Misery and Me

Misery is a friend that always has a shoulder to cry on. 
She is the only one that holds me when I go to sleep. 
She may be the thing that causes my tears to fall, 
but she is also the only friend I have left that hasn't abandoned me in my darkest hours. 


Where are my friends? 
Where is the family that is supposed to love me? 
God only knows. 
And so misery is here once again. 


I grow tired, and she awaits me in my bed for yet another long night. 
I hope this entertains you, to see such a wretched life I lead.

Julian

There is a factory where men are not born. They are not brought kicking and screaming and crying and bloody into this world. They don't giggle inanely at cheap tricks as children and learn lessons.

They never went to school or found a first love. They are grown. Bald and identical. Strong and tough. Fed the highest quality grains, vegetables, and cuts of meat. Well spoken but shallow.

Coming in several sizes to your favorite drinking establishments soon.

Eons

Sharp edges may dull to curves
Stable surfaces may begin to shake
But no matter where I go
With you, I will take

Giving up the ghost

For every person who seems perfectly normal, decent, and likable, but remains single, there is that one ex that lingers behind them, whispering like a ghost into their ear "this one could be like me too"

Occam's Razor

The trust between you and me is as rock solid as the earth beneath our feet, as consistent as the coming of the tides.
It always is a surprise when a tiny breach shatters it so completely.

Look mom, no feet!

When I walk on my hands, the world makes a lot more sense.
There is always a firm roof over my head, and I cling to it to avoid falling into the abyss below.
I like to think that maybe I am standing on an invisible perch, and carrying the earth like Atlas.

When I walk on my hands, the ants and the worms soar above me, large and dominating, while birds scuttle below.
I pretend the squirrel staring quizzically at me is wearing space age suction cup boots, so it can go spelunking down a tree and into the leaves.

When I walk on my hands, I don't get tired and could really go all day like this.
Stairs are a bit tiring, but only when going up, not down.
If I met someone else walking on their hands, I'm not sure how I would greet them.
I think I would just pass them by.
I'm pretty shy like that.

Night Crawler

Standing at the foot of your bed
I watch the dreams play out above your head
So I know how best to destroy your life next

Serendipity

An unexpected kind word to an acquaintance you rarely speak to can completely make up for a disaster of a day.

Be spontaneous with your kindness.

Being Frank

The next time you get a wrong number, what if you don't hang up. What if you ask how their day went, or how they feel about a certain issue.

You're complete strangers, and you've got nothing to lose. You could have a rotten experience, sure, but you could also have the most meaningful conversation you've ever had. And you can never ask for their name and forget the number you dialed, and they will disappear again. Forever preserved in memory and untarnished by continued interaction.

Just a moment where you got to talk and didn't have to lie.

Please make a U-Turn at the next available spot.

A wrong turn at the right time can be the difference between the same old drive to work, and the start of the next adventure.

Toast to the meek

I'd like to make a toast. I've known you for only a short time, but already I know that you are just a decent human being. You know how the world works, and yet you aren't brought down by it. We each, one by one, let you down a little more each day, but every morning you wake up with a fresh smile. We would be in a much better place if we took even a page from your book.

Here's to you.

Dancing in the dark

I dance in the dark,
not so you can behold my beauty,
but so that we can share it.

Unspeakable

I've been living on a plane of questionable karma.
Vision splintered by prisms of apathy and silence.
I break the riots in my mind every night with my first conscious breath,
drawn deeply to slow the vessels hurtling in my veins.
Lives long since lived and loved and died lay strewn in catacombs,
eroded away by the winds of time and change.
I rub my eyes gingerly,
making sure not to crack the delicate reality hanging just before me.
I plant my feet on the ground,
digging up dirt and surrounding my toes in earth and rock.
They wriggle slowly and still to a comfortable position,
taking root and absorbing the nutrients.
I stretch and yawn once more and I grind to a halt.
Hands outstretched.
Mouth agape.
Skin wrinkled and old.
I too have returned to the earth once more.

Drawn Circle

If you could draw a circle around yourself, you would have encompassed yourself, and all your emotions and feelings, your personality, just about everything that makes you, you.
But that's not true.
Because part of the reason you are you, is because of your friends and family. Your interactions with them and the effect they had on you, the effect you had on them, and more.

