Quicky

In the time it takes you to read this it took me less time to write it,
I'm on a journey of self discovery that will take me to the far reaches of my inner spaces,
My mind a sea of ridiculous consequences that deem me ridiculed by my human race
The species that excels me to excel in momentus glory
I'm tired of feeding the frenzy of the worldly panic of my discretion,
I will set upon the world feeling free with cynical optimism,
Breaking down the door while braking for the pedestrians that are in my path,
As they fade away from the world we will not
We will be okay and not because we are legends,
But because its no big deal.
To glide through life.

Another Rough Opening

                THIS NOVEL IS SET IN AN ALTERNATE HISTORY

William Deacon was about twelve years old when his mother succumbed to her sickness on the trans-national rail road.  It was as the train car passed from Colorado to Utah that she began frantically and painfully coughing into her fist.  The typhus had hit his father about a month ago, and his mother had kept well to hide her symptoms from her son.  Of course the entire time William had been aware of her deception.  Somewhere in his young heart he wanted to believe her lie more than anything, but it was not to be as easy as all of that.  It didn’t take long for the doctor on board to realize what afflicted her and she was immediately moved to the storage cars to rest on a crate of hay next to the stink and staleness of the goats just behind her.  William was ordered to stay away from her as they opened his jaw and had him stick out his tongue.  They peaked inside his ears with odd contraptions and used their thumbs and forefingers to open up his eye lids as they aggressively held his face.    As they did all this the twelve year old hugged his arms over his bare chest and felt awkward just standing there in his skivvy’s.   They finished eventually and told him to put his clothes back on.   William did so rather coyly asking them if they would mind waiting outside the box car as he did so.

                He dressed quickly and moved to his mother’s side and held her hand.   Her palm was soaked in sweat, and her eyes were rolling back into her head, and her lips were dried, the flesh up on them flaking and white.   “Momma, I know you may not hear me momma, but please tell me I’ll see you again,” He paused a moment attempting to swallow the sadness down, “With Jesus.  I’ll see you with Jesus right momma?”  He used his other hand to tilt her head toward him as if seeing him may spur her back to life, but no such event occurred.  The sound of the box car door opening was then followed by the rush of footsteps as the doctor put his arms under the boys arms and pulled him up to his feet and backward out of the car.   William wanted to scream, he wanted to kick his feet in a broken hearted fit of rage, but as he saw her arm dangling over the edge of the crates, he soon realized there was no point in it.

                There was an old widow woman whom he was forced to sit next to.  In her arms she crocheted what looked like a pair of mittens.  She mostly had her head tilted down while the thin frames of her glasses rested at the edge of her nose as though they may just slide off onto the floor at their feet.  William watched her hands move in strange motions as the mittens in her hand began to take shape, and her hands looked the same way his grandmothers did when he saw her in her casket.   Once in a while William would tilt his head into the isle of the car and look at the door that led toward the storage cars but then his gaze would return to the old woman who was always looking at him by this point as if knowing the thoughts that were going on in his head.  The last time he did this she said, “There’s nothing you can do dearie.  Once in a while it’s something we must all learn.  It is a sad affair, but it is a part of our existence.”   William didn’t know if the words were supposed to be comforting, they certainly didn’t seem so, but her frail old all-knowing voice made it sound as if they were supposed to make it all make sense.  William nodded at her half-heartedly.  “Do you have family you are going to see?”  William nodded in the same manner again.  She stopped her crochet and sighed, “Well who is the family that awaits you, boy?”

                “My Uncle Thaddeus.  He’s my mom’s youngest brother. “

                “And what does Uncle Thaddeus do?”

                “I’m not sure, I never knew of him until we boarded the train.”  He turned his head down the aisle again, this time he didn’t care to meet her eyes, and he just stared and then sat back in his seat.   He closed his eyes and as the tear tried to escape under the lid he looked toward the window to obscure it from the old women’s vision.  He hoped the ride wouldn’t be much longer. 

