because grapes have a natural yeast on their skins anyway, and closed the lid. In two or so weeks I should have the first step in fermenting complete and then I can transfer it to a completely air tight container to ferment for another 6 months. 6 months!! I will be back in the states by then, so hopefully Adam, Em, and Cat can ship me a bottle of our homemade wine. We should have enough for like four or five bottles. Though, none of us are sure the grapes are even the right sort for wine, so we may just as easily make methanol and go blind. I hope it works though. I've never made wine before.

Growing up.

2010-02-08T06:38:00.000-08:00

When one finds peace one must give something up.
Not a sacrifice or a compromise,
but just a giving up.
To let the world see one is ready.
To let people see one can be,
just what one desires.
If that is peace then all will see.
That chaos is no longer a mantle of life for one,
it holds nothing of value from that day on.
No pictures to stare at, no trophies to boast.
No reason for memories of such a ghostly ambition
to entertain at other's expense.
It is a growing up.
It is a wanting to be better.
One is great.
And one is small.
It is time to be
with who you
want to be
with.

From me to you.

2010-02-06T20:28:00.000-08:00

Deburque, Tasmia, and Bincetto are in a field while dusk arrives. Two graves are just off to their side. That day they buried Hemonia, Deburque's wife. She died in birth, along with child. Tasmia is Deburque's sister, and Bincetto her husband. It is a day they wish did not come. And dressed in black and white we see them talking. Tasmia with a green flower in her hair. Bincetto with a brilliant orange kerchief from the pocket in his coat. Deburque black shirt, black hat, black shoes, no tie, white rose pinned above the heart.

Bincetto. Where is your girl? Where has she gone? (talking more to the field and not Tasmia and Deburque)

Tasmia. Bincetto.

Deburque. He is right, she's sung her song. And in rest she lays so still, as we stand here on field and hill.

Tasmia. And your son, before age one, before a breath, his time has come.

Bincetto. Are you alone? Are you in need for us to go and take our leave?

Deburque. If I could I'd have you stay until I find a brighter day. For she, my love, she was my sun, and now she's gone like everyone, who's seen the seed they were now wilt, and in their death share the guilt, of leaving us of life behind, it was not their future. It was not their time.

Bincetto. Well time did come and has left you here, for us to have and take your care. You should stay with us my friend until this sadness has come to end.

Tasmia. Bincetto is right, we will always be here for you in your times of need. So come with us we will give you home, so you're heart does not sleep alone.

Deburque. (outraged) My heart alone, you do dare say, I've lost my wife and child today. So alone, yes it will be, from now until eternity. And the sadness come to an end, how can you call yourself a friend. You both hope to take my care, well care for me and leave from here. I need to mourn and miss my wife, to miss my babe, oh what a life I could have had in one more night, when both their smiles became my light, in one more day you would have seen, such a family we could have been. (kneels on one knee and speaks quietly and sad) Now they rest in pine and cloth, in the ground twelve paces off (pointing to their graves). And I am here (pointing to the ground) sad, and gray. I think I'll stay right here and lay. (Deburque lays down)

Bincetto and Tasmia talk to one another off to the side.

Tasmia. Oh my love what can we do? He is my brother and he is yours to. Look at him he is so weak, he has no strength to even weep. Should we go and leave him here for the moon and stars to care (gesturing the sky)? I can't just leave him.

Bincetto. This I know. There is no chance we turn and go. We stay for him until he can find his strength and be a man. He has lost his love, and he has lost a son. It's not a day to lose everyone.

Tasmia. Yes, I know, you are right, you always are, but tonight we must show him still that he is loved, let him see we can't be shoved away when he needs a shining light to help him through this starless night. So. What can we do? Should we sing, or hum a tune? Should we laugh and join him in? Start to dance and make him spin? (she spins when she says it) I just don't know. He is so sad. He's like our mother, when she lost our dad.

Bincetto. Death can be, as in its name, a source of hate, and a head of pain. But life can be such a promising thing. It makes you laugh. It makes you sing. It makes you smile for no reason at all (he stops and smiles). It is the joy inside us all. So. We give him life and talk a while of his wife and all their smiles. Of the day that they wed, and not say once that she's now dead. We make him see that he has cared for such a girl and they have shared such wonderful times in their past, and how their love will forever last.

Tasmia. Oh Bincetto (she hugs him). Now I know, all the reasons I love you so. You always know just what to do. that's why I am a fool for you. So let us go and show Deburque, of his love. I hope this works.

Bincetto. As do I, or I am the fool, and risk the chance of losing you.