So fine, draw a circle around yourself, your loved ones, your family and friends.
But that's not enough either. You are also all the places you have visited. You are the school where you grew up and all the books you have read and the things you have learned along the way. You are your first home, and your secret hideaway vacation spot.

So you draw a circle around yourself, and your loved ones, and your family and friends, and all the places you have ever been. But all of those things besides yourself have also been affected by even more. Other people have influenced the people you know, and other people influenced them. Time and space has eroded and built the places you have seen. The moon and stars have inspired the buildings and oceans and valleys and statues around you.

So you draw a circle around the entire planet. You grow it larger to encompass the moon and the stars. Very quickly, your circle is the size of the universe.

To think, there is a point in space that, given the time and money and resources, your children's children would probably never even reach, and yet that point of nothingness out there in space is also affecting your life right now, in ways and forms you cannot even imagine.

[Deleted]

[this post has been removed due to gross change in personality]

Mother's Day

I turn the key in the lock, swinging the door wide open, and rush to the bathroom. As I relieve my bladder of what has been an uncomfortable drive, I hear my parents, grandfather, and sister enter the house as well. Steps slow and heavy, an obvious sign that a full meal is weighing them down. Sleep attempting to take hold of them is also probably, in part, to blame: it is very late at night.

Today was Mother's Day, so we had gone to a fancy restaurant for once to celebrate. I, of course, couldn't appreciate the fine dining: I had recently had my wisdom teeth removed, and my were still swollen up to the size of grapefruits on either side. I instead drank some juice. While at this point in my recovery, alcohol was again allowed, I had to fore go it due to also being the designated driver. The rest of my family had enjoyed all the treats the restaurant had to offer, Dad especially taking advantage of the vintage whiskey selection. The dinner had been with some family a few cities over, so the drive home had been long.

As I left the bathroom, I saw Dad sitting on the couch in the living room, eyes heavy and drooping. He would probably sleep there unless Mom brought him up to their bed. However, Mom was currently rushing past me into the bathroom.

"Put your sister to bed!" she hollered, just before I heard a retching sound come from within. Dad lumbered over "She maybe ate too much?" and then entered the bathroom as well, shutting the door behind him. My sister approached from the kitchen, holding a glass of water, and went upstairs, and I followed close behind. I looked up, and through the banister saw Grandpa shuffling for his bedroom, backlit by the only light on the floor emanating from the bathroom.

We walked up the stairs together, and approached her room. I reached for the set of lightswitches by the door of her room, but they remained lifeless.

"Weird, did they both die at the same time?" I wondered aloud. I squinted into the darkness, a stream of orange light entering from the sliver of opening from the curtain, originating from the street lamp outside. Her room is slightly lower than the rest of the floor, with 3 steps leading down to her room. About two steps in, it seemed to disappear into oblivion. The hallway behind us was dark, and the room ahead even darker.

I went and got the emergency flashlight from the bathroom, and returned to the doorway. I turned the light on, but again the light failed me. It flickered once in my hand. My sister jumped beside me, and I stared at her.

"Something is in there"

Curious, I fiddled with the flashlight some more, coaxing power out of it, while straining to see into the room again. The yellow of the fading bulb gave three more flashes, which was enough to see a dark object lying across her bed, with two little yellow flashes highlighting the eyes. It must of been the size of a full grown man. My sister jumped again, and my own beat quickened to triple pace. My eyelids clamped shut completely, and it took a few seconds for me to will my eyes open again and push on. I pulled her to myself and went back to the bathroom to get the second flashlight. I returned to the doorway for a third time, and switched on the flashlight. This time, blue light sprang from the flashlight without any fuss.

In the room, the bed was empty, but not completely made. What had seemed to be a mass on the bed was simply the covers lumpy enough to create a long menacing shadow. I laughed softly and we both descended the steps into the bedroom.

After checking the closet and under the bed for any intruders, she climbed into bed without any fuss, but pulled in the covers extra tight, and right up to her chin. As I left her room and shut the door, I noticed Grandpa's door was wide open still. Odd, I thought, and approached it. Having left the flashlight with my sister, I again first squinted to see in the dark. By now my eyes had adjusted enough to see that the bed was still made, and no sign of Grandpa on it. I flipped the switch, and immediately saw my grandfather, huddled in a ball behind the bed. Before I could even think to rush in to help him, he sat back up, and stood, facing away from me. A green pool of vomit was surrounding his feet.