Rough Opening for Talentless

                Despite everything Roger Michaels tried to seem unaffected by the impatience that everyone else seemed to be afflicted by.   Truth be told however, his heart was racing, his palms sweaty in anxiety ridden fists.   He tried to hold his right leg from tapping, but it persisted.   Taking his hands he pressed them both down on the leg, and it began tapping rhythmically.   One, two, one two, and a small thud of a bass drum echoed with each tap.  From his spot on a deceptively uncomfortable padded chair he saw that everyone else littered about the lobby of the theater were doing the same.   The feet tapped in unison, as young women and men scratched under their noses, through the hair upon their heads, and inspected fingernails as if impulse were driving them to do these things.   The unified anxiety, and hopefulness within each of them was manifesting forth.

                Joanna: 

                                Patience they tell us,

                                Wait and see the end result,

                                Don’t get your hopes up,

                                And never hold a grudge,

                                Take it like a champ,

                                There’ll be other days,

                                But goddammit I gave it my all

                                All is all I have.

                Marcus:

                                No one deserves this more than I do,

                                I’ve wanted this part more than anyone,

                                This is my favorite show I told them,

                                All that sweet talking can’t be for nothing,

                                No this is mine now,

                                No one deserves this more than I do,

                                I gave it my all after all,

                                And all is all I have.

                Marcus/Joanna:

                                Waiting for the truth to set us free,

                                Waiting for the news to break us,

                                Or make us,

                                Prefer that it made  us,

                                Semi-famous,

                                Locally known,

                                I need this for my resume.

                The pair of them Marcus and Joanna push their cheeks against one another singing toward the sky.   Their hands were enveloped within one another’s, and the note hung deliberately in the air before them as if trying to stay suspended within an inch of the ceiling.  Then it subsided and as if unaware of the violation of bubble space the pair of Marcus and Joanna went back to themselves and awkwardly excused themselves from the room.   Roger had seen them before, not just a couple times, but nearly ever time he had auditioned for parts.  It was often that they were cast in a role of substantial importance and yet they behaved as if they had never had the opportunity to act before.

                Marcus was paper thin and wore a plaid button up shirt that hung terribly loosely on his figure.   His hair was a ruffled mop of pitch blackness dangling over his left eye and he was often given to tossing his head back to remove it for his sight line to be cleared.   He did this often enough that it became apparent to Roger that Marcus believed that the action made him attractive, that flipping his hair to the side of his face only to have it return to its initial position was somehow going to drive the women wild.

                Joanna did not share Marcus lanky frame but neither was she overweight, she was what one would call avegerage and what Roger deemed average with a bit of extra heft.   She wore shirts that were two sizes to small so that her rather large breasts would be trying to burst forth from her outerwear.  This particular day she was donning a low cut flower printed blouse.   The flowers overlapped over the edge where her bra top was partially exposed covering the cream of her cleavage.   It was often that she was feign disdain that men stared at her breasts, as though society hadn’t deemed these lumps of chest fat desirable to men.   Roger didn’t see the point of exposing these beauties if you didn’t want them stared at.   She was a bit of a hypocrite.

                The foot tapping was still persisting, and the whole lot of them who waited – about fifteen or so – began to groan in unison.

                Chorus:

                                Undeniably we are,

                                Rather casually,

                                Awaiting our verdict,

                                Life or death is at stake,

                                Were not whole lest were on stage,

                                Grant us and end to our worrying,

                                I can’t go back again empty handed.

                Roger began tapping his knees with the palms of his hand, back and forth, and his arms criss crossed over one another as the bass drum continued, and a light acoustic guitar began to emanated a chill and calming tune, as each string was plucked.  Soulfully the people continued:

                Chorus:

                                Every day we go to work,

                                We go to school,

                                Every day we try to deny it,

                                That we don’t live for this,

                                Pouring our hearts out,

                                Trying to be found out,

                                Living on the fantasy,

                                That we will have a legacy,

                                Of singing and romancing,

                                Sword fighting and tap dancing,

                                On a big city stage,

                                Not stuck in this small town cage.

