telephone.

the earth was shattered by the ring of a telephone.
fluctuating sonic waves from deep inside a pocket.
distaste in the voices of those deemed superior.
a half-hearted explanation from tired lips.

too many days and nights spent trying.
efforts built on good intention always falling short.
maybe it is harder to catch a break than it seems.
when the shadows outside are growing.
drowning headlights on the highway scene.

thirty years from now it will hardly matter.
in a hundred either will my name.
today the sting of failure rests inside my veins.
a lead based paint slow gurgle through the circulatory.

my breathing has slowed down.
these hands have ceased to shake.
as i kick around the once big dreams.
that are running down the pavement away from me.

it ends up in front of your face before you know.
a grown up proposition to take away your soul.
take a desk, a pen, a laptop computer and create.
jump through hoops, wear a suit, don your pain.
it's all going to be all right if you follow the steps.

snake oil salesmen promising protection.
sometimes the day ends premature.
in the morning when the phone starts to ring.
a communication breakdown to tell you that we're all really nothing.

shhhhh! listen:

to the voices inside my head, lamenting, posturing, and leading me out to pasture.

addict.

i have grown addicted to it.
as a child, i only saw others use.
marveling at the effects.
their feet moving fast.
their heads in the clouds.
speeding by without care or consequence.
then, i grew older.
i got my first taste as a child of 14.
reeling from that unmatched high.
i almost took out a mailbox on my first day.
now i am an addict.
spending loose change and crumpled bills.
looking for a fix.
something to ease my mind.
when i run low, i panic.
thoughts racing to refill my supply.
then, when restored, it all goes so quickly.
i burn through it with little thought of consequence.
until i'm left searching once again.
they say it's killing me slowly.
i do not doubt that fact.
it has been killing everyone for years.
it's the stuff that causes war.
puts holes in the sky.
business men locking up their own share of the supply.
but i will fight them tooth and nail.
because my fix comes first.
my needs are the most important.
all these supply and demand economics.
driving up prices in the blackest of markets.
just so i can turn the key.
hear the v-8 spit and tremble.
as my head rolls back and i know:
i am an addict.
this black gold crisis is getting to me.

repaint the sun.

i'm trying to figure it out.
i feel behind today, wake up late.
no coffee on the burner.
sheets still twisted with blankets.

so it starts slow, already four paces back.
put on the coffee and hear it simmer.
drag off the blankets and lay them smooth.
no other plans make for a shallow perception.

just a wait for the end of the day.
a line that goes until the end of the week.
that's where my patience will find something.
either agony or fruition.

then it will all begin.
a mad scramble to the end of the world.
humans are always waiting.
the immediate is relevant, not necessary.

it's the long range plans that count the most.
stopped short by north korean nuclear testing.
no need for extra toothbrushes or socks.
when the world will soon be buried under fallout.

i haven't seen a day of war.
but i've watched the half-wit kids dive for their lunch.
i haven't seen a life of crime.
but i've flirted with disaster in the smallest degrees.
i haven't died off just yet.
but i can see a man in black coming to take me in.

so cross your fingers and count the rosary.
say a prayer to whoever you plan on heading home to.
close your eyes and breathe a little deeper.
the koreans are about to repaint the sun.

the days, the dates, the saints, the snakes.

it's a quiet morning, already hot enough in the streets to lift the fog.
my head is thick and groggy, a dull beating above my right eye.
my vision struggles to focus, maybe something is growing inside my head.
slowly decaying behind my eyes, this isn't knowledge that gains stature.

it's a long month, already five/sixths vanished with nothing to show.
my days have passed easily, filled with time and docks and hands held.
there have been a few long days, filled with important men in well cut suits.
the way has now been paved, for me to join their ranks with a silk-tie noose around my neck.

it's a lightning bolt year, months slipping off the books like rainwater in the gutters.
my calendar turning over and over, with accomplishment and frustration barely noticed.
soon it will be half-way gone, the achievements resting as headstones in my littered past.
soon it will be half-way started, dreams tied to aspirations making concrete blocks to build.

we are always building, always creating.
we are always capturing, taking hostage our own memories.
what are we so desperately afraid of?
that we will die all alone, that are scrapbooks won't find a good will home.
why all of this preservation?
missing lives behind camera shutters, losing time arranging photo albums.

all so we won't forget.
all so we can recall.
the days, the dates, the saints, the snakes, and put them in their piles.


shhhhh! listen to:
"Moab" - Conor Oberst (Conor Oberst)
"Snake Hill" - Conor Oberst & The Mystic Valley Band (Outer South)
"Worldwide" - Conor Oberst & The Mystic Valley Band (Outer South)
"Roosevelt Room" - Conor Oberst & The Mystic Valley Band (Outer South)
"Difference Is Time" - Conor Oberst & The Mystic Valley Band (Outer South)
"Baron" - Johnny Cash (Baron)
"City of New Orleans" - Johnny Cash (Destination Victoria Station)
"25 Minutes to Go" - Johnny Cash (Live at Folsom Prison)
"Bad Moon Rising" - Creedence Clearwater Revival (Collection)
"Travelin' Band" - Creedence Clearwater Revival (Collection)

between you and i.