"Grandpa, whats wrong! Are you sick?" I asked stupidly. He simply stood there however, swaying from side to side, hands out a foot from either side of him. He seemed odd, almost apelike. Almost as if his arms had grown in length just a bit.

"GRANDPA!" Finally he responded, but by cocking his head a bit to the side. He slowly turned to face me. Vomit trailed from the right side of his cheek, smearing his right sleeve and shirt. His mouth was bent in a smile, but not in any way he had ever smiled before. But his eyes, his eyes were the worst of all. One was a sickly green, and the pupil elongated and brown, like a cat's eyes. His other was the same, but the brown and green reversed. Both his eyes were also open wide, and they seemed to focus on a point passed me. I stumbled backwards in surprise and horror, unsure what to do. He shuffled forwards again, slowly and unevenly, like the first steps of a child. I stepped backwards again, out of his way, as he made for the bathroom. Grandpa stood in front of the sink, still smiling, looking himself in the eye in the bathroom mirror. I stared at him, horror mounting, as he bent over and threw up again into the sink, the green vomit the consistency and look of relish. I nearly threw up myself just watching him.

"MOM! COME QUICK!" I shrieked, and backed away from Grandpa. I felt horrible for not rushing to his side to help him, but this situation was far too intimidating for my brain to comprehend. I took a few steps down the stairs, and saw my mom's legs standing in the hallway.

"MOM!" I yelled again. Slowly she shuffled into view. Her hands were held at her sides, a foot apart, as she took tiny steps. A terrible feeling of comprehension took hold of me as I took a few more steps down to see my mother.

She, too, had a trail of green vomit down the front of her dress. Her eyes were also wide, a mixture of brown and red, but pupils elongated into cat's eyes. She smiled as well, but her jaw was clenched, and lips pulled open into a wide smile that showed all her teeth. I heard Dad stumbling away downstairs, probably just as frightened as I was right now. But then I heard a deep thud, loud enough for me to know it was his body hitting the floor. No further sounds indicated he was conscious past this point.

I shut my eyes again, this time trying to convince myself to go to their aid. I opened them again, and saw my mother at the bottom of the stairs, and my grandfather at the top. The stairs curved, making a right hand turn, and the floor below and to the side of the staircase was also covered in green vomit. I noticed not that it was smeared slightly, and led off to the kitchen, where Dad had collapsed. Both Mom and Grandpa's eyes were no longer unfocused. They were both staring directly at me.

"Mom? Grandpa?" They both didn't respond. They simply grinned and smiled respectively, and took a step towards me. It was then I noticed my mother's arms. while her elbow still seemed to be at the right spot, her forearm had doubled in size. It protruded from her sleeve, and her hands were held out to her knees. I looked up at Grandpa, and the same was true for him. Through the banister, I could see my sister emerge from her room. While merely back lit from the bathroom, I could see that her arms too had elongated.

Again Mom and Grandpa took a few steps towards me. I was now in their grasping distance, but their arms remained at their side.

Unsure what their intent was, I swallowed the ball of fear that had formed in my throat, and took hold of the railing. Peering down at the puddle of green vomit, I braced myself and vaulted over the railing. My form was perfect, and my landing should have been secure. Should have been, had the floor been dry like it normally was. But in a pool of vomit, my feet lost all traction, and I slipped, falling backwards. I felt my descent down in slow motion, peering up at the stairs and railing above me. My grandfather, mother, and sister, were all leaning over the railing, peering at me. Their eyes seemed to glow just a bit, with black ovals of their pupils highlighted in contrast to the glow. Their smiles seemed to grow wider as my head cracked solidly on the marble floor.

My fear reached it peak, but my vision turned red, then finally faded to black.

Bramblebrine

Your branches grow in every which way

A limb here, a leaf there

Seemingly at random without rhyme or reason

But if you stand perfectly still

From this spot amongst the sycamores 

In the dead of day, with the sun hanging from the top of the sky

Like how I am right now

It will all come together

And you too will see the order in the chaos

You will see the message god left for you too

You're not even listening

...Do you understand?