Tasmia. Bincetto that would never be the case for why you would lose me. It would take much more for you to prove, that there is some devil inside you (she winks at him).

Bincetto and Tasmia walk over to Deburque and sit on either side of him.

Tasmia. Bincetto?

Bincetto. Yes Tasmia.

Tasmia. Do you recall the day the four of us, we all came to this field with food and wine and spent the day in such sublime (pause) happiness? And then at night Deburque and Hemonia gave us such a fright. They hid in wait until out of sight, and then jumped and scared us.

Bincetto. Oh what a night! The wine was great, the company as well. I've never been so far from hell. That same night Deburque did indeed, show his love from on one knee (he gets on one knee pretending to be Deburque on that night, and Tasmia stands up on the other side of Deburque pretending to be Hemonia). And said "Hemonia. I do declare, of all the folks in the world, I care for you the most. And it is true. If you'll have me, I will be your fool."

Tasmia. Oh yes, and Hemonia said "Ah Deburque your head is full of lead. Get off your knee and stand my friend. Take my hand and ask again." And he did. And you did (Tasmia pokes Deburque). And she said yes. And we spent the night in drunkenness. We laughed and cried and danced and sang. How I love remembering such things.

They wait a brief moment.

Deburque. I disagree. That is not what I said.

Bincetto. Oh yes it was.

Tasmia. Your head is full of lead.

Deburque. Bahhhh (now cheering up, still laying down) the both of you. I know what I said. I know the truth (he sits up). As I recall, I took her hand, and was the perfect gentleman. I said (he jumps up and takes Tasmia's hand as if she were Hemonia)"My dear. You are the one that I want in the days to come to be my wife, that special girl, to give me love and be my world."

Bincetto. Ha! I say you are a fool. And dreaming dreams that are not true. I've never heard you with such a tongue, that could flatter anyone.

Tasmia. He is right Deburque. We were there to. And what you say is not true. But you got the girl and got her love. For that, you should be proud of.

Deburque. No matter. You have your story and I have mine. I like mine better, and it is fine that the both of you have lost your minds.

Tasmia. Oh brother.

Deburque. Yes. I am here in tenderness. To let you know, that I'm here for you, both, when your minds have come unscrewed. (laughing now) Ah. What will I become when the two of you have gone dumb? Like children chasing balls, mindless, hopeless, no chance at all to carry on a thoughtful talk, or share a lovely garden walk, without the both of you getting lost, I do fear that the cost of taking care will take its toll, and I'll be gray before I'm old.

Tasmia. You are graying now (pointing to his head) 1,2,3,4,5 (counting his gray hairs).

Deburque. See. Already before my time.

There is another moments pause as Deburques head falls a little lower.

Bencitto. She made you laugh. She made you love.

Tasmia. And now she is with the stars above. The both of them are hand in hand, waiting for a father, waiting for a man. But not now Deburque, my loving brother, I know there could never be another Hemonia for you to fill the hole that is growing larger in your soul. Let it fill itself back in with the love you have for them.

Tasmia and Bincetto both put a hand on Deburque to comfort him. Silence for a moment then Deburque steps forward as their hands fall.

Deburque. (Touching his hair) Before my time. Before her time. Before their time. (Deburque walks over to the grave stones and Tasmia and Bincetto follow). She wrote me a letter three days before they both died in child birth (he takes the letter from a pocket, unfolds it and begins to read).

In that absence comes great will,
an effort given from both sides.
And the love that they hold
shall make them great when it is time.

As they wait they give and care,
as the wind does for the fire.
Let their bodies take the pressure
so that their love will never tire.

For the coals will forever burn,
that the flame will light the sky.
And as one they can grow together
until in hand they reply,

"Good morning life you are our future,
good morning sun you are our star.
Good morning man you are the lover,
good morning girl you are our heart."

From me to you.

Bincetto. She loves you still.

Tasmia. I know you know.

Deburque. I know. I know. Please. Let us go.

The three of them walk away as the lights fade out.

Deleted

2010-02-05T23:56:00.000-08:00

In it goes to the soul of the girl,
out it comes, her last breath,
and no one's around,
to hear what she says,
and that's the price you pay,
for living alone.
When you say goodbye,
or even when you don't,
it's just the choices you make,
that you hope are worth it.
And it's sharp like the night,
on days after a rainbow dies,
and all children lay their heads,
for a peaceful night that they'll never get.

Such an awful way to see your better off gone,
and all the people you knew,
they're all glad you're gone.
And no one will miss
the kind of anger you had,
and the sinister look behind your lovely eyes,

I spent a day with you, that lasted for years,
and that's all I need.