                The sentiments were echoed for a brief time before they faded into the walls of the theater lobby, and then every person snapped their fingers as one.  The guitar music faded, and Roger missed it immediately.   He could feel boredom building in his mind next to the anxiety as they all as patiently as they figured they could waited for the director to post his decision upon the door of his office.   Before the door of said office Marcus and Joanna were standing and waiting in a two person single file line.   She bit her nails and he fixed his collar.  Roger did not move from his spot, and somehow he felt this time was different.   That was when the bass drum finished, and the richochetting sound of cymbals clashing against one another in jazzy overtones took its place. 

                He felt the light heat of the spot light land on him.   Directly from above the hot yellow beam was all the light there was, and all else was dark.  Roger could no longer see the others about him.   The only reason he knew they were there at all was because of the low hum that rumbled passed the lips of each and every one of them.   Roger stood to his feet and the light followed him like a perpetual rain cloud, he took a slow and methodical step forward, one foot crossing over the other.   His hands were buried deep in his pockets, and his head hung low so that he stared down at the floor.  Then he began his reflection.

                Roger:

                                In a place behind my eyes,

                                My dreams persist despite,

                                The fact,

                                That I lack,

                                A certain quality.

                                Upon my soul a dreamer sees,

                                Into a world that wants me so,

                                Nothing ever felt so right,

                                While staring into my bathroom mirror

                                All those years of watch movies,

                                And sitting front and center at the playhouse,

                                Whatever the place,

                                I wanted to be where they were.

                                Actors behaving,

                                As if they were not themselves,

                                Becoming someone else,

                                And not who they were.

                                Can’t say I lack the drive,

                                But that’s something else I lack.

                Chorus:

                                Talent.

                                Roger Michaels says he wants to be star,

                                Roger Michaels tries it all the time

                                Roger Michaels who drives his parents car,

                                Roger who god it should be a crime,

                                How talentless Roger Michaels is.

                Roger felt a hint of embarrassment about the words the people sang but he in good conscious could not deny that they were right.  Maybe one day he’d somehow have a break through, but he was twenty-seven and that moment had never arrived.  With hands still dug deep into his jean pockets he continued his slowly pace across the lobby floor.

                Roger:

                                I’ve heard the words

                                But I have to believe,

                                There’s something up fates sleeve,

                                Some moment of clarity,

                                Were my passions will manifest into,

                Chorus:

                                Talent? 

                That was when every one erupted in laughter and the lights quickly switched back on.   Roger’s spotlight persisted faintly as he stumbled through the people who all made their way to the line behind Joanna and Marcus.

                Roger:

                                We all have dreams,

                Chorus:

                                Just dream on,

                                It’s not going to happen,

                Roger:

                                It could happen,

                                This could be my break,

                Chorus:

                                We hope you break your legs.

                                To listen again,

                                Captive in our own fantasies,

                                While they humor you with readings,

                                Give us a gun,

                                Give us some rounds,

                                Put us out of our misery!

                Roger:

                                Cruel.

                Chorus:

                                But true!

               

                               

                                

Simple Happenstances

It was a concussive blast that sent me spiraling out of control

Forcing me down into the pits of despair where naught but myself persisted

Around me rain evaporated into nothingness

Those that I knew at the time before were dissolving into grains of dust

That dance eloquently into the spaces between my fingers and the world

Cold and rough was my descent

Where my feet seemed to pass through solid matter that was as black as night,

A voided plain that was devoid of rain

But was constantly overcast and grey

Yes, it changed from this to that and back again,

A multitude of tone but only in subtleties.