Of course I do, I know exactly what you are going through...

I mean, you're going through exactly what I went through.

[...]

You... that's not really the same as what I am saying,

I don't think you understand how serious I am being.
I am being serious too, what you're saying, it's what I went

through. Just do what I did and you'll be fine. 

I need to be alone right now.

Bat Signal

Leave me alone. For just one night, leave me alone. Let the stars shine behind the clouds undisturbed, and let the little red light remain dark.

A living tapestry

I saw my apartment today but I didn't stop. Today I ran past it, and went along. I chose a direction I had never been, and went there. I saw familiar places. Then places I hadn't seen in ages.

Finally I was surrounded by the unknown. Just me and miles of wasteland, places forgotten by time and space. It is there I found a great tree, hollowed out. Inside was a pile of cardboard boxes.

I slept there for the night.
It felt more like home than any mattress and roof ever had.

Spooks

I felt sad today.
And so it rained.

Kryptonite

I went on a journey to find myself today.
All I found was I already knew where I was.
So I ran from myself instead.

Light of another

There is a sickly orange glow above the place where I live.
It consumes the air and the light and breeds isolation.
We can never escape it, only watch it from a distance.

Dialtone

Every time my phone rings or buzzes, every time there's an unread message or a knock at the door, I think it's you, ready to apologize.

It kills me a little each time it isn't.

Hiding Spots

There's no more places to run from. There's no where left to run to.

Ghost stories

We hide beneath your car window, as you roll it up and lock the doors.
We hide in back seats.
We peer at you from dark branches and behind every corner.
We always move just out of your field of vision.
And yes, we will catch you someday,
That day you finally don't believe we were ever there at all,
That's when we'll strike.
That's when we will come for you too.

Peace

Peace is the only sensation that never feels undeserved.

Broken barns

I pass by broken barns every day, wondering why they never get fixed.
The old ones burn but new ones never spring up to replace them.
I wonder, do we not farm anymore?
Or do we just harvest ghosts?

Lifeline

I live with such purpose, I sometimes forget where my path leads.
I forget that I follow a vine that stretches only a few feet ahead of me, growing at the pace I run at.
I sometimes look around and realize my surroundings are unfamiliar, or not even where I meant to be.
Then again, I never really had a goal.
All I can hope is the path I follow leads somewhere I can belong.

Under the influence

A mix of India and the orient
The slightes taste of the drumss
It takes comtrol and focus
It gets harder and hrder to focus on anything else
The bas isolate all else
Syncoppation loses control
The hint of the ewquator loses cotrol
Created to engulf all reasonm
Aa battle of primal senses
A streakl of whit and color
The night continues at renzy

Running backwards

I was sitting in a coffee shop, enjoying a grilled cheese sandwich. It was an early Sunday morning, so the traffic outside was light, and the only people walking about were old couples and joggers. I sat at the counter by the window and watched them all go by.

Off in the distance, two blocks down, there was a walkway over the street. I watched as a women in a black tracksuit and white baseball cap jogging backwards towards the stairs. She ascended them backwards, and continued across backwards. Of course on the bridge I could only make out the hat, with her ponytail sticking out the back, bobbing up and down. It bothered me quite a bit. So much so that I inhaled the rest of my breakfast and went down the street after her.

A woman jogging backwards isn't much faster than a man walking briskly forwards. I caught up with her quickly, but was just as quickly intimidated: she never once looked over her shoulder to see where she was going. She stared directly at me. She simply knew the streets perfectly, dodging hydrants, trees, and bus stops. Pedestrians quickly got out of her way. A dog that had been happily sitting and wagging it's tail stilled itself and watched her run by, head cocked and ear raised in utter confusion.

Still she stared me straight in the eye. After two more blocks, she reached for a water bottle strapped to her waist, turned around, and took off down the street away from me, water streaming from either side of her face. I stopped, out of breath. I looked up and down the street. Cars passed by. Old couples held hands as they always had. Joggers continued on their merry way.

I took one deep breath and calmed my pulse. I looked to the way the woman had gone off. I turned around, and started walking backwards in the same direction.