I am a puddle

2010-02-03T19:09:00.000-08:00

I have discovered something that I dislike more than hot, sunny days that make me sweat from the simplest of tasks, like breathing and blinking. And that is, hot nights where the temperature remains the same as it was during the day. Sometimes it even becomes warmer, preparing itself to make the populace miserable for their following day. Yes, there is no sun, so you can not get burned by it, but it is more irritating to have such devilish weather without the great fire ball to be seen. You, or me for that matter, are just laying there, in complete darkness, and the air tastes like a warm glass of skim milk. And you are nervous because you are not sure if there are little bugs and spiders running all over your body, or if it is just sweat escaping from your cooking body. You are being steamed to death from your inner machinery.

And that has been my position these past few nights. You can't even call the sub-unconscious delirium of mental loss and brain malfunction sleep because you can't be quite sure you are sleeping, or just melting into a puddle, and I'm not sure puddles sleep, rather they just sit there motionless and stagnant unless roused. They don't talk or think, they just are motionless wet matter, as I am between the hours of 2 a.m. and 6 a.m. every morning. I am a puddle.

Today was a blessing, still is actually. The clouds finally thought to get on some lazy form of gathering up, I think they are hot and tired themselves, so they are in no rush to relieve me from my torment. But, alas, they found the energy to toss themselves amongst one another and cause a small stirring of precipitation, which has cooled the air a touch, nothing worth talking much about, but a few degrees cooler. So it is pleasant. And actually, I do not even think it was rain they pissed upon us. The droplets were a bit salty to the taste, and the flora outside seemed to wilt in it a bit. I wouldn't be surprised that if because of all of their rumbling around and gathering together, the clouds just began to sweat as much as I did. It wasn't even a release of wonderful, needed, fresh rain. The poor bastards were just sweating on us, because it is too blerrie hot out.

Now I'm not usually one for complaining, but that seems to be all I can figure out worth doing in this heat. Piece of advice to all those thinking it is a good idea to come to Australia in the summer time. Stay away unless you like to have to change your shirt every three hours, and your underwear. And if you only have three pairs of underwear, eh hem, you are out of luck. Sure you could choose not to wear any, and you can choose not to wear a shirt, eh hem, but then you just leave sweaty body prints and saturate everything you touch, and every furniture you sit on. I swear, I saw a droplet of sweat that was rolling down my side earlier sweat itself. Seriously. My sweat is sweating.

I've lost three pounds since I started typing. I hope nobody sits on this couch for a few hours.

Aeolus blows through

2010-02-01T06:49:00.000-08:00

Lares and Cassandra are sitting at an outdoor table at a cafe. Lares is a government safety inspector of houses and buildings. Cassandra owns her own cafe, and she dabbles in palm and tarot card readings. They look busy chatting like friends. They have been meeting for coffee every week just to catch up. They have been friends for many years. They were there today, a day before they usually met, because they were waiting to meet Aeolus for a short time. A few people walk by them, and then we focus in on what they are saying. Cassandra has Lares hand in hers trying to read his palm.

Lares. (pulling his hand back) I am sorry to tell you this Cassandra. But. I. I love you. I have for some time now. I. I do.

Cassandra. (Looks stunned at first, and then uneasy) I didn't see that on your hand. (collects herself) Well. Lares. Sometimes we think we are in love, when really it is something else.

Lares. Don't talk to me like a child. I am not a child. I know what I know love is. And I know it is love.

Cassandra. Well what do you suppose we do with this then?

Lares. What do you mean?

Cassandra. Well given that you feel this way. What do you expect of telling me this?

Lares. We should... Well. I never really thought about it. Actually, I... I don't know.

Cassandra. That's not much of a proposal Lares. I mean. You tell me that you love me. For what? Just so I know?

Lares. A proposal. I didn't think anything would come from it. I know you and Aeolus are together. And you love each other. I didn't expect anything.

Cassandra. Oh. Really? (prodding him)

Lares. Well. (questioning and hesitant) I'm confused. Wait a second (looks around for a moment). Do you want me to expect something from telling you? I mean. Are you expecting something more from it?

Cassandra. No (bluntly) Not at all. I just wanted to see your intentions. You have none. And I'm glad that is the case. I've never felt that way for you. Really, not even close to that.

Lares. Oh (hurt). I knew that. (sees Aeolus) Oh no. Here comes Aeolus.

Aeolus enters.

Lares. Hey there Aeolus. How are you today?

Aeolus. I'm fine. Thanks for asking Lares. How are you two getting along?

Lares. Oh great. We were just talking.