My eyes could not see, nor my ears hear the marching bands step through,

The temporary veil over my being was slowly lifted and I found my descending at an end,

As I was planted on a bustling road way

Where in I was surrounded by people,

Young and old, aged and brand new,

Captured in a picturesque frame and frozen in time,

All smiling, all cheering, all ultimately happy,

Could it be that I was back where I belonged but in a capture of it,

A place where I was once used and caressed,

Calmed and depressed,

A place where I felt everything as though it were for the first time,

Both pain and misery, both joy and comfort, both fear and anxiety,

Around me at all times realizing that this was all life,

That all these little events added up to this,

And the parade was frozen as if encased in ice

And as I let my finger tips find the cheek of a lovely young woman,

I felt her normally, the color was spared, and she slowly spurred out of her stupor.

We two, and no longer one we set about waking everyone

No words were spoken of our plan

We both knew what had to be done we both knew that we had to touch the lives of those we could

We basked in our new goal having both seen the void having both woken from it,

I on my own and her needing my help

We saw the pattern about us

For we were not the only ones to figure it out

One man was strolling already alive again,

And a young girl walking in hand in hand with her parents,

Reviving them to start on a new

And when all the onlookers were awoken,

They set upon the festival

And the parade marched on through the park circle,

And it was loud and full of vibrant colors

And we all,

All of us were moved,

To be moving at all.

Quarter to Orange

A fickle little thing ran across the desert roads, and found itself lost in the place that it thought it was found,

It collided with a truck while driving its little red and white car, and the train didn't see either of them,

Though it may be so no one should pick there way through the line,

Take your place where it is and plant your feet and shuffle on forward just like every other good boy that does fine,

It's not so wrong to want to be selfish, but it is selfish to want to always be right,

It's important to issue an apologetic statement on network television when you are being scrutinized by the entire planet,

But it is not a whole lot better to be without yourself when you forget to put your shoes on after you've eatin your shower cap,

My ape shit wife is not your ape shit wife, and my dumb ass kids are not your dumb ass kids,

We can only acknocledge the problem that we each have, and agree to disagree on the best path to fixing it.

Short Case of Amnesia

Through the grains of sand that slipped through my fingers
I could see into my future,
In it was the best and worst case scenarios of a sheltered life.
A place that existed somewhere between the ocean and the streets,
An avenue that ran parallel to my route,
This open line of sight that allowed me to be privy to new events,
Events yet to begin.
Through an unfathomable space in-between these specks I have come to realize,
That nothing of note is accomplished by playing in the earth,
Though the tunnels can be dug,
And the the undertaking can be gargantuan,
It is not enough to forward the progression to a neutrality,
To allow an upend into the face of new essences.
Caustic and careening toward slumber,
We bite our pillows and cry into our sheets,
Being comforted by our sorrows,
Which cause us to retire with world weary bones,
It is not what we should be acting toward.
The road traveled frequently may just be the road to take,
Though temper your speeds, be they faster or slower,
Choose the equipment in which you get there,
Change the tone,
The music and the story, but stay on the road,
Detours will occur, and rests are required,
But do not fret that you see the traffic jammed,
Ahead is the end of the line,
Ahead is the joint entry into realization,
We will get there when we can,
And believe it that we will be there shortly,
Despite being disenheartened that you are going to the same destination,
Always know, that you choose how and when you arrive.