i'm going to let you down. i'm going to fail. these dreams are too perfect. they scratch at the back door of my mind like a famished house cat. do not mistake me dear, i do love you, however, it is nearly impossible for me to see the light. too many other lovers, too many changes, too many disappointments. the problem with living up to a plan, a dream, is that life is in constant motion, dreams are often times still. a photograph, a painting, an expression of a hopeful future recollection. we will never live up to it. it is hard for me to admit, largely due to the simple fact that this has always been my fault. the broken pegs in the machine have always been my doing, my sabotage. it's an atrocity. i have no idea what lurks deep inside me that always forces my hands of the chessboard of this romance to choose differently, choose away from you. so many summers ago it happened, but it was okay, because you were already technically occupied with another. a little over a year ago, history repeated itself, and once again, there was already another to try and fill the space i would have carved for myself. you were able to pick yourself up because there was very little room to fall in the first place.

"lately i've been wishing i had one desire, something that would make me never want another, something that would make it so that nothing mattered, all would be clear then."

i can never seem to get to the point where i view you as my most viable option in life. i can pick this apart in seconds, tearing it to shreds in my own head. our idealistic and youthful exuberance that we are pinning our dreams on will falter. it always does. there is a fault line between you and i, and whenever we get to close, the world shakes and trembles. buildings pitch and sway as children scream in the streets. well, maybe in a less dramatic fashion, however, i am sure you have recognized and accepted my point.

i never will lose you. i keep you quietly in my heart, a perfect dream, a perfect composition. however, i have no faith in the actual apparatus of us as a functioning pair within society. i will always care for you darling, from a distance, in my ways. i have loved you, dear, in my fashion, but that will never be the answer you are looking for. that will never be the comfort you need. i will never be what you really need.

shhhh! listening to:

"worldwide" - conor oberst & the mystic valley band (outer south)

"baron" - johnny cash (baron)

"the legend of john henry's hammer" - johnny cash (blood, sweat & tears)

"snake hill" - conor oberst & the mystic valley band (outer south)

200 miles.

i don't know what to do....i don't know what to do....i don't know what to do.

i have this creeping feeling that this entire mess is going to leave me alone, posted in the outer reaches of north iowa. there will be nothing. i have run so far from my past as to escape it, and now i will duck into the solace of a small town, off the beaten path. how is love supposed to flourish in my greatest hiding place? i need to escape those demons, i needed to flee the scene. the blood of my own youth painting from my shirt to my shoes i escaped, and now, i have gotten cleaned. taken a razor to my face. painted a mask, cut my hair, changed my figure; i carefully covered my tracks. now, i wonder if you can follow it. i am not the boy i used to be, i am not the man i hoped to become. i am something entirely different, and now i will go down without a fight.

i can not see the feasibility. i view the consequences, and can not run a scenario that reflects the benefits. 200 miles, and no time for travels. 200 miles, and no eyes for you to see the lamp lit road to my door. you see dear, we can pin hopes and dreams to our conversations forever, but that doesn't make them real. if this is going to happen, i need to know how now. the hourglass has nearly filled with diamonds and they are cutting me to ribbons. i am running out of breath, i am running out of dreams. this is in fact the only one i have continued to hold in its original form. now is it time that growing up took its toll even on this vision? has it reached the breaking point? i play it in my mind each day, and the picture is fading out even now as i attempt to play it before my eyes. i carefully roll my head back, close my eyes and think of the days we could spend. there are the outlines of our carefully placed words, both playing the games of insecurity and hopefulness. now, where have we arrived? in a place where i can not decipher the end game. the steps that need to be taken. this distance could wash you, the only remnant of my southern state past. i have cut the other ties, and it feels like the distance will sever even this last bond. give me some words of hope. show me the light that will make the dark thoughts disappear. i need something right now, and i can't put my finger on what it is. i need you, here, now.

shhhhh! listen to:

"worldwide" - conor oberst & the mystic valley band (outer south)

"home is where you hang yourself" - every time i die (the burial plot bidding war)

"fell, destroyed" - fugazi (red medicine)

"the moon red handed" - the good life (novena on a nocturn)

"city of new orleans" - johnny cash (destination victoria station)

muddled tones of advice.

