square in the teeth.

somedays the world kicks you square in the teeth.

sometimes you are the toast of the town.

they stand in anticipation of you falling down.

the skyline will collapse in an age or two.

no one understands what we are going through.

life is only waiting, a million watches counting down.

we race across the calender, only to see it turn again.

a pint, an eighth, an empty pack of cigarettes is all anyone has left.

a jeer, a mimic, a falsity is all any of us have left to offer.

i have never known myself.

i have only studied my shadow.

now that is all i can hope to become.

cigarettes.

cigarettes leave you beaten and robbed.

driving east in iowa.

when you are driving east in iowa, you can chase the clouds.
they get further and further away while seeming close the entire time.
there was only one in the sky today as i drove home from class.
i'm waiting for something to happen, i'm waiting for a synapse to fire.
the warm weather is bathing me in sun everyday.
it is not enough to make me feel clean.
i'm afraid the spring will always remind me of other days.
my head always caught in turn, looking backwards.
the days sipping lemonade on that old front porch with a pretty girl.
her smile would wrap up every time she would take a sip.
we would listen to album leaf records and watch the o.c.
i was so full of life then.
constantly painting dramatic scenes for the thrill of being alive.
i remember not so distant days on another weathered porch.
we would chain smoke unfiltered cigarettes, blowing smoke rings into the evening air.
as the sun would set we would hide the hookah and order pizzas.
people would show up on bikes, skateboards and beat up cars.
toting cases of cheap beer and boxes of cigarettes.
the night would catch us shivering in our shorts.
we would just put our hoods up and quietly drag on squares.
i sometimes wonder if the good memories are all just another reality.
the bygone days we can never get back that weren't so good when we were there.
now we have glossed them over, repainted and pressed them into works of art.
the stories of our yesterdays that have been retold and retold until they have gained a shine.
the memories i have been making i have no interest in keeping.
i am giving up on great romances, i don't think the poets had them.
they were all enamored with flawed girls who couldn't hold their own.
i no longer envision the future with someone else in it.
i can be contented and not in love.
the exhaustion of the winter, of the fall, of the summer forcing me to retire.
to hang my head and find something else of value to occupy my time.
i'm turning out to sea.

six days, six months, six years away.

preparations are all i have been making.
six days, six months, six years away.
the lens allowed to slide focus continually.
it never clicks and provides clarity for today.
the immediate is blurry.
undefined as i pass through the day to day.
there is pressure, yes.
it only lies in the tasks that build a brighter tomorrow.
there is nothing that effects today.
it has already been given.
survival is no longer immediate.
self preservation becomes a longer range scale.
i do not have a crystal ball.
however, i do have a mind.
i can see the general twists and turns.
some days months from now cut into stone years ago.
most days i am a criminal.
committing small time crimes.
i must be serving out my time here.
i pace the city streets and country roads for hours every day.
sometimes i leave.
north, south, east, west: irrelevant.
i most often escape to the place i call home.
a city with cobbled streets and giants fighting the clouds.
however, currently, i do not belong there.
i have become the alien in my own homeland.
i have become the black sheep no longer welcome in the herd.
when the sun has shown for months on end,
when the bridges crack with the july heat,
then i will be able to leave this place and feel at home once again.
i need an ally or a deep well run dry.
somewhere to rest my bones until the temperatures run high.
somewhere to rest my bones until i somehow get by.

promised land.