Highway Cruise

I am hopeful but not overly,
For in the very real face of adversity,
I am overtly seen in the light of a fading moon,
When dawn blinks too soon,
In a very real episodic journey to entitlement,
Where chimney sweeping,
And funeral weeping,
Are not separated by the standards and practices,
Our contracts may be binding,
Our decidely mortal existences may fall in the blurred places,
We are not overly sure of our position,
I am hopeful, but not completely,
For next could been seen through the eyes of the world weary,
Men and women sick to death of double dealing,
Of single and triple switching of double standards,
Concocting the time warp,
But never stepping through,
Just to say it is so.
But where do the birds and the dinosaurs go,
Having fossilized winged migration,
Faulting the slump in behavior into a slump in digestion,
Our food is tastier,
Our appetite is sustained,
Given our hoping for more hoping in the face of adversity,
Not being able to attend the same university,
As our beloved beloveds, or friend so dear,
Careening toward a backdrop of very real wood,
Splinters in fingers,
Blinded by two by fours in the back of an old ford,
Pausing only to remind yourself that you are,
Very much alive, but still bleeding,
Blinded,
Bruised,
Bewildered,
And ultimately belittled,
By your superiors.
Cry havoc,
All ye angels on high,
For the humans have exceeded you,
Through perversions, and taxes,
Through eye sores and boils,
Passed the obligatory moments of bubonic,
The black death on the tongue,
Seeping out through sewer rats,
Falling,
Failing,
Flinging oneself,
Into Fractures,
Fibulas,
Forgotten,
Forsaken,
Forgone.

Slurred Speech

Bewildered I walked across a frosted prairie,
Despite my reliance at the auto-device which was my mode for arriving,
Despite the liters of alcohol consumed in the twilight,
That bewildered the facets of my existence,
Their faces smudged with smidgens of hording the chocolates,
Leering forward at me while I stumbled to and fro
Across a frosted prairie.

Caustic and gleeful I crawled across the frosty earth,
Sinking one singular fingernail down into the earth at any given moment,
Till I was latched enough to pull myself forth into the wooded glen before my eyes,
To find some shade among the bitter cold of winters bane,
Limited in its execution my odyssey was only in its infancy,
My programmable mind brainwashed with iphones and touch pads,
Gliding over it while crawling forth on the frosty earth.

Toe nails dug in with sand beneath the shield,
Cold sand that existed just behind me on the frozen plains,
Where once I was but no longer am for now I am here,
Among the dew dropping trees of early morning,
Where a hint of a sun looms on the horizon,
But where the hinting sun seems to sit and wait,
Till one blinks where once again it'll rise into the heavens,
As though it were always there.

Little by little I see it all here,
Among the wooded glen,
The lovers and the friends so dear at one point in time,
Now another point points to their demise,
Dismissive solutions arose when they did,
And quietly I closed the curtains,
While the leaves are falling all around me,
I think on the pains of the yesterday fiends,
The enemies who ate me, and spit me back out,
And molded me from pre-digested food like clay,
Shaping me into the person they wanted me to be,
While keeping my very real soul in tact in very unrealistic fashions.

Rubber banded around me are the branches of dewy trees.
They hug me as though they were the hugs of a barbed wire fence,
I'm bleeding slightly but not enough not enough to fatigue me
And my singular mind pressed forward to the lake just beyond the wooded glen,
Where I know fish swim, and men do fornicate with one another,
There are women there too, who sit and wait for their turn,
As the males seek out and have all the fun,
Putting down the wives and the lovers one two and three,
The seconds count down, as the marriages end,
Divorcing the life they once had for something tha looks through beer goggles like greener pastures.

So here I arrive at the lake just in time,
Sipping simply from the waters where bacterial growth surely are,
Though, I no longer truly care, not a lot, or a little, it never crosses my mind,
To quench my parched thirst, to soothe my aching bones,
To calm my muscles I'll receive sickness for the sake of life.

The men stare at me, wondering if I'll join in their circular masturbation,
and then women stadn against pick-up trucks staring non-chalantly to the sky,
Dismissing the sordid behavior of the men,
As though it were the tree that no one heard fall in the woods except God,
If he's even listening at all.
The sexes divided slowly uniting,
Submissive, dismissive, and guised as an illusion,
I'm only eating the frosted prairie,
There are no waters, there are no people,
There are no trees, or hugging branches,
I'm out of my auto-vehicle,
Just outside the door,
Emptying my bowels of my poisons,
Just at the start,
And falling dreary.