Hamlet

My blood flows like cool honey in my veins. My pupils dilate, until my entire eye turns black. I smile without folding a single crease into my skin. Eyebrows raised just enough to impart a carefree demeanor. Ears flattened against the sides of my head. Hair perfectly coiffed and parted, not a single hair out of place. My hand is steady. My fingertips gently grasp a glass, an intricate pattern etched into it, almost like a gigantic snowflake. The golden brown whiskey is cool, with little icebergs floating within it. It burns a path slowly, sensuously, down my throat with every sip. My left hand is dry, and somewhat cracked. My nails are a perfect shade of pink, sharply changing to the pearl white at the end. The skin along the inside of my index and middle finger are slightly yellow, with a half smoked cigarette held between them. The ash hangs precariously from the end of the butt. Just waiting for the slightest jostle to fall off.

My desk is a dark oak. In my office, it is an extension of my wardrobe, essential for the authority I demand. But I am turned away from it. The glass windows run from floor to ceiling. The sky outside is fading to black. Starless and cloudless. The city sprawls before me, lights stretched out in little lines, some perfectly straight, and others tangled. Like god had decided today was a good day to untangle his Christmas lights. Smaller lights run back and forth amongst them, people scurrying home. Men going home to their wives (or mistresses?). Women returning from a late shopping spree. The nannies and maids and butlers just dismissed for the night. In the far distance, the lights seem to shimmer on and off. Heat waves and pollution radiate from the streets, and distort the light from miles away. Further away, the haze and fog envelopes the buildings, obscuring them from view.

My visions reddens a tinge. My smile cracks, my lip drops just a little. The ash is set free. The glass in my hand slips away from my fingertips. I don't hear either hit the ground. I don't hear anything at all.

Traffic jams

Love and tenderness are on opposite ends of a spectrum, wavelengths we
cannot see.

The Others

I slam my body against his, smashing him into the hard brick wall. His body crumples, first against the wall, and then down to the floor. His denim jacket and pants both show shades of lighter blue, runs in the material from scraping against such old and eroded brick. I flip him over so he faces up. His jacket folds open, exposing a white t-shirt, unprinted but yellowed with sweat stains around his pits and neck. His hair, neatly and tightly coiled into cornrows seems as if it would act as something of a natural helmet, but his eyes roll in their socket, the obvious signs of confusion, perhaps a concussion. I wind up and punch him in the cheek just to make sure. Again to the gut and he doubles over in a jolt of pain.

"You had to do this the hard way didn't you?" I pant, out of breath from all the running. He spits in my face. Stunned, I wipe the spittle from my right cheek, and knee him in the groin. 

I pull a pair of zip ties from my back pocket, and begin to fasten them around his wrists. At this point the Others catch up with me. 

"We lost track of everyone else" 

"Okay, lets just get this one back home, then we'll think about what to do next." 

A big burly man steps up and offers a hand. After getting up off the denim clad nightmare, he hoists him over his shoulder, hands tied and limp across his back. 

We start to walk away when a knife comes flying at our heads. The only warning is the whistling sound it makes as it cuts the air, just seconds enough to duck out of the way. We look up. At the top of the eroded brick wall, several men, all oriental and dressed in colorful and baggy garb, glare down at us, knives held in outstretched fingers. 

"It's the fucking Mongols!"

At that, they unleash a torrent of knives upon us. They are not very accurate, obviously hoping for pure luck than skill to land a hit upon us. One runs the length of my right calf, creating a long but superficial cut. I hear a loud thud, and look behind me. The big burly man has fallen over, several knives sticking out of his back, and a large cleaver split across his head. I suppose a larger target. The man in denim is on the floor behind him, frantically trying to crawl away. 

I hold an arm over my head, in a feeble attempt to shield myself, and run back to him. I pick him up off the ground and hold him over my shoulder. As I lift him, I notice that he too is covered in small cuts, but no knife has pierced him completely. A completely lucky bastard then. 

The Others have gotten away, just out of knife throwing distance, and are dragging one Mongol along by his shirt collar, he too is secured in a zip tie. This Mongol is a giant, over 7 feet tall, wearing a long brown and weathered leather trenchcoat, and a fading Stetson on his head. A long ponytail emerges from underneath the hat and trails on the ground, and although his eyes are hidden by the brim of his hat, I can still make out the Fu Manchu on his face. His lips are curled into a sneer. 