people are always asking questions.
i guess curiosity is a trait i lost in my youth.
learning to keep my mouth shut for fear.
so many times i was unabashed, unashamed.
i would speak my mind in ignorance.
painting language that would make a preaching man cringe.
if you speak too quickly, you gain nothing.
if you speak too slowly, you lose your chance.
nothing is left to protect you in either circumstance.
the demons will carry the day.
as you pace the tile floor in an empty hall way.
wishing you had spoken up.
things trapped and swirling inside of your head.
jockeying for position and prominence on a train of thought.
maybe you should have said something else.
possibly you should not of said anything at all.
communication is free flowing these days.
many avenues for thoughtless interaction.
bonds diluted by the ease of keeping in touch.
ties torn from accidental words spoken, or typed, or written.
so how do we tear away?
what is left if we uproot the telephone lines?
what happens if rip the wires from the machines?
we become something more concrete.
we become the cognitive things that define our day to day.
simple interactions between simple men.
words from throat to ears to heart.
how much is lost in these translations?
can one convey the flash of the eyes or the flinch in the chest?
there is a promised land coming.
we have been walking there for all of our youth.
someday we will find it.
men will stand tall and compose their thoughts.
mouths shut and eyes wide.
there will be no proclamations made.
no words will be spoken in haste.
just knowing stares from knowing faces.
and we will all be understood.

butterflies.

i am often times intimidated, especially as of late.
many people will tell you that an indomitable spirit and unfailing pride will carry the day.
those people are sadly mistaken.

the ones i wish to emulate are most often the defeated ones.
the people with dirt lined fingernails and sweat on their brow, paint filling in pores.
those quiet ones in the corner with nothing to say.

what if we opened them up?
a bone saw shrilling as it intersects the chest cavity, slowly sifting through the confusion.
i bet there would be butterflies.

below the wasted liver, thrown away in the zest of youth.
beside the stomach still churning with the half lies and full blown errors of a day gone by.
there would be something there.

maybe it would just be an apparition.
the thing that is keeping their mouths closed as they walk through the sunshine unwarmed.
however, i would like to think there would be butterflies.

thousands of them fluttering.
out every available orifice they would emerge like ants from under the deck in summertime.
there would be a cough and a stir.

then all those quiet people would speak.
pardoning themselves as they wheezed out one last hand painted insect from deep inside.
then they would speak the truth.

it would be the truth of observation.
the lines etched on hands and hearts through the lens of the eye from every quiet corner.
real facts defining real people.

then we would all stare in wonder.
as our gaping mouths would swallow the butterflies and close in an effort to open our eyes.
we would fall quiet.

all at once we would come to a realization.
the knowledge that the world is shaped and spun by the quiet ones in the corner.
they watch the world to closely to let is just slip by.

too bored or anxious.

The climate is fluctuating and causing my body to be thrown into a panic of sorts. When I deeply inhale, it feels as though there is a minute lightning storm spreading deep within my chest. All of that could mearly be the result of years upon years of full-flavored cigarettes deeply and enjoyably inhaled.
This week should be interesting. With a spring break currently vacant of plans, I have been doing to best to entertain myself. I went on an adventure Friday night with Mr. Bendickson, Saturday I attended a show, and now I am beginning to feel the dredges of a week void of work or schooling. At the end of the day, I will be plastered to the couch out at The Old College, watching the National Geographic Channel, and wishing I possessed anything that would rid me of the incredible thirst rotting my teeth. I will have nothing to drink, however, I will make due and get by.
Tomorrow Mr. Bendickson and I are planning another adventure, this time to the town I refer to as home. He will be on a college visit, as will I. That is the most breaking news of the past week for me personally, the fact that I have been seriously contemplating a return to Central. We will see how that develops, or my other half may be so bold as to provide an explanation.
Following that, my week is looking rather drab, and I am already anticipating the return to classes a week from today. I would like to continue working and finish them as soon as possible. The faster I am done here, the faster I will be able to leave here and journey South yet again.
As for other things going on in my life, I have taken to working out lately, mainly though playing pick-up basketball at the NIACC Recreation Center most mornings of the week.
It has been fun to be active for the first time since high school, and I can feel the positive boosts to both my spirits and energy.
The truck is still running, however, for how long no one is sure. With a leaking radiator coolant line, a freshly spared tire, dim headlights, and a whole slew of other problems, it may be riding on its last rim, so to speak.
Other than that, I am trying not to get too bored or anxious. My outlook is staying positive and there are many things upcoming to be excited about. As the temperature continues to rise, I anticipate my spirits will as well.