i can't make any sense of it. the more it plays around, spinning, muddled tones of advice from former loves and lifelong friends, the less coherent my merry-go-round of thoughts becomes.
i am the fighter, gasping for air, searching for visionary focus as a right decimates my rib cage, a right shatters my jaw.
i am not broken, no, far from it, just a long ways away. viewing situations from an atmospherically drifting hot air balloon, curling a mustache around my index finger, pointing a telescope across the midwestern plains in an attempt to gain clarity.
it appears i have beached upon a safe-haven, or at the very least have found a port which will soon provide shelter from the constantly raging storm of disillusionment and despair that is often times life.
the free flowing construction can begin, providing an environment to put down roots, deep into the fertile soil of these upper-midwestern plains. i can watch this dream grow, watch it falter, but in the end see the fruition of my carefully planned works.
most days as i sit on the docks of this northern wilderness i cast my line and contemplate how have i covered such a great distance in such a short span of time. a year ago, i was trapped in my own miseries and short comings, stranded, broken, alone in the purest senses of the all consideration. i was lost in ambition, a casualty of youthful zeal and fool hearty dreaming. there was little hope etched into the palms of my hands.
then the horizon was painted pink by the hand of god in the second dawn of my lifetime. i was given a new chance, and i have made it through to this point. carefully measured steps building upon one another to provide a brighter tomorrow. yes, there has been pitfalls, there have been missteps, there have been snares. i have been able to avoid them, conquer them, decimate them.
so now, i wonder what comes next. i have ideas, i have dreams, i have the presence of mind to conquer the immediate obstacles. however, i toss and fret in my sleep about the longer ranges. the somedays. the possibilities. the dreams i am having to let die.
so now i will hold a vigil for the great desires of my youth. line up and pass the flagon, we will all drink until our heads spin and our mouths babble whole-hearted apologies. this is the last chance to make atonement, for tomorrow the sun will rise with a whole new set of limitations and opportunities. tomorrow the sun will rise and find us back in our beds, dreaming of what once was, what will be, what was never feasible. then we will go find it, and hold it against our chests. the morning sun will be our heart, the moon our lantern as we pass through the gates of the golden cities of imagination.



shhhhh! listen:
"walking after you" - the foo fighters (the colour and the shape)
"the one who loves you the most" - brett dennen (so much more)
"cecilia ann" - the pixies (bossanova)
"155" - plus 44 (when your heart stops beating)
"send my body" - randy travis (storms of life)
"baron" - johnny cash (baron)

acreages.

right now, i am a week ahead of myself. my dreams are years ahead. however, i would be contented with a seven day time jump.

the potential opportunities on the horizon may be daunting to some, especially at this age, however, they are all i could ever want. a steady paycheck doing something i love to do, working with good people, the ability to finish my "education" outside of the classroom, and a million other things.

if it all falls into place this week, i can quit looking acreages on-line and start actual tours. i want a barn to sweep, roofs to thatch, wells to turn, and woods to walk through. i want a deep freeze in the basement filled with recently caught fish, last winter's venison, and any matter of other things. i want a gun cabinet stocked with the means to keep any zombie Apocalypse at bay.

i want walls to paint, wiring to install, and projects to build. i need mulch to lay, grass to mow, and trees to plant. i want to show the preservation of john muir paired successfully with the conservation of gifford pinchot on the upper woodlands of the midwestern plains.

there is so much swimming in my head, i can only hope to have the chance. that's all i'm looking for, and a week from now, i will know. so, i'm keeping my fingers crossed and my lips mumbling in hopeful anticipation.

really?

it was always so far away. separation built on prewar roadways, draining rivers, and rarely kept promises.

the communication was always there. stretched out through mobile phone towers, buried cable internet lines, and the comfort of confessions made at a distance.

it was always so far away. the dreams outlined in hopeful thoughts, vague spoken promises, and the protection of unlikelihood's.

the hope was always there. the realizations that the interests, the plans, the dreams; they all have always lined up to perfection.

it is getting closer. as promises are kept, conversations are discoursed face to face, and realistic plans are being put into place.

it will always be there. the knowledge it will work, the desire to make it happen, the actions that are slowly falling into place.

so, dear, are you ready?

really?

listening to (Outer South) - Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley Band

(1.) Bloodline. (2.) Spoiled. (3.) Worldwide. (4). Roosevelt Room.

Let's run away to Tenerife!

Let's run away to Tenerife!

Let's run away to Tenerife!
we could make it there by morning.

Let's run away to Tenerife!
Where all our dreams come true.
drinking beneath candlelight and the Mediterranean moon.

Let's run away to Tenerife!
Toast the town in Duke Bay,
we could play the Mediterranean,
and drink away the day.

Let's run away to Tenerife!
and watch the tide roll in,
from the mountain tops,
and vendor street shops,
we might find what we've never been.

Let's run away to Tenerife!
and find the time to blend in.
we'll watch the tourists struggle,
as we know each and every spin.
the sun will rise and paint us darker,
only white beneath our skin.

Let's run away to Tenerife!
and watch the pilgrims fit and stir,
they'll be looking for something,
we've already found,
as they march up the beach in their sheets,
the warm nights filled with wine and women,
the warm days filled with pacing the streets.

Let's run away to Tenerife!
because, my love, you're too far away,
and on the beach, soaked in sun,
beside me you could stay.
and though the oceans tides will rise,
and the children would come running in,
I would hold you close, in the island sun,
and swill the last of the gin.