They have all pulled guns, and begin firing wildly at the Mongols, hoping to scare them off. But we can see them still standing on the rooftop. Backlit by the sun, we cannot make out distinct features, but their eyes shine through regardless, wide and unblinking, like cats eyes in the darkness of night. I catch up with them, and slowly we retreat backwards, continuing to fire, as the Mongols stare at us, heads bobbing like pigeons, avoiding the bullets. 

Finally, we reach a chain link fence. I look up, and see that the top is covered in barbed wire. We look around for something to cover the top, to allow us to scale it, but the surrounding ground is dry soil, with barely any grass growing at all. There is no litter at all. I can hear, one by one, all of our guns click empty. We stare at each other, unsure how to proceed. One pulls a knife, another a machete. We all pull out our barbaric weapons. Chains, crowbars, clubs. The Mongols have realized we are no longer shooting, and approach us across the field, knifes in hand. 

"Man, untie me and give me a knife. I'm not going to fucking die tied up, I'm fighting for my life" I look down at the man in denim. Even in binds, his eyes radiate with hatred, his cheeks puff up and deflate quickly. I pull out a switchblade and remove his ties, then pass him the blade, alternating the machete from my left hand back to my right. I offer my left hand to pull him up. 

From behind us, we feel a presence towering over us. I turn to see the giant Mongol standing. He too is free of his binds, but none of us had released him. He holds a katana in his hands. 

"These are my people, but today they act as savages. I will assist you in showing them a lesson." He spreads his legs, grinding the balls of his feet into the dirt, steeling himself for the oncoming onslaught. We turn back to the Mongols, doing the same. 

One Mongol shrieks, then the rest join in. They begin to rush across the field, shrieking and howling like demonic harpies, teeth and knives bared, eyes bright. They leap, nearly 10 meters away from us. High and up into the air, seeming to hang just above us, before turning their blades downwards, and beginning their dive bomb assault. 

If there was ever a way to die, a battle to fall in, men to die alongside, this is the time and place. 

Ego

Being proud and being confident are two very different things. When you're proud, you are self assured and find no fault in yourself, even if they are there.

Being confident means you acknowledge your shortcomings, but persevere regardless, focusing only on your strengths.

Door to Hell

There are places where the earth has open wounds
They stink of sulfur and a haze settles on them
They have been there long before man could leave his mark there, they will be there long after
Mementos of the violence of its birth
Reminders that even great pain can create such beauty

The Great Ocean Road

There is a stretch of road on the south end of Australia. It is called the Great Ocean Road. It begins near Melbourne, and stretches across the coast for nearly 250 kilometers. It's length is perched precariously on a cliffside, following the natural features closely. The limit is 80 kph, and with hairpin turns, blind corners, and sheer drops, it is a terrifying drive. Since the road follows the cliffs so closely, and the entire coastline bends away from the ocean, it is difficult to know what is coming up. At best, you can see a mile ahead at some cliff heads that jut out from the shore.

Some of the views you'll encounter here are breathtaking. Beaches dot the coast, interrupted by long bouts of jagged rocks. Coastal villages appear every stretch of road, offering gas and local color. I tried thinking about what it must be like to grow up in a village like this. On the ass end of the world, knowing that if you look south, the next time you'll see land, it'd be the south pole. That no one would ever pass through here, and the only ways into and out of your quaint town is a dangerous piece of road.

We drove a bit of the road. I don't think I appreciated then the magnitude of that journey, and the effect it would have on me. To this day, I think back to that stop on the road. Where we said "No more driving, this is the farthest we will go. We will turn back here." Never have I felt my limits embodied more specifically. I won't ever forget that spot on the road. That mile marker. The grass as it swayed in the breeze, or the setting sun. In my mind, I left a flag planted there. A flag planted just short of the peak I had set out for myself.

I sometimes think that I will return there someday. Find that spot where we had stopped so many years ago, and blow past it. Drive on further, and find a new spot to plant my flag. But I realize that won't be sufficient. The peak is not the end of the Great Ocean Road. It isn't the other end of Australia, and nor is it the South Pole. There are places all over this planet that I want to go and see, but none of them are the peak I want to reach.