Aeolus. Wonderful. (To Cassandra) Hello Love. You look lovely as ever (they exchange kisses). What were you two chatting about?

Cassandra. Actually we were discussing love.

Aeolus. Really?

Cassandra. Yes, isn't that right Lares?

Lares. (not knowing what to do or say) Uh. Yeah. That's right. We were.

Aeolus. (to Lares) Well careful with that subject. It's as tricky as it is useless (Aeolus laughs heartily).

Cassandra. Oh stop it. You don't mean that.

Aeolus. Sure I do. It's just an excuse to be close to someone. A reason to lay all your shit on somebody else. Take it from me Lares, you don't want to love.

Lares. No?

Aeolus. (picks Cassandra up in his arms) Of course not. Especially not someone like this one here (he kisses her). Someone who is beautiful (kisses her again), and smart (again) and lovely (again, then puts her down and turns to Lares) and needy, and wants all of your time, and wakes you up early to just say hello, and wants to brush her teeth with you, and asks how your mother is, and hides your shoes so you can't leave the house. It's terrible I tell you. too much to deal with most of the time.

Lares. Well I think I could deal with that.

Aeolus. (grabbing Cassandra's hand) Oh yeah. Well she is yours then (pushing Cassandra's hand over to Lares). (Lares is shocked) Go ahead take her.

Cassandra. Stop you brute. I wouldn't let you give me away. It's not that easy to get rid of me (she kisses him).

Aeolus. (to Lares) Well. She is right there. I've been trying to for years, and she is still at my side. Everyday. And every night.

Cassandra. That is because I love you Aeolus (proving her point to Lares).

Aeolus. (acting as if he was stabbed in the chest) Oh. That word again. Please not that word.

Cassandra. (playfully) Stop it. (to Lares) He is just being a jerk Lares. Aeolus is a fool for love.

Aeolus. Don't listen to her Lares. She says things all the time, and you can never trust them. She is just not to be trusted at all.

Cassandra. (to Aeolus) Oh shut up.

Aeolus. (to Cassandra thinking back to what she said a few seconds before) Wait a second. You just said my name and love in the same sentence. I mean. You said you loved me and called me by my name. You haven't done that in years. Are you feeling well (he puts his hand on her head to take her temperature)?

Cassandra. Yes doctor. I feel great. Just felt like mixing it up a little.

Aeolus. Well don't mix it up that much. I'm likely to think I am in trouble or something. OK Love. I have to go finish this business with Theodore. (He kisses her again) I know I'll see you tonight. As I always do.

Cassandra. (as Aeolus is walking away) Maybe not. Maybe tonight I'll go home with Lares.

Aeolus. (laughing in the distance) Finally. A night to myself.

Aeolus exits.

Lares. (Cassandra turns to Lares, still glowing from seeing Aeolus) Thanks for that.

Cassandra. (friendly) Oh shut up Lares. Drink your latte.

Lares. (sips his latte) He is in and out like the wind huh?

Cassandra. Well. He is a busy man. A beautiful, busy man.

Lares. I get the point Cassandra.

Cassandra. Good. He is everything for me. He is what I want to see when I wake up, and who I want to hear before I fall asleep.

Lares. (finishes his coffee and stands up) Well. I have to go. Sorry again. Take care.

Cassandra. (stands up) Stop it. Come here. (they hug). OK. I'll see you next week then.

Lares. OK Cassandra. I'll see you next week. How about next time, you make it awkward?

Cassandra. Sure thing. Sounds perfect. (Lares exits)

Take a cutting

2010-01-31T06:14:00.000-08:00

As we start
another day,
as we ask what did we say,
and I know when we have had enough,
and I will know when life's too tough,
and we will know when things won't work.
We came here
as a pair of people
can we leave
as a group a friends,
can we be such a group of friends.
Leave our enemies wanting more
wanting us as their own.

And as it falls
it grows back again.

Put your arm
around my shoulder,
warm your hands upon my hands,
your pain is not getting younger
and we will help as long as we can.
Such a wreck
I can be,
when I see what's become of me,
and i know that I can not let go
to what I wish I was,
but I know they all help me
with who I am.
Larger everyday
is the hope I have in people
we forgive and see fault
as a part that can be healed.
Find it in you
to say raise your head,
we are two of equal ground.

And as it falls
it grows back again.

And in a flush of the
finger is death,
so weak and brittle we are,
to let what can hate
become part of our hate.
How little we can be,
how much we must see that
what we can do can be the
strength we all need.
We have seen it all come down
we have seen it all fall,
and we see now it can
grow such a prettier leaf.

And as it falls
it can grow back again.
And as it falls
grow back anew.