I want to go into orbit. I want to land on the moon to play a round of golf. I want to go to Mars, and plant an evergreen tree there, try to celebrate Christmas. I want to swim in the oceans of Europa (if they even exist). I want to witness an ocean of diamonds, hiding under the fog of Neptune. Drop by Pluto, just to see for myself if it is worthy of being a planet or not. I want to brave the vacuum of space, and reach Alpha Centauri. I want to see foreign planets, and meet strange creatures.

I want to live forever, and find the edge of the universe. And then take a step past to see what's behind the curtain.

But for now, my flag lays planted on the Great Ocean Road. Waiting for me to pick up the adventure once again.

Lost and forgotten

There are those who have meant a lot to me, at various points in my life. People who were so integral to how I lived my life and how I defined my character, I would lose later on. Others, who I despised so much, soon discovered a side I never would have imagined.

There are friends that meant a lot to me, and still do, that I spoke unimaginable secrets to. Things I was sure would go with me to the grave. Some I still see from time to time. Others I see frequently. Still others I have long since lost and forgotten. Secrets live with them that I forgot I even told anyone. Scabs I peeled and showed, revealing what's truly inside of me, have healed over again, unmarred and seamless with my skin once more.

I regret not being able to just ring them up. Go back to the way things once were. I regret, after all these years, not getting to see how he grew up. I regret not knowing what my life may have been like if I had stayed there with him. If we hadn't grown apart. I regret the days I was lonely, and he was too. When we were just a phone call away from each other.

But I don't regret the person I have grown into. The friends I have made and lost have all been necessary. As flawed as I am, I would not want to be any other way. I am the sum total of the relationships I have made and broken in my life.

My legacy is the hearts I have both warmed and broken, healed and forgotten.

But I will never forget him. I will never forget the man I could have been. He will live on in my memory, in my imagination. He will be my reminder of what should have been. Of how singular decisions can have such earth shattering results.

In pursuit of the American Dream

Ambition can be both a blessing and a curse
It drives us to keep pushing ourselves
To not let ourselves stagnate or wither
To see the world, as limited as our view of it may be, and say 'this is not enough'

But the source of ambition can rot the foundation of one's character
When seeded in the pursuit of fame, we tend to lose sight of what makes us humble
When seeded in the pursuit of riches, we tend to lose sight of what makes things right
When seeded in the pursuit of sex, we tend to lose sight of the people that matter the most

Ambition should be fueled by life. A desire to see the things life has to offer. To pursue that which makes us happy, that makes those around us happy too.

Ambition should be the drive to do the things we want, not a means to get the things we want.

The life of dogs

Searching for clues in the sand
We sometimes forget to look up.
Forget that the ocean will beat mercilessly on the shore
Washing away evidence that I once walked past here

We forget to look up to the ones who travel alongside us
Who dig through dirt to help us find what we are looking for
Not understanding why we search, but simply helping for our sake alone

We forget to look up at the horizon
The sun rises and falls continuously, but the time passes us by
We don't even notice the shadows, growing from short to tall, passing right to left

We forget why we were even looking
More intent on the faint impressions I left here
Chasing after a trail long left cold

We forget that we too are human
More human than me or you

One note song

There are locks in my mind.
I have the keys for most of them.
But some of them I don't.
Some of them I misplace from time to time.
The keys for happiness and sadness are on my keyring all the time.
But the escape from boredom? Genius? I lose them between cushions and in tall grass. It's always a good day when I find them.
Some keys I never had. Courage. Drive. Passion. I don't have the keys for any of these.
I tried picking the locks, tried my other keys. They remain locked to me.
But you showed me strength. You broke through those doors, and showed
me the way through. How to do it for myself.
I can still feel the door struggle every time I push through.
But every time I do, every time I push myself to reach those places, it becomes a little easier to get back there.

These days I consistently stand on the other side, peering back at the boy I once was. But every once in awhile, I forget how to open those doors.
And then I feel lost and scared and alone, trapped in a dark room with doors locked, and forgotten.

Social Internetworking

In this digital age, one person can say your full name out loud in a public place, and seconds later another can be looking up everything about you online, from the palm of their hand.

We have never been more brought together or kept apart as we are right now.

Walking quickly

You've grown a hunch in your back, from looking at your feet